Husband in Training Page 17

  Polly's haughty expression softened, too. "Oh, Mom. Look. I won't say a thing, about what you told me. Not unless he brings it up, okay?"

  She knew Nick well enough to safely be able to say, "He's not going to bring it up, honey."

  "Well, fine. But I do have to call him."

  Jenny made herself smile. "I know you do. Go ahead. You can use the phone on my desk in the spare room."

  When the phone rang, Nick was sitting on the sofa, channel-surfing, with the fuzz ball in his lap. He picked up the extension on the table by his elbow.

  "Nick? It's me, Polly."

  The sound of her voice reminded him of Jen. That hurt. But he smiled, anyway. He'd been missing Polly, too. He punched the Power button and the TV screen went dark. "Hey. How are you?"

  "Oh, all right. I guess. I got grounded for a month. And I'm not supposed to use the phone. But Mom said I could, this once, to call you."

  Just like Jen, he thought. Making sure I don't lose Polly, too. "Well, good."

  "Nick? I want you to know, I'm sorry. For being such a jerk last Sunday."

  "What? A jerk? You?"

  "Oh, stop it. I'm sorry. I am."

  "Your apology is accepted."

  "So … you're not mad at me?"

  "Nope. Not mad at all. I was mad on Sunday, but pot for long. Who could stay mad at you for long?"

  "Oh, right. I'm so wonderful."

  "You are. You're terrific. Even if you have zero appreciation for the greats in the NBA."

  "I miss … having you come over. But I promised Mom. No more training sessions, you know?"

  "I understand."

  A silence. He had the distinct impression she was choosing her next words carefully, which made him wonder just what Jen had told her. "Uh, how's Daisy?"

  "She's fine. She's right here. Purring up a storm."

  "Have you taken her in for her shots yet?"

  "Not yet."

  He knew the instructions were coming. And they were. "Nick, you have to get her to the vet. And are you going to let her have a litter?"

  "Litter. She's got litter. It's all over the laundry room floor."

  "Nick. You know what I mean."

  "Yeah. Kittens."

  "Well, are you?"

  "I think I'll pass on that."

  "Then she has to be spayed."

  He looked down at the fuzz ball. She looked up at him and purred even louder. "Gotcha." He felt like a traitor, talking about spaying right in front of her when she trusted him so much.

  "Nick. I mean it. You have to get her to the vet. Those shots are important."

  "Okay, okay. I'll get her to the vet."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "I don't know, Pol. I—"

  "Come on, Nick. Promise me."

  "All right, all right. I'll deal with it. Tomorrow. So tell me. Read any good love sonnets lately?"

  She laughed. "You know I can't talk about love sonnets with you anymore."

  "Then tell me about school. Tell me about how you're getting straight A's."

  "Nick. Maybe we could go to a basketball game again, after I get off restriction. How would that be?"

  "Wait a minute. Is there something wrong with this phone? I thought you just said—"

  "You know what I said. Can we do that?"

  He knew for sure then that Jen had told Polly the bare facts, at least. He didn't know how he knew—he just did. He didn't much like knowing that.

  "Nick, could we do that?" She was telling him she still wanted him around, even if her mother wanted nothing to do with him.

  Anger moved through him. Kind of a slow burn. He kept thinking of Saturday night, kept thinking that Jen was the woman he wanted.

  And she wanted him, too. Saturday night more than proved that. Still, she'd allow a dead man and her own fears to keep them both from getting what they wanted.

  "Nick. Can we?"

  Polly had said she was grounded for a month. In a month, it would be playoffs time. He'd have to hunt around for tickets, to an L.A. game or maybe Salt Lake City. They'd have to fly there. Probably stay overnight. And what the hell would Jen say to that?

  "Nick? Are you still there?"

  "Yeah, Pol. I'm still here."

  "Then tell me, will you do that? Will you take me to a basketball game when I get off restriction?"

  He could learn to hate Jen, he realized. He'd have to guard against that.

  "Nick? Please?" She sounded so pitiful.

  "Look, Pol. We'll see, okay?"

  A long silence on the line. Then she said in a small voice, "Yeah. I guess so. Okay…"

  Polly stayed in the spare room for fifteen minutes. When she came out, Jenny had already finished her dinner and carried her plate to the sink.

  Polly picked up her own plate and brought it into the kitchen. "I've had all I want, I think." She scraped the food into the garbage and joined Jenny at the sink. Jenny took the plate from her, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. She'd been telling herself the whole time Polly was on the phone that she would not ask what Polly and Nick had talked about.

  Polly picked up the sponge and began wiping down the counters. She glanced up, and saw Jenny watching her. "He's fine," she said.

  "Good."

  "He's not mad at me."

  "I didn't think he was."

  "I got him to promise to take Daisy to the vet for her shots and stuff."

  "That's good."

  Polly rinsed the sponge and wrung the water from it. She glanced at the dishwasher, at the few pots, already drying on the drainer by the sink. "You cleaned everything up already."

  Jenny nodded. No reason to explain that she'd been nervous, that she'd wanted something to do while her daughter talked on the phone to the man she herself couldn't stop thinking about.

  Polly dried her hands. "Well. I've got homework."

  "Better get to it then."

  Polly hung the towel back on its hook. "Mom. I didn't say a word about what you told me. He didn't say anything, either."

  Not knowing what else to do, Jenny smiled and nodded.

  Her daughter turned and disappeared down the hall.

  The next morning, Roger Bayliss caught Jenny just as she was getting out of her car. "Jenny, I've been hoping to get a moment alone with you."

  Jenny shut her car door and tried not to show the apprehension she felt. She just did not want to have to tell Roger that she'd changed her mind about going out with him again. He'd hardly talked to her all week, other than the brief incident with the brownies on Monday. She'd actually let herself imagine that if she kept a low profile around him, the subject might never come up.

  He was carrying a big lesson plan notebook. He clutched it to his chest. "Jenny," he said grimly, "you're a lovely woman. And I never meant to lead you on…"

  A cool wind was blowing. Jenny wrapped her sweater closer around herself and leaned against the door of her car, as Roger went on to explain that he and his ex-wife, Sally, were getting back together again. They'd run into each other in the supermarket Saturday and just started talking. They hadn't been apart, except to go to work, since then. Sally had finally realized that she'd let her mother come between them, and she swore it wouldn't happen again.

  "I'm not expecting miracles, you know," Roger said. "But we're trying. We're working on it."

  Jenny told him she was happy for him and swore she didn't feel he'd led her on at all. They walked into the building together, Roger rambling on about Sally and how wonderful it was to be working things out with her.

  Jenny listened and smiled. This was perfect. Roger had his wife back—and Jenny never even had to tell him that their first date had been their last.

  If only things between her and Nick could be so simple.

  Since it was Polly's tutoring day, Jenny had time to stop in at Wal-Mart on her way home. She bought two sixty-pound bags of potting soil. One of the clerks helped her load it into the trunk of the rental car.

  At home, Jenny parked at the curb, un
der the now-leafy branches of the mulberry tree. She went inside and changed into old jeans and a sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off. Then she went back out again to haul the bags from the trunk. She dragged them up on the lawn and ripped the end of one open.

  She was spreading dirt into the deepest of the tire tracks when Nick's Cadillac swung into her driveway.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  Nick got out of the car, shutting the door hard behind him. He had Daisy tucked under one arm. Jenny held on to her shovel as if it could save her from those dark eyes that seemed to stare right down into the center of her.

  "We've got to talk," he said.

  She swallowed convulsively, thinking, You're not supposed to do this. You said I should call you.

  He demanded, "You want to talk here? On your front lawn?"

  She let the shovel fall, then pulled off her gloves and dropped them on the ground, too. "No. Let's go inside."

  He followed behind her, up to the porch, where she stomped her feet on the mat, to shake off the loose dirt. Then she went in the front door.

  "Where's Polly?" he asked, when the door was shut behind them.

  "It's her tutoring day."

  "Good. I wanted to talk to you alone." He was glaring at her. The little cat hung under his arm, purring and completely relaxed.

  The small foyer seemed way too cramped for the two of them. Jenny gestured toward the main part of the house. "Well. Come in, then."

  He went ahead of her, through the dining room and down the steps to the family room. She detoured to the kitchen. "Go ahead. Have a seat. I want to wash my hands."

  "Fine."

  In the kitchen, she turned on the water and squirted soap on her hands. As she rubbed them together under the faucet, she told herself to relax, that whatever he was here about, she could handle it.

  Too quickly, her hands were clean. She wiped them on the towel and hung it carefully back on its hook. Then she had no choice but to go to him, out through the dining room, down those two steps. He stood by the brick fireplace at the far end of the room, waiting. Not smiling. Not smiling at all…

  They regarded each other down the length of the room. The little cat still hung there, under his big arm. Jenny resisted the urge to wring her hands in distress.

  "What?" she said finally. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  He let out a short bark of laughter. "What's wrong?" He started walking toward her, slowly. She had to force herself not to move, not to back away as he came near.

  When he stood about two feet from her, close enough that she could have fallen right into the darkness of his eyes, he stopped. And he held out the cat.

  Automatically she took the purring animal from his arms. The kitten snuggled right against her, dipping her head, inviting strokes. Jenny petted her. The soft, furry warmth felt reassuring, comforting. And with Nick so close—close enough that the scent of him taunted her—Jenny needed reassuring. She looked down at the cat, in part as a way to avoid those dark eyes. The cat stared up at her, seeming to smile.

  "Take a good look." Nick growled the words. "A good, long look."

  Jenny jerked her head up. "Nick. What is the matter with you?"

  "Well, Jen. I'm mad. I'm steamed, as a matter of fact."

  She gulped. Hard. The word why came into her head, but she didn't have the courage to say it right then.

  "Daisy and I just got back from the vet," he said very quietly.

  She gulped again. "Uh, yes. Polly mentioned that you said you would take her."

  "Yeah." He loomed closer. "You know what the vet told me?"

  Daisy started to squirm. Jenny realized she was holding her too tightly, an instinctive physical reaction to her own internal turmoil. She knelt and let the cat down. Daisy promptly strutted up the steps and across the dining area floor, stopping beneath the table, where she sat. Wrapping her tail around her front paws, she watched them through slitted eyes.

  "You know what the vet said?" Nick challenged again.

  Jenny turned to him. "No. But I assume eventually you'll get around to telling me."

  "Oh, I'll tell you. I'll tell you, all right. The vet laughed, that's what. He examined that cat, and then he laughed." He loomed even closer. "Do you want to know why?"

  She held her head high. "Yes. I certainly do. And right away, if you don't mind."

  "Because Daisy is a boy."

  She stared at him, not certain she'd heard right. "But … I checked, and so did Polly."

  "Well, you didn't check close enough—or else you damn well didn't know what to look for."

  She angled her chin higher. "I beg your pardon. I knew what to look for."

  He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "You knew what to look for. Sure. Sure, you did." He pointed an accusing finger. "You. You and Polly. So damn sure that cat was a female. So damn sure that cat was meant for me. But did I get to name the poor guy? Hell, no. Daisy, Polly says. That cat has to be called Daisy. So now, what?"

  He paused, but not long enough for her to say anything. Right away, he was barreling on. "I'll tell you what. She is a he and the poor guy knows his name. He answers to Daisy. I can't call him Rex or Jake or some other decent guy's name. He's Daisy. Daisy. For the rest of his damn life. All because, you and Polly, you two know everything." He turned and paced the length of the room. When he got back to the fireplace, he faced her again. "So now I've got a boy cat I've gotta call Daisy. And that's not all. Not only does he have a damn dumb girl's name, next week, the vet is going to cut off his—"

  She put up a hand. "Never mind. I understand."

  He started coming toward her again. "No, you don't. You don't understand at all. The point is, not everyone's what you want them to be, what you think they should be. Not everyone's sensitive and caring. Not everyone's willing to just be your friend. Sometimes, a guy is just a guy, and that's all he is. Sometimes, a guy screws up and puts the lovemaking before the talking. Sometimes he might show up at your house when he's got no business being there." He stopped a few feet from her and demanded, "Which reminds me, what the hell was going on Friday night?"

  She just stared at him, wishing he wasn't so handsome, wishing he'd grab her and kiss her, wishing he'd get out and leave her alone.

  He prompted, "Friday night a tall, thin guy with brown hair brought you home."

  "Roger?"

  "You're dating some guy named Roger?"

  "No. I'm not. It was one date."

  "One date?" he sneered.

  "Yes. And now he's gone back to his wife."

  "He's got a wife? You're going out with some guy with a wife?"

  "No, they're divorced. Or they were, as of last Friday night. Then, a few days ago, they decided to get back together."

  He looked somewhat mollified. "Well. Good for them."

  "Nick. Were you spying on me Friday night?"

  "No." He threw up both hands. "Yeah. Hell, was I? I guess. I went to the Nine-Seventeen Club and finally figured out that I didn't want Sasha. I wanted to talk to you, to tell you … hell, I wanted to see you, all right? I came here and I parked down the street and just sat there in the car, trying to get up the damn nerve to knock on your door, since you'd kicked me out the night before and told me I couldn't come back until Monday. While I was sitting there, I saw you come home, you and this Roger guy." He started to pace again, back and forth in front of her. "Yeah, all right. I know, I shouldn't have been there, since you had told me to stay away. And then later, on Saturday, before we made love, I should have told you I saw you with Roger and I should have told you about Sasha. But I didn't.

  "That's what I'm telling you. That's how I am. Just a guy. I'm not the best guy. I'm not Andy, not by a long shot. Polly was wasting her time, trying to train me to be a better man. Because I'm just … who I am. Just Nick. Just a guy." He stopped, faced her again. Now, he looked at her hopelessly. "Hell. What am I doing here? I'm not here because of poor Daisy, who doesn't even know he's a boy.
I'm damn mad over Daisy, but that's only an excuse to come here, to step over the line I drew myself, when I told you I wouldn't come here, that you would have to come to me. But you're not going to come to me, are you, Jen?"

  He waited, standing there, so big and solid and heartbreakingly alive. The man who had hated her once, then tolerated her, then become her best friend.

  The man who now wanted more from her than she could let herself give.

  He said, "You think I don't know you, don't know how you are? Don't know what you're doing now, don't know how your mind works? How you're thinking that maybe, in time, I'll get over you? How things will go back to being like they were?"

  He took two steps, which brought him right up to her. And then he put his big hands on her shoulders. She wanted to cry out when he touched her, cry out in longing. In hunger. In need. But she didn't do that. She made no sound at all.

  "We can't go back, Jen. That's what happened on Saturday night. I took you to bed instead of saying all the things I should have said. And now we can never go back."

  She refused to believe such a thing. She shook her head. "Oh, don't say that. Eventually you'll get over it. So will I. We'll be friends again…"

  He looked down at her, his eyes full of pain, of limitless yearning. He said one word, "No."

  "But—"

  His fingers dug into her shoulders. "Damn you. I miss you. And I'm so mad at you. Because I know you. It's what happens with a friend. You know them. Like I knew Andy. Like I knew the first time he said your name, that from then on, I would be second for him. That you were gonna come first. I hated you for that, Jen. I'd been his friend since the damn sandbox. Like Polly and Amelia. We told each other everything. I always came first with him. And then you came along. And I wasn't first anymore."

  "Oh, Nick. I know."

  His eyes seemed to burn her. "If you know, then stop lying to yourself. We can't go back. Stop saying we can. We were enemies and then we were friends. And now, you know what's happened, Jen. Now I love—"

  She couldn't bear for him to say it. She raised a hand, put it on his mouth. "Don't."

  He whispered the truth at her, "You're a damn coward, Jen." His breath was warm against her fingers. And then he was pushing her fingers away. "You love me, too, Jen. I know you do."