Home Field Advantage

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  He hadn't talked about Susan in a long while, except to his daughter and the once to Marian. And Emma wanted to hear about Mommy, not her dad's lover and wife and friend. Talking now, he realized how very long ago his marriage seemed.

  "We were young," he said, shrugging. "I don't know what Susan would have thought of the move up here. She liked the city. We went riding sometimes, but somebody else saddled up the horse for her and groomed it when she was done. I don't know how she would have adapted."

  "But she liked to garden," Marian said softly.

  "Yeah." He gave a twisted smile. "So she did. What the hell, maybe she wouldn't have minded a goat peering in her kitchen window."

  Marian winced. "But if your wife was still alive, you would never have met up with Esmerelda. I don't suppose that would have broken your heart."

  Screw Esmerelda. He would have never met Marian. The thought came like a jab to the solar plexus. For the first time, John wondered if his marriage would have lasted. He had loved Susan and mourned her. But his emotions toward her had been simpler than what he felt for Marian. Less protective, less tender. He'd found his wife sexy, but had his passion for her ever been as explosive as last night's kiss? Had he ever looked at her and felt the way he had tonight when Marian started down the stairs? That red dress had swirled and reformed itself so that he could see and yet not quite see Marian's long, slender legs and gently rounded hips and breasts that he ached to touch and kiss and weigh in his palms. He'd dreamed of seeing her hair loose, of tangling his fingers in that dark silk and watching it slip over her white shoulders like rivers of night. Did she have any idea how provocative she was, coming down the stairs to him?

  Had he ever watched Susan come to him and known he would have paid almost any price to have her?

  A year ago he would have felt guilty for wondering at all, for not remembering; now he'd accepted Susan's death and the fact that she wouldn't be back. In one violent instant, their forever had ended.

  "What about you?" he asked finally. He tried hard to sound casual. "You never mention the twins' father. I assume you're divorced?"

  She hesitated, and he realized that he had probably sounded like a prospective employer. He didn't care, if she would only answer.

  "Yes," she said at last. "It's been a while."

  "It can't be too long."

  As though in refuge she took a sip—no, closer to a gulp—of wine. "I was pregnant when he...when we separated."

  "Pregnant?" John repeated incredulously. What the hell...?

  Her fine dark eyes were clouded with turbulent memories, though she sounded no more than wry. "I was the only woman at the Lamaze class there by myself."

  Anger stirred in John and shook itself awake. What kind of bastard would let his wife go through childbirth alone? "Is he involved with the twins at all?"

  He had never heard her sound bitter, but now she gave a short, sharp laugh. "Involved? He left me because I was pregnant. No, that's not exactly true. He grudgingly accepted the fact that we were going to have a baby, even though he really didn't want children. I knew he wasn't very interested in the idea. I mean, you talk about things like that when you're dating. But people change. Don't they?"

  John nodded, his fury held grimly in check.

  "The pregnancy was an accident. But I was happy. And I was dumb enough to think he would be, too. When he wasn't..." She bit her lip. "And then just a few months later I had an ultrasound and the doctor broke it to me that I was having twins. I went home and told Mark. I remember him just looking at me. He didn't say a word. He was quiet all evening. The next day I went to work—at a child-care center. Isn't that ironic? I chose to work with kids all day, and then I married a man who didn't want any." She was looking everywhere but at John. "Anyway, I came home and he was gone. He left a note on the table. 'I'm sorry, but I can't face it. I'd go crazy. I'll be in touch.'" Marian drew a shuddering breath. "Most of his stuff was gone. The next day I discovered that most of the money in our bank account was gone, too. And that's it. I've never heard another word from him. I don't suppose I ever will."

  "The son of a bitch," John muttered.

  "I think so, too." She gave another laugh, sounding as though it had been wrenched from her by force of will. "I don't know why I told you all that. I'm sure you didn't want to hear the history of my life."

  "I asked," he said. He realized his right hand was curled into a fist that he wanted badly to slam into the bastard's face. He pried his fingers open and reached across the table for Marian's hand. "Did you try to get child support out of him? The court is on your side, you know."

  She seemed unaware that her hand had turned in his to return his clasp. "They tried," she said simply. "He'd left the state. There was a limit to how far they were willing to go. If I could have afforded a lawyer..." She shrugged helplessly. "Do you have any idea how many women there are like me? Hardly any men pay child support faithfully. I'll never understand. Don't they care?"

  What did she want from him? he wondered, looking into her bewildered dark eyes. Reassurance that some men did care? Or that he did?

  "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know why a father wouldn't want to help raise his children. Maybe with some divorces the kids get forgotten in all the anger. With your husband just walking away like that..." John shook his head. "I don't know."

  "He did have good qualities." Marian gently disentangled her hand from his and reached for the wineglass. Instead of picking it up, she ran a fingertip around the fragile rim. She sounded...far away. "I have to keep reminding myself of that. If Mark wasn't...decent, I'd feel like a terrible fool now."

  "Why did you marry him?"

  She gave a sad shrug. "He was handsome, charming, funny. He didn't mind my animals, though he never paid much attention to them. We enjoyed the same things. At least, I thought we did. I try to remember everything I liked about him. I need to be able to tell Anna and Jesse something. The children have to believe their father was a good man."

  John was left without a word to say. Good men didn't walk out on pregnant wives. But he understood why she clung to her belief, even though he wanted her to consign the bastard to hell. He wanted to be Anna and Jesse's father.

  But he wasn't going to have a chance, John thought. Not while Marian needed her pride so badly. But at least he'd gained something from tonight. He understood why Marian had such shadows in her eyes. Why she was too thin, too tired, too desperate. And why she wouldn't accept any more from him than she had to.

  Bleakly he realized the truth. Marian wouldn't be ready to give herself to a man until she could do so with the confidence that independence would allow her. Until she didn't need him, Marian would not let herself want him.

  Well, he couldn't change the past. Maybe he couldn't even banish her shadows. But he could do one thing for her. He could track the son of a bitch down and make him pay the child support he owed. The money could free Marian from her constant worry.

  The irony was, it might also free her to walk away from him. If she hadn't let herself feel anything for him, what would hold her? Emma wouldn't be enough, not if she could afford to give her children a home of their own.

  He'd never gambled, not with money. But on the field, he'd taken risks all the time. Mostly they paid off. A few of them had given him scars on his knees and the end of his career. But if he hadn't taken risks at all, what would he have had? A nine-to-five job and a lot of regrets, that's what.

  This was another risk he had to take. Or maybe he shouldn't think about it that way. Maybe he should see this one for what it was. A gift, for the woman he loved.

  Nearly an hour later, on the way home, Marian realized that somehow they never had discussed her duties, though John had told her what the salary would be. When she protested that it was too much, he insisted that he'd paid Helen the same amount, and Marian managed to swallow her pride.

  Taking advantage of the darkness in the car, she braved herself to ask whether he'd prefer if she and the
twins ate dinners earlier so that he and Emma could have some time alone together.

  "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

  "I just don't want you to feel you have to include us in everything. We're not guests. I work for you."

  "Which reminds me, why don't you go ahead and collect your menagerie. God knows we have plenty of space."

  "Are you sure?" she asked again. For some ridiculous reason, she felt like crying. Here she'd talked about Mark without a sniffle, accepted the fact that she was going to be paid an absurdly high salary, but now this one last kindness crumbled her walls.

  "Do you have any idea how often you've asked me that?" he said mildly.

  "Sometimes I think you must be nuts," she said, digging in her purse for a tissue.

  "Maybe Sleeping Beauty thought Prince Charming was nuts, too. Did you ever think of that?"

  Her heart contracted. Why had she ever asked him that ridiculous question about whether all men fancied themselves as Prince Charming? She swore he used it to get under her skin. Did he have any idea how successful he was? She wanted to believe in fairy tales.

  Then maybe you should believe, a small voice in her head whispered. Sleeping Beauty had let herself be awakened, had known her true love the moment she opened her eyes. What if she had squeezed her eyes shut and kept snoring? Would the brave young prince have gotten bored and ridden on in search of more adventure?

  Of course, the fairy tales never went on past the romantic first kiss. Maybe he had ridden on, once he became bored with marriage. Maybe Sleeping Beauty had been a fool not to take a better look.

  And maybe Marian was just tired. "He probably was crazy," she retorted. "Either that or mercenary. Risking your life to rescue some woman who's been asleep for a hundred years doesn't exactly sound sensible. But marrying for a nice fat kingdom—that might be worth taking some risks for."

  "What a romantic!" John said in amusement. "Do you provide footnotes when you're reading fairy tales to the kids?"

  "No," she said, in a voice that sounded odd even to her. "I let them dream."

  He gave her a quick look but didn't comment. Marian wondered then what he was thinking, and she still wondered in the days that followed.

  Life settled into a routine, bittersweet because it was so close to what Marian both wanted and feared. In the intervening days he hadn't kissed her again, though he smiled at her often with rakish charm. He touched her, too; nothing she could object to, just a hand on her shoulder, his body brushing hers as he passed in the kitchen. And they talked—comparing tastes in movies, books, and horses, friends and jokes. She discovered that he thought no more about washing Jesse's face and lifting him down from the booster seat than he did of making Emma's lunch. So, after a joyous reunion with her pets, Marian did her best to settle in. She gradually unpacked her possessions, acclimated the cats to their new home, and tried to convince the dogs that there were some parts of the house where they didn't belong.

  The hardest part was calling her day-care customers to let them know she wouldn't be going back into business. Each call represented a child she had grown to like or even love. She'd baby-sat a couple of them for over two years now. She had taught four-year-old Lizzie her letters, Crystal how to get along with other children. She had read them stories, hugged them, rocked them to sleep. And now she was letting them down.

  Of course, they were growing up and would have left her someday anyway. But kindergarten was a milestone, something they and she would have been ready for. This was too sudden. She couldn't even hug them good-bye.

  Lizzie came on the phone to say good-bye herself, and by the time Marian hung up she was crying. She had convinced herself that Emma needed her more than the others, but what if she was wrong?

  She was wiping her cheeks and didn't know John had come into the kitchen until he said gently, "Hey. What's wrong?"

  "Oh, I was just talking to...to Lizzie. One of my kids. Do you remember her?"

  "The one who wanted to give her breakfast to the dogs?"

  Marian gave a watery chuckle. "Yeah, that's her. Lizzie was my first child. I'm going to miss her."

  "Maybe she'd like to come over and play one of these Saturdays. Ride Snowball."

  "Do you mean that?" she asked, then flushed. "Good heavens, I sound like I expect you to be Scrooge. And you like children, don't you?"

  "Sure I do." He gave her braid a tug. "Have 'em all over. Have a party. Do whatever you want. Speaking of which, you're on your own in about one hour. I'd better go pack. Kansas City this weekend."

  The juxtaposition of topics chilled Marian. I love children. So take good care of mine for a few days. Sometimes she could almost kid herself that he was her Prince Charming. Only then Friday would roll around. And Fridays meant a casual flip of the hand, a kiss on his daughter's cheek, and his car disappearing down the lane. John McRae was a wonderful father only until he'd rather be somewhere else. She couldn't help wondering if he would be the same kind of husband.

  CHAPTER 9

  "What do you think?" John asked proudly.

  Marian inspected the six-foot-high wire pen. It looked like something designed for a prisoner-of-war camp. "I think you can keep her in this time," she conceded. "At least, if you fixed the latch so she can't get her nose through... You did. Congratulations," she teased, applauding. "Of course, she can't eat too many blackberries in there."

  "She wasn't eating the damn blackberries, anyway." He scowled at Esmerelda, who stared through the wire at them. "She likes the grain I buy for the horses better."

  "Not to mention my compost," Marian said. She had started a discreet pile behind the barn in hopes of adding it in a few months to the small flower beds she had begun digging out around the house. She had wondered why her pile wasn't growing, until she circled the barn one day to find the goat happily crunching away on carrot peels and wilted celery.

  John tapped his knuckles against a corner post. "Solid construction. I've foiled her now."

  "My hero," Marian murmured, batting her eyes.

  "Hey, watch it," he said in mock threat. "I'll let her in your garden if you don't behave yourself."

  Marian wrinkled her nose. "Do you suppose she'd like rosebushes?"

  "Are you kidding? An animal that eats blackberry vines for breakfast? She must have a mouth like industrial-grade sandpaper."

  "Pretty close," Marian admitted, poking her fingers through a wire square to scratch Esmerelda's rough head. "Has she ever licked you?"

  "I don't let her get close enough." He sighed and picked up his hammer and bag of nails. "I'd better get back to work."

  "Me, too," Marian said. "The twins will be waking up any time."

  Neither of them made any move to leave. Marian knew why she didn't want to, but John was usually more decisive. At last, in a surprisingly diffident tone, he asked, "Any chance I could talk you into going riding tomorrow?"

  "Horseback riding?" she asked, foolishly.

  His brows rose. "Is that so strange? We do breed horses here, you know."

  "Well, of course I know..." She threw up her hands. "It's just that I haven't been on a horse in...heavens, probably ten years. I outgrew Snowball a while ago, you know."

  His grin was crooked and disarming. "No kidding. What were you in, first grade?"

  She made a face at him. "Maybe third."

  "So? Are you trying to tell me you haven't ridden since?"

  "I rode regularly with a friend until I got married. But that's been a long time." She stopped. "Am I making excuses?"

  ' 'Mm-hmm.''

  Marian surrendered. "I'd love to go riding. As long as you realize I' m better at leading a fat little pony around the pasture than I am at staying on one of your Arabians."

  "Rafcarah is gentle as a lamb. Trust me."

  Did she? Of course, she knew the answer: up to a point. She trusted him Monday through Thursday; Friday she wavered, Saturday she was angry, and Sunday she longed for him to come home. She'd only been here two weeks and already it
was a pattern.

  "When the twins are at playschool?" she suggested tentatively. They had started at the cooperative preschool the previous week, giving Marian a couple of mornings a week on her own.

  "You're on."

  *****

  Which was why she found herself atop a dainty dappled gray mare the next day, heading out on what John called "the two-hour loop."

  "It won't take longer than that, will it?" Marian asked nervously. "I do have to pick up Anna and Jesse."

  His grin flashed. "Won't take that long if we hurry."

  Considering that she had ridden regularly once upon a time, Marian felt ridiculously precarious in the saddle. Rafcarah was mannerly, but every so often she tossed her head so that her silver mane foamed across her sleek neck, or the mare danced sideways just a step or two to let Marian know that she was eager.

  "I don't know if I'm ready to hurry."

  "Not even for a nice lope?" he coaxed.

  Really, she wasn't any likelier to fall off now than she would be in ten minutes. "What the heck," she agreed, feeling reckless.

  There was an approving glint in John's eyes. Or was it the way he looked at Marian that made her feel reckless in the first place?

  "Lead on," he said, gesturing like a gendeman escorting a lady onto the dance floor.

  Marian didn't even have to squeeze her legs around the mare. The loosened reins were enough of a signal. The lope was gende, smooth, exhilarating. The pasture, green turning to gold with winter nearing, sloped down toward a creek and the stand of white-barked alders mixed with darker cedars that rose from its other side. The leaves of the alders were brilliant yellow and orange, falling in drifts that covered the trail and made Marian think fancifully of the yellow brick road.

  John urged his horse ahead of hers, and both Arabs splashed into the creek without hesitation. Marian grabbed for the saddle horn when Rafcarah bounded up the other side.