Joe grinned. "You're going to be such a good mother."
Mattie froze. She stopped walking. She stopped smiling. Joe jerked to a halt, studying her stiff face questioningly.
"No, I won't." The words were delivered in a grim, cold voice.
"Mattie?" Joe was concerned and reached for her instinctively, but Mattie shrank from his hand.
"I won't be a good mother. I won't be any kind of mother. I will never have children."
"But sweetheart—"
Mattie broke in roughly, her voice muffled. "Never, do you understand?"
Joe believed he did, and his eyes were dark as he absorbed her pain. For some reason, he thought, Mattie was incapable of having children. What must that knowledge have done to her? he wondered achingly. Did she think it changed the person she was? Did she think it would change the way he felt for her? Oh lady, he thought desparingly, is this one of the demons you fight alone?
Aloud he only said, "Yes, I understand. No children. Never."
Mattie nodded once, tightly controlled, and said no more.
And then there were the times when Joe doubted his own sanity, thanks to the crazy, cock-eyed teachings of Mattie Grey....
"Mattie, the blood is rushing to my head!"
"That's nice." Mattie was distracted, staring at her watch.
Joe was silent for a moment, forbearing. Then he said, "Do we have to do it in this position?"
Mattie regarded him patiently. "Don't be a baby. How else are we going to capture the full glory—"
"Ugh."
"Of the flat-billed platypus in his natural habitat?"
"I don't even think there are any flat-billed platypuses in Texas, sweetheart," Joe protested mildly.
"Not if all Texans are as noisy as you," Mattie agreed promptly.
"And why do we have to hang upside down on this tree branch?"
"Bats do it," Mattie pointed out with a total lack of logic.
"Bats have rabies, too," Joe told her blandly. "Is catching that next on our list of things to do?"
Mattie regarded him solemnly, then sneaked another surreptitious glance at her watch. "Okay," she surrendered, extricating her tangled form from the tree and standing on the ground beside his still-upside-down body.
"Okay, what?" Joe demanded suspiciously, his face bright red.
"Okay, there aren't any flat-billed platypuses in my backyard," Mattie clarified.
Joe's suspicion deepened. "Which you knew all along."
"Let's go get some coffee," Mattie suggested blandly.
Joe had no choice but to swing down from the limb and follow her departing form, berating her the entire way to the cottage.
"What possible reason could you have for making me hang upside down from a tree in your backyard for half an hour? Are you a closet sadist, or do you have a fetish for bulging eyes, or—"
"Happy birthday, Joe!"
Joe's mouth dropped open in astonishment. The entire offensive line of the Conquerors—every last single one of them—was standing in Mattie's kitchen wearing pointed party hats and standing under a banner that read Happy birthday, Sydney!
"Sydney?" Joe muttered disbelievingly. "Who the hell is Sydney?"
"That's you," Mattie answered in a hushed tone. "There was kind of a mix-up at the store, so I told the guys that Sydney was your real first name."
"You told them what?" Joe exploded in a muffled roar.
"Sydney Joseph Ryan," Mattie murmured distractedly, positioning a party hat on his head. "It has a nice ring to it."
Joe's eyes focused helplessly on the behemoths that were his teammates as they celebrated his birthday. Porter and Johnson were tossing an open bottle of champagne between them like a football, Kelly was kneeling at the spigot on the keg of beer in the corner and guzzling from the endless stream spewing forth, and Riley was making out with a blonde at the sink. Most of the rest were surrounding the spread of food on the table. It was chaos.
"Are you surprised?" Mattie asked anxiously, carefully keeping her distance from the rowdy men overrunning her kitchen.
Joe nodded wordlessly, wondering how to burst her bubble. "But Mattie," he finally broke out woefully, "my birthday isn't until April!"
"I know that," Mattie told him cheerfully. "But if we had the party then, it wouldn't be a surprise."
Joe swallowed in sudden fear... because he understood the logic behind her reasoning.
Three
If Joe was learning a lot about Mattie, she was learning an equal amount about him. With the appearance of Joe in her life, Mattie's very existence changed. Yet the change was so gradual, so natural, it snuck beneath her carefully built and maintained defenses, much as Joe himself had, without her notice. He had simply become a part of her life.
They, spent a lot of time together—either at Mattie's small cottage outside the Dallas city limits or at Joe's large turn-of-the-century house in an older section of the city. Somehow, Mattie discovered wryly, they had ended up together part or all of every day. Joe liked to jog in the mornings, and sometimes Mattie—"the quintessential lazybones," she called herself—would keep him company on her bicycle. More often than not, Mattie accompanied Joe to practice and gradually accustomed herself to the sight of huge lumps of humanity hurling themselves at him. She even managed hesitant smiles—from a safe distance—to his teammates. Occasionally she would meet the wife or girl friend of a player in the stands. They all seemed genuinely happy and not a little surprised to meet her. "Joe's never brought anyone to the stadium before," one of the more forthright of them had told her. The unmasked curiosity in their eyes made Mattie nervous. What did they think her relationship to Joe was? They were all very nice and very friendly, but Mattie, who had spent most of her life building and enforcing walls, had a hard time scaling them. Only with Joe did her guard drop, and even then she knew that a part of her was still in hiding.
Joe continually amazed her. Every day of his life he was surrounded by people. Teammates, coaches, fans, reporters... and yet, as she had seen in his eyes that first day, he was lonely. Unlike Mattie, who had carefully chosen photography as her profession because it meant she didn't have to work closely with others, Joe's livelihood incorporated a host of people. He responded to all of them, worked with many of them, liked and respected quite a few of them.. .and Mattie realized that none of them knew the Joe Ryan who was her friend. It was as if he saved that part of himself for her.
He filled needs of Mattie's that she hadn't even known existed, and yet she wondered if she was as good a friend to him. He was so open with her, and she stayed so closed with him. He respected the boundaries she had set, yet he invited her into every area of his life. Sometimes, if she watched him when he wasn't aware of it, Mattie saw something she didn't want to see... a kind of sadness, a yearning that she was afraid to examine too closely.
As she had told him, Mattie had never had a friend like Joe, and every time she witnessed that sadness in him, a niggling fear sprang to life within her. A fear that she would lose him, his friendship and the person she was becoming.
She wasn't lonely anymore, she discovered one day, because she had Joe. And sometimes, when the past overwhelmed her, and she tried to push him away.. .Mattie shook her head. Joe never left her. They might be separated physically, but there was always a part of him, a warmth, a caring that Mattie carried within her. Lesson two, Joe had.told her. Friends are forever.
The game on the fourth Sunday of the season did not go well. Guiltily Mattie played hooky from her darkroom and watched the televised show. The Conquerors were trounced 35 to 7.
She was expecting the knock on her door later that evening but not the drained expression on Joe's face when she answered it.
"Joe!" she exclaimed in concern, grasping his hand and leading him into her living room. "You look awful!"
Joe managed a wry grin. "Gee, thanks."
"I'm sorry you lost."
"Are you psychic, or am I wearing a sign?"
"I watched t
he game on TV," Mattie told him, seating herself next to him on the sofa.
Joe winced. "That wasn't a game," he corrected her. "That was a massacre. Why did you bother? You don't even understand the game."
Mattie's eyes shied away from his. "I watched it because I'm your friend."
Joe blinked. "Excuse me?"
Mattie shifted restlessly. "Well, I don't know anything about football, and it's what you do. I thought I should at least try to understand."
"I see." Joe shut his eyes and turned his face away so that Mattie wouldn't see his emotion. It was times like this, when she touched him unbearably with some innocent comment, that Joe had to force himself to put some kind of distance between them.
Mattie, uncomfortable with the long silence, continued defensively. "I didn't want you to get bored with me and trade me in for a new friend."
"Oh, Mattie," Joe said, shaking his head. "You don't trade friends in like—like used cars! Friends are forever."
Mattie swallowed. Forever sounded like a long time, and she had never thought of anything in those terms in her entire life. Trying to ease the sudden ache in her throat, Mattie brought the conversation back to its starting point.
"I bet you got yelled at by the coach," she said, grinning, and poked him in the ribs teasingly but drew back abruptly when Joe bit off an agonized moan.
Her eyes met his in deep concern before his skittered away.
"Joe? What's wrong? Are you hurt... ?"
"I'm indestructible," he managed breezily, unconsciously placing a protective hand at his side. "I just got banged up a little in that second quarter."
Mattie pulled his hand away determinedly. "Let me see."
Joe backed away instinctively. "No, I'm all right. I promise. It's just a little bruised."
But Mattie was not about to let him get off that easily. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she grasped the hem of his sweater and pushed it up beneath his arms. She gasped as she witnessed the horrible discoloration over his rib cage.
Her eyes met his fiercely. "Has the doctor seen this?"
"Sure," Joe bluffed. "He said the color suited me."
"Dammit, it's not funny, Mr. Macho," Mattie choked out painfully. "This looks awful."
Joe swallowed as her fingers brushed gently against his skin, too conscious of her soft and feminine warmth for comfort.
"You're right," he told her abruptly, barely aware of what he was saying, with his whole being focused on the touch of her fingers. ' 'It hurts like hell. Doc told me to rest up for a couple of days."
"Well, that's the most sensible advice I've heard in a long time," she breathed thankfully, pulling his sweater back into place. "You go home and go to bed, and I'll bring you chicken soup and tea with honey and..."
Joe shut his eyes and drew her convulsively into his arms. "You're sweet," he muttered thickly. "So sweet."
Mattie shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of the feel of his hard chest against her breasts. Just Joe, she told herself sternly. It's just Joe. Her mind accepted. Her body rebelled.
She jumped to her feet so quickly that Joe drew a sharp breath as his ribs were jarred. "I—I'll go make you some chicken soup right now," she told him somewhat wildly, and rushed toward the kitchen.
Joe watched her go with shadowed eyes. Chicken soup, he thought grimly. Chicken soup, when what he really needed was... something he couldn't have. Settling deeper into the cushion, Joe cradled a pillow against his ribs, thinking of things he couldn't have.
He didn't even bother to lie to himself anymore. It wasn't just the curve of her chin, or the sound of her laughter, or the fear in her eyes that held him to Mattie. It was what she brought out in him, what she filled up in him. All those years, he thought a little sadly. All those years of wondering if this was all there was, of hoarding his emotions because there was no one he wanted to share them—and himself—with.
Then there was Mattie, with walls higher than the sky, but not stronger than his need. She didn't want him because he was Joe Ryan, star quarterback for the Dallas Conquerors. Despite everything, he still wasn't too sure she knew what a quarterback was! Mattie looked at him and saw Joe Ryan. She was the first woman to see behind the image to the man. Joe didn't know if he had let her into his mind or if she had simply discarded the image as a matter of course and burrowed deeper on her own. It didn't matter anyway, Joe accepted calmly. He was vulnerable to her now. He felt her hurts as surely as she had felt his a few minutes before.
He was an intensely private man, and yet it felt good to be known so completely by that one special woman, by Mattie. It felt good to know her that way. Joe wondered if Mattie knew that when she had crawled into his soul, he had crawled into hers. He didn't think so. He felt Mattie in him because sometimes he felt her fighting to break free. He wasn't fighting to be free of Mattie. He was fighting to be a part of her.
Mattie stood in the middle of the kitchen, trembling with reaction. She could still feel the hard outline of Joe's body against her own. At first it had been bearable, because it was Joe, and he was hurt and vulnerable. Then it had changed. Some emotion buried deep inside her had trembled and glowed to life, and a different emotion had taken her in its grip. It was the old fear. Yet in a way, it was worse because it had come from inside of her, and Mattie could have sworn that she heard a wall crumbling to the ground in its wake. So as she had always done, she had run away.
Don't run away from Joe, a silent, shaky voice called to her. Don't run away from...
Sweet. He had said she was sweet, but he had said it as if he meant she was everything.
Holding that memory close, and shutting the door against that unfamiliar feeling that had swelled within her, Mattie squared her shoulders and returned to the living-room.
"Joe, I'm sorry I—"
Mattie broke off as her eyes lighted on Joe. He had not heard a word she said. Sometime while she was fighting with her feelings in the kitchen, Joe had given up to sleep.
A little over a week later, ribs healed and the past Sunday's game won, Mattie and Joe were together again, this time in his car.
"Where are you taking me today, Joe?"
"Someplace we haven't been before," Joe answered absently.
"Well," Mattie began to count on her fingers, "That cuts out the zoo, the art museum, every park in this city, the ice skating rink—" here she stopped to rub her hip in wry remembrance "—the stadium, the reservoir, the rodeo, the sewage plant—"
"All very educational ventures," Joe interrupted righteously.
"Especially the sewage plant," Mattie agreed, wrinkling her nose. "My vocabulary was broadened considerably when you dropped your sunglasses into that tank."
"Mattie—" Joe began warningly.
"And then when my heel got stuck in that grid..."
"Well, who wears high heels to visit a sewage plant?" Joe demanded with perfect logic—male logic.
Mattie sat up straight. "If you care to recall, you will remember that I was not informed that we were going to visit a sewage plant. You told me we were going somewhere 'refined.' You could have told me you meant refined sewage! Anyway, it could have been worse," she insisted cheerfully. "I could have made you carry me back to the car when my shoe followed your sunglasses into the tank."
"Mattie, I didn't mean for that to happen!"
"I know, you told me. You were yanking at my shoe, and it just slipped-"
"At least you weren't still in it," Joe pointed out helpfully.
"At least," Mattie agreed dryly. "All of which tells me nothing about where we are going."
"Where we are," Joe corrected, pulling up in front of a large two-story house that appeared to have been converted into some type of meeting center.
"Jameson House," Mattie read the neat sign in front thoughtfully. "A Learning Center." She turned to Joe inquiringly. "What kind of learning center?"
Joe smiled slightly. "I guess it's a place where children and their parents learn to deal with what life hands them."
>
Mattie considered that briefly while they both got out of the car and headed up the walk. "You come here often?"
Joe turned to her earnestly. "One of the things that I really enjoy about football is the fact that it gives me the opportunity to become involved with community affairs. This place was founded about three years ago to help children who had been 'damaged' in some way adjust to that damage. From that sprang a counseling program for their parents. It works, Mattie," Joe told her proudly, eyes shining. "I mainly dedicate my time to the kids. It's very rewarding."
Mattie shook her head wonderingly. "How did you get involved in this, Joe? And how often do you come here? Where do you find the time? What do you mean by 'damaged'? And—"
"Whoa!" Joe laughed. "One question at a time. Okay. How did I get involved? The wife of one of my teammates was killed in a car accident about three years ago. Kevin and
his son were devastated. They were both so lost without Annie. That's what gave me the idea."
"You mean you founded this place?" Mattie asked incredulously.
Joe shrugged. "Kevin did most of the work. It was a kind of therapy for him, a way to keep busy but still deal with the loss. You see, he was permanently crippled in the accident. He'll never play football again."
"So you provided the financial backing," Mattie interpreted.
"It was no big deal, Mattie," Joe murmured slightly awkwardly.
Mattie knew differently but said nothing. She understood that Joe would be embarrassed by her admiration, but in her own mind she marveled at his tireless efforts to help children.
Just the other day, she had gone with him to a local television studio, where he taped a commercial for the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. As a local hero, he was inundated with such requests, and from what Mattie had been able to gather by the conversations around her at the studio, Joe had never refused to lend his time, money or name to any worthy effort.
She had just opened her mouth to form another question when Joe opened a door leading into a huge playroom full of youngsters. Mattie's eyes were immediately drawn to a few in wheelchairs or wearing braces, and her tender heart went out to them. Now she knew what Joe meant by "damaged." Still, the great majority of children had no apparent physical handicap, and Mattie wondered if they had—like Kevin Jameson's son—lost a parent and were trying to deal with that loss.
Just Joe Page 4
