Promises, Promises

by Shelley Cooper

  “What’s wrong?” Gretchen cried. “Did you stub your toe?”

  “I stepped on a bee,” he ground out. “The blasted thing stung me.”

  “Sit down,” she ordered.

  While he lowered himself to the grass, she shrugged out of the backpack and pulled out a first-aid kit.

  “Let me see.” She examined the bottom of his foot, where a black stinger was lodged in the pad of his big toe. “You were stung all right.”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  Because he was in pain, Gretchen ignored the irritated and combative remark. Instead, she opened the first-aid kit and rummaged around inside.

  “What are you doing?” he asked when he saw the tweezers in her hand.

  “Pulling out the stinger.” She cradled his foot in her lap and lowered the tweezers. “Unless, that is, you’d like to court infection by leaving it in.”

  “Wait!”

  Gretchen looked up. “Yes?”

  “Are they sterilized?”

  Her gaze encompassed their surroundings. “Does this look like the emergency room to you?”

  “You’re not going to use them on me, are you?”

  With a sigh of exaggerated patience, she said, “Marco, I’m not performing major surgery here. I’m removing a bee’s stinger. I will not be breaking the skin. Afterward I’ll apply an antiseptic. Okay?”

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” he persisted.

  Her bedside manner had just about reached its limit. Gretchen pointed to her forehead. “See these eyebrows? I think they prove I know my way around a pair of tweezers.”

  It took all of thirty seconds to remove the stinger, spray on antiseptic and wrap a Band-Aid around his toe.

  “All finished,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He pulled his foot out of her lap.

  “How’s it feel?”

  “Not too bad.”

  She busied herself putting the first-aid kit back together again. “For the record, you’re a lousy patient.”

  He gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Doctors are the worst. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I do now.”

  “Maybe we should put our shoes back on,” he said.

  “That would probably be a good idea,” she agreed.

  After tying her shoelaces, Gretchen wrapped her arms around her knees and stared off into space. When she lowered her head a minute later, her gaze collided with Marco’s. For long seconds they stared silently at each other. Then, as if on cue, they both burst out laughing.

  Gretchen laughed until her sides ached and tears ran down her cheeks. Swiping at them with her hand, she asked, “What was that you were saying about a walk in the park?”

  A rueful look on his face, he shook his head. “Some adventurers we are.”

  “Put it this way,” she replied. “Lewis and Clark’s reputation is in no danger, as long as we’re around.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Thank you,” she said instead.

  He looked surprised. “For what?”

  “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “Sure felt good.”

  “Sure did.” He leaned back on his elbows. “This isn’t turning out to be my day, is it?”

  “Want to go home?”

  He looked disturbingly attractive, stretched out in the grass. So attractive she was having a hard time not staring. Maybe it would be better for her peace of mind, not to mention her heartbeat, if he did abandon further adventuring for the rest of the day. For the rest of the week, for that matter, although she felt a hollowness at the thought.

  “No,” he said, “let’s keep going. After all, what else could possibly happen?”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes. He’d had to ask.

  “Please, Marco. Don’t tempt fate that way.”

  He laughed again. “You really believe in fate?”

  “I wished on a dandelion, didn’t I?”

  “In that case, you wouldn’t happen to have a shot of whisky in that bottomless backpack of yours, would you? To fortify us, before we move on?”

  “No, but I do have a thermos of lemonade.”

  “Freshly squeezed?”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “I’d love some lemonade, Gretchen.”

  She poured the liquid into the thermos cap and extended it to him. “Careful. I might have missed a few seeds.”

  “What’s freshly squeezed lemonade without a few seeds floating around?”

  “With the way your luck is running today,” she retorted, “those few seeds will force me to do the Heimlich maneuver on you.”

  He acknowledged the truth of her words with a wry smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He drank deeply, sighed with pleasure, then handed the cap back to her.

  “That was delicious.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marco’s gaze seemed to burn into hers. “Aren’t you thirsty?”

  What would he do, Gretchen wondered, if she told him that he was the long, tall drink she thirsted for?

  Averting her eyes from his gaze, she lifted the thermos. Since she hadn’t brought along paper cups, Gretchen had no option but to refill the thermos cap. As she raised it to her mouth, she wondered if she was drinking from the same spot that Marco had. Her lips tingled and her pulse thrummed as the sour-sweet liquid slid down her throat.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said, when she finished.

  She looked blankly at him, and he added, “Up in the tree. I wouldn’t have gotten down if it weren’t for you and your belief in me.”

  She dried the inside of the cap with a napkin and screwed it back on the thermos. “You wouldn’t have been up there in the first place, if it weren’t for me.”

  “True,” he acknowledged. “But then you didn’t hold a gun to my head and force me to climb.”

  “Why did you?” she asked.

  “I guess I didn’t want to look bad in front of you.”

  “So,” she said, unable to resist using the phrase countless parents had spoken over the years, “if I had jumped off a cliff, would you have followed?”

  He shook his head at her in mock reproach, then laughed. “You’ve been dying to say that for years, haven’t you?”

  “You bet.” She grinned. “Of course, whenever I imagined the occasion arising, I always thought I’d be looking at an adolescent.”

  “Ouch,” he said with a grimace.

  “You did ask for it,” she told him.

  “I suppose I did. Want to hear something funny?”

  “Sure.”

  “Despite everything, I’m having a really good time.”

  “Why’s that so funny?”

  He raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes. “I’ve never felt this relaxed with a woman before.”

  She didn’t know what to say. “Oh.”

  He opened his eyes and glanced at her. “I guess it’s because we’ve taken sex out of the equation. With that out of the way, we don’t have to be on our best behavior. We don’t have to worry about impressing each other. We can just be ourselves, let our hair down, have fun. I should have tried this years ago.”

  “Giving up sex?” she asked flippantly.

  He gave her a patient look. “Being just friends with a woman.”

  So much for her thirst for him. Obviously his thirst for her had dried up. It was ironic, really. For the two years he’d been her tenant, Marco had played a pivotal role in many a fantasy. In none of them had he been her best buddy.

  If only she could look at him without melting inside. He might have taken sex out of the equation, but her libido hadn’t.

  “Are you having a good time, Gretchen?” he asked.

  Was she? The day wasn’t going at all the way she had planned. She had company, for one thing. Unsettling company, to say the least. And when she hadn’t been coaxing Marco down from the tree, she’d spent most of her time trying
to remain aloof and emotionally uninvolved. She certainly didn’t feel relaxed in his presence, the way he did in hers.

  But she did feel alive. Breathlessly, tinglingly, vibrantly alive.

  “Yes, Marco,” she said softly, “I am.”

  “I’m glad. Ready to move on?”

  She placed the thermos in the backpack. “In a minute. First, I need to make some changes to our schedule.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen out of the front pocket. “Several items on the list involve heights. I’m going to cross them off.”

  Marco’s hand shot out, and his fingers circled her wrist. “Don’t change a thing, Gretchen. This is your adventure. I’m the gate crasher here. You do everything exactly the way you planned.”

  “But your fear…”

  “I’ll cope,” he said firmly.

  The determination in his eyes brooked no refusal. He dropped her wrist, and Gretchen’s hand covered the skin he had so recently touched. She knew she would feel the imprint of his fingers for a long time to come.

  “How do you feel about baseball?” she asked.

  His face lit up. “You want to go see a game?”

  “No. I want to play a game.”

  “Even better,” he said. He got to his feet and dusted the grass off his shorts. “Follow me.”

  The local ball field was just a few blocks away. They were in luck. When they arrived, a group of boys was just taking the field.

  “Can she play?” Marco asked.

  The tallest of the boys, who looked to be about twelve, broke away from the pack and approached them. “You want her to play ball with us?”

  “Yep.”

  “But she’s a girl.”

  Marco eyed Gretchen up and down, and she went hot all over.

  “Yes,” he drawled appreciatively, “she certainly is. There a problem with that?”

  “Why do you want us to let her play?”

  “What’s your name?” Marco asked.

  “Leo.”

  “Well, Leo, my name is Marco, and hers is Gretchen. I want you to let Gretchen play because she never has before. You guys look like a pretty fair-minded bunch. We were hoping you’d give her a chance.”

  Leo turned his head and yelled, “She’s never played before.”

  “Hey, lady,” a smaller boy with a freckle-spattered face called, “how come you never played baseball?”

  “Her parents wouldn’t let her,” Marco replied.

  “I can speak for myself,” Gretchen muttered to him out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Shh,” he muttered back. “I’m negotiating here.”

  “You’re not Jerry Maguire, and I’m not some hot prospect you’re trying to place.”

  “Maybe not, but I know how the game is played. You want to play, don’t you?”

  He had her there. “Negotiate away,” she said, standing aside.

  “Her parents wouldn’t let her play?” Leo asked.

  Marco shook his head, and his face assumed a sorrowful expression. “She had asthma. They thought physical activity would aggravate her condition.”

  “Overprotective, huh?”

  “Sure were. You know how that is, don’t you?”

  “Boy, do I.” Leo’s words were heartfelt. “My mom won’t let me stay out after dark, unless I’m with an adult.”

  “So,” Marco said. “Can she play?”

  “Let me talk with my teammates over there.”

  The boys formed a huddle. Gretchen shot Marco an amused look while they awaited the verdict.

  “I’m sorry,” Leo said when the huddle broke up and he rejoined them, “but this is a grudge match. You see, half of us leave for camp tomorrow. School starts up when we get back. This game decides who is the best team. None of my friends here want to take her on. No offense.”

  Gretchen bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew she should be offended that each boy automatically assumed she would be the reason if his team lost. But she didn’t take offense. She had no experience. If she were in their place, she wouldn’t want her on her team, either. Not when the winners took home the bragging rights.

  “How about this,” Marco offered. “You give her one at bat before you start the game.”

  “Just one?” Leo asked.

  “Just one.”

  “You want us to go easy on her?”

  “Nope.” Marco shook his head. “You pitch to her the way you would to anyone else. And when she hits the ball, you field it the way you normally would.”

  “If she hits the ball.”

  “She’ll hit the ball,” Marco said confidently, and Gretchen felt a grateful warmth encircle her heart.

  “Three strikes and she’s out?” Leo asked.

  “Three strikes and she’s out,” Marco confirmed. “But if you walk her, she gets another at bat.”

  “I don’t know,” Leo said. He looked over his shoulder at his friends and then back again. “We really did want to get going with our game.”

  “I’ll pay you ten bucks,” Gretchen said.

  “Places, everyone!” Leo cried. “The lady gets one at bat.”

  Gretchen leaned close to Marco and whispered, “Bribery will get them every time. You should know that, having all those brothers.”

  “I was going to offer him twenty,” Marco whispered back.

  “And you’re supposed to be the great negotiator,” she teased. “Next time why don’t you let me do the talking?”

  His laughter held enjoyment and appreciation. “Next time I might just do that.”

  The boys scattered, and Leo held out his hand expectantly to Gretchen. He stuffed the ten-dollar bill into a pocket. Repeatedly punching his fist into the center of the mitt, he walked to the pitcher’s mound.

  “Batter up!” the boy acting as umpire called.

  “That’s you,” Marco said.

  “What do I do?” Gretchen asked.

  “Choose a bat, stand at home plate, and prepare to swing.”

  “Where’s home plate?”

  Marco looked pained as he pointed.

  Feeling awkward and anything but athletic, Gretchen had half a mind to flee for home. It was obvious they were all expecting her to make a fool of herself.

  She squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin. She was on an adventure. Who cared if she made a fool of herself? All that mattered was that she try. After choosing a bat, she moved to stand at home plate.

  “Bend your knees,” Marco instructed.

  Gretchen bent her knees.

  “Hands closer together on the bat,” he said.

  She slid her hands together.

  “Higher.”

  She moved her hands up higher, then looked over her shoulder at him, awaiting further directions. She felt, rather than saw the ball fly by.

  “Strike one!” the umpire called as the ball landed squarely in the catcher’s mitt.

  “Watch the ball!” Marco yelled.

  “Now he tells me,” she muttered.

  When the next pitch came, she took a wild swing that landed her on her backside. Well after the swing she heard the thump of the ball in the catcher’s mitt. There was a general tittering from both the infield and the outfield.

  “Strike two!”

  “Time out!” Marco called.

  Next thing Gretchen knew, he was helping her to her feet and had slid his arms around her. The heat of his body enfolded her, and she sucked in a harsh breath. Her knees went weak and bent even further.

  “That’s it,” Marco said approvingly into her ear as his hands closed around hers on the bat. “Now, about your swing.”

  He drew her arms up above her head, then brought them around her body in a fluid motion.

  “Keep it smooth and firm,” he said. He swung her arms again. “Just like that. Okay?”

  Gretchen couldn’t have uttered a word if her life depended on it. Dry-mouthed, she nodded.

  Marco stood back, and she felt th
e loss of his warmth like a physical blow.

  “You can do it,” he said softly. “I have faith in you. Watch the ball the whole way in. Don’t take your eyes off it. And don’t swing until you’re ready.”

  Suddenly all tentativeness left her, and she wanted to hit the ball with the fierceness of a prosecuting attorney determined to convict a repeat offender. She wanted to do it for Jill in memory of all that her friend had missed. She wanted to do it for herself. But most of all, she wanted to do it for Marco. To justify his faith in her.

  Leo wound up, and Gretchen watched the ball leave his hand. Something about its trajectory didn’t look right to her, so she let it go by.

  “Ball one,” the umpire called.

  “That’s it,” Marco encouraged. “Good eye. Wait for your pitch.”

  She let two more balls go by, leaving her with a full count. This was it. Now or never.

  To Gretchen’s amazement, when she swung at the next pitch, the aluminum bat made solid contact with the ball. She felt a thrill as, open-mouthed, she watched it soar on the air.

  “Run!” she heard Marco call.

  Gretchen dropped the bat and ran. She was nearing first base when the ball whizzed by. Fortunately, it went over the first baseman’s head, and she rounded the base and headed for second.

  Things went a little crazy after that. A golden retriever ran onto the field and scooped up the ball before the first baseman could collect it.

  “Get your dog off the field, Rocky!” Leo yelled, before he and everyone else on the field gave chase.

  She stopped running to watch the spectacle.

  “Gretchen!” she heard Marco call.

  When she glanced over at him, he was waving his arms wildly. “Keep going, keep going!”

  Gretchen ran. Winded, but triumphant, she crossed home plate. The ball was just a hair’s breadth behind her, Leo having wrestled it successfully from the golden retriever.

  “Safe!” the umpire called.

  Without thinking Gretchen threw herself into Marco’s arms. “I did it!” she exulted. “I really did it.”

  “You certainly did,” he said, holding her close. “That’s what they call an inside-the-park home run.”

  He felt too wonderful for words. Without warning, Gretchen found herself consumed by a need to run her hands over every muscle and sinew in his hard body, to thrust her fingers through his hair, to nuzzle her cheek against his.