by Francis Ray
“That was Haskall’s second chance?” she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.
“Actually, it was his first. His brother, Carl, is one of my best drivers. When I hired Haskall, I told him one slip and he was history. I can abide almost anything—except a liar.”
Dominique finally had the strength to move away. What would Trent say when he found out the half-truths she had been telling him? “I’d better go in.”
“You think I’m too severe?” he asked.
“No.” The answer came softly. In any other circumstances, he’d have her admiration. How many other employees would have given the driver a chance? “Actually, I think you’re a very nice man.”
He scowled. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
Because she now understood where he was coming from, she smiled. “Not when you consider I haven’t met someone like you in a very long time.”
Everything in Trent stilled except his galloping heart. There were so many questions he wanted to ask about her past, about the men in her life, but right now he just wanted to feel her softness, inhale the light fragrance she wore.
“I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“Is that good or bad?” she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.
His hands settled possessively on the curve of her waist. “Definitely good.”
She licked her dry lips, her body trembling. “Trent, I—”
“It’s all right. We’ll go as slow as you need to,” he said, his head bending, his lips brushing softly against her cheek. Then he released her and stepped back. “Thanks for worrying about me and staying up. No one has ever done that before.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and sorrow.
He must have seen the sorrow because he said, “No one has ever tucked me into bed, either. You want to come over and make that a first, too?”
The words were said half teasingly, but the image of Trent in bed and reaching for her flashed through her mind. Heat splintered through her. “I think you can manage on your own. Goodnight.”
Turning, she fled back into the house, closing the sliding glass door behind her. One day you’re going to run all the way to me, thought Trent.
He stood waiting for the light to go off in her room, to know Dominique was in bed. Instead, the light came on in the den. A frown worked its way across his forehead. He had taken a step toward the house to see if things were all right when Dominique came rushing out, carrying something in her hand.
Breathless, her hair tousled around her face, she stopped in front of him. “I was afraid you’d be gone. I thought you might be hungry.”
Trent felt an odd twist of his heart. He accepted the tray covered with a linen napkin with shaky hands. “I am. Thanks.”
Moistening her lips, she stepped back. “Goodnight, and thanks for the flowers and champagne.”
“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Dominique. Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
“I will now,” he confessed.
“So will I,” she whispered softly, then ran back into the house soundlessly.
Chapter Nine
Dominique knew she was dragging Saturday morning and acknowledged the reason: she wanted to see Trent before she went to work. She had slowly jogged by his house, but this time she hadn’t seen the slight flicker of the curtain or felt his gaze. Somehow the run hadn’t been the same.
Returning home, she had showered, dressed, and gone to the kitchen. As usual, Janice was there preparing breakfast. While helping her Dominique had told her that she and Trent had talked and everything was fine between them.
Janice had turned from slicing grapefruit and given Dominique a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The pride in her godmother’s brown eyes touched her. They both had expected Trent to show up for breakfast. He hadn’t.
Janice had left at nine for her antique store. Finally, at nine-thirty, Dominique couldn’t wait any longer. She reasoned that he was probably still asleep after all he had been through. She’d see him that afternoon, surely, but somehow that seemed a long time away.
Outside, she got into her car, tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, and backed out. The Jaguar had barely straightened when she heard her name.
She hit the brakes sharply, sending her purse sliding to the floor. Her gaze locked on Trent sprinting across his yard toward her in a pair of faded denim jeans, the tail of his open blue shirt flapping. His long feet were bare. He looked sleep-rumpled and huggable.
“Hey, I almost missed you,” he said, grinning down at her, one hand on the hood of the car.
Dominique felt her heart rate increase, and smiled up at him. “Good morning. I’m glad you didn’t.”
His face softened at her admission. “Once I check on Haskall and the cleanup site, I’m going to watch the football team I sponsor today. Care to come with me?”
“What time?” She didn’t even have to think. She had decided last night, when she handed him the tray and he had looked so stunned and pleased, that she wasn’t running anymore. Such a small thing, but it had apparently meant so much to him. A man who could appreciate such a simple gesture could be trusted with her newly awakening feelings.
“Around three,” he answered.
“I have a few errands to run, but I should be home by two-thirty.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up then. I have to get the drinks. What should I get for you?” he asked.
“Bottled water.”
“Any particular kind?” he asked.
“Anything you choose will be fine,” she said.
“A man likes an agreeable woman.”
“With the right man that isn’t difficult,” she bantered easily.
His gaze centered on her lips, then he stepped back. “See you at two-thirty.”
Dominique drove away with a silly smile on her face, and she wasn’t going to worry about it. She was going to enjoy her time with Trent and take one day at a time. If that broke every rule in her book, so be it.
* * *
Trent, in jeans, black polo shirt, and baseball cap was waiting for Dominique on Janice’s front porch when she drove into the driveway at 2:45. Slamming out of the car, she hurried toward him. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was a snarled mess.”
Standing, he smiled easily at her. “As long as you’re here.”
Opening the door, she waved him to a seat in the living room. “I won’t be but a minute.”
He laughed. “Somehow I doubt that.” He laughed harder when she frowned at him over her retreating shoulder. “These games never start on time, so don’t worry.”
“It’s just that I hate people to wait for me,” she said, rounding the hall corner.
“Some things are worth the wait.”
She paused, threw a smile over her shoulder, then quickly entered her room. She had already decided what she would wear, so it was a matter of throwing off her oyster pleated slacks and blouse and pulling on a raspberry-colored camp shirt and khaki walking shorts. Next came switching her handbag, jewelry, and shoes. Her room was a mess, but in less than three minutes she was back in the living room.
“Ready.”
Trent glanced up from the magazine he was flipping through. His gaze tracked her from the raspberry sun visor to the colorful scarf tied on the strap of her purse to the white tennis shoes, then back up again. She had knockout legs that made a man’s hands itch.
“Isn’t this all right?”
“More than all right. You’re beautiful.”
Dominique blushed—something she couldn’t remember doing since she was a teenager. “Thank you. It’s in the genes. My mother’s family is very striking. When she married my father, a full-blooded Muscogee Indian, it made an interesting mix.”
Trent studied her intently. As if unable to help himself, he stroked the knuckle of his hand down her cheek and let it remain there. “Fascinating and exquisite would be more like it.”
The reverence in his tone as much as his touch made her shiver. H
e smelled good. She wanted to move closer and wrap herself in his scent, in him. All she had to do was lean forward and—
“If you do we’ll never make it to the game,” Trent growled, his eyes dark and intense.
She took all her courage in her hands. “Would that be so bad?”
“I promised.” His hand fell.
Dominique watched the need mixed with regret in his dark chocolate eyes. Here was a man any woman or child or friend could count on. “Then let’s go. On the way, I can tell you about the fantastic sale I made with Bruiser and his wife, and you can tell me why you didn’t mention his nickname.”
Throwing his arm around her shoulders, Trent started to lead her out of the room. “If I had told you I wanted you to photograph a Cowboy named Bruiser you would have tossed me out of your studio.”
“Point taken.”
“On the other hand, the teenagers on the football team you’re going to meet think Bruiser and his teammates are the coolest guys anywhere.” Trent opened the front door and locked the glass door after them. “And when they learn you took his picture, you’re going to be besieged by every player there.”
Dominique’s eyes widened.
Trent kissed her quickly on the lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
* * *
Twenty-five minutes later when they arrived at Kiest Park, Dominique’s insides were still quivering like gelatin in an earthquake. Trent hadn’t acted as if the kiss bothered him at all. If she hadn’t noticed the slight trembling of his hand when he put the key in the ignition, she might have thought it hadn’t.
As it was, she was already anticipating the next kiss. This time, he wasn’t going to get away with a little peck. Since she had decided to stop running last night after they met in Janice’s backyard, she was rather anxious to see what she had gotten herself into.
She smiled secretly. Shameless and eager.
Trent cut the motor and glanced over at her. “That kind of smile has been known to get a woman in trouble.”
“Only the woman?”
Trent’s eyes blazed. The easy smile slid off his face. He twisted in his seat toward her.
“Trent, I’m glad you’re here!” cried a happy male voice.
Dominique could almost read Trent’s mind. It wasn’t pretty. But when he turned to the man approaching the truck, his voice was warm and friendly.
“Hi, Charles. All the team here?” he asked, climbing out of the truck.
“Every one,” Charles said, his gaze following Dominique as she rounded the truck and came to stand beside Trent.
“Dominique Everette, Charles Powell, the coach of The Tigers, the next divisional champions.”
“Hello, Dominique,” he greeted, taking off a cap with a “T” on its front and nodding.
“Hello, Charles.” She held up her Nikon. “Mind if I take some pictures?”
“No. Help yourself.” The older man turned to Trent. “Heard about one of your trucks, and know you had your hands full. I appreciate you coming.”
“I promised to bring the drinks. Besides, I wanted to see them play,” he said simply.
“You won’t be disappointed.” Charles slapped Trent on the back.
“Come on. We’d better get these drinks over there before they come looking for us.” Easily lifting the large cooler from the back of the truck, the men started toward a group of loud teenagers.
“You know anything about football?” Charles glanced over his shoulder.
“Very little,” she admitted. She had graduated from an all girls private school and college. Although Daniel had excelled in sports, his boy’s prep school had only offered tennis and golf. In college he had concentrated on getting his MBA in three years. He succeeded with a perfect grade point average.
“Don’t worry, Charles,” Trent said. “I intend to teach her all she needs to know.”
She glanced up sharply. Trent had a smile on his face that made her knees weak. He winked and continued toward the bench.
Dominique slowly followed and wished she knew more about football. Like how long the game lasted.
* * *
Ninety-three minutes and counting in the last minutes of the fourth quarter, she later learned. Cheering from the sidelines next to Trent, Dominique didn’t mind. She was having a wonderful time. The thirteen- and fourteen-year-old boys had been predictable in their initial reaction to her; they had all given Trent the thumb’s up sign.
He’d grinned and slung his arm around her shoulder. It was a good thing he had, because he chose that moment to tell the boys about her taking Bruiser’s photograph. Suddenly she was surrounded, the entire team wanting to be near her, wanting her to take their picture.
Seeing their eager faces, she volunteered to be the team’s official photographer and take all of their pictures. A wild whoop went up. The only reason she wasn’t lifted up too was Trent’s admonishment for them not to.
The Tigers had taken to the field and dominated it. Charles was right. He had a good team. Even with Dominique’s limited knowledge of the game, she knew The Tigers played with skill and intelligence. She found herself cheering the teenagers along with Trent, and giving the referee just as hard a time.
When the clock ran out, The Tigers were ahead by nine points. Their side went wild. The coach was hoisted into the air. Trent picked Dominique up and spun her around. By the time he put her down, several team members were there, wanting to lift her up again.
Trent placed his arm protectively around her, a wide grin on his face. “Told you I’d protect you.”
“My hero,” she said.
“You’d better believe it,” he bantered, then turned to a beaming Charles. “You think this calls for pizza?”
Charles’s “Yes” was drowned by the team’s roar of approval. “I can follow you with the team in the van.”
He glanced down at Dominique. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. They played hard.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, giving her a brief squeeze before releasing her and picking up the cooler. “Charles, we’ll meet you at the regular place.”
Dominique couldn’t resist. As soon as Trent turned, she raised the camera, lowered the lens, and clicked.
Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Something caught my interest,” she said, catching up with him. “I think it might be my best shot of the day.”
* * *
As expected the pizza celebration was a wild, happy affair, with the teenage boys trying to talk with their mouths full and replaying the moments when they had shone and ignoring the times they fumbled or missed a tackle. Trent listened attentively to each player, his interest and concern for them obvious.
At the moment he was feeding the jukebox. Dominique had never heard some of the selections, but from the way Trent bobbed his head to the beat of the music, he had.
“He’s good with the boys, isn’t he?” Charles commented.
“Very,” Dominique said, raising her camera to take a picture of Trent standing in the midst of the youths.
“It was a fortunate day for us when he came by the Y years ago to become a sponsor.” Charles nodded toward the laughing group. “Most of them are from single-parent families and live in situations that would make most adults shudder. Playing team sports they learn the value of hard work and discipline.”
Her camera lowered. “They also learn someone else cares about them. You. And Trent.”
The tall, lean man nodded. “But Trent is their hero. He made it through the system. He has promised each of them a scholarship if they keep their grades up and stay clean. Only one kid had to be dropped from the program.”
“What happened?”
His eyes saddened. “Joyriding in a stolen car. He said he didn’t know the car was stolen, but the rules for players are clear. Any infraction with the law and you’re off the team and out of the program.”
“Did you believe him?”<
br />
“Yes. I think his cousin Isaac orchestrated the entire thing to get him thrown off the team, so his control over him would be total. Isaac is a rebellious, angry teenager. We couldn’t help him at the Y.” Charles slumped back in the booth. “We might have been able to help his young cousin, Jessie. He’s a good kid. Trent liked the boy. It tore him up to put Jessie off the team. But rules are rules. You start bending them for one, and discipline is shot to hell.”
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“Following Isaac straight to the pen or an early grave. They live in the area, as do the other kids.” Leaning forward, he twisted the paper his straw came in. “Isaac is an accident waiting to happen. Unfortunately, when it does Jessie is going to be right along beside him.”
“Hey, why the long faces?” Trent asked, sliding in the booth beside her.
“I was telling her about Isaac and Jessie,” Charles explained.
The smile faded from Trent’s face. “Isaac is going to drag Jessie right along with him until they’re of age, and then some judge is going to throw the book at them both. If they live that long.”
“Can’t you do anything?” she asked.
Hard eyes stabbed her. “What? Until Jessie is more afraid of the consequences than he is of Isaac, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve gone by there a couple of times, talked to his mother, but she isn’t much help.”
She touched his arm. “You tried.”
“It wasn’t good enough,” he bit out.
“It was for them,” she said, nodding toward the youths who were either clustered around the jukebox, talking to a group of girls who had come in, or playing arcade games. “You made a difference for them. It hurts, but sometimes you can’t save them all.”
“I know, but I don’t have to like it.”
She gently placed her hand on his. “You wouldn’t be the man you are if you did.”
“Domini—”
“Hey, look at the babe.”
Dominique glanced up to see four youths wearing oversized shirts, baggy pants, and sideways baseball caps. Gold chains glittered around their necks. The oldest appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, with a scraggly goatee. Beside her, Trent tensed.