Nick’s equipment filled all the empty spaces in Stacy’s garage as if it belonged there. After a few testy words, the two men started to work, leaving Stacy to deal with any regular calls. By midweek another crew of workers arrived, transforming one work bay into a moisture-proof chamber for painting. Bit by bit, Stacy watched her seedy, run-down facility take on new life, along with the Cadillac.
She hated to admit it, but she spent a great deal of her time watching the doorway, expecting any second to see Gavin striding across the garage. But he couldn’t have marched straight through as he’d done that first day. Now the other work bays were filling up. Not with trucks, but with automobiles in need of bodywork. And Stacy was fielding an onslaught of questions about repainting and striping and customizing.
Every time she tried to explain that she ran a fleet garage, Lonnie or Nick stepped in, overriding her refusal with, “If you want to leave it, we’ll get to it when we can.”
At night she watched Alien and identified with Sigourney Weaver, who was being stalked by an unseen enemy. For that was the way Stacy felt. She was alone, in her own house, but still there was a presence, constantly there, reaching out to touch her at moments when she least expected it.
He didn’t call, but she heard his voice. He didn’t come, but she closed her eyes and saw him as clearly as if he were there.
When Friday night arrived, Stacy had bleached the grease from beneath her fingernails and splurged on two new outfits that were promptly returned in favor of a pair of green shorts and a favorite old “Save the Rain Forest” T-shirt. She did spring for a new pair of white canvas shoes, a three-dollar special from the mart.
Frankenstein and Dracula heard Gavin arrive before she did. When the doorbell rang, they charged through the room in their normal attack mode. At the door they recognized their visitor and sat without being commanded to do so. Stacy lifted her lucky coin to the outside of her shirt and opened the door.
“Would you like to—come in was what she started to say, but her words died in her throat as she caught sight of the man who’d marched determinedly through the corridors of her mind all week.
“Oh, yes, I’d like to, very much, but if I come in, I’ll kiss you and we’ll never get to the game I promised to take you to.”
“And you always keep your promises?”
“I always try. How’s the car?”
“It’s coming along fine. How’s the parade?”
They were talking, but the conversation wasn’t important. They were standing there with goofy smiles on their faces as if they’d each won a prize on the ringtoss game at the fair.
Damn, the man totally overpowered her. All he had to do was come within two feet of her, and she melted. He was exactly the kind of man she’d sworn she’d avoid. He might not be a gambler, but he was a hustler, and there was little difference between the two. Sure he was gorgeous, with those jewel-green eyes pinning her down as if he were Indiana Jones and she were the treasure he’d been searching for, but she’d already vowed not to fall under his spell.
Of course, he did look after his mother and his aunt. And a man who cared about his family couldn’t be all bad. And he was making an effort to build a respectable life with a new career. But that was no reason for her to drift off into la-la land every time he came close.
Then she looked closer. Tonight he even looked different. Tonight he was different. Gone were the expensive trousers and the matching tailor-made shirts. Gone were the streaked and speckled white leather Loafers. He was wearing boots and a pair of black jeans so faded that only the seams still showed color, and so tight that they looked as if they’d been painted on his lean, powerful legs. He was wearing a sleeveless ribbed T-shirt and a baseball cap.
“Something wrong? Am I not dressed right for a baseball game?”
Baseball is not the game you’re dressed for, she wanted to say. If lust were marketable by the ounce, she’d put him on the scales. If her heart was beating any faster, she’d probably be launched as a receiving satellite and float through space as a transmitter for totally sinful thoughts.
Gatsby was gone. The man she was looking at was all male, and deadly. “You’re fine,” she finally managed to say. “Are you ready?”
“Oh yes, but first I have one small chore that won’t wait.” He pushed open the door and swept her into his arms, kissing her soundly before he let out a satisfied sigh and released her.
“Why did you do that, Gavin?”
“I just wanted to be sure that nothing had changed.”
“And has it?”
“As my aunt Jane would say, Lordy no! The situation just keeps on keeping on.”
Six
“Your chariot, madam. What do you think?”
Gavin asked the question and stopped at the corner of the house by a battered old green pickup truck.
“You’re driving this?” Stacy couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. Gatsby had shed his white linen trousers and tasseled Loafers for skintight jeans and boots, but neither image fit with an old, grungy truck.
“Why not? It’s a great truck. In fact, I’m going to leave it with Nick and Lonnie. It will be the first restoration job we do.”
Leave it with Nick and Lonnie? she repeated to herself. “I don’t understand.”
“It belongs to one of my partners. He loaned it to me for our date. I thought you would appreciate its potential.”
Gavin opened the door and assisted Stacy inside. She wanted to ask why Lonnie was involved in his project. She wanted to ask if he was sure he could drive a straight shift truck. She wanted to ask why he continued to make plans that involved her and her garage in his future. But all she could do was slide across the seat to sit beside him.
“No gun rack on the back window?” she finally asked as he backed smoothly down the drive, maneuvering the old truck beautifully, as if he’d always been behind the wheel.
“Not on this truck. It belonged to the state forestry department once. It’s one of the original 1956 models, only three left that we’ve been able to find. I think it’s very appropriate.”
“A green forestry truck, appropriate?”
“Sure. It makes me want to climb trees,” he said in a wicked, low voice.
“Climb trees?” She was beginning to sound like an echo.
“Your shirt. I definitely want to save it, and the rain forest. It’s spectacular. You see what a team we are?”
“What are you trying to do, Magadan? You may drive a Cadillac convertible, but you’ll never convince me that you normally drive forestry department trucks. And you certainly don’t wear jeans and boots. Where’d you get this outfit?”
“At the thrift shop. Does it show?”
“It shows.” She grinned. “It shows everything a man wants to show. Tonight is going to be very interesting.”
It was.
Gavin might have been driving a beat-up old truck, but he drove it straight into the VIP parking section. The ticket taker directed them to the front row of seats that was just to the right of the batter’s box.
Stacy sat down, glancing directly to her left at the section which belonged to the owner of the Braves, Ted Turner. “Wow, when you said you wanted to take me out to the ball game, you weren’t kidding. How’d you get these tickets anyway?”
“I just called in a few favors,” Gavin explained. “Now, about dinner. What would you like?”
“You haven’t won the bet yet.”
“My stomach doesn’t care. It says it’s hungry, and my body gets very aggressive if it isn’t fed. Besides, just look at this as an appetizer. You can supply the main course after the game.”
That’s what Stacy was worried about. She had the feeling that she was the main course, and the end of the game was still four hours or so away. From the way Gavin was looking at her, she wasn’t certain that she wouldn’t be burned to a crisp by then.
“Two hot dogs all the way and a lemonade,” she said with a gulp.
“Two hot
dogs coming up.” Gavin signaled to the vender coming down the steps.
Like a small boy, Gavin dived into the food and the game. He was like a two-year-old asking questions. “Why do the players chew tobacco?”
“I have no idea, they just do.”
“Why do they wear gloves when they bat?”
“To get a good grip on the wood.”
The Braves’ pitcher threw the first pitch. The Dodgers’ hitter promptly hit it out of the park. The crowd hushed, except for Gavin, who stood and clapped vigorously.
“Gavin! Stop it. You’re cheering for the Dodgers, and we’re sitting right next to the owner of the Braves.”
“Oh, Ted knows. I told him that you were betting on the Braves, and I had a bet on the Dodgers.”
“You told Ted Turner you were coining to the game to cheer for the opposition?”
“That’s okay. Ted and I go back a ways.”
Gavin sat and watched the next three Dodgers make outs, then glanced around at the fans who were rhythmically chopping the air. “What are they doing?”
“That’s the tomahawk chop. We’re the Braves, remember? It’s the fans’ way of cheering on the team. They hear the tom-toms and start the tomahawk motion. Have you ever been to a baseball game before?”
“Nope. Have you ever been on the sales floor of a brokerage firm?”
“Nope. Can’t say that I have.”
“I’ll take you.”
Stacy wiped a spot of mustard from his nose, meeting his eyes evenly, steeling herself for the answering onslaught of emotion that occurred anytime they looked at each other.
“Gavin,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, “I have as much business in a stock exchange as you do in jeans and boots.”
“Why, don’t you like the way I look? I was positively assured that this was the appropriate dress for a lean, mean, loving machine who had a date with a vamp.”
Loving machine? He had her. Caught like a rabbit in the light of an oncoming automobile, she froze. On both sides of them the fans rose in unison. The tom-toms churned, and the roar of the crowd swirled around them. Like the way he looked? Of course she liked the way he looked. Every woman in the stadium liked the way he looked. Every time she moved her head, she encountered the hostile glare of yet another woman staring at Gavin Magadan.
It had always been the same with Lucky. Women had been drawn to him, and he could never say no. He played on that charm, used it to his advantage. It was the women who ended up being hurt, and yet, they never held it against him.
Was that happening to her? Was Gavin turning on the heat in order to influence her? She couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t even be sure what she was feeling. He totally confused her.
And that was before he kissed her.
Right there, on camera, Gavin Magadan had kissed her. When the fans began to make catcalls and whistle, Stacy lifted her head enough to see their picture flashing on the big screen on the opposite field scoreboard.
“Gavin!”
Stacy pulled away, feeling her face flush as she felt every eye in the ballpark on her. Before he realized what she was doing, she was halfway up the steps.
“If you don’t want him, honey, I’ll take him!” One fan called as she rushed by.
“I’ll trade,” another shouted.
Stacy was incensed. Every time she met Gavin Magadan, she ended up behaving in some wild, off-the-wall manner. What was happening to her, kissing a man in the ballpark before thirty-five thousand screaming fans? Not to mention the millions more who were probably watching on television.
Lonnie. Lonnie would have seen the kiss. At least he’d have visible confirmation that she’d won that bet. There’d be no question about her having vamped Gavin Magadan. Lonnie would leave her alone about finding a man now. The only question still to be answered was how she could justify what Gavin had done to her.
By the time she left the ballpark, Gavin was striding along behind her. She was grateful for the VIP parking space, otherwise she’d never have found the truck in the sea of vehicles around the stadium.
“All right, so the game wasn’t interesting. You didn’t have to be shy about leaving.” He reached out and caught her arm.
“Don’t touch me!”
“What’s wrong, Stacy?” He caught her shoulder and swung her around.
“And don’t look at me either. You make me crazy when you look at me.”
“That’s what’s supposed to happen. I wouldn’t want to be the only one with that problem.” Gavin opened the truck door and leaned lazily against the side of the cab.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the same thing I’ve been telling you all along. The Force is with us, and we can’t fight it. What’s wrong with going with the flow. I might get to like baseball.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just know that sitting in box seats with a man who lives practically next door to the governor’s mansion isn’t my style. My father traveled in those circles, but I don’t.”
“So, it’s time you did. Why do you keep putting yourself down, Stacy?”
“I don’t. I like my life. It’s a fine life. You just don’t belong in it.”
He walked around the truck and got in. “Why not?”
“Because of Aunt Jane.”
“I knew it. I didn’t know how, but I was sure that Jane had something to do with what was happening. Let’s go home and listen to the rest of the game while you tell me. I still have a bet to win.”
“No you don’t. I told you, I never lose.”
“Never say never.” He helped her inside the truck and closed the door behind her.
But I don’t want you to go home with me, she protested silently as Gavin reached out and pulled her across the seat until their thighs touched. I don’t.
Gavin turned on the radio. By the time they reached Hiram, it was painfully obvious that Stacy was going to win her bet. With two innings to go, the Braves were six runs ahead and the bases were loaded.
“How come this team is suddenly winning?” Gavin asked curiously. “I mean, I thought the Braves were usually fighting for last place.”
“Not this year. They’ve turned everything around. No more making do with the leftovers.”
“Leftovers?”
“Yeah, it used to be that if a player was used up or on his way down, we got him. This year we have new uniforms, new players, and a new confidence. I think the main thing is, if you think you’re going to win, you stand a better chance. At least that’s what Lucky always said.”
“And did he?”
“Think he could win? Always. Did he? Rarely.”
“How old were you when your father stopped playing ball?”
“I was eight years old.”
“What happened then?”
“Lucky and I moved around a lot—until I started high school. Then Lonnie and I came here. Lonnie’s wife, Grace, was still alive then. She died six years ago. Lucky came and went, until I was twenty. He had a heart attack. He died instantly.”
“With his boots on, according to Aunt Jane.”
“If that means he wasn’t alone, yes. He was with—someone. That left just me and Lonnie, and Lucky’s debts.”
“I can identify with that, all right,” Gavin said, as he turned into the gravel drive that led to the log house. “At least so far as my mother is concerned. I never knew my father. My mother and I moved around a lot too. Then later we came here to Atlanta to live with Aunt Jane. But lately it’s turning into a question of who’s looking after whom.”
“Oh, but I thought—”
“You thought I’ve always had money and position?”
“Yes. You went to Northside. And I’ve seen your—I mean, Aunt Jane’s house.”
“Everything I’ve ever had, Stacy Lanham, I’ve had to work for. By the time I was in the ninth grade, I was working in the drugstore. I never went to a baseball game because I was always working. Later I went to college a few hours at a time.
Until I took a temporary job with Arthur Murray and saw the light. There was more money in dancing than sales. I could keep myself, pay for college, and support my mom.”
The drive ended. Gavin parked the truck and turned off the engine.
“You were a dance instructor?”
“The original Dirty Dancer was not Patrick Swayze. It was me.” He opened the door and came around for her, taking her by the hand and leading her into the amber light beneath the trees. “Want to do the lambada, baby?”
Maybe he’d gone too far. Or maybe it was sheer nerves. Stacy couldn’t help herself, she began to laugh. “Me? Do the lambada? Gavin, I can’t do the box step.”
“Well, we’re going to have to fix that. The reunion is a sock hop, and we’re gonna dance.”
Gavin pulled her to him, her breast tight against his chest, his left knee pressed intimately between her legs. “Just move with me, darling.”
“I knew it,” she managed to say as they dipped and swayed across the yard. “Zelda and Scott. All we need is some bathtub gin and a little Charleston music.”
“Charleston? You say you want to Charleston?” Gavin changed the tempo and hummed a foxy tune to keep the rhythm of their new step.
By the time they reached the doorway, the dogs were howling and scratching at the screen.
“Gavin Magadan, let me down. I want to find out what’s happening in the game.”
“The game, dinner, my five-dollar bet.” Gavin reached over the door, retrieved the key, and let the dogs inside before releasing his hold on Stacy. “I’ll turn on the game. We’ll worry about dinner later.”
“You worry about dinner. I’ve already had hot dogs and peanuts and popcorn. The only thing I haven’t had is—” She broke off, remembering the only thing left on their menu.
“Dessert,” Gavin said. “I remember.”
They watched the game. Gavin didn’t touch her, other than where their thighs joined as they sat side by side. His not touching her was unnerving. By the time the game ended, the tension had enveloped her, and she could hardly talk.
“I guess this means you owe me five dollars,” she said, her voice sounding strained as she struggled to force air past the painful lump in her throat.
Lean Mean Loving Machine Page 7