Home Field Advantage (26 page)

When they climbed out of the
car at home, Emma and Jesse poured out of the house to meet them. Jesse wrapped
his arms around Marian's leg and buried his face against her. Isaiah followed
the children, though he waited on the porch.

When Marian came abreast of
him, Jesse on her hip, she stopped. "Thank you, Isaiah. I don't know what
I'd have done without you."

He shook his head. "Your
biscuits are worth some baby-sitting."

"Then I'll make them
tonight," she offered. "If you'll come to dinner."

"I'd be pleased
to," he said in the soft drawl that contrasted with his bulk and harsh
visage. "Your boy had a surprise this morning," he added. The corner
of his mouth twitched. "He didn't mind me until it got light and he
noticed I was a little broader than Mom."

"Oh, dear."

"But we had a chat and
he decided I'd do. So long as you weren't available."

"Isaiah..."

"You two need time for a
shower, change of clothes, I'll be here with the kids."

"You're a saint,"
Marian said fervently, and Isaiah grinned. The sight was quite startling, a
flash of gleaming white teeth against his dark skin.

"Can we go swing?"
Emma asked.

All three adults turned to
look at her. With masterly understatement, John said, "Not today.
Okay?"

"Oh, all right!"
She sniffed. "I wouldn't push Anna that high again. I'm not stupid!"

"Well, good," John
said ironically. "But give it a rest, okay? Play something gentle, like dolls."

She sniffed again. John lifted
Jesse from Marian's arms and set him firmly down, then herded her toward the
stairs. "Let's get while the getting's good."

Jesse hovered, undecided, but
Anna tugged at his arm and said something that made him decide he could live
without his mother for a few minutes. Then Marian reached the top of the stairs
and lost sight of the children. John's hand in the middle of her back urged her
on.

"Hey," she
protested. "Do I need a shower that badly?"

"Nope." He stopped
abruptly and turned her to face him. "I need you that badly."

A jolt of excitement rocked
her. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had. Perhaps she had needed a
scare to see what mattered. The raw hunger in his face mattered, and the ache
in her that only he could soothe.

"No, not here," he
said suddenly. "We need to talk."

Talking wasn't exactly what
she'd had in mind— nor, she suspected, was it what he wanted, but words could
heal where a touch couldn't. She nodded, and his hand on her upper arm drew her
into his bedroom, where he closed the door behind them.

He actually let go of her
then, and backed up a couple of paces. "I was stupid last week," he
said abruptly. "What I offered you wasn't the life for either of us. I
was...flattered." His mouth had a rueful twist. "I'm a jock at heart,
I guess. The idea of being part of the Olympic Games, the Super Bowl, the NBA
playoffs... I felt like a kid on Christmas morning."

"You don't have
to—"

But he shook his head.
"No, let me finish. The thing is, I don't really want to live in hotel
rooms while Isaiah's building a business that's half mine. And I don't want to
come home five, six years from now and find my daughter needs a bra and isn't
interested in talking to Dad anymore. You were right, and I was wrong."

Marian couldn't bear another
word. "No!" She bit her lip. "Listen to me for a minute. I'm the
one who was wrong. I was...scared. I thought I'd lose you if you traveled too
much. I feel so...ordinary."

"Ordinary." He
laughed without any amusement at all. "Good God, Marian, don't you know
how beautiful you are? I fell in love with you the minute you opened your door
that first evening."

Troubled, she said,
"That's not love."

"Love," he
insisted. Still he didn't come to her, but his gaze was warm as he looked at
her. "You're strong and fragile both. Your hair was slipping out of the
band and I wanted to touch it. I remember you blushing. But most of all I
remember how gentle you were with Emma and the way you smiled. I'd never seen a
smile that sweet." His voice had become rough, and he cleared his throat.
"I wanted some of that sweetness for myself."

She crossed the room into his
arms, which closed tightly about her. He cradled her as she rested her cheek
against his chest. "I said...terrible things," Marian mumbled into
his shirt. "I knew they weren't true...not completely, but I said them
anyway." She lifted her head and met his eyes, though her own were damp.

His response was quiet.
"Do you remember when I said that I thought we were both partly
right?"

Biting her lip, she nodded.

"I've already told you
the part I think you were right about. The other part... Well, look at Emma.
Does she seem unhappy to you?"

Picturing his daughter,
confident, bold, sometimes saucy, Marian had to shake her head. She'd seen Emma
sad—but was there any child who wasn't sad sometimes?

"I wonder," he said
gently, "if you haven't projected some of your own feelings at being
abandoned on to the kids. You know, there's a difference between parents who
aren't always there, and ones who aren't there when they're needed."

"Like this
weekend," she whispered.

"Yeah." He kissed
her forehead, his mouth lingering. "Like this weekend."

Marian lifted her head so
suddenly she bumped his chin. "Today's Sunday!"

"Yeah?"

"But...the game?"

"A game is exactly what
it is," he said quietly. His gaze caressed her face and his hands clasping
her arms were warm. "It can't compete with our children."

"You didn't quit?"
she asked, disturbed.

"No." With one
finger he traced her lips. "They covered for me today. And I cut a deal
with the network. Which wasn't hard, given the timing. They wanted me more than
I wanted them. It's a compromise for us, Marian. But I hoped..."

Right this minute, her love
was so intense it was painful. "Yes," she said, her voice catching.

"Listen to me
first," he said urgently. His eyes were dark, thundercloud grey.
"I'll cover football, just like I am now. And a few of the big events. But
that's all. I won't be a regular commentator. The rest of the time I'll be
home. Can you live with that?"

He sounded so vulnerable, so
uncertain, that her heart skipped a beat and she felt the sting of tears.
"Yes. Oh, yes. I love you, John."

"Thank God," he
said, and momentarily closed his eyes. "I don't think I could live without
you."

"Just don't..." her
voice broke.” Don't leave me.”

His arms tightened.
"Never," he vowed, and then he lifted her chin. "We're a
team," he said. "All of us."

"Jesse and Anna..."

"Are mine. And Emma's
yours."

She drew a shaken breath.
"Are you trying to make me cry?”

His mouth twisted. "No.
I'm trying to make you happy."

"Happy?" Marian
felt as though a hot-air balloon were swelling in her chest. She might bump the
ceiling any moment. "I didn't know it was possible to be so happy."

A light flared in his eyes,
and his kiss was as inevitable as morning. Passion rose like the sun, hot and
golden, but tenderness rippled between them, too, in soft touches and murmured
words.

With impatient hands he
tugged her hair loose, tangling his fingers in it as it tumbled down over her
shoulders. "You know," he said unevenly, one hand stroking down her
slender neck and dipping inside her shirt, "you have a lot to learn about
my job."

Marian spread her fingers on
his chest, reveling in the hammer beat of his heart. "Your job?" she
whispered.

"Um." He released
the catch of her bra. "You should understand the game of football.
Terminology, for example ..."

She began to understand.
"Tackling?"

He nipped at her soft lower
lip. "We'll start with holding," he said, and thoroughly
demonstrated.

Janice Kay Johnson is the author of more than seventy books
for children and adults.  Her first four published romance novels were
coauthored with her mother Norma Tadlock Johnson, also a writer who has since
published mysteries and children's books on her own.  These were
"sweet" romance novels, the author hastens to add; she isn't sure
they'd have felt comfortable coauthoring passionate love scenes!

Janice graduated from Whitman College with a B.A. in history
and then received a master's degree in library science from the University of
Washington.  She was a branch librarian for a public library system until she
began selling her own writing.

She has written six novels for young adults and one picture
book for the read-aloud crowd.  ROSAMUND was the outgrowth of all those hours
spent reading to her own daughters, and of her passion for growing old roses. 
Two more of her favorite books were historical novels WINTER OF THE RAVEN and
THE ISLAND SNATCHERS which she wrote for Tor/Forge.  The research was pure
indulgence for someone who set out intending to be a historian.

Janice raised her two daughters in a small, rural town north
of Seattle, Washington.  She's an active volunteer and board member for
Purrfect Pals, a no-kill cat shelter, and foster kittens often enliven a
household that already includes a few more cats than she wants to admit to.

Janice loves writing books about both love and family —
about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have
on us throughout life.  Her Superromance novels are frequent finalists for
Romance Writers of America RITA awards, and she won the 2008 RITA for Best
Contemporary Series Romance for SNOWBOUND.

When Abigail McLeod landed the listing for the Irving House,
a magnificent turn-of-the-century mansion with a haunted ballroom, she thought
her luck had changed.  Selling this house will establish her real estate agency
and mean security at last for her and her four-year-old daughter.  So why does
something go wrong every time she shows the house?  Could it have anything to
do with Nate Taggart, architect and the current renter, a sexy and complex man whose
mysterious attachment to the Irving House has turned into a major problem?  How
can she fall in love with a man she thinks she may have to kill the next time a
hot prospect runs screaming from the house, especially when she knows better
than to trust
any
man?  Falling for Abigail and her delightful daughter
isn’t in Nate’s plans, either.  Achieving his own ends means hurting her.  But
can he abandon a lifelong dream for Abigail?

Once famous for her gold medal winning triumph in the
Olympic Games, Megan Lovell now wants nothing more than to belong in her
hometown of Devil’s Lake.  But when she plunges into the lake at twilight to
rescue a man she sees thrown overboard from a boat, she jeopardizes the life
she holds dear.  FBI agent ‘Mac’ James McClain had been hiding from death
threats here in this peaceful town.  Now his enemies are hunting not only him,
but also the woman who saved his life.  On the run, in danger, these two battle
a compelling physical attraction that scares them both.  Even if they survive,
what does a man who lives undercover for months at a time and has never really
had a home have to offer a woman who is desperate to be part of the hometown
she gave up in her quest for that Olympic gold?  Perhaps it is inevitable that
they end up back out on the dark waters of the lake, where their only hope of
salvation is each other.

"You'll be able to catch a glimpse of the house as soon
as we go around this next bend."

Abigail McLeod was looking forward to her passengers'
reactions. She deliberately hadn't prepared them, not even showing them a
picture. That way the impact would be greater. Abigail was convinced that the
old Irving House was perfect for the Petersons, a middle-aged couple in the
market for an executive home. She had become the listing agent for the
historical mansion only two days before, and she was determined to sell it
herself. Having the Petersons walk into her office this morning was pure luck.
Buyers who could afford the million-dollar plus price tag were few and far
between.

The last curve of the narrow country road circled up and
around the flank of a small grassy hill crowned with an orchard of ancient,
gnarled apple trees. Wild flowers bloomed beneath them. Abigail heard Mrs.
Peterson's drawn-in breath, sensed Mr. Peterson's stillness after he'd leaned
sharply forward. It was the sight of the first turret that had done it, with
the delicate pattern of shingles and the tiny round window high up catching the
afternoon sunlight. Abigail smiled with quiet satisfaction, although she didn't
take her gaze from the road. It was too easy to miss the drive, which these
days was little more than two ruts that cut through the waist-high,
golden-green grass of the pasture.