McNeil's Match

by Gwynne Forster

  She won the toss and served first. It didn’t have her old snap and power, but it didn’t shame her, either. She knew at once that Sloan played tennis well, and she delighted in being able to keep pace with him. After an hour they were tied at 6–6, and neither could break the other’s serve.

  “We’ll never finish this game,” she told him later, when the ten o’clock sun began to burn them.

  “We can finish it one evening,” he said, then looked around and saw that she didn’t have lights. “If you ever want to light one of these courts, buy the equipment and I’ll install it for you.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, but I thought I’d need an electrician.”

  “Not to worry. Every mechanical engineer has training in electronics.”

  “Is that what you are? A mechanical engineer?”

  He lifted his shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance, but she wasn’t fooled. “Yeah. That’s what it says on the piece of paper, but I’m an automobile mechanic. I don’t need a fancy title to tell me who I am.”

  Better get off that subject. “You said you’d be starved. Are you?”

  “How about the Cracker Barrel? I can almost taste the pancakes oozing with butter and syrup, fried apples and bacon,” he said, patting his stomach and smiling with sparkling eyes, as if talking about the food was a joy.

  She realized that she stared at him. This guy is sensuous, and it’s natural to him. Nobody was going to make her believe that he wasn’t married. Men like him did not run around loose.

  “Are you married?” she blurted out.

  At first he seemed taken aback at the abruptness of her question. “No, I’m not. If I were, I wouldn’t be here with you. I am not, and I never have been married.”

  “I know you’re telling the truth, but, I don’t see how it’s possible.” When he frowned, she added, “I mean, I do...but I don’t.” Best to change the subject. “Want to wash up before we go to breakfast? Come on, I’ll show you the powder room.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Powder room. What would I do in there?”

  She lowered her right eyelid in a slow wink. “Powder your nose. Meet you here in five minutes.”

  He stared at her, and the heat in his eyes had nothing to do with the morning sun. “I thought I told you that when it comes to dealing with a smart-ass, I’m not reliable. I tend to lose it when imps get fresh with me, too.”

  She didn’t know when, if ever, she had enjoyed joshing with a man so much. “I suppose that, since there doesn’t seem to be either a smart-ass or an imp anywhere around here, you’ll be on your good behavior, and I can relax.”

  He took her hand and began walking to the car, and she liked the feel of it. There was something strong and reassuring about this man, and his height had nothing to do with it. When they were seated in the car, he turned to her. “You’re a delightful woman. Fresh, sassy and provocative, but not one bit boring. When may I see you again?”

  “Sloan, this is moving too fast.”

  He put the key in the ignition, turned it and drove off. “Yeah, and the scary thing is that it’s moving of its own accord. Neither of us is pushing it. Relationships go forward or backward, Lynne. They seldom stand still. You want to see me again?”

  The exit he took had a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree curve, and as he leaned with the car, his naked thigh pressed against her own bare flesh. Her nipples hardened, and she sucked in her breath.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You needn’t be afraid. I’m a careful driver and a good one. Whatever I do, I do it properly and thoroughly. Remember that.” And he wasn’t speaking about driving.

  He parked at the Cracker Barrel, but she was buried in her thoughts and was hardly aware that the car was no longer moving. He wanted to see her again, and she wanted to see him. But she had a difficult road ahead, and she didn’t see how she could concentrate on regaining her tennis form if she got involved with him. He was like no man she had ever known. If she had any sense, she would call it off right then. He walked around the car, opened her door and took her hand. She grasped it and held it.

  Chapter 2

  “You’ll be sore tomorrow,” Max told Lynne at the end of her workout that Monday, “so maybe you want to soak in a hot tub when you get home.”

  If he was trying to soften her up after his harsh treatment for the past three hours, he’d missed the mark. “You mean to tell me that you care whether I’m sore?”

  He gave her a withering look, leaned against the wall of the gym and folded his arms. “If you want me to treat you like you’re a baby, fine, but six weeks from now your muscles will still be flabby, and Gary won’t touch you. You gotta prove you’re serious, honey.”

  “If I’m dead, he won’t touch me, either. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” he yelled after her, as she slung her gym bag over her shoulder and walked out of the gym, “and run about four miles before you get here to loosen up.”

  She went home, soaked in a tub of hot water and made a note to install a Jacuzzi. The phone rang as she was about to take a nap and, thinking that the caller was most likely Bradford, her brother, she sat up in bed anticipating his voice.

  “Hello,”

  “Hello back at you.” Her heartbeat accelerated. That wasn’t Brad’s voice. “This is Sloan McNeil. Feel like a movie this evening?” She rested her back against the headboard and gripped the telephone as if that would steady her nerves. “If you don’t want to see a movie,” he began without waiting for her answer, “maybe we could go to a concert. You like jazz? Bettye Gamble’s at the Down Beat.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the headboard. “Sloan, I ache. I just finished the first real workout I’ve had in six years. I just want to sleep.”

  “I give great massages.”

  She had to laugh at his antics. “I won’t ask where or how you learned that.”

  “We know you’re chicken, Lynne, but you shouldn’t fear my answer. When I was a teenager, my dad ran a health spa. He said I had to learn how to be a masseuse, because the ones he hired usually had such outrageous temperaments that he fired ’em within a month. My work as a masseuse paid my way through college. I’m pretty good.”

  “I’m sure you are, but I’ll take a rain check on that service.” His laughter thrilled her, and she realized that she would go to great lengths to keep him laughing.

  “I don’t know why I mentioned it,” he said, almost as if in afterthought, “since I’m sure you wouldn’t dare let me put my hands on you.”

  Talk about a leading statement! “Really? Oh, I don’t know. As Fats Waller used to sing, ‘One never knows, do one?’”

  “Wait a minute, woman. Are you leading me on?”

  She stretched from head to foot as best she could, considering the knot in her shoulder. “Me? You think I’d do something like that?”

  “Hmm. I wonder. No movie, no concert and no massage. You wound me.”

  She rolled over in order to get more comfortable. “You poor baby.”

  “Well, what about a walk? Anyplace will do.”

  “Walk? Sloan, my legs are killing me.”

  “A smart woman would take me up on my offer of a massage.”

  “You want to see me at my worst, hobbling around like an invalid?”

  After what seemed to her too long a silence, he said, “You want me to see you at your best? Mind telling me why?”

  “Sloan, will you stop asking those kinds of questions. You do not have hayseed in your hair, so stop acting like a country bumpkin.”

  Laughter roared out of him, delighting her and making her wish she was with him.

  “Country bumpkin, eh? Now you’ve really wounded me, and you’re going to make amends.”

  She wanted to see him. All of a sudden, talking with h
im seemed as natural as breathing. Usually a cautious person, she pondered her next move. I am definitely not getting involved, but I’ll go out with him. After all these years of misery, I need to be with somebody who makes me laugh.

  “What’s the name of the movie?” she asked him.

  “Uh—”

  She interrupted him. “You don’t have a movie in mind, do you?”

  “Truth? No. I just want to see you.”

  Honesty was to be valued, and especially when it was practiced at a risk. “We could go to El Mercado and look around.”

  “We could, but what about your legs? If my memory serves me, they’re really something nice to look at. I wouldn’t like you to abuse them.”

  She stifled a laugh. “A minute ago, you were ahead.”

  “Well, let me get back there. Tell you what. Let’s have a nice dinner in an attractive, relaxing place. Dress somewhere between up and down, and I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Okay?”

  “Okay. Will you wear a jacket?”

  “You bet. See you at six-thirty.”

  She hugged the pillow to her chest, rolled over, kicked up her heels and laughed. Suddenly she sat up. I don’t know one thing about this man. I don’t even know anybody who knows him. Am I crazy?

  She dressed slowly for their date, less at ease than she would have liked. Who was he, and why was she so drawn to him? Why did she respond to him as a flower unfolds to the sun? She wasn’t a snob. That was her brother’s domain. But to literally pick up a mechanic and start a relationship with him just because he had his own business and a mesmerizing personality didn’t make sense. She was brushing her hair when the phone rang. Maybe he changed his mind.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, sis. Next Saturday is Debra’s birthday, and I thought I’d give her a dinner party. I can’t decide between a small party in a top restaurant and a big party in a, say, four-star restaurant. What do you think?”

  “For me, small would be better, but I need to think about this. Debra likes to make a splash. I was just about to leave home. Call you when I get back. Oh, there’s the bell.”

  “Who is he? You got a guy down there already?”

  “Just someone I met when my car broke down on the highway. Gotta go.”

  “Just somebody you... Are you out of your mind? A passerby who—”

  She blew out a long breath. “He wasn’t a passerby. He’s the guy who towed my car to the service station and fixed it.”

  “What? Jeez! A baby would know better than to hook up with a... Don’t go anywhere with that guy, and don’t let him inside your house.”

  “He’s already been in here. I gotta go. See you.” She hung up and sprinted down the stairs, unmindful of her aching limbs. In telling Brad about Sloan, she had created a problem that she didn’t need. She dashed to the door and flung it open.

  “Hi.” She was certain that her eyes rounded to twice their normal size. In a light tan-colored linen suit, pale green shirt, pale green and tan necktie, Sloan McNeil looked like an advertisement for Esquire Magazine. She blinked a few times. “Sorry I kept you waiting. My brother called a minute before you rang the doorbell.”

  His smile was obviously intended to absolve her, and it did, for she felt as if she floated on air. “It was worth the wait,” he said. “You look so lovely.”

  She was glad she’d chosen the sleeveless, canary-yellow georgette dress that had a flared skirt with a flounce and barely touched her knees. It was soft and feminine, and she had thrown the matching stole across her shoulders. Large gold hoops hung from her ears, and her hair hung straight to her shoulders.

  “Beautiful.” He breathed the word as if it were itself precious.

  “You look nice, too, Sloan. What kind of food are we going to eat?”

  She closed the door and handed him the key. He took it, locked the front door, handed it back to her and took her hand. “I reserved a table at Michael’s. They serve American and continental foods. Does that suit you?”

  “I’d love to go to Michael’s. I’ve heard it’s the best in this region. Thanks for choosing it.”

  He headed out Route 35 to San Antonio. “Why did you change your mind about going out with me this evening?”

  She decided to tell the truth. “Because you made me laugh. I spent the past six years in self-defense, listening to a continuous stream of criticism. You brightened my world.”

  He drove at least five miles before replying. “I hope that means you like me, because if you don’t, I’m in trouble.”

  “Sloan, you just met me.”

  “I know, but apparently that’s all it takes.”

  She had no answer for that, because she was also drawn to him, and had been from the minute he’d grinned, pushed back his blue McNeil baseball cap and called her a smart-ass. But she knew that her brother would test the powers of heaven and hell in an effort to push Sloan out of her life. She leaned back and rested her head against the comfortable leather seat.

  “Aw, Sloan. If only life were so simple!”

  “It’s as complicated as we make it, Lynne. No more and no less. I do my best to keep my house in order. That way, I don’t have to keep track of lies, women or bad debts.”

  “Speaks well for you,” she said to herself. Although she didn’t know why, she believed him. He parked in front of a hotel, got out and gave the parking attendant his ticket. “Are we going in here?” she asked him, taken aback because the place didn’t look like Michael’s.

  “Oh, no. This is the easiest way to get a parking place. He gets a tip and I get the convenience of parking three doors from the restaurant.”

  She wondered why he took her hand whenever they walked side by side as he did then, but she didn’t consider it prudent to ask him. She could also ask herself why she allowed it, but she didn’t, and she didn’t think her behavior with Sloan would bear close examination. She was not and never had been careless about her choice of associates, and she had no intention of ascribing to fate her strong attraction to Sloan. She accepted that she felt comfortable with him and that, however strange it seemed—and it was very strange—he made her happy.

  “You’re quiet,” he said as they entered the restaurant. “Mind if I ask why?”

  “Nothing special. I was trying to figure me out.”

  He waited until the maître d’ seated them before saying, “Don’t worry about why you’re with me. If we continue to enjoy each other’s company, this will only be the beginning. I have to tell you, though, that I expect us to be tight years from now.”

  She frowned and didn’t care if he noticed. “Do you have extrasensory perception? I don’t like it when someone seems to read my mind.”

  A grin spread over his face, a face that she liked more and more. “Nothing of the sort. I figured it was logical for you to ask yourself why you came with me tonight when you were tired and wanted to rest. No point in wondering about it, though, Lynne. We like each other.”

  She looked at him from beneath half-lowered lashes. “I suppose saying whatever you think is a mark of honesty, but couldn’t you occasionally store your wisdom in the recesses of your mind till some future date?”

  “I could, but I want to be sure you know where I’m heading.”

  Lynne stopped herself just before she sucked her teeth. “I’m twenty-nine, and I know where you’re headed.”

  He treated her to a withering look. “I’ll give you six...no, three months in which to eat those words.”

  With eyes wide and lips parted, she fixed an expression of innocence on her face. “What on earth do you mean?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his facial expression unreadable. “I thought you said you’re twenty-nine. Sure you want to know?”

  She lowered her gaze. “All right. I’m sorry.”

  He leaned
forward and grasped the hand that rested on the white tablecloth. “It’s fun matching wits, but I was serious. Get to know me before you decide that I’m not worthy of your time.”

  Stunned that he had such an opinion concerning her reservation about a relationship with him and fearing that she had hurt him, she reached for his other hand. “Please don’t ever say anything like that to me again. It was uncalled for and unfounded.”

  His smile barely reached his eyes. “I hope you’re right. Now, tell me why your trainer pushed you to work out until you ached. He ought to begin more slowly, or so it seems to me.”

  “Max has an exaggerated opinion of himself. He’s much sought after by sports professionals, and I think that’s gone to his head.”

  “There must be other good trainers.”

  “There are, but my coach told me to work with Max for six weeks before I begin practicing. I think Max has a mean streak.”

  He glanced at her. “If you think he’s sadistic, get rid of him regardless of what your coach says. Enough about Max. Who’s your coach?”

  “Gary Hines.”

  “If he’s as good a coach as he was a player, he’s the best.”

  “I hope so.” He still held both of her hands, and his gaze bore into her, causing little shimmers throughout her body. “Sloan,” she said, “please don’t move so fast.”

  He stroked her finger in a loving caress. “You aren’t getting that feeling from me but from yourself, from what’s happening inside of you.”

  The waiter took their orders, and she couldn’t help noticing that the man’s attentiveness to her had nothing to do with the restaurant’s service policy, and a glance at Sloan’s narrowed eyes told her that he was vexed.

  “I’d like a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. That will be all.” He emphasized the word all. And as if he hadn’t just reprimanded the waiter, he said, “This place becomes you. It has just the right amount of elegance to go with its beauty. You’re like that.”

  “Thank you. I’ve never thought of myself in those terms.”

  He leaned back in the gold-leaf chair, its seat and back embroidered in antique-gold brocade, comfortable in his surroundings, a conundrum if she’d ever met one. “And that’s a good thing,” he said in response to her comment. “Vanity has buried a lot of fools.” Before she could digest that, he said, “Can I take up all of your weekends? I’m off Saturday afternoon and Sunday.”