The man she knew, and the man she didn't.
Of course, on Friday, once he had left for the airport and poor flushed Emma had been soothed to sleep and the twins fed and tucked in, Marian had had second thoughts. She had grounds for her wariness of him. She might have been unfair—she had been unfair—but that didn't change the fact that he was wealthy, successful, and famous, while she was just like a million other women whose husbands had walked out on them. Poor, tired, and frantic. Why was he attracted to her? Would it last?
And could he have made other choices about his job? Maybe the ranch could have waited for a few years, or he could have done endorsements or television commercials that wouldn't have taken him away from home so often. How had Emma felt, when she had just lost her mother, to have her father disappear for several days of every week? Did Marian want to love a man who hadn't put his daughter first? Did she have a choice?
But then she remembered his hands on her breasts, the look on his face, the heat of his kisses, and flushed. And she remembered his anger and his accusation. She would not let Mark taint her relationship with John.
“I wouldn't walk out on my daughter, and by God, I wouldn't walk out on you, either.”
John wasn't the same kind of man as Mark. If she loved him, if she really loved him, maybe trust had to be part of the package.
On Sunday afternoon, she had barely turned off the TV set when the phone rang.
Emma beat her to it. "Daddy!" she exclaimed joyously. "I'm all better. I even ate breakfast. And Marian let me have a 7-Up while we watched you on TV."
She prattled on happily and insisted on Jesse and Anna whispering hello into the phone before she passed the receiver to Marian, who took it and smiled.
"Would you like to speak to Esmerelda, too?"
John's response was unprintable.
"Didn't the game just end? Are you calling from the stadium?" Marian asked.
"It's a taped delay on the West Coast. I'm back at the hotel, throwing my stuff in a suitcase so I can get home."
"Good," Marian said softly. She glanced at the kids, but they were no longer paying any attention. Tyrannosaurus Rex was wreaking havoc.
"Uh..." John cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you something."
"That's ominous." She tried to speak lightiy.
"I'd like to take you out to dinner tomorrow night."
Her pulse accelerated. "You mean, like a..." She hesitated.
"A date. Exactly. Maybe we could go whole hog and make it all the way to Seattle. The Comedy Club? Or do you like jazz?"
Could he possibly sound nervous? "I'd love that," she said.
A moment later, she hung up, smiling but trembling a little inside, too. A date. A real, honest-to-good- ness, old-fashioned date, like she hadn't been on in years.
She could hardly wait for John's good-night kiss.
CHAPTER 10
In the dark auditorium, the sweet sounds of Graver Washington's saxophone floated gently through the air, sank to a whisper, and at last shimmered into a silence as eloquent as the music.
The audience in Seattle's elegant, restored Paramount Theatre sat unmoving, hushed, straining for any last trickles of sweetness, before erupting into applause. Since this had been the second encore, the lights came on then and the audience gracefully if reluctantly began to file out.
John's hand on her shoulder steered Marian through the packed crowd and out a side exit. He had accomplished a miracle in finding tickets to a sold-out concert at the last minute, but maybe that was what fame and fortune did for you, Marian thought ruefully.
Grover Washington's magical playing had only been the cap to a perfect evening. A perfect evening that wasn't over.
"So what did you think?" John asked, once they were in the car and heading toward the freeway on-ramp.
"It was wonderful," Marian said simply. "I haven't been to a concert in...oh, ages. And never one like that."
John reached out and took her hand in a warm clasp. "I like other kinds of music, but jazz is my favorite. I'm getting too old for stadiums. Not much is worth standing in line for. Or, God forbid, standing during the concert."
"Mm-hmm," Marian murmured.
His fingers tightened. "Although I don't feel so old tonight."
"And you usually do?" she teased.
"There's something about children. All that energy. And watching Emma grow up..." In the darkness she felt more than saw his shrug. "The years are passing right in front of me."
"It must get worse when they really grow up," she mused. "In ten years Jesse'll be taller than I am. And then the day comes when they'll die of humiliation if somebody actually sees them out with Mom or Dad."
"And then there's the day they leave home."
Marian secretly dreaded that time, which was ridiculous when her children were still a few months away from their third birthday. She couldn't help wondering if John had deliberately introduced the subject to remind her that their children were only a small part of their lives. That they had to have a life left after the children were gone.
And maybe she should remember that more often. It had been a long while since anything but Anna and Jesse had seemed important. Now she had something—someone—else. At least for the moment, Marian couldn't bear to question or doubt.
They talked comfortably on the drive home, John about the personalities of some of his sports colleagues, Marian about the kids and Isaiah and Emma's stories from school and the field trip.
"She was crushed," Marian said humorously. "Nobody at the station paid any attention to her. She said they were so busy and it wasn't exciting at all. Being a television star looked bo-ring." She drew the word out the way Emma had, and John laughed.
"Poor Emma. She wants the world to fall at her feet."
To Marian it seemed natural that a child who had lost her mother would crave attention, but she said only, "It may yet. She's going to be beautiful. And smart."
John gave her an amused glance. "You're almost as prejudiced as I am."
At home, he used the remote control to open the garage door, then close it behind them. In the silence of the garage, he turned off the car lights. Nervousness and excitement fluttered in Marian's stomach, and she made no move to get out.
John turned to face her, though she couldn't see his expression in the darkness. "I have to drive the baby-sitter home," he said.
"Yes?" Had her voice squeaked?
"I hope you'll wait up for me, but just in case..." One big hand twined in her hair and tugged her toward him. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and went.
The kiss was deep, slow, and satisfying. But not enough. Never enough. Marian almost sobbed when John's mouth left hers, but when she let her head fall back, he trailed kisses down her throat. At the barrier of the dress's neckline, he groaned and lifted his head.
His voice was husky with mixed passion and amusement. "I haven't necked in the car since I was sixteen."
"I feel about sixteen."
"Mmm." His answer was muffled against her lips, though this time his kiss was exquisitely gentle, so tender that tears prickled at the back of her eyelids.
At last he set her away from him and heaved a sigh. "Damn. I wish the baby-sitter could drive."
"It won't take you long," Marian said hopefully.
He sighed again. "Well, shall we go in and face the worst?"
"The kids will have been asleep for hours," she reminded him.
John had no sooner opened the door to the kitchen when they heard the distant wail. "Famous last words," he muttered.
"I want Daddy! I want Mar-Marian!"
Marian's heart sank. Why couldn't they have all been peacefully asleep? Then she felt selfish for her momentary rebellion.
The harassed baby-sitter looked up eagerly when Marian and John appeared in the bathroom doorway. Emma was throwing up in the toilet.
"She woke up sick about an hour ago," the teenager said before adding fervently, "I'm glad you're home."
Understatement of the world. Marian, competent as ever, took over, helping Emma rinse out her mouth and wash her face and change into a clean nightgown. After assuring himself that his daughter wouldn't die, John left to take the baby-sitter home.
Just before he left, John and Marian exchanged a despairing look. So much for waiting up for him.
For the moment, what she would be doing was sitting up with a sick child, bowl in hand. True romance.
*****
Emma's relapse only lasted twenty-four hours, but was exhausting nonetheless. That week Marian began to feel as if she were tripping over children. Every time John cornered her alone, along would come one of the three. Or Isaiah. Or a stablehand. Or even Esmerelda, who peered interestedly in the window at them when they were kissing.
"Why is she out?" Marian whispered.
"I felt sorry for her," John growled. "I didn't want her to get lonely..."
Marian couldn't help it. She started laughing. "The big tough cowboy!"
A reluctant grin tilted one corner of his mouth. "She is the only goat."
"Why don't you get her a boyfriend, then?"
"So they can have sweet little baby goats? Who can dig up some more daffodil bulbs?"
"More?"
"I stuck them back in. I hope right side up. What was left of them."
Marian broke away and headed for the door. This time, John laughed. By the time he quit, Emma and the end of any hope of peace had arrived in the kitchen.
Not once in that week did John suggest, or even hint, that they retire to his bedroom. Marian wasn't quite brave enough to suggest it herself. Even his kisses, at those rare moments they found themselves alone, were gentle, coaxing rather than demanding. He was holding back; but why? Marian couldn't decide whether he was courting her, or living up to his word. What had he said? That he wouldn't take a lover in the same house as his daughter?
Marian wished, very much, that he would.
Except...she had qualms of her own. She felt a little like the beggar maid in love with the king. She overheard John on the phone a couple of times, assertive to the point of being aggressive. He expected the best, and he expected it now. All Marian ever hoped for was just to get by.
John was tactful enough to be sure she never had to ask for money; he paid her promptly, unemotionally, and left cash for housekeeping on the kitchen counter for her to find. She was grateful for that. She would have hated to stand in front of him and say, "Please, may I have money to go to the store now?"
With the weekend, John left again. Philadelphia, this time. Emma had her friend from school out, and though it drizzled, Snowball was a big success. Patient as ever, he plodded around the covered arena for over an hour, taking all four children in turn, chased by Aja happily yapping.
"You're lucky!” Emma's young friend said ardently when her mother arrived to pick her up.
The mother made a face. "She's dying for a horse. Now she'll never give us any peace."
"Sorry," Marian said apologetically. "She did have fun."
"Maybe Emma could come and visit us next Saturday."
"Cool!" Emma said.
Unfortunately, she'd been spoiled by having someone her own age to play with, and was a pill all day Sunday.
"Anna and Jesse are no fun to play with. I have to tell them what to say," she complained.
"They're only two," Marian reminded her.
"I know, but I wish they knew how to play."
"They're learning from you."
"I don't feel like being a teacher. Can I watch TV?"
"Nope," Marian said cheerfully. "I'm going to watch your dad. Besides, you spent an hour and a half in front of the TV this morning. That's enough for one day."
"You're mean," Emma declared, and flounced out of the kitchen. Marian stuck her tongue out after the five-year-old, then blushed when she turned back to discover Isaiah standing at the kitchen door, looking in through the glass, his hand raised to knock. She actually thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.
When John called Sunday afternoon, he asked her on another date.
"What do you think, do you want to go to the opera or a drive-in movie?" he asked, tongue-in- cheek.
"A drive-in movie," Marian answered without hesitation. "That sounds like fun."
"A woman of true refinement," he teased, and she hung up a minute later, smiling.
*****
John had called his attorney a couple of times for progress reports on the search for Mark Wells. Skip tracing, the investigator had called it. On the Tuesday after the concert, George Browder announced that they'd found him. "In Atlanta. Turns out he has grandparents there. Doing well, according to the investigator. Does something in quality control for a small airplane manufacturer. Good money, has a sizable savings account." He named a figure, then added, "Remarried, too."
John swore savagely. "And he hasn't sent her a cent. God, I'd like to get my hands on him."
"I'll turn the screws," the attorney promised, sounding as though he'd do it with pleasure. He had kids of his own, teenagers. He said, "I could add some teeth to it if I had her okay."
"No." John was implacable. "She has to think he's come through on his own."
"You know, she might be grateful to you."
"I don't want her grateful." He was also increasingly dreading the day the first check arrived from her ex-husband, and Marian realized that with it supplementing her day-care business, she didn't need John or this job. But that was the risk he had chosen to take at the beginning. "Tell him he'll find himself in court if he doesn't suffer an attack of conscience and start paying."
"Including a retroactive sum," Browder agreed. "He's in no position to fight it."
So when John took Marian to the drive-in, he knew his time was running out. On the football field they called it crunch time. He was tempted to push her, to make love to her until she didn't know which way was up, to exact promises of forever from her. But he didn't want her keeping a promise because she felt honor-bound; he wanted her coming to him free and clear, following her own heart.
Most of all, what he didn't want was to wonder for the rest of his life whether his home and money, the security he offered her, even his daughter, might be what attracted Marian as much as he personally did. It couldn't be conscious on her part; he knew her better than that. But love was complicated, never simple. And his doubt was an ache he couldn't quite forget, however much he might want to.
So this last week he'd let himself court her, kiss her as often and as long as he could without ripping her clothes off, and enjoy her company. Her soft, startled ripple of laughter, the heavy dark silk of her hair that swayed with her every graceful movement, her gentleness and patience with the children, the recklessness that had allowed her to give Rafcarah her head—and the generosity with which she'd given herself. The last was an uncomfortable memory, one he exorcised in hard, sweaty work in the barn.
Darkness was falling Monday evening when they pulled into Marysville's Thunderbird Drive-in and found a spot off to one side. John tested the creaky sound of the speaker, then grimaced and turned it off.
"What d'ya say, shall we get some popcorn?"
"After pizza?"
"I'm hungry," he said simply.
Marian succumbed. "Oh, well, why not?"
They were cozily ensconced back in the car with soda and popcorn by the time the credits began to roll. On the giant screen, the car chase was blurry, and already their windshield was fogging.
"My parents used to take me to a drive-in sometimes," Marian said nostalgically. "I'd be in my pajamas, and they'd fold down the back-seat of our wagon so I could stretch out with my pillow and sleeping bag. About halfway through whatever we saw, I'd fall asleep. I don't think I've been to a drive-in since."
John snaked a long arm around her shoulder and pulled her comfortably against him. They had come in the pickup, which didn't have bucket seats.
"So we can cuddle," he'd explained.
&n
bsp; Now he kissed the top of her head and said, "We're regressing together. First we date like we're twenty-five, then we neck like we're sixteen, now we go to the drive-in like we're..." He stopped. "Hell, I still feel like I'm sixteen. I can hardly wait until the windshield fogs up enough so nobody can see in."
Marian blushed, grateful for the darkness. She felt exposed with glass all around them and another car only a few feet away and an occasional dark figure passing the truck toward the snack bar. On the other hand, this was the closest to being alone they'd managed all week.
And when, half an hour later, John gave her braid a gentle pull, Marian didn't have the slightest idea what was happening in the movie. The sound wasn't very good, and the feel of John's long, hard thigh pressed against hers was considerably more exciting.
When she turned to smile at him, his mouth covered hers. The kiss was masterful, seductive, and intoxicating.
"You don't kiss like a sixteen-year-old," she whispered breathlessly.
"Neither do you," he murmured, and kissed her again.
Who cared about the movie?
*****
On Wednesday morning the attorney phoned. Marian called John to the phone. "It's a George Browder." She didn't sound curious, but John felt guilty anyway.
"I'll take it in my office." When he picked up the receiver, he said, "Okay," and heard the click as she replaced the kitchen extension. "Hello, George. What do you have?"
"Nice voice," the attorney said, his own tinged with amusement.
"She's a nice woman," John said.
"She's going to be a happy one pretty soon, too. Her ex agreed to pay up. I talked to him on the phone. I think he's glad I found him. I've run into that before. The longer he went without paying, the harder it was to call her and say, 'I'm sorry.' But he swears he'll write her and send a sizable check. And he swears he won't mention me or my client."
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