McNeil's Match

by Gwynne Forster

He put his hands in his pockets and his back to the wall as he gazed down at her. Frissons of heat shot through her in anticipation of what he’d do next. “I need to kiss you. I need it,” he repeated, his voice suggesting that all of the air had swooshed out of him. “And I need you!”

  Lord, how I love this man! She raised her arms to him and, with a tortured groan, he crushed her to his body.

  “Lynne! Lynne!” She parted her lips, and he plunged into her, seeking, anointing, testing and twirling. She took him in. I shouldn’t give all. But she couldn’t help herself, for suddenly, he cooled the passion and gently brushed her eyes, cheeks and lips with his own closed lips as he stroked her back and her hair. His gentleness was a torch to her libido, and her hot blood raced to her loins. But as if he was unaware of it, he pressed a kiss to her lips and whispered, “I’ll call you when I get home.” A second later, he was out the door and striding down the walk.

  You were about to make a mistake, her common sense told her. He didn’t think making love was appropriate, and neither did you.

  She put Caesar in his house, locked the doors and carried the untouched lemonade, cookies and glasses to the kitchen. It wasn’t a night for a leisurely bath, so she took a shower, said her prayers and got into bed. If he calls, I’ll wake up and talk to him.

  For the first time in three weeks, she fell asleep as soon as she put her head on the pillow. The ringing of the telephone pulled her out of a deep sleep.

  “Hi,” she said, and even to her that one word sounded like a sexy come-on.

  She heard him suck in his breath, or at least that was what it sounded like to her. “I didn’t think you’d be asleep so soon,” he said. “I’m sorry that I awakened you. I wanted to tell you good-night.”

  “Good night, love,” she said and hung up.

  The next morning, she remembered that he called her, but not that she told him good-night. She finished breakfast and telephoned him. No point in causing a riff when they were trying to patch up one.

  “Did I tell you good-night?” she asked him when he answered the phone.

  “Hi. You did, indeed, and in the sweetest way. That made up for your hanging up on me and not giving me a chance to reciprocate, but I realized you were asleep.”

  “I was. Did Thelma agree to go?”

  “Yes, and she’s taking pecans so she can show my mother how to make pecan pie. She said she’d never given her recipe to anybody.

  “Remember that the pastimes down there center around the Gulf and Galveston Bay. Boating, fishing, swimming and—”

  “Go no further. It sounds like paradise to me. Will I ever need a dressy dress down there?”

  “One, but not an evening dress. Down there, it’s water sports year-round. Bring some slacks. My mother’s fussy about short-shorts at the table. Other than that, be as free as a seagull.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Gary gave me two weeks off beginning yesterday, and that will include Thanksgiving. Do they have horses down there?”

  His laughter warmed her. “Are you serious? Where in Texas are there no horses?”

  “Caesar is nagging me to run with him, so I’d better say goodbye.”

  “Would you like to see a movie this evening? One of the movie houses is showing Humphrey Bogart movies this week, and I never saw To Have and Have Not.”

  “I haven’t seen it, either. I’d love to go with you.”

  “Then I’ll be at your place at six-thirty. Bye for now.”

  Gradually they resumed their relationship, although Lynne knew that something was missing, and she also knew that she was the reason. Sloan showed her many courtesies, as he’d always done. She couldn’t have asked for a more attentive man, but he wasn’t subservient and he didn’t grovel in order to win her favor. Bootlicking wasn’t in him, and if he’d resorted to that, he would have demeaned himself in her eyes.

  Shortly after daybreak on Thanksgiving eve, he rang her doorbell. “We’re ready when you are,” he told her. “But first, I need a kiss. Only the Lord knows when I’ll get another one. Just don’t turn the flame up too high.”

  “Why not?” she asked him, aware that Thelma’s presence outside in Sloan’s car was like a lock on their libidos.

  He looked at her for a long time. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

  He lowered his head, and his hot mouth singed her, draining her of her will. She clutched him and opened her mouth for the plunge of his sweet tongue. Wider. She had to get more of him as she sucked his tongue into her mouth, hungrily, unable to get enough of him. The hot fire of desire snaked through her, and she swayed dizzily until he pulled her so close that air couldn’t squeeze between them. Tremors plowed through his body, but they were not only driven by the force of his desire, but by the love in him for her and by the feel of his beloved in his arms again.

  “I didn’t mean to take it this far,” he said, “but I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. It’s the first time since that chilling evening that you’ve really opened up to me, that you’ve given yourself to me. Let’s go.”

  “It’s what I felt, what came naturally.”

  “I know,” he said. “It was like pouring gasoline on an open flame. Say, I thought we were going to bring Caesar.”

  “He’s beginning to think he’s a pet, and I want him to remember that he’s a guard dog.” She searched his face to see whether she’d left lipstick on him. If she had, Thelma wouldn’t miss it. She didn’t see any marks and allowed herself to relax.

  “He knows his job, Lynne. Pity the poor Joe who tries to get past him. Those dogs can be vicious.”

  “I thought I was going to have to go in there and get you,” Thelma said when they arrived at her car door, “but I see you made it. This is the perfect day for an outing, and I plan to sleep all the way to Galveston.”

  “We’ll stop somewhere near Houston and rest for a few minutes,” he told her as he put the Lincoln Town Car in Drive and headed for Galveston.

  * * *

  He could hardly wait to get on his father’s boat. He loved the water and had been a good swimmer since he was three years old. More than anything, he wanted Lynne to like his parents, and he wanted them to like her. He’d taken some of the pressure off her by inviting Thelma along, but his motive hadn’t been selfish because he loved Thelma and wanted her and his mother to become friends.

  He looked at Lynne sitting beside him and humming along with the music from his CD as if she had the world in her arms. He wondered if she was as happy right then as he was. “Are you happy?” he asked her.

  Her head turned sharply toward him, and she blinked as if he had startled her. “I hadn’t thought about it, but I am.”

  “So am I. Have you entered any of the warm-up tournaments for the Australian Open?”

  “Two, both in Australia. I’ll get a workout, because the heat in both cities will be oppressive. I want that grand-slam tournament so badly I can taste it.”

  “Remember, you gave yourself two years to get to the top, and that seems reasonable. So don’t stress yourself out if you suddenly smell victory and can’t wait for it. I’m convinced that you’ll get there.”

  After a brief stop at a restaurant outside of Houston, he headed for Galveston. The closer he got to Galveston the more difficulty he had staying within the speed limit. He could smell the briny water miles before he reached the port city, its freshness exhilarating him from head to toe. He wanted to roll down the windows and let the hometown air transport him back to the days when he ran barefoot along the sandy beaches, surfed in waves that were sometimes almost overwhelming and always challenging. And he thought of the hours during which he had fished at his father’s side, often from the pier and, when he was older, from the bow of his father’s boat.

  As the Town Car sped across Galveston Bay, he glanced at his watch and saw that
he’d made it in four and a half hours. Most of the time, he’d been alone: both Lynne and Thelma had spent the trip making up for having had to rise at four in the morning in order to leave at five. He headed toward Jasper Avenue near Ferry Road.

  “Wake up, you two. We should be there in five minutes.”

  “Good heavens,” Lynne said. “I missed all the sights.”

  “Me, too,” Thelma said, “but I enjoyed my sleep. I hadn’t been awake at four o’clock in the morning since my wedding day, and that was because I was so excited I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You’ll both see plenty before we leave. Galveston is known as the New Orleans of Texas. It even has its own Mardi Gras, and the food is great. We live on the bay side, but my dad docks his boat on the Gulf Coast.” He slowed to a stop and parked. “We’re here.” He went around to the back door and opened it for Thelma, and by the time he got to the front passenger door, Lynne was standing beside the car pressing the wrinkles from her white pants.

  “I thought we agreed that I’d open that door for you,” he said, aware that his facial expression was one of mild disapproval. “I know you can open it and hop out without my help, but it gives me pleasure to open it for you.”

  “But I feel silly sitting there waiting for you to walk around and open it. How do I know your foot isn’t sore?”

  Thelma patted Lynne’s shoulder. “Honey, there isn’t much that most men can do these days, so let them open the doors. They need the exercise.”

  “I take it you’ve excluded me,” Sloan said.

  “Of course. But I always take sides with you against Lynne, and this was one little thing I could do to let her know I’m not biased.” She winked at him. “You can open the door for me anytime it suits you.”

  He stared down at her, a mite of a woman with an enveloping personality and as feminine as a woman could be. “In your youth, you had many a man spinning, didn’t you?”

  “Now you stop digging into my secrets. Let’s just say I knew a man when I saw one, and I never failed to acknowledge him.”

  He let the laughter pour out of him. “Come on,” he said, taking the arm of each. “My mother is probably in her garden, and I’m sure Dad’s around someplace.” He was about to ring the bell when the door opened, and Connor McNeil—nearly as tall as his son and just as handsome—stepped out on the front porch, opened his arms and embraced Sloan. Then he looked at their guests.

  “Welcome, Thelma,” he said, shaking her hand. “Lucille and I want you to enjoy your visit with us, and we’re going to do all we can to ensure it.” He walked over to Lynne and gazed down at her with eyes so like Sloan’s, and then he smiled and sparkles lit them as they lit Sloan’s. “I’m delighted to meet you, and I hope I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

  Sloan let himself relax. His father liked Lynne on sight, and he was a man who had confidence in his judgment and rarely changed his opinions. He followed his father and the two women through the house to the garden where his mother was on her knees pulling weeds from among a row of pepper plants.

  “Hi, Mom,” he called to her as he headed out to the garden to greet her. “The garden’s beautiful.”

  She dropped her tools and gloves and rushed to meet him, and he bent to embrace her. “You got here earlier than I expected,” she said. “You didn’t speed, did you? Where are Lynne and Thelma?”

  He turned her around and pointed to the deck. She cleaned her hands on her slacks and headed toward them, but both women went to meet her. Thelma stood back to give Lynne passage, but Lynne insisted that Thelma move ahead of her. The two women embraced as if they had known each other all of their lives.

  “I’m so glad Sloan has you for a friend,” she told Thelma. “A motherly figure helps to balance a person.” She hugged the woman again. “You’re welcome here anytime you feel like swimming in the Gulf.”

  “She was an Olympic champion, Mom.”

  “I remember it well. She could dive like a dolphin.” Lucille turned to Lynne. “I’ve been waiting for years to put my arms around a woman who my son loves. Thank you for coming to see us.” She embraced Lynne, and Sloan thought his heart would run away from him when Lynne’s arms went around his mother and the woman he loved kissed his mother’s cheek. They held each other, and he didn’t have to be told that, without saying it in words, they shared a bond of singular importance.

  “If I’m lucky, my bachelor days are nearing an end,” he said to himself out loud. “The problem is that she hasn’t given me a single indication that she wants a life with me.”

  What do you call the way she made love to you the night before you broke it off? And what about the way she related to you this morning? his niggling conscience asked him.

  Lucille walked ahead of him toward the deck with one arm around Thelma and the other one around Lynne. “How’d you get to be so lucky?” he asked his father. “Mom is such a tender, loving person.”

  Connor McNeil stopped walking and eyed his only son. “Lucky? I was blessed by God, but not one bit more than you are. Lynne is a solid woman, and she loves you. I’m sure you can handle that.”

  “Why are you so sure about her?”

  Connor released what could best be described as a snort. “I know a woman when I see one. But it was the way she greeted your mother, almost as if she thanked her for something precious, that told me what I needed to know. Yeah. She loves you.”

  “She does, but we have to get past this coming year. She wants to regain her form and become the world’s number one tennis player, and she can do it. She doesn’t care if she’s on top for only one day, so long as she gets there.”

  “And then?”

  “She’s twenty-nine, and I want a family.”

  “Then set the stage for it. From your mother’s response to her, I know you’ll have both our blessings.”

  “Thanks. That’s what I intend to do.”

  * * *

  Lynne hadn’t allowed herself to envision the weekend with Sloan’s family, and if she had, she wouldn’t have dreamed how comfortable she would be with them. She sat on a stool in the kitchen and cracked and shelled the pecans that Thelma brought for the pecan pies.

  “You can make two of ’em in an hour,” she told Lucille, “and if Connor’s anything like Sloan, he’ll love ’em.”

  She looked up to see Sloan slouched in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. “When you finish those, we could go over to the Gulf. If Dad will go with us, we might get a ride in his boat.”

  “You’re not going without Lucille and me,” Thelma said, “so go someplace and keep each other company. After we make these pies, we have to start on the stuffing for the turkey.” She looked at Lucille. “I haven’t stuffed a turkey in thirty-five years—not since my husband passed—but you tell me what to do, and I can help you.”

  “I was going to help, too,” Lynne said, “and Sloan is as good a cook as anybody.”

  “Maybe, but turkey is not my thing. I’m going to the garage and help Dad repair his fishing gear.” He beckoned to her with his right index finger.

  She put the pecans on the counter and walked over to him, and he stepped with her into the dining room, wrapped her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. “I was getting lonely.”

  “I’m sorry, but I want to stay where your mother can keep an eye on me so she’ll know I’m not engaged in any hanky-panky with you.”

  A dark frown followed his stare, and then he erupted into laughter. “My mother is a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. I can’t believe she’d bother wondering whether and where we were making out.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but I’m taking no chances. She won’t love me if she doesn’t respect me.”

  There was no amusement in his eyes and nothing casual about his demeanor when he held her away from him and gazed into her eyes. He�
��s dead serious, she thought, and he verified it when he asked her, “Why do you want my mother to love you?”

  Irritation replaced the tenderness she felt for him a second earlier until she realized that his question was a legitimate one. “Because I love her son,” she said. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

  When he rubbed the back of his neck, she knew that he was hunting for a response, and that his answer wouldn’t be frivolous. “I’ll keep this conversation in mind, Lynne.” Suddenly he shrugged first one shoulder and then the other. “How long do you think you’ll want to continue playing after you’re number one?”

  She knew what he was asking, and she also knew that he deserved an answer. “I want a family, Sloan, and I’m not going to sacrifice motherhood in order to become the best tennis player in the world. I’ll be disappointed if I don’t make it, but I gave myself two years, which means two tennis seasons in which to reach it, and as my life is shaping up now, I won’t reconsider. Does that satisfy you?”

  He folded her body to his. “Yes, it does. Did you start seeing any other man while we were on the outs?” he asked her.

  “It didn’t cross my mind. I was fed up with men.”

  “Getting a substitute didn’t cross my mind, either. I’ll do everything I can to help you reach your goal. Now back into the kitchen with you. You wouldn’t want my mother to think we’re standing ten feet from her making out, would you?”

  “You’re a nut, Sloan, but that’s one of your best attributes.”

  He stared at her for a second before a smile rearranged his facial contours and slowly dissolved into a roaring laugh. As if he’d read his mother’s mind, when Lynne walked back into the kitchen, Lucille McNeil said to her, “Go see what Sloan’s doing. I’ll bet anything he’s looking for something to do. That child was always such a loner.”

  “He was?”

  “Yes, indeed. The only thing he did that required a playmate was play tennis, and he did that with his schoolmates in his athletics class.”

  “Didn’t he play basketball?”

  “Good heavens, no. When Sloan was a teenager, he thought there was a stigma attached to basketball playing. He used to say, “The players are always a bunch of tall black guys. I’d rather play tennis.”