“Are you serious?” She set it back down. “Got a cold Coors?”
“I don’t think Ruby stocks beer.”
“I’ll bet she’s never out of whiskey, though.”
Rana’s cheeks went red. “I don’t-”
“Come on, now, Miss Ramsey. You can tell me. I’m family.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, moving his face to within scant inches of hers. “Does the old girl still swizzle her Jack Daniel’s?”
Before Rana could form a response, Ruby appeared, pushing a tea cart loaded with silver platters through the kitchen door. “Here we are, dears. I’m sure you’re starving, but the rolls needed a few more minutes in the oven.”
Trent, still staring at Rana’s shocked expression, chuckled softly.
“ Trent, stop that irritating sniggering,” Ruby scolded. “You always were the rudest child at the table and prone to laugh for no apparent reason. Sit up straight, please, and make yourself useful by carving this roast for me. Miss Ramsey likes hers medium to well done, and be generous with her portion despite her protests. I’ve managed to put some meat on her meager bones, but she still has a long way to go. Now, isn’t this nice?” Ruby said enthusiastically as she took her seat. “This is going to be so cozy, the three of us sharing every meal.”
Rana, who was trying to ignore Trent ’s calculating assessment of just how meager her bones were, was wondering if it would be too obvious if she asked to have her meals in her apartment from now on.
Trent had a hefty appetite. Ruby kept refilling his plate, until he held up his hands in surrender after eating two and a half portions of everything.
“Please, Aunt Ruby, no more. I’ll go to fat.”
“Nonsense. You’re still a growing boy. I can’t send you to summer camp weak and unfit.”
Rana choked on a bite of parsleyed potatoes and took a quick drink of water. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she was careful not to remove her glasses as she blotted them.
“Are you all right, dear?” Ruby asked with concern.
“Fine, fine,” Rana choked out. When she was composed, she looked at Trent. “Aren’t you a little old to be sent off to summer camp?”
Ruby and Trent both found that highly amusing, and they laughed heartily. “Football summer camp,” Ruby explained. “Didn’t I tell you that Trent is a professional football player?”
Rana, embarrassed, smoothed her napkin back in her lap. “I don’t believe you did.”
“He plays with the Houston Mustangs.” Ruby beamed proudly, laying her hand on her nephew’s muscled arm. “And he’s the most important player. The quarterback.”
“I see.”
“Don’t you like football, Miss Ramsey?” Trent inquired. He was a trifle piqued that she hadn’t recognized him. Nor had she seemed suitably impressed to discover that she was sharing dinner with a man touted by some sportswriters as the finest quarterback in professional football since Starr and Staubach.
“I don’t know very much about it, Mr. Gamblin. But I know more now than I did.”
“How’s that?”
“I know that the players go to summer camp.”
His mouth split into a wide grin. Miss Ramsey had a sense of humor. The next few weeks might not be too taxing after all. In fact, he didn’t remember when he’d enjoyed such a relaxing dinner. He didn’t have to work at impressing his aunt. She already thought he hung the moon. Any charm he sent in Miss Ramsey’s direction was equally certain to be appreciated. No effort was required there either. For the first time in years, he could be himself in the company of females, and it felt good.
“How is your shoulder, Trent?” Ruby turned to Rana to explain. “He has an injury that refuses to heal properly. A shoulder dislocation.”
“Separation, Auntie.”
“Sorry, a separation. His doctor recommended that he get away from his circle of friends and suspend his other activities so his shoulder would have the rest it needs to heal before training camp. Right, dear?”
“Right.”
“Is it painful?” Rana asked.
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Only when I overexert myself.”
He frowned as he recalled his last appointment with the team doctor. “The damn thing just won’t get any better, doc,” he had complained. “And you know it’s got to be completely well by training camp.”
He had gnawed on his lip. If he had another season like the last one, the coach would be scouting for younger and better talent.
Trent wasn’t fooling himself. He was thirty-four. His retirement from professional football was imminent. But he wanted one more good-no, great-season. He didn’t want to retire a broken-down, banged-up failure who caused people to shake their heads sadly and say, “He’s lost it, but he just won’t admit it.” Deep inside him, he knew he hadn’t lost it. He wanted to get his shoulder in shape and retire in a blaze of glory. Then he’d go gracefully. Not until then.
“Don’t come whining to me, Trent,” the doctor had said. “Tom Tandy told me you pulled that shoulder again playing tennis. Tennis, for heaven’s sake! Have you lost your mind?”
Trent winced as the doctor’s capable hands explored the tender muscles. “I needed to brush up on my ground strokes.”
“Bull. I know what kind of strokes you were brushing up on. Tom also told me you were servicing the club’s woman pro… and I don’t mean on the tennis court.”
“With tattling friends like Tom-”
“Don’t blame this lecture on him. Look, son,” the Mustangs’ doctor had said, pulling up a stool and speaking to Trent earnestly, “that shoulder is never going to heal if you keep on going the way you have been. Sure, this is the off-season, and you’ve earned the right to raise a little hell. But training camp is just a few weeks away. Which is more important to you, next football season or the swinging-single’s life? Which would you rather be, a Super Bowl quarterback or a superstud?”
Trent had called his aunt that afternoon.
It had been the right decision, he thought now as he leaned back and sipped the coffee Ruby had poured into his china cup. He probably did need the rest, the earlier hours, and regular meals that this sabbatical in Galveston promised. Aunt Ruby certainly wasn’t boring. He still had fond memories of his childhood visits with her.
He looked speculatively at the other woman at the table. Miss Ramsey might even prove to be amusing, if she ever lightened up. Maybe he could prod her along.
“What do you do to support yourself?” he asked abruptly.
“ Trent! How rude!” his aunt admonished. “Didn’t that sister of mine teach you any social graces? You’ve been around those barbarian teammates of yours too long.”
“I want to know.” His smile was disarming. “Why beat around the bush? If Miss Ramsey and I are going to be… living together, don’t you think we should get to know each other?”
His dark eyes had swept down Rana’s body, leaving a tide of heat. Rana wished she hadn’t felt it. For some unexplainable reason she had been relieved to learn that he wasn’t seeking cover from a sticky divorce, though that didn’t rule out the possibility that he was married.
She had even felt a twinge of pity for him as an athlete who was obviously worried about his future. She knew enough about the world of professional sports to know that such injuries as shoulder separations could mean the end of a career.
Now, however, when he was looking at her with that familiar “I could eat you for breakfast, little girl” look on his face, her compassion evaporated and her previous aversion returned. With it came her resolution to keep out of his path.
“I paint,” she said succinctly.
“Paint? You mean pictures or walls?”
“Neither.” She sipped her coffee, creating what she hoped was an irritating delay. “I paint on clothing.”