“No, I didn’t, but the Lord knows who he is.”
The story of the injured American haunted Bonnie as she followed Martha on a frantic, three-hour tour of Rome. Perhaps it was because it reminded her of Preston and his spill on the track in California. By the time they hailed a cab outside the Olympic Village and headed toward the center of the city, wondering about the reporter turned into thinking of Preston. The sight of the Pantheon took her breath away, but all she could think of was how much more spectacular the memory would be if Preston were with her.
At the Trevi Fountain, Bonnie watched Martha perform the silly ritual of turning her back to the waters and tossing a coin into the fountain. “To insure you come back to Rome,” she said.
Come back? Why in the world would she want to return? She hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place.
Her fingers tore the ribbon from her neck and, in one swift move, tossed the penny it held into the center of fountain, pink ribbon and all. She might not ever see Italy again, but the dumb penny that represented the love she’d wasted on Preston Grant could rot here, for all she cared.
~
September 2, 1960
The crowd inside the Stadio Olympico roared, then quieted as the next event was announced. Banners from the participating countries snapped in the crisp breeze as runners stretched and practiced and, in Bonnie Taggart’s case, prayed.
Bonnie said, “Amen,” then fit her feet into the starting blocks and cleared her mind of all other thoughts save to press on toward the prize. To her right, a young woman from Great Britain knelt, tying the laces on her running shoes, while to her left, a cadre of reporters stood with cameras at the ready. It still amazed Bonnie that today’s events would be shot on Hollywood film, then flown back to the U.S. to be broadcast from CBS Studios. Today the Olym-pians would compete, and tomorrow the citizens of the United States could watch the games in the comfort of their own living rooms. What an amazing modern world she lived in.
Again the reporters caught her attention. One of them, a man of average height leaning on a pair of crutches, looked vaguely familiar. The shadow of a massive television camera balanced precariously on a sturdy metal tripod ob-scured a good portion of his face, but what she saw looked rather like. . .
No, it couldn’t be. Her mind must be playing tricks on her.
“Runners to your positions, please.”
Jerking her attention away from the press, Bonnie focused on the official and waited for the starter’s pistol to sound. When it did, she tucked the baton into the crook of her arm, dug into the track, and shot forward.
Moments later, she successfully handed the baton off to Martha, and Bonnie’s moment of Olympic glory ended. “That wasn’t so bad,” she whispered as she watched Martha overtake the British runner to garner a few precious seconds for the team.
Unfortunately, although the team presented its best time ever, the victory went to others. While camera crews from around the world swarmed the winners, a lone cameraman rolled his television camera toward Bonnie while a reporter hustled alongside him.
Actually, the reporter didn’t exactly hustle, for he struggled with a cast on one leg and a pair of crutches that kept him from moving slightly faster than a crawl. Still, he surprised Bonnie by calling her name.
Bonnie stared. Preston Grant was struggling to make his way toward her on a pair of crutches while juggling a large microphone with the CBS logo emblazoned atop it. The same logo that appeared on his blazer.
She froze. “Preston?” Her gaze fell on the familiar face of the cameraman. He, too, wore the CBS blazer, along with a broad smile. “Tom?”
“Sure is, Bonnie,” Tom said.
Preston offered her his most endearing smile and thrust the microphone toward her. “Preston Grant, CBS Sports. Miss Taggart, could we have a moment of your time?”
“A moment of my time? Of all the. . . Humph.” Bonnie turned and stalked away. After six weeks of complete silence, he showed up out of nowhere in Rome as a reporter for CBS? The nerve of that man.
Then it hit her. Crutches. Preston was on crutches—again.
Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw Preston and Tom in the middle of an animated discussion. Tom noticed her first and gestured in her direction. Preston’s gaze followed to lock on Bonnie.
She wanted to slug him and hug him all at the same time. Bonnie stalked toward him, praying God would either give His permission or stop her.
From somewhere behind the pair, a spotlight blazed. Tom aimed the camera at her, and Preston held the microphone out in her direction.
“Hey, sunshine. Long time, no see,” he said when she stopped just inches from him. Bonnie said nothing.
Preston upped the wattage on his smile. “How about saying hello to the folks back home?”
She tried to ignore it—and him—as well as the thumping of her heart, as she strode past.
“Bonnie, sweetheart, talk to me, please,” he called, catching the attention of those around them.
Well, that was the absolute last straw. Bonnie turned to face him with fire in her eyes.
“Talk?” She shook her head and squared her shoulders as she put her hands on her hips. “If anyone has some talking to do, it’s you, Preston Grant. You tell me you love me and promise me I won’t have to wait for you forever; then you just disappear out of my life?”
At least Preston had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Yes, well, about that. You see, I, um, had a goal and it required, um. . . Well, suffice it to say I hit a few snags along the way.”
“A goal?” Bonnie shook her head. “This conversation is over.” Again she headed past him toward the exit.
“Wait! Please, Bonnie, don’t leave yet.”
She kept walking.
“I was an idiot. I love you, Bonnie Taggart, and I don’t care if the whole world knows it!”
This time she stopped but couldn’t quite make herself turn around and face him.
“That’s right, Bonnie. I love you. I always have. I wanted to wait to propose until I felt worthy of you, and I figured being an Olympic champion might accomplish that.”
Bonnie began to pivot slowly in his direction, eyes closed to prevent the tears from falling. It didn’t work.
“Now I know that all the achievements in this world won’t make me worth a woman like you.” He paused. “But I’m still willing to try.”
Her eyes opened to focus on Preston, who knelt before her. “Bonnie Taggart, in front of God and all the CBS viewers, I’m asking you if you will be my wife.”
And the Olympian said yes.
The Garden Room’s World-Famous
Coconut Pound Cake
2 cups sugar
1 cup shortening
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon butter flavoring
6 eggs
2 cups sifted flour
1 can (3.4 ounces) coconut
Pinch of salt
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Cream shortening and sugar; then add vanilla and butter flavoring. Fold in eggs one at a time; then gradually sift in flour and salt. Fold in coconut, and pour into 10-inch greased and floured tube pan. Bake 1 hour, 20 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. A few minutes before cake is done, begin making sauce.
Coconut sauce:
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons coconut flavoring
1⁄2 cup water
Stir together in saucepan and bring ingredients to a boil for 1 minute.
To assemble cake:
Remove cake from oven, and brush or pour sauce over hot cake in pan. Return to oven for 4–5 minutes. Remove cake from pan immediately and let cool.
Other books in the Love’s Sporting Chance series:
Love Over Par
The Reversal
Lured by Love
The Skiing Suitor
On Thin Ice
Tobogganing for Two
Taking the Plunge
Love by the Reins
/> Take a Peak
Forbidden Dance
The Steeplechase
For more great stories visit www.forgetmenotromances.com
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Olympic Goals Page 7