Quiet Walks the Tiger (4 page)

“Sloan! I’m so glad! It’s obvious that he still has some kind of a thing for you...”

Cassie went on talking, but Sloan heard little of what she had to say. Somehow, she made all the right responses.

“...fate and a little time...”

“Pardon?” Sloan inquired. Her mind had wandered a little too far.

Cassie sighed. “I said, ‘who knows? With fate and a little time...?’”

“Yeah,” Sloan murmured. “I’d better get going, Cass. I have to go see what the little darlings are up to.”

“Go!” Cassie chuckled. “I am so glad that you like him! Oh, well! Bye!”

“Bye...” Sloan murmured faintly. She pulled the receiver slowly from her ear and sank into a chair, feeling light-headed. She did not replace the phone correctly, and a dull hum sounded to her ears.

Fate and time. She intended to give both more than a little push.

“God, I hope that I do like him!” she whispered fervently to herself. She rose, a puppet again, and very meticulously adjusted the phone, cutting off the hum. Her plan took substance, and she spoke it aloud.

“I’m going to marry him.”

Her voice was light, toneless, but the grim edge of determination rang clearly through.

S
HE HADN’T ACTUALLY DONE
anything, but with her plan set in her mind, she felt the first pangs of guilt.

Rationalizing was in order. She put the baby and Laura down for their naps, supplied Jamie with pails and shovels for his sandbox, and moved into the back of the house, her studio.

The studio had been the one extravagant concession she had allowed herself to retain her art. The floor was an expensive wood to save wear on her feet and knees. A heavy metal exercise bar stretched the length of the left side, backed by a study mirror which covered the height and breadth of the wall. The right side of the room held huge bay windows which opened on the lawn, allowing her to work while watching the children at play. To the rear lay her stereo system, a good, complex one purchased when Terry had sold an elaborate set of landscapes.

When teaching, Sloan covered dance from classic form to aerobics. But to her the base for all dance was ballet, and when she engaged in her rigid workouts, it was to ballet exercises that she turned. Between stretches, pliés, and relevés, she came to terms with herself.

She planned to marry a stranger, a man she didn’t love. It wasn’t because she craved riches for herself, but because she would be able to provide a
decent
life for herself and her children.

And she swore she would never hurt Wesley Adams. She would never love again, she was sure, but Wesley would never know it. She would be everything he could possibly desire in a wife.

Her mind began to race with turmoil. How could she even think about doing a thing as despicable as marrying a man for his money? Marriage meant living with a man, sharing his life, sleeping in his bed...A sick feeling stabbed her stomach. She changed the Bach on the stereo to a modern piece by a hard rock group and whirled about the room in a series of furious pirouettes and entrechats, hoping to exhaust her mind through strenuous dance. Sweat beaded on her brow, but it was as much from her thoughts as from her leaping jetés.

For a mother of three, she was painfully naive. Most of her friends had had one or two serious affairs before settling into marriage. Several were divorced and involved in new affairs, one after the other.

But for her, there had been only Terry. They had met when both were eighteen, married while still in school before either was twenty. It was all planned. A little over three years later they had their first child, Jamie. And in her years of marriage she had learned what intimacy between a man and woman truly meant. It meant giving oneself completely, trusting, opening up to vulnerability, accepting and loving—a part of a total commitment.

How could anyone even contemplate such a thing with a stranger?

She fell to the floor in a perfect split and stretched her nose to her knee. Don’t be absurd! she snapped silently to herself. Sex was just a normal body function. Plenty of women she knew could easily sleep with any attractive male body. She closed her eyes, pushing such thoughts to the back of her mind. She would deal with her problems as she came to them. A little chuckle escaped her lips as she switched legs and her dark head bounced down to the other knee.
She
was planning a marriage. Maybe she wouldn’t get to first base with Wesley Adams. According to Cassie, he could have his pick of females. Why should he
marry
her? Even if he was attracted to her. She was a twenty-nine-year-old widow with three children. He could probably have any number of bright, sweet young things—women who demanded no commitment and had no responsibilities to tie them down.

And then...Another thought nagged her. What if Wesley didn’t get along with the children? She would never marry anyone, madly in love or not, unless he cared for the children and they for him.

Life, she decided with a wry grin, was a bitch.

But it could be so much better if she could only marry a kind, pliable man like Wesley Adams. She wouldn’t always be worried about having to make a buck. She would be a good and true wife, but she would also be free to go her own way, to play with her children, to dance as she longed.

At that moment she closed her mind to right and wrong. Her heart hardened, not callously, but desperately. The dream of a good life was too sweet to allow for sentiment. She would use every one of her feminine wiles in the pursuit of Wesley Adams. And there was no time to lose. He only planned to be in Gettysburg for two weeks.

“Mommy!”

Jamie’s voice, screaming over the stereo, jolted her from her reflections. Her head jerked up guiltily, and she looked to her son in the studio door and then gasped with dismay.

Jamie was standing with the man who had so completely filled her thoughts, Wesley Adams. The man she had planned to captivate and sweep off his feet. And here she was, no makeup, sweat-streaked hair glued to her forehead, clad in a black leotard that had long since faded.

“Wesley!” she croaked, scrambling to her feet and unconsciously smoothing back a stray tendril of hair. Then she turned to her son with reproach. “Jamie, I told you never to answer the door! You must always get me.”

“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” Wesley Adams explained with a crooked grin. His eyes were friendly, laughing, almost matching the knit, forest-green shirt that outlined his broad chest and well-muscled biceps. It wasn’t difficult to return his grin.

“I rang,” Wesley continued, “but no one came to the door. I heard the stereo, so I walked around back and found your son.” He tousled Jamie’s light brown curls and hoisted the boy into his arms. “I convinced him I was a legitimate friend.”

“Oh...” Sloan stammered weakly. This second meeting wasn’t working out at all as she had planned. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess...I need a shower...I—I wasn’t expecting you this morning!”

He laughed easily, and she marveled at what a comfortable man he was. “I think you look stunning.” His eyes roamed unabashedly over the trim but enticing figure so vividly displayed by the tight leotard. Yet his gaze held nothing licentious; it was one of teasing but respectful admiration. Foolishly, Sloan found herself blushing.

“Well, er, can I get you something?” she asked, laughing a bit nervously as she walked to the stereo to carefully lift the needle. “A cool drink? I have iced tea, lemonade, and oh, I think a few beers—”

“Run and take your shower, first,” Wesley suggested, smiling at Jamie. “Then I’d love to have a glass of tea with you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled wryly. “But I can’t. The baby should be waking up any minute.”

“I’m the proud uncle of four nieces and six nephews,” he told her. “If your little one wakes, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle him.”

“No!” Sloan protested. “I can’t have you watching my children—”

“Sure you can.”

Sloan smiled uneasily. That lopsided grin of his could be most endearing and, and unnerving! He really was an attractive and...what?...man. Vital. The word sprang to her mind, followed by one even more disturbing—sexy. He may have retired from pro ball, but his sturdy structure and lithe movements proved him to be every inch an athlete.

“All right,” Sloan murmured, confused by her jittery reaction to him.
I’m
the one out to entice him! she reminded herself. “Thanks. I’ll just hop in and out. I’ll hurry.”

“Take your time. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled faintly as she sidled by him, warned Jamie to be good, and hurried into the shower. Once there, she did take more time than she had intended. She scrubbed her skin pink and worked her hair into a rich lather with scented shampoo. It wouldn’t dry, she realized as she fluffed it with a towel, but clean wet was better than sweaty wet! She splashed herself with a light daytime cologne that smelled of fresh fields and applied a touch of low-keyed makeup. Satisfied with the results, she slipped into a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a cool halter top. Although the nights were cool, the Pennsylvania summers could be murder in the day.

She emerged from the bathroom feeling much more confident. The role of femme fatale was played more easily in the right costume. Affecting a brilliant smile, she moved into the living room with a calculated walk.

The children were all awake, all ensconced on Wesley’s lap as he sat on the floor with them, embellishing a worn book of fairy tales. A painful little tug pulled at her heart as she watched the scene.

Wesley hadn’t lied; he was a natural with children. Even two-year-old Terry sat with wide eyes glued on the storyteller’s face.

Sloan forget all about her bewitching smile and swinging walk as she paused in the hallway, an erratic pulse beating through her veins.
He liked the children. He hadn’t even let a day go by without coming to see her. The more she saw of him, the more she liked.

The tale of Cinderella, told in his deep, compelling voice, came to an end with the prince and princess living happily ever after. Laura jumped to her feet, demanding another story.

“Not now, my pet,” Sloan said softly, coming to scoop her daughter into her arms with a laugh. Laura’s eyes were huge and blue like her own, and they snapped with outrage, causing Sloan and Wesley both to chuckle.

“Mommy!” Laura began her protest. “Go back to the bathroom.”

“Hey, young lady!” Sloan chastised her. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”

“Remember our promise!” Wesley intercepted quickly, sneaking a wink which encompassed the three children.

“Pizza!” Jamie happily expounded to his mother. He never could keep a secret.

“If it’s all right with your mother,” Wesley said sternly. “And if you behave for the rest of the afternoon.” He glanced at Sloan apologetically. “I hope you’ll forgive a bit of bribery.”

Sloan bit back a chuckle and sank gracefully to the floor beside them. “The best of us stoop to it now and then. Kids,” she said, praying they chose to obey without argument, “go on into the playroom for a while now.” She glanced at Wesley with raised “you asked for it” brows. “Mr. Adams will read you another story later.”

Surprisingly, the children grudgingly wandered toward the playroom, baleful glances at their mother their only sign of pique. Sloan waited until they had cleared the room to look to Wesley, breathing deeply as she reminded herself she must move with all speed.

“Thank you,” she murmured, unnerved to find it difficult to meet his frank, unwavering green gaze. “That was kind of you.”

“I told you, I like kids.”

Sloan didn’t try to look at him again. Running a slender hand along the shag of the rug, she continued, “I want to apologize for last night. You were right. I was being rude and I’m...I’m sorry.”

He laughed, the slow easy laugh she was coming to like so much. “You’re totally forgiven. I did rather barge in after a long day. But I’ll extract a payment if I may. I supply the dinner, but I get to stay for it. How’s that?”

“All payments should be so amiable!” She crossed one foot over the other and rose. The light, masculinely pleasant scent of his after-shave was drifting to her nostrils; she was becoming too fascinated by the display of his long rugged fingers as they lay casually upon a muscled thigh. “Come on, I’ll get our tea.”

Wesley proved to be a perfect guest. He didn’t seem to mind in the least that the afternoon was spent checking on two-year-old Terry, nor was he adverse to wiping tomato sauce from little faces after the pizza arrived. When bedtime rolled around, he insisted on giving the boys their bath, after which he expertly taped a plastic overnight diaper on newly potty-trained Terry. True to his word, he read the children another story and tucked them into bed. They barely remembered to kiss their mother, and Sloan wondered with amusement whether to be offended or pleased.

She perked coffee while she waited for Wesley to finish with the children, arranging a tray anxiously to bring to the living room table for a more relaxed setting. Where did she go from here? Things were going too well. Wesley, by appearing at her door without warning, had thrown her completely off course. What was it he was after? She couldn’t play too hard to get, or he might disappear for good. Yet she couldn’t be an easy conquest. Marriage was her game, nothing else, or all was wasted.

Wesley sauntered into the kitchen as she placed a ring of crackers around small squares of cheddar and Muenster cheese. “They’re quite a handful,” he remarked with a long stretch. “You must be a veritable powerhouse of energy.” He nonchalantly reached for a cracker and slice of cheese. “How do you do it all?”

Sloan cocked her head with a short, convincing laugh. It wouldn’t do to let him know that she wasn’t managing well with “doing it all.” “They are actually pretty good kids,” she said. “They go to a great day-care center when I work, and Cassie lets me out on Friday nights. It’s not such a bad life and I...” Her voice broke off suddenly.

“What?” The sincere compassion in his eyes urged her to go on.

“I wouldn’t trade a one of them for anything in the world,” she said softly.

“I don’t blame you.” Wesley picked up the tray and preceded her to the living room. “Good coffee,” he commented as he sat comfortably on the sofa. The crooked grin softened his rather severely chiseled features, blending the angles of his high cheekbones and square, rugged jaw. “Good coffee is a sign of a good woman, you know.”