Chameleon

by Courtney Henke

"No. But Emma has enough sense to get in out of the rain."

  Max's mouth twisted. "Unlike some of us, huh?"

  "Stop it! That's not what I meant, and you know it. Dammit, Max, you've just become human, here. Don't creep back into that damned shell of yours!"

  "Is that what I'm doing?" He reared in his chair, his head flung back, his tawny eyes wide with worry. "I've never felt so helpless in my life."

  Adam sipped his drink. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and frowned curiously at Max again. The frantic note in his voice when he'd called had been enough to send Adam rushing over. His friend's fear of the storm had shocked him, even more so when he'd found it wasn't the memory of Max's accident but fear for Emma. It was the first time he could ever remember his friend admitting to weakness, either before or after the accident. And he didn't know what to do with this unrecognizable man, especially when he liked him so much more.

  Emma had affected Max more than he could possibly know.

  "Are you in love with her?" he asked suddenly.

  Max tensed and raised his head, his face swept with surprise. "Of course not!" he said vehemently.

  Adam smiled in wonder.

  "She—she's a friend. A special friend."

  Adam grinned.

  "Just shut up, Adam."

  "I didn't say a word!"

  A distant rumble of thunder followed.

  "The storm's letting up," Adam said.

  "Yes."

  "Do you want me to leave?"

  Max paused. "No." He straightened in his chair. "Thanks for coming over."

  "No problem." Adam's grin widened. "That's what friends are for."

  "Shut up, Adam."

  Emma sprinted to the house, lifting her face happily to the drizzle. It was as if the heavens had given her a blessing, allowing the rain to stop before evening. Already the sun was making a tentative appearance. Everything would be perfect.

  She slid through the front door, grinning from ear to ear, and dropped her bags on the floor. As she stripped off her dripping poncho, Adam raced through the parlor, pulling up short when he saw her. Max was right behind him. They both wore identical expressions of relief, but Emma couldn't take her eyes off Max. His golden hair looked as if he had raked his fingers through it over and over. He grasped the arched doorway the way a drowning man would grasp a lifeline. A long shudder passed through his magnificent body, and his features suddenly darkened in fury, which she ignored.

  He hadn't changed his clothes from the morning, she noticed, her gaze wandering over him. Lean male hips and long legs were a deadly combination in tight jeans. He'd need to change his shirt for what she had planned. "Hi," she chirped.

  "Where in the hell have you been all day?"

  His voice quavered with his attempt at a reasonable tone, but she could see that his knuckles were white. "Shopping," she said, throwing a grin at Adam. His blue eyes danced.

  "Why didn't you—" Frowning, he cut off the ominously building question. "Shopping?"

  "I didn't come quite as prepared for all this heat as I thought. Or the rain." She laughed, shoving away the knowledge that she had spent her last dime too. If her plan didn't work, she might have to hitchhike home. It was all or nothing. "Were you worried?"

  "Of course not. I—" He raked his hair. "All right, I might have been a little worried."

  Adam snorted and threw Emma a telling look. She felt a pang of remorse, but squashed it as she thought of the night ahead.

  Max's death grip on the doorjamb relaxed. "What would you like for dinner?" he asked calmly.

  She laughed, a low, throaty sound she couldn't ever remember hearing out of her mouth. Max flushed. "Actually," she said, "I'm taking you out tonight."

  "In public?" he asked hoarsely.

  "Very public."

  "Where are we going?"

  "It's a surprise, Max. Don't you trust me?"

  "Sometimes," he answered suspiciously.

  "Good. This is one of those times. You'll need a different shirt. Dress casual but warmer. I'll just put these things away and… change."

  "Into what?"

  "A frog. Scoot!"

  He opened his mouth to say something, but frowned instead and walked toward the stairs. He paused halfway up, turned, then gave up and finished his climb.

  "What are you up to?" whispered Adam when Max was out of sight. Grinning, she turned to find his blue eyes sparkling with delight.

  "You'll see," she promised.

  Adam shook his head and looked at her approvingly. "Good grief! You're absolutely gorgeous."

  "Thank you, sir. So are you, and you know it."

  "Mot? Not a clue." His amusement faded. "He really was worried about you, you know. He went off the road in a storm like this, right into a tree. They had to pry the front of the car off him."

  "I knew it was an accident. I didn't know it happened during a storm."

  "Of course you didn't. He would never have told you." He smiled again, coaxing her with a fingertip pressed to the corner of her mouth. "Hey, don't lose whatever's driving you tonight, honey. He needs someone like you."

  "I hope so." She allowed herself a tentative smile. "You're a nice man, Adam Daniels."

  He sighed mournfully. "I know. It's a curse."

  She couldn't help laughing.

  "That's better. Now, I'll just leave you to your plans, Emma. I have a feeling I'm not needed at all." He opened the door, then paused and glanced back at her curiously. "Just what color are your eyes anyway?"

  "Gray."

  "They look green."

  "It's a strange shade of gray." She grinned. "My mother calls it chameleon gray."

  "I believe it." He shook his head. "I think I'd believe anything right about now. He's a lucky man."

  "Good-bye, Adam," she said firmly, and closed the door behind him.

  "Good luck," he said softly. She smiled, and her gaze wandered up the stairs to the empty landing.

  Her plan had better work.

  It would, she told herself, and ran into the library to call Benno and quickly outline her directions. She thought she heard a chuckle from his end, but he agreed, and she flew back into the hallway, gathering her bundles as she ran.

  Once upstairs, she stripped her old jeans off and wriggled into her new ones. She changed her shirt and grabbed her new makeup. After she finished applying it, she stood back. The image in the full-length mirror made her pause for a moment.

  Wide, gray-green eyes dusted lightly with green eyeshadow stared back. Her high cheekbones were emphasized by the light blush. They were framed by a stylish, short haircut that accentuated the bones of her face in a way she'd never dared hope. Her slim body was encased in skintight jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed Go Cards!

  It was like looking at a stranger, and she felt suddenly awkward, staring at herself in the mirror. For a moment her image wavered as her instincts took over, but she stuck out her tongue and left herself in full view. Confidence, Emma.

  She spun on her heel and grabbed the two silky jackets from the bag on her bed before she lost her nerve. She hurried down the stairs to find Max waiting patiently beside the door, his dark glasses perched on his nose, Dixie's harness in his hands. The dog waited at his feet, as if he'd just called her in.

  "You won't need Dixie," she told him breathlessly. He frowned, but returned the harness to the coat tree and reached for the cane. "Not that either."

  "How— "

  "You have a folding cane in the glove compartment." She transferred her bundle to one arm and reached for his hand, tugging encouragingly. "C'mon, Max. Trust me."

  Instead of resisting as she half expected. Max smiled and disentangled her hand, grasping her upper arm gently. "Lead on," he said simply, and her breath caught. Something good would happen tonight. She just knew it.

  Benno darted conspiratorial glances at her in the rearview mirror all the way on their silent ride downtown. He dropped them at their destination, and Max frowned as he tilted his head
around, listening, she knew, to the traffic, the hollow echo, the bustling people.

  "We're downtown," he said. "Emma, why are we here?"

  Juggling her bundle, Emma said nothing, just shoved his folding cane and her heavy shoulder bag into his arms. "Please put that thing in my purse," she told him, unfurling the shimmering crimson jackets she carried. When he did as she requested, she retrieved her bag and draped one of the jackets over his shoulders. "Put this on. It's a bit chilly."

  Frowning, he ran his hand over the satin but put it on without a word. Emma shoved her arms into hers and snapped only the bottom, blousing it artistically over her T-shirt, then fluffed the curly top of her hair forward and presented her arm to Max. "Ready?"

  He nodded and took her arm. What was she up to, he wondered. They were at a curb, not far from the river—he'd heard the toot of a tugboat— but not close enough to smell it. The place was crowded, but the people were moving fast. The air smelled fresh-scrubbed from the rain, but it really wasn't chilly, even in this cool valley of concrete. Emma's whispered directions let him walk confidently across a wide expanse of cement, and It suddenly occurred to him that he had never trusted anyone enough to allow them to lead him. He ignored the implications of that and concentrated on figuring out where they were.

  As they neared the crowd. Max automatically tensed for the echoes, the feeling of being trampled.

  But what he heard was "The Astroturf drained fine… We're gonna win!… Kill the Dodgers… Look, Steve. I wanna jacket too." And Emma's voice. "Let's lose ourselves for a while." And he knew.

  Then he was jostled as they flowed into the great tide of humanity.

  "Just hold on tight. Max. Well make a break for it."

  Her confident, carefree words reassured him as nothing else had ever done, but when her arm slid around his waist, he jumped. Knowing it was probably safer, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and followed her body movements, uniting their footsteps as they wended their way along.

  "We made it!" she cried in relief as they reached their seats. "These people are amazing! I wanted to get here early to avoid the crowd, but"—she laughed—"they had other ideas. I'm sorry."

  "Don't worry about it." He breathed deeply of the rain-washed air, letting the rumble of thousands of voices pour into him. The sharp crack of a bat echoed again and again during the pre-game practice amid raucous voices shouting their commentary.

  The excitement was a palpable thing, hovering over the stadium in anticipation. He had forgotten how electric a Cards baseball game could be, how the worshipping crowds felt. Some said the team actually fed on them, and he believed it. The feeling built, like a dam ready to burst, as more and more acolytes filled the temple.

  The vendors circulated, their strident cries of "Peanuts here! Beer here!" rising above the muted tide. The aroma of hot dogs and popcorn drifted on the breeze.

  Emma called out to them, and then his hands were full. They ate enormous sauerkraut-smothered bratwurst, piping hot and bursting with juice, and spicy, cheesy jalapeňo nachos, then washed it down with huge plastic chalices of the nectar of baseball—foamy, ice cold beer.

  It was the best dinner he'd ever eaten.

  The throat of the temple rose in a single, approving roar as the team reentered the playing field, and Max's heart pounded with excitement. They encouraged, applauded, lauded their gods of baseball. Max shouted his pride along with the rest, but he was somewhat disappointed because he- had to depend on the crowd for the clues. Flipping up the crystal of his watch, he found to his surprise that they had been there well over an hour already, and the game was about to begin.

  "Here," Emma said, shoving something into his hands. "For the game."

  His hands moved over a tiny rectangular box, wires streaming like catfish whiskers away from it. Instead of barbs, though, he found earpieces at the end of the wires.

  "A radio!" he cried, and fit the pieces into his ears before turning it on and tuning to the right station. Jack Buck and Mike Shannon's commentary was heard through the rumble of voices, overlaying it, clarifying without covering up.

  He relaxed into his hard seat, sipping another beer, trying desperately to sort out his whirling emotions. Emma Machlen confused and delighted him more than anyone he'd ever known, and he didn't know what to do about it. He felt like a ball of yarn after the cat had gotten it, but one thing was sure. He would be forever grateful to her for this moment, a moment that captured, at least for the present, every boyhood memory of excitement he'd ever had. He didn't want to think about tomorrow, only the night ahead and the beautiful woman who sat by his side and quietly gave him the world.

  "Thank you, Emma," he said warmly. "Thank you for everything." He reached out to her, running his hand up what he now knew was a crimson jacket that proclaimed them rabid fans, and cupped her cheek in his palm. "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

  "Anytime." Emma leaned into his hand, her throat burning with emotion. Unwilling to break into his excitement, she reached up and clasped his hand, squeezing gently before returning it to the arm of the seat. "Now, watch the game."

  He chuckled and turned back, but Emma couldn't keep her eyes off him. His smile seemed permanently fixed to his lips, and the tawny eyes behind the edge of the glasses sparkled with little-boy anticipation. She wanted those eyes turned to her, dark and heavy-lidded, but it was neither the time nor the place.

  It would happen, she promised herself silently, it would happen soon.

  "Wonderful game!" Max cried exultantly as they settled into the cab's backseat. "Wonderful music! Wonderful bar! Wonderful company!" He grinned at her, the purple bruise on his cheek giving him a rakish air. He'd long since abandoned his glasses. "Wonderful, simply wonderful!"

  "You sound like Lawrence Welk," Emma said with a giggle. "We should have gone home after the game," she told him sternly. "But no! You had to go dancing at some honkytonk bar." Choking back her laughter, she remembered him as they exited the stadium after the Cardinals' resounding win. Bouncing with an excess of adrenaline, nothing would induce Max to go home, and they had walked the several blocks to Laclede's Landing. Emma wished she hadn't sent Benno home, but she had to admit that the Dixieland music created a carnival atmosphere she'd enjoyed. And Max had drunk more beer.

  "I couldn't sit still!" he said happily. "Too bad about the little disagreement."

  "You loved that little disagreement, Max."

  "He started it."

  "At a different table!" She chuckled. "I turn away for ten seconds—"

  "The guy was a jerk."

  "I don't even know what it was about!"

  "He backed down."

  "Sure, after you poured beer down his leg and—"

  "Can I help it if I couldn't see where I was pouring? I was aiming for his face."

  "You knew exactly what you were doing. The poor guy never even knew you were blind."

  "He didn't, did he?" He gave her a pleased smile.

  "You're lucky he popped you only once. I would have thrown you across the room."

  "You dragged me onto the dance floor before I could really get going," he said mournfully, then brightened. "You're a very good dancer."

  "So are you. You didn't step on my feet at all."

  "Yes, I did."

  "That was the man beside us."

  "Oh."

  "It's okay, you apologized, hugged him, and offered to buy him a new pair of shoes."

  "That was a man?"

  "He was very short."

  "I'm glad I didn't kiss him."

  "You did."

  "I did?" he groaned. "My reputation is ruined."

  "I wouldn't worry about it. The guy with the beer down his leg avoided you like the plague afterward."

  "Did I kiss you too?"

  "Once," she said brightly. "On my eyelid."

  "I think I meant to get your mouth." He frowned. "Wait a minute! Something else!" He reached for her head and ruffled his fingers through her curls. "
You did something to your hair."

  "I cut it. And permed the top."

  "Why the change?"

  "Force of habit. I've been known to change my appearance three or four times during a single conversation."

  "And I thought I was dancing with Rodney Dangerfield."

  "No respect," she mimicked, then laughed. "Besides, if I'm going to be with an attractive man, I want to look my best."

  "I've always thought you beautiful," he told her huskily, then grinned again. "Attractive man?"

  "Don't fish, Max."

  "Who's fishing? How am I supposed to know? I could be wearing green pants and a purple shirt right this minute."

  "You're wearing jeans, blue shirt, and a crimson jacket, and you know it."

  "What about you? What are you wearing?"

  Emma caught her breath. "Jeans, T-shirt."

  "Please, you of all people can do better than that."

  "Okay. Tight, straight-legged jeans, high-topped sneakers, a white Cardinals T-shirt, and my own red jacket."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  Max dropped a casual arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Emma nestled into his companionable embrace, trying very hard to quell her wishful thinking. How would the evening end?

  "Do you still have my cane?"

  "Of course. In my purse."

  "I used it only to go to the bathroom," he said in wonder. "I've never done that before." Shaking his head, he chuckled wryly, then kissed the top of her head. "With you, anything's possible, isn't it? It was a wonderful evening!"

  "You said that before."

  He chuckled again, and they were silent for the remainder of the ride. Emma couldn't speak past the lump of hope wedged tightly in her throat. His arm held her tenderly, as if she were very precious, and every once in a while he would drop a soft kiss on her head. It was too beautiful a moment to break.

  The night air was chilly as the cab dropped them at Max's house, but he walked slowly in the dim moonlight, and Emma felt his reluctance to end the evening. They paused at the door, and both his arms came around her, holding her tightly. She returned his embrace fiercely, tears stinging her eyes.

  Then he sighed and released her, dug into his pocket for the keys, and opened the door. Dixie greeted them joyfully, and they waited while she raced around the front yard with reckless abandon.