“Where’s the bedroom?” He said.
His voice was low and husky in her ear.
His words brought her back to reality. She was one step away from an irrevocable act, and she panicked.
“I can’t,” she said.
He stared at her, breathing hard, hands on hips, much as she had seen him the day she found him exercising. But there was another reason for his breathlessness now. She looked back at him, so handsome, so desirable, that one part of her wondered how she could refuse him. But the other part, the rational one, whispered, Jenny…remember the last time, the hurt, the pain…
MEDICINE MAN’S AFFAIR
Doreen Owens Malek
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Originally published as
Native Season (1983)
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Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications
PO Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
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Copyright 1983 and 2012
by Doreen Owens Malek
www.doreenowensmalek.com
The Author asserts the moral right to be
identified as author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author or Publisher.
First USA printing: 1983
All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
New Releases by Doreen Owens Malek
Coming Soon
Dedication
For Anne Baldwin Freiberger,
companion of my childhood,
lifelong confidante.
Blessed are the peacemakers.
Chapter 1
It was a beautiful midsummer morning in Philadelphia, still cool at this early hour, the sky a cloudless, pale blue. Jennifer pulled her car into the company lot and showed her pass to the security guard, who waved her on to her assigned space. She drove into it mechanically, her mind on the business of the day. It would be a long one.
She walked across the marble floor of the lobby of the Freedom Building, past the tall potted plants and the glass-enclosed business rosters on the walls. She nodded at another security guard seated at a desk and unlocked the employee elevator. Her ascent to the third floor was swift and noiseless.
Outside her office, Dolores, her secretary, handed her a stack of mail and coffee in a plastic foam cup. “Bradley Youngson at nine,” Dolores reminded her, wearing a mischievous smile.
“Why the Cheshire Cat grin, Dolores?” Jennifer said, depositing her purse and the correspondence on her desk.
Dolores paused in the doorway, her smile widening. “You’ll know when you see him. He was here last week when you were in Chicago.” She rolled her eyes. “Sexy as hell.”
“Thank you, Dolores, for that capsule assessment,” Jennifer said dryly. “I only hope he can read.”
Jennifer was the publicity director for the Philadelphia Freedom football team and was responsible for the contracted promotional appearances the players made on behalf of the club. In her previous dealings with the athletes she had found quite a few of them, to put it charitably, something less than bright.
“When you look like him” Dolores said, “it doesn’t matter if you can read, write, or even think. The world will beat a path to your door.”
Jennifer gave Dolores a look that sent her scuttling back to her typewriter. Dolores had an unfortunate tendency to moon over the more attractive players. She was otherwise an excellent secretary, but her sophomoric hero worship made Jennifer feel like the den mother at a sorority house. She was always sending Dolores off on a manufactured errand to prevent her staring, thunderstruck, at some gloriously healthy young quarterback who had arrived to sign papers. Judging by this preview, Jennifer might have to give her a one-way ticket to the Ozarks while Youngson was around.
Jennifer sat and sipped her coffee, reviewing the material on Youngson. He was an American Indian, raised on a reservation in Montana, whose athletic prowess in the school there won him a scholarship to Cornell. He had been a star halfback in college and had signed with the Green Bay Packers upon graduation. He had had a magnificent career since, at the top of the league in yardage gained and passes received wherever he had played. He had been brought to the Freedom with the publicity of an astronaut returning from Jupiter. His salary could feed the population of China for a decade, and that did not include the perks—the cars, the clothes, the residuals from advertisements. The man was loaded. Jennifer always found herself resenting the amount these players were paid, but Youngson was in a class by himself. And all for playing a children’s game.
Jennifer was not impressed. She knew the type, all brawn and no brains. She had been married to one of them for three years. College degrees meant nothing in this business. Athletes were supplied with free tutoring in order to pass the most basic courses. And there had been more than one scandal about grade fixing and credit given for classes never attended, so that the starting lineup would be eligible to play. Jennifer had met some of the products of this system: college graduates who were functional illiterates, reading on a fourth or fifth-grade level, unable to decipher the material she handed them. She knew that quite a few of the faces she saw grinning from the sports pages couldn’t read the stories written about them. It had a tendency to dim the brightness of their accomplishments on the field.
When Dolores buzzed her at 8:58, she was prepared for more of the same. At least he was on time.
“Mr. Youngson is here,” Dolores said breathlessly into the intercom.
I hope she doesn’t have a heart attack, Jennifer thought, sighing to herself. I need her for the rest of the day. “Send him in,” she said.
The door opened, Bradley Youngson entered, and Jennifer felt her customary composure desert her.
He was tall and broad shouldered, but hadn’t the massive, hulking physique she had come to expect in football players. He appeared to be of average weight for his height, but his narrow waist and hips gave him a deceptive appearance of slimness. His body was perfectly proportioned, elegant, with the pleasing symmetry of Grecian art.
Jennifer realized that she was staring and quickly dropped her eyes.
But he had caught her puzzled examination of him. “What’s the matter, Ms. Gardiner?” he asked in a low, resonant voice. “Am I not what you expected?”
“I thought you would be…heavier,” she blurted, and then closed her mouth, amazed at her loss of composure. What on earth was wrong with her? This was just another Saturday hero, another side of prime beef paid to entertain the masses with the bashing of heads. A modem gladiator in a twentieth century arena, a member of an expensive sideshow, no more. She sat up straighter and regarded him levelly, taking a breath.
“I’m a pass receiver, Ms. Gardiner,” he said with a trace of sarcasm. “I run around a lot.”
She could believe that he received a lot of passes. Also that he ran around a lot.
His large, dark eyes studied her with faintly amused detachment. “You must be accustomed to dealing with linemen. They usually resemble Mack trucks.”
He r
emained standing in front of her desk. Dolores was right Sexy as hell. It wasn’t so much his looks, though he was certainly handsome in a craggy, strong-featured way, but more a presence, a physical confidence and awareness that attracted like a magnet Jennifer felt the pull and consciously decided to resist it.
Their eyes locked. His dusky skin had been made even browner by the sun of a hundred football fields and had an underlying coppery tinge that bespoke his heritage. His brows and lashes were jet black, like his hair, which was beautiful, thick and straight and as glossy as a thoroughbred’s coat He stood easily, watching her, his lips slightly parted to reveal a glimpse of very white teeth.
“Please be seated, Mr. Youngson,” she said stiffly.
“Call me Lee,” he said, dropping gracefully into the chair across from her, stretching his long legs in front of him. He was wearing tight jeans with moccasins and a yellow V-necked sweater that clung to the muscles in his arms and shoulders and revealed the clean, supple line of his throat. He knows how to pick his colors, Jennifer thought The bright material of his sweater was in striking contrast to his ebony eyes and hair.
Jennifer noticed that he was looking her over, too, and wondered what he thought of her. But his black gaze revealed nothing.
There was a knock at the door. Dolores opened it, simpering at Youngson.
“I just wondered if Mr. Youngson would like some coffee,” she said kittenishly.
His indulgent smile suggested that Youngson was used to such fawning attention. He nodded. “Black No sugar.”
Dolores all but purred as she went out. Jennifer made a silent resolve to kill her as soon as Youngson left.
“Shall we begin?” she said pointedly to Youngson.
He raised his brows. “Please.”
Jennifer handed him his copy of the typed sheets. He followed as she read the list of public appearances he was to make and explained the details involved. She took care to use the simplest language and went over each point twice.
She finished the first page. “Is there anything you would like me to explain again?” she said.
“It is not necessary to speak in words of one syllable, Ms. Gardiner,” he answered quietly. “I understand.”
Somewhat disconcerted, she went on. When they got to a paragraph written in legal jargon, she paused to interpret it.
He gazed at her directly across the cream bond pages in his hand. “I said I get the picture, ma’am,” he said, a little more sharply.
Jennifer felt a twinge of anger. He had no right to be miffed. She was only doing her job.
“I apologize if my explanations are boring you, Mr. Youngson,” she said sweetly. “I have found in the past that clearly establishing the facts saves time and effort later. While many of our clients are college graduates, they frequently went to school on athletic scholarships and...”
His jaw tightened and he pitched the papers back onto her desk “Lady” he said, interrupting her, “I resent your attitude. I’m not a dumb jock and I’m not a dumb Indian. Maybe I went to college on a football scholarship, but I went to Cornell, which is no kindergarten. I was premed, in case the football didn’t work out I had a 3.7 average in a biology major, so please don’t treat me like an idiot.”
Dolores chose this inopportune moment to reenter with Youngson’s drink Her smile vanished as she sensed the atmosphere of hostility. Bewildered, she set the cup down and quickly sidled out again.
Jennifer considered what to do. She felt that she had scored a point off him, but at the same time she was ashamed of herself. He was touchy and defensive under that gorgeous facade, and there was doubtless good reason to account for his feelings. Lord only knew what prejudices he had faced in the past. She knew that she had been condescending, and worse, it had not been entirely unintentional. His unexpected attractiveness had unnerved her, and in alarmed reaction she had struck back in the best way she knew: with the club of her intelligence.
“I’m sorry you think I was demeaning you,” she said softly. “Perhaps you’d like to read the rest on your own, and let me know if you have any questions.”
He relented and picked up the list again. She sat in silence as he scanned the lines. She noticed the length of his sooty lashes as his eyes moved down the sheets. He finished and handed the pages back to her. She waited.
The silence lengthened.
“Nothing to say, Ms. Gardiner?” he said, needling. “You were talkative enough before.”
“You seem to find everything I say irritating,” Jennifer said smoothly. “I’m trying not to annoy you.”
“Is that what it is?” he responded. “I find it annoying.”
Her eyes flashed to his face. It was serene, but there was a tiny hint of amusement in his eyes, a slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth. This was an overture. He would smile, if she would.
Jennifer smiled, but only slightly. He should know that she wasn’t bowled over by his charm.
He grinned back at her, and she felt the full force of his considerable allure. This one was different, all right Sharp as a scalpel and difficult to resist. She would have to be careful.
“They generally send someone along to make sure I’m a good boy on these little jaunts,” he said, gesturing to the list “Who is going to accompany me?”
“I am,” she said, meeting his gaze squarely.
He sighed and stood. “Well, in that case, I suggest we forget our slight misunderstanding and begin again.” He walked over to her and extended his hand. “Lee Youngson, how do you do?”
She took it His fingers were strong and warm. “Jennifer Gardiner. Hello.”
“Jennifer,” he repeated, trying it out “May I call you that?”
“Of course.”
“Well, Jennifer, I’m late for practice right now, so I’d better go. I guess I’ll be seeing you again.”
She nodded. “On the eighteenth, for the mall opening. I’ll contact you.”
“goodbye, then.” His smile was touched with irony. “It was nice…wrestling with you.”
He walked soundlessly to the door and left.
Wrestling, Jennifer thought. That was as good a term as any for what they’d been doing.
Working with Bradley Youngson was certainly going to be interesting.
Chapter 2
It was a month before Jennifer saw Lee Youngson again. During that time she did her best to forget him, but to no avail. He was the darling of the newspapers, and as she was responsible for reviewing all his press releases, and even composing some of them, ignoring his existence was not possible. His performance in the practices and the preseason games was the subject of much discussion, and there was speculation about whether or not he was worth his astronomical salary. The general consensus seemed to be that he was. Jennifer found that difficult to believe. As far as she was concerned, in order to deserve what the management was paying him, he would have to cure lepers and walk on water.
One hot afternoon in mid-August Jennifer paused in the middle of dictating a batch of letters and retreated to the rest room for a few minutes of peace. There was so much to be done in preparation for the new season that the bathroom was virtually the only place where she could escape the constant demands on her attention. She drew the line when Dolores tried to follow her in with her note pad. Dolores retreated, grumbling, to her desk.
Jennifer surveyed herself in the full-length mirror and wished she were in Greenland. Or Oslo, Norway. Anyplace cool and quiet where they had never even heard of football. Every year the September zaniness got worse, and now it was beginning in July. Autumn had always been her favorite season, but since coming to the Freedom her thoughts of it were always mixed with visions of constantly ringing phones and a desk buried under piles of correspondence.
Jennifer brushed out her shoulder-length, honey blonde hair and reflected that she looked tired. There were shadows under her gray-blue eyes, and her fair skin had the drawn quality she associated with late nights reading contracts and publicity fi
llers. She didn’t notice that her tall, slim figure was flattered by the blue silk jersey dress she wore, and her legs were long and elegant in sheer hose and heeled pumps. She reapplied a light coral lipstick and tied the sash at her waist in a neater knot. She sprayed herself with a spritz of perfume from the tiny atomizer in her purse and felt better.
She emerged to find Lee Youngson lounging against the wall outside her office. She stopped, startled. Then she glanced at Dolores, who shrugged slightly and gave her a “your guess is as good as mine” look.
The minute Jennifer saw him she knew that she had not imagined the electricity of their first encounter. During the intervening time she had tried to tell herself that her memory had magnified it, but this fiction was exploded the instant he straightened and met her glance. She felt the warmth of his eyes on her like a palpable thing. Nothing had changed.
“Hi,” he said. “Got a minute?”
“Hello, Lee,” she responded, schooling herself to react casually. “Sure I do. Come on in.”
Jennifer turned back to Dolores, who was making faces at her over Lee’s shoulder. Jennifer threw her a threatening look and shut the door.
Lee stood uncertainly, watching her. He was wearing a loosely woven cream knit top with wheat cord jeans of a slightly darker shade. He looked so vibrant, brimming with health, that he made Jennifer feel like an extreme case of vitamin deficiency. Nobody could be as fit as he seemed.
“Have a seat,” she said, and he did. She noticed again his impeccable manners—he waited to be invited before he sat.
She glanced at him inquiringly.
He extracted a folded sheet of paper from his pocket “I received this in the mail this morning,” he said, rising to hand it to her.
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