Perfect Chance

by Amanda Carpenter

  “Hmph! I’ve heard things about you, too.” Wallis’s eyes narrowed, and he said pointedly, “Harold Schubert and I had quite a conversation the other night. Can’t say I like everything he told me.”

  Oh, God, Mary thought worriedly, Grampa’s heard the rumors. This could turn ugly.

  Chance appeared to be unaffected by the cross fire, however, as his arm dropped away from Tim and he strode composedly across the room to stand beside the chair, almost as if he were offering himself for inspection. “Dean Schubert’s a good administrator and one hell of a politician, but we both know it’s part of his job to talk whichever way the wind’s blowing,” he said with an easy smile. “And certain influential people don’t want me to be seen in a favorable light lately. I’m very glad that Mary has the good sense not to listen to idle gossip, and find out things for herself. I respect that, don’t you? After all, appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Hmm. You have a point there, son.” Wallis’s bristling had died down, but he was still frowning. Tim stood to one side, watching everything in fascination. “I also heard from Schubert how you were quite the hero on his yacht Monday.”

  “I just did what needed to be done,” Chance replied with a hint of discomfort. He glanced at Mary and rested a hand on her shoulder. Her bare skin shivered at his touch, and he stroked her gently with a light, subtle caress that only they were aware of. He seemed to come to some decision then, and said to Wallis, “Look, Mr. Newman. I appreciate your protectiveness, and I share it to some extent. But Mary’s done a pretty good job of looking after herself so far, and will continue to make her own choices whether you and I like it or not. I can promise you, though, that I won’t be doing anything against her wishes.”

  After a moment of considering that, Wallis conceded with a sigh. Mary took Chance’s hand, stood and smiled down at the old man. “Don’t worry so much, Grampa,” she said gently. “I’m looking forward to tonight. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

  “It’s my job to worry,” grumbled Wallis, but his eyes had softened when he looked at her. “Go on now, you two, skedaddle. I’m missing my movie.”

  “Good night,” Tim said brightly.

  Mary gave him a quick hug. “Good night, Timmy. I’ll bring you some caramel corn.”

  “See you later, Tim.” Chance curled an arm around her shoulders and nodded down to Wallis. “Glad to meet you. Maybe we can talk more again sometime.” His gaze fell on Wallis’s chessboard on a corner table and he paused. “Perhaps over a game of chess?”

  Wallis’s eyes lit up. “Oh, do you play?”

  “A little,” Chance said offhandedly, the devil back in his eyes.

  Mary recalled Cassie’s warning on Thursday and covered her mouth to hide a grin. Who was the prey, and who was the piranha here? Don’t, don’t say anything. Leave them to work out their own footing.

  Wallis invited him for dinner next week, and then Chance and Mary escaped into the sunny warm evening.

  When they were outside, Mary glanced up at him. He still had his arm around her, and his lithe body brushed against her side as they walked. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Grampa can be very old-fashioned sometimes.”

  Chance gave her a quick smile. “Don’t apologize. I like him. If I’m ever lucky enough to have children and grandchildren, I’ll be the same way.”

  He wanted children. Mary hugged that knowledge to herself and examined it carefully. She could just imagine what kind of a father Chance would be: gentle but firm, nurturing, protective, those square, capable hands cradling a newborn baby. She sucked in a breath, amazed and rather disturbed at the strength of the ravenous hunger that gripped her.

  Chance opened the passenger door and helped her up into the Jeep. Mary watched as he rounded the front of the car, running his fingers through his hair in that familiar, habitual gesture.

  They pulled onto the highway, Chance resting a hand on top of the steering wheel. The dark, concealing sunglasses highlighted the precision of his chiseled features, the clean angle of his jaw, the carved mobility of that wide, sensual mouth.

  He glanced at her. “If you want, we can roll up the windows and I’ll put the air-conditioning on. It’d help keep that floppy, pretty thing in your hair.”

  She felt as pleased as if he’d paid her an extravagant compliment. “No, it’s all right. I enjoy the fresh air.”

  “You look good in red. You should wear it more often.”

  I will, she almost said. And bit her tongue. And thanked him demurely. She was starting to get worried about how ridiculously uncontrolled her impulses had become regarding him. It was another thing to think about when she had time. She was normally such a levelheaded, calm person. Or was that because her life had been so predictable and ordered before now? Maybe she was more tempestuous than she realized. Certainly she felt more alive than she ever had.

  Chance laid a hand on her knee. “I meant to ask-how did work go yesterday? Did Dr. Pretense make a stink?”

  Dr…She started to laugh in surprise. “No, we pretty much avoided each other. It was uncomfortable, but not as bad as it could have been, I guess. It’s rather hard to tell how things will be in the long run.”

  “And it doesn’t exactly enhance a job you’re already uncertain about,” he added.

  “Well, no.” She sighed. “Still, I don’t have to think about that until three o’clock tomorrow.”

  “Let’s make a rule,” he suggested. “No talking about work at all tonight, starting now.”

  “At least not about my work.” She smiled. “I’d love to hear more about what you do, though. Cassie said that you were a war reporter.”

  They had reached the highway that led to the fair-grounds, where traffic was slow and heavy. He took his hand from her knee to downshift. “I wouldn’t call it that, a war reporter. I write a syndicated column on international affairs, and write about peacetime as much as I do war. It’s just that a lot of it involves military action. And a lot of travel, of course.”

  Mary hadn’t heard of him before, but she didn’t really keep up on whose name was on the bylines when she had time to read the paper. “Cassie worries about you. She said your family was hoping to convince you to settle down.”

  “Getting back in touch with family is why I’ve taken a nice, tame teaching job this summer. I may just hang around Cherry Bay until something else comes up.” He must have sensed her troubled reaction because he gave her a reassuring smile. “The university has offered me a permanent teaching position, so who knows? Maybe I’ll take it. I haven’t decided yet.”

  She stared out the window, her brows drawn together. Visiting family was a good temporary lure, but Cassie had said that he’d won awards for his work. He must be highly regarded and very dedicated to his job. And settling down was harder than it first seemed to someone who was used to life on the road. “You must keep a close eye on the news.” Did he ever see exciting things happen and wish he were there?

  He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “It’s what I know. Mostly I’m a teacher now, with nothing more serious on my mind than whether or not I want to try writing that book I always meant to write.”

  She dragged herself out of her preoccupation and asked, “What sort of a journalism class do you teach?”

  “It’s called Government-Press Relations. How to talk to generals, senators, ambassadors, receptionists—you know, annoy powerful people who really wish you’d just go away.” He grinned. “I’ve become very good at that.”

  She stared at the look of amused nostalgia on his face. Annoying powerful people, good grief! She drew a breath, again seeing the fascinating, alien species in him, and wondering how much they could really have in common. Mary didn’t like to annoy anybody if she could help it. “Have you been in any conflicts?” She winced again. He would have had to have been, wouldn’t he?

  “A few.” The grin was fading. “The military doesn’t like the press to get too close, and once we’ve ignored their advice
and come in anyway, we’re on our own. They don’t have time to baby-sit. Most people want to talk to the press, though. The really famous tragedies involving journalists, like hostage situations and executions, are pretty rare.” His mouth twisted wryly. “It’s not quite a walk in the park, but most of the time it’s just a job.”

  He made it sound so easy. She knew he had to be glossing over some things. Had he ever been wounded, maybe lost friends? He must have been friends with Cassie’s husband, who’d been in the military. When he’d driven her home the day they’d met, he’d said that he’d lost touch with his friends, and everybody he knew was a work contact. What an alienating job. And what if something blew up half a world away? Was he going to leave again?

  The words fell out of her mouth. “Have you ever been hurt?”

  He hesitated. “Once. Not badly.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was in Belfast. A car bomb went off and I caught some glass in my shoulder from a nearby window.”

  She stared out the window again and confessed, “It sounds terrifying.”

  His fingertips brushed her cheek, and she jerked in startlement, turning to face him. For a moment she saw him in an entirely different light—a hard-faced, enigmatic stranger with shielded eyes and impenetrable thoughts. Then he took off his sunglasses and crinkled his eyes at her, and her vision realigned itself until she was looking at Chance again.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said quietly. “And I don’t like that worried look on your face.”

  She smoothed her expression over quickly. “I’m not worried.”

  “Good, there’s no reason to be. I’m a teacher for now,” he said firmly. “And the only terror in that is what I inflict on my students, if they try to slide by without doing their work.”

  She chuckled. “Now that sounds terrifying.”

  “You better believe it. I’m their worst nightmare. There are rumors to that effect on campus, and trust me, all of those are true.”

  Mary knew from her student days that the university was one of the worst gossip mills in town. She could just imagine all the other rumors that would have circulated about such a good-looking, sexy, eligible man. The university was probably where all the gossip about him had started.

  The fair rides had been in sight over the tree line for several minutes now. They finally reached the turnoff where traffic controllers motioned for the cars to park in lines set up in nearby fields.

  Mary hopped to the ground and stretched while Chance came up beside her and took her hand. They went through the front entrance line, bought wrist-bands for unlimited rides, and paused just inside the gate.

  The fair was noisy, crowded, dirty and very colorful. Mary looked around excitedly. So much to do, so little time.

  Chance was watching her, the corners of his mouth quirking in amusement. So what; she didn’t care. She inhaled deeply of the delicious smells coming from the food booths.

  “Ladies’ choice. What do you want to do?” he asked. “Eat something, go on a few rides, try to win Timmy a stuffed tarantula? There’re the farm exhibits, too.”

  “I want to do everything, but could we eat first?” Hungrily she read the signs advertising shaved-steak sandwiches, Polish sausage, corn dogs, cotton candy, candied apples, lemonade…“I’m starving—I haven’t eaten since I got home this morning.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Somebody needs to feed you more regularly. Between work and sleep, you’re not getting your three squares a day.”

  She grinned at him self-consciously. “I have a high metabolism, too. I can keep up with Tim, and he’s fourteen.”

  He laughed. “I can believe it. Come on, let’s eat supper. Just don’t complain when we hit the roller coaster.”

  She trotted to keep up with him. “Did I mention a cast-iron stomach as well?”

  “Maybe I should worry about myself. It wouldn’t be too genteel to be sick all over your shoes, would it?”

  They bought Polish sausages on kaiser rolls, cheddar fries, candied apples and sodas, and went to sit at a nearby picnic table. While they ate the spicy meal, Mary was overly conscious of how his hard, denim-clad thigh pressed against hers, and how he turned to her when he spoke. He was finished before she was and propped one hand behind her on the picnic bench, leaning over her. He was making a cave of himself around her again, and she had no doubt that it was very deliberate. The teasing, flirting light from earlier that week was back in his eyes, and the constant awareness of him was a febrile tension that underscored everything she said or did.

  She finished her apple and licked her sticky fingers slowly, eyes sparkling. Was he trying to seduce her? And was he succeeding?

  I find you attractive, he said with every glance and brush of his body, with his instant responsiveness to her moods.

  And she found that she felt attractive in a way that Victor had never managed to make her feel. When she gestured as she talked, and every time she moved her body, she was aware of herself as a desirable young woman in the presence of an extremely sexy man. It was heady stuff, and it went to her head like an exotic wine.

  They walked through the farm exhibits next. Mary liked the horses best and so they lingered, petting the soft, inquiring noses of the curious ones. There was a small gray donkey in one stall with his nose in a far corner and his back to the passersby. His long ears were laid back against his head and he looked so disgusted, she had to laugh.

  “Poor fellow, it looks like he’s had enough and wants to go home.”

  Chance leaned one shoulder against a post and regarded the donkey. “Reminds me of a bad-tempered mule we had when I was a kid. He ate everything. Tennis balls, my mom’s sandal once, a piece of my father’s shirt whenever he could get his teeth into him. Everything except his feed, that is.” He pursed his lips. “I tried to ride him once. No uppity mule was going to get the better of me. I’ve still got the scars.”

  “Oh, no, what happened?” she said, chuckling.

  He shrugged. “We had a contest of wills, and the better man won. But then, I was only six.”

  She moved closer to him and leaned on the waist-high rail. “Did you live on a farm?”

  “Yes, until my father left.” His gaze went distant, as if he were seeing a different time and other things. “Mom tried to keep it going for a couple of months, but we had to leave.” He focused on her again. “My uncle owns it now. Maybe I’ll take you there sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” she said quietly. “What happened to your father?”

  “I don’t know.” The reply was terse, but after a moment he leaned his elbows on the rail beside her and continued, “We haven’t heard anything from him since he left when I was seven. He could be dead for all I know. Or married with another family, which would be strange—having brothers and sisters you’ve never met, I mean. Anyway, I didn’t miss out. We moved into town, and Mom met my stepfather, and he and I got to be close. It took some time. I guess I was pretty stubborn about it.”

  Blond hair dripping into sad eyes, wanting their father to come home to them. It wasn’t Chance’s children after all; it was him. She could just see him. Behind the sadness would have been a fiery independence, the iron conviction of never trusting like that again. Mary ached gently for the ghost of the little boy, and she put her hand on his back, rubbing softly.

  “Who wouldn’t be?” she murmured.

  He glanced at her ironically. “Yeah, but I was cutting off my own nose, you know? My stepdad’s the best thing that ever happened to us. He came after me every time I ran away, and only really raised his voice the time I stole Cassie and took her, too.”

  “Oh, my…” A hand crept to her mouth. “How old was she?”

  “She’d just turned four. I was eleven, and had just realized that I knew everything.” One corner of his mouth curled up. “It was all right—I thought. I mean, she’d wanted to come. I did ask her. As I recall, she’d gotten in trouble for something or other that day, I don’t remember what. Whate
ver it was, I’m sure she deserved it. Cassie was a hell-child, too. But at the time, we thought we’d go look for greener pastures. The police picked us up about two miles from home, which was just as well. The novelty had worn off for her by that point, and she had sat down at the side of the road and was refusing to walk any farther.”

  She could laugh, even if in horror; after all, the story had a good conclusion. “Your poor parents.”

  “Yeah, those were the good old days. It got worse.” He reached into the stall, picked up a piece of straw, and twirled it between his fingers. “My mom’s hair used to be as red as Cassie’s. Now it’s going white. I started aging her, and Cassie finished her off. And Dad never has lost that bewildered expression he had when I was a teenager.”

  She enjoyed the feel of his strong muscles under her fingertips, the graceful curve of his spine, the wide, rippling indentations under the green cloth as she worked over to one shoulder. She said uncertainly, “Surely you couldn’t have been that bad.”

  He snorted. “You think. I’ve been through a couple of wars that were easier than my teens. Well, nobody would want to live through their teenage years again, would they?”

  “I don’t know,” she mused, an edge of sadness shading her voice as she thought of her own high school years. In many ways it would be hard to relive them, but it had been a much simpler time—and her parents had been alive. “I could be tempted.”

  He turned, put an arm around her, and pulled her close against his side. “You really need to slow down, Mary. Enjoy things again. You don’t have to be a kid to do that. Just stop living up to everybody else’s expectations.”

  She cuddled into him and put her head on his shoulder. “Maybe. I am thinking about things. And I guess I don’t really want to be a teenager again. You talking about your parents just made me think of mine. I still miss them.”

  “Does Tim remember them?”

  “Not really. Just vague, blurred memories. I’ve told him a lot about them, though.” She tried to steer the conversation away from such unhappy reminiscences as she said, “Tim’s been fairly quiet so far, but in some ways he’s young for his age. I keep waiting for him to explode into the Great Rebellion. Maybe you could tell me what I should watch for.”