Read Online Home Field Advantage by Janice Kay Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janice Kay Johnson
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he wiped it away. But what? Physical desire again?
Anger? Hurt?
Whatever he had been feeling
was securely tucked away, because he smiled again, still ruefully, and said,
"I won't argue anymore. Will you at least let us help you move when the
time comes? I can bring the truck and a horse trailer. I don't think you have
anything we couldn't get in it. That'd save you some money and me some
pride."
She had to laugh, just a
little. "Okay," she said. "I won't argue anymore, either."
"Then we'll say good
night and give you some peace," John said. "By the time I pack Emma's
lunch, it'll be bedtime for me, anyway. I have to roll out of bed tomorrow at
the crack of dawn. Not my best time of day, but my partner's taking a couple of
horses down to a show in Portland."
Marian scooped Anna up on one
hip and followed John and Emma to the front door. "When you were a
football player, didn't you have morning practices?"
"God, I hated 'em."
He grinned at his own fervency.
"Emma tells me you were
All-Pro, whatever that means. You couldn't have played too badly, even if you
were still dying for another cup of coffee."
"I faked it." He
smiled again. " 'Bye, Jesse, Anna. Good-bye, Marian."
"Emma, I'll see you
Friday," Marian called to their retreating backs.
Emma didn't answer and John
just waved.
Marian went back inside the
house and closed the door, feeling absurdly lost and let down. Their departure
had come so quickly, it seemed like an anticlimax. As she steered Jesse and
Anna into the bathroom to brush teeth, she made herself analyze why.
Had she wanted John to argue?
To overwhelm her with logic until she agreed despite herself? She was terribly
afraid that she had. He had accepted her answer so easily, even if he had made
protesting noises. Well, why should that surprise her? He could hardly have
wanted a housekeeper encumbered by twins in the midst of the Terrible Two's!
No, she had to face it. John McRae was a nice man who had felt sorry for her.
No more and no less.
*****
John tried hard to keep his
distance over the next couple of weeks. The only alternative was begging her to
have dinner with him, and he was pretty sure that was the last thing she wanted
or needed right now.
Every time he saw her, she
looked more tired. With that translucent skin, lack of sleep left purple bruises
beneath her eyes. She made him think of a fine porcelain doll, not just because
she was beautiful, but because he was increasingly aware of how fragile she
was.
The next two weekends he
didn't even have to ask whether she had found a new rental. When she saw him on
the doorstep, she gave a tremulous smile that was meant to be insouciant and
shook her head. But the mountain of boxes in one corner of her living room
grew, and the small, shabby house began to feel chilly and bare.
He wanted to help her so
badly it tore at him, but he couldn't make her accept anything from him. The
night when Marian had refused his offer of a job, John drove home, gently
explaining her reasoning to Emma. He tucked his daughter into bed and wandered
down to the living room, where he picked up the new Sports Illustrated with
every intention of reading it. Abruptly he felt a wave of anger, frustration,
fear for this woman he hardly knew—a muddle of emotions so strong he suddenly
slammed the magazine against the wall. He was shocked to realize his hands
were shaking.
Football players were known
for throwing temper tantrums on the field. As a senior in high school John had
earned his team a penalty that lost them the game. He had kept a relentless
grip on himself ever since.
With one exception. The night
Susan died, he had taken every book from a bookcase, one by one, and flung them
across the room with the arm that had made him All-Pro. They had slid down the
wall and landed in a heap with broken spines and creased pages. One by one.
Mindless. Like a quarterback warming up, he'd thrown those damn books. He hadn't
even realized until later that they were
Anger? Hurt?
Whatever he had been feeling
was securely tucked away, because he smiled again, still ruefully, and said,
"I won't argue anymore. Will you at least let us help you move when the
time comes? I can bring the truck and a horse trailer. I don't think you have
anything we couldn't get in it. That'd save you some money and me some
pride."
She had to laugh, just a
little. "Okay," she said. "I won't argue anymore, either."
"Then we'll say good
night and give you some peace," John said. "By the time I pack Emma's
lunch, it'll be bedtime for me, anyway. I have to roll out of bed tomorrow at
the crack of dawn. Not my best time of day, but my partner's taking a couple of
horses down to a show in Portland."
Marian scooped Anna up on one
hip and followed John and Emma to the front door. "When you were a
football player, didn't you have morning practices?"
"God, I hated 'em."
He grinned at his own fervency.
"Emma tells me you were
All-Pro, whatever that means. You couldn't have played too badly, even if you
were still dying for another cup of coffee."
"I faked it." He
smiled again. " 'Bye, Jesse, Anna. Good-bye, Marian."
"Emma, I'll see you
Friday," Marian called to their retreating backs.
Emma didn't answer and John
just waved.
Marian went back inside the
house and closed the door, feeling absurdly lost and let down. Their departure
had come so quickly, it seemed like an anticlimax. As she steered Jesse and
Anna into the bathroom to brush teeth, she made herself analyze why.
Had she wanted John to argue?
To overwhelm her with logic until she agreed despite herself? She was terribly
afraid that she had. He had accepted her answer so easily, even if he had made
protesting noises. Well, why should that surprise her? He could hardly have
wanted a housekeeper encumbered by twins in the midst of the Terrible Two's!
No, she had to face it. John McRae was a nice man who had felt sorry for her.
No more and no less.
*****
John tried hard to keep his
distance over the next couple of weeks. The only alternative was begging her to
have dinner with him, and he was pretty sure that was the last thing she wanted
or needed right now.
Every time he saw her, she
looked more tired. With that translucent skin, lack of sleep left purple bruises
beneath her eyes. She made him think of a fine porcelain doll, not just because
she was beautiful, but because he was increasingly aware of how fragile she
was.
The next two weekends he
didn't even have to ask whether she had found a new rental. When she saw him on
the doorstep, she gave a tremulous smile that was meant to be insouciant and
shook her head. But the mountain of boxes in one corner of her living room
grew, and the small, shabby house began to feel chilly and bare.
He wanted to help her so
badly it tore at him, but he couldn't make her accept anything from him. The
night when Marian had refused his offer of a job, John drove home, gently
explaining her reasoning to Emma. He tucked his daughter into bed and wandered
down to the living room, where he picked up the new Sports Illustrated with
every intention of reading it. Abruptly he felt a wave of anger, frustration,
fear for this woman he hardly knew—a muddle of emotions so strong he suddenly
slammed the magazine against the wall. He was shocked to realize his hands
were shaking.
Football players were known
for throwing temper tantrums on the field. As a senior in high school John had
earned his team a penalty that lost them the game. He had kept a relentless
grip on himself ever since.
With one exception. The night
Susan died, he had taken every book from a bookcase, one by one, and flung them
across the room with the arm that had made him All-Pro. They had slid down the
wall and landed in a heap with broken spines and creased pages. One by one.
Mindless. Like a quarterback warming up, he'd thrown those damn books. He hadn't
even realized until later that they were
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