by Dana Taylor
Phil gently tugged on her hand and brought her close to him, swaying to the haunting love song. He held her far enough away from his body to look into her face and talk. "You know how to cut a rug, Miss Harris. But you're a little idiot, you know that don't you?"
Her eyes flashed darkly and she tried to push away. "You are the most insulting person I have ever met."
He squeezed her hand and tightened his grip at her waist. "Getting between two raging bulls isn't a bright move. You could have gotten hurt by those guys, sweetheart."
She looked down. "Oh...I suppose so. I just thought they'd stop."
"Honey, never get between two males during mating season."
She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. "I'll try to remember that. Thanks for coming to the rescue."
"Anytime, cupcake, anytime."
They continued rocking as Randy's mellow voice crooned about a blue moon and longing for someone to care for. Throbbing music. Pulsing heartbeats.
Maddie couldn't take her gaze away from Phil's face. In the shadowy light he appeared so strong, his square jaw and chiseled features supremely male. A serious, compelling expression replaced the smart aleck smirk. His intense gaze held her as firmly in place as his brawny arms. Something was happening here. She could feel it, a spinning of invisible threads twisting around them as the music played on. She imagined a blue cocoon materializing out of the notes pouring from the bandstand.
"What do your friends call you?" he asked.
"Maddie," she said softly.
Maddie. He liked it. It promised the soft underside of the hard surfaced Madeleine. The cashmere under his hand on her lower back had a sensual feel and he moved his fingers ever so slightly over the texture. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. For the moment the usual burden of bitterness, frustration, guilt and cynicism lifted from his shoulders and life seemed to have possibilities. Looking into the wide eyes of Maddie Harris, he felt like the man he was supposed to be.
They finished the dance locked in each other's gaze knowing something beyond words was transpiring between them. Something that transcended the mere sexual attraction of a slow dance. Reflections from the mirrored ball glinted on their faces with hypnotizing rhythm, shadow and light, sparkle and space. Like being caught in the beam of that ol’ Devil Moon…
Chapter Five
There once was a girl who had a curl right in the middle of her forehead,
When she was good she was very, very good
but when she was bad, she was horrid
Mother Goose
As the school dance spun on, Wade Finn sat in his living room, pissed off. The damned DEA had burned his marijuana fields today. It had been such a sweet operation, growing plots of weed here and there in the hills. Now how the hell was he going pay for his race cars and get to the meets? Busting his butt with the wrecker truck would be a pain in the ass.
As he sat on the sofa in his ramshackle living room nursing a beer and popping a couple pills, he looked around at all the crap in the room. Yeah, he had some nice things, the big screen TV, the workout equipment, video games. He liked his fifty-gallon aquarium with the monster fish that ate the goldfish he fed them. Of course the furniture looked like hell with dirty upholstery covering the couch and chairs. With all these damn kids, what could you expect?
At that moment, bickering children grated on Wade's nerves as they sat around the Formica kitchen table finishing off macaroni and cheese. George, age twelve, and Vince, age eight, engaged in a shoving match. Faith, the five-year old, colored a picture until Vince stole her crayons. She screeched like a bobcat. Baby Garth banged his high chair with his cup, jabbering and laughing.
Wade stared at the noisy kids, saw Ginger's fat ass washing dishes at the sink with the ever-burning cigarette dangling out of her mouth and just wanted to punch something. He was strapped with all these mouths to feed when he should be out making a name for himself. He should be on the race car circuit right now being the next, by God, Dale Ernhardt, instead of sitting around in this hellhole waiting for all the kids to go to bed so he could finally get some with his old lady. Life was so frigging unfair.
He stood up and hollered, "Can't you shut these kids up?"
Ginger twirled around, aware of his edgy mood. But she had worries of her own. With the pot money gone, what were they going to do? She'd tried working before, but making minimum wage down in the town didn't add up to squat. And who would take care of the baby?
She hollered back, "They're not botherin' you!"
"The hell they're not!"
He took angry strides to the table, swept his arm across the surface, sending bowls of sticky pasta flying. "Supper's over! Go to bed!"
Faith howled as chunks of macaroni ruined her pretty colored picture. The baby laughed and threw his bowl onto the floor. George and Vince quickly stood up and ran from the room.
Ginger grabbed Garth out of the high chair and hugged him in her arms. As she cast angry looks at Wade, she talked to Faith. "Take your colors and git to bed."
Faith cried, "He wrecked my picture!"
Ginger tried to keep her voice even. "I know. You can make another 'un tomorrow."
Faith wiped her eyes with the back of hands as she gathered up her crayons. When she reached the kitchen door she turned around, looked at Wade and yelled, "You turd!"
Wade took one step in her direction and she high-tailed it up the makeshift stairs in the hall to the room she shared with Reba.
He turned on Ginger. "You should teach them kids some manners!"
"I'm givin' the baby a bath and puttin' him to bed." Ginger disappeared into the hall.
Wade trudged back to the couch, dug for the remote and grabbed another swig of beer. As he surfed the channels he hoped there was something good to watch, maybe some wrestling or a rerun of Married, With Children.
* * *
On Saturday morning the scent of fall filled the air, a whiff of change. Maddie stretched on the running track that encircled the Beaver Cove High football field. A blacktop ribbon surrounded the green grass. She often ran on Saturday mornings before going into her office to catch up on paperwork neglected during the week. She simply couldn't abide facing a backlog on Monday morning. Two hours of undisturbed diligence equaled eight hours of work accomplished during a normal school day.
Dressed in her leggings and matching running gear, she longed to pump her legs and feel the blood rush through her veins. At seven o'clock she had the track to herself with no neighborhood joggers, no teenagers–-no disturbing football coaches.
Maddie lifted her feet for a slow warm-up lap, thinking about those heady moments at the dance. It hadn't lasted long, standing there under the spell of Blue Moon. But remembering it now rekindled the warmth, recaptured the trance.
Scared the bejeebes out her.
She liked having control and sensed the Coach resisted anyone's control. He was an arrogant jock and Thursday's slow dance was just some sort of high after their fast jitterbug. Yes, that's what it was–like runner's euphoria. Nothing personal existed between herself and the smug coach. Nothing personal at all. She continued running, congratulating herself on putting the whole thing into perspective.
Phil pulled his car into the football stadium parking lot. The pressure of the day gripped his chest. His first football game as a coach. He'd been awake since four, read the paper, and finally gotten dressed. Standing in his messy apartment, he'd known he should make an attempt at cleaning it up. Then he thought, screw it. He'd rather go to school, work out, and get ready for the game. He shouldn't be so nervous over a high school football game, for Chrissake, but he was jittery as hell.
Watching from his car, a running figure caught his eye at the far end of the track, undoubtedly a local early bird. Then he recognized the Camry to his right and he focused on the runner again. A smile filled his face and the tension in his chest eased. Something about Miss Harris, make that “Maddie,” made him grin. As she rounded the bend runn
ing toward him, he noticed her perfectly coordinated running clothes: purple and black togs, purple leggings and headband. Yeah, she could be an ad for Runner Magazine. He decided a few laps might also do him some good.
As she began her third lap, she unclipped the water bottle attached at her waist and threw her head back for a big gulp.
"It's a mighty fine day for a run, Miss Harris. Mind if I join you?"
He pulled up beside her, coming out of nowhere. She choked on the water, embarrassing herself by spewing liquid out of her mouth in a completely unladylike manner. Coughing, she tripped over her own shoes and would have gone sprawling if Phil hadn't caught her in a bear hug.
"Whoa," he said, "are you all right?"
She pushed away from him. “For heaven's sake! What are you sneaking up on me for?"
"Honey, when these size fifteens hit the pavement, I don't sneak up on anybody. I can't help it if you were in your own little dream world."
Maddie blushed. She'd been reliving that darn dance.
She took a deep breath. "Well, at any rate, I didn't hear you. I wasn't expecting anyone out here this early."
He looked her over admiringly. "Great outfit."
She observed his odd ensemble: blue base ball cap, maroon sweat shirt with the arms cut off over a green t-shirt and brown sweat pants.
Looking very serious, she said, "I have to ask–are you color blind?"
He dropped back his head and laughed. "No, I just don't give a rat's ass about clothes. I pull things out of the clean clothes hamper."
"Don't you have a dresser? A closet?"
"Yeah, but the clothes don't make it that far. Hey, I'm doing good getting them in and out of the washer and dryer."
"Well, yes, I suppose that's something."
His gaze traveled her body with an appraising grin, making her feel extremely self-conscious.
She cleared her throat. "I like to jog here when I can. It's easier to get a rhythm going where it's flat. It's very hilly where I live."
He was staring at her now and asked in a low voice, "And where do you live, Maddie?"
Feeling like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, she answered weakly, "In the hills..."
He nodded. "Ah."
They stood there staring at each other like a couple of goofy teenagers until Phil snapped to. "So, did you come to run or flirt with me?"
Embarrassed outrage filled her big blue eyes. "I do not flirt and I certainly wouldn't flirt with you if I did." She pushed off.
Keeping up with her, he said, "No, you'd save that come hither glance for Phineas Manchester."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Just shut up and run."
And so they did. They ran and ran, keeping pace with each other amazingly well. She was long in the leg at five foot seven, something he admired greatly. Maintaining grace and elegance while sweating around a track took some doing, but somehow she managed it. He imagined her wearing a fancy ballroom gown, himself dressed in a tux, spinning a waltz in a garden setting, the light dim and intimate. He shook his head, thinking, man where did that come from? He was probably getting dehydrated.
After seven laps, they were panting like dogs. Maddie's water bottle was empty and Phil's throat completely parched. He would have stopped at five laps, but pride is a powerful stimulus. Maddie slowed her pace as they reached the bleachers and stopped to hold onto the front railing, taking measured breaths.
"That's…enough…for me," she said.
"Really?" he said inhaling huge gulps of air. He was about to lie and say he was good for three more laps, but instead spit out, "Thank God!"
They laughed and limped up onto the bleachers.
The early morning breeze felt good passing through their damp clothes as they caught their breath on the metal benches. Maddie grabbed a knapsack she had stowed and pulled out a small towel she draped around her neck. Then she brought out two water bottles and threw one to Phil.
"Granola bar?" she asked.
Phil winced. "Never touch the stuff, but thanks for the water. You do come prepared, don't you?"
"I find a bit of careful planning makes life much easier."
Maddie sat very straight, patting herself with the towel, drank water and looked out over the field. A mockingbird dive-bombed a pair of squirrels playing in a large elm tree that grew near the chain link fence. The slant of the sun sparkled everything with a fresh, clean look.
Phil sprawled back, rested his arms on the bench behind and locked his gaze on Maddie's profile. Her nose turned up at the end, making her look cute and snooty at the same time.
Laying on a thick accent he said, "So, Miz Harris, where do you holler from? You don't sound like ya'll come from these here parts."
He was teasing her again and, darn it, she liked it.
"I'm from Boston originally, but my father was raised here and I spent my summers in Beaver Cove with my Grammy, uh, Grandmother. What about you? Are you a native?"
"Oh yeah. You can take the man out of Arkansas, but you can't take Arkansas out of the man. I've bounced around a lot, but I guess you could say I've come full circle, hoping to beat the Bender Tigers. Only this time, I'm the coach instead of the quarterback."
She turned and looked at him. "Oh, that's right. Your opening game is tonight. Are you nervous?"
Phil shrugged. "Nervous? It's only a high school football game. It's nothing to lose any sleep over." Maddie's honest blue eyes tore down his defenses. "Listen, I won't kid you. Okay, I'm nervous. These kids might pull it together or they might just get clobbered. It could go either way. These boys are depending on me for leadership and I'm not sure I'm getting through to them. I really don't want to screw this up."
Phil's hand rested on the bench and Maddie instinctively covered it with her own. "I have the feeling you're the sort of person who gets the job done. I've read your resume. You're vastly over qualified for this position. Just do what you've been trained to do and expect the best from your boys. They'll give it to you."
Phil lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." He turned his hand over and captured hers. "So you read my resume, huh? Part of the job or personal curiosity?"
Maddie said nothing and tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tighter and began making little circles with his thumb over her knuckles.
"May I have my hand back, please?"
The sides of his lips turned up every so slightly. "I'm not finished with it yet. You know, I'm curious about you, too. I ask myself what a woman with your education and drive is doing in this hick town. I see you in your little business suits and those awful dark-rimmed glasses and I wonder who you think you're fooling. You try to be a real hard-ass, but, honey, I can see right through you."
She pulled her hand away from his relentless minor caress, feeling breathless. And it wasn't from the running. "I congratulate you on your superior x-ray vision, Mr. Wilcox, but I can assure you I am exactly as I appear. I'm organized, disciplined and neat–all attributes which appear to elude you. I dress in a manner suited to my position and I expect a certain amount of respect from the students and the staff. However, every time I'm near you I feel as though you're mocking me, laughing at some sort of private joke at my expense. I can tell you, I don't like it."
Phil's brown eyes crinkled as he leaned a little closer in her direction. "You know what it is, don't you? You want everyone to see you as the assistant principal and I look at you as a woman. You're afraid of being a woman, aren't you, Maddie?"
They stared at each other almost nose to nose. He had seriously ticked her off. She needed some sort of snappy reply. Afraid of being a woman. She'd tell him. She'd show him....
She cupped her hands around his cheeks and came at his mouth with intensity, her hot lips taking the smirk off his face. She'd show him who was afraid of being a woman.
As she pressed her mouth to his, she anticipated his surprise. Weren't expecting this, were you, macho man?
Of course…she wasn't expecting spontaneo
us combustion. She felt it happening. Pow! The strings, the cords of control she'd so carefully laced around her inner woman began popping. She could almost hear them–zing, ping, snap! Phil's arms wrapped around her and the kiss transformed from an assault to a surrender. She folded into him, going soft and pliant. Total meltdown.
Phil lifted his head, saying hoarsely, "I take it back."
Maddie blinked, struggling to focus, trying to regain strength. "What? Take what back?"
"The crack about your being afraid of being a woman. Honey, you are all woman." His brown eyes smiled, almost merry.
Coming back to her senses, Maddie pushed away and stood up, a little unsteady. "I really have a lot of work to do. I need a cup of coffee." Oh, God, did she need coffee.
She nervously packed her little knapsack, keenly aware of Phil’s frank stare.
He said, "Thanks for the run. I feel better about facing the day."
She started to walk down the steps. "Good."
"Are you coming to the game?"
She stopped and turned to look at him. She'd planned on renting a video to watch at home. Her eyes softened. "Of course, wouldn't miss it. I'll be rooting for you."
He smiled a teddy bear grin. "Good."
* * *
Maddie stood before her closet at six o'clock that evening, still groggy from an afternoon nap. She'd meant to do laundry and run the vacuum, but weariness overcame her and she crashed on her flowered quilt. She chose a t-shirt bearing the beaver mascot, jeans, and coordinating jacket.
Examining her myriad of scarves, she procured an appropriate match and tied it on. The trademark began as a lark at the school and now was expected. Students would think her half-naked without it. At Christmas she received boxes of imaginative scarves from favorite students. Slipping into comfortable flats, she headed for the door just as Randy rang the bell.
She opened the door. He wore a raccoon coat and carried a megaphone. "Who are you supposed to be–Rudy Vallee?"
"You've got it! Going to the first football game of the season is so 1920's, makes me want to do the Varsity Drag. I should have told you to dress as Clara Bow."