It Had to Be You

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Dan shook his head, then turned to Phoebe. "The scary thing is, Webster and Krystal have one of the best marriages on the team."

  "I guess I'd better go settle him down before he picks a fight with somebody." Krystal rolled the beer can in her injured hand. "Mind if I take this along as an ice pack?"

  "Help yourself."

  She smiled at Phoebe and then rose on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the corner of Dan's jaw. "Thanks, pal. Stop by the house sometime and I'll fry you up a hamburger."

  "I'll do that."

  As Krystal returned to her husband, Dan lowered himself to the bench. Phoebe sat next to him, keeping as much space between them as she could manage.

  "Have you known Krystal for long?"

  "Webster and I were teammates right before I retired, and all of us got to be pretty good friends. Neither of them liked much about my ex-wife except her politics, and Krystal used to show up at my door with milk and cookies when I was going through my divorce. We haven't been able to see a lot of each other socially since I joined the Stars."

  "Why is that?"

  "I'm Webster's coach now."

  "Does that make a difference?"

  "Rosters have to be cut, players traded. There has to be some distance."

  "A strange way to conduct friendships."

  "That's just the way it is. Everybody understands."

  Although the others were in sight, the bench was tucked far enough into the shadows of the japonica bushes that she had begun to feel as if they were alone, and she was so aware of him that her skin prickled. She welcomed the distraction of a female squeal, and, looking through a break in the hedges, saw a woman whip off the top of her bikini. The accompanying hoots and squeals were so loud she hoped they didn't awaken Molly and frighten her.

  "The party's getting a little wild."

  "Not really. Everybody's on their good behavior because the chaperons are here."

  "What chaperons?"

  "You and me. The boys aren't going to let their hair down with the owner and head coach hanging around, especially since we lost today. I remember a few parties during my playing days that lasted right through till Tuesday."

  "You sound nostalgic."

  "I had some fun."

  "Getting tossed in swimming pools and judging wet T-shirt contests?"

  "Don't tell me you've got something against wet T-shirt contests. That's the closest most football players ever come to a cultural event."

  She laughed. But then her laughter faded as she saw the way he was looking at her. Through the lenses of his glasses, his sea-green eyes were enigmatic, yet something seemed to crackle between them, an electricity that shouldn't have been there. She was thrilled, frightened. Dipping her head, she took a quick sip of wine.

  He spoke softly. "For somebody who flirts with everything in pants, you sure are nervous with me."

  "I am not!"

  "You're a liar, darlin'. I make you nervous as hell."

  Despite the wine, her mouth felt dry. She forced her lips into a fox's smile. "Only in your dreams, lover." Leaning close enough to inhale his after-shave, she said huskily, "I devour men like you for breakfast and still eat a five-course lunch."

  He gave a snort of laughter. "Damn, Phoebe, I wish we liked each other better, 'cause if we did, we could have ourselves a real good time."

  She smiled, then tried to say something sexy and flippant only to discover that she couldn't think of a thing. In her mind the springs on the brass bed had begun to creak, only this time she was lying on it instead of young Elizabeth. She was the one in the lacy slip with the strap falling off her shoulder. She imagined herself watching him as he stood beneath the paddle wheel fan with his shirt unbuttoned.

  "Damn." The curse was soft, hoarsely uttered, not part of the dream but slipping through the lips of the real man.

  As he gazed into her eyes, her body felt as if it were shedding years of musty cobwebs to become moist and dewy. The sensation was so strange, she wanted to run from it, but at the same time, she wanted to stay here forever. She was overwhelmed by the temptation to lean forward and touch his lips with her own. And why not? He thought she was a champion man-killer. He didn't have any way of knowing how out of character such a gesture from her would be. Just this once, why didn't she take a chance?

  "There you are, Phoebe."

  Both their heads snapped around as Ron emerged through a break in the hedges. She took a quick, unsteady breath.

  Since Ron had been rehired, he and Dan had kept their distance, and so far there had been no explosions. She hoped that wasn't about to change.

  Ron nodded at Dan, then spoke to Phoebe. "I'm going to head home soon. The cleanup will be taken care of."

  Dan glanced at his watch and stood. "I've got to go, too. Did Paul show up with those films for me yet?"

  "I haven't seen him."

  "Damn. He's got videotape I wanted to take a look at before I went to bed."

  Ron smiled at Phoebe. "Dan's notorious for surviving on four hours of sleep a night. He's a real workhorse."

  Phoebe's encounter with Dan had shaken her because she felt as if she'd exposed too much of herself. Standing, she ran her fingers through her hair. "It's nice to know I'm getting my money's worth."

  "Do you want me to have him bring the tape over to your house as soon as he gets here?" Ron asked.

  "No. Don't bother. But tell him to have it on my desk by seven tomorrow morning. I want to take a look at it before I meet with my staff." He turned to Phoebe. "I need to make a call. Is there a phone inside I can use?"

  His manner was so businesslike that she wondered if she had imagined the crazy, charged moment that had passed between them such a short time ago. She didn't want him to know how he had unsettled her, so she spoke flippantly. "Don't you have one in that beat-up heap you drive?"

  "There are two places I don't believe in keeping phones. One's my car, and the other's my bedroom."

  He'd won that round, and she tried to recover with a lazy gesture toward a door on the far side of the house. "The one in the family room is the nearest."

  "Thanks, baby cakes."

  As he walked away, Ron frowned at her. "You shouldn't let him address you so disrespectfully. A team owner—"

  "Exactly how am I supposed to make him stop?" she retorted, turning her frustration onto Ron. "And I don't want to hear about what Al Davis would do or Eddie De—whatever."

  "Edward DeBartolo, Jr.," he said patiently. "The owner of the San Francisco 49ers."

  "Isn't he the one who gives his players and their wives all those lavish presents?"

  "He's the one. Trips to Hawaii. Big, juicy Nieman Marcus gift certificates."

  "I hate his guts."

  He patted her arm. "It'll all work out, Phoebe. See you in the morning."

  As he left her alone, she stared toward the house in the direction Dan had disappeared. Of all the men who had passed through her life, why did it have to be this one who attracted her? How ironic that she found herself so profoundly drawn to what she feared the most: a physically powerful man in superb condition. A man, she reminded herself, made all the more dangerous by his sharp mind and quirky sense of humor.

  If only he hadn't left so soon. Ever since she had arrived in Chicago, she had felt as if she had been transported to an exotic land where she didn't know the language or understand the customs, and her encounter with him tonight had only intensified the sensation. She was confused but also filled with a strange sense of anticipation, a sense that—if only he'd stayed—something magical might have happened.

  Molly drew up her knees and tucked them under her long blue cotton nightgown. She sat curled in the window seat of the cavernous family room looking out through the glass at what she could see of the party. Peg, the housekeeper, had sent her to bed an hour ago, but the noise had kept her from sleeping. She was also worried about Wednesday, when she would start public high school and all the kids would hate her.

  Something cold and wet brushed against her bar
e leg. "Hello, Pooh." As Molly reached down to stroke the dog's soft topknot, Pooh reared up and placed her front paws on the teenager's thigh.

  Molly lifted the dog into her lap and bent her head to croon soft baby talk to her. "You're a good girl, aren't you, Pooh. A good, sweet doggy girl. Do you love Molly? Molly loves you, doggy girl."

  Dark strands of her hair mingled with Pooh's white fur. As Molly laid her cheek on the powder-puff softness of her topknot, Pooh licked her chin. It had been a long time since anyone had kissed her, and she kept her face where it was so Pooh could do it again.

  The door to her right opened. A large man entered, and she quickly set Pooh down. The room was dimly lit, and he didn't see Molly as he walked over to the telephone that sat on a table next to the sofa. Before he could dial, however, Pooh bounced over to greet him.

  "Damn. Down, dawg!"

  To avoid any social awkwardness, Molly politely cleared her throat and stood. "She won't bite you."

  The man replaced the receiver and looked over at her. She saw that he had a nice smile.

  "Are you sure about that? She seems pretty fierce to me."

  "Her name is Pooh."

  "As a. matter of fact, she and I've already met, but I don't think the two of us have been introduced." He came toward her. "I'm Dan Calebow."

  "How do you do. I'm Molly Somerville." She extended her hand, and he shook it solemnly.

  "Hello, Miz Molly. You must be Phoebe's sister."

  "I'm Phoebe's half sister," she stressed. "We had different mothers, and we're not at all alike."

  "I can see that. You're up kind of late, aren't you?"

  "I couldn't sleep."

  "It's pretty noisy. Did you get to meet the players and their families?"

  "Phoebe wouldn't let me." She wasn't certain why she felt compelled to lie, but she didn't want to tell him she was the one who had refused to go outside.

  "Why not?"

  "She's very strict. Besides, I'm not fond of patties. Actually, I'm a solitary person. I'm planning to be a writer when I grow up."

  "Is that so?"

  "I'm currently reading Dostoyevski."

  "You don't say."

  She was running out of conversation, and she cast about for another topic to hold his attention. "I can't imagine they'll study Dostoyevski at my new school. I start there on Wednesday. It's a public school, you know. Boys go there."

  "Haven't you ever gone to school with boys?"

  "No."

  "A pretty girl like you should get along just fine."

  "Thank you, but I know I'm not really pretty. Not like Phoebe."

  "Of course you're not pretty like Phoebe. You're pretty in your own way. That's the best thing about women. Each one has her own way about her."

  He'd called her a woman! She tucked that thrilling compliment away to be savored when she was alone. "Thank you for being so nice, but I know my limitations."

  "I'm pretty much an expert on the subject of females, Miz Molly. You should listen to me."

  She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't. "Are you a football player, Mr. Calebow?"

  "I used to be, but I'm the head coach of the Stars now."

  "I'm afraid I don't know anything about football."

  "That seems to run on the female side of your family." He crossed his arms. "Didn't your sister bring you to the game this afternoon?"

  "No."

  "That's a shame. She should have."

  She thought she detected disapproval in his voice, and it occurred to her that he might not like Phoebe either. She decided to test the waters. "My half sister doesn't want to bother with me. She got stuck with me, you see, because both my parents are dead. But she doesn't really want me." That, at least, was true. She had his complete attention now, and since she didn't want to lose it, she began to fabricate. "She won't let me go back to my old school and she hides the letters I get from all my girlfriends."

  "Why would she do something like that?"

  Molly's active imagination took over. "A streak of cruelty, perhaps. Some people are born with it, you know. She never lets me leave the house, and if she doesn't like what I've done, she feeds me bread and water." Inspiration struck. "And sometimes she slaps me."

  "What?"

  She was afraid she had gone too far, so she quickly added, "It doesn't hurt."

  "It's hard to imagine your sister doing something like that."

  She didn't like to hear him defending Phoebe. "You're a potent man, so her physical appearance has affected your judgment."

  He made a funny choking sound. "Do you want to explain that?"

  Her conscience told her not to say anything more, but he was being so nice and she wanted so much for him to like her that she couldn't help herself. "She acts differently around men than she does around me. She's like Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter. Men adore her, but she's quite vindictive underneath." Once again she thought she might have gone too far, so she tempered her statement. "Not that she's entirely evil, of course. Just mildly twisted."

  He rubbed his chin. "I'll tell you what, Molly. The Stars are part of your family heritage, and you need to know something about the team. How about I ask Phoebe to bring you to practice some day after school next week? You can meet the players and learn a little bit about the game."

  "You'd do that?"

  "Sure."

  The rush of gratitude she felt toward him blocked out her guilt. "Thank you. I'd like that very much."

  At that moment Peg stuck her head in the door and scolded Molly for not being in bed. She said good-bye to Dan and returned to her room. After Peg left, she retrieved Mr. Brown from his hiding place and snuggled beneath the covers with him, even though she was much too old to be sleeping with a stuffed animal.

  Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard a soft scratching at her door and smiled into her pillow. She couldn't open the door because she didn't want Phoebe to discover that she'd let Pooh into her bedroom. But, still, it was nice to be wanted.

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  As Phoebe looked down at the videotape that lay on the passenger seat next to her, she knew that showing up unannounced at Dan Calebow's house was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. But instead of turning Bert's Cadillac around and going back home, she peered through the glare of the headlights toward the side of the road trying to find the wooden mailbox that Krystal Greer had told her to watch for. As she looked, she rehearsed what she would say when she got there.

  She would be very casual, tell Dan that Paul had shown up with the videotape not long after he'd left the party. She'd known Dan wanted to see the tape before he went to bed, and she'd decided to deliver it since it was such a beautiful night for a drive. No trouble, really.

  She frowned. It was one o'clock in the morning, so maybe she shouldn't say anything about it being a beautiful night for a drive. Maybe she'd simply say she hadn't been sleepy and had felt like taking a drive to relax.

  The truth was, she wanted to see him again before she lost her nerve. She had been deeply shaken by that moment when she'd felt such an overpowering urge to kiss him. Now she needed to see him alone, where they wouldn't be interrupted, to try to discover what those feelings meant.

  She could come up with a million reasons she shouldn't be attracted to him, but none of those reasons explained the way he had made her feel tonight, as if her body were slowly coming alive. The sensation was both terrifying and exhilarating. He hadn't made any secret of the fact that he disliked her, but at the same time, she sensed he was attracted to her.

  Without warning, she felt tears gathering in her eyes. For years she hadn't even let herself dream that something like this could happen. Was she being a fool or was there a chance she might be ready to reclaim her womanhood?

  Her headlights picked up the wooden mailbox, and she blinked her eyes. There was no name on it, but the number was right, and she braked as she turned into the narrow, graveled country lane. The night was cloudy, with b
arely enough moonlight to reveal an old orchard. She drove across a small wooden bridge and around a gentle curve before she saw the lights.

  The rambling stone farmhouse wasn't anything like the sleek bachelor's pad she had imagined. Built of wood and stone, it had three chimneys and a wing off to one side. Steps led up to an old-fashioned front porch that was surrounded by a spindled railing. In the welcoming light that glowed through the front windows, she saw that the shutters and front door were painted a pearly gray.

  Her tires crunched in the gravel as she pulled up to the house and turned off the ignition. Abruptly, the exterior lights went out followed by the interior ones. She hesitated. She must have caught him just as he was going to bed. Still, he wasn't asleep yet.

  Snatching the videotape up from the seat before she lost her nerve, she opened the car door and stepped out. An owl hooted in the distance, an eerie sound that made her even more uneasy. As she walked cautiously toward the front porch, she wished it weren't so dark.

  Resting her hand on the railing, she gingerly climbed the four stone steps. In the thick darkness the chirp of the crickets sounded ominous instead of friendly, like creaking hinges in a haunted house. She couldn't find a doorbell, only a heavy iron knocker. She lifted it, then flinched as it hit with a dull thud.

  Seconds ticked by, but no one answered. Growing increasingly nervous, she rapped again, then wished she hadn't because she knew she had made a terrible mistake. This was embarrassing. There was no way she could explain her presence. What had she been thinking of? She was going to slip away and—

  She gasped as a hand clamped over her mouth. Before she could react, a powerful arm grabbed her around the waist from behind. All the blood drained from her head and her legs buckled as she found herself pinioned.

  A menacing voice whispered in her ear. "I'm taking you into the woods."

  She was paralyzed with fear. She tried to scream but she couldn't make a sound. It was just like the night when she was eighteen. Her feet left the ground, and he carried her down the steps as if she weighed nothing. Blackness and panic suffocated her. He dragged her toward the trees with his mouth pressed against her ear.