My Fair Gentleman

by Jan Freed

  Joe had seen her moving around? He’d watched and waited for her to move around?

  “Catherine?”

  “Hmm? Oh…yes! I’m starving. And that looks ten times better than the cold cereal I was going to have.”

  Allie smiled shyly. “You looked so tired last night I didn’t think you’d feel much like cooking this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Catherine realized her own post-rescue behavior must have seemed almost as frightening as the accident itself. “I feel great. Really. Especially with a hot breakfast to dig into. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.” First the soup and now this. “Thank you, honey.”

  She opened her arms and Allie stepped into them eagerly. A cup-runneth-over emotion swelled Catherine’s chest, even stronger than the day before. She rested her chin on top of the girl’s silky dark hair and thought, This is what I’ve been missing in life. This is what I want.

  “Joe made the bacon,” Allie confessed, her voice both muffled and sheepish.

  Chuckling, Catherine squeezed tight, then pulled back. “Is that a warning?”

  “Well, he didn’t burn nearly as many pieces as he usually does, and we ate all of those. We saved the good ones for you.”

  In Catherine’s whole life, nobody had ever saved the good pieces for her. The pressure in her chest increased. Blinking rapidly, she turned to gather utensils and pour two glasses of orange juice. When everything was on the table, she motioned for Allie to join her.

  “Be sure and thank your dad for me,” Catherine said once they were both seated.

  “You can thank him yourself. I mean, I hope you can. Later, at my fund-raising carnival.”

  Catherine stopped chewing. Fund-raising carnival?

  “My fall softball league has a carnival every summer to raise money. The principal of Washington Elementary has a kid in the league, so we get to use a school building this year, instead of a softball field. I’m working at the Face Painting booth.”

  Ah. Catherine swallowed her eggs and smiled. “You paint a pretty mean teddy bear—so your dad told me,” she added at Allie’s curious look.

  “Yeah, well, he told me I shouldn’t ask you to go with us because you need to rest. But you don’t look tired. And you said you feel fine.” Her big brown eyes pleaded for Catherine to accept the convoluted invitation.

  Lord, it would be hard enough to maintain a professional attitude during her regular lessons with Joe. Spending time with him outside the boundaries of necessity would be extremely foolish.

  She sighed. “Allie—”

  “Hey, no problem. Most of the booths there will be stupid anyway. You know, little-kid stuff. I wouldn’t go, either, if I didn’t have to.” Allie’s quick gulp of orange juice wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the tremble of her bottom lip. She lowered her glass and grew fascinated with the refrigerator.

  Catherine put down her fork. “What time should I be ready?”

  Allie’s head whipped around. Wary hope lit her eyes. “It’s no big deal. Really. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “Honey, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than spend the afternoon with you. Really.”

  Allie broke into an irrepressible grin. “Cool.”

  Catherine hoped so. But considering the heat Joe generated in her lately, she had her doubts.

  JOE PAUSED beside the Beanbag Toss and checked his watch. Only fifteen minutes left in Allie and Catherine’s shift. He might as well head back to the cafeteria. He started forward just as his internal radar bleeped. Hel-lo. From the strength of the signal, she had to be close…

  There. Behind the Lollipop Tree. A redhead on the low side of thirty, he guessed.

  “Want some candy, little boy?” she asked, raising her voice above the shrieks, giggles and chatter of a zillion kids. Her blue eyes gleamed with more than mischief.

  Apparently the prizes hidden in lollipop wrappers weren’t the only enticements she offered. He looked her over with a practiced eye. Very attractive. Very built. Very willing. A combination sure to warm the interest of any breathing male.

  “Sorry, doll. Gotta watch my weight.” He patted his belly for emphasis.

  “Mm-mm-mm,” she murmured, all but smacking her lips as she eyed his stomach and every other part of his anatomy. “You look fine to me. Sure there’s nothing here you want?”

  He shook his head with false regret. If his smile was a little forced, he didn’t think she noticed.

  Just then two little girls ran up to the Lollipop Tree. When the redhead turned to help them, Joe moved into the passing flow of hall traffic and didn’t stop until he turned a corner. Flipping off his Astros cap, he squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  He’d just met a centerfold lookalike and been turned off. It didn’t take a nuclear physicist to figure out why. The reason was simple. Dumb-jock simple.

  He resettled his cap and swallowed a curse. Maybe if Catherine hadn’t opened her front door earlier wearing those shorts and tight turtleneck…

  His traitorous memory conjured up every incredible detail. Perfect palm-size breasts, a waist he could span with both hands—and Lord have mercy—those legs! He’d seen them yesterday, of course, but crisis and Catherine’s need for comfort had overridden his normal lechery. No such luck today.

  He’d damn near stepped on his tongue following those legs out to the Bronco. Long and shapely and alabaster smooth, they were the gams Snow White hid beneath her velvet skirts from horny little dwarfs.

  The next couple of weeks were going to be pure hell.

  Moving back into the carnival traffic, Joe passed the Cakewalk, Ring Toss and Fishing Pond before regaining a semblance of calm. He’d gotten through worse things in his life than frustrated lust. All he had to do was follow Catherine’s cue and be a perfect gentleman. Then after the party she’d marry her Pretty Boy, he’d pursue his broadcasting career and buxom redheads, and they’d both live happily ever after. Piece of cake.

  Feeling a little better, he noted several painted chubby cheeks bobbing past. A butterfly. Two dancing teddy bears. A gruesome puckered scar—he whirled around and glimpsed the back of a tall boy’s head. What the…?

  Shrugging, he continued toward the cafeteria, checking out face paintings as he went. A bright rainbow. A cheerful daisy. The name “Laurie” with a smiley face dotting the letter i. A hideous wound dripping blood—he reached out and grabbed the passing boy’s arm.

  The kid’s hair was buzzed close except for a thatch of three-foot-long ponytail at his nape. One earlobe bristled with metal.

  “Who painted your face?” Joe asked.

  “Let go’a me, man.”

  Joe held the kid’s gaze until his pimply sneer faded.

  “The b-babe in the Face Painting booth.”

  “Which babe?”

  “The older one.”

  The older one, huh? Releasing the teenager’s arm, Joe moved off at a fast clip.

  Word had spread about the new attraction at the Face Painting booth. The line of customers stretched clear out the cafeteria door. Slouching teen boys shuffled right along next to their younger siblings. Trust Catherine to bring the two natural enemies together.

  Pushing his way into the cafeteria, Joe leaned against a back wall where he had a clear view of the artists over the Bake Sale table. Allie was handling the cutesy stuff while Catherine specialized in gross-out. Their techniques were as different as their designs.

  Catherine mixed and painted with confidence. Allie’s movements were deliberate, her shoulders hunched and tense. Watching his daughter’s oh-so-careful brush strokes, he felt a familiar constriction in his chest. She was always so damn serious.

  It scared him, this need of hers to do things well, to please others. To please him. As if he would love her more, would be what she needed him to be if only she could please him enough. Allie’s mother, Vicky, had been like that, too.

  Joe stiffened and pushed off from the wall, searching for…
he didn’t know what. Allie’s coach maybe. Someone who could take her and Catherine home after the carnival. He made it all the way out the door before what Catherine had told him at the art gallery came back to taunt him.

  Running away is easy for you, isn’t it?

  He stopped and blew out a breath.

  Why dig in your heels and tough it out when you can avoid conflict altogether?

  Damn, things had been simpler before he’d met Catherine! Rubbing his neck, he turned around and walked back into the cafeteria.

  Allie was painting the finishing touches on a red teddy bear as he approached the rear of the Face Painting booth. Neither she nor Catherine noticed him, since they both sat facing the opposite direction.

  His daughter applied a last dab, cocked her head, then tweaked her canvas’s freckled nose. “There you go, Megan. Try not to touch your cheek’ for a few minutes. It’s still a little wet.”

  “Can I th’ee it now?” the gap-toothed youngster pleaded.

  “Sure you can.” Allie picked up a hand mirror and faced it toward the child. “But whatever you do, don’t smile. Oh, no—too late!” She pointed in mock dismay to the little girl’s right dimple. “See what you did? You gave him a belly button.”

  Megan giggled, her dimple giving the painted bear a perfect “innie.” Joe found himself thinking what a wonderful big sister Allie would’ve made if things had been different. Without analyzing why, he turned to Catherine.

  He had a good view of the back of her head and her customer’s face. Like the kid he’d grabbed earlier, this boy’s hair was buzzed close except for a single lock of hair—located not at his nape—but just above his forehead. Army-boot knockoffs, strategically ripped jeans and a black T-shirt completed the nineties’ version of tough-guy chic.

  Styles might’ve changed over the years, but one thing hadn’t and never would. The kid’s eyes were groping everything they touched.

  “I’m almost finished, Travis,” Catherine said, grasping the teenager’s chin and leaning close to add a dribble of blood down his cheek. “Hold still now. There!” She leaned back and dropped her brush into a jar of water. “I think that’s my best one yet.”

  Travis stared at her and blinked. Having experienced that same lobotomy stupor himself, Joe figured Catherine must be smiling.

  She began cleaning her brush for the next customer. “Thanks for donating to the fund. And be sure to tell your friends to stop by our booth.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Travis mumbled, finally getting the hint and standing up. He moved off in a daze as two women bustled into the booth, apologizing for being late for their shift.

  Joe waited through the changing of the guard and two customer demonstrations before stepping closer to the booth.

  “Yo, Allie, Catherine! Nobody likes a backseat painter. Come on out and let those women do their jobs.”

  Four faces turned. Two of them broke into identical beaming smiles, making him very glad he’d decided to stay. Allie and Catherine slipped out of the booth.

  “So what would you ladies like to do first?” he asked, sandwiched between them as they headed for the door. “Eat? Check out the games? There’s a stuffed elephant at the Bottle Throw with your name on it, Allie.”

  He felt a slight tug on his right arm and looked down into hesitant dark eyes.

  “I, um, kind of told Holly and Jessica I’d meet ‘em at the Dunking booth. Joe. A hunch of us are gonna try and drown Coach Moxley.”

  “Okay, then, the Dunking booth it is. I wouldn’t mind taking a shot at the coach myself.”

  He felt a slight tug on his left arm and looked down into direct green eyes.

  “I think Allie made plans to be with her friends alone,” Catherine explained. He came to a stop.

  Allie was his pal. She loved doing the carnival thing with him—didn’t she? Frowning, he turned to his daughter.

  “It’s okay, Joe. I didn’t say I’d meet them there for sure. Let’s go on to the Bottle Throw. I want to. Really.”

  She didn’t want to, he could tell. But she didn’t want to disappoint him, either. Just as he’d never wanted to disappoint his father.

  Shaken by the insight, he retreated to familiar territory. “Who beat Babe Ruth’s 1935 record of 714 home runs? Winner gets to sink Coach Moxley—alone.” It was a baby question; one she could answer in her sleep.

  Allie searched his eyes as if debating his sincerity.

  He shrugged. “Guess I’d better warm up my throwing arm—”

  “Hank Aaron, April 1974, fourth inning of the Braves’ home opener against the Dodgers. Piece’a cake.”

  Joe forced a grin and checked his watch. “Meet us back here at six o’clock on the nose, hotshot.” He dug out a five-dollar bill from his pocket, slapped it into her palm and curled her fingers tight. “Come find me if you need more money.”

  She seemed to hover on the brink of protest, then stuffed the cash into her jean-shorts pocket. “Thanks, Joe. For letting me go, I mean.”

  They both knew she referred to more than the Dunking booth. He nodded and shooed her off, experiencing a pang of loss so piercing it gouged a hole in his chest.

  He wasn’t the center of Allie’s universe anymore. She was growing up, choosing her friends over him when once there would’ve been no contest. When had this happened? And God help him, what would he do without his little pal?

  “Allie hasn’t left the nest, Joe,” Catherine said, demonstrating that uncanny ability of hers to read his mind. “She has a lot of test flights ahead. And she needs you there to catch her if she falls.”

  Like he’d saved Vicky? “I’m a lousy catcher, Catherine.”

  “That’s bull!” She moved up toe-to-toe and flung her head back. “Who was voted the International League’s Catcher of the Year his second season in the minors? Who called two no-hitters his rookie year with the Astros? Who was plagued by injuries but had ‘an arm like a cannon’ throughout his career? Winner gets a free ticket to any game at the carnival.”

  Joe couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d spit in his face.

  “Bzzz! Time’s up. The answer is Joe Tucker, a very good catcher by anyone’s standards. And I’d trust you to be my safety net anytime.”

  Her fierce green eyes compelled him to believe, to absorb some of the feminine strength she offered so generously to anyone who was confused or hurting. If a woman like this believed in him…

  The empty hole in Joe’s chest filled with a mixture of wonder and tentative hope. He suddenly felt like leaping tall buildings in a single bound, slaying firebreathing dragons with a magic sword, sweeping the Bake Sale table clear of goodies and sampling the sweetness of Catherine.

  Instead, he lifted his elbow with as much respect as he could infuse into the gesture. “Looks like I owe you a free game.”

  Smiling, she accepted his arm and strolled by his side through the cafeteria. Her small hand made him intensely aware of his greater height and strength, his inherent obligation to protect her. There was an ageold sense of rightness to this gentlemen stuff that transcended snobbish rules.

  “Do you by any chance like stuffed elephants?” he asked on impulse.

  Her startled glance turned mischievous. “About as much as I like stodgy Democrats.”

  He chuckled, remembering how he’d once thought her humorless. “Feel like checking out the Bottle Throw first?”

  “No way. I’m not wasting my free ticket on something that requires skill.” She seemed to consider her options a moment. “I know, take me to the Lollipop Tree. If I don’t win a prize, at least I’ll get to keep the candy.”

  Joe silently groaned. Fair was fair. But with luck, he could divert her to another booth along the way.

  “THAT MAN IS LEANING OVER again, Mommy.”

  “Hush, Angel, and put your hook back in the pond.”

  “But he can reach it better’n me. No fair!”

  Grinding his teeth, Joe straightened. The angelic blond whiner couldn’t have been
more than four or five. She clutched a cane pole in one hand and a small teddy bear in the other. Slanting him a resentful look, she stuck out her tongue, then dangled her line over the multicolored bath toys bobbing in the kiddie pool.

  He concentrated once more on The Fish, the one that would win the prize he’d spotted on his way to the Bottle Throw. The one that’d looked so easy to catch fifteen minutes ago.

  But snagging a metal ring protruding from any of the floating backs—much less The Fish’s pale blue one—was not a piece of cake. Every missed swipe was another ticket down the toilet, and so far he’d flushed the bowl nine times.

  “Why don’t we go on to the Bottle Throw?” Catherine suggested, her words slurred around the lollipop in her mouth. Standing at his side, she balanced a half-eaten bag of popcorn, a balloon poodle and a wrapped chocolate cake in her arms.

  “In a minute.” Ten was his lucky number. This was it. He could feel it in his bones.

  “Mom-my, he’s hogging the blue fishy. That’s the one I was gonna catch. No fair!” The little girl edged close to Joe and pressed against his side. A pudgy elbow jabbed his hip. “My fishy.”

  The booth attendant, a girl about Allie’s age, frowned at her small rowdy customer. “No touching, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  The mother rushed forward and pulled her struggling child from Joe’s side. “Now, honey, we don’t touch or talk to strangers. Look, there’s a yellow fishy by your hook. It wins a pretty red necklace. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t want a red necklace. I want a green necklace. No fair!”

  The attendant dug into a box by her feet and came up holding a plastic green necklace. The mother looked pitifully grateful, the child petulant but unsure what she should complain about next.

  Joe turned back to the pool and steadied his hook over his rocking plastic target. Almost…just a fraction to the right…bingo!

  An errant fishhook swung over and hit his line, jerking his hook from The Fish’s ringed back. He glared down in time to see Angel smirk.