by Donna Fasano
"Dad found out about my painting," Denise began. "I don't know how, but—"
"That was my fault," Andrea admitted.
"No, it's all right. He wasn't angry like I thought he would be."
"I don't understand why you thought he'd be angry in the first place."
Denise lowered her eyes. "My mom painted. She was really talented. But she died when I was a little girl and I was afraid that my painting might make Dad think of her and make him sad."
She lifted her face to look at Andrea. "But everything's okay. He wants me to paint. In fact, he took me out last night and bought me lots of supplies. When we came home, Dad and my granddad started arguing." Denise slid to the edge of her chair. "You see, Pops was the one wanting me on the track team. He kept blaming it on Dad. When Dad found out, he hit the roof. Dad told Pops to stop forcing me to run."
Andrea cupped her chin in her palm. "Why would your grandfather do such a thing, Denise?" she asked.
"Miss O'Connor, before Pops had his accident, he was a runner, a good runner, one of the best in Delaware. He helped organize the very first half marathon ever run in Wilmington." Denise took a deep breath. "He won that first race."
She rested her clasped hands on Andrea's desk and leaned even closer. "This year is the twentieth anniversary of the Wilmington Challenge. And Pops has been asked to present the winners their trophies. Pops wanted me to participate in the Challenge."
Andrea watched Denise's features fill with sympathy for her grandfather.
"I want to run for him," the girl said.
"Denise..." Andrea's voice was soft with understanding. "We've already talked about the importance of living your own life. You have to realize that you can't run this race in place of your grandfather. He'll still be confined to his wheelchair, he'll still be unable to run."
"Please, Miss O'Connor," Denise pleaded fervently. "I know Pops won't be able feel the pavement under his feet or the wind in his face. But he'll know I'm out there. And he'll know I'm doing it for him." Denise's eyes gleamed with tears. "It's important to him, Miss O'Connor. I want to do this for Pops."
Andrea was so moved by the girl's passion that her own eyes misted with emotion. She was silent while she mulled over Denise's plight. But it didn't take her long to decide what to do.
"So, you want me to put you back on the team so you can train?"
"Oh, please. You'll see, things will be different. I'll never miss a practice. I'll never be late." Denise was sitting on the edge of her seat.
A grin twisted Andrea's lips. "Well, I have been short a long-distance runner since you've been gone "
"Oh, thank you!" Denise's face lit up with her gratitude.
"Wait a minute. What about your painting? And what about your father?"
It was as though a dark cloud descended on both of them. And it took several seconds for Denise to respond.
"The painting's no problem. I can always find time for that." She hesitated. "But I don't plan to tell Dad—I don't want him to know."
"Denise," Andrea admonished, "you can't lie to your father."
"I won't be lying," Denise said. "Just not telling. Anyway, he'll blame Pops! You can't imagine how angry he was last night."
Oh, yes, I can, Andrea thought. "Look, I can't make you tell your dad what you're planning to do, but I think you should. Tell him exactly what you told me. He'll understand." But will he? she silently wondered. "Denise, don't ask me to lie for you, because I won't."
"That won't be a problem," Denise declared stubbornly. She gathered her books and headed toward the door. "You won't need to lie or anything, 'cause you won't see him."
"Practice is at three-thirty sharp!" Andrea called to the empty doorway.
You won't see him. Denise's words echoed in Andrea's head. Maybe Denise was right and she wouldn't encounter Ian again. In the three-plus years she'd been Denise's teacher, she'd met the girl's father only once, but it was a meeting she'd never forget. A shiver coursed across her skin as she remembered the electricity that had crackled between them. As much as she hoped Denise's prediction would come true, somehow she was sure that she wouldn't be that lucky.
~ ~ ~
Ian's mind wasn't on the heavy afternoon traffic of Interstate 95. As he headed out of the city toward his daughter's school, last night's tumultuous scene with his father thrust itself once again to the forefront of his thoughts. He was puzzled by his family's behavior. So much so that he'd canceled today's business trip, knowing he needed time to figure this whole thing out.
Denise, a painter! The very idea was astonishing, but he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Denise's mother had been extremely talented, hadn't she? He shook his head. Maybe it had been memories of Sondra that had kept Denise from telling anyone about her painting.
But Denise had talent. There was no denying it. He knew it the moment he'd seen her work yesterday. He should definitely speak to Denise's art teacher.
But it was his father's actions that bothered him most. Ian knew his father had had a difficult time adjusting to his paralysis. Who wouldn't? The whole family had had to adjust. But Ian had thought Harry had adapted well to the change in life-style.
Now, he was shocked to find out that his father was still emotionally unsettled by his situation. Harry had been coercing Denise into running track and planting ideas into her head that Ian was the one demanding it. It was all so unlike the kind, honest man he knew his father to be.
Harry's actions only proved to Ian how very important this upcoming race was to his dad. And after spending the entire day weighing the facts—Denise's disinterest in running and Harry's desire to have a family member run in the Wilmington Challenge—Ian had decided exactly what to do. He'd run in the race himself.
And since he hadn't the slightest idea what training for a long-distance run involved, it was only logical for him to ask Andrea O'Connor for help. It was an excellent excuse to meet the high-spirited woman again and see if there really had been anything to the instant awareness he'd felt when he was with her yesterday.
~ ~ ~
Andrea entered her office from her private washroom and planted her sneakered foot on the green vinyl seat of her desk chair. Pulling the laces tight, she tied them in a double knot. She picked up the silver whistle off her desk and slipped the braided cord over her head.
She was looking forward to a good, tough practice. The team had a meet in two weeks and, if she could whip these kids into shape, they had a very good shot at winning.
Scooping up her stopwatch and clipboard, she studied the names listed. Her eyes stopped when they reached "Powers, Denise." Andrea smiled. Denise had been on time for practice, a few minutes early, in fact. Remembering the girl's plea for help in training, Andrea was proud that Denise had stuck with her end of the bargain.
She needed to speak to Denise again, though, about telling her father that she was back on the team. Even if Andrea never saw Ian again, she wasn't comfortable with his not knowing that his daughter was running on the track team. Besides, it was against school policy for a student to participate in any sport without parental consent. Yes, she'd have to talk to Denise right away.
A sharp rap sounded on the door of her office that led directly into the locker room.
"Miss O'Connor?" Denise barged into the room.
"Denise," Andrea said, "just the person I wanted to see."
"Miss O'Connor!" Denise was frantically shaking her head, looking across the room at the door that led out into the hall.
"What?" Andrea asked. But as she took in the girl's flushed, anxious face, her smiled faded. "What is it?"
Denise gulped in air and tried to swallow. "I ran up from the track as soon as I saw him. My dad. He's coming."
"Your dad...?" Andrea's voice trailed off as a thousand butterflies started flailing wildly in her stomach. Her own eyes darted toward the door. "Well, maybe he's coming to see you."
Denise shook her head. "He doesn't even know I'm here."
"Well, Mr
. Scott, then," Andrea said.
Denise jerked her head back and forth again. "No, he's headed toward the gym entrance. And he was walking that walk."
"That walk?" Andrea's eyebrows rose and the butterflies in her stomach were joined by a thousand more, all of them flapping furiously.
"Yeah, I've seen it before. He only walks like that when he's on his way to pulverize somebody. It's his determined walk. Somebody's in for it." Denise hesitated, inching toward the door. "And, Miss O'Connor, I think it's you."
"Wait a minute. Wait a minute." With her free hand, Andrea grabbed Denise by the sleeve of her track suit. "You need to tell your dad that you're back on the team. And now's as good a time as any."
"No, no!" Denise was back to urgently shaking her head. "You don't know how angry he was last night. He wasn't just upset, he was furious." She said the last word in an emphasized whisper, her eyes round as saucers as she pulled her sleeve from between her coach's fingers and slipped out the locker-room door.
As Denise pulled the door closed behind her, Andrea fumbled with her stopwatch and clipboard, grabbed hold of the knob on her side of the door and tried to wrestle it open. The clipboard clattered to the floor, her pencil skittering across the shiny tiling, but she didn't relinquish her hold on the door handle.
"No, you don't," Andrea said. "You come back in here."
"I'll tell him later, I promise. He needs to cool down first." Denise pulled on the door handle, dragging her teacher along with it.
Suddenly, Andrea realized how ridiculous they must look playing tug-of-war with her office door. She let go of the knob as though it were a hot coal. The door slammed shut and she heard Denise's "oof" of surprise.
What are you doing? she wondered. Why are you so desperate to have Denise with you when her father arrives? What are you afraid of? Ian Powers? She'd handled him quite well yesterday. Then, what was it? She took a deep breath, not wanting to admit the truth. She knew what she was afraid of. It was those vibrations she'd felt the first time she'd ever laid eyes on him. A current so strong it had shocked her. She'd never felt anything like it before, and she didn't know how to deal with it; didn't want to deal with it.
"Denise," Andrea called through the closed door, "I will not lie for you." The threat was a last-ditch effort to get Denise to come back into the office so they could face Ian together.
"Okay," Denise said, "then you tell him!"
Andrea rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she listened to Denise scamper out of the locker-room's rear exit. But it was the soft knock on her outer office door that caused the butterflies in her stomach to flutter with renewed vengeance.
Chapter Three
Andrea inhaled deeply. She straightened her nylon tank top and reached down to snatch her clipboard and pencil off the floor. Smoothing a hand through her hair, she tried to calm her racing heart.
Get a hold of yourself. You can handle this. All you have to do is calmly listen to what he has to say and then send him on his way.
But the sight of his shadow against the frosted glass and the sound of his knuckles on the wooden door frame made her throat constrict and her mouth go dry.
"Come in," she croaked.
When he pushed his way into her office, she felt impelled to take a step back. He stood towering in the middle of the room, and Andrea realized for the first time how small her office really was.
His dark gaze struck her almost physically, and those overpowering vibes that she was dreading emanated from his confident posture. However, she was momentarily disarmed by his broad smile.
"Hello again," he said. "I'm sorry for dropping in on you like this, but I had something I wanted to ask you."
She stared at him a long second. Curiosity about why he was there battled with her desire to escape the strong vibrations she felt radiating from him.
Suddenly conscious of ogling the man, Andrea averted her embarrassed gaze to her desk. When her eyes stumbled upon the stopwatch lying there, her mind cleared.
"Oh, well...see..." she said, glancing at her wristwatch, "I have to be at track practice in five minutes."
"That's great." He sat down on the chair in front of her desk. "I only need three."
"But—"
"Sit, sit," he commanded. "I have a favor to ask."
"But, I really don't have—"
"Would you sit down and listen? You've only given me three minutes."
Andrea's mouth snapped shut, and she lowered herself onto her chair. She couldn't remember giving him anything, let alone three minutes of her time. But witnessing his compelling demeanor, she knew she wouldn't be able to escape him until she heard him out. She stared into his black eyes, silent, waiting.
"I'm going to run the Wilmington Challenge. And you're going to help me."
"What?" If he'd meant to knock her off balance, he'd certainly attained his goal. She'd thought he was going to thank her for telling him of his daughter's artistic talent. Or maybe some plan he'd made to make it easier for Denise to perfect that talent. But his two statements about the Wilmington Challenge had absolutely nothing to do with Denise at all. It took Andrea's breath away.
His announcement to run a half marathon shocked her into an even deeper silence. But his request, no, his demand for her assistance really rankled. Here he was, once again, barging in, telling people what they would or wouldn't be doing. Damn the man!
"It's my father," he continued. "He wanted Denise to participate in the run..."
Andrea felt a quick stab of guilt at the reminder of Denise being on the track team without her father's knowledge.
"And since I've put a stop to that—you and I both know Denise isn't interested in running—I intend to participate in the marathon myself."
So, she thought, he wants to run in the race for his father. The fleeting sense of admiration she felt toward Ian and his noble gesture quickly vanished as she remembered the type of man he was. She might not know him well, but she knew his kind.
He was a dominating businessman, completely immersed in his work, just like her father had been. His wheeling and dealing overrode everything else in his life, even his family's welfare. Somewhere in her reproachful musings, memories of her own father's morbid drive to succeed became mixed with her thoughts of Ian until, finally, she couldn't discern one from the other. All she knew was that this man didn't have it in him to commit himself to anything other than his business.
"Andrea? Andrea, have you been listening to me?"
Ian's voice pulled her back to the present. She took a deep breath and focused on his face.
"Yes, I've been listening."
"Well, what do you say? You'll help me, right?"
"No," she said bluntly. "I can't." She saw his eyes fill with disappointment.
"But, why?" He paused. Then his face lit with a new idea. "Of course, I'll pay you for your time," he offered.
Andrea barely contained a snort of contempt. "I'm not interested in your money. I can't help you."
"You can't?" His friendly manner disappeared as his eyes narrowed scathingly. "Or you won't?"
"It doesn't matter which."
Why was this woman constantly bent on thwarting him? Ian wondered. Yesterday she refused to put Denise back on the track team, and here she was today rejecting a chance to help him do something good, something that would make his father very happy. Granted, she'd been right to take his daughter off the team. But why was she turning him down? This made no sense.
"You're still angry, aren't you?" he asked.
"What are you talking about?"
"You won't help me train—" his voice became louder as his temper heated "—because I went to see Mr. Scott yesterday rather than coming directly to you. I explained my reasons for doing that. Why can't you try to understand?"
Andrea stood. "You're the one who doesn't understand. I am not angry about yesterday. That's not why I won't help you."
"There! You admitted it yourself." He shot up from the chair. "It's not that you can't
, it's that you won't. I want to know why."
They glared across the desk at each other, neither willing to back down an inch.
Reprehension built inside Andrea, hot and strong, as she thought about everything she disapproved of in this man. The fear he evoked in his daughter. His absences while on business that left Denise virtually parentless. His ignorance about Denise's talents and desires. The way he barged into the school yesterday. Even his inability to find his way around the school building when any idiot could have figured out the principal’s office was always located near the main entrance. And now his arrogant demand that she drop everything to prepare him for a run that he would never have the willpower or the discipline to even train for, let alone finish. All of these tidbits added together could only equal one thing—that Ian's character mirrored her own father's. And that realization filled her with criticism.
"You want the truth?" she challenged.
His expectant silence urged her to continue.
"You don't have what it takes."
She anticipated his affronted anger and was confused by the droll smile that ever so slowly curled the corners of his mouth.
"And how have you come to that conclusion?" he asked.
"Let's just say you remind me of someone I knew."
His smile broadened. "That's a dangerous practice, comparing one person to another. Especially when one is a virtual stranger."
"Nevertheless," she said, "I think it's perfectly natural to use past experiences when planning present actions. And your resemblance to this person from my past leads me to believe that helping you to train would be a waste of my time and effort. Yours, too."
His short bark of laughter wasn't because he was amused, and Andrea could see the tension building in him.
"You're so damned self-righteous," he said. "This person I remind you of wouldn't happen to be this Robert that you mentioned yesterday, would it? The traveling businessman that you spoke of with such disdain? Who was he anyway? An ex-boyfriend? A lover?"
