That Carolina Summer (North Carolina)

by Janet Dailey

  She bounded out of the chair, mindless of her aching heel, and rushed over with one shoe off and one shoe on to hug her sister. “If it hadn't been for you, I might not have thought of it. Thanks!"

  “How does that help?” Marsha didn't understand and frowned at Annette as she hobbled away from her. “You can't spend all your time hanging around the tennis courts waiting for him to show up."

  Midway to the bathroom and its shower, Annette halted to explain, “That's the best part. I don't have to hang around the tennis courts. Anybody who wants to play has to reserve the use of the court. All I have to do is get a peek at the reservation list and I'll know the exact day and time Josh will be there."

  It sounded simple, but Marsha knew better. “And just how do you intend to get a look at that reservation list?"

  “If you get dressed while I shower, you can come with me and I'll show you,” Annette declared on an infectious note of confidence.

  Marsha was half-convinced that her older sister was a bulldozer made out of velvet. Somehow Annette managed to push obstacles aside as if they didn't exist. For the past ten minutes she had been talking to the tennis pro on duty about the selection of times the courts were available in the next few days—talking and joking with him as if they were old friends, that is.

  When the phone in the tennis shop rang, Annette casually turned the reservation book around so she could read it, and smiled at the pro. “Go ahead and answer that. I'll look over these free times and decide which one we want to reserve."

  He agreed without any hesitation and moved to the end of the counter to pick up the phone. Annette slid a twinkling glance of triumph at Marsha and began looking over the list. Josh Lord's name practically leaped off the page across from the five o'clock slot the next afternoon.

  When Marsha noticed that the court next to the one Josh had reserved wasn't booked, she murmured in a low undertone, “You lead a charmed life, Annette."

  “I do, don't I?” Annette admitted that luck played an important role on this occasion. The subject was shelved as the tennis pro hung up the phone and came back. “Mark me down for tomorrow afternoon at four-thirty.” She gave him her name and room number. “And we'll need to rent some tennis balls and rackets."

  “Sure thing,” he nodded. “Any preference in equipment?"

  “No.” Annette shook her head with indifference. “Whatever you have on hand is fine. Marsha and I aren't particular.” She pushed away from the counter to leave while Marsha stared at her in openmouthed astonishment. “See you tomorrow."

  They were outside on the sidewalk before Marsha recovered her voice. “When did I say anything about playing tennis?"

  “I took it for granted that you would,” Annette admitted, a little startled that her sister appeared unwilling. “It's a trifle difficult to play tennis by yourself. What did you think I was going to do?"

  “I thought you were just going to find out when Josh was going to be there, then drop by,” she replied.

  “What would I do? Watch him play?” Annette scoffed. “That's a bit obvious, Marsha. If I'm playing tennis I have a reason to be there—and he can't be sure I'm only there to see him."

  “But I told you I didn't want to get involved in any of your schemes,” Marsha reminded her.

  “All you're going to do is play tennis, for heaven's sake!” she declared in mild exasperation, shaking her head.

  “But I know the way you work,” Marsha countered. “It all starts out so innocent. You involve people on the very edges of your plans—and before they know it they're in over their heads."

  “You're exaggerating, Marsha,” she dismissed the statement.

  “No, I'm not,” her sister replied with the certainty that came from past experience. “Even if Joshua Lord notices you tomorrow, I don't see what good it's going to do you. He thinks you're seventeen. He isn't going to take you seriously until he finds out you're older. You really should tell him before it goes any further."

  Annette stopped, striving for patience. “And just what am I supposed to do? Should I walk up to him and whip out my driver's license, birth certificate and passport, then say, ‘Look, Josh, I'll be twenty in four more days'?"

  “How will you tell him?” Marsha asked, since that was obviously not her sister's choice.

  “I'm not sure yet,” she admitted. “At the moment, being seventeen in his eyes is an advantage."

  Marsha frowned. “I missed something. How is it an advantage?"

  “I wouldn't even want to try to guess how many twenty-year-old girls he's dated in his lifetime, but how often do you think he's been attracted to a supposedly seventeen-year-old girl? Right now I stand out in a crowd. I'm not just another blonde in his life,” Annette explained.

  “I hadn't thought of it that way,” her sister admitted.

  “I have.” Annette started walking again. She was wearing backless sandals so she wouldn't aggravate the blistered sore on her right heel. “And that's the reason I don't mind being seventeen for a while longer.” She paused, then said, “Since I failed to ask you earlier, will you play tennis with me tomorrow?"

  Marsha glanced at her and smiled ruefully. “I don't know why you bothered to ask. You know I will—although I probably need my head examined for agreeing."

  THE HOURS Annette had spent at the swimming pool had tanned her skin a rich golden color and added a few platinum streaks to her hair. The result was a perfect foil for her short white tennis outfit with its black trim. Annette had deliberately booked the adjacent court a half hour earlier than Josh, so she would be there playing when he arrived. Her side of the net allowed her to face the direction that he would come.

  As the time grew closer for Josh to arrive, she started getting nervous, wondering if he'd canceled or changed the hour. She nearly missed the easy lob from Marsha and tried to bring her attention back to the uneven game. They were in the middle of a set when Annette saw Josh approaching the court, accompanied by one of the hotel's tennis pros. Her heart did a little tumble at the sight of him in white tennis shorts and a knit shirt stretched tautly across his chest. The sun glinted copper bright on his dark hair.

  A faintly bemused smile played at the corners of his hard mouth when Josh recognized her. Annette smashed Marsha's lob to the opposite corner, scoring an easy point.

  “That's game!” she declared, even though it wasn't, and trotted around the net to take a break and change sides.

  “Are you sure?” Marsha frowned, standing flat-footed at the baseline. “I thought it—"

  “That's game,” Annette repeated, and quelled her sister's protest with a silencing look. Marsha glanced around, noting Josh's arrival for the first time.

  “I guess you're right.” She understood the reason for Annette's unusual scoring and didn't dispute the claim.

  Annette walked to the corner near the high fence of green mesh and picked up the towel she'd left with her things. She pretended to wipe away nonexistent perspiration from her face and neck as Josh, in the next court, unzipped the case protecting his racket. Tension licked along her nerve ends while she waited for him to glance her way. When he did turn his dark gaze toward her, the chiseled planes of his face seemed to fill her vision to the exclusion of anything else.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” She feigned a mild surprise to see him.

  “I have the strange feeling that you're following me,” Josh remarked with an astutely sweeping glance. “I wonder why that is?"

  “I was just going to accuse you of following me,” Annette countered with a husky laugh. “I was here first."

  “Appearances can be deceiving.” He wasn't convinced.

  Annette decided that the best way to allay his suspicions was to confront them. “I'm not about to deny that I think you're a very attractive man.” The way he was affecting her practically made it an understatement. Her stomach was all tied in knots and it felt as if her heart were in her throat. “But I guess I'm a little old-fashioned."

  “Oh?” The rais
ed eyebrow asked for an explanation of that comment.

  “Yes. You see, I prefer a man to do the chasing.” Annette's smoke-colored eyes looked at him with absolute innocence as she turned away while she was still in possession of the last word. She walked back to her court and called across the net to Marsha. “Are you ready?” At the affirmative nod from her sister, she batted the ball to her. “It's your service."

  Annette had a difficult time concentrating on her game. She was more interested in the tennis match being played on the adjacent court. Marsha was an adequate player, but she wasn't a challenging opponent. And Josh was a powerful distraction.

  The match ended with Annette the easy winner. She would have liked to stay and watch Josh, but as she had pointed out to Marsha yesterday, it was simply too obvious. Plus, she was plagued by the knowledge this hadn't been a very successful meeting. As she and Marsha gathered their things to leave, Annette tried to think of a way to salvage something from this missed opportunity.

  Her glance lighted on Marsha's tennis sweater, a twin to her own except that hers was trimmed in black and Marsha's had navy blue braid. She froze for an instant as an idea formed.

  “Marsha, is your room key in your sweater pocket?” Annette asked with an eager rush.

  “Yes. Why?” Marsha was absently curious. “Did you forget yours?"

  “No, I have mine,” Annette assured her. “As we leave the courts I want you to accidentally drop your sweater. You can't know that you dropped it."

  “Then why am I doing it?” Marsha frowned.

  “Because I want you to leave it behind—with the key in it—so Josh can find it when he leaves, and return it,” Annette explained.

  “You can't be serious.” Marsha stared at her, fully aware that Annette was perfectly serious. “I came along with you this afternoon just to play tennis. You didn't say anything about losing my sweater."

  “Marsha, you aren't losing it. You're just going to accidentally leave it behind. And if you're going to argue, will you please smile?” she urged. “I don't want Josh to think we're up to something."

  “No,” Marsha agreed with a wide and faintly sarcastic smile. “We mustn't let Josh know that we're plotting against him. If you want to leave a sweater behind for him to find, drop your own—and leave me out of it."

  “Marsha, I can't. It would be too obvious if I left mine,” Annette reasoned with forced calm. “It has to be yours so he won't get suspicious."

  “And what happens if he doesn't see it? Or someone else sees it and steals it?” Marsha retorted. “Then I'm out a sweater."

  “I'll buy you another one,” Annette offered. “Will you do it?"

  “Give me one good reason why I should,” she challenged.

  “Because you're my sister,” Annette replied. “And I've helped you out of trouble a lot of times."

  “You've also got me into it a lot of times,” Marsha reminded her, then sighed. She wasn't even sure why she was resisting. She always gave in to Annette's mad plans, however reluctantly. “Okay, I'll do it,” she agreed, and added the warning, “But if I don't get my sweater back you're buying me a whole new tennis outfit, not just a sweater."

  “That's a deal.” Annette beamed her agreement to the terms, her gray eyes sparkling like burnished silver. “Let's go."

  As they walked to the gate in the fence, she glanced at Josh. She was warmed by the discovery that he was watching her. It took all her control not to break into a smile. Instead, she lifted her head in an absent wave.

  Josh acknowledged the salute with a nod of his head. When they started down the walk, Annette murmured instructions to her sister. “Let the sweater slide off your fingers while you pretend to be talking to me."

  “What am I supposed to talk to you about?” Marsha asked anxiously. She had never been any good at subterfuge or deception.

  “It doesn't matter.” Annette tried not to let her exasperation creep out. “Just talk to me about what you can't think to talk about."

  “I think I'm going, to regret this,” she murmured as she nervously tried to let go of the sweater so it could slide casually to the ground. “As a matter of fact, I know I am. I don't know how you always manage to talk me into these things. You'd think by now I'd have better sense, wouldn't you?"

  The sweater was lying in the middle of the sidewalk. No one had called their attention to it, and Annette breathed easier now that the mission was accomplished.

  “You don't have anything to worry about,” she soothed her sister's rattled nerves.

  “What happens when he returns it? If he returns it?” Marsha questioned.

  “I'll handle it,” Annette promised. “You're going to be in the shower. I'll thank him for you, so there won't be any reason for you to even speak to him.” She was well aware that one look at Marsha's guilty face and Josh would know it was a put-up job. He was going to guess it anyway, but she was going to see to it that he had plenty of reason to doubt his conclusion.

  She glanced over her shoulder. They were already out of sight of the tennis courts. “Let's hurry,” she urged her sister, and quickened her pace to a running walk.

  “Why?"

  “Because I want to be out of the shower before Josh comes,” Annette answered, and broke into a run.

  HER HANDS WERE TREMBLING as she twisted her hair into a demure knot on top of her head. Annette was certain she hadn't been this nervous on her first date. She had butterflies in her stomach and her knees were shaking. She secured her hair with a bobby pin and stepped back to view her overall reflection in the mirror.

  “How do I look?” she asked Marsha, nervously moistening her dry lips.

  The culotte-styled lounging robe was made out of dotted swiss fabric in a cool lime green. Its vee neckline had a single row of stand-up ruffles, which accented the slender curve of her neck. A white cinch belt nipped around her slender waist. With her blond hair swept atop her head in the little-girl knot and the clearness of her round gray eyes, she looked the picture of innocence.

  “Like an angel,” Marsha admitted in all truth.

  Annette jumped when she heard the knock on the door. She breathed in deeply and looked at her sister for the reassurance of her moral support. “Go get in the shower,” she ordered quickly. “And don't come out until I call you."

  “Don't worry. I won't,” Marsha promised, and scurried off to the bathroom.

  Annette's legs felt like rubber as she walked to the door. The security chain was on it and she left it in place, opening the door a crack to peer outside. Josh had an arm braced against the door frame, still in his tennis clothes. His dark eyes gleamed with a mocking smile, but the line of his mouth was straight.

  “Hello.” Annette tried to sound surprised to see him, but her voice wasn't behaving very well.

  “Hello,” he returned the greeting in his well-modulated voice. He didn't alter his casually relaxed stance, silently waiting for her to open the door.

  “Just a minute.” She closed it to unhook the safety chain, then opened it.

  Her heart was beating a rapid tattoo against her ribs as she moved into the opening, blocked from stepping too far outside by his masculine bulk. The dark mahogany of his hair was attractively rumpled, its thickness inviting a smoothing hand. His gaze roamed leisurely over her, taking in every facet of her appearance and making it even more difficult for her to breathe normally.

  “You need a sprig of lilies of the valley,” Josh stated dryly.

  “Oh?” Annette wondered if she sounded as disturbed as she felt.

  “Yes. To go with those big gray eyes and that button nose,” he explained. “With your hair like that, you look like a little girl on her way to Sunday School.” His tone seemed to deride her youthfulness.

  “I just got out of the shower.” Annette touched a hand to her hair, wishing for a brief instant that she looked older. The thought was banished when she caught the glimpse of something smoldering in his eyes, especially when their glance swept over her as if probing
beneath the robe to discover what she had on underneath.

  “Yes, I noticed how fresh and clean you smell.” Josh didn't appear too happy about making the admission, Annette noticed.

  She was very conscious of his unique scent drifting about her, so male and stimulating to her senses. Her glance strayed to the breadth of his chest, the knit shirt clinging to its sinewy wall and stretching across the bunched muscles of his shoulders. The arm braced against the door frame was very near to her. She could see the sun-bleached hairs on his arm and wondered if they would be as silky to the touch as they looked. She shifted her gaze to his strong male features, but that didn't ease the turmoil his nearness aroused within her.

  “Did you want something?” Annette asked in a surprisingly steady voice. His glance fell to her lips, and her heart stopped beating for a full second. Then his mouth tightened and the moment passed.

  “You left this by the tennis courts.” He lifted his other hand to show her the sweater and the room key between his fingers.

  “I did?” She took it from him, her fingers tingling when they brushed against him.

  “I admit it's a bit more subtle than a dropped handkerchief,” Josh mocked the ploy to get him there. “A new twist on an old trick."

  Annette pretended to examine the sweater. “Except that I didn't drop it,” she replied. “This belongs to my sister, Marsha.” She showed him the label inside the collar and the initial M stamped on the tag. “She must have left it."

  When she lifted her gaze she saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Her plan was working. Josh couldn't be sure the sweater had been left deliberately.

  “It's lucky you returned it. Marsha is in the shower,” Annette explained, drawing his attention to the sound of running water coming from inside the hotel room, “or she'd thank you herself. She didn't even miss it."

  “Then it isn't yours?” Josh was still skeptical.

  “It looks a lot like mine,” she admitted. “That's why I was confused when you first handed it to me. But mine has black trim to go with my tennis outfit. This is navy blue, so it's easy to mistake them."