Courage rose in her. She was tired of being curious. She’d just ask him. “Ian, I was wondering—”
“When we can go to White Lake?”
He’d anticipated the wrong question, and she waited.
Ian moved back behind his desk and eyed his calendar. “Not next weekend. That’s the Bay Breeze summer picnic. We can’t miss that.”
She swallowed her original question, which tangled in his latest statement. “What do you mean we can’t miss that?”
“If you’re my girl, then you’ll have to go with me. Right?”
His comment addled her. “But I’m not really your girl.”
“No one knows that.” A wry grin settled on his face. “Anyway, you’ll have a blast. Food and games. All kinds of things.”
“I don’t like games,” she said. Her double meaning hung in the air.
“But you like food.”
He’d missed her innuendo, and she chuckled. “I can’t deny that.”
“Then it’s settled.” He rose from the desk and patted a file folder she’d given him. “I’ll look over this Internet information and let you know what I think.”
“That’s fine,” she said, sensing that he had to get back to work. She picked up her shoulder bag from the floor and rose. “Then I’ll talk with you—”
“Wait a minute. I’m not letting you go yet.” He rounded the desk and reached her side. “The boss’ll want to know if the resort has enough property for the boat sheds…if that’s what you recommend. I thought we’d take a walk along the beach, and we can talk about the layout.”
Walk on the beach? She looked down at her shoes. He hadn’t mentioned walking on the beach. “I’m not dressed for a beach hike.” She swung her leg and pointed to her feet.
He eyed her dress shoes, then shrugged. “Ever walked barefoot on the beach?”
“Sure, but I have on…never mind.” She tried to imagine her panty-hose-covered feet moving through the sand. She curbed the scowl growing on her face.
“I’m teasing. We can take the sidewalk…just to get an idea.”
A warm flush rose up her neck. “Never thought about a sidewalk.” She hadn’t been thinking about much of anything lately. Something as logical as a sidewalk had escaped her usually organized, well-tuned brain. Ian’s effect on her turned her mind into a whirlpool.
She followed him down the hall, and when her heels hit the granite-tiled lobby, she noticed Jeff standing near the registration desk.
Apparently Ian had spotted him, too. As if they had held hands a lifetime, he slipped his fingers through hers as they crossed the wide expanse toward the outside door.
“What’s up?” Jeff called to them.
Ian halted. “We’re going out to look at the grounds. Esther’s doing a research project for Philip.”
“I’ve heard,” Jeff said. He gave Esther a wink. “It’s a nice day. Enjoy your walk.”
“I will,” Esther said, her playful tone making its point. As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed. How did God feel about her trifling with the truth? Though she and Ian were spending time together, their relationship had not been the romantic one that they were trying to convince her sister and Jeff it was.
With his hand entwined with Esther’s, Ian led her through the doorway and down the slanted path to the lower sidewalk along the sand. Aware of Ian’s palm against hers, Esther felt a pleasant tingle race up her arm, a sensation she oddly enjoyed. Yet knowing their act was only a scam, she knew the feeling should be ignored.
When they were away from the building, Esther let her hand drop from Ian’s. “The coast is clear,” she said, forcing a quick smile.
Ian glanced back toward the resort. “Maybe not. Jeff’s curious. He might still be watching us, and he’ll get suspicious if we don’t look cozy.”
Instead of grasping her hand again, he slipped his arm around her waist and moved closer to her side as they ambled along the sidewalk. The pleasant tingle she’d felt earlier generated into an electrical current that coursed along her frame. What was happening to her?
When they stopped midway along the sidewalk, Ian halted and pointed out the property line.
Esther struggled to think of boat sheds and docks, while her mind reeled with the heated current that charged through her.
This had to stop. She’d been without a man’s company and attention forever. But now that she’d tasted the sweetness of a relationship, even the thought of being alone caused her to miss the companionship already.
“What do you think?” Ian asked.
Her muddied thoughts pulled snippets of information and earlier discussion from her seared brain, and she gave a response she hoped made sense.
“Once the recommendation is made,” he said, “I can help you sketch up some rough schematics. Just so Philip gets the idea.”
“That would be helpful. Thanks.”
The wind blew her hair, and she tucked the wayward tresses behind her ear. While Ian’s spicy citrus aftershave floated past her, tantalizing her, she realized her feelings had begun to change. Though the sun’s warmth played on her skin, inside, icy tendrils of concern slithered through her.
The game Ian played had become real to Esther.
Chapter Eight
Ian spooned up a healthy portion of potato salad and ladled it next to his second bratwurst. He loved those German sausages and rarely ate them, so this was a treat.
Standing away from the picnic table unobserved, he regarded Esther. She’d worn jeans with a pink-and-blue-striped knit top, and as a joke, when he picked her up she’d worn a baseball cap—backward.
She’d told him how much she disliked sports, and he knew if she came to the picnic his co-workers would goad her into playing softball. In past years the game had been the highlight of the day. Avoiding the fact that she’d be miserable, Ian wanted Esther there anyway—for himself more than their charade.
Funny how Esther had gotten under his skin. He’d always admired her at the library. She seemed like a down-to-earth woman—someone who knew where to find the answer to anything, someone who had life under control. He’d seen that in her home. Even there, her organization and neatness gave her house a no-nonsense feeling. Just like Esther.
But Ian wished she could relax. Many times he’d wanted to tell her how he really felt about her. How his feelings had grown from admiration to something deeper. But he wanted no part of having Esther laugh in his face or tell him he’d misunderstood her intentions. He’d had that experience too many times before.
The day they’d walked along the beach he’d enjoyed holding her hand, but she’d dropped it as if she’d been asked to hold a toad. Somehow he’d tugged a little gumption from his resources and slipped his arm around her waist. The feeling nestled against his heart like a sleepy head against a downy pillow. He felt comfortable and complete with her at his side.
Pulling himself from his thoughts, Ian looked across the grass toward Esther. She was staring at him. He’d taken too long, dawdling with her in his thoughts. He gave her a wave and headed back.
“Hi,” Ian said, lifting his leg over the plank seat and settling down beside Esther.
“Thought you got lost,” she said, lifting the paper napkin to wipe her mouth. “Good food…just like you said.”
He wanted to tell her the softball game would be fun, too. Instead, he only nodded and took a bite of the brat.
“Those things are delicious,” she said. “But I’m too full to have another. I saved room for some watermelon.”
“What? No pie?” He gave an admiring glance at her slender frame.
“Fruit’s better for the figure.” She patted her belly, as if she were overweight.
Her figure looked great to him, but he kept his mouth shut.
She rose, and he watched her walk to the buffet table, returning soon with a slice of melon. With her fork she flicked out the seeds, then cut off a chunk and slipped it into her mouth.
Ian gazed at her, noticing
her lips were as naturally rosy as the watermelon. She ran her tongue over them to catch the juice, and his muscles tensed, thinking of her in his arms.
“Sweet as sugar,” she said, flicking out a few more seeds and lopping off another piece.
To Ian, she was sweet as sugar.
“The seedless sound like a good idea, but have you eaten one?” she asked.
His mind had halted at her soft lips, and when her words soaked in, it took a moment to grasp what she’d said. “Never had one.”
“They’re not sweet like this. Try a piece.” She selected a bright red section and sliced her fork into the juicy pulp, then lifted the sizable chunk to his mouth.
Watching her eyes focus on his mouth and her hand guiding the fork to his lips sent his heart on a romp. If he dismissed his good sense for one moment, he’d take her in his arms and experience the feeling of her sugary lips against his.
But Ian tried to be a practical man. Instead, he opened his mouth and accepted her offering. She’d been correct. The melon tasted as she’d described.
She grinned and pulled the fork away, returning her attention to flicking away the seeds.
When the food had dwindled and the leftovers were stored, people were roused to get the game started. Ian rose, stretched his arms over his head and did a couple of knee bends and toe touches for exercise.
“Ready, partner?” he asked, yanking her baseball cap from the table and plopping it on her head.
“Not me,” she said, holding her hands up to push him away. “I’m a spectator.” She pulled off the cap and dropped it on the table. “This was a joke.”
“Sorry. You can’t be.” He stood beside her, tapping his foot.
“What do you mean?”
“They won’t let you. Everyone plays…except a couple of elderly ladies. You’re not elderly.”
“I’m much older than I look,” she said, clinging to the table.
Rachel and Jeff headed their way, and Rachel’s voice sailed to meet them. “Come on, Esther. It’s all in fun.”
Esther sent her sister a glowering stare. “Let’s define fun.”
“Be a good sport. Come on,” Jeff said, beckoning her to follow.
A few others began to taunt her as Ian had feared, and with purposeful slow motion, Esther slid her legs over the plank seat and stood. She plopped the cap on her head and spun it around sideways. “You’ll live to regret this,” she said to Ian.
Her faint smile eased his worry while she dragged along beside him.
They split into teams—the Bays and the Breezes—then decided positions. Since the Bays won the toss and were at bat, Ian flung Esther a glove. “You’re second base and I’m at first.”
She glowered at him.
He pointed to the second-base bag. “Smile. You’re having fun.”
She marched to second base, and in a few minutes the game began.
Struggling to keep focused on the play, Ian preferred to watch Esther. She’d donned her mitt and stood with one foot on the bag, her hands resting on her thighs. For a woman who hated sports, she looked as if she knew what she was doing.
When the Bays hit a line drive, the shortstop reached for the ball, but missed. To Ian’s amazement, Esther leaped into the air and caught the ball.
“Out,” came the call.
The next plays went fast, and with no score, the Breezes were up to bat.
Ian headed for Esther and clamped his hand on her shoulder. “I thought you hated sports.”
“I do.”
“But you look like you know what you’re doing. I couldn’t believe when you caught that ball.”
“I didn’t say I’ve never played,” she said, smacking her fist into the mitt. “I just hate it. I don’t like competition.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re amazing.” To Ian, Esther seemed like a locked box with all kinds of wonderful things inside, but no one had the key. Today he’d had a brief peek, reveling in her wealth of surprises. Pride settled in his chest. His girl and his team.
His girl. She wasn’t his girl…yet. He’d had a long talk with God about Esther. But all that seemed clear was to give her time.
The game flew, and each inning made Ian gape with pleasure at the woman who’d told him she didn’t like competition.
The opposing Bays had moved ahead in the sixth inning. When the Breezes came up to bat, Ian bristled with determination. He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. Pressure was on. The first two batters had failed to get on base.
When Ian headed for the plate, Jeff strolled to his side and plopped his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Let’s get serious. Try to hit the ball between the second and third baseman. They’re both bungling.”
Ian chuckled. His aim was to hit the ball. The direction would be a surprise. “Sure thing, Jeff.”
Jeff stepped away, and Ian took a couple of practice swings, then stepped up to bat.
He eyed the pitcher, and as the ball shot toward him, he swung.
“Strike one,” the umpire called behind him.
He concentrated on the pitcher. This time the ball came in low, and Ian shifted his leg to miss it.
“Ball one.”
He riveted his focus on the pitching mound, ready. This time it was high.
“Ball two.”
Ian calculated. He’d thrown him two balls, slow and easy. Speculating, he looked for a fast, straight ball. Ian tightened his stance, waiting.
The ball barreled toward him. Like a wound spring, Ian let the bat fly. The whack resounded, and the ball soared. Ian didn’t hesitate. He dropped the bat and ran for first. The first baseman stood alert, waiting for the ball. Ian flew past first and slid into second just before the second baseman’s catch.
His team cheered, and he braced his left hand on his thigh and wiped away the perspiration from his forehead with the other.
Esther came up to bat. She’d shifted her cap, and now the bill was in back.
Ian grinned, but no smile softened Esther’s look. Grasping the bat high over her right shoulder, she waited at the plate, her trim legs extended in a confident stance, her eyes on the ball, the bat ready to spring.
On second base, Ian squinted at the pitcher, then looked at Esther and held his breath.
The pitcher’s arm shot forward as the ball tore from his hand, low, straight and fast.
But Esther had anticipated the pitch. Lowering her stance, she hit the ball with a crack, and her legs propelled her forward before Ian had gotten his bearings. With the ball heading for right field, Ian pushed off the bag and raced to third, then home.
When the dust settled, Esther stood on second base, and the Breezes had evened the score.
Jim Mason came to the plate and smashed the ball beyond the left fielder. Esther passed third, then crossed home plate, and Jim followed, moving their score up two runs.
Amid the cheers, Ian pulled Esther into his arms, giving her a giant hug. “You’re a trouper.”
“That’s why I hate competition. I’m not a happy loser,” she said.
Her response gave him a good laugh, and he tousled her hair as she stepped aside.
“Give the lady a kiss for that run,” a voice called out.
He chuckled and caught Esther’s hand, knowing Jeff’s and Rachel’s attention was glued to their actions.
“If you don’t, I will,” Jim said, giving Ian a nudge.
Esther blanched. Her gaze clung to his as if she was wondering what he would do. Trying to look as if he’d done it a million times, Ian drew her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers, to cheers of encouragement. He drew back in a heartbeat, but the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips lingered.
Smiling at the crowd, Esther stepped away. But Ian noticed the flush on her neck and the unsteady movement of her step. He’d flustered her. But was the reaction positive or negative? Had she enjoyed the kiss…or resented it? With no time to ponder his question, he stepped out of the way for the next batter.
/> By the bottom of the ninth inning, the game was tied—eight all. “Okay, this is it,” Ian said, moving into step with Esther. “One more run and the game’s over.”
“I’ll do that myself just to get this finished.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist, “you’re enjoying every minute of this.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I am? Funny. I didn’t know that.”
He’d enjoyed every minute of it. Being with her…and the kiss. The memory washed over him. He prayed the experience wouldn’t put a new barrier between them as so many things had. “I hope you understood about the kiss. I didn’t have much…”
She glanced at him, then looked away. “You didn’t have any choice. I understand.”
Did he hear disdain in her voice? He’d have kissed her on his own if she’d invited it. Everything he did left him uncertain.
When Ian came up to bat, a man was on second. If he could get a good hit, their team could score the winning run.
He eyed the pitcher, trying to read his behavior. Thinking back to his pattern, he expected a low pitch, then a high, before coming home for a strike. Ian took his place and readied his stance.
The ball shot forward.
“Strike one.”
Strike? He narrowed his eyes, taking in the pitcher. The guy had fooled him. He’d be ready next time.
The ball sailed toward him. With assurance he swung and missed.
“Strike two.”
His confidence sinking into the ground, Ian faced the pitcher. He took a calming breath, then lifted the bat.
The ball came at him straight and slow. Ian timed his swing, and as the ball dropped into place, he thrust the bat forward, heard the thwack and headed for first.
“Out.”
He skidded to a halt and looked at the pitcher holding his pop-up.
With his head hanging, Ian strode back to the team and studied Esther as she marched forward. She’d said she hated to lose, and even though this was only a sandlot game, he hated defeat, too.
Esther had turned her cap around, the bill low on her forehead. With the bat dangling at her side, she stood a moment facing the mound, like a judge weighing the sentence.
Loving Hearts Page 8