Truth or Dare (11 page)

A few minutes later, the center fielder caught a fly ball for the third out, and the Bluejays started in from the field for their turn at bat.  Jared strolled over to the backstop and looked up at Rachel, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Hi, Mike," he said, his eyes still on Rachel.  His gaze roamed slowly over every inch of her, touching her, warming her, stealing her breath.  In a voice as thick and slow as molasses, he said, "Good to
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
see you."

Rachel felt Mike stiffen beside her.  If Jared didn't stop staring at her that way, as if she were his own personal property, there was liable to be trouble.  Rachel felt certain that if she looked up the word "overprotective" in the dictionary, her son's picture would be there in place of the usual definition.

Finally Jared pulled his gaze away and looked at Mike with a grin and a wink.  "Nice mom you've got there, Harding."

Before Mike could answer, Jared turned and joined his team on the bench that took the place of a dugout.

From somewhere down in front, a laughing female voice floated up:  "The season sure won't be dull with her around.  Did you see the way Morgan looked at her?  I'd sell my kids for a look like that from a man like him."

"If
that's
how he looks at you, no wonder you keep your disguise," Mike said, his eyes narrowed to slits as he stared a hole in Jared's back.  "Does he know everything?"

Rachel took her first full breath in minutes, then let it out slowly.  "No.  Apparently he was out of the country when, well, you know.  He didn't know who I was."

As the first Bluejay waited for the pitch, Mike asked, "So what're ya gonna do?"

She shrugged.  "That's up to him.  I won't quit my job.  Not unless I have to.  All he'd have to do would be tell the employment agency what I've done.  I'd never get another job in this city."

Mike brooded for a while, then surprised Rachel with, "You want me to have a talk with him?"

Her first impulse was to cry.  He was so grown up.  Almost a man now, no longer a little boy.  She swallowed her tears and gave him a hug.  "Thanks, honey, but no.  It'll be all right.  You'll see."

From the other end of the stands, halfway to third base, a boy cried out, "Hey Harding!  Who's that baby doll ya got hanging all over ya?"

Rachel cringed, feeling her cheeks heat up.  Jared must have heard
—
everybody else certainly had
—
for he turned to look at her, then seemed to search the stands for the voice that had called out.

Mike put his arm around Rachel's shoulders, then cupped his other hand to his mouth.  "My mother, you idiot!"

"Michael!" Rachel hissed.

Laughter from at least two dozen witnesses made her cheeks sting.  The talkative woman in the front row said, "See?  It's gonna be an interesting season."

The game ended minutes, hours, maybe years later.  Rachel couldn't have said which.  The Bluejays won their season opener twelve to seven.  Amid the cheers and applause, Rachel caught a masculine snicker from a few rows behind.

"Yeah, well," a voice said, "you can have ol' what's
–
his
–
face's mother.  Me, I got my eye on that little yellow
–
headed short stop just coming in off the field.  What a little fox, huh?"

Rachel stood slowly and turned toward the voice.  She spotted him at once, since he was still laughing.  Nineteen, maybe twenty years old
—
too old to be hanging around young girls.  Greasy jeans, a torn T
–
shirt that said "Scuba Divers Do It Deeper," a gold loop dangling from a pierced ear, and a three
–
inch tall pink
Mohawk
.

The blood in Rachel's veins turned cold, then hot.  The punk and his buddy, who was also no prize in Rachel's eyes
—
young men with greasy ponytails never were, especially ones whose flabby stomachs hung down over their belts and jiggled grossly with every step
—
started down the bleachers.  Intent on reaching the field of girls, neither one saw Rachel until she stepped in front of them.

"Just a minute, mister," she said, her voice hard.

Mohawk grinned, revealing yellowed front teeth, one of which was chipped.

"Hot damn," his friend muttered.  "You always was luckier than me."

Mike took a step closer to his mother, but Rachel motioned him back.  She glared at the one who'd just spoken, then focused on Mohawk again.  "That 'little fox' you're talking about happens to be only twelve years old."

Mohawk's grin widened.  He took a step closer to Rachel.  She tossed her hair back and stood her ground.  "And if that isn't enough to change your mind, then try this:  She's also my daughter.  If you get within ten feet of her
—
"

Mohawk opened his mouth to say something, then shut it with an audible snap.  A strong, warm hand settled on Rachel's shoulder, and a deep, familiar voice asked, "Any trouble here?"

Rachel nearly sagged with relief when she heard Jared's voice.  She didn't know what she would have done if the punk had tried anything, but she wasn't about to let him anywhere near her daughter.

"No," she said, her voice cool, her eyes still locked on Mohawk.  "These
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
gentlemen
were just leaving."

Ponytail took a step away from Jared.  "Hey, Scooter, come on, man, let's split."

Scooter looked like he might want to push the issue.  He glanced from Mike to Rachel and smirked.  Then he looked at Jared.  Scooter's smirk disappeared and he stepped back.  He gave a nervous laugh, then followed his friend and left the bleachers.

The reassuring hand on Rachel's shoulder tightened and jerked her around to face a furious Jared.

"That was a damn fool thing to do, taking on two creeps like that.  You could have got yourself hurt."

Rachel winced at the ache in her shoulder, and he loosened his grip somewhat.  "Thanks for your concern, but I knew what I was doing.  I could have handled it."

"Could have handled it!"  Jared turned her loose and threw his hands up in the air.  He took a step nearer, until he towered over her.  He bent down until his nose was a mere inch from hers.  "And just how were you going to
handle
it if those two had decided to jump you?"

It never dawned on Rachel, in that moment when Jared loomed over her like a giant menace, to fear for her safety.  At least not until she felt Mike inch closer to her side and she caught a glimpse of his pale, drawn face.  Was he upset about what Jared said, or by Jared's seemingly threatening pose?

In either case, Rachel knew
she
wasn't afraid.  Not of Jared.  Not physically.  Her sense of relief was so great she wanted to dance and shout.  He had grabbed her, jerked her around, and yelled at her, and she hadn't panicked.

She put her arm around Mike's shoulder and let a wry grin twist the corner of her mouth.  "He's right, you know," she told her son.  "It really was pretty stupid of me."

From the corner of her eye, she saw a thousand questions flit across Jared's face as he watched the play between her and Mike.

Just then Caroline showed up, bringing another girl with her, whom she introduced to Rachel as Deb, her best friend.  Both girls were still high on the evening's victory.

"Mrs. Harding,"  Deb said, green eyes sparkling.  "Can Caro come over and spend the night?"

Rachel stiffened at being called Mrs. Harding, but said nothing.  It was a natural mistake for Deb to assume Caroline and her mother had the same last name.

"Please Mom please?" Caroline pleaded.

"Well, I don't know," Rachel said hesitantly.  "What do your parents say, Deb?"

"Dad already said it was okay."  Deb sidled up to Jared and put her arm around his waist.  "Didn't ya, Dad?" she said, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

Dad.
  Of course.  Rachel knew the coach was the father of Caro's best friend.  She had acknowledged that fact earlier when she first recognized Jared.  Still, she'd have to get used to it.

"Sure did," Jared answered, giving his daughter a wink.

Rachel blinked.  "You're my daughter's best friend's father."

Jared grinned and shrugged.  "Small world, isn't it?"

"Wait a minute," Caroline said, looking from one parent to the other.  "You mean you two know each other?"

When Jared explained that Rachel was his secretary, both girls looked stunned.  A moment later, they looked at each other and slow grins spread across sweaty, freckled faces.

"My mother works for your father!" Caroline cried, laughing.

"It's the greatest!" Deb shouted.

Caroline suddenly grabbed Deb's arm, her eyes wide.  "Do you realize what this means?  It means we're
—
"

"Practically related!" Deb finished.

Both girls squealed, then jumped up and down while trying to hug each other.  Jared laughed; Rachel gave a nervous chuckle; Mike rolled his eyes to heaven, as if silently praying for deliverance from the antics of twelve
–
year
–
old girls.

"Can I spend the night, Mom?  Can I?"

"Well, I don't
—
"

"Aw, come on, Mom," Caroline pleaded.

"Yeah," Jared said, still laughing.  "Come on, Mom."

When Jared offered to stop by their house on the way home so Caroline could pick up some clean clothes, Rachel finally agreed.  Caroline needed to develop this friendship, Rachel knew.  She just wished it could have been with someone other than her boss's daughter, for heaven's sake.

"In honor of tonight's victory," Jared said, his eyes scanning the small group, "why don't we stop off for pizza on the way?  My treat."

Both girls squealed again.  Rachel didn't have the heart to spoil things, so she agreed to go along with Jared's plan.  When they reached the parking lot and Jared asked Mike to take the girls with him so he could talk to Rachel, her easy mood vanished.

Her mind scurried, trying to think of an excuse to avoid being alone with Jared.  The next thing she knew, a long look passed between Jared and Mike, a look of questions, a look of answers.  Whatever it was, Mike seemed satisfied with what he saw.  In the blink of an eye, he abandoned his mother and herded the two jabbering twelve
–
year
–
olds toward the Mustang, leaving Rachel and Jared standing beside his Lincoln in the other
wise empty parking lot.

Neither one spoke until Jared cleared his throat a few minutes later as he pulled out onto the interstate.  "So," he said.  "You're Caro's mother."

Rachel stared at his hands clutching the steering wheel and suddenly realized he was as nervous about this as she was.  The knowledge allowed her to relax somewhat.

"Caro looks so much like you it's amazing.  But Mike," he said, shaking his head.  "You're not old enough to have a son Mike's age.  Gypsies leave him on your doorstep?"

Rachel laughed and relaxed another degree.  "I think maybe there was a compliment in there somewhere.  But he's mine, all right."

After a moment of easy silence, Jared asked, "And are you Mrs. Harding?  Is there a Mr. Harding?"

Rachel swallowed, her easiness evaporating.  "I took back my maiden name.  I'm divorced."

Jared's hands relaxed completely on the steering wheel and he smiled.  "Me too."

“And you have custody?”

His smile twisted.  “My ex didn’t want to be tied down—by either of us.”

Rachel bit her lip on any more questions about his divorce, but another matter occurred to her.  “Mike and Caroline understand why I don’t want anyone to know who I am, so they don’t talk about me,” she said.  “But how is it that Caroline didn’t know you’re the general manager of Channel 3?  I’d think that would be a major topic of conversation among twelve–year–old girls.”

“That’s Deb’s doing,” he answered, turning off I–40 and heading north on I–44.  “She had some problems the last place we lived with girls making friends with her, hoping she could get them on television or some such nonsense.  I think she’d done a bit of bragging or something.  Anyway, she got hurt.  She’s pretty quiet about what I do for a living since we moved here.”

"Well, at least now I know what you do on those afternoons you disappear from the office.  Any particular reason you never mentioned it?"

"What?" Jared cried with mock dismay.  "And have you find out I was out cavorting in the sunshine while you had to slave away at work?  I've got more sense than that."

Rachel laughed.  "I don't know how much sense you can have if you think coaching those girls is the same as cavorting.  It's hard work, and you know it."