Amber's Embrace (3 page)

There were fights about food; Scott had an aversion to anything new or of the vegetable family. There were fights about bedtime; more than once, Amber had found a flashlight burning by his bedside, atop the latest issue of
Sports Illustrated.
And, yes, there were fights about reading—not that she pushed him toward anything really heavy, but she finally conceded that
some
reading was better than
none,
even if it was nothing more than the sports page or the latest space-age epic.

Finally, and most recently, there were fights about haircuts. Amber had long since learned to schedule them for the afternoon that school let out for vacation; that way, the schoolmates might fail to notice completely. There was nothing more desperately “the pits,” her son informed her vehemently, than to look newly groomed. Amber recalled this now with a grin; give him another few years, she mused, and he’d change his tune!

The five-laned asphalt of the Massachusetts Turnpike skimmed beneath her wheels, cutting neatly through the west suburban towns skirting Boston. Parks and residential stretches gradually yielded to the heavily concrete landscaping of the urban character. This, too, she loved—the ability to move from country to city and back with such ease. For Boston harbored a wealth of offerings, many of which she had already sampled. Not only was it a world-famous medical center, but its educational community was equally renowned, housing such institutions as Harvard and M.I.T. In the culture department, the city had much to boast—its theater district, including the new Metropolitan Center, the Museum of Fine Arts and its Pei-designed West Wing, the Aquarium, the Museum of Transportation, and the Fogg Museum in nearby Cambridge. History flourished in the hub, kept alive by such timeless landmarks as
Old Ironsides,
the U.S.S.
Constitution,
the Paul Revere house in the North End, and the sites of the Boston Massacre and the Boston Tea Party. Then, of course, there were Lexington and Concord, Plymouth Rock, historic Salem—all an easy day’s exploration. Amber smiled with pleasure as she recalled with satisfaction the many things she and Scott had discovered.

Pausing at a toll booth in Cambridge, she reached over to squeeze the boy’s hand in encouragement. There would be many more fun times, she knew, come fall, when he was back from the Coast. Despite all their minor squabbles, Scott was a terrific kid. She was the first to proclaim it. He was well-mannered, a good student, and well-liked among his friends. The broad grin he shot her melted her heart, and she forced her eyes back to the road in self-defense against the emotion which lurked too close still for comfort.

“There’s your park!” she teased him, as the high matrices of the lights of Fenway Park came into view on their right. “Will you be able to catch the Red Sox in Anaheim?”

“We did last summer. Dad’s pretty good about getting tickets. But,” he scrunched up his nose impishly, “I still like Fenway Park best. It’s so cozy.”

Amber chuckled. “It certainly is! But the Red Sox aren’t doing so well this year. You might do better to root for the Angels.”

“No way! Dad can cheer for the Angels—I’m with the Red Sox all the way!”

As he settled back in his seat and gazed out the window once more, her own thoughts wandered. The John Hancock tower loomed on their left, its windowpanes relatively intact at last. What a scandal that had been—for the insurance company to have invested hundreds of millions on their new skyscraper, only to find that the windows cracked and popped out at the slightest provocation!

Momentarily diverted, she wondered what had happened to the insurance executive from that same upstanding company, who had called her so many times last year. Somehow he hadn’t been able to understand that she didn’t want to date him. If only the disastrous original glass walls on that building had been half as thick as this one executive’s skull!

On this day when she would have liked to linger, savoring each quiet moment with Scott, the traffic flowed smoothly. The Turnpike dumped them onto the Southeast Expressway, from which they easily connected to the tunnel beneath the harbor, then on to Logan International Airport. Tension slowly built a knot in Amber’s stomach, aggravated by the sight of the huge birds, landing and taking off, beyond the terminal buildings. It was as though this world, which opened vistas to others, held a fast-closing door for her.

All too soon, she walked Scott aboard the plane, stowed his bags, talked with the stewardess, then returned to his seat for the final farewell. Through the tears that welled at the backs of her eyes, she had to admire the child’s fortitude. It was as if he had made his farewell back at home, in his room. Now he was fine, acclimated to the summer and to the temporary absence of his mother. It was, in some ways, an adventure, to fly from coast to coast each year. His instinct for rationalization was strong … particularly since he had no choice in the matter.

For Amber, things were not as easy. This was the last reality she would have envisioned when she and Ron had eloped so long ago. In the end, she, too, had had no choice. Yet, as she hugged the pliant child to her for a last, final moment, her whole being cried out that it should have been different.

Her throat ached, yet she needed these last words. “Be good, Scottie! I love you.”

Her son’s voice was soft, yet strong. “I love you, too, Mom. You have a good summer. You’ll call, won’t you?” For a split second, the world of doubts surfaced in his hazel gaze.

Amber smiled through her tears. “Every Sunday! Bye-bye, hon.” Clutching at her pocketbook with fingers whose knuckles matched the leather’s whiteness, she turned and left the plane slowly, blinded by a wall of tears to all else but the red carpet before her. Once in the passageway leading back to the terminal, she dug for a handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes, and continued on.

For what seemed an eternity, she stood at the floor-to-ceiling glass of the terminal window, watching, waiting for the plane to roll away from her. There were others on either side of her, engaged in similar vigils, yet she was oblivious to their plight. She stood at attention, hips resting against the wood guardrail at the window, one arm draped across her waist, the other bent at the elbow, its fist clutching the handkerchief to her tremulous lips. Had she been this way as a child, leaving for summer camp? It all seemed so very long ago.

Slowly the plane backed away, then taxied down the runway. Only when its wheels left the ground did she exhale the breath she had been unconsciously holding. Only then did the wave of fatigue engulf her. Suddenly weak in the knees, she put both hands on the railing for support.

“Are you all right?” The voice at her immediate left startled her, its deep resonance a breath of fresh air to bring her back to reality and the world which had to go on. She looked up quickly at the tall figure, then turned away again.

“Yes, I’m fine.” The shallowness of her voice decried that claim.

The stranger continued to study her, almost analytically. “You look awfully pale. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather sit down?”

There was something vaguely familiar in the fullness of his tone, yet she couldn’t place its owner. “No, really, I’m fine.” As if to assure herself, she released the guardrail, then reconsidered, when her knees turned to jelly. “On second thought, maybe I’d better.”

Without another word, a firm hand took her elbow and guided her back to the row of bright blue seats several yards from the window. “Better?”

As she nodded, the tall figure slid into a chair beside her. In some strange way, his presence helped to ease the overwhelming emptiness she felt. Though his eyes continued to scrutinize her, he shunned conversation, sensing her need for none. Had she been watchful, she would have wondered at the puzzlement that flickered across his features as he searched for a crucial piece to an unfathomable jigsaw.

The activity of the airport swirled around them, lending muted accompaniment to their silence. Finally, she raised her lime-shaded eyes. “Thank you. I guess I was more tired than I thought. It’s been a hectic few weeks.”

Strong lips curved into a half-smile. “I know.”

His voice held a conviction beyond mere conversationalism. He spoke from personal experience. Curiosity piqued by the welcome diversion, she studied him more closely. Dressed in a dark, three-piece business suit, a pale blue shirt, and striped tie, he was lean of hip and broad of shoulder. His hair was a dark brown, verging on black, full and tapered to the edge of his collar. An even tan spoke of hours of leisure in the sun, yet the intensity of his features belied a life of idleness. His jaw was as strong as the male lips firm; again, the sense of familiarity nagged at her. When her eyes lifted to his, the most royal of blues, the two pairs locked. In the instant, she realized she was staring.

A faint flush crept up to blend with the blusher on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. You look familiar, somehow.”

Still holding her gaze, he smiled warmly. “I was thinking the same thing, yet I can’t, for the life of me, place the face.”

Embarrassed by the banality of the line, she dragged her eye back toward the window in time to see another huge jet, far in the distance, lift off the runway. Thoughts of Scott, now somewhere in the air headed west, filled her anew.

“Uh-oh, there you go again,” the deep voice teased, “all misty and lonely-eyed.” Only when he said it did she realize that her eyes had teared again. It would have to stop. Willing herself to regain composure, she looked down at the hands clutched in her lap.

“It’s very … difficult.”

“I know.”

Again, there was that note of compassion from one who lived through similar emotions. Why did he
feel
so familiar? she asked herself once more. There was an intensity about him which struck deeply, but that was perhaps nothing more than a sign of her present vulnerability. An enigmatic force called forth her words.

“My son is on his way to spend the summer with his father.” She heard her voice offer soft answer to his unspoken question, astonished at her lack of inhibition. She was not the type to open up to a total stranger like this. Yet, he didn’t seem a stranger. Eyes still downcast, she sensed the force of his gaze on her. In her periphery, the shift of his body to corner in the chair and face her was clear. The strong hand which fell across a muscled thigh caught her eye, mesmerizing her with its confident pose. There was another, so like it, resting casually by a hip …

When finally he spoke, it was on an unmistakable note of triumph. “That’s funny. I really
did
think he was your brother…”

CHAPTER TWO

Amber’s eyes shot up in surprise to confront those that bathed her now in humor. Then, her pale brows lowered as she studied the face again. The hair and the eyes were new, very possibly hidden by a baseball cap and dark glasses. But the jaw and mouth—why hadn’t she seen it before? As recognition dawned, a slow smile spread over her lips.

“Ahhhh,” she drawled, “the coach.”

His echo furthered her grin. “Ahhhh, the coach.”

“Hmmph,” she growled, recalling that horrible loss, “not much of one here, if her team loses by a score of twenty-one to nothing.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for yourself. My Cubs were on the wrong end of a similar score the game following that one. It seems that success went to their heads.” His low chuckle was in harmony with hers. It was a harmless topic, its lightness in memory a perfect pick-me-up for her downed spirits.

“
We
didn’t have that problem. Actually, we won our last three games. The other teams made more errors than we did.” Her eye was drawn by another movement on the runway; this time it was less painful. As though sensing her thaw, he leaned forward.

“Say, would you like a cup of coffee? I didn’t have much breakfast what with the hassle of getting here by ten thirty.” Once more, there was a subtle hint that his day had begun with much the same agony as hers.

“I don’t know,” she smiled gently. “I don’t usually come to the airport to be picked up by strange men. Can I trust you?”

“You know”—a dark brow arched, framing the deep blue of his eyes with a roguish cap—“if I hadn’t recognized those lovely legs of yours, your spunk would have been an eventual giveaway. But you really looked ill a few minutes ago. I’d say you could use something to eat in addition to that coffee.”

Strangely light-headed, she eyed him mockingly. “Sorry, I make it a point to avoid breakfasting with men, particularly married ones.” A vision of the dark-haired child, his daughter, flitted through her mind.

“I’m divorced.”

He was a magnificent man; how any woman in her right mind would have let him go was, at that moment, beyond her. But then, living with someone, day in day out, could hold many surprises; wasn’t she the expert on those? No, handsome or not, she was better going her own way.

“Thanks, but I really should be getting back home—”

His voice softened dangerously. “Do you
enjoy
a big old house, made for a couple and kids, but suddenly ominously quiet?”

“And how do you know I live in a ‘big old house’?” she asked defensively.

He didn’t hesitate for a moment. “You live in Dover, don’t you? At least, I did think that Little League was strictly an intratown ordeal. And, knowing the town as I do, the chances are”—his eye shot skyward in rough calculation—“nine out of ten that you live in a big old house.”

“I do. And you’re right.” Again, her forthrightness surprised even her. “It
will
be horrid to return to.”

“Breakfast?”

She nodded, settling something in her mind. “Yes, breakfast.”

But the haunted cast which remained in her eye with the thought of the emptiness awaiting prompted him to take her hand. She succumbed to the need, allowing herself to be drawn up beside him and falling into a slow and easy step. Even despite her high-heeled sandals, he towered gallantly above her. His gait bespoke the same confident air that his body exuded. For an instant, she conjured up the image of the denim-clad coach with his snug-molded crimson T-shirt.