Home Field Advantage

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

  By Janice Kay Johnson

  ISBN-10: 0-9890418-2-4

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9890418-2-9

  Home Field Advantage

  Copyright 1991 Janice Kay Johnson

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dear Reader,

  I’m really excited to be making three of my earlier romances available again. One of the big drawbacks to writing series romance is that the books don’t stay on the shelves very long. As much as I love real books (I confess, I even love the smell of new books), I’m sold on e-books if only for the amazing benefit of having them readily available for purchase and to be read at any time. We all know how frustrating the hunt can be for that elusive book written ten or fifteen years ago by your new favorite author!

  Working on these three books to make them ready to go up online turned out to be fun. I was a little nervous – after all, I’d like to think I’m a better writer now than I was then, right? – but I was also happy to find I really liked every one of these books, originally published by Meteor as Kismet Romances. The biggest difference I could see is that there’s more of my life in these books than you’d find in my more recent ones. I wrote more about what I knew. No, I’ve never had to flee from Mafia hitmen, like Megan does in DANGEROUS WATERS, but I was quite a serious competitive swimmer from the time I was nine years old until college. Didn’t make the Olympic team, but I know the sacrifices that have to be made to compete at that level. I worked as a lifeguard, too, through high school and college. Long days at a beach, keeping the kids safe? Been there, done that. HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE? I had young daughters when I was writing it, and had grown up with horses. Yes, I’ve always especially loved Arabians. And I fell off the swing when I was five years old and knocked myself out. ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE? Well, there’s the daughter again (one of my two is even a Katie, I was really getting close to home there), and I really love old houses – the first house my husband and I bought was an old farmhouse and we discovered the never-ending surprises that accompany each project. (New vinyl in the bathroom? Oh, gee, the floor is rotting. Solution? Completely gut room.) Plus, I have to tell you this town is, thinly disguised, my own small hometown. The hike to the ice caves? A long-time favorite.

  One warning, just in case you read Kismet Romances – DANGEROUS WATERS was originally published as LIFESAVER. I always hated the title, and decided now to go back to my original. The other two books have retained their original titles.

  I love to hear from readers! Look for my Facebook page and, coming soon, my website at www.JaniceKayJohnson.com.

  Janice

  Table of Contents

  HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  About The Author

  Also Available from Janice Kay Johnson

  ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE

  DANGEROUS WATERS

  CHAPTER 1

  John McRae straightened, abandoning his comfortable slouch against the tiled kitchen counter. Into the telephone, he said incredulously, "You're what?"

  The woman's voice babbled on. "I'm so sorry. I know this must be inconvenient for you, but I was so upset, and, of course, things were in a mess here at home. Dad's in intensive care now. The doctor says he should make it, thank God, but, of course, I've just been living in the hospital. There's no way I can leave him, and I'm dreadfully sorry, Emma is such a doll, but ..." At last she faltered. "Well, I'm sure you understand."

  "You couldn't have called a little sooner?" He reached up and rubbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

  "I did try once," she said defensively, "but you must have been out. And since then...well, I didn't think about much but Dad. I am sorry."

  She wasn't the only one who was sorry. A moment later, after tersely expressing his sympathy, John dropped the receiver back in its cradle, then slumped into a straight-back kitchen chair. What in hell was he going to do?

  He was booked for a flight out of SeaTac in—he glanced at his watch—precisely three hours and forty-three minutes. Obviously he wasn't going to make that. He'd cancel the dinner date he had with the Denver Bronco's coach and switch his flight to tomorrow. Fine and dandy, he thought grimly, but where was he going to come up with a baby-sitter in the next twenty-four hours, one he could leave Emma with for two days?

  Ten minutes later his flight reservation had been changed and the Bronco's coach had agreed to make their dinner tomorrow night instead. John could snag the Seattle coach sometime before the game for some profound words to quote during the broadcast. For that matter, he could make them up himself. Lord knew he'd heard it all often enough.

  He was reaching into the refrigerator for a can of beer when the clatter of footsteps on the front porch distracted him. Glancing through the window, he saw the yellow school bus just lumbering into motion again out on the road. Then the door slammed and a five-year-old bundle of energy catapulted across the kitchen into his arms.

  "Daddy, is she here? Can I help her unpack? You're not going right now, are you? I don't want you to go."

  He smiled down into his daughter's dark eyes. "Whoa! No, she isn't here, and unfortunately she's not going to be. Her father is sick, and she can't come. I'm going to have to find somebody else, so I'm not leaving until tomorrow. Okay?"

  Emma nodded, but looked troubled. "Didn't she like me? I was quiet when she came. Wasn't I? You said I was good."

  John hugged her thin shoulders again. "You were terrific! She said she was especially sorry because she'd liked you so much. But her father has to come first. Do you understand?"

  Emma nodded again, her brown ponytail bobbing, her face solemn. "Daddy, can't Helen come back? Just for this time? If we asked, I bet she would. I really miss her. Couldn't we ask her? Please?"

  John crouched down to his daughter's level. Hands on her arms, he looked directly into her eyes. "Sweetie, Helen got married. Remember? She can't come back. Her new husband needs her, too. Besides," he added practically, "she's still in Hawaii. Hey, she's probably scuba diving this very instant!"

  Normally Emma could be distracted by a discussion of what their former baby-sitter and housekeeper might conceivably be doing at any given time, but for once his tactic didn't work. She stared at him, her eyes looking even bigger and darker than usual. He was reminded painfully of how young and vulnerable she was.

  "Daddy, I didn't want Helen to go away." She bit her lip and tears suddenly shimmered in her eyes. "I miss Helen."

  He pulled her against him and laid his cheek against her hair. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I know you miss her. But she'll visit. She promised. And you have me. You'll always have me."

  Her voice was very small. "If you don't die a
nd go away like Mommy."

  John rocked back on his heels so he could meet her eyes. "I won't die," he said. "God would have to drag me kicking and screaming. And I never was easy to bring down."

  A watery chuckle rewarded him. "That's not what Isaiah says. He says you would have been knocked down all the time if it weren't for him. He says if you hadn't been so slow throwing the ball he wouldn't have knees that hurt so much."

  John grinned at his daughter. "Don't believe a word he says. Your dad was All-Pro. I unloaded the ball damn quick on occasion. Isaiah is just teasing you."

  She looked thoughtful. "Oh."

  "Now." He stood up. "We need to go see if today's newspaper has come yet. Because, you know what? We have to find a baby-sitter for you, kiddo, or this time I am gonna get pounded for sure."

  He tried to picture what his boss at the network would say if he called and pleaded baby-sitting problems as an excuse for not showing up in Denver to cover Sunday's game between the Broncos and the Seahawks. He failed, since he was pretty sure that'd be a new one on Frank. He also had a feeling Frank wouldn't be very forgiving. As it was, the network had a hell of a time shuffling play-by-play people and color commentators to make sure all the games were covered.

  On the other hand, he wasn't going to leave Emma with just anyone. He'd taken weeks to select a new housekeeper, interviewing what had seemed like dozens of women. What he'd really been hiring was a mother for Emma, and she needed someone special. After losing her real mother when she was three, and now Helen, Emma was fragile.

  He never had found anyone who really satisfied him, but in the end he'd decided he was being unrealistic. Hell, if he'd found the perfect woman, he'd have married her! But perfect women didn't answer newspaper ads.

  Twenty minutes later, he and Emma sat at the kitchen table together, poring over the classifieds. No one was interested in baby-sitting in the child's home. And nary a one mentioned overnight stays. But that didn't mean he couldn't ask.

  He was on his sixth call before he heard anything but "No, I'm sorry, children in my care have to be picked up by six p.m. I don't do evening babysitting."

  Emma sat and listened to his end of the conversations, her small face anxious. For her benefit, John hid his growing frustration and worry. If only Emma had a close friend, whose parents he could ask. But they hadn't lived here in the Northwest long enough for either to have made friends yet, and school had only started three weeks ago.

  If Helen had just stuck it out for a few months longer... But he had known she was in love. Deciding to move and taking her with them, separating her from her boyfriend, wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, even if this ranch about an hour north of Seattle was the perfect set-up. Rural, the area was still within easy reach of a major airport.

  John shook his head impatiently. Who was he justifying his decision to, anyway? What was done was done. Helen wasn't here. They didn't have friends yet in this small Washington town.

  Could he leave her with Isaiah? He just couldn't picture it. The huge, former offensive lineman was brilliant with the elegant Arabian horses out in the pasture, his big hands gentle and his rough voice a soft growl. Unfortunately, with people he rated closer to a zero. He talked to Emma, barely, but making dinner, washing her hair, holding her at night if she awakened crying...not Isaiah.

  John's voice had become brusque by that sixth phone call. "I'd better ask right off the bat whether you'd consider taking my daughter overnight. I have to go out of town and our new housekeeper failed us."

  "Well..." The woman on the other end hesitated and his hopes rose a notch. "I suppose I could consider it." Her voice suddenly became muffled. "Jesse, stay out of the bathroom! Toilet paper isn't to play with!" She came back on the line. "I'm sorry. How old did you say your daughter is?"

  "I didn't say. She's five."

  "And does she have any particular needs or problems?"

  "No. Emma is always cooperative."

  "Really." She sounded faintly disbelieving. "Well, normally, if I'll be taking a child on long- term, I like to schedule an interview alone with the parents first. But if this is just a temporary situation...?"

  "It is," he assured her.

  "Then why don't you bring Emma over this evening so we can get acquainted?" She mentioned her charges, which John thought were reasonable. Too reasonable, maybe. But he was desperate, and anyway, he had faith in his ability to judge people.

  "About seven o'clock?" he asked, and she agreed. Only after hanging up did John realize that he had forgotten to ask her name.

  At seven that evening he pulled up to the ramshackle white cottage that matched the address the woman had given him. Dusk had deepened the blue sky, and the air was crisp with early autumn. Apples ripened on a huge old gnarled tree that overhung the cottage, and a white-painted fence enclosed at least an acre. One of the smallest, plumpest ponies he'd ever seen gazed at them over the board fence. Emma gave a crow of delight and tugged at his hand.

  "Can we pet the pony?"

  "After we're done inside," he said firmly. "We'll ask if it's okay then."

  The pony forgotten as they neared the front door, Emma clung to John's hand and hung slightly back. The spiky blue-and-yellow blooms of asters and chrysanthemums spilled over the low picket fence that edged a flower bed along the house. John looked down at his daughter's dark head and felt a pang of bittersweet love. He wanted to give her everything, and was reduced to this: abandoning her for days with a virtual stranger.

  His knock produced an unexpected cacophony of noise. The deep bark of a large dog mixed with the higher yap of a smaller one and the squeals of more than one child. A zoo. John's hand tightened protectively on Emma's shoulder as the door swung open.

  He was only peripherally aware of the toddlers peeking around the woman's legs, of the walking dust mop that sprang out onto the porch, of the deep woofs still coming from the background. For just an instant, the world narrowed so that all he saw was her.

  She might have stepped out of an old picture of Russian nobility. Thick dark hair slid out of the loose bun at the nape of her long, slender neck, and eyes as dark as midnight stared back at him. Her cheekbones were stark, her forehead high, her nose slender and patrician, and her mouth soft and sensuous. She was pale, with the creamy complexion Victorian women had been known to kill themselves trying to achieve. Perhaps the contrast of hair and eyes and skin was what had made him think of her in black and white, like an old daguerrotype, but the faded jeans and loose cotton sweater were thoroughly modern.

  His voice sounded strange to his own ears when he managed to summon his powers of speech. "Uh... I'm John McRae. I called earlier?"

  And then she smiled, not at him but at Emma, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. Perhaps the perfect woman didn't answer advertisements in the newspaper, but it appeared that she did place them.

  "Hi. You're Emma? I'm Marian. And this," she glanced around, then lightly touched the head of a brown-haired boy who looked about two, "is Jesse and"—her hand moved on to the girl, obviously a twin—"his sister Anna. And I see you've already met Aja."

  Emma nodded shyly, reaching down to pat the ball of fur that bounded around their feet.

  "Come in." Marian stepped back. "For heaven's sake, hush!" She gave John an apologetic look. "Rhodo sounds much more ferocious than he is. You don't mind Emma being around dogs, do you?"

  "Not at all." John held out one hand to be sniffed by the huge black German shepherd that wagged his tail. As he followed Marian and the toddlers that clung to her into the living room, John somehow wasn't surprised to notice two cats as well, one lounging on the back of the couch, the other draped over an end table.

  Marian was suddenly conscious of the cats, too, not to mention the Duplo spread over ten square feet, and the puzzle pieces that had been cheerfully scattered, and the coloring books and markers, the picture books, boxes of juice, and a plate of cookie crumbles. Why hadn't she picked up before he came? But the house was clea
n, she told herself defensively. Just cluttered. With six children here all day, what would he expect?

  She stole a glance, and found his expression inscrutable, although his gaze was taking it all in. She had the feeling he could see even the Cheerios that Jamie had been poking under the couch that morning. Marian wasn't usually so self-conscious. What was it about him?

  He wasn't exactly handsome; his lean face was too rugged for that. It was also faintly familiar, and yet she didn't remember ever meeting him. It would have been hard to forget a man built like him, tall and broad-shouldered with narrow hips and long legs. And while his straight brown hair matched his daughter's, the level gray eyes that held Marian's sparked no recognition.

  Her awareness of him made her stomach knot. The feeling wasn't wholly pleasant. For heaven's sake, the man was probably married. Anyway, it was the child she should be paying attention to, not the father. The little girl's gaze was still downcast, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

  "Would you like to color while your dad and I are talking?" Marian asked gently. She stopped herself from reaching out to brush the child's bangs back from her forehead. It was too soon.

  After a pause, Emma whispered, "No."

  "Okay. Why don't you sit down?" Marian wrinkled her nose. "If you can find a place. Sorry. I always pick up, but I haven't found the energy yet tonight. Six kids are like a tornado."

  John looked at her quizzically. "Six is quite a few. Are you sure you can handle another?"

  "I'm licensed for seven." Marian met his gaze, hating the nervous flutter in her chest. "Which I think is too many. But if I understood you, it's this weekend you want to leave Emma?" He agreed, and she continued. "The other children in my care come Monday through Friday, even the drop-ins. On weekends I have only my own."