Who Do You Love?

by Maggie Shayne

  “I’m not!” he protested.

  “No? Listen, Jack, I know one thing for a fact. You can’t be that good at something, unless you truly love it.”

  Jack’s gaze slid from Gracie to the TV set behind her. Someone had hit the pause button and the frame, frozen on the screen with wavy lines breaking it in two, was Gracie’s face, sweaty and red, hair plastered to it, smiling broadly, eyes sparkling as she walked off the court.

  “You’re right,” he said finally. “No one’s that good at something unless they love it.”

  “Will you guys…excuse us for a minute?” Grace asked.

  JW chucked her under the chin, gave her a wink and led the other guys to the door. “I think we need pretzels, guys. Let’s go to the corner store and get some, hmm?”

  When they were alone, Jack sat there and stared into his wife’s eyes.

  And she said, “JW told me about your mother, Jack.”

  Jack leaned back against the sofa. “Hell, Gracie…”

  “Talk to me,” she begged. “Please?”

  He sighed. “I was twelve,” he finally said. “She went to take a shower, and she stayed in the bathroom for…too long. I got worried. She wouldn’t answer the door. So I forced it open, and found her sitting there. Just sitting there in the shower, fully dressed, all her clothes soaking wet, with the water running down on her. She was all curled up, and staring at nothing.” He shook his head. “It scared me, Grace.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I’ll tell you something, Jack. It’s not going to happen to me.”

  He looked up at her, loving her with every cell in his body. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because if it starts to get to me, I’m going to tell you so. No more secrets. No more lies. I promise you that. I want you to be who you are, Jack, not who you think I want you to be. And who you are is one hell of a cop. And that’s who you should stay.”

  Jack sighed. “What about your mother? Her friends? Your friends?”

  “If they don’t accept the man I love, they aren’t friends at all,” she said. “And as for my mother…well, there’s a big family dinner at her house tomorrow. A welcome home celebration for Hope. And I think it would be a good time for me to learn to stand up to my mother. I love her, Jack, but her snobbishness is misguided. It has hurt me, and it has hurt you, and it’s still hurting Hope. So I’m gonna tell her the truth about you, and tell her how very proud I am to be married to you, and that’s the end of the discussion.”

  “So…you’re saying…you honestly don’t want me to quit the force?”

  “I’m saying I won’t let you quit the force.”

  Jack felt as if a heavy weight were suddenly lifted from his shoulders. “And what are you going to tell her about you?” he asked.

  Grace averted her eyes, swallowed hard. “I’m…still thinking about that one.”

  “She’s not going to stop loving you any more than I did, Grace. But you’ll see. I’m gonna make things right for you from now on. And it’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  Proudly, Grace sat beside her husband at the dinner table and said, “I have something to tell you, Mother.”

  Her mother lifted her head, glanced worriedly from her husband to Jack, and back to Grace again. “You sound so serious. Surely after all this family has recently come through, nothing can be that bad, can it, Gracie?”

  Grace smiled. “It’s nothing bad.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. But before you go on with this, I have a few surprises planned for tonight. So, would you mind terribly, darling, letting me go first?”

  Frowning, Grace shot Jack a look. He only shrugged. “Sure, Mom. Go ahead.”

  Mitsy smiled, took her napkin from her lap and rose to her feet. “Good. I’m so glad to hear it.” She walked to the sideboard, opened a drawer and produced an envelope. “Your surprise.” She handed the envelope to Grace, who opened it and peered inside.

  “These are airline tickets.”

  “Yes, dear. First-class to New York.”

  Gracie looked again at Jack, but he only shrugged. “You’re sending us on a trip to New York?”

  “Yes. And don’t worry about work, Jack. I’ve already cleared this with your sergeant and your partner. Such a nice man, that JW. Why you haven’t brought him by to visit is simply beyond me.”

  Grace practically felt her jaw drop open. “You…you…Mother, you knew?”

  “I’m your mother, dear. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “But…but…”

  “Oh, do stop gaping, dear. Your husband and I had a long talk last night, and, well, I’ve realized that there is a whole side to you that you’ve been afraid to show me. That ends today. I won’t tolerate any more such nonsense.”

  Grace blinked in shock, and looked at Jack. He smiled at her and shrugged innocently. She glanced back at the envelope she held, and frowned harder. “Mom, there are…a dozen tickets in here.”

  “Yes. For the girls you’ve been coaching at that gym. You all have floor seats for one of those basketball games. They’re in there, too. The, um, oh—” she wiggled her fingers in the air as she sought for a word “—freedom…or, um, independence or some such patriotic thing….”

  Stunned, Grace dug and found the tickets for the New York Liberty game at Madison Square Garden, about a month from then.

  “Here’s the thing, dear. One of the assistant coaches and I went to school together. And when I called him to make these arrangements for your girls, I was very surprised to hear that you’d actually turned down an opportunity to audition for this…club.”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to look surprised. “You what?”

  “I was being scouted…but Jack, that wasn’t…what I wanted to do with my life.”

  “Gracie, if I find out you turned this down because of me—”

  “It wasn’t,” she said. “It was before I’d even met you, Jack.”

  “Quite right,” her mother said. “I believe she turned it down because of me. Isn’t that right, Grace?”

  Grace blinked in confusion.

  “No matter. You have another chance, if you want it. Whether you take it is up to you, but I want to make it clear, darling, that I’ll be behind you…behind both of my daughters whatever they decide to do. As for your girls, well, your father and I have decided to sponsor their little team. I’m going to pick out some uniforms for them this afternoon. They’ll be needing a coach, darling, so if this other thing isn’t what you want, then perhaps you can do this. Otherwise, Charlie has agreed to help in that capacity.”

  Steepling her fingers together, her mother took a deep breath and said, “And that’s it. We can go ahead with dessert now.” And she sat back down.

  Grace blinked. “You…you got me…a tryout with the Liberty?”

  “No, your skills did that. I just…facilitated.”

  “Oh…my…God.” Tears stood in her eyes as she sat there, blinking them back, not believing what she was hearing. She got to her feet and went around the table, hugging her mother hard. Then she straightened again, shaking her head.

  “I think she needs some air,” Jack said, coming up beside her, slipping his arms around her. “Come on, Grace. A little walk will do you good.”

  He led her through the house, outside to the patio, and then down the path to the garden, right to the spot where they had first kissed.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked her.

  “I… Oh, Jack, I couldn’t…I’m a married woman now. It wouldn’t be fair to you—”

  “Come here,” he whispered, and he pulled her close, kissed her gently. “Anything that makes you happy is fair to me. If you want to do this, I’ll be with you. My job is gonna be here waiting when I get back. And can you imagine the bragging rights I could rack up? Hmm?”

  She smiled weakly. “I don’t know.”

  He took both her hands in his. “I love you, Gracie. I love you for who you are, not for what you do. And you of all people ought t
o understand that. You just spent the past forty-eight hours drumming the same message into my head.”

  “Jack…”

  “Take your time, Gracie. Just know that this isn’t a decision between me and something else. I’m a given. I’m here until you toss my sorry butt out the door. You said you could handle being a cop’s wife. You made me believe it. Now you better believe that I can handle being your husband—no matter what you decide to do with your life.”

  Her smile pulled at her lips as tears ran down her cheeks. “You really mean that?”

  “With everything in me, Grace. I love you. I love you, and I have from the second I set eyes on you, lady. That’s not gonna change. Not ever. No matter what.”

  “Oh, Jack. You can’t know what that means to me.” She kissed him gently. “I love you, too, you know. The same way. No matter what.”

  “I know.” He smiled, and for the first time they were looking beyond the masks, beyond the acts, beyond the make-believe. Grace liked what she saw in his eyes when he looked at the real her, and she looked at the real him.

  The real thing.

  Love.

  A LITTLE BIT DANGEROUS

  Marilyn Pappano

  To Monica Reynard, who brightens our Fridays. Chance is all yours, darlin’. Enjoy him.

  Chapter 1

  Moving quietly, Chance Reynard let himself into the small room that adjoined the personnel director’s office, then closed the door behind him. His boss, Anthony Ianucci, was already in the room, an unlit cigar between his teeth, his intense gaze directed at the two-way mirror. On the other side of the thick wall, Sara Walker, whose official title was Wait Staff Supervisor—unofficially, head cocktail waitress—was interviewing for the last slots they needed to fill, the sooner, the better.

  “What do you think?” Ianucci asked softly, sifting through a file folder to locate, then handed him the woman’s application.

  Chance leaned against the desk and skimmed the paper. Francyne Davis, twenty-five, single. Under “Occupation,” she’d listed college student, and for “Position Sought,” she’d been very specific—cocktail waitress, California Deck, Pacific Lounge. That was where all the high rollers played their million-dollar games, where the girls could take home more in an evening’s tips than most legitimate jobs paid in a week, where just like the players they had the chance of striking it rich.

  Of course, no new hire started out on the California Deck. That was a reward reserved for months of loyal service. If Francyne Davis really was a college student, she probably wouldn’t be around past the end of summer and wouldn’t work her way higher than the Texas Deck—though there was nothing shabby about it, either.

  And he suspected she really was a student. As references, she gave the name of a dean over at Ole Miss, as well as her career counselor and… Chance looked at Ianucci. “She’s using the pastor of her church as a reference?”

  “It’s a nice touch. Different, at least. Remember the girl who listed her parole officer?” Ianucci shrugged. “Maybe she wants to impress upon us her honesty.”

  “Or her naïveté.”

  “Working on the Queen will take care of that.”

  “The honesty or the naïveté?” Chance asked dryly.

  “I think the customers will like her. Sara seems to. Check her out. Sara will hire her on a temporary basis pending the outcome of your investigation.” Ianucci tossed the folder to him, then slipped out the door, closing it quietly, leaving Chance alone.

  Francyne Davis sat with her back to him, giving him a good view of thick, wavy hair and little else. It was brown, though the word didn’t do it justice. It was deep, dark brown, the color rich and pure and liquid, and it fell halfway down her back. It looked heavy and hot, as if it would plaster itself to her skin when the temperatures started to rise, and was custom-made for a man to tangle his hands in when he started those temperatures rising.

  Swallowing hard to clear such thoughts from his mind, Chance leaned forward and turned on the speaker that let him eavesdrop on the interview. Sara was explaining the Queen’s schedule—two cruises a night, each lasting four hours—and Francyne Davis was nodding. If she was like most of the students who found summer jobs on the riverboat casinos, working from 6:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. wouldn’t present much of a problem. Neither would working in an environment where the men outnumbered the women twelve to one most nights.

  Not that even one of those men was worth having, himself included. Of course, he wasn’t looking to be had, either.

  “So…do you have any questions?” Sara asked. The redhead sounded cheery, as if being out of bed at eleven in the morning wasn’t a rarity in her life. She looked cheery, too, and, in her cotton dress with a matching jacket, about as wholesome as Little Miss College Girl.

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  Nice voice. Damned nice voice, Chance thought. Soft, pure South, womanly and delicate and sexy as hell. All she would have do was talk to her customers and they would open their wallets so she could help herself to whatever she wanted. Hell, he’d developed an immunity to these girls over the past fourteen months, but if she talked nice to him, he’d probably give her whatever she wanted.

  If she talked dirty, he for damn sure would.

  “Good. Then we’ll start you this evening—”

  “You mean, I’ve got the job?”

  “On a trial basis. We’ll have to check out your references and such, but that’s not a biggie. As long as they check out and you don’t do something awful like run us aground on your first night, you’ll be a regular employee by the beginning of next week. What size are you?”

  “Size?”

  “For your costume.”

  “Costume?”

  Sara smiled. “Honey, this is a Mississippi riverboat. All of our employees wear uniforms of one sort or another. Our dealers and the security staff dress like old-time riverboat gamblers. Our waitresses wear—well, you’ll see, just as soon as you tell me your size.”

  Francyne mumbled an answer that he couldn’t catch, but Sara did. Whatever size she wore clearly was bigger than she wanted to be. Of course, he couldn’t tell until she stood up, but with that hair and that sultry wicked-sweet voice, he’d wager most men couldn’t care less what size she was.

  Sara left the office, but he stayed where he was. Some new girls used these few minutes alone to check their makeup or their hair. One had rifled through the papers on the desk. Francyne Davis sat without moving, her head bent. Praying for a decent costume? he wondered with a grin.

  She had just leaned forward, as if to get to her feet, when Sara returned. Chance was disappointed. He’d hoped she would come to the mirror so he could see if the front view was as nice as the back.

  Sara, bless her heart, hung the white-plastic-encased hanger above the mirror, then maneuvered the bag up and off with a flourish. “Here you go.”

  Francyne stood and turned to look. With the costume blocking him, he had to step to the side…where the shock that turned her peaches-and-cream complexion all cream couldn’t begin to compare to the one that sent him stumbling back against the desk for support. For one endless moment he stared at the purest example of beauty he’d ever seen. She lived up to the hair and the voice, all right. She was womanly and delicate and sexy as hell. Her eyes were chocolate-brown, her lips full and delicately arched into a luscious cupid’s bow. She was gorgeous. Stunningly, incredibly, unbelievably gorgeous.

  And her name was not Francyne Davis.

  Ianucci must have handed him the wrong application. Jerking up the folder, he flipped through the paperwork filled out by two new bartenders, three busboys and three cocktail waitresses before finding what he was looking for—the form filled out by Mary Katherine Monroe of Jubilee, Mississippi.

  A strangled sound from the other side of the glass, matching his own strangled groan, drew his attention back that way. Mary Katherine’s mouth worked for a moment before she got any words out. “That? I have to wear that?” she asked breathle
ssly. “It’s too small— My breasts— My hips—” She turned to Sara with a pleading look. “It’s not made for my body. Isn’t there something else? Maybe one of those riverboat gambler outfits you were talking about?”

  Her breasts and hips looked fine to Chance, and always had, but she was right. The costume wasn’t made for her body. It was made for tall women, short women, slender, curvaceous women. It was made for desperate women, bold women, women in need of money, in need of morals, in need of a man. The costume was perfect for easy women, tough women, women who’d survived everything life had thrown at them, but it absolutely was not made for the body of Miss Small-town Princess, Perfect-in-every-way, Waaay-off-limits-to-everyone-else-to-even-look-at Mary Katherine Monroe.

  It had been eight years since he’d seen her, and the years had been kind. She looked exactly as she had back then, only more. More gorgeous, more womanly, more desirable. She was five-nine, maybe five-ten, with the longest legs and the curviest curves he’d seen in…well, eight years. She was going to look incredible in feathers and sequins and very little else.

  And he was going to have a hell of a time not looking.

  Unless he could persuade her to turn down the job. The Queen was no place for Mary Katherine, and there was certainly no room for the distraction she would cause him. She’d always distracted him, every time she’d walked into a room, every time she’d walked out. It had been as if he had some sort of radar that alerted him whenever she was around, that had drawn him like a moth to a flame.

  But how to persuade—he checked her application—yep, a schoolteacher who was looking for a little summer change of pace to turn away from the best change of pace Mississippi had to offer? Maybe he could convince Sara to renege on the offer…but that wasn’t likely to work, either. The redhead wouldn’t simply accept his say-so for it, not unless it was a security matter, and no way was he going to tell her the truth. That he’d known Mary Katherine before. Hell, that he’d been in love with her, and the mere sight of her still did funny things to his insides.