"It doesn't matter!"
"Oh, yes, it does! It does when you use your memories of this guy to refuse to have anything to do with me."
Andrea hadn't realized it, but they had both leaned against the desktop until their faces were only inches apart, their gazes glaring.
She straightened, crossed her arms and took a deep breath.
"Robert was my father," she said matter-of-factly. "And he treated me the same way you've treated Denise. He flitted in and out of my life. Home long enough to decide what friends I should have, what schools I should attend, but never long enough to see if I was happy or if any of his plans came to fruition. And nothing, absolutely nothing, stood in the way of his never-ending search for fame and fortune, which came in the guise of that one grand-but-always-elusive business deal."
She saw Ian frown and her voice fell into a flat monotone as she continued, "And you, Ian Powers, are just like him. You can say you love your family all you want, you can make them all kinds of promises, promises you think you'll keep, but when that phone rings and that irresistible transaction is dangled in front of your face, you're going to be out of here. History. On the next plane to Seattle or Hong Kong or wherever."
Ian's frown deepened and he slowly nodded his head. "You've summed me up quite well, haven't you?" Then he added, "Especially for only having spent a total of twenty minutes with me yesterday."
"I think I have."
"Since you have me summed up so neat and tidy, I guess I'd be wasting my breath telling you that you're wrong. Granted, you did point out some weaknesses in my relationship with Denise. And I'm taking steps to correct them. I've arranged my schedule so that I can—"
"Look," Andrea interrupted, "nothing you can say is going to make me change my mind. I don't believe you could commit yourself to train for that run. And, even if you could, there's not enough time. Normal training for a half marathon would take six months, maybe longer. The Wilmington Challenge is in four. You'd need a tremendous amount of determination to train for a half marathon in that short a period of time."
"This is important to me," he stressed. "I can do this...."
But his voice died when he saw the clear finality in the quick shake of her head.
A knock on the door made them both turn toward it. Without waiting for a summons, Mr. Scott poked his head into the office.
"Miss O'Connor, do you realize that there are unsupervised teens out on the track?"
"Yes, and I'm on my way," she said.
"It is not your job to be on your way," Mr. Scott pompously pointed out. "It's your job to be out there."
Andrea snatched up her clipboard and stopwatch. "I understand that, and I'm—"
"This is my fault," Ian said, pulling the door open wide so the principal could see him.
"Well, Mr. Powers, hello." Mr. Scott's tone changed so abruptly, Andrea rolled her eyes heavenward. "If you were having a problem," he said, "you should have come directly to me."
"As a matter of fact, I would like to speak to you if you have a moment." Ian stepped out into the hall, guiding Mr. Scott along with him. He closed the door, leaving Andrea alone in her office without so much as a farewell.
On her way out to the track, Andrea sucked air into her lungs and exhaled with force. "Ian Powers," she muttered, "you are bound and determined to get me fired."
Later that same evening, Andrea stood in front of her closet, so angry she could barely breathe. She kicked off her royal-blue pumps and reached down to snatch them up.
"The man is infuriating!" She flung one shoe into the bottom of the closet, where it collided with several other neatly ordered pairs. The other shoe followed, its impact scattering shoes everywhere.
Gunther whimpered, and tucking his tail between his legs, slunk out of the bedroom.
"How could that man think he could force me to do this?" Reaching around behind her, she struggled with the zipper of her yellow-and-blue striped shirt dress. "I won't do it! Ohhhh," she moaned when the zipper became stuck. "Damn you, Ian Powers!"
She yanked hard and was rewarded with the sound of ripping material. "Damn! Now look what he's made me do."
She pulled the dress off and sat on the edge of the bed to examine the small tear in the brightly colored fabric. Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and let the aggravating scene play through her head. Mr. Scott might have been the one doing the urging, but Andrea knew without a doubt that Ian Powers was the instigator.
Having showered and changed after track practice, Andrea had stayed at school to grade several sets of written tests. Mr. Scott's visit to her office had surprised her; he usually summoned teachers to his private domain if he wished to speak to them.
"I think I've found a way to provide that new track equipment you've been wanting," Mr. Scott had said.
"You have?" Andrea had been stunned. But, looking back on it, she should have been suspicious at the offer. Mr. Scott had never been a willing participant in a discussion about the much-needed equipment.
Andrea had dropped her red pen on top of the pile of test papers, her eyes narrowing. "You're not going to suggest that the kids raise that kind of money on their own, are you?"
"No. No, nothing like that," he'd assured. "This is a great idea. And not much work for you, either."
Andrea had looked at him, unable to restrain the dubious expression that crossed her face. Watching the principal strut toward her desk, she'd thought that all he needed to do was tuck his thumbs behind his polka-dot suspenders to complete the look of utter pomposity.
"I do have to admit that I didn't come up with the idea all on my own. As you know, Ian Powers asked to speak with me this afternoon. Well, Ian—" Mr. Scott had looked down his nose at Andrea "—he invited me to call him Ian. Well, he told me he'd like to make a gift to the school. Something that the physical-education department might need."
Andrea had known immediately where the conversation was leading. She'd felt her shoulder muscles tighten and she'd pressed her lips together as the first stirrings of anger had surged through her.
"I told Ian of your desire to have some new equipment," Mr. Scott had continued, "but there's one little catch."
"Oh?" She'd raised one eyebrow, the only indication of her fury.
"Yes." Mr. Scott had looked uneasy, then he'd cleared his throat. "He would like to take just a little of your time to train for some race he wants to compete in."
She should have known! Ian Powers had once again gone over her head to get what he wanted. Andrea had become uncontrollably livid. She'd stood so quickly that her chair had tipped backward and rammed against the wall.
"Did he happen to mention that I already refused to train him?" She'd stared, unperturbed, at Mr. Scott's astonishment.
"Umm...w-well..." he'd stammered.
"I told him that there wasn't enough time—"
"He told me," Mr. Scott broke in, "that you were being unreasonable. He told me you were angry that he'd tried to force you to put Denise back on the track team."
Andrea had glared at him. "No matter how generous Ian's offer is, it couldn't possibly cover the cost of the equipment I need."
"It's a very generous offer," Mr. Scott had informed her.
She'd ground her teeth and inhaled slowly, trying to regain her control.
"Look," the principal had said, his voice taking on an irritating quality of appeasement, "if you'll take the initiative to raise some of the needed funds on your own, then I'll see if I can get the school board to allocate your department something from the budget."
But when he'd witnessed the stubborn set of her jaw, Mr. Scott had raised his mulish chin to regal heights and stared down his nose at her. "You know that this school has been in need of new equipment for some time now," he'd stated, daring her to dispute. "And the means to get it is within your grasp. Ian Powers isn't asking for anything more than your time and expertise. I'm sure that you'll agree that it's your duty to this school and to your students to overcome any petty grudge
you might be holding against this fine man. It's in your students' best interest that you do."
He'd then stomped out the door, leaving Andrea fuming.
Gunther's whine from somewhere beyond her bedroom brought her back to the present. Andrea threw the torn dress on the bed and called the dog to her.
"I'm sorry I scared you," she crooned, smoothing the shepherd's soft brown coat. "It's just that I'm so mad at that man. He's infuriating!"
Gunther barked.
"I'm glad you agree." She smiled and patted his head. "What say we go out for a run? Maybe that will take my mind off all this."
Gunther barked twice in quick succession and ran for the door.
"Well, wait a minute, you big lug." Andrea laughed at the dog's exuberance. "I need to change. I can't run around town in my slip!"
~ ~ ~
The Wilmington skyline was silhouetted by a rosy haze as dusk enveloped the city. The evening breeze cooled Andrea's damp skin, and a quiet euphoria calmed her spirit. With Gunther close at her heels, she barely felt the pavement under her feet. She breathed deep and even, letting the sensation of "runner's high" wash over her.
All of the day's stress completely disappeared; her troubling thoughts melted away. Even though every muscle in her body was working to the limit, Andrea experienced a keen sense of relaxation. This was why she ran—this feeling of nirvana that few people ever experienced.
Turning onto Delaware Avenue, Andrea glanced at her watch and was surprised to see she'd been out for more than ninety minutes. She broke her stride to reach down and ruffle Gunther's fur.
"One more block, fella, and then we'll head for home."
They crossed the street and Andrea stopped short. Halfway up the block she saw Ian helping a statuesque brunette out of a car. The couple stood for a moment of conversation, and Andrea saw Ian's face light with laughter. All that could be seen of his date were voluptuous curves and a cascade of dark hair, but Andrea knew by the admiration she read on Ian's face that the woman must be beautiful.
Andrea watched them enter a restaurant and suddenly all the tension and irritation that she'd worked so hard to exorcise from her mind came flooding back to knot in her chest. She trotted on, passing the doors through which Ian and his date had disappeared.
"Who does he think he is?" she muttered. He was so damned smug. He knew she couldn't refuse to help him train if he offered the school that equipment. He was forcing her to help him.
When she reached the end of the block, she didn't turn toward home as she had promised Gunther. Instead, she turned right. And at the next corner she turned right again, circling the block of the restaurant where Ian was dining.
"I won't do it!" she said aloud. A man standing at the bus stop cast her a sidelong glance and she felt her cheeks flush.
But reality focused slowly, becoming crisper, more clear with each bouncing step. Her students needed that equipment. The equipment they had been forced to use was plain worn out, and Mr. Scott had no intention of purchasing new equipment. He'd stated that over and over.
She circled the block again. Damn it! She had to get that equipment for her students, her kids. And it looked as though training Ian Powers for the half marathon was the only way she was going to get it.
So, she decided, you have to give in. Her ire raged inside her. But there was nothing that said she had to give in graciously! The thought made her smirk.
She picked up her pace, racing around the corner and up the steps to the entrance to the restaurant.
"Sit. Stay," she ordered Gunther over her shoulder. The shepherd sat back on his haunches and watched his mistress enter the building.
Andrea brushed past the protesting maître d' and stopped inside the crowded room only long enough to scan the throng of people. Spotting Ian immediately, she marched toward the table where he sat with the gorgeous, raven-haired woman.
"So," Andrea announced, "you've gone over my head once again."
Ian jerked around to face her.
"Andrea!"
The astonishment contorting his features generated an immense satisfaction in Andrea.
She raised her eyebrows mockingly. "Don't twist my arm too far, though. It might break."
Ian bent to whisper something in his date's ear. Andrea's eyes traveled over the woman's cover-girl face, contoured cheeks, lushly mascaraed lashes, creamy red lips and she realized for the first time what she must look like—wilted running clothes, flat, damp hair, and lots of sweat-soaked skin.
Ian stood. "Let's go to the lobby and talk about this. It's really not like you think."
His placating tone and barely concealed smile struck a match to her embers of anger. Was he laughing at her?
"It's exactly like I think. And we don't need to go anywhere."
A number of patrons stopped eating and watched the scene with interest.
"Sir, should I escort the lady out?" The maître d' had come up behind Andrea.
"I'll handle it," Ian said over her shoulder.
Andrea pointedly ignored everyone but Ian.
"You want a coach, you've got a coach." She plucked the forgotten highball glass out of his hand. "But no more alcohol." She snatched up the pack of cigarettes sitting on the table and crumpled it in her fist before sticking it, open end first, into the glass. "And no more smoking. If you want to run, you’ve got to be able to breathe." Then she picked up the small plate of fancy puff pastry canapés that had been sitting on the table, the luscious scent of bacon and chives wafting past her nose. "And no more junk food." She tipped the plate into the amber liquid in the glass. One of the appetizers plunked into the liquor while the other two bounced off the cigarette pack onto the tablecloth. "Order lean protein. Grilled. And plenty of fresh vegetables. No dessert." The glass and the empty plate thumped against the table when she set them down. "I'll see you at the school in the morning. Six o'clock. Sharp."
Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the dining room and through the lobby.
"Andrea, wait," Ian called.
She stopped at the glass doors and swung around to face him.
"You told me I'd need a tremendous amount of determination to do this," he said when he reached her. "I think I have what it takes."
Cocking her head dubiously, she placed her hand on her hip. "Well, we'll certainly see, won't we?"
"Come on, now. Don't be angry."
He didn't seem the least bit perturbed that she'd ruined his cocktail, his cigarettes and his first course.
"How can you expect me not to be?" she asked, irritated with herself that she couldn't get a handle on her own emotions. "You barge into my life and—"
"I know, I know." He took another step toward her, his gaze softening. "In spite of the situation, I do appreciate what you're doing."
She just looked at him for a long moment as she continued to stew. Then her lips curved into a slow, wicked grin. "Let's see if you can still say that after tomorrow's workout."
He came closer. "Ooo," he whispered, "that sounds downright ominous."
Andrea watched him reach out and then felt his fingers slide along her jaw, his skin cool and smooth on hers.
Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back. "Take your hands off me or be prepared to experience an enormous amount of pain." She glared at him for a split second before turning and racing down the steps to the street. "Be on time," she ordered over her shoulder.
She whistled to Gunther, and the two of them ran off down the block.
"Hey!" Ian had stepped out the door to call after her. "You know what they say, no pain, no gain."
Chapter Four
How could she possibly have agreed to this? That question had rolled around in Andrea's brain all night. And it had been a night filled with restless dreams, dreams in which she found herself running from a looming, relentless shadow.
She leaned against the fence surrounding the school's track, slowly stretching her calf muscles, relishing the breeze that ruffled through her hair. The cool mo
rning air helped to clear her mind.
Shaking her head, she wondered, yet again, how she had let herself be bullied into training Ian Powers to compete in the Wilmington Challenge.
He's a pushy, overbearing brute, she thought. He's the type of man she had purposefully stayed away from, the type of man who had a tendency to tell her when and where she would be doing what, with whom and how. Ian infuriated her. Each time she came into contact with him, she became angry.
Remembering their first meeting, Andrea closed her eyes and once again felt the energy that had passed between them as they stood there in the hallway. It was strong and vibrant, as though it had a life of its own. And they hadn't even known each other. Then she remembered that, in spite of her anger, she'd experienced those same vibrations each time she'd been near him. She'd even felt them last night in the restaurant lobby. In fact, the magnetism had had such strength in its pull, she'd thought Ian had been about to lean toward her and place his lips on hers.
She opened her eyes and took a deep gulp of the crisp April air.
"That's absurd," she grumbled. How could he have wanted to kiss her when she had looked such a mess? Don't let your imagination get the best of you, she chided herself.
The voluptuous woman sitting with Ian last night came to mind. And Andrea also remembered, with a pang of regret, how she herself must have appeared, standing in that restaurant, scolding Ian. She groaned. It wasn't a pretty picture. That was certain.
The woman's model-perfect face certainly had been a contrast to her own shiny, perspiring one. The navy dress Ian's date had been wearing had set off the woman's luscious length of dark hair. Andrea's tank top has sported sweat stains under her arms, her damp shorts had stuck to her body like a second skin, and tendrils of her hair had been glued to her face and neck.
Andrea's lips twisted into a grimace. He might have reached out to touch her, but after thinking it through, she was sure that she'd definitely been mistaken about Ian's move to kiss her.
Taking Love in Stride Page 4
