“Hello?” she said.
“It’s Zack,” he finally said before she could hang up.
“Oh.”
Not much of a greeting, but probably better than he deserved.
“I, uh, just needed to…” The apology had seemed much easier when he’d run through it in the shower that morning.
Somehow, talking to her, feeling that connection, made the words sound all wrong.
Which was why he felt even more determined to get them said.
“You didn’t need to call,” she told him. “I’m not an adolescent experiencing her first crush.” The even tenor of her voice, the lack of accusation, of tears, took him off guard. “I know what last night was all about, Zack. Don’t feel you owe me anything.”
“Oh?” She might know what that time at her house had been about, but he had no idea. He’d never lost control like that in his life.
“We’re both consenting adults,” she went on.
“We both enjoyed ourselves and…and then we were done.”
Right. They were done. At least they were clear on that point. He should feel relieved. And he would. As soon as it really hit him that she didn’t expect anything from their encounter—no promises, no permanence.
“Let’s not make it messy, okay?” She sounded nothing like the needy woman moaning in his arms the night before.
“Right, okay,” he said, sitting up straight at his desk, nodding in complete agreement.
Unless the night had been a disappointment to her. Unless she’d been faking it with him. Unless he hadn’t been man enough to satisfy her, either.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
Zack didn’t like being brushed off any more than he liked his irrational and irresolute thoughts. It wasn’t like him. He’d never been so uncertain in his life, had considered himself a confident, capable man, one who could handle whatever came his way—until Dawn had dropped her little bombshell on him.
“Uh, yeah, there is something else,” he heard himself saying.
“What?” She didn’t seem nearly as eager to continue talking to him as she was to get off the phone.
“We did both enjoy ourselves last night, didn’t we?”
There was total silence on the other end of the line. Zack held his breath, telling himself it didn’t matter. He knew he was all man. That he was completely capable of pleasing a woman. He’d pleased several since Dawn had left. And had them calling him for more.
“Didn’t we?” he pushed.
“I…”
“Randi?”
“Dammit, I can’t lie to you. Yeah, okay? Speaking for myself, I did enjoy it.”
Sitting back so hard, his chair rocked, Zack grinned.
“And so did you,” she added with as much attitude as she’d shown on the basketball court the other day. “A man has a hard time hiding such things, doesn’t he?”
With that last little dig, she hung up on him.
Pleased with the way that had gone, Zack hung up, too. But as he went through his day, giving checkups and shots, spaying a couple of young cats, the conversation played itself over and over in his mind. And what pleased him wasn’t that she’d been as insistent as he was on considering last night simply a one-time fling, but that she hadn’t been able to lie about the pleasure he’d given her.
It didn’t occur to him until he was playing catch with Sammie later that night that giving her pleasure didn’t mean a whole lot if he hadn’t given her enough. If she didn’t want more.
Which made him determined to stay away from her. He didn’t need the challenge—or the insecurity—of continually wondering whether she was satisfied. Whether she’d tired of him yet.
No, he didn’t need Randi Parsons.
He was going to be jogging in the other direction. Fast.
BARBARA SHARP looked across the dining table at Dawn, afraid to believe she’d finally found a relationship that could withstand the rigors of her career. Afraid to believe she’d found someone who wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her, someone who didn’t give a damn whether she won her next match or not—other than to be happy for her because Barbara wanted to win.
Afraid to believe, after a lifetime of being alone, that she’d found someone who loved her for the person she was inside.
“I’m telling you, you’ve got to smile more when you’re in the public eye,” Dawn was saying as she buttered her half of the bagel they were sharing. They’d been talking about the not-always-favorable public perception of Barbara. Dawn knew it bothered her, and as an advertising executive, Dawn also knew how to fix things.
Barbara had already slathered her own half-bagel with cream cheese.
“I’m concentrating when I’m in the public eye,” she said, trying to meet Dawn’s gaze head-on. But failing. Dawn was right; Barbara had always been uncomfortable about the public demands of her career.
She wanted to play golf. And go home. She didn’t want to give anything more of herself than her performance on the course.
“You’ve got a beautiful smile, Barb,” Dawn said, her voice softening. “It was the first thing I noticed about you.”
Barbara did glance up then, wondering how she’d ever gotten so lucky. She’d not only found her soul mate, but had her feelings returned tenfold.
“Are you ever sorry?” she asked, studying the half-eaten bagel on her plate. At first, when everything was so new, Barbara had been confident that Dawn was happy. But now…
“No.” Dawn’s answer was slow in coming. “At least not about being here. With you.”
Barbara’s breath caught in her throat. She and Dawn had promised each other complete honesty. “What are you sorry about?”
Dawn blinked and Barbara knew she was trying not to cry. “I miss Zack.”
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Barbara concentrated on each breath, calming herself as her trainer had taught her to do when, as a teenager, she was prone to panic attacks before a big match.
“Miss being married to him, you mean?” She had to know.
“No,” Dawn said immediately. The smile she gave Barbara melted Barbara from the inside out. “I love you, you know that,” Dawn said quietly.
“It’s not something I take for granted.”
“I know. Me, neither.”
Their eyes met, reminded each other of promises made—promises meant—and Barbara could breathe again.
“About Zack,” she began. She wanted Dawn to be happy, whatever that took.
“I’m not in love with him,” Dawn explained, frowning. “But I do love him. He was my best friend for a lot of years.”
“I can understand that.”
Strange thing was, Barbara could. She’d been best friends with men her entire life—until Dawn. She appreciated the way their minds worked; they knew what mattered and didn’t matter. They weren’t catty. They didn’t gossip the same way women did. She respected their strength.
Other than Dawn, Randi Parsons was the only woman Barbara had ever considered a true friend. But then, her friendship with Randi had always been asexual, just like her friendships with men.
“Have you tried calling him?” Barbara asked as the silence stretched.
Dawn nodded.
“He still doesn’t forgive you?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t, and I don’t blame him. I was unfaithful to him.”
“And you’ve been punishing yourself for it ever since.”
Dawn looked up, tears in her eyes. “It was wrong. I’ve been so unsure about myself my whole life, but the one thing I knew, the one thing I could count on, was my honesty.”
“You weren’t being dishonest, hon. You were struggling to find out who you were. Think of how confused you were, how hard you fought to be someone you weren’t. And as soon as you knew for sure, you told him.”
Barbara had a hard time forgiving them for those months of discovery, as well. Sometimes she felt so responsible, as though it was her fault Dawn had left her husband, h
er fault Dawn was there with her, living a life for which she had to take so much heat.
She’d known, the moment she met Dawn, that this was the woman she’d been waiting to meet. She’d known she had to pursue her, see if there was any chance Dawn just didn’t know about herself yet. She’d needed to make sure she wasn’t reading things all wrong.
But she’d hated herself for doing it, just the same.
She hated to think about those months when Dawn had been her lover—and Zack’s, too.
“The sad thing is,” Dawn murmured, her thoughts turned inward, “I’m afraid he blames himself.”
“For what?” Barbara asked. “The fact that you’re with me? What does that have to do with him?”
“He seems to think he did something to drive me here.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I know.”
“The man needs to be educated.”
“I know.”
Their eyes met again. Filled with understanding. With acceptance of the choices they’d made. Choices that were right for them. Choices that much of the world would not forgive them for.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE PET-THERAPY CLUB’S first outing was on the second Thursday in February. They took a couple of vans from the school into Phoenix, Zack and Randi both driving. The students were all riding with their companions, human and canine, having paired up two students per dog in the parking lot at Montford. Randi was following Zack who, looking far too good in jeans and a short-sleeved sweatshirt, had the rest of the students and their dogs in his van.
It had been two weeks since she’d slept with him. Two weeks since she’d seen him. After that fateful phone call the next day—the one during which she’d been hell-bent on not hearing an apology from him—they’d only communicated by answering machines.
“You aren’t taking a dog, Coach?” Renee asked from the bench seat directly behind Randi.
Randi glanced at her passengers in her rearview mirror. Renee, short, slightly heavy, had paired up with Valerie, a tall skinny quiet girl who hadn’t said a word since she’d stuck her name tag to her shirt.
On the seat behind them were Marisa and Beth, both homespun girls who wore no makeup and appeared to be inseparable.
“No,” Randi said to Renee, but she wasn’t looking at the girl. She was sharing her focus between the road and the large canine on the seat between Valerie and Renee. He—or was it a she—seemed placid enough. But that mouth…and you never knew when… “I, uh, have to supervise,” Randi continued in her most authoritative teacher’s voice. “You guys are my responsibility and I need to be available if anyone has problems.”
Renee nodded.
Beth and Marisa, chatting quietly in the back, apparently had their dog on the floor at their feet. Randi couldn’t see him.
Palms sweaty, she concentrated on the license plate in front of her. On the van Zack was driving. The dogs were on leashes. They were trained to be nice to people. To heal people.
The license plate was a boring one—123EOE. She soon tired of trying to make something interesting out of EOE and her eyes drifted a bit higher. To the back of the driver’s head. Or what she could see of it through the six other heads in that van. Nine, counting the dogs.
Wiping first one palm and then the other on her black leggings, Randi thought about how she and Zack had barely spoken that morning. A brief greeting—minus eye contact—and then they’d been busy with their charges. Hers human, his canine.
Randi was glad. She’d been dreading the meeting. She’d been afraid things would be awkward between them. But no, it had been all business, as though neither of them knew what the other looked like naked.
She’d worn a longer-than-usual thermal shirt today, one that fastened with little hooks and eyelets all the way up the front, just to make herself less accessible.
Yeah, right. Or had she wanted to remind him of the bra he’d removed so skillfully that night…?
Okay, the man turned her on. She’d be a fool to deny it. But she’d made her decision. She loved her life. Was comfortable. Contented. She’d faced enough disappointments, the loss of her golf career being a major one, and managed to survive. Opening herself to a new world of hurt didn’t seem smart.
Or maybe she didn’t have the courage.
Shaking her head, Randi pulled into the nursing home, parking next to Zack. Randi Parsons wasn’t afraid of anything. Growing up with four brothers had seen to that.
“Something wrong, Coach?” Renee asked.
“No.” Randi bit down on the lie. “You guys ready?” she asked, meeting everyone’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
She climbed out of the van with a chorus of yeahs ringing in her ears. And terror in her heart.
Zack. Dogs. And a nursing home. It didn’t get any worse than this.
WITH SAMMIE AT HIS SIDE, Zack watched as his charges moved off to their designated hallways, eager to embark on the afternoon’s work. The dogs were eager, too, their ears at attention, their tails wagging, as they trotted beside their companions.
Zack didn’t worry about them. The dogs knew the drill. The students would be just fine.
He wasn’t so sure about their supervisor.
Like him, Randi watched the students and dogs head off—but from a slightly greater distance than Zack. She was barely inside the door of the nursing home.
Sammie tugged on her leash.
“Okay, girl, we’ll go,” Zack said, looking at Randi. Her eyes skated back and forth, landing nowhere, as though she was trying her best not to see anything. Not the nursing home or its patients. Not the dogs. And certainly not him.
Zack couldn’t just leave her like that.
He wanted to believe his motives were completely altruistic as he approached her, but he knew they weren’t. He had never obsessed about a woman as much as he’d obsessed about Randi these past two weeks. Not even Dawn.
“Have you ever been to a nursing home before?” he asked softly.
Not quite the greeting he’d have liked, but much better than the nothing they’d managed to that point.
She nodded, stepped back a pace. Swallowed. “My grandfather died in one a couple of years ago.”
So that explained her discomfort. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “You should have said something.”
“It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
She shrugged off his concern and he wondered if that was a habit of hers, to make light of the things that bothered her. Sammie pranced around his feet; Randi took another step backward. “I’m just looking for a central location to hang out in case anyone has problems,” she said.
“No one’s going to have problems,” he told her.
“These dogs are all veterans to the work, but also to this particular home. The patients here are like family to them.”
She smiled, but her expression failed to convey any pleasure. “Still, I need to wait someplace…”
“There’s a lounge at the end of this hall,” he told her, pointing to his left. “They have vending machines, some couches, a television. We can find you there when we’re finished.”
“Thanks.” She looked almost longingly down the hall. “But I should probably be more accessible than that.”
Sammie moved, snorting impatiently, and Randi jumped back an inch or two.
“She’s just eager to get to work,” Zack explained, frowning. Randi was exhibiting signs of real fear.
Sammie moved again. And so did Randi. And he suddenly had a feeling he was on to something he wasn’t supposed to know. He remembered the first meeting of the pet-therapy club. He’d had Sammie and Bear with him.
And she’d hung out in the back of the room.
“You’re afraid of them, aren’t you?” he said softly.
“Of what? Nursing homes? Of course not,” she said quickly. “I mean, they stink—ugh—but there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Not all the wards stink,” Zack sai
d. “Only the ones with incontinent patients. And I wasn’t talking about nursing homes. I was talking about dogs. You’re afraid of dogs.”
“No, I’m not,” she retorted, her chin lifted as she turned a challenging gaze on him. His eyes held hers, steadfast, telling her he’d seen more of her than most people did.
Her eyes dropped. “Okay, so maybe I am. A little. They have such big mouths.”
“All the better to kiss you with,” Zack teased, understanding now why she’d been so adamant about canceling the pet-therapy club. It hadn’t been because she was impervious to the needs of others, but because she’d known this day was coming. She’d known she was walking into something she couldn’t handle.
But she’d walked into it, anyway. Silently. Alone. Forcing herself to face her demons.
As much as he admired her for that, he didn’t want her to face them alone.
Zack looked around her and down the hall.
“Damn!” he cried suddenly. “Take this, please.”
She took Sammie’s leash from him automatically before she’d even realized what he’d handed her. And he was gone before she had a chance to hand it back.
RANDI WAS SO ALARMED at what Zack might have seen, it was a full two minutes before she started to worry about the dog in her care. She stood no closer to Sammie than she’d been when Zack was there. But now she was in charge.
Not that she could count on the dog to know that. Dogs had minds of their own. They did what they wanted when they wanted. They minded their owners when they felt like it—and attacked without warning. They peed when they wanted to, as well.
They were completely unpredictable.
Fortunately, after Zack ran off in such a hurry, Sammie had decided to sit quietly where he’d left her. No more prancing or snorting.
If she hadn’t been afraid of drawing attention to herself, Randi would have thanked the dog.
What on earth was keeping Zack?
And where were all those avid students of hers when she needed them?
On their assigned wards, where they belonged, she reminded herself.
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