Perfect Chance

by Amanda Carpenter

“I’ll get the shower going, so the water’s nice and hot for you,” he crooned, and her bed bounced as he leaped up to lope away.

  He was so excited. Mary sat up, stretched, and yawned so hard it felt like her jaw cracked. Last year Tim had gone to the fireworks celebration with his best friend’s family, but this year the Thompsons were on vacation in Florida, and he had nobody else to go with but her. And he was too young to go by himself.

  Tim bounced back into her bedroom. “It’s ready! And Victor’s going to be here in half an hour.”

  She winced at his too-loud voice. “Okay, Tim. Thank you. Go on now, let me get ready—and remember, we’re only going to stay until midnight. Victor’s only had a nap, and mine wasn’t long enough—”

  “I know, I know,” he interrupted. “A couple of hours’ll be great. Just get moving, or we’ll miss the beginning.”

  He left, and Mary shuffled around her large, comfortable bedroom, feeling like an old woman. Rescue workers could go weeks on five-minute naps every three or four hours—she could surely make it through the evening after her hour nap. After several minutes in a refreshing cool shower, she was feeling more like herself again. It wouldn’t be for long, and it was going to be—fun.

  As a graduation present from her grandfather, Mary’d had her bathroom and bedroom redecorated. She stepped out of the shower into a pretty collection of greens and peaches. She quickly made up her face, applying blusher, eye shadow and mascara lightly, and then she dithered over which perfume she wanted to use.

  Why are you going to so much trouble? she asked herself suddenly. She stared hard at her bright-eyed reflection. Victor’s seen you at your worst many times.

  You know why, Mary, and it’s not for Victor.

  It was because of that kiss, because of a “maybe see you later” kind of arrangement with a man you hardly know, a man who’s way out of your league, you’ve admitted that much. A man probably just playing around—what if he kisses everybody like that? A man who is just—flirting.

  And what’s more, if you’d had your wits about you earlier when you had Victor on the phone, you would have called off the evening with him and gone ahead to the fireworks with Tim. Alone.

  Have you gone insane?

  The lecture wasn’t working. No matter how sternly she talked to herself, the excited young woman in the mirror didn’t calm down. She selected at random a perfume bottle from her collection on a nearby shelf, and sprayed some on her neck and wrists. Then she waltzed into her bedroom, humming—what to wear? Oh, a soft, flowered linen skirt with a matching rose sleeveless top, delicate sandals and a plain gold necklace. And the hair, oh, leave it loose and fluff it out, all nice and pretty, there.

  You should be wearing shorts, fool.

  I don’t care, I don’t care.

  What if he’s not there? She stopped in midwaltz and her shoulders drooped. Two long hours, and Victor’s going to think you dressed up for him. Oh my. Both hands crept up to her face. And what if he wants to kiss you?

  Tim. Tim will be there. Victor wouldn’t want to embarrass him. That’ll be all right.

  What if he does show up? She started to dance again, then stopped dead in her tracks.

  How are you going to explain Chance to Victor, Mary? How are you going to explain Victor to Chance?

  She caught sight of another reflection from the full-length closet mirror, and she scowled. How, in God’s name, did a shy, gawky thing like you find herself in the middle of such a soap opera?

  Off in the distance, she heard the front doorbell ring. Victor had arrived.

  What are you going to do now, Mary?

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHERRY Bay’s annual Fourth of July celebration was held at the old lighthouse, which was on a promontory of land that had been established as a local park some years ago. Volunteer firemen were in charge of the fireworks display that was set off from the point. The nearby beach was crowded with both natives and tourists alike, and food and drink vendors dotted the area with striped canvas canopies. Music from a local band blared from the loudspeakers near the whitewashed stone lighthouse, and the smell of hot dogs and the pastry called fried elephant ears filled the air.

  Tim appeared not to notice the taut atmosphere that filled the interior of Victor’s Volvo on the trip to the lighthouse, but Mary did. Back at the house, she had met Victor at the door; he was dressed in crisp linen slacks and a white shirt. She’d looked up into his cold eyes and tight features and felt her stomach sink to her shoes.

  When Tim had come to the porch to interrupt Chance and Mary, he had left the phone off the hook in the front hall. How much of what had gone on outside had Victor overheard? Could he have heard anything at all? Could his tight expression just possibly be related to seeing her walk out of the hospital earlier that day with a strange man? What did she dare hope for?

  With the strong instinct that she was making a mistake, Mary had gone to say goodbye to her grandfather Wallis, who was comfortably ensconced in the library with an old friend of his, drinking brandy and playing a game of chess.

  “Good night, Grampa,” she whispered as she kissed him.

  A tall, thin man in his eighties with a leonine head of thick, white, wavy hair, Wallis Newman was a gruff man who had a reputation for being terrifying with local politicians and dignitaries. Mary never understood that. Wallis reached up to pat her cheek, his fierce gaze softening into tenderness.

  “Have a good time, kiddo. I won’t wait up.”

  I want to stay home with you, Grampa, she thought. She glanced toward the hallway and sighed. Victor and Tim were waiting. She threw her arms around her grandfather’s neck, hugged him swiftly, and left.

  Now Victor pulled the car into a parking space, and Mary scrambled out thankfully. The parking-lot lamps washed the scene in harsh white illumination and sharp shadows. In the distance, she could see the warmer glow from flickering beach fires and the tiny pinpoints of colored lights strung in the trees and bushes that clustered around the lighthouse.

  Tim bounced out happily. Victor locked the car and straightened, his movements slow and deliberate. Mary felt the skin around her eyes tighten as he glanced at her briefly. Then Tim loped around the car, planted a smacking kiss on her forehead so hard he almost knocked her over, and said, “I’m going to get in line for some food. Meet you on the beach?”

  “All right,” she sighed, and she forlornly watched him dash away. There goes my chaperon and bodyguard.

  Victor curled a hand around her upper arm, and she looked up with a start, then tried to smile. The effort was not returned. “I want to talk to you,” he said tersely.

  As if on cue, the first round of fireworks exploded overhead with a rolling boom like thunder, and Victor’s marble-carved features were washed in red and blue.

  This was worse than a mistake, she thought, as she glanced again at the crowd on the beach. This was more like disastrous stupidity. There was no way they were going to run into Chance, and Victor was obviously upset, and she didn’t have the energy to explain anything to him. Even if she’d known how to explain it.

  Then a small seed of resentment bloomed. She shouldn’t have to explain anything. They may have dated for a few years, but they hadn’t even come to any kind of formal agreement. She never asked Victor what he did when she wasn’t with him. Why was he suddenly treating her like his property?

  “Now is not the time, Victor,” she said firmly, and she gave him a no-nonsense nod meant to put him in his place.

  Apparently he didn’t get the point. His fingers pressed into her flesh as he said, “When will be the time to talk about it? Tim’s gone for now—we have a few minuets. Who was that man I saw you with earlier? I heard you had dinner with him.”

  Mary blinked in surprise. Who’d told him that— Harold Schubert? Another member of the hospital staff? “So I had dinner with him,” she said in an offhand manner. “I was eating—he was eating—we sat at the same table. It happens, Victor.”

  “But th
en you went out the door with him, and your car was still in the parking lot when I left. Did he take you home?”

  Boom went another bout of fireworks. The crowd cheered. Mary fumbled for something reasonable and conciliatory to say, but what could that be? He’d taken her home and kissed her, and walked away with her soul in his pocket.

  She scowled and said, “So what if he did? Is that a crime? He offered and I was too tired to drive, and anyway—why are you checking up on me like this?”

  Suddenly his demeanor changed, became soothing. His grip on her arm loosened, and he rubbed her shoulders. “I’m sorry. That sounded bad, didn’t it? I was just worried about you, darling, that’s all. I didn’t know him and thought you didn’t, either, and if you’d wanted a ride home, all you had to do was ask me. I would have been happy to take you.”

  Mary’s bristling smoothed over, and she turned contrite. Poor Victor. He’d had a long, hard day, too. “I knew your shift wasn’t over until eight, and anyway, he was perfectly fine.”

  “So who was he anyway?” Victor asked casually, starting to lead her toward the beach.

  “He teaches at the university. He was on Harold Schubert’s yacht when the boating accident happened.” And I can still feel his kiss on my mouth. The scorching memory engulfed her; with a shock, she felt the private area between her legs throb gently.

  She looked around in confusion, cheeks flaming. She was too tired; the barrier between thought and action was too ephemeral, untrustworthy. She was afraid of what she might inadvertently blurt out if Victor continued his interrogation much longer.

  Over the staccato explosions overhead and the noise of the crowd, she could hear the roar of an approaching motorcycle, and absentmindedly glanced in that direction.

  The roar subsided into a low engine growl as a Harley-Davidson pulled into an empty parking space. There were two riders, a man driving and a woman riding pillion. They both wore black helmets and protective leather jackets. The man was wearing straight-legged, faded jeans and a white T-shirt, and the woman’s lush, curved legs were bared by a black minidress. She wore, Mary saw with amazement, high-heeled stiletto pumps.

  There was something familiar about the man’s large, powerful body. She watched as he lowered the kick-stand with the toe of his boot and they dismounted, removing their helmets.

  The man’s overlong blond hair lifted in the breeze. The woman’s hair tumbled out, a long, curling, glorious mass of coppery red. They locked their helmets in the bike’s carrier, chatting together companionably, and turned to the beach.

  Mary’s heart emitted one hard, dismayed kick. Chance, his tanned, chiseled features relaxed, the wide breadth of his shoulders a tough, aggressive angle in contrast to slim hips and lithe, muscular legs. The woman, the hourglass shape of her body extravagantly feminine, her leather jacket unzipped to reveal a deep neckline that showcased a lovely, generous cleavage, her long green eyes gleaming like a cat’s.

  Without realizing it, Mary had stopped dead in her tracks. She didn’t notice Victor tugging on her arm, or that he’d turned to follow her gaze.

  Now there, she thought bleakly, is a complete picture. It wasn’t supposed to be a buxom blonde on Chance’s arm after all. It was supposed to be a blazing, flamboyant, redheaded siren, with fingernails out to the next county and legs that would stop traffic. She glanced down at her own slender body, the coltish hips and legs, the even smaller waist and the slight, delicate curve of young breasts. And you’re nothing to write home about, are you, Mary? Your outfit it pretty, but not eye-catchingly sexy. No. Actually, it’s pretty forgettable.

  I want to go home now and take the phone off the hook. I want to go to bed and pull the covers over my head and pretend this whole sorry day never happened.

  “Oh look, Mary,” said Victor cheerfully as he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “There’s your friend now. Let’s go say hello.”

  “I want to go find Tim,” she protested, wild to go anywhere, be anywhere but where she was. I don’t want to go over there. I don’t want to exchange pleasantries with him, try to pretend to be nice to her. I don’t, I don’t.

  But it was too late. The couple by the motorcycle had seen them, too. After a long, narrow-eyed stare in their direction, Chance draped an arm around the redhead’s shoulders, swept back her hair, and bent to murmur into her ear. The redhead looked their way, as well, pursed her lips, then smiled slowly.

  Mary was swallowed by a surge of pure hatred.

  The redhead slipped her arm around Chance’s waist, and they strolled toward Victor and Mary. A few years younger than Chance but older than Mary, her body moved sensuously, a perfect complement to his catlike, prowling grace.

  Am I getting sick? Mary wondered hopefully. Do I have to go home now?

  Fireworks crashed. Green, everything turned green.

  “Good evening,” purred Chance as the couples converged. “It’s Dr. Newman, and—let me guess. Victor?” His eyes, as he looked at the other man, glittered hard and dangerously bright.

  Victor’s arm tightened. “What a coincidence,” he said smoothly. “We were just talking about you. I’m Dr. Victor Prentiss. You and Mary have met, I know.”

  Victor extended his free hand, which Chance appeared not to notice. Mary fixed her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Chance’s chest and remained silent.

  The redhead took Victor’s hand and shook it. Her voice was low and husky as she replied, “Nice to meet you, Doctor. I’m Cassie Grant, and of course this is Chance Armstrong.” She drew back and eyed Mary curiously and with a hint of surprise. “So this is your new friend, Chance? She’s such a sweet little thing.”

  Mary wanted to curl up and die. Sweet little thing. The words reverberated in the great big, lonely space inside her head. Her gaze, weighted with hot burning lead, fell to the ground.

  Chance ran his hand up and down Cassie’s arm and drawled insolently, “Isn’t she? And she’s a doctor, too. They work together, Cass. She and Victor make such a lovely, professional couple, don’t they?”

  Mary stiffened, feeling pain and surprise in equal measure, and her gaze flashed up. She took in Chance’s angry, wicked countenance, the other woman’s thoughtful frown and Victor’s sudden, creamy smile.

  They were all so sophisticated, she thought bitterly, so sure of themselves with their social veneers and rapier cuts. She felt like a mouse surrounded by a gang of predatory alley cats.

  The scene blurred. She muttered, “I’m going to find my brother,” and before he could stop her, she slipped out from under Victor’s grip and bolted.

  There were four more rows of cars, then an open expanse of grass filled with spectators. Tim would be waiting in line at the vendors on the beach. She threaded her way quickly through the people.

  A warm, hard hand curled around her arm again, and a shiver went down her spine as she turned around. A burst of white and red lit the sky like a demonic backdrop, outlining Chance’s head and shoulders and throwing him into silhouette. Still with that hateful drawl in his voice, he said, “Running away, Dr. Mary? It was just getting good. Victor was about to throw down his white glove and challenge me to a duel.”

  She hated scenes. She tried everything she could to avoid them, but now, cornered, she rounded on him ferociously. “So why don’t you go back and the three of you can get on with it? You’ve already got a heroine—fight over that redheaded witch and quit tormenting me!”

  His hard white teeth gleamed in the shadows. It was hard to tell if he was smiling or snarling. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. She could smell leather and the faint, spicy tang of after-shave, and the corners of her mouth drooped with distress, even as her legs weakened with sexual awareness. The tremor ran up her body and seemed to communicate itself to him, for his hands gentled on her, the fingers sliding across her skin almost in a caress.

  “Mary.” The hard-bitten edge of nastiness had left his voice. “You’re really upset.”

&nbs
p; He sounded so surprised, she thought. What had he expected I was doing—enjoying it? She crossed her arms around her middle and thought of Victor, and of Chance arriving with Cassie. “I’m having an awful time.”

  He reached up and smoothed back her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming with Victor.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming with Cassie.” That came out so miserably, she was ashamed of herself. When was she ever going to get that social veneer that other people had, so she could hide behind it when she needed to? His hand was warm, and lingered; she resisted the urge to turn and bury her face in his palm.

  He hesitated, then said with a tone of self-disgust, “Cassie is my half sister, Mary. What’s Victor to you, or haven’t you made up your mind yet? He seems awfully possessive.”

  Half sister? Oh, but that meant—She played the scene over again in her mind, Chance catching sight of her and Victor, the intimate murmur to his companion, the arm around her shoulders. Suddenly the cloud of tears that had hovered over her head blew away, and Mary grew positively light-headed. She said dreamily, “We’ve dated for a couple of years. I—don’t think I—care for him as much as I thought I did.”

  Her hands had risen of their own accord and settled lightly on his corded wrists. She could feel his pulse beating slow and strong under her fingertips.

  “Oh. Have you told him that?” He cocked his head. Now, it was definitely a smile. “Or should I? I’d like that.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. If she kept blushing this way, nobody would have to tell Victor anything. “Oh, I…” Her voice trailed off breathlessly. I don’t know what to do. My head keeps getting fuzzed up with other, more heady things. She heard herself say, “I like your after-shave.”

  He chuckled quietly, put his arms around her and drew her close against his broad chest, and tucked her head under his chin. She made an incoherent, questioning, absurdly happy sound. “It smells better up close,” he murmured. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you how pretty you look.”

  Somehow she had slipped inside the opening of his leather jacket, and his deep voice vibrated against her soft cheek. He was so large, so encompassing. He surrounded her with himself, and she nestled in the warm cave he had made of his body and marveled at the deep sense of contentment that stole over her. Her arms slipped around his waist and she leaned on him and sighed.