Home Field Advantage

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  "Yeah, he'll look better that way," John muttered. "I wish we didn't have to make it so easy for him."

  The lawyer grunted. "The only thing to be said for it is that he's more likely to keep paying without constant prodding this way. Anyway, I just thought I'd let you know you've done your good deed. Call me if he doesn't come through."

  Half an hour later, John was still brooding over his own mixed feelings when Marian returned from taking the twins to their morning playschool.

  "You're not out at the barn," she said in surprise, when she walked in to find him sipping coffee and leaning against the kitchen counter while he gazed out the window.

  "I was waiting for you," he said with a shrug, and meant it. God, did he mean it. "Come here."

  She dropped her purse and came. "Maybe if you tried 'please,' " she murmured and flowed into his arms.

  "Please," he said, just as he bent his head and captured her mouth. Something unpleasantly close to fear was churning in his stomach. What if she thanked him, packed up, and left? What if she didn't love him enough to stay, given a real choice? What if...?

  He buried that ache in the kiss—intense, passionate, all-consuming. Nothing like his kisses lately. He felt surprise tremble through her, and then her answer. Wholehearted and generous, she kissed him back. Her arms came around his neck, her mouth opened softly, her body melted against his. And he had to have her. His need was a drive so powerful he didn't even try to fight it.

  John swung her up into his arms. When Marian gasped and tightened her hold on his neck, he lifted his mouth from hers long enough to say huskily, "I lied. I'll take you for a lover any time or place."

  "I'm glad," she whispered, and smiled at him with dazzling warmth.

  "God, I love you," he said, the words wrenched from him.

  Her eyes widened, but when she started to speak he kissed her again. He didn't want to hear it, not if she loved him, not if she didn't. She had to have a choice. That's what love was, he thought, before he couldn't think anymore. A life with all its burdens and joys, freely chosen. Right now, she wasn't free.

  Upstairs, across the threshold of his room, as though he were the groom and she his bride, he laid her down on the huge expanse of his bed and paused, one knee braced on the edge. She was glorious against the black coverlet, and he remembered his first sight of her and his fancy that she had stepped from a daguerreotype. The hair that shone against the black background was close to the same color, but caught by something brighter, as though a stream of moonlight had touched her. Her eyes, dark and glowing, were dreamy, and her lips were parted and sensuous. Skin like porcelain, her neck long and graceful, her hair slipping from the knot at the nape. He had never seen anything in his life as beautiful as Marian lying on his bed.

  He wanted suddenly to see her naked there, the silk and curves and creamy skin in contrast to the dull black spread. Without a word he lifted her and pulled her sweater off over her head, exposing a simple white bra that was innocently seductive in a way black lace wouldn't have been. She watched him with those wide eyes as he unfastened her bra and spread his palms over her breasts, unbearably aroused by the textures. Then he tugged off her canvas tennis shoes and socks, jeans and panties. A strip tease that he orchestrated. She accepted all wordlessly, her gaze fixed on his face.

  Her body matched the delicacy of her face. She was so slender he couldn't imagine her bearing twins. He sat beside her, looking, tracing with his fingertips the plump curve of her breasts, the long slim line of her waist flaring into her hips. Her gorgeous legs—he remembered them wrapped around him. The dark springy curls at the apex of her thighs were as silky as the hair he spread across the coverlet. And between her legs was heat and dampness and pleasure. When he touched her there she closed her eyes, then stretched languorously so that her back arched and he felt the tension run through her.

  His own hand was tanned against her white skin, clumsily large. It was the contrast that was so erotic. Bulk against slenderness, sun-roughened skin against the protected silk of hers, the bluntness of his arousal against the creamy sheath of hers.

  "I love to touch you," he said hoarsely.

  She was breathless. "I love...having you touch me. I love...touching you."

  And her hands, strong and supple, slipped under his sweatshirt to run experimentally over the hard planes of his back and chest. He groaned, then shrugged out of his shirt. Marian sat up and kneeled, then bent her head to whisper kisses against his neck, to nibble and taste the salty skin of his shoulder and chest. His breath rattled harshly in his throat, and suddenly he lifted his hands to tangle them in her hair and hold her still.

  "I'm going to explode."

  "That's the idea, isn't it?" she said mischievously, and he gave a husky laugh.

  "Eventually," he agreed.

  "I'm just setting the charges," she murmured, and spread her hands over his chest, flicking the nub of his nipple with one thumb. A jolt ran through him, and a smile quivered on her hps.

  "You're asking for it," he warned.

  "Mm-hmm. " There was that smile again, lilting, laughing, tempting. He would kill for that smile.

  The laughter on his own face fled and he lifted her chin so that his mouth could plunder hers. He was driven by only one thought: he had to have her.

  Have her he did, as soon as he could kick his jeans off. She waited for him, sprawled on the black coverlet with her cheeks flushed rose and her mouth a luscious soft curve.

  He felt dangerously out of control as he locked her legs around his waist and plunged desperately into her warmth. But her hips rose to his and she made a sound deep in her throat of such pleasure, it ripped any last shreds of restraint from him. Harder, faster, sweeter. She was with him all the way. When she convulsed around him, John growled his satisfaction.

  His first thought, when he could think at all, was, What if I lose her? But she couldn't leave! She couldn't hold him like this, accept him like this, give herself like this, and then leave.

  But what if she did? He turned his lips against her throat and felt her pulse dancing there, beneath that translucent skin. Fear and love knotted sickeningly in his chest and were transformed into passion. She still lay stretched beneath him, and he wanted her again. He wanted to possess her, not just now but forever. Forever he might not have, but the present was here, in his grip. He wouldn't let it go.

  When he nipped at her neck, she murmured wordlessly, and her hands moved on his back, sliding over the sweat-slick muscles. And when he kissed her, he felt her smile. She was his. Now, at least, he thought triumphantly, she was his.

  *****

  The phone call came as a total surprise. Frank Dellino was the head of football programming, so John talked to him almost weekly. Frank was just the messenger boy this time, though. Although John didn't know the network higher-ups well enough to remember their faces, apparently they did know his.

  "Taggart would like to meet with you," Frank said. "Let's see, you go to Cleveland this week. Why don't you fly to New York tomorrow." It was a statement, not a question. "You can go on from here."

  What the hell...? "Are you going to tell me what this is about?" John asked.

  "Let's save it for a face-to-face," Frank said blandly.

  John leaned back in his office chair and swung his feet up on the desk. "Do I need my agent?"

  "Why don't we see whether our proposition interests you first?"

  Translated: they thought they were giving him good news, not bad. Okay, then, he'd fall in line.

  "All right," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

  "Good." Never one for the amenities, Frank hung up without a good-bye. John did the same.

  Okay. Why the mystery? The only thing he could think of was the Super Bowl. Well, that was one job he'd like to have. Why not? He'd been there on one side of the camera. Being there on the other...

  "What the hell," he said aloud. He wouldn't get the same charge out of it as when he was playing, but he wouldn't mi
nd confirmation that he'd made it to the top in this profession, too.

  He tracked Marian down in the living room, where she was dusting. Her hair was bundled up sternly, she had a streak of dirt on one cheek, and a pair of faded jeans so snug he wanted to tear them off her. Instead, he leaned casually against the doorframe and told Marian about the call, watching closely for her reaction.

  She said only, "Then you'll have to leave today?"

  "Or middle of the night."

  "You don't want to do that. Hadn't you better call the travel agent?"

  He found he was looking at the back of her head. She'd gone back to swiping at the top of the fireplace mantel.

  He swore inwardly, but did as she suggested. Of all times to have to leave! He'd wanted another day, another night. However long it took to hold her and bind her.

  And, by God, he'd wanted to be here when that check from her jerk of an ex-husband showed up. He did some rough calculating and decided he ought to be safe until Monday. If the bastard had waited damn near three years, he wasn't going to use Federal Express now.

  But when the moment came to leave and he'd tossed his suitcase into the trunk, John was seized with an irrational dread. She might be gone by the time he got home on Sunday. No, she wouldn't desert Emma. But she might be ready with her notice and already have started to pack.

  The kids were bouncing on the front porch and pretending to ride Rhodo, the big black shepherd, even Emma hardly paying attention to John's departure. Only Marian stood dutifully at the bottom of the porch steps, still wearing those jeans but her hair slipping from the knot. She looked just as she did every Friday—like a wife seeing her husband off.

  "I'm going to miss you," he said.

  "You'll call?"

  "So often you'll have to unplug the phone."

  Her smile dawned, and a wave of hunger washed over him. He didn't care why she stayed, just so she did. He'd take her any way he could have her.

  "Will you marry me?" he asked roughly. The minute the words were out, he knew they'd come too fast.

  Marian's eyes widened, and she stared at him with what looked like consternation.

  "Don't say anything." He stepped forward and gripped her upper arms. "Just think about it. Will you promise to do that?"

  Her tongue moistened her hps. "I... Yes, of course. Of course I will."

  "Good." He gave her a quick, hard kiss, then made himself turn away. "I'll see ya." He raised his voice. " 'Bye, pumpkin. Bye, J and A."

  The twins giggled, his daughter flew to him for a hug, the dogs barked, and he got in the car and drove away. Until the house was out of sight, he could see Marian in his rearview mirror, just standing there at the bottom of the steps, gazing after him.

  CHAPTER 11

  Marian stood in the driveway long after John's car was out of sight. A pickup truck pulling a horse trailer turned in shortly afterward, rattling as it passed her, but she scarcely noticed the driver's curious stare.

  John had actually asked her to marry him. The second chance at love she hadn't even wanted was hers. John loved her. She was staggered by his proposal, even if he'd said before that he loved her.

  The truth was, she hadn't quite believed him. Love was an easy word to say in the heat of passion. She'd opened her mouth to say it, too, but he had stopped her. Why? she wondered again. Why, if he really loved her, hadn't he wanted the words, too?

  And what about the way he had proposed? No candlelight and wine, but instead, "Will you marry me? By the way, I'll see you in a few days." Would he be there when she needed him? Or would Friday afternoons spell the tenor of their lives?

  But football season wasn't far from over, she reminded herself. Then came the playoffs, of course, and at last the Super Bowl. Still, even with exhibition games added in, professional football lasted less than half the year; the other half would be theirs. She could bear that. Couldn't she?

  Or did her biggest fear run deeper yet? Marriage was such a huge step. She would be completely vulnerable again. Could she trust John? Could she trust any man again?

  "Hey, Marian!" Emma called. "Watch!"

  Marian turned to see the twins sitting astride the too narrow porch rail, where they teetered while Emma said, "Giddyap!"

  Marian sprinted for the porch while Jesse started to wail. She took the steps in a couple of bounds and snatched her son and daughter from their perch. "Emma, that wasn't safe," she said as calmly as she could, setting them to their feet. "I know you sit up there sometimes, but Jesse and Anna are too small."

  "Don't blame me," Emma said mulishly.

  "I'm not blaming you," she said. "But I hope you'll watch over them. They're too tittle to know what'll get them into trouble."

  "Well..." Her frown faded. "I guess..."

  "Fun," Anna said, struggling free of her mother's arms and heading for the railing.

  "No," Marian said firmly. "Shall we go saddle up Snowball for a ride?"

  "Cool," Jesse said in a little voice.

  Marian's tension dissolved, and she chuckled. She gave Emma a hug, then reached for her son and daughter's hands. "They're even starting to sound like you."

  "I'm like a big sister, aren't I?"

  You just might be a big sister, Marian thought but didn't say. There would be time enough for that later. If...

  Her heart caught in her throat. There didn't have to be any ‘if’. John had proposed. All she had to do was say yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I'll marry you. In sickness and in health. Your children and mine. Forever and ever.

  "Just like a big sister," she said softly, and blinked back a prickle of tears. Happy tears, the kind she hadn't cried in a long while.

  *****

  The return address on the envelope meant nothing to Marian; she didn't know anyone in Georgia. But the handwriting... It was sharp-pointed, an angular scrawl that she did know. Before she even consciously identified it, her heart began to slam. Her hands were shaking when she ripped the envelope open. Inside was a sheet of cream-colored lined note-paper. There was something else in the envelope, too, but she was riveted to the jagged writing.

  "Dear Marian,

  I'm sorry isn't good enough, so I won't even say it. I can't make up for what I did, but I can at least help support the children I'm responsible for. I've contacted the state registry to find out what I owe you. Here's the start. I don't expect— No, I guess I should be honest, I don't even want visitation rights or anything like that. I just want my conscience clean. So I'll be sending you monthly checks. Let me know if you move.

  Yours truly, Mark."

  Marian still sat in the car, parked in the garage. She had dropped the twins off at playschool and shopped for groceries. Rows of brown paper bags occupied the rear seat. The ice cream was probably melting.

  She took a deep breath and pulled the check from the torn envelope. It wavered before her eyes, that same dark writing blurry for a moment. When the number came into focus, she gasped. She read it over again and again. Two years' worth of child support payments. The difference between desperation and life.

  Still, she sat there until the wave of dizziness had passed. It took her a moment to realize what she felt. Not relief, gratitude, even sadness. No, she was mad. Furious. The son of a bitch. He wanted his conscience clean. Clean!

  "Let him fry in hell," she muttered. Her fingers tightened on the check and she was tempted—God, she was tempted—to tear it up and send him back the shreds. But bitter pragmatism stopped her.

  He did owe his children. He might not want them or even give a damn what they looked like, but he owed them, and he was going to pay. Let him think he was clean. She didn't care. If there was a God up there, He knew better.

  Maybe He had even moved in His mysterious way to make Mark pay. She couldn't think of any other reasonable explanation.

  On the way to pick up Anna and Jesse, Marian deposited the check in her formerly meager account. When John called after dinner, she didn't mention it. She still had to come to terms with what
the money meant to her. Until bedtime, she almost succeeded in forgetting it, particularly since John had continued to be mysterious about his meeting in New York.

  After the children were asleep that evening, the house silent, Marian was washing her face for bed when a sudden realization paralyzed her. Lightheaded, she stared at herself in the dazzling brightness of the mirror. Her decision about the future was no longer complicated by financial desperation. With Mark's checks added to what she made for her daycare business, she had no more excuses. The choice was truly hers.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool, slick mirror and closed her eyes. She had been lying to herself, she saw. She hadn't stayed with John and Emma for the security or even for her children. And, deeply though she had come to love Emma, the child's clinging had only given her an excuse to do what her heart demanded: share as much of John's life as he would allow her.

  "I love him," she whispered, then lifted her head to look at herself again in the reflected honesty of the mirror. "I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him."

  *****

  John's flight was a late one and he arrived home Sunday evening after eleven. Nervous and exhilarated, Marian waited up for him. She heard the garage door, then his footsteps in the kitchen.

  She went to meet him hesitantly, but when he saw her in the arched entry to the living room, the weariness fled his face and he crossed the distance between them in a couple of long strides.

  "God, I'm glad to see you," he said huskily, his cheek against her hair and his arms tight around her.

  "You didn't call this afternoon."

  "There were rumors the losing coach had been fired. I chased everybody concerned around. Manager, owner, coach... They all denied it was true. But I knew damn well it was."