Home Field Advantage Read online

  He nodded, his expression noncommittal. There was something in his gray eyes, though, an answering awareness, that reminded her of that first odd moment when she had opened the door. She tried to tell herself that she had imagined the way he had looked at her, but failed.

  Feeling the need to fuss, Marian collected a pile of books from the couch and carried them over to the bookcase, talking over her shoulder. "Jesse and Anna are two and a half, so they're a little young to be friends for you, Emma, but they'd be thrilled if you played with them! Did you notice that we have a pony?"

  Still standing stiffly beside her father, Emma nodded again. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the two dark-haired, dark-eyed toddlers who stared silently at her.

  "We have a goat, too, which saves me from having to mow. Goats are funny creatures. Esmerelda likes to nibble on noses and ears, so you have to watch her, but she's really a lot of fun. I save her hair when she sheds, and we dye it for crafts. For Mother's Day some of the kids took home cups decorated with purple goat hair."

  "Emma and I are on our own," John said.

  Marian wasn't sure how to take that—as a warning, perhaps? She met his eyes when she said, "Jesse and Anna and I are, too. We'd love to have your company, Emma, if you think you'd feel comfortable with us."

  The man replied only indirectly. "Do you have an extra bed for Emma? Or would she need to bring a sleeping bag?"

  "I have a bed," she said. "This place is three-bedroom, believe it or not. They're tiny, but—" She broke off. "Would you like to look around?"

  He nodded and stood. "If you don't mind."

  "Not at all. I'm afraid the dinner dishes are still piled up." Marian caught herself apologizing. She wasn't one of the world's great housekeepers and she wasn't about to pretend that she was, just because the girl's father intimidated her. If that was the right word, she thought, all too aware of his long, lazy stride as he followed her, of how big the hand was that hadn't left his daughter's shoulder.

  As she led a silent tour from room to room, the shabbiness of the house made her self-conscious as well. The kitchen cabinets were old painted wood, the vinyl floor cracking, its finish long worn off. The hardwood floors needed refinishing, the bathroom could have used new fixtures. She hadn't been able to afford to do any of those projects. What she could afford she'd done. The wallpapers were bright and airy, the curtains gauzy splashes of color. She'd made slipcovers for some of the furniture, stripped and stained the wood pieces. There were books in every room, and colorful toys randomly stacked on shelves. It was home, she thought, trying to ignore a clutch of sadness. Maybe only for another few months, but while the house was still hers, she refused to feel defensive about it.

  The small hallway ended at the three bedrooms. The door was open to hers, which lay straight ahead. Marian's instinctive reaction was hurriedly to pull the door shut, as though by doing so she could salvage some remnant of privacy. But that was ridiculous. He had seen a bed before. Hers would tell him nothing about her.

  But Marian was wrong. Although he didn't allow his expression to change, John had guessed quite a lot about her from one leisurely glance. The quilt, in an unusual and striking mix of teal and orange, was clearly handmade. The room was untidy in a casual, homey way; books were piled haphazardly on the end table, a stuffed rabbit lay at the foot of the bed, and one slipper hadn't quite made it into the closet. A ball of bright red yarn had rolled out of a bag. The bedroom was emphatically hers, without any sign that a man had ever belonged there.

  The two children's rooms duly inspected, John followed her back into the living room, Emma silent at his side. He should have been thinking only about his daughter, about her reaction, but instead he seized the opportunity to admire Marian's narrow hips and long legs, revealed by snug jeans. Above her slender back, her hair was like thick, dark silk, carelessly bundled. His fingers almost tingled as he imagined how that silky mane would feel, slipping through them. He had a vivid image of her naked, slowly turning to face him, her hair flowing to her waist, an impossibly sensual contrast with her porcelain skin.

  John blinked, and realized he stood beside the couch staring at her. She had turned to face him, her gaze wary. Before he had thought of anything to say, she spoke abruptly.

  "I keep thinking how familiar you look. Have we met before?"

  "No." He wouldn't have forgotten her. "I'm, uh..."

  "Daddy was a football player," Emma interjected proudly. "Everybody knows who he is."

  "Well, not quite," John said wryly.

  "I'm afraid I've never followed football." She didn't sound apologetic.

  "Daddy has scars all over his knees," Emma added. "Big ugly ones."

  Marian's dark gaze lowered to his jean-clad legs, and then she flushed slightly as she looked back at his face.

  "Thank you, Emma," John said, then grinned ruefully at Marian, who was, if anything, more beautiful with her cheeks tinted pink. "I retired because of knee injuries," he explained.

  "I'm sorry," she said, sounding awkward.

  He shrugged. "It's a rare football career that lasts over ten years. I couldn't ask for more than that."

  Her small daughter tugged at her sweater, and Marian bent to pick her up. "This isn't a business trip, then?"

  "I'm a color commentator for network television," John said. "Which means I'm on the road a lot for five or six months a year, and home the rest. We've had a housekeeper for the last couple of years who took care of Emma, but she left to get married and the woman I hired to replace her called today to let me know her father had a stroke and she wouldn't be able to come. Obviously, I'm going to be hunting for a new housekeeper. In the meantime..." He shrugged again.

  As he talked, her expression changed, becoming shuttered as her brow crinkled and she studied him. Suddenly the warmth was gone from those velvet dark eyes. But, damn it, what had he said?

  "Is something wrong?" John asked, taking a step toward her.

  She held her ground, raking him with an unexpectedly cool gaze. "No. No, nothing." And then she turned away from him as though he didn't exist, carefully setting her own daughter down before crouching in front of his. He saw again her gentleness as she smiled at Emma. "I'll be delighted to have Emma this weekend if you'll feel comfortable leaving her here."

  John glanced at his daughter, but her face stayed averted. "Suppose I bring her about noon?" he said.

  "Good." She hesitated, then looked up at him. "Would you like a cup of coffee? Or tea?"

  The offer was obviously no more than polite, and even so he refused only with reluctance. "You must be tired. And Emma and I both have to pack."

  Marian told herself firmly that she was relieved. He had a strangely unsettling effect on her, one she didn't even like to acknowledge. If she were ever to fall in love again, which at this point in her life she found difficult to imagine, it wouldn't be with a man who spent more time away from home than he did with his motherless daughter.

  When he and Emma were gone and Marian was involved in the nightly rituals of bathing her twins, of cuddling them and reading stories and tucking them in, a peripheral part of her consciousness puzzled over the two who had left—the child with the frightened brown eyes and the man who had looked so tenderly at his daughter but was prepared to leave her with a stranger for the weekend—not just this weekend, but all the ones to come in the next—what?—three months? Four months? Did all men lack some basic instinct for nurturing? she wondered, giving her own sleepy children a soft kiss as she pulled the covers up to their chins and left them in the warm glow from their mouse nightlight.

  Tired, she began to run soapy water into the kitchen sink automatically, wanting nothing more than to finish cleaning up so that she could go to bed herself. But tonight her thoughts were relentless, the remembered ache of betrayal sharp in her throat. She knew the unfairness of turning her bitterness on John McRae, who at least had not abandoned his child. But he had sparked too many memories, ruffling the hard-won serenity she h
ad achieved. Unfair or not, she resented that.

  CHAPTER 2

  Watching John McRae say good-bye to his daughter nearly broke Marian's heart. Crouched before Emma, he pulled her into a tight hug, resting his cheek against her dark hair. For just a moment his eyes met Marian's over the littie girl's head, before Marian looked uncomfortably away. The pain she had seen was too private, not meant for her eyes.

  Why, she wondered, if he loved his daughter so much, was he leaving her? Although she knew little about football, even Marian was vaguely aware that professional athletes made an obscene amount of money—surely enough for him to have retired, or at least waited until Emma was older before he went back to work.

  He abruptly released his daughter and stood. His expression was wiped clear of all emotion when he said, his voice rough, "I'll see you Monday morning. Do you mind if I call Sunday night en route?"

  "No, of course not," Marian said. "If you want to call any time and talk to Emma..."

  John nodded. When he spoke to his daughter his voice was softer, filled with tenderness. "I'll call tonight, hon. Have fun riding the pony."

  Marian stepped forward and instinctively put an arm around the girl's thin shoulders as her father strode to his car and drove away without a backward glance. Something caught at Marian's throat as she watched him go. She tried to tell herself that it was anger, but it felt more like pity. Only, how could she feel pity for a man who was rich, successful, and sexy? He had everything. Didn't he?

  Tearing her thoughts away from the father, she glanced down at his daughter. "Would you like to meet Esmerelda now?" she asked gently.

  For a moment Emma didn't respond, but at last she nodded. Feeling the child's stiffness, Marian let her hand drop away. Perhaps without a mother, Emma wasn't used to being cuddled. Or maybe it was just too soon.

  Turning to her own toddlers, who lurked shyly in the doorway, Marian said, "Anna? Jesse? Do you have your shoes on? Good. Let's go visit Esmerelda. And maybe you could all have a ride on Snowball. If we don't exercise her a little, she'll get so fat she won't be able to walk! Maybe she'll have to roll like a real snowball!" Encouraged by Emma's slight smile, Marian herded the children around the house, accompanied by both dogs.

  The goat was penned in a tall enclosure beside the ramshackle barn. Seeing them coming, she butted the fence and bleated.

  Emma dropped to her knees and pushed her hand through the wire. When Esmerelda nibbled on her fingers, a soft giggle escaped the five-year-old.

  "It tickles!"

  "Wait'll she gets your hair!" Marian promised.

  "She's fat, too," Emma said shyly.

  "Yes, but she has an excuse," Marian said as she opened the gate to let Esmerelda loose into the pasture. "She's a pygmy goat, and they're naturally round. Although she does look like she's pregnant, doesn't she?"

  "A baby goat would be nice," Emma said wistfully.

  "It would be fun, but..." Marian stopped. There was no reason to tell Emma that they might soon have to find another home for poor Esmerelda, who had been outrageously spoiled. And Snowball. How would she ever find anybody who would love the shaggy white pony as much as she did? Snowball had been hers when she was a child. It would be a part of her life she would be selling. How could she do it?

  Forcing a smile, she said, "Oops, here comes Snowball. He gets jealous. Here." Marian pulled a carrot from her back pocket and offered it to Emma. "Break this into a couple of pieces and hold it out to him on the flat of your hand." She demonstrated. "I promise, he'll be your slave for life."

  "Ride Snow," Jesse demanded.

  "Ride," his sister agreed.

  "Emma, do you mind going next? No? Okay, who wants to go in front?" Marian asked.

  "Me!" Anna insisted.

  Marian plopped her two-year-old daughter on the broad white back and waited until her small fingers had knotted in Snowball's mane before lifting Jesse up behind. Busy crunching the carrot, the pony paid no more notice to the added weight than he did to Aja, frisking about his hooves.

  Snowball had to be convinced that no more carrots were forthcoming before he reluctantly agreed to amble around the pasture with Marian walking on one side of him and Emma holding the lead rope. Any shyness vanished in the pleasure Emma took at being trusted to be in charge.

  When the pony's stride dragged, she tugged on the lead and demanded, "Come on, Snowball! Giddyup!" The pony sighed and increased his pace infinitesimally.

  Marian hid a smile. At twenty-three years old, Snowball had learned long ago that he was the master. Fortunately, he was a kind, well-meaning one.

  "Okay, Emma," Marian said as they came around by the barn. "Your turn. Have you ever ridden before?"

  "Whoa, Snowball." The pony had already stopped, but Emma clung to his halter as though she expected him to fling up his head and gallop away at any moment. "Daddy has a horse ranch," she informed Marian. "Arabian horses. I ride a lot."

  Marian instantly pictured one of the elegant horses, but it wasn't Emma she saw astride; it was her father. The image fit, Marian realized. John McRae looked more like a cowboy than a football player, his tall body rangy rather than overmuscled, his voice deep and slow.

  Emma's tone of importance dwindled into discontent as she admitted, "But Daddy or Isaiah always has to lead me because our horses are all big. I'll bet I could ride Snowball all by myself."

  Seeing the hope in her dark eyes, Marian smiled. "I'll bet you could, too," she agreed.

  Snowball had worked his usual magic, Marian thought with relief. It was going to be all right. Emma would be happy with them.

  Why she was so relieved, Marian couldn't have said. After all, this was temporary. After Monday morning, she would probably never see Emma or her father again. Which was just as well, Marian thought firmly. She had enough problems without complicating her life further. And a complication was all that the vulnerable child and her too-attractive father would be.

  *****

  Sunday morning Marian studied the classifieds while the children watched cartoons. "Hannah!" she exclaimed, pushing a fat gray cat off the newspaper. "I can't read it with you sprawled in the middle!" Hannah grudgingly moved over a few inches.

  There were plenty of rentals available, Marian thought, trying to find her place. The trouble was, she couldn't afford three-quarters of them. And of the remainder, almost all specified no pets. She'd given up hope of keeping Snowball and Esmerelda, but to have to find homes for the dogs and cats as well... Her teeth closed painfully on her lower lip and her gaze moved to the next column. Eight hundred and fifty dollars a month! She lived on less than that.

  The next one was a possible, she supposed, circling it in red. But the description was ominous. "Fixer-upper with darling potential!" In her experience, "darling" translated to tiny, and if it was too much of a fixer-upper, she'd never get it licensed by the state for day-care. Assuming there were no neighbors to object, and that her current customers were willing to cross town to leave their children, and... Her mind easily found the familiar path strewn with worries.

  If only she'd been able to stay here a few more years. Just until the twins started school. Then she could have worked... But she was wasting time. If she were going to dwell on the "if onlys," she ought to wish for child support. If only her ex-husband were paying it, life wouldn't be so hard. But he wasn't. And she wouldn't trade her children for anything on earth.

  She lifted her voice above the canned giggles from the television set. "Guys, we have to go somewhere. Time to turn the TV off and get your shoes."

  "But Daddy's going to be on," Emma protested. "We could watch him."

  The thought had already crossed Marian's mind. She had instantly squelched it. She didn't have time to waste today, and football bored her anyway. She could satisfy her curiosity another time, once father and child were out of her life.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you probably enjoy watching your dad, but I have some errands that have to be done."

  Anna u
npopped her thumb from her mouth and scrambled off the couch, but Jesse was still staring at the colorful screen, mesmerized. When Emma turned it off, he blinked, as though coming out of a spell. Marian hated to let the children watch even as much as she did, but many days it was her only time to herself.

  "Where are we going?" Emma asked.

  "To the grocery store, and to look at a couple of houses. I don't own this one, and unfortunately the people who do, want to build some condominiums here. We have to move pretty soon."

  The twins didn't understand, but Emma did. "I hated moving. I don't have any friends. And Helen left because she didn't want to live here."

  Crouching to put on Jesse's shoes, Marian said, "It's hard, isn't it? At least we don't have to leave town, so we won't lose our friends." What friends? she thought. Who had time for them?

  "Let's go look at the houses first," Emma said, bouncing a little as Marian buckled all three into her old station wagon. "Grocery stores are boring. Besides, maybe we can find a really neat place. Like our house. Our house is okay, even if I wish we still lived in California."

  Marian clicked the seat belt into place over Emma, then ruffled her bangs. "You know something? I'll bet in just a few months you'll have tons of friends and you won't be able to remember why you didn't want to move."

  Marian had buckled herself in and backed the station wagon out of the driveway before she glanced over to see how pinched Emma's face was.

  Without looking up, the little girl mumbled, "If Helen loved me, she wouldn't have left."

  The road was empty. Marian put the brake on right where she was and reached out to enfold Emma in a hug. Leaning her cheek against the dark head, she closed her eyes. "Oh, sweetie," she said sadly. "Life should be easier, shouldn't it?"

  *****

  The children were long in bed that night when the telephone rang. Answering, Marian recognized John McRae's voice immediately.

  "Emma's doing just fine," she said. "She's asleep already, but if you want—"