by Donna Fasano
Glancing up at the platform, she saw Harry talking to an older gentleman, and she walked over to them.
"Hi!" she called. "Can I come up and take a look at the trophies?"
The stranger conversing with Harry said, "I don't see why not," and bent to offer her his hand, pulling her onto the wooden deck.
"They're beautiful," she commented, letting her fingers brush the silver runner fixed to one of the two tallest trophies.
"Those are for the overall male and female winners," he said. "They certainly have changed from the trophies we won twenty-five years ago, eh, Harry?"
Harry grunted.
Andrea looked at the old man in the wheelchair, but couldn't discern whether her presence there upset him or not.
Ever since she'd asked Harry to help her track team and ended up laying her opinion on the line, he'd kept his distance. He'd come to every single track practice, but had watched Denise run from the other side of the fence. And Andrea hadn't seen him at all after school had let out in June.
"The trophies we won were about yea high." The man laughed, measuring the imaginary trophy between his hands.
Andrea nodded. "I saw Harry's."
"So, you know Harry Powers, the winner of the first Wilmington Challenge?" He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I'm Jim Robbins." He stretched out his right hand. "I finished a second behind Harry."
"It was more like thirty-two seconds," Harry grumbled. "Jim, this is Andrea O'Connor. She coached my son and granddaughter for the race."
"So you're a runner." Jim nodded his approval, then said to Harry, "I could tell she's a runner. She has nice firm—"
"Okay, okay," Harry interrupted. "That's enough of that. Did you take an extra dose of Geritol this morning? You're old enough to be her father."
Jim laughed. "Just trying to give the little lady a compliment."
The race coordinator called Jim to the other end of the platform.
"Sorry about that," Harry said when they were alone.
"No problem. How have you been, Harry?" Andrea asked.
"Fine, fine." His words were terse.
She was wondering what she could say that might ease their relationship when her eyes caught the framed painting leaning against the table leg. She recognized it as the one Denise had shown her the evening of the picnic at Ian's. It had been completed, the metal trophy and shoe cleats gleaming from some unseen light source.
"Oh, Harry," she said. "It's lovely."
Harry only nodded.
She looked back down at the painting and then again at Harry, seeing the old man's eyes were misty with deep feeling.
"I'd wondered where those battered track shoes had gotten to," Harry said, forcing his words through his throat that was constricting with emotion. "That granddaughter of mine had swiped them to use as a model."
"She did a wonderful job." Andrea continued to study the painting, giving Harry a chance to fumble a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe at his eyes.
"Andrea," he said after blowing his nose. "I know I can be a crotchety old man sometimes, and my behavior toward you has been atrocious." He waved her rebuttal aside with both hands. "Now, let me finish."
He stopped to clear his throat. "You've gone out of your way to help Ian and Denise so they could run this race. I want you to know I appreciate what you've done. I know you didn't want to train my son."
Andrea colored and lowered her eyes.
"I also know how stubborn he can be," Harry continued. "He told me all about how he had to force you into this whole mess. But don't hold it against him—he inherited that trait from me. I'm a stubborn old cuss, too."
A grin formed on Andrea's mouth and the urge to agree with him rose in her throat, but she stayed silent. Then her smile froze with his next statement.
"He's also a born businessman. I've seen him go to any lengths in order to get a deal to go his way."
His comment caused a cloud of doubt to rain down on her, and a dark thought sprouted. Was wooing her part of the great lengths Ian had gone to get her to train him? Pushing the fearful question aside, she concentrated on Harry's words.
Not noticing her uneasiness, Harry touched her arm and said, "I want you to know that I've taken your advice. I've been seeing a counselor. Talking things out." He straightened his shoulders with confidence. "It's taken me a long time, but I've realized that you didn't suggest I volunteer some time to the track team out of pity."
"I would never have done that," Andrea said.
"I know that now." Harry reached for her hand. "I'm sorry I ever thought you did. Can you forgive an old man?"
She smiled and squeezed his hand in answer.
"When September rolls around," he said, "I want to look your runners over. See if I could give 'em any helpful hints."
"Oh, Harry, I'm so glad." She let go of his hand to reach into her shoulder bag. Pulling out a scrap of paper and pencil, she scribbled dates and times. "But you won't have to wait until September." She laughed at his disconcerted look. "I hold a running camp every summer. We'll be meeting every other day until school starts."
She handed him the paper. "So, what do you say? Are those days good for you?"
Harry glanced at the information. "I'll be there," he said with conviction.
Jim hailed Harry from the table that held the trophies.
"I'd better go see what I can do over there," Harry said.
"Go ahead. I'm going to get myself something to drink." Andrea hopped down off the platform and went in search of some refreshment.
She was sipping from her bottle of cool orange juice when the first runner crossed the finish line one hour and eight minutes after the race had started. She knew she still had about half an hour before she needed to start looking for Ian and Denise, and she wondered how they were doing.
Runners trickled in for the next fifteen minutes and then they began to finish in small packs of four and five.
She watched as one young man collapsed and two volunteers pulled him to his feet. He needed to walk until he cooled down or he'd be hit with agonizing cramps.
Glancing down at her watch, she edged through the crowd on one side of the finish line. She craned her neck and looked up the road, but was overwhelmed by the number of runners advancing on the finish.
She ducked out of the crowd and went farther along the course, hoping to catch sight of Ian and Denise as they passed by.
When someone tapped her on the shoulder, she turned to see Ian's raven-haired business associate standing next to her. Pamela.
"You're Andrea O'Connor, aren't you?" the woman asked.
"Yes, I am," Andrea confirmed. "And you're Pamela."
"Pamela Jamison," she said. "We met..." Her voice trailed off, then she laughed. "Well, we almost met a few months ago."
"I remember," Andrea said. "And I really should apologize—"
"I won't hear of it." Pamela laughed again, an open and friendly laugh. "Ian can be exasperating at times. I enjoyed seeing you put him in his place."
"I never meant to..." Andrea mumbled.
"He was dumbfounded that evening at the restaurant," Pamela continued. "It was such fun seeing him at a loss for words. We had to break up our meeting and schedule another for the next day, he was so preoccupied. It was great."
Pamela's lightheartedness was infectious and Andrea found herself joining in.
"I have to admit I got a kick out of his expression when he turned and saw me standing over him." Andrea grinned at the memory.
Pamela looked down the street. "Has he finished yet?"
Andrea checked her watch. "He's a couple minutes behind schedule now. If everything's gone according to plan, he and Denise should be along soon."
But when two minutes passed and then two more, Andrea frowned. "I think I'll walk along the course and take a look for them."
She moved through the spectators, keeping her eyes on the runners. She spotted Denise running alone.
"Denise," Andrea called, moving onto t
he road to run beside Denise. "Where's your dad?"
"Back there," Denise said, panting, pointing behind her. "He's in trouble. He told me to go on."
"Are you okay?" Andrea asked.
Denise only nodded, conserving her energy.
"I'm going to find him," Andrea said.
Again Denise nodded.
Andrea knew she couldn't wade through the sea of runners, so she moved off the race course and ran along the sidewalk, dodging people as she went.
She met Ian about a quarter mile along the course. He was barely running, and he looked exhausted.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, pacing herself to his speed.
Ian's eyes widened in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm coaching you," Andrea said. "Are you hurt?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Did you pull a muscle?"
"No, but everything hurts." He grimaced. "Every part of my body is screaming at me."
"That's normal," she assured him. "You can do this, Ian."
"That cobble-stone hill by the zoo wiped me out. I feel like I have no strength left."
He looked tired, but Andrea saw that his coloring was good. She reached out and touched his arm, feeling his warm, moist skin, and was pleased that he wasn't dry and clammy, a sure sign of dehydration. She said, "You might feel lousy, but don't focus on that. You look good, and I'm sure you can go on. Just take one step at a time. I'll stay with you."
"I'm not sure I can finish." His face was filled with tension.
"Of course, you can." But Andrea was aware that his pace was slowing with every step, and she knew he was throwing up a mental block about completing the run, rather than being physically unable to do it. "Ian, you've got to finish!"
He glared at her. "You did your job. You'll get your money," he retorted. "Now leave me alone."
They ran in silence. A frown creased Andrea's brow. She hadn't been thinking of the money. And she was sure he knew that. But the fact that he'd said it combined with the tone of his voice told Andrea the depth of anguish and defeat he was feeling.
She wanted him to finish the race for his sake, and she had to think of some way she could help him find the resources to do it.
Her lips slid into a sly grin as she thought of the perfect solution. She quickly hid her smile and waited.
When Ian's pace slowed again, she quickened hers just a bit.
"Quitter!" she called over her shoulder.
Ian lengthened his stride to catch up with her. "What did you call me?"
"A quitter," she repeated. "I told you the first day we met that you didn't have what it would take."
Ian's mouth set in an angry frown.
"I've wasted four months of my time on you."
His lips thinned.
"And now you're going to quit with only a half mile to go."
Andrea watched with pleasure as Ian's jaw muscle contracted. She knew she had to whip him into a fury if he was going to forget his misery and complete the run.
"I knew I could have bet my best pair of running shoes that you'd never do it."
He glared at the pavement in front of his feet for several steps before turning his thunderous eyes toward Andrea. "You made that same bet the day I met you. Do you remember? I couldn't have won then because the odds were in your favor. But this time—" Ian picked up his pace. "This time I'm going to collect!" he bellowed at her over his shoulder.
Andrea ran off the race course and stopped, slapping her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter from escaping.
By the time Andrea arrived at the finish line, she found Harry and Pamela sitting with Denise, who was sucking on a thick, juicy orange slice next to the awards platform.
"Hi!" she called to them. "Congratulations, Denise." She gave the teenager a quick hug.
"Thanks. I feel so good!" Denise exclaimed. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to finish."
"But you did," Harry said, his eyes full of pride as he beamed at his granddaughter.
Andrea looked at Pamela. "Did you see Ian come in?"
"Yes, and did he ever look stormy."
"I thought you'd be running with him," Denise said to Andrea.
"I didn't have to," Andrea said. "I knew if I made him angry enough, he'd finish on his own." Andrea grinned. "I called him a quitter."
Pamela gave an unladylike snort, and Denise giggled.
"No wonder he looked so angry." Harry chuckled.
"You hit him below the belt with that one, Andrea," Pamela said, laughing.
"But he needed it," Denise commented. "He was going to give up."
"Well, you're right, then." Pamela ruffled Denise's hair. "He needed it."
"Where is he, by the way?" Andrea scanned the crowd.
"He grabbed a banana and a cup of water and headed for the car," Pamela said. "He was going to get some dry clothes and use the shower facilities at the YMCA."
"The information leaflet said the showers would only be available to the runners for two hours," Denise said, sliding off the low wall where she'd been sitting. "So, I'm going to go grab a quick shower, too."
"You need it," Harry teased, wrinkling his nose.
"Oh, Pops!"
Andrea watched Denise trot off and turned back toward Pamela and Harry.
"So how angry was Ian?" she asked.
"Positively livid." Pamela eyes were bright. "But he'll get over it. He'll understand what you did and why."
"I hope so."
The three looked at one another, and they burst out laughing again.
"I guess this means I owe you some money," Pamela said.
Andrea's laughter waned. "What are you talking about?"
Pamela rummaged in her purse, extracting her checkbook as she explained, "I bet Ian that he couldn't finish the run." She began to make out the check. "If he didn't finish, he'd have had to give me a raise. Now that he has finished, I have to make a donation to your school." She signed her name and ripped off the check, handing it to Andrea. "Something about track equipment you need."
Harry slapped his thigh. "Ha, ha! See there? I told you my son was a born businessman." He shook his head in wonder. "Now, not only did he get expert training, but he's also saved himself a bunch of money."
Andrea stared at the blue slip of paper in her hand until the numbers and letters blurred together. The blood rushed to her head, making a whooshing noise in her ears, and she felt light-headed and faint.
Could it really be possible that Ian wasn't going to fulfill his end of their bargain? She'd worked for four long months, giving him the best coaching she knew how, and now Ian's father was telling her that he'd contrived a way to get Pamela to pay his debt. The thought was staggering. She'd come to trust him. How could he let her down so? Her mouth went dry and her stomach felt suddenly queasy.
But hadn't there been a shadow of suspicion coiled in the back of her mind all along, just waiting to be sprung?
Harry's laughter shook her out of the fog she was in. "The deals Ian cooks up," he commented, "never cease to amaze me!"
Andrea abruptly turned and walked up the street toward the red brick building where she knew Ian was. She didn't see the people who were talking animatedly about the strategies they'd used to finish the race; she didn't hear their "personal record" stories. She wasn't even aware when Harry called over the loudspeaker that the post-race ceremonies were about to begin.
She had the promised money. The check was right here in her hand. But the money wasn't the issue. The source was. She and Ian had made a bargain; Ian would donate a set sum of money in exchange for her coaching services.
Hadn't she completed her part? Hadn't she given him a crash course in the sport of running? Hadn't she seen to it that he was trained well enough to finish the Wilmington Challenge?
A blazing hot anger filled her as she answered a resounding yes to each question.
Where then did he get off thinking that he could get someone else to pay his dues?
She stopped in the m
iddle of the sidewalk. But wasn't that exactly the kind of thing her father would have done? Getting something for nothing was the ultimate deal to a driven businessman. And wasn't that just what Ian was? A dyed-in-the-wool driven businessman? Harry had said it. So had Denise. And Pamela must realize it, too. The woman had paid out Ian's donation as though it hadn't been the first time she'd been bested by Ian. And, if Andrea had been smart enough to obey her instincts, she would have recognized it, too.
Oh, but he'd come so close to blinding her with his kind words, gentle embraces and hungry kisses. She'd all but fallen for it, too. Why had she let her physical feelings and emotions get in the way of what she'd known to be the truth? Why hadn't she paid more attention to that shadowy doubt that hovered over her every time she'd even thought of him?
Her chin quivered, and her sight blurred with unshed tears. Now she knew that what she'd feared most was going to come true. Ian's lifestyle was so ingrained that despite their attraction to each other, he was going to revert to what he'd been when they'd first met. His reneging on his end of their bargain told her that the turnabout had already begun. And she had no room in her life for a man like that. No matter how much she'd come to love him.
She turned the corner and walked right into him.
"Whoa, there," he said. "Where are you going?"
"To find you."
"Well, here I am." He grasped her upper arm, oblivious to the chaos rioting inside her. "I could use something to drink," he said. "Let me buy you something."
"I don't want anything."
Confused by her tone, Ian shrugged and went up to a street vender, got a soda and took a long swallow.
"Ian," she said, her voice belligerent.
"Wait a minute, Andrea. I have something I need to say." He ran his hand through his still damp hair. "I know that you said those things out there during the race so I'd get angry enough to finish." He grinned. "It worked. Thanks. I probably would have given up without you."
"Don't thank me yet." She spat the words at him through clenched teeth. "Pamela told me about the deal the two of you made. Wheeling and dealing. That's what you do best, isn't it, Ian?"
His smile faded. "It was supposed to be a surprise."
"Some surprise!" Her eyes narrowed. "I'd think you wouldn't have wanted me to find out at all."
