A Risk Worth Taking

by Zana Bell

  He didn’t have to look out to picture her, hair gloriously rumpled, face soft with sleep. She’d be heading to the kitchen in a T-shirt that revealed legs and tantalizing outlines but little else. He heard the kettle being flipped on, and pictured her leaning against the counter, lifting her hair back with both hands, then moving into a full stretch, arching her spine and reaching her arms upward. She’d drop her head toward one shoulder, then the other to ease her neck. After that she’d move to the window to look out. She was always ready for the new day.

  Apart from his mom, Sass and Crystal, Adam had never known a woman’s early-morning routines so intimately. He’d had lots of girlfriends, but none had ever really gone past that first excitement when staying in bed all day was a way better option than getting up.

  He moved over to his own window and gazed out. The drizzle had lifted and sunlight glinted on the wet grass. Alicia was out there, planting a vegetable garden. She appeared happy, but putting all that energy into a garden that would turn into a building site for a resort in a year’s time seemed kind of pointless. It was funny to see her growing into this nature person. Maybe she was where he got his love of the outdoors from, and not good ol’ Adahy.

  It was strange, but he was getting used to the idea of having a father now. A biological father. Maybe Adahy had had other kids. Maybe Adam had some other half brothers, half sisters somewhere. Much as he hated to admit it, he was getting sort of curious to know more about his old man. It was as though knowing Adahy’s name had suddenly made him real, and Adam was slowly coming to terms with that.

  The kettle clicked off and he heard the fridge door opening. Cressa was a whole other problem, one he sure as hell wasn’t coming to terms with. The really irritating thing was that he and Cressa were playing by his rules. Still, no man on earth was created to live under the same roof as a sexy, stubborn woman without having fantasies.

  That whole meltdown thing seemed to have released or fixed whatever had been going on with her. Yesterday she’d been back to her bold, teasing self. Not a trace of the weeping woman who’d whisked herself off to have a shower the instant they’d gotten home, and reemerged an hour later in outrageously tight clothes, to go off drinking with the Valkyries. The thought of her letting loose at a nightclub—oh, he so didn’t need this crap.

  There were ten days left before he headed back to Texas. Time was running out in all sorts of ways. His glance fell to his desk. What madness made him think he would succeed in getting into med school? He’d be better off obeying genetics, scooping Cressa up on his bike and whisking her off to a beautiful cove to see exactly how much substance lay behind all her seductive promises.

  He sighed and hauled himself off the wall. No point in going there.

  At that moment, he caught the unmistakable throb of a Porsche engine. Son of a bitch. Which was unfair. Brian was a great guy. Deirdre had a point; Adam could see where she was coming from now. Cressa had serious shit to sort out, needed a guy who could ground her. Who better than Brian? The doctor probably had his own secret cove planned for today.

  But when the passenger door of the Porsche opened, Desdemona spilled out, looking like a curly-haired breed of lion cub. He’d liked her at the wedding; now she rocketed in his estimation. With her around, Brian was hamstrung!

  Cressa had obviously heard the car, because she shot out of the house—yup, in that T-shirt—and the sisters bear-hugged, talking and laughing. Adam wondered if Brian was enjoying the spectacle, too. Des’s voice carried clearly. “You gotta get dressed, Cressa. Come on, it’s an amazing day. Spring is almost here!”

  Brian also gave Cressa a hug. Ex-fiancé, father of her baby, he had every right. It was none of Adam’s business.

  Minutes later there was a rap on his door.

  “Adam?” It was Desdemona.

  He crossed to the door and feigned surprise. “Hey, Des. Whatcha doing up here?”

  Des rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Hi, it’s good to see you.” With her honey-brown eyes, tawny hair and Curtis nose, she looked all the more like a lion cub close up, cute but just a bit dangerous. He bet she caused all sorts of havoc in the jungle. “Brian wanted to go for a drive so I invited myself along. Come and say hi to him.”

  How could he refuse? Brian and Cressa were chatting in the kitchen. Brian put out his hand. “Hi, Adam, nice to see you again.”

  Adam shook it. “Likewise.”

  Didn’t matter that both of them were lying.

  Cressa appeared surprised. “Did you agree? I told her not to ask.”

  “Agree to what? I just came out to say hi.” He turned to Des. “What’s going on?”

  She smiled. “I wanted support to help persuade you. We need a fourth for tennis, but Cressa said you’re not to be disturbed.”

  “Sorry, you’ve picked the wrong man. I’ve never played in my life.”

  Brian couldn’t keep the surprise off his face, but Desdemona was happy. “Yay! I suck at tennis, so that will even things up. I’ll be Brian’s partner, and you can be Cressa’s. Don’t worry, she’s really good.”

  “It would be fun,” said Cressa.

  “C’mon, Adam, don’t abandon me to these two sports freaks,” Des beseeched.

  Funnily enough, it was Brian who clinched the deal. “Look, if Adam doesn’t want to play, we won’t force him. The three of us can still play. No problem.”

  No problem having Cressa to himself all afternoon.

  “Actually, a break would be great.” Adam’s smile had as many teeth as a serrated knife. “I’d enjoy it.”

  Twenty minutes later, standing in front of the sagging net on a tennis court out in the country, and surrounded by a field of curious cows, Adam realized he should have cut and run while he could. He may have put a temporary spoke into Brian’s works, but the good doctor, he was sure, was about to savor exquisite revenge. They’d found an array of old tennis rackets in the garage, but as the rookie, Adam had been given the one with the largest head and only one broken string. He flourished it a few times. Defeat and humiliation were already pulling up ringside seats.

  “Nah,” said Cressa. “Not like that. You’ll send the ball to the moon at that angle. You’ve watched tennis, I take it.”

  “I’m more a doer than a spectator, but I know the general principles. See the ball, hit it. Simple.”

  “Ye-ah. Let me just show you how to hold your wrist.”

  It was nice having her hand over his, correcting his hold. It was not so nice once they began warming up.

  “Yes!” said Cressa, as Adam whacked the ball, all brute strength and no style. “Mind your wrist, though,” she added as they watched it soar over the perimeter fence. They all had to pile into the field to search for it.

  “Look out for cowpats,” Cressa warned at the exact moment Desdemona squealed and began wiping her foot vigorously on the grass.

  Adam altered his aim for the next couple of shots, only to discover that the net, though old, held strong. Brian, of course, was superb. His shots all had the thwack of ball hitting the center of the racket. Adam’s hits were more like twangs. Bring in a banjo and he’d have his own Appalachian band going. Brian’s serves were poetry in motion, but lethal as cannon shot. He was also competitive, for all his modesty and good-sport laughter. Clearly, he wanted to beat Adam as much as Adam wanted to beat him.

  Cressa was an excellent player and more competitive than Adam and Brian combined. She laughed, too, but Adam saw fierce determination in her eyes. Power underscored her elegant style and her shots were speedy, accurate and as deadly as Brian’s. She and Brian were well matched. Desdemona was his slight consolation. She specialized in high, lollipop hits that were surprisingly tough to return. Their height made it difficult to guess exactly where they’d land, and the soft balls meant that gauging their bounce was challenging. A lot of the time the balls went wide. Plus Des didn’t run, leaving Brian to sprint around the court, trying to return shots she’d missed.

  “Shall we start
the game?” Cressa asked.

  “If Adam feels he’s ready,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. Not.

  Brian—and Desdemona—won first service.

  “Watch out for his service. It’s a killer,” Cressa warned in a muted voice.

  Brian’s first shot whistled low over the net and nicked nicely into the corner. Cressa was right there and powered it back at Desdemona, who swiped and missed.

  “Get it, Brian,” she yelled, and he raced across the court, managing to parry it before the second bounce. Adam saw the ball coming and hit with all his strength. Desdemona ducked as the ball shot past her head and into the perimeter fence.

  “Fifteen-love,” announced Brian.

  “Sorry,” Adam said.

  “Don’t apologize,” said Cressa.

  “That was a good return, Cressa,” Brian called.

  “Yeah, it’s funny being on the receiving end again,” she shouted back. To Adam she said, “We used to be partners at the tennis club. We played all the time.”

  Partners. Tennis club. Oh, Lordy. Adam knew he was way out of his league.

  He readied himself for Brian’s serve, shifting from foot to foot the way Brian did—a panther waiting to pounce. He watched the doctor throw the ball into the air and rise on his toes, arm outstretched. For a second it was a freeze-frame shot, a moment of potential and power and professionalism. Then real time kicked in. Brian punched the sucker with turbo-charge zeal and the ball whizzed so fast Adam heard rather than saw it before it bounced.

  “Out!” There was satisfaction in Cressa’s voice.

  He narrowed his eyes. No way was this doctor going to beat him. He did the shuffling thing with his feet again. It really didn’t help. Brian’s full weight came down behind his serve and this time Adam managed to get a racket to it. The shock reverberated up the handle and he only just held on to it. His return bounced out.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  Surreptitiously, he shifted his racket to his left hand and flexed his fingers. They were still in spasm. This was going to be a long competition.

  He and Cressa lost the first game. They lost the second one, too. They won Desdemona’s service because none of her serves went in. Then it was his turn to serve.

  He aimed his racket at the far end of the court like a gun. Brian was in his sights, light on his feet and looking as though he’d been born with a racket in his hand. He had it all—job, wealth, looks, car, personality. Adam could taste the old, sour bile of failure and wished he could take Brian into his world. How would he cope up on the girders fifty stories high?

  Then suddenly, it was blindingly clear. Brian would never enter his world, while Adam was killing himself to scramble into Brian’s. It would always be that way. If Adam got into medical school, he’d always feel inferior to the Brians. But only if he gave them that power.

  Adam tossed the ball high in the air, rose on his toes and came down with his full weight behind it. The ball was satisfyingly fast but hopelessly wide. He narrowed his eyes, shifted his sights from Brian to the inside corner, and by some miracle cracked a brilliant serve that caught Brian napping.

  “Ye-e-s-s!” Cressa raised both arms in a victory salute.

  “Good shot!” said Brian, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “Oh, man,” said Desdemona.

  From there, things got easier. Adam stopped seeing the racket as an alien thing and began to get the rhythm of playing. The score evened out, two all. Desdemona took more interest, even running sometimes, and, like Adam, made some valiant shots. The magic, however, remained between Cressa and Brian. Adam might be her partner, but Cressa and Brian knew instinctively where the other would place the next ball, moving to the correct position even before the shot was taken. It hurt, almost physically, to watch. Matched in power and grace, they seemed to work together in a choreographed performance. The only faltering came with their partners’ haphazard hits. Still, Adam wouldn’t quit. Texans never did.

  The score crept up: 3-2, 3-3, 3-4, 4-4, 5-4, 5-5. The light by this stage was failing, the sun very low in the sky. Long shadows cast by the trees in the field caused confusion. There was no time for a second set. Everything hinged on the final point.

  Brian was serving to Adam, whose senses went on high alert. The evening breeze was cool on his cheek. Part of his brain noted the bird overhead, the cows that had ambled to the fence to watch. Most of his mind, however, was concentrated on Brian. He could feel his opponent’s unrelenting desire to win.

  Brian hit the ball.

  It came so fast Adam barely had time to swipe at it. By some fluke he hit the ball—not elegantly, but it was in and bouncing near Desdemona. The girl gasped and whacked it. The ball rose higher and higher. All four stood, necks craned, to determine its trajectory.

  “Mine!” yelled Cressa, running backward.

  But she was too slow. The ball bounced and lifted high once more. In vain she leaped and tried to get it, but the ball passed over the racket to land just inside the line.

  “Yes!” shouted Desdemona. “Yes. Did you see that, Brian? I won!”

  She began doing a victory dance but was swept off her feet by her partner, who enveloped her in a bear hug.

  “You were brilliant.” Brian gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Sorry,” said Cressa.

  “Don’t apologize,” said Adam, and he grinned. She looked so annoyed that her little sister had beat her. He nudged her with his shoulder and she smiled reluctantly. Their eyes caught and Cressa burst out laughing. Her laughter was infectious and he joined in, loving the way she could laugh at herself, loving her laughter in the face of defeat. Loving the way her hair fell like a dark waterfall with her head tipped back like that. Loving so that it was an ache and a joy at the same time.

  Still laughing, Cressa looked at him again, sharing the joke. But something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because her laughter died and her eyes darkened, as they’d done the first time he’d met her. He heard her breath catch, and his heart missed a beat.

  Brian hurdled the net and ran up, hand outstretched. “Good game.” He regarded Adam. “For a first timer, you played remarkably well. Once you get a bit more practice, I’ll really have to watch my back.”

  That was the problem with Brian. Someone as generous and well, yes, as nice as him was hard to hate.

  Then Brian turned to Cressa, and the expression in his eyes softened. “It was fun to play together again.”

  Glancing past Brian, Adam saw Desdemona watching her partner and her sister shake hands. Brian and Cressa made a great-looking couple. Des was smiling, but Adam could swear her shoulders slumped a little.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WHEN BRIAN AND DES DROVE away, Adam went back into his room. Even though he’d put on a good old Texan show of friendliness after the game, Cressa had sensed his underlying tension. She felt it herself. Something had sparked on the court, but Adam Bloody Walker was once again pretending it didn’t exist. She heard his door click shut, so she took her laptop into the living room and fired it up. She’d been checking emails every day, yet when she saw that finally a message was waiting for her, she hesitated before opening it. This was the first time she’d really cared about whether she got the job or not. Heart tripping, she clicked on it.

  The message was brief and to the point. They had liked her application. Would she be available for an interview on Monday?

  Would she! Thank heavens she had only the odd scene left to shoot. Tomorrow was clear. She could feel fate billowing in her sails as she wrote to confirm, yes, she could indeed be in Auckland.

  She’d just pressed Send when Adam appeared at the door, his expression stormy.

  “We have to talk. Now.”

  He grabbed her by the wrist, hauled her out of her chair and marched down to the beach. Cressa was almost forced to trot to keep up with him. She ought to be fighting him, of course, telling him to u
nhand her, but her heart was too busy racing in a rather thrilling manner.

  When they were at the water’s edge, he dropped her wrist and rounded on her. “It’s not working.”

  “What’s not?”

  “I’m not,” he growled. “I sit at my desk, but all I can hear is your voice in my head. I listen for your damn motorbike to pull up in the evening. At night I hear you in bed. It is driving me crazy. You—” he pointed accusingly “—are driving me crazy.”

  She smiled—she couldn’t help it. But she tried to sound sympathetic. “Oh, my.” She’d done a credible imitation of Alicia. Adam, however, did not seem to be in the mood for clever mimicry. With a growl he backed her against a tree and slammed one hand against the trunk.

  “For the last time I want to try to understand. Remind me why you ran out on Brian. I get the bit about the baby, the predictable future, but what about Brian himself?”

  The night was clear and cold, the stars bright in the sky. The black waters carried the sheen of the moon. Adam’s face, only inches from hers, was angles and planes. His cheeks and slanted eyes were dark hollows, his brow, nose and cheekbones sharply defined.

  She struggled to keep her voice natural. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you at tennis today. You guys play well together. You are matched. You can read each other’s moves. And he loves you, Cressa. He adores you. Surely, if you wanted to, you could sort things out with him. I want to know what the hell is wrong with him. I bet that’s a question he asks himself every night.”

  She gave her usual answer. “Nothing.” But as Adam continued to glare at her with predatory eyes, she suddenly snapped. “Nothing! It’s me, okay. Brian is as perfect as everyone thinks. I love him, I admire him—I really do. He’s fantastic, kind, considerate, smart. He’s every woman’s fantasy.”

  Adam drew in a breath and stepped away, jamming his hands into his back pockets. “So what is your problem?”

  Cressa pulled herself up and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m not in love with him.”