“Where’s the bedroom?” he said, his voice low and husky in her ear.
His words brought her back to reality. She was one step away from an irrevocable act, and she panicked. He was holding her loosely, ready to move, and she slipped out of his grasp.
She faced him, her skin burning, knowing that she had teased him unfairly, without meaning to. “I can’t,” she said.
He stared at her, breathing hard, hands on hips, much as she had seen him the day she found him exercising. But there was another reason for his breathlessness now. She looked at him, so handsome, so desirable…And more than that He was courageous, sensitive, witty...Stop it! she instructed herself. I will not become involved with another athlete. Remember the last time, the hurt, the pain? The endless road trips, the losing streaks, the injuries, the groupies? Oh, no, don’t do it again.
“Why not?” he asked, agonized.
“I just can’t do it,” she said, realizing how unsatisfactory an answer that was, but unable to explain to him that she was afraid to let him get too close to her, that she didn’t want to be hurt again, that she thought he would have the power to hurt her even more than Bob Delaney.
He saw her struggle, and held up his hand. “Forget it. If the answer is no, it’s no. I won’t bother you again.”
I believe you, Jennifer thought miserably.
Her extreme unhappiness must have shown in her face, because his look suddenly softened. He almost smiled.
“Don’t look so tragic, paleface. Believe it or not, it’s not the first time I’ve been turned down. I think I’ll survive it.”
“I had a lovely time,” she said in a small voice.
His mouth twisted. “Ever the soul of graciousness,” he responded. “I think if you were about to be executed you’d be thanking the headsman for the use of his ax.” He inclined his head slightly. “Good night.”
Jennifer met his eyes quickly and then looked away. “Good night.”
She heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, followed by the roar of the car’s motor. Then all was silence.
The kettle began to whistle. She automatically shut it off, feeling more alone than she had for a long time.
Chapter 5
Weeks passed, during which Jennifer kept herself busy. This was not difficult, considering the volume of work she had to complete before the season began. When Lee did come into her mind, she dismissed him abruptly, refusing to entertain disturbing thoughts.
But she knew she would have to deal with her feelings on Labor Day, when she would see him again. His presence always brought everything she was trying to bury to the surface, so she began constructing an elaborate defense several days before they would have to meet. She would be polite, but distant. She would be friendly, but reserved. There was nothing to worry about; it was very simple. Right.
The holiday morning was warm and sunny, but without the crushing humidity Jennifer found so difficult to bear. She dressed in lightweight, dark blue slacks and a nautical top with a square collar and tie bib. When the limousine arrived to get her, her palms were wet and her mouth was dry. Calm down, she advised herself sternly, annoyed with her inability to control her autonomic responses.
When they got to Lee’s house, he was not outside, ready, as he had been the last time. Jennifer told the driver to wait and went up the steps to ring the bell.
Lee’s voice hailed her from the depths of the house, telling her to come in, the door was open.
Jennifer found him in the kitchen, leaning against the stainless steel sink, legs crossed at the ankles. He was sipping coffee from an earthenware mug. Bruce Springsteen sang throatily in the background.
“Hi,” he said. “Want some coffee? According to the timetable which management so thoughtfully provided, we’ve got a few minutes.” He gestured to another mug sitting on the counter.
His ability to dismiss their previous encounters and start afresh left her at a loss. Didn’t he remember what had happened the last time they saw each other? Jennifer certainly did.
But he regarded her impassively over the rim of the cup. “My instructions were to dress casually,” he added. He jerked a thumb at himself. “This is it.”
He was wearing white jeans and a blood red shirt. Jennifer had always envied people who were able to wear scarlet and carry it off. The same shade dulled Jennifer’s hair to insignificance and drained her skin to chalk white. His striking hair and eyes were needed to complement it. In that color, most people would look three days dead.
“Joined the navy?” he asked, indicating her outfit, smiling slightly.
Jennifer picked up the other mug and filled it from the pot on the stove. “Joined the palace guard?” she countered, pointing to his shirt.
He choked on his coffee, sputtering with laughter. He set the cup down and shook his head, regarding her with a grin. “Touché. You give back as good as you get, every time.”
She smiled back at him, caught in the spell once again. “Part of my charm,” she said negligently.
He sobered, watching her. “Yes, it is,” he said quietly.
Jennifer dropped her eyes, unsure of how to respond. He frequently turned the tables on her like this. Just when she was sure she was on safe ground, bantering, where she could hold her own with anybody, he would suddenly turn serious and leave her nonplussed. It made conversation with him a constant challenge.
“Want some cream?” he asked, going to the refrigerator.
“Thanks.”
He took a fresh pint from a shelf and pried the cap off with his teeth.
“Good heavens, Lee, your dentist would have a heart attack if he saw that,” she said.
“Nah,” he answered, adding a dollop to her cup, “these Indian choppers are indestructible. They may not be perfectly straight, we didn’t go in much for orthodontics on the reservation, but they’re strong as iron.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Comes from chewing buffalo hides.”
He was teasing, as usual. “I may not be that well versed in the practices of your culture,” Jennifer said archly, “but even I know that only women did that work.”
Lee shrugged. “That was before the ERA hit the tribe. Now we all do it.”
Jennifer kept a straight face. “Sounds like a sensible plan.”
His eyes twinkled. “Actually, the Blackfeet were always a pretty liberated bunch. The teepee belonged to the wife, you know, and if she and her husband had a fight, she could throw him out and leave him homeless.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jennifer said, and did so.
“And,” Lee went on, “the wife kept her maiden name all her life. She was not regarded as her husband’s property, but his partner.”
Jennifer set down her cup and applauded.
He grinned. “I thought you’d like that.”
Jennifer looked at her watch. “Don’t you think we’d better get started?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, putting the cups in the sink. He walked around and switched off the stereo just as the record was going into the title cut, “Born to Run.”
“My theme song,” Lee said. He looked back at her. “In more ways than one.”
What exactly did that mean? He was talking on two levels, and Jennifer had a suspicion that the hidden meaning had something to do with her.
As they walked into the hall she pointed to one of the photographs on the mantelpiece. “Is that your father?”
Lee nodded.
“He must be very proud of you.”
Lee’s eyes became distant, focused elsewhere. “Yes, he is. I think he’s living his life over again, through me. The reservation mined him, took away his ambition, initiative, everything. He wanted to see that the same thing didn’t happen to me, so when sports gave me the chance to break free of that life, he made sure I took it.”