Home Field Advantage (9 page)

He wanted to help her so
badly it tore at him, but he couldn't make her accept anything from him. The
night when Marian had refused his offer of a job, John drove home, gently
explaining her reasoning to Emma. He tucked his daughter into bed and wandered
down to the living room, where he picked up the new Sports Illustrated with
every intention of reading it. Abruptly he felt a wave of anger, frustration,
fear for this woman he hardly knew—a muddle of emotions so strong he suddenly
slammed the magazine against the wall. He was shocked to realize his hands
were shaking.

Football players were known
for throwing temper tantrums on the field. As a senior in high school John had
earned his team a penalty that lost them the game. He had kept a relentless
grip on himself ever since.

With one exception. The night
Susan died, he had taken every book from a bookcase, one by one, and flung them
across the room with the arm that had made him All-Pro. They had slid down the
wall and landed in a heap with broken spines and creased pages. One by one.
Mindless. Like a quarterback warming up, he'd thrown those damn books. He hadn't
even realized until later that they were Susan's. He hadn't realized how angry
he was at her. At fate.

What the hell was it about
Marian Wells that called up similar feelings of choking frustration? Was he
most angry because she had hurt Emma? His daughter, who had needed a woman to
want her and love her?

Or was it Marian's
stubbornness that infuriated him? He found a certain ironic amusement in the
idea. Because if so, it was a case of like calling to like. Or maybe he'd told
more of the truth than he had realized, when he'd reminded Marian of how
competitive he was. Maybe he just didn't like losing.

At least he had sense enough
to know this wasn't the time to suggest a romantic evening out. For one thing,
Marian would have had every reason to feel pressured, in more ways than one.
For another thing...all he had to do was look at her. What she needed was a
good night's sleep, an unexpected windfall, a house she could afford. Not
another demand.

He had asked if she needed
her weekends free, if while she packed and moved he should try to find
someplace else for Emma. She had looked at him with alarm she tried to hide.

"Heavens, no! Emma's no
trouble. If anything, she's a help keeping the twins out of my hair! Really.
I'm delighted to have her."

And she needed what he paid
her each Monday. But when he added ten dollars to the amount, Marian handed the
check back to him.

"You've been paying me
more than generously. I can't accept this."

"Stubborn," he
muttered, reaching into his back pocket for his checkbook.

She just smiled. "That's
like the pot calling the kettle black."

"One of my mother's
favorite sayings." He tore off a new check. "Wednesday night okay to
come and get the animals?"

"Yes, of course."
This time her smile wasn't as convincing. "Emma told me that's what you
had in mind."

"We figured that would
give her a day to help them settle in before she's back here for the
weekend."

"Yes." Marian
looked down at her hands, which were tightly clasped together. "John, I
know I've said this before, but...thank you."

"The clock's
ticking," he said roughly. "You're down to eight days. What are you
going to do, Marian?"

She lifted her chin in
unconscious pride. "Rent something temporary, if I have to."

"What about the dogs and
cats?"

"One of my other parents
offered to take them for a few weeks, if it came down to that."

He was dumbfounded,
speechless. Later he realized how he'd felt. Astonished. Hurt. Like a kid who
had been told he wasn't big enough to help. Why had he convinced himself that
she had no one to turn to? Of course she had friends and family! The trouble
was, he wanted her to need him. It was a humiliating admission to make.

Do all men imagine themselves
as a prince in disguise, sweeping a woman away ?

He had to laugh at the irony.
So far, he was one of the contenders who had ended up as a skeleton in the
middle of the thicket.

Marian drew a deep breath and
steeled herself. "I'll take it," she said, without allowing herself
to look over her shoulder at the plain, boxlike house, painted pale green and
set behind a tiny, yellowing lawn.

"Wonderful!" the
owner said. "Well, then, let's see... As I mentioned, I'll require first
and last month's rent as well as a damage deposit. Especially since I've agreed
to permit both cats and children."

"I supervise the
children very carefully," Marian said from between gritted teeth. The
woman, plump and well-dressed, had introduced herself as a realtor who owned
several "investment" properties. The rent was unreasonable for a
house this size, but Marian was the beggar who couldn't be choosy. It was a
twenty-year-old rambler with three small bedrooms, one bath, and a kitchen
that would have fit in the cabin on a weekend boat. A "galley"
kitchen, the owner had euphemistically called it. Marian called it cramped.

But the house would do. The
backyard was fenced, and the owner had agreed to let her run her day-care
business—with a substantial deposit—and Marian had to move quickly.

So she wrote out a check for
an amount that decimated her already inadequate reserves, and handed it over.

"I'm afraid I can't give
you the key until the current tenants move out," the realtor said
briskly. "I'm sure you understand. Now, I expect to be paid by the fifth
of each month. If you want to paint or wallpaper or anything like that, it
will be at your own expense and I'll need to approve the colors or paper before
you start."

"I understand."

"You will keep the dogs
outside?"

"Yes, of course."

The woman's smile became
steely. "I do drop by regularly, just to see how things are going. If you
have a problem, leave a message any time on my answering machine."

Marian managed—barely—to
smile and thank her new landlady. She stood on the cracked front walk, Anna and
Jesse and Emma beside her, and watched the woman drive away. The silence was
eloquent.

"Well," Marian
said, forcing yet another smile, "this is our new home. We can move in
next week."

"I liked your other
house better," Emma said, wrinkling her nose. "This one's ugly."

"It's not that
bad," Marian said, less than wholeheartedly. "We can fix it up.
You'll see."

"It's kind of dirty,
too."

"I'll bet the people who
are moving out will give it a good scrubbing," Marian said brightly.
"If they don't, I will."

Three children stared at her
with identical expressions of doubt. To escape, Marian turned to look at the
house again. After a moment she sighed. "Let's go.”

In the car, Emma fastened her
own seat belt, then waited until Marian had buckled the younger children in the
backseat and settled herself behind the wheel.

"You know," Emma
announced, "Daddy isn't going to like this house."

I don't, either! Marian
thought rebelliously. All she said was, "Then it's lucky he doesn't have
to live here."

"Our house is lots
prettier than this one. We have wood floors you can run and slide on. And three
bathrooms. And I'll bet Daddy would let Rhodo and Aja in the house."

"To scratch your
beautiful wood floors?" Marian stopped the car before she had backed into
the street and reset the hand brake so that she could give her full attention
to Emma. "Sweetie, we just can't come to live with you. I thought you understood
why."

The little girl ducked her
head and mumbled, "Well, I don't."

From a deep well of
tenderness, Marian reached out to gently stroke the five-year-old's brown hair
back from her face. "You'd like to pretend Anna and Jesse and I are your
family, wouldn't you?" she said softly. "That I'm your mother?"

Emma looked up then, her huge
brown eyes washed with tears. "Why can't you be? I want you to live with
us."

Marian's heart twisted.
"I know. I know you do, Emma. But..." How to explain to a child so
young? "Have you told your dad how you feel?" she asked.

The desperate gaze clung to
Marian's face. "He said you were afraid you'd love me, only I wouldn't
really be yours, so someday you'd have to leave and it would hurt." She
bit her lip. "I heard him say you were stubborn, too."

Annoyance warred with
Marian's sense of humor. Amusement won. "Your dad's pretty stubborn, too.
I think he and I have had this argument before."

"I want you to change
your mind."

"I know you do,"
she said gently. "But I just can't. That doesn't mean I won't be happy to
have you come and stay with us any time at all. And we'll come over and ride
Snowball sometimes. Won't that do?"

Emma pulled away from
Marian's hand and turned her head to stare out the window. Her voice was
muffled. "I never get what I wish for."

Marian looked sadly at the
back of her head. "You know, sometimes wishes don't come true right away.
And sometimes when one does, it's not in quite the way you expected. What you
really want is a new mother. Maybe one of these days you'll get one."

Emma was silent so long,
Marian finally released the emergency brake and had begun to back the car out
of the driveway when Emma said, very quietly, "I don't want any mother. I
want you."

"Oh, sweetie,"
Marian said helplessly. "I'm sorry."

*****

Snowball was docile enough to
willingly follow Emma into the horse trailer, even though he hadn't seen one in
five years. Esmerelda was made of entirely different stuff, however. She wanted
nothing to do with a box on wheels. John pushed while Marian pulled, but the
goat managed to twist at the last second and break free, leaping off the ramp
and throwing John to his knees.

The rope whipped through
Marian's hands, burning her palms until she tightened her grip. When Esmerelda
hit the end of the rope, she almost ripped Marian's arms from their sockets.

"Damn," she said
explosively.

"Tut tut," John
reproved, picking himself up. "We wouldn't want to soil the ears of
innocent children."

"They're laughing too
hard to hear me," Marian said. She stuck out her tongue at Emma and the
giggling twins, which set them off again. Then she turned to glower at the
goat, who stood stiff-legged and wary at the end of the rope. "Do you
suppose we could pick her up?"

John took off his Stetson and
used it to slap at the dust on his jeans. "Have you put her on a scale
lately?"

"She's supposed to be
fat," Marian said defensively.

"Yeah?" He put the
cowboy hat back on. "Maybe so, but we'd still have to get our arms around
that belly."

"I'll take the back and
you take the front."

John eyed Esmerelda's
expression. "Why don't you take the front, and I'll take the back?"

"She kicks."

"Oh, hell."

"Please," Marian
said loftily. "We don't want to soil the ears of..."

The three children sat in a
row on the bottom rail of the fence, waiting expectantly for the next act. John
looked at Marian, and suddenly they were both laughing.

"I'll take the
front," he said ruefully.

A minute later, John slammed
the door of the horse trailer, dropping the bolt just in time. The whole
trailer shook when Esmerelda rammed her head against the door.

"Are you sure you want
her?" Marian asked doubtfully. "Now that you know what you're getting
into?"

"If I can't handle one
little goat..."

"You mean, one
overweight, bad-tempered, useless goat?"

"Remember those
blackberries."

Marian smiled at him.
"I'll believe in those when I see 'em."

At her smile, something
changed on John's face, and his arrested gaze locked with hers. "Doubting
me?" he asked roughly.

She couldn't look away from
the disturbing expression in his gray eyes. "I think you're nice enough
to lie," she retorted, not quite as calmly as she would have liked.

He shoved the Stetson back on
his head, his grin an unmistakable challenge. "One hedge of blackberries
coming up. I'll give you the grand tour right now. Why don't you follow us on
over?"

She began an automatic
protest, "Oh, I don't think..."

"Come on," John
coaxed. "I want you to feel comfortable visiting your animals. You have to
see where we live sometime. Why not tonight?"

"I really should pack
and..."

He didn't let her finish.
"Emma made dessert, just for you. She was hoping you'd come. She's pretty
excited."

"Dessert?" Marian
said weakly.