"Some of us have had to work very hard for those letters, Mr. Scanlon. Harder, I suspect, than you had to work at earning your bachelor's degree—in physical education, I believe it was."
Mitch never minded taking a shot from a worthy opponent and saluted her with his glass to show that there were no hard feelings. "Best training for an NFL career that UCLA had to offer."
Frowning to let him know that she wasn't amused, she reached forward to lift her glass of sherry from her grandmother's prized Chippendale table. As she sipped slowly, she was conscious that Scanlon was watching her. For seventeen years she'd worked hard not to see reminders of him in her daughter's face. Now she realized that she would never be able to look at Tracy again in quite the same way. Anger poured through her. Just another reason to hate this man.
"Naturally it would have been better for our purposes if you'd gotten an advanced degree, but most colleges do make an exception in their hiring practices for—how shall I put this?"
"Washed-up ex-jocks with bum legs?" he prompted blandly.
Her soft, pink mouth relaxed momentarily and then tightened even more. It wasn't just run-of-the-mill pity he was getting from her. Something else was all mixed up with the usual reaction of a stranger to an up close and personal view of his handicap.
"I was about to say instructors with specialized talent. Like yours, Mr. Scanlon." She reached forward to return her glass to the table. "Your record as a quarterback speaks for itself."
"I can tell you he was a darn good strategist, too," Coach put in. "Almost as good as me."
"That is high praise," Carly said with a spontaneous smile for Gianfracco that he returned with interest.
"Mitch and I spent a couple hours after he arrived going over play books, kicking around a few ideas. Like I told him then, the talent's there, all right. Just needs the right man at the top to bring it out."
Carly's heart thudded hard. So Scanlon was actually considering taking the job. As though the fact that it would be offered to him was a given.
"Talent, yes," she admitted, folding her hands in her lap. "But there are some major weaknesses, too, especially in the backfield."
Scanlon's tawny eyes narrowed, and she sensed that she'd surprised him. Good, she thought.
"I won't argue with any of that, but I can tell you right now, Dr. Alderson, it will take a lot more than raw talent to turn around a forty-eight-game losing streak."
"Forty-seven. We tied one game."
"A major distinction, I agree." His strong fingers loosely gripped the stem of his wineglass, which, in contrast, seemed impossibly small. It was also nearly full. But then, he had favored beer the last time they'd met, hadn't he? A pitcher, at least. Perhaps more. She'd lost track.
"I see you have a knack for sarcasm as well as football, Mr. Scanlon."
She was annoyed and working hard not to show it. Most men would be too busy checking out the body under the expensive tailoring to notice much else. But he'd made a good living for a lot of years because he'd trained himself to watch the eyes first. Hers were alive with intelligence and what he suspected was a carefully hidden passion. At the moment they seemed intent on putting him in his place, which, undoubtedly, wasn't anywhere he cared to be.
"Just following your lead, Dr. Alderson."
Carly shifted, her shoulders tight with tension and her skin clammy. What had made her think she could sit face-to-face with him for more than a few seconds without remembering the hot demand of that hard mouth? Or the crush of that big body on hers?
For an instant she had trouble breathing, then she regained control. "If I've given you the idea that I or the rest of the faculty take Bradenton's dismal football performance lightly, you are mistaken," she said firmly. "No one faults the player who gives his all and comes up short, but to a man, our players seem to have given up, which is not—I repeat not—in keeping with Bradenton's philosophy."
"Can't argue with that, either."
Carly reached for her drink and took a careful sip, conscious as she lifted the glass to her lips that Scanlon was watching her with those lazy cat's eyes. It made her sick inside to know that she remembered their hot, frantic coupling in a lumpy motel bed and he didn't. She took a deep breath to settle herself. It didn't work.
"I have to admit, I've never cared that much for football," Felicity commented when the silence stretched toward awkward. "It always seemed like such an uncouth game to me. On the other hand, Carly has always adored it. Haven't you, dear?"
Carly offered her mother an agreeable smile. "I wouldn't put it quite that strongly, Mother, although, of course, I do follow the Wolves."
"Does that mean you attend the games, Dr. Alderson?"
She let her smile fade as she met Scanlon's steady gaze. "The ones at home, yes."
"Coach here has given me the bare bones of the team's past troubles. Suppose you give me your read on the problems a new coach would face."
"Apathy, for one thing," she said briskly. "Among the players as well as the fans."
He eyed her steadily, his eyes shadowed. "Which came first, I wonder?"
The question gave her pause. It was one she'd never asked herself, but, she realized now, one she should have. "It's hard to say for certain," she said slowly, working backward in her memory from the last game in the losing streak to the first. "This is just a guess, but I'd say the fans gave up first."
His mouth took on an intriguing slant. "Usually happens that way."
"Sure does," Coach declared. "Remember your rookie year, Mitch? The Raiders had just come off the worst year in franchise history. A guy coulda aimed a cannon behind the goalposts at the stands any place but the fifty-yard line and not hit a paying customer." He waved a hand, then let his gaze rest on Carly's. "One year later—just one, mind you—and this guy here had 'em packed in those same seats like sardines."
Reluctantly, Carly shifted her gaze to Scanlon. "That is remarkable." It was also something she'd already known before Coach brought it up.
"But not much of a recommendation for a guy who wants to coach instead of play?"
"No," she said bluntly. "It isn't."
Carly slanted her mother a look, then slid her gaze toward the door. Leaning forward, Felicity returned her glass to the coffee table before rising.
"Shall we go in to dinner?" she murmured with a polite smile.
"Thought you'd never ask," Coach said, getting up quickly to offer Felicity his arm.
Carly took a deep breath and got to her feet while Scanlon bent to retrieve his crutches, then pushed himself up and slipped his arms through the cuffs.
"I'd offer you my arm, but I need it," he said with a faintly mocking smile. If he pitied himself, it didn't show.
"That's okay," she murmured, moved in spite of herself. "I can take care of myself."
* * *
Carly toyed with her crème brûlée, far too tired to appreciate Tilly's exceptional cuisine. For most of the dinner party, she'd kept herself going on her reserve of nervous energy, but even that had been depleted, and now she was wondering how soon she could excuse herself without appearing rude.
Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice her distress. Coach had eaten like a starving lumberjack. He'd also done most of the talking, punctuating his stories with quick stabs of the fork he seldom put down.
Scanlon had said little. He'd smiled even less, and there was a tautness around his mouth that hadn't been there earlier. Now and then he moved restlessly, as though the chair where he sat was too confining. Listening to Coach wind down yet another football anecdote, she risked another peek at her watch.
"Are we keeping you from something important, Dr. Alderson?"
"Not at all, Mr. Scanlon," she said, reluctantly meshing her gaze with his over the centerpiece. "I'm still on Chicago time, that's all."
"Long day?"
"Yes, with a little bit of jet lag thrown in."
His smile slanted a shallow dimple in one cheek, his right, awakening painful memor
ies she'd worked hard to erase. "Try tomato juice and lemon, with a whiskey chaser," he said with perfect seriousness.
She winced. "Good heavens, where did you come up with that?"
"A guy I used to play with. Swore it worked on hangovers and jet lag. I've used it for both. Works like a champ. Of course, maybe that's because you're so busy gagging you forget whatever else ails you."
Her soft mouth curved, erasing much of the strain from her face. Even as Mitch found himself noticing the sensuous fullness of her lips, he was wondering what there was about her that aroused protective instincts he'd thought he'd lost years before. In spite of the perfect manners and impressive poise, she seemed oddly tense to him, as though she had pulled her emotions deep inside. Or perhaps it was only a trick of the candlelight that had him seeing shadows in those fascinating green eyes.
"Now that's what I call a great dinner!" Coach sighed like a man who had just made love.
Felicity beamed. "How about another helping of dessert?"
"Better not. Got to watch my waistline."
Right on cue, she turned her attention to their other guest, her smile warm and coaxing. "How about you, Mitchell? Another helping? We have plenty, especially since my granddaughter was unable to join us as I'd hoped."
Mitch shook his head. Another ten minutes, tops, and he would politely excuse himself and head for the nearest motel. He was tired from the long drive, and his braces were giving him fits. His entire plan for the rest of his first night in Oregon consisted of a long soak in a hot tub and as much sleep as he could manage. Only his respect for Coach had kept him around for dessert and coffee.
"How old is your granddaughter, Mrs. Alderson?" he asked because the question was expected. And because he liked her enough to haul out his party manners.
Felicity brightened, and he was glad he'd asked. "Tracy will be seventeen in November."
"Pretty as a picture, too," Coach threw in. "Like her mom and grandmom."
"She'll be a freshman here next year," her grandmother added with visible satisfaction. "Her grandfather would have been so proud." She shifted her gaze to her daughter. "Wouldn't he, dear?"
Carly took a sip of water, then dabbed politely at her pale lips. Watching without seeming to, Mitch felt a sexual stir. Remembering other times, other women, had him backing down hard. It wasn't as easy as it should have been.
"We're all proud, Mother, and I'm sure Mr. Scanlon isn't interested in a recitation of Tracy's talents."
Mitch was interested in a lot of things—the woman opposite, at the moment.
"Is your husband a graduate of Bradenton, too?" he asked her directly, rubbing his thumb over the fragile bone china cup.
Her gaze flickered only slightly. "I'm not married."
Mitch wasn't surprised. Most people he knew had at least one failed marriage behind them. It was almost a badge of honor among some. "Divorced?" he asked, figuring he already knew the answer.
She took a second sip of water, then carefully returned the heavy goblet to the table. "In politically correct terms, I'm what is known these days as a single parent, which is a polite way of saying I'm an unwed mother." Her gaze met his calmly.
"Caroline!" Felicity murmured disapprovingly.
President Alderson flicked her gaze toward the head of the table, a quick, defiant smile curving her lips. "Don't fret, Mother. Given Mr. Scanlon's colorful past, I'm sure he isn't the kind to pass judgment on the morality of others."
Mitch lifted his cup to his mouth and drank the last of his coffee. At the same time he studied the face of the woman across from him. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, and he wondered if they'd crossed paths before. It was possible. He'd met a lot of ladies in his hell-raising years. Took more than his share to bed, too, and bruised a lot of tender feelings fending off the advances of the ones he hadn't, before he got sick and tired of the jerk he'd become. Since he was positive he'd never romanced the aloof Dr. Alderson, he couldn't help wondering what he had done to set her off.
"I may not be the best educated guy around, but I have learned a few things here and there," he said with a deliberately lazy smile. "Not to judge someone by what I've read or heard is one of them."
He watched her mouth snap shut and her eyes grow frosty. Good, he thought. Anything was better than the careful way she had kept her eyes trained above his waist since he'd unlocked his braces to sit down.
"Point taken, Mr. Scanlon," Carly said quietly, fighting for control. "Like life, people are not always what they seem at first glance."
Scanlon studied her face for a long moment, then shrugged his big shoulders easily. "Apology accepted."
In spite of her good intentions, Carly bristled. "I wasn't apologizing."
His mouth slanted. "It's hell being in the wrong and hating to admit it, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know," she shot back without thinking.
Scanlon's shout of laughter took her by surprise. When Coach and her mother joined in, Carly felt heat surge into her cheeks. "Touché," she said with as much grace as she could muster.
His gaze touched hers briefly, soberly, and she could have sworn he was silently reaching out to apologize for scoring at her expense before he reached down to retrieve his crutches. After propping them against the table, he levered himself to his feet. Carly was moved by his quiet poise in spite of the old resentments.
"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Alderson. It's been a while since I had a home-cooked meal."
Felicity preened. "You're most welcome." Without missing a beat, she turned to Carly and smiled. "Dear, I wonder if you would do the honors and show Mr. Scanlon the guest suite?"
"That's not necessary. I figured I'd check into a motel in town." Mitch shot Coach a look that had the old man shooting to his feet so fast his chair nearly toppled over.
"Thought I told you, we've got you all set up in deluxe accommodations right here in the President's Mansion."
"Thanks, but I'll bunk in town. Besides, you'll need a ride back to your place, remember?"
"Not to worry," Coach said. "The campus taxi service operates until eleven. I'll just give them a quick call."
"Peter's right, Mr. Scanlon," Felicity said, rising to offer Mitch a dazzling smile. "I would be terribly insulted if you refused."
Mitch recognized the look she gave him. It was the same one Arietta used when she wanted something. He was already working on turning her down when Caroline Alderson rose from the table.
"Please don't fed obligated, Mr. Scanlon. If you would prefer to stay elsewhere, we will of course respect your wishes."
"Nonsense, Caroline," her mother put in quickly, clearly annoyed. "There isn't a decent motel between here and Medford, and you know it."
Mitch was trapped. If he refused the invitation now he would look like the uneducated jerk Dr. Alderson clearly thought him to be. He would also embarrass Coach, which was something he didn't much care to do.
"In that case, Mrs. Alderson, I accept," he said, his gut knotting at the thought of dealing with an unfamiliar setup.
"I'll say good-night, then," Felicity said, smiling. "Breakfast is served at seven, but feel free to roam the kitchen if you're up earlier. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask."
He took his hand from the handle of his crutch to shake hers. "Thanks, but I'm sure your daughter will take good care of me." And then, because he'd never been one to walk away from a scrap, he looked Caroline Alderson squarely in the eyes and grinned. Her own eyes flashed, but she merely clamped her soft lips together and returned his gaze with a cool confidence he envied.
"Guess it's time for me to hit the road," Coach said before thanking Felicity for her hospitality.
"Hey, Pete, before you go, how about grabbing my gear from the Jag's trunk?" Mitch pulled his keys from the pocket of his jacket and flipped them Coach's way. Caught off guard, Coach managed to snag the keys before they hit his chest.
"Sure thing, Mitch. Be right back."
Felicity
offered to see the athletic director to the door, and they walked out together, leaving Carly alone with Scanlon. Like a poison dart, her mind zoomed unerringly to the last time they'd been alone. It had been a steamy night, and the motel had smelled of disinfectant. Ever since that night, she'd hated the scent of pine.
"If you'll come with me, Mr. Scanlon," she said a bit too abruptly, "I'll show you the guest suite."
Carly led the way. When they reached the foyer, he eyed the elaborate flight of stairs with silent resignation. The thought of dragging his legs up those stairs one by one while Caroline Alderson watched had him going cold inside.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Scanlon?" Glancing his way, she arched a shapely eyebrow inquiringly.
Mitch nodded toward the staircase. "I'm not great with stairs these days."
She followed his gaze for a moment, then understood. "Don't worry. The guest wing is on this floor."
"Score one for the good guys," he muttered, moving forward.
Carly allowed herself a small frown as she challenged, "Is that how you see yourself, Mr. Scanlon? As a good guy?"
"Depends on the game, Dr. Alderson." His grin was just shy of devilish. Carly felt a flutter in her belly and told herself it was a reaction to the memory instead of the man.
"It's been my experience that life can be a lot more serious than a game," she told him to the accompaniment of her sharply clicking heels. Realizing that she was walking faster than he could manage, she slowed her pace, her jaw set and her nerves raw. By the time they reached the door to the guest suite, she was so tense she had trouble regulating her breathing.
"It's not large, but I think you'll find it comfortable," she said, pushing open the door and entering first in order to switch on the light.
Mitch had an impression of pale walls and dark furniture offset by splashes of purple and blue in the bedspread and drapes. A quick look told him that the bed was oversize and easily accessible for a man with limited mobility.
"This door opens onto the terrace. Father had it enclosed after his first stroke, and a lap pool and Jacuzzi installed."
She opened it wide enough for him to see a tile-lined pool and an adjoining spa before swinging it closed again. "Feel free to use either one or both," she said, turning to face him. He was closer than she'd expected. It made her uneasy.
Her Secret, His Child Page 4
