All My Tomorrows

by Rochelle Alers

  He flashed a slow, sensual smile, running a finger down the length of her nose. “No prying, sweetheart.”

  “Why is it a secret?”

  “It’s not a secret. But if you’re predicting my well is going to dry up before I’m forty, then I’d better get busy now trying to produce a few little Fletchers.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes while sucking her teeth. “You don’t even know if you can father a child.”

  He regarded her intently. “You’re right. But you can help me find out whether I can or can’t.”

  Lydia, caught off guard by the passion in his voice, said, “You must be crazy, Kennedy Fletcher. “I don’t want a child. Not when I’m planning to start my own business.”

  “So, you’d rather sacrifice marriage and motherhood for a career?”

  “Wouldn’t you, Kennedy?” she countered. “Would you have given up football if your wife asked you to?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I would’ve had to consider the circumstances.”

  Lydia glared at him. “You quit the game because of a friend, yet it would depend on the circumstances if your wife had asked.”

  His expression became a mask of stone. “I quit because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in a six-by-eight prison cell. I let Mac hit me because I knew what he was going through with Cassandra. But I wasn’t about to take another ass-whipping from him on or off the gridiron.”

  Lydia felt herself retreating from Kennedy. There was a primal look in his eyes that communicated he could be quite dangerous when crossed, and no doubt a formidable enemy. The comfortable camaraderie between them disappeared, replaced by tension and uneasiness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lydia burrowed against Kennedy’s chest, her hair whipping around her face, as the roller coaster careened like a runaway freight train.

  “This is not a kiddie ride,” she shouted, to be heard over the grinding and clacking of the gears propelling the cars up, down, and around the winding track.

  “Come on, Lydia, don’t be such a baby.”

  Raising her head, she glared at him. “But you call me baby.”

  “When?” The word was snatched from his lips as the car lurched sideways around a sharp turn.

  “When we were in bed together. You said, ‘Yeah, baby. Give it to me good, baby. Oh, oh, yes, baby girl.’”

  Chuckling, Kennedy pulled Lydia closer. “That’s different. And I totally disavow anything said in the throes of passion.”

  “It’s too late to offer a disclaimer, Love Daddy,” she teased. Lydia was able to relax as the roller coaster slowed before coming to a complete stop. “No more rides, Kennedy.”

  He hopped nimbly out of the car, then reached for Lydia, setting her on her feet. “Just one more. Please,” he added when she closed her eyes and turned away from him. “You said you wanted to ride before you ate anything.”

  Lydia had declared an unspoken truce with Kennedy. Their earlier confrontation behind them, she decided she was going to enjoy herself. She affected a pout. “Which one?”

  The fair advertised as the largest in western Maryland was spread out over ten acres. The area set aside for parking was nearly filled to capacity. Vendors had set up booths, offering everything from clothes, household appliances, and pottery to electronic equipment.

  A sea of tents, housing everything from farm animals raised by young children under the auspices of the 4-H Club to contests for chili and barbecue cook-offs and pie-eating contests. The tent featuring bingo overflowed with senior citizens who complained vehemently that the caller was too fast and they couldn’t distinguish his B from G.

  Kennedy curved an arm around Lydia’s waist. “The Ferris wheel, baby.” He’d crooned his plea.

  “Don’t even go there,” she chided, rolling her eyes at him.

  “I don’t want you to think you’re only my baby when we’re making love.”

  Lydia shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Kennedy looked at her and the message she read in his eyes was obvious. She tried ignoring the tingling in the pit of her stomach.

  Without warning his expression changed until she did not recognize him as the sensual, easygoing man who with a single glance made her crave him.

  “I don’t know, Lydia. That’s something you’re going to have to figure out for yourself.”

  A jumble of confusing thoughts and emotions assailed her as she tried analyzing his cryptic statement. A cautious voice whispered to her to let the subject drop. Two weeks ago she would’ve goaded Kennedy into saying exactly what was on his mind, but she’d changed, matured. If she wanted to succeed in business, then she had to learn to play the game of give and take. This was one time when she would concede.

  “Let’s go before the line for the Ferris wheel gets too long.”

  Kennedy had expected Lydia to challenge him because he’d recognized a particular look in her eyes that always preceded her lashing him with the whip she called a tongue. He didn’t know what had brought on the change, but he preferred her soft and purring instead of spitting and snarling.

  Reaching for her hand, he led her in the direction of the towering wheel ablaze with colorful flashing lights against the darkening sky.

  * * *

  The noise level escalated with the approach of nightfall. Adolescents and young adults looking for a good time replaced older couples and mothers with young children. A uniformed officer stationed at the beer tent checked the IDs of everyone, regardless of their age. Lydia and Kennedy strolled arm in arm, sipping the ice-cold brew from plastic cups to counter the lingering taste of a chili-rubbed barbecued brisket.

  A woman of indeterminate age waved to them, the many colorful bracelets lining her arms jangling musically. Her swarthy complexion, long black hair, and colorful blouse and skirt blatantly screamed Gypsy. Lydia had encountered many of them during her stay in Europe.

  “Come, children. Let Mariska tell you your future.” Her large black eyes surveyed them in one sweeping glance. “You pay for one and I will give you two fortunes.”

  Kennedy looked at Lydia. “Do you want to know your future?”

  She moved closer to him. “How do you know she isn’t a fake?”

  “The only way you’re going to know is to go into the tent with her.”

  Lydia had never had her palm or tarot cards read. “I’ll go in, but only if you’ll do it, too.”

  Kennedy smiled at Mariska. “Can we do it together?”

  “No! Mariska will read the lady, then you.” She held out a hand. Her curved fingernails looked like bird talons. “Pay first.”

  Kennedy shook his head. “I’ll pay when you finish with both of us.”

  Mariska shot him a baleful look, then motioned for Lydia to come into the tent. She pointed to a chair pushed under a card table covered with a garish cloth in shocking colors of red and pink.

  “Sit down and give me your hand.”

  Lydia obeyed. Mariska made clucking sounds with her tongue as she stared at Lydia’s palm. “You have a nice hand.” Her fingernail traced the line closest to her thumb. “You will live to be a very old lady.” She pointed to another line. “You work very hard. Why do you work so hard when you will always have money?”

  Lydia lifted her eyebrows, but did not interrupt as the fortune-teller shook her head from side to side. “I see two men in your life—one who will come to love you very much and one who will pretend to love you.” She paused, squinting. “I see children. Two. Maybe three. Do not move!” she snapped when Lydia attempted to extract her hand.

  “I see confusion, lots of confusion, and some disappointment. You will cry. You will smile.” She released her hand. “Now, you can ask Mariska one question.”

  Lydia clasped her hands together, mentally replaying the fortune-teller’s predictions. There weren’t two men in her life. Her sleeping with Kennedy did not qualify as someone who was in her life. Justin Banks was now a nonentity, which meant the men had to be in her future.
Mariska’s reference to hard work meant that she would eventually run her own restaurant—one that would prove profitable. She also saw children in her future. Whose children would she bear? Whom would she marry? Could she successfully balance motherhood and her career?

  Deep in thought, she chewed her lower lip. Exhaling, she focused her gaze on the woman opposite her. “The two men in my life—how will I know which one to choose?”

  Mariska gave her a narrow look. “They will tell you that they love you, but you must look behind the eyes to see the truth.”

  Lydia sat up straighter. “How do I look behind someone’s eyes?”

  “That is two questions. I am finished with you. Send in your friend.”

  She stared at the woman in shock. She’d been summarily dismissed. Rising, Lydia pushed back her chair and walked out of the tent. “You’re next,” she said to Kennedy, who stood at a nearby booth tossing a basketball into a net affixed to a board.

  Kennedy tossed the last ball into the net. Leaning over, he kissed Lydia’s cheek. “Pick out whatever you want.” Plush toys, large and small, were suspended from hooks around the small booth. He winked at her. “Don’t run away,” he teased as he turned to walk into the tent.

  Kennedy sat down opposite Mariska, a slight smile curving his mouth. He didn’t need a fortune-teller to tell him what lay in his future.

  “Your hand,” Mariska demanded. Kennedy extended his hand. She held it, staring intently, before her head came up slowly. “You have money and health, but no love in your life.” Her gaze returned to his upturned palm. “You take women because you do not want to be alone. I see an older man crying for you.” She let go of his hand. “Ask Mariska one question.”

  Kennedy knew who the older man was: his father. His NFL contract had made him wealthy, and shrewd investments had more than doubled his net worth.

  He had slept with women to pass the time, to provide temporary companionship. But that was his past. Now that he’d met and slept with Lydia he wanted her to be the last woman in his life.

  “There is a woman now,” he began slowly, “and I need to know if we will have a future together.”

  Mariska smiled. “Your feelings for this woman are different from the others. You can have her, but it will not be easy. You must be willing to fight for her.”

  Kennedy leaned forward. “Fight how?”

  “No more questions.” The hand with the clawlike fingers grazed his T-shirt. “Pay me.”

  Shifting and reaching into the pocket of his jeans, Kennedy withdrew a fifty-dollar bill and placed it in Mariska’s hand. “Thank you.” As he pushed back his chair, her fingers curled around his wrist.

  “You will get her if you do not let anything or anyone stop you.”

  Kennedy gave her a long, penetrating stare before shaking off her grip. “Nothing can stop me.” Standing, he walked out.

  Smiling, Mariska pushed the bill into a deep pocket of her long skirt. The handsome young man had paid full price despite her offering him two for the price of one.

  “Young fools,” she whispered angrily. “So young and so blind to the truth.”

  * * *

  Kennedy couldn’t help smiling when he spied Lydia holding a small white teddy bear with its arms extended over its head. The bear was clad in a black-and-white-striped shirt with a white cap. She’d chosen a football referee.

  “And the extra point is good,” she drawled with a wide grin. “He’s so cute.”

  Curving an arm around Lydia’s waist, he pulled her to his side, smiling. “He’s not as cute as you.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s because you’re biased.”

  Kennedy nodded, his smile in place. “Hell yeah.”

  He led her down a path lined on both sides with booths filled with stuffed animals as prizes for games of chance that usually did not favor the player.

  “How did you like Madame Mariska?” he asked Lydia.

  “She was okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Lydia did not want to talk about the fortune-teller’s prediction. She knew without a doubt that Kennedy wasn’t one of the two so-called two men in her life. Even before Mariska’s prediction, she had asked herself whether she wanted Kennedy Fletcher to become the last man in her life, or was he just passing through? Would their affair become just that—an affair? Or would it end like thousands of others—a summer romance?

  The doubts tumbled over themselves in her head. Despite her protests to the contrary, did she really want to marry? Was she willing to sacrifice bearing children to further her career? Could she successfully manage both—motherhood and a restaurant?

  The questions bombarded her until she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs to the two men in her future, Who are you? Please reveal yourselves.

  A crowd surrounding a large DUNK THE CLOWN sign pulled Lydia from her reverie. A man dressed as a clown sat on a perch leering and gesturing to those staring at him to try and hit a bell with a hardball for a dollar a throw.

  “Who’s next?” a barker chanted over and over. “Mr. Giggles has been sitting in his chair for the past two hours, and right about now he needs a bath. All it takes is a dollar. Just one dollar to sink the clown and you’ll have the pick of any prize on the shelf.”

  Lydia handed Kennedy her bear. “Please give the man a dollar.”

  He stared, complete surprise on his face. “There’s no way you’re going to hit that bell from here.” The bell was at least twenty feet from a white spray-painted line on the grass.

  “Give me the dollar, or I’ll ask another man for it,” she said between her teeth. At his urging, she’d left her purse back at his house.

  Cursing softly under his breath, Kennedy reached into his jeans, pulled out a dollar, and handed it to the barker. He, along with all of the others, held his breath, watching Lydia as she stepped behind the white line and took aim at the bell above Mr. Giggles’s head.

  She cradled the ball to her chest before going into a windup. Seconds later the missile whizzed by, hitting its target dead center. A loud roar ripped through the air as the clown went down into the shallow pool. The toes of his large yellow shoes wiggled like fishes out of water.

  “She did it, Daddy!” screamed a little girl as she jumped up and down.

  Lydia flashed a triumphant grin, while pumping her fists above her head. She turned to the child. “Which prize do you want?”

  Large blue eyes regarded her. “I want the dolly with the red dress.”

  “Give the child her doll,” Lydia ordered the barker.

  The barker took the doll off the shelf as a soaked Mr. Giggles climbed back onto his chair to wait to be dunked again.

  Lydia walked over to Kennedy with an exaggerated swagger. “Thought I couldn’t do it, didn’t ya!”

  There was no expression on his face. “Where did you learn to throw like that?”

  Looping her arm through his, she tilted her chin. “Whenever my family gets together for our annual Memorial Day reunion we always have a baseball competition with the girls against the guys. I’m always the pitcher for the Lord ladies. This year I pitched my first no-hitter. If I’d known my male relatives were going to spend the rest of the weekend pouting I would’ve deliberately given up one hit.”

  Dipping his head, Kennedy brushed his mouth over hers. “That’s for giving that little girl your prize for dunking Mr. Giggles.”

  “One thing I don’t need is another doll or stuffed animal to add the ones I’ve packed away in a steamer trunk.”

  “Are you going to pack away your referee bear?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll leave him out as a reminder of my summer at Camp Six Nations.”

  Kennedy angled his head. “You cook, throw a wicked curve ball, and climb poles. What else are you hiding from me?”

  Shrugging her shoulders under the crisp fabric of a man-tailored white shirt, she said, “Nothing.”

  “Do you swim?” She nod
ded. “Canoe?” She nodded again. “Sing?”

  “Oh no. When musical genes were being handed out I missed that boat.”

  “Speaking of music. The band over there sounds pretty good.”

  Listening intently, she recognized the piece they were playing, bobbing her head in time to the upbeat tune. “Let’s see if we can’t get closer.”

  They approached an area where a local band entertained a modest crowd with a repertoire of pop, country, and R&B favorites. Several couples had formed lines for the electric slide. Kennedy and Lydia were swept along with the others as they dipped, turned, and snapped their fingers. The lead singer segued into the updated cha-cha slide, and many dropped out, leaving those familiar with the steps to follow the calls.

  Clutching her bear tightly, Lydia surrendered to the rollicking tempo. She’d danced more since coming to Camp Six Nations than she had in years, relying on her younger nieces and nephews who kept her up to date with the latest dance moves.

  She shot a sidelong glance at Kennedy, who appeared to be caught up in his musical flight of fancy. For a man who exceeded six feet and two hundred pounds, he was as graceful as a professional dancer.

  The band slowed the tempo, singing the past hit of The Dixie Chicks’ reprise of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.” Lydia peered up at Kennedy as he mouthed the words to Kenny Chesney’s “Superstar.” He waved his hand in the air and sang, “My Town,” Montgomery Gentry’s former number-one blockbuster hit.

  Lydia fell in step with Kennedy as they made their way to the parking area. “How do you know those songs?”

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I told you I’m a country boy. Every once in a while I mix my BET with CMT.”

  “Country and hip-hop?”

  “Don’t knock it until you try it, darling.” His inflection was unadulterated Deep South.

  Using the key chain remote, Kennedy unlocked the doors and helped Lydia into the Range Rover before placing her bear in the cargo area with a stack of handmade quilts and a case of homemade preserves and jellies. He rounded the vehicle and sat down behind the wheel, starting the engine with a flick of his wrist.