Aaron managed a chuckle as his mind ran through the calculations. If the Drummers had been married thirty-two years, the coach would have been with Aaron’s mother before he married Mary. But would he have married Mary, knowing another woman had brought his son into the world?
No. Not Wally Drummer. He would have made an honest woman out of Evie. Aaron was sure of it.
Of course, he’d been sure Julian Bennett had been his father, too. The fact was, Aaron wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“I think the problem is a loose connection,” Drummer continued, tugging on the cord. “If that’s all it is, sorry to say, I can fix it, and then there’ll be no escape from the daisy clock. What do you think?”
Aaron leaned toward the bench, wondering if Drummer was going to ask him to help. “I don’t know much about electronics,” he admitted. It occurred to him that repairing broken clocks was the sort of thing boys learned how to do by watching their fathers. Basic electronics, basic plumbing, basic carpentry—little boys were supposed to hang out with their dads at the tool bench in the basement, learning the skills necessary to keep a house and its contents in working order. Aaron had missed out on that. “Your daughter would probably be a better help to you when it comes to fixing things,” he added.
“Megan is good at this stuff,” Drummer confirmed. “She never took much to cooking, but she loved learning how things go together and how they come apart.” He stripped back the insulation from the cord, then loosened the screws that connected it to the motor. “Nowadays, of course, all the girls take shop and the boys take home-ec. If I recall, they don’t call it home-ec anymore.”
“Consumer studies,” Aaron supplied.
“That’s right. Consumer studies. Boys wouldn’t be willing to take it if it was still called home economics. Consumer studies and…what’s shop called?”
“Technology education.”
“That’s right. It’s a good idea, I think, everyone studying everything. Boys have to know how to cook and girls have to know how to fix broken clocks. Even if they’re ugly.” He pulled a new cord out of its packaging and separated the wires. “So what’s on your mind, Aaron?”
Aaron scrutinized Drummer’s hands as they manipulated the tools and probed the clock’s inner workings. His hands were large, like Aaron’s. A basketball player needed large hands. “Nothing,” he lied, shoving his own hands into the pockets of his shorts so he wouldn’t compare them with Drummer’s.
“You came over here for nothing?”
“Maybe I came so I could learn electronics from you.” Like a son from a father, he thought, then slammed that notion out of his brain with a silent curse.
Drummer glanced at him, smiling wryly. “I may be older, but I’m not that much slower. Now try telling me the truth.”
The truth? Aaron wasn’t sure Drummer was ready for that. He wasn’t sure he was ready. But he owed Drummer some sort of explanation. “I guess you could say I’m trying to find myself.”
Drummer looked at him again, this time a long, leisurely perusal. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”
“When I was the right age for finding myself, all I wanted to do was lose myself,” he reminded Drummer.
“Mm.” The coach focused back on the clock.
“Do you think you can find yourself in my basement?”
Maybe, Aaron thought, the possibility fisting around his soul and squeezing painfully. “I’m thirty-three years old, Coach, and I’m still not sure who I am.”
“I know who you are,” Drummer said. “You’re a smart man, a good man. A responsible man. A man I’d trust with my life. What more do you need to know?”
Aaron sighed. “I’ve just…been going over old times in my mind,” he said carefully, his voice steady even as his heart pumped like a jackhammer inside his rib cage. “I’m trying to figure out why my life went the way it did.” He drew in a deep breath, then pushed out the words. “Why did you save me, Coach? Why me?”
“Save you?” Drummer gave him yet another probing look, then shook his head. “I paid your bail. I didn’t save you.”
“The charges against me were ultimately dropped because of you.”
“Not because of me. Because of you. Because you kept your nose clean and didn’t get into any more trouble, and the judge decided to close that book.”
“My nose stayed clean because of you, Coach. You fed me that morning, and then you made me join the team…”
“I was desperate for a forward, one who could run fast. I’d seen you run. I thought the team would benefit from having you.”
“And I’d benefit from having the team.”
“That, too.”
“You could have chosen some other kid. Lots of kids ran fast.”
“But you had a fire in your eyes,” Drummer said, laying down his screwdriver and turning to meet Aaron’s gaze. “I didn’t want to see that fire burn out, Aaron. I believed in you. Rightly, it turned out. You were a boy who needed only one thing—someone to believe in you.”
“I needed a hell of a lot more than that, Coach,” Aaron argued with a laugh.
“Well, you got some of it from me and the rest came on its own. You grew up. You learned self-discipline. It took you a while to get the hang of schoolwork, but you managed to earn yourself a master’s degree, so I reckon you figured that out, too. What else did you need?”
Someone to teach him how to fix things. Someone to teach him about love, the kind of love that would drive a man to repair a tacky clock just to make his wife happy. The kind of love that didn’t scare a man half to death.
“You need a woman in your life,” Drummer guessed, answering his own question.
“I think I’ve got one.”
“Really?” Drummer broke into a smile. A paternal smile? Aaron wondered. “Who is she?”
“Lily Holden.”
“Julian Bennett’s daughter?” Drummer digested this, then gave a noncommittal nod. “I heard she was still recovering from her husband’s death.”
“She’s pretty much recovered,” Aaron said.
“I also heard she inherited a small fortune from her husband.”
Aaron shrugged. “I don’t know. We don’t discuss money.”
“She wouldn’t by any chance be the source of that out-of-the-blue funding you got for your program, would she?”
Aaron clenched his jaw to keep from blurting out the wrong reply. He didn’t want people to associate Lily’s generosity with the personal relationship blossoming between them. The two issues were separate. “As I said, she and I don’t discuss money,” he said.
Drummer eyed him skeptically, then got busy tightening the screws on the back of the clock. “She’s a nice girl, and awfully pretty,” he said. “Good family, too. You could do worse.”
Say something fatherly, Aaron silently pleaded. Say something that would confirm it for me. Drummer’s interest in Aaron’s private life seemed genuine, but Aaron couldn’t find in it the proof he needed. Only possibilities. Only maybes.
He wasn’t going to get proof from Drummer, not today. Not without building up enough courage to confront his old coach—his good friend—directly. And for that much courage, he’d probably need Lily by his side. “So, that’s how you keep a clock going,” he murmured as Drummer fastened the back panel into place.
Drummer shot him a grin. “It’s how you keep a marriage going,” he said.
LILY WAS IN HER STUDIO, seated on a cushion on the floor, a sketch pad propped on her knees and her fingers smudged black with charcoal, when the phone rang. The silky pink light of dusk filled her windows, and the familiar scent of the paint filled her lungs. She’d done several sketches, all of them Indiana landscapes. Her cornfield had been created in a fever of furious inspiration. But in general she preferred to plan her paintings before she applied brush to canvas.
She’d been working all afternoon, mapping out a set of images in her mind: the river, the trees bordering it. The limb from which she and the River
Rats used to jump into the water. The train tracks racing out of town, straight to the horizon. The grain elevator, towering over the edge of town like the last outpost before a frontier.
Riverbend. She wanted to paint her home.
But the rhythmic chirp of the phone told her it was time for a break.
She leaned back against the wall, reached for the cordless extension and pressed the connect button. “Hello?”
“Hi.” Aaron.
She smiled. He’d said he would call, and she trusted him, but still, one never knew about guys. But Aaron wasn’t just a guy. And last night had been, if anything, even more intense for him than for her. He had much more on his mind than just her. She would have forgiven him if he hadn’t called.
Or maybe she wouldn’t have forgiven him. Maybe she would have been crushed.
In any case, he’d phoned, and the sound of his voice warmed her. Her bare toes curled, her grip tightened on the handset and she closed her eyes, savoring a sweet, dark memory of the night they’d spent in each other’s arms.
“Hi,” she remembered to say.
“How are you?”
“Fine.” Wonderful. Magnificent. “How about you? How was your day?”
He laughed. “Interesting.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, I just got home, and there was this letter in my mailbox. From a lawyer.”
She opened her eyes and sat straighter. She reached for the glass of iced tea on the floor a few feet away, then realized her hand was stained with charcoal. She wiped her fingers on her jeans, leaving gray smudges on the denim, and lifted the glass. “A lawyer? Is someone suing you?”
“No. It seems Abraham Steele left me some money in his will.”
“Really? You, too?” Her smile returned and she sipped some iced tea. “I also got a letter. From Nick Harrison, right?”
“Same guy. Did Steele leave you money?”
She chuckled. Leaving her money would have been like bequeathing sand to the Sahara. “According to the letter, he left me some paintings. He liked to collect paintings by regional artists. I’ve seen most of the artwork he acquired over the years. There are a few really nice pieces among them. I’m supposed to go through them with Rachel and Ruth, choose four for myself and help them figure out what to do with the rest. Abraham seemed to think I was some kind of expert.”
“Well, he gave you your first box of watercolors.”
“Then it’s all his fault if I’m any kind of expert. Which I’m not.” A tear surprised her, seeping through her lashes and skimming down her cheek.
“It was so sweet of him to think I’d like some of his paintings. I know people thought he was gruff and domineering, but there was a kindness in him, a generosity.” She wiped her cheek, not caring if she left charcoal on her skin. “And to think he left you money, Aaron! That’s really amazing.”
“I’m guessing it’s for the basketball program.”
“Do you think so?”
“I think I told you—before he died, I went to see him, to try to wrangle a donation from him. He wasn’t a pushover like you,” Aaron teased. “But he said he was interested and he’d get back to me. He never did. I guess life got in the way. Or death.” Aaron paused. “I’m figuring maybe he made some arrangements to leave money for the program.”
“Is that what the letter from Harrison said?”
“No. It was kind of vague. It claimed there was a monetary bequest and I was supposed to go to this lawyer’s office as soon as possible so he could discuss the bequest with me in person.”
“Abraham really was generous,” Lily repeated.
“And he cared so much about Riverbend. It wouldn’t surprise me if he left money for a town program like yours. When are you going to see the lawyer?”
“Tomorrow afternoon after work, if I can. I’ve got to call his office and see if he can squeeze me in.”
“That’s wonderful, Aaron. I hope it’s a lot of money so you can make the program everything you want it to be.”
“I’m sure he didn’t leave me that much money.” She could picture Aaron shrugging modestly. She could picture his multicolored eyes, his lean body, his thick straight hair. She could picture his chest, and for a steamy moment she considered painting a portrait of him. Nude. She wondered if he would be willing to pose for her.
If he did, she doubted she’d get much painting done. If she had Aaron naked before her, painting was the last thing she’d want to be doing.
Her yearning surprised her. All day, even as she worked, as she downed half a sandwich, as she drove out to the grain elevator and studied the way the noon light played across its curved surface, a part of her had remained with Aaron. More than a memory, it was a physical sensation, a visceral ache. She had never had such a strong craving for a man before. Before things had gone so terribly wrong in her marriage, she’d enjoyed making love with Tyler—but not like this. Not with a need that pulsed so urgently inside her, so constantly.
“This is stupid,” Aaron said, breaking into her thoughts.
She felt a flush of embarrassment at how far her mind had strayed. “What?” She tried to steer her mind back to what they’d been talking about: Aaron’s basketball program, Abraham Steele’s will—nice, tame subjects.
“Why don’t I swing by the Burger Barn and pick up some burgers, and then come to your place.”
“I thought you needed time to think,” she reminded him when all she wanted to do was scream, Yes! Come!
“I do. But…” He sighed. “The only thing I’m able to think about is you. How much I want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you, too.” Her heart danced, a lively tempo.
“What do you like on your burger?”
“Everything. And, Aaron?”
“Yeah?”
“Bring an overnight bag.”
He didn’t answer, but she could picture his smile.
WHEN HE ARRIVED at Lily’s house, she was fresh out of the shower, her hair still damp and smelling of herbal shampoo, her body wrapped in a silk caftan with a zipper running down the front. All through dinner, as they talked about Mitch’s son Sam and Lily’s ideas for paintings, he contemplated that zipper, how easy it would be to slide it down, what a fine accomplishment it would be for him if he did. Lust layered every moment in expectation.
“This town needs more art in it,” she said after daintily licking ketchup from her fingers. “The library ought to display the work of local artists. Or…You know the front area at the bookstore? Kate could hang paintings there. She could use the space as a gallery for local artists. Not me, but others, like the artists whose paintings Abraham was always buying. What do you think?”
He thought her idea was great. He also thought that if he didn’t get his hands on that zipper soon, he’d go mad.
Within minutes of depositing the wrappers from their burgers and the empty cardboard boats from their French fries into the trash, he got his hands on the zipper. And he happily stopped thinking about the letter he’d received from Nicholas Harrison, Attorney at Law, and his visit with Wally Drummer, and everything else that was going on in his life. Everything but Lily.
Her bed was bigger than his, but its width didn’t keep them from crowding together at the center. He was exhausted after having gotten so little sleep the night before, but that didn’t stop him from waking up several times during the night and brushing his lips against her shoulder, reaching around to caress her breast, luring her awake and making love to her.
He wasn’t a kid; he ought to have some self-control. But with Lily, self-control vanished. It simply wasn’t there. He wanted her, and having her only made him want her more.
“I’ll prepare a nice dinner tonight,” she told him when he reluctantly staggered out of bed at seven-thirty the next morning. “And then it’s the weekend. We can sleep late on Saturday.”
“Thank God,” he groaned, although he was smiling.
“Unless you want to have some time alone
to think tonight.” Her grin was teasing.
“I’d just as soon skip thinking,” he told her.
“Then I’ll fix that nice dinner. I know you haven’t seen any evidence of it yet, but I do know how to cook. You’d be amazed at what I can do with boneless chicken breasts.”
His gaze strayed to her breasts and he steeled himself against the yearning to climb back into bed with her. “Okay,” he murmured. “Amaze me.”
She didn’t have to cook a chicken dinner to amaze him, he acknowledged as he headed off to the high school an hour later, freshly showered and fueled by a couple of bowls of cereal with skim milk—the woman was going to have to invest in some real milk if she wanted him to eat breakfast at her house. He would pick up a quart of whole milk himself on his way to her house that evening. And a bottle of wine. Maybe some flowers. The flowers in her yard were all in bloom, but the roses growing in her backyard were yellow. She needed red roses, long-stemmed beauties. He’d buy some for her.
His overnight bag contained not just his toiletries but a pair of khakis and a clean shirt, in case he could make arrangements to visit the lawyer that afternoon. He was mystified as to why Steele mentioned him in his will; surely the old man could have made arrangements for a donation to the summer program through his bank, if that had been his intention. Then again, maybe he had made arrangements through his bank, and Aaron was going to have to meet with bank officers, as well as the lawyer, so the money could be transferred properly into the program’s account.
Lily was right. Despite his crusty demeanor, Steele had been a generous fellow. Aaron had been sure the man would come through with money for the program—and apparently death hadn’t prevented him from doing that, after all.
Aaron telephoned Harrison’s office while the kids were in the pool. “Three-forty-five would be fine,” the secretary told him. “You can meet with Mr. Harrison then.”
Great. Aaron would visit the lawyer, then cruise down Main Street and do his shopping—whole milk, wine, roses—and then he’d spend the night with Lily. And in the morning…God, yes. In the morning they would sleep late. He would doze in Lily’s arms until noon, and then wake up and make love with her. His definition of bliss.
Birthright Page 21
