by Nancy Warren
Her face looked different, too. He knew it must be makeup, but he didn’t see the makeup, he saw Harriet’s eyes, big and aqua and dancing with excitement as though the sun had hit the Mediterranean. He saw Harriet’s lips, curving in a smile, looking full and wet and oh, so kissable.
But when his gaze had first dropped from her face to her figure he’d experienced the biggest shock of all.
Those kilts and sweater things should be outlawed. It was criminal to hide a chest like that under layers of wool and plaid.
Whew, it certainly wasn’t hiding anymore.
The Harriet he knew wasn’t willowy. She had a womanly shape and muscles. Strong, defined legs and arms. A belly that was as close to washboard as he’d ever seen on a female, a round, athletic butt, high-perched. And, more amazing still, breasts that were the stuff of fantasies.
It seemed to him she’d tossed her shyness along with the sweaters. This woman sparkled, bounced and danced with life.
He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. She was a natural cheerleader. Just watching her made him want to cheer. It made him want to do a lot of other things, too, that wouldn’t be appropriate in a sports stadium.
He let the discouraged first-cut gals stream past him, ignoring Harriet’s pantomimed request that he interview them. No way he was going to miss a single minute of her time in the sun, however brief it might be.
He wanted to enjoy every minute. And after this was over, he planned to spend some time up close and personal with the most surprising cheerleading contestant he’d ever been privileged to watch.
Of course he knew the routines would increase in challenge as they weeded out more and more candidates. Today they’d choose two, three at the most. A full-fledged cheerleader and a couple of on-call alternates. Out of almost a hundred hopefuls.
He settled back to enjoy every minute of the tryouts, moving slightly as the lines of contestants shifted so his view of Harriet was unimpeded.
“Hiya, Steve,” said Rock Richards, appearing at his side.
“Hey, Rock.” He tried to sound friendly, but in truth he couldn’t stand the guy. Sure, part of it was that he had the job Steve would like most in all the world—quarterback of a pro football team—even if it was in Pasqualie. The other part of his dislike stemmed from the fact that they shared similar tastes in women.
Apart from Steve, the guy who showed up most reliably to cheerleader practices was Rock.
The quarterback wore a sleeveless vest and workout shorts. He’d obviously been pumping weights, and, just as obviously hadn’t showered. Steve’s nose twitched. Still, Rock’s muscles bulged from the workout and shone with sweat. Or it could be baby oil. Steve wouldn’t put it past him.
His delight in the day began to dim.
“Seen any good talent?” Rock gestured to the lines of bouncing beauties and winked.
Steve shrugged. “Most of the usual girls came out. A few new ones. Nothing special.”
Rock nodded and leaned his shoulders back against the wall, jutting his chest out like a rooster.
Steve wasn’t a small guy, but standing beside Rock he felt like a mortal next to a superhero. The possibility of steroids crossed his mind, but he knew it was spite that had him thinking that way.
The music blared and he forgot all about the sweatsheened hulk next to him as the contestants began moving once more.
Neither man said anything during the full routine. Steve deliberately turned his gaze to the gal farthest from Harriet, even going so far as to nudge Rock and point her out. But the hulk’s twenty-twenty vision reverted firmly to the one cheerleader Steve wanted him to ignore.
When it was over, Rock said, “I like the moves on that redhead. Don’t think I’ve seen her before.”
Steve grit his teeth. “I didn’t notice a redhead. I was watching the blonde in the corner. Real hottie.”
Rock spared her a glance. “Minister’s daughter,” he said. “I dated her a couple of times. Couldn’t get past first base. But that redhead looks like a homerun kind of gal.”
Steve tried to keep his hands from fisting, but it wasn’t easy. If Rock had any inkling he was interested in Harriet he’d work harder than ever to muscle his way in and get his meaty paws on her first.
Shock speared him even as he had the thought. He, Steve Ackerman, was interested in Harriet?
As the truth sank in, he realized he’d been drawn to her from the moment she’d bent over in the women’s washroom and he’d caught sight of those sexy legs. Not even her antics with the turkey baster had prevented the rush of attraction he’d felt. Then, later, when he’d talked to her in the sports bar, he’d enjoyed her company and found he’d admired her guts. She made the best of what she had, but life couldn’t have been any picnic being brought up by two spinster aunts instead of parents.
He thought of his own noisy family—a mom and dad who’d been together thirty years, four kids who all still lived in the same town—and he realized how lucky he’d been. Sure, sometimes money’d been a little tight, and he’d hated wearing his older brother’s hand-me-downs, but at least he’d had a regular family.
No wonder Harriet came across as a little eccentric. It wasn’t her fault. She also had a quirky innocence that brought out his chivalrous impulses. Especially since she seemed like a creep-magnet. First, The Reptile, now The Boulder.
Harriet wasn’t used to guys like Rock. She wasn’t the sort of woman a professional athlete usually spared a second glance. Steve’s grin faded in annoyance. Why hadn’t she shown up to the audition in her kilt and sweaters? It was the best defense there was against a shallow womanizer like Rock.
While Steve steamed and Rock leered, Harriet danced and bounced and…jiggled. There was probably a better verb than jiggled, but it was the best he could do. Not jiggled in a centerfold way, but a kind of happy wriggling from top to toe.
It made his mouth dry.
Not wanting to drip drool—the last thing Rock needed was more shine on those biceps—he grunted a goodbye and left the stage.
Only to hit the bleachers to continue watching the tryouts.
Family members and friends of the contestants and quite a few of the gals who’d already been cut sat around watching the remaining contenders. He recognized Tess Elliot with an older woman he was willing to bet was her mother, and realized with a jolt of surprise that Jonathon’s soon-to-be-ex-wife, Caro, was sitting with them. They were three of the classiest women in town, but no one would know it to see their anxious faces and the way they passed vending-machine popcorn back and forth, munching ferociously.
His stomach gurgled and he realized they’d all missed dinner. It wasn’t much of a compliment to Harriet, but he imagined they’d all assumed they’d be out of here after the first round.
“Hey, Tess,” he said, plopping himself down beside her.
She turned to him, her eyes full of excitement. “Can you believe it?” she squealed. “She’s doing a fantastic job up there. I never knew she had it in her.”
He hadn’t known Harriet had all those curves in her, either, but decided not to say so in front of the three most elegant women in Pasqualie. “She surprised me, too.”
Tess introduced him to her mother, and he shook hands. He said a polite hello to Caro and then all four of them fell silent as the coach announced the next round of cuts. The three women clung together, muttering, “Please, please let Harriet make it.”
He wouldn’t do anything so lame as hold hands with women he barely knew and beg the gods for Harriet’s success, but in his head a similar incantation played over and over. Come on, Harriet. You can do this. Over and over as number after number boomed out from the megaphone.
It took a few moments of stunned silence before they realized the cuts were done and Harriet was still a contender. They were down to six contestants for the finals and Steve discovered his palms were sweating.
Now came the ultimate test. Each finalist had been asked to come up with an individual routine. He’d off
ered to help Harriet with hers last week, but she’d told him she was fine. At the time he’d wondered if she didn’t want him to see her mediocre talents, but now he puzzled over her refusal. She must have a coach somewhere who helped her. At least he sure hoped so.
Three other women did their routines. None of them fell even though inside his head he willed them to. Maybe it wasn’t very chivalrous, but he didn’t figure anybody deserved this chance more than Harriet. They were all great. His heart sank as they danced, leaped in the air, backflipped and smiled, smiled, smiled.
Then they called Harriet’s name. Without meaning to do it, he jumped to his feet and yelled. “Come on, Harriet. You can do this.”
Flushing, he sat with a bump, only to have Tess’s mother pat his arm. “I’m sure she heard you.”
And it seemed she had. As Harriet took up her position at the back of the stage she looked out over the stands and flashed him a big, happy, cheerleader’s smile. Come on, Harriet. The words looped repeatedly in his head.
Then the music swelled. Not the boom-boom rock that the other three had chosen but more of a hip-hop beat. Was that okay? Or had she screwed up in some way with her choice of music. He wiped his palms on his sweater. This suspense was killing him.
And then she launched herself into the air and he forgot there was any kind of music anywhere. All there was was Harriet, sailing through the air, landing on her hands in a perfect handstand to back flip. She was up, doing some kind of complicated dance moves. Whew, that lady could move. She jiggled, she twirled, she high-kicked and then she back-flipped. One, two, three, four perfect flips, a gleam of red hair flapping on her black bodysuit.
She leaped and spun in the air and slipped down in perfect, graceful splits, her hands rising straight up in the air and her smile as bright as the sun in August.
Of course he’d applauded politely for the previous three contestants, but now he was on his feet along with Caro and Tess and her mother, yelling and hooting. Forming, he dimly realized, their own cheerleading section for a cheerleader.
The other two contenders showed up and did their best, but it was over. Steve knew it in his gut. Harriet had blown the lid off the competition.
When they called her name as the winner of the contest, Steve felt his eyes prick. He felt like a damn fool but he couldn’t help himself. She’d just attained the dream she’d thought was unattainable. She’d grabbed it with both hands and made it hers.
Her smile lit the whole stadium and, as corny as it sounded, even in his head, he felt as if he was watching the ugly duckling find her new home in the swan pond.
“She did it. She did itshediditshedidit!” shouted Tess, grabbing Caro, who yelled, “Who-hoo!”
Mrs. Elliot didn’t do any screaming, merely clapped with enthusiasm as befitted a respectable society matron. “I’m going to give Harriet that top. She’ll be needing it more than I will, and—” she sighed “—she looks so much better in it.”
“I’ll give her the tights, too,” agreed Caro.
Ah, so there was one mystery solved. Steve had been wondering where Harriet had come up with the figure-hugging duds that didn’t jive with her usual fifties schoolgirl wardrobe.
Harriet’s fan club rose together and made its way to the stage area. He watched as the coach gave Harriet some papers and the other cheerleaders patted or hugged their newest recruit.
She glanced up and saw him and the smile broadened. She was just flying.
With a last nod, and mumbled thanks, she slipped away from the coach and jogged to Steve and the three women. He stepped forward with his arms out. Everybody on the damn team had given her a hug. It was his turn.
She hesitated for just a second, then walked straight into his arms. “I did it!”
“I knew you could,” he said into her hair as he wrapped his arms around her.
Everything about her seemed unfamiliar to him—her looks, the bright verve, even the smell of her. The sticky-sweet scent of hairspray assailed him. But under it, he smelled the sweat of a healthy workout and a hint of fresh-baked oatmeal cookie.
She felt so good squeezed up against him that he never wanted to let her go. But, of course, he had to. Tess was waiting. After he eased back, Harriet tumbled into Tess’s arms, then Rose’s and even Caro’s.
Then, most unwelcome of all, the hulking Rock Richards was suddenly muscling in. Now, nobody would ever accuse Rock’s brain of being bigger than his biceps, but from the narrow-eyed glare he sent Steve, it was clear he’d figured out he’d been trying to keep him away from the hot redhead.
“Hey, babe,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I’m Rock. Team quarterback. Want to welcome you to the team.”
“Thanks,” Harriet said, turning her sparkling gaze his way. She put out her hand politely, but Rock had other ideas. He pulled her body flush against his and kissed her full on the mouth.
Harriet gave a little squeak and her hands went up to Rock’s shoulders to push him away.
Steve’s blood pounded behind his eyeballs and his hands fisted as he watched the big gorilla do his best to eat Harriet for lunch. He was about to break up the clinch when she managed to pull away with a flustered giggle.
“You need anything, anything at all. You call on Rock.” He gave Harriet a smile, sent them all a general wave and lumbered off.
“Wow. What a hunk,” Tess said.
Steve almost snarled.
“He was certainly…friendly,” Harriet said breathlessly.
At that moment Steve vowed that Rock may have beat him in the gene pool lottery, but he wasn’t going to beat him to Harriet.
“I don’t know when I’ve been so excited,” Rose said, then paused. “Not since you got engaged, I suppose,” she said to Tess. She shook her head. “I never thought my daughter would marry a man with long hair and an earring.”
Tess snorted. “You’re not fooling anyone, Mother. You love Mike almost as much as I do.”
“And I got rid of all my odd earrings, too. You know, when you’ve lost one and can’t bear to throw the single away?” She beamed. “Now I can just give them to my almost son-in-law.”
“No more rhinestones, Mom. I’m warning you. He’s threatening to wear the long dangly one to Christmas dinner.”
“Oh, dear. Whatever will your father say?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh!” Rose put her hand to her cheek and glanced at the watch on the opposite wrist. “Speaking of your father, I never told him I was going out. He’ll wonder what’s happened to me.”
Tess glanced at her watch, too. “Oh, shoot. I was supposed to pick Mike up at the boxing ring ten minutes ago. We’d better get going. Harriet, I’ll drop you back at the office on the way.”
“Oh, but that’s out of your way.”
“I’ll drive her back,” Steve said, only too happy for the chance to be alone with this intriguing new Harriet.
“Is that all right with you?” Tess asked her.
“Yes, of course. Thanks for everything.”
“I’ll hitch a ride back to your parents’ home to pick up my car if that’s all right,” said Caro in her well-modulated voice. She didn’t seem to be late for anything or have anyone waiting for her. Steve felt a twinge of sorrow. She and Jon had seemed like the perfect couple.
But, as Caro strode away with the two Elliot women, Steve was happy to put her problems out of his thoughts and to concentrate on the newest Braveheart—a cheerleader who looked as though she didn’t have a problem in the world. She was absolutely glowing with a combination of recent exercise, excitement and sparkly makeup.
“Do you have to go straight home?” he asked her.
“No. Why?”
He grabbed her hand and started walking toward where he’d left his car.
Harriet’s article for the sports section was going to be more than he’d originally envisioned. He could see the headline now: I Am A Braveheart. A Behind-The-Scenes Look.
Not Pulitzer-prize material, certainly, but
something the good people of Pasqualie would all be fascinated to read. The women would want to know what it took to be a Braveheart. And the men, well, they just wanted to look at the pictures of all those delectable babes posing and prancing.
Steve had a bit of a rivalry going with the sports editor at the Star. Jim Cole had been trying to get a Braveheart to pose for the scantily clad Star Gal feature on page three for as long as Steve could remember.
None of the cheerleaders would pose for the Star Gal, but he imagined they’d love a decent feature story in the Standard about the squad. And who better to write the inside story of what it was like to be a cheerleader than a budding journalist and part-time Braveheart.
If everything fell into place her piece might have a real shot at a journalism award, something else he and the Star sports editor were in hot competition for.
“Steve!”
“Hmm?” He came out of his reverie to find Harriet calling his name in a way that made him think this wasn’t the first time she’d done so.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Was I staring? Sorry. I was thinking of something else.”
He was thinking of more than one article. A whole series.
Along with his own reports of the Braves’ games, he could sidebar stories from Harriet with her view from the cheerleaders’ squad.
This was one of his greatest ideas. He, Steve Ackerman, was a journalistic genius.
“Harriet, I just thought of something.” He looked at her with a gleam in his eye. “What do you think of this? Now that you’re an official Braves’ cheerleader, how do you feel about writing about your experiences in first person for the Standard?”
She just stared at him, shocked for a second time that day. “You want me to write an article about myself?”
“Well, sure. I’ll help you. But yeah, that’s the whole point of this. You’d have the inside scoop.”
“Would it have my name on it?”
“Absolutely,” Steve said with confidence.
