What a Woman

by Judi Fennell

  The crowd commiserated, but Jared held out his hands to quiet them down. “You took your eye off the ball. You were looking at me, not the pitch. Let’s try that again.”

  And so it went for the next three hours. Mac caught a glimpse when she could, but preventing the kids with her from eating the cookie batter became a full-time job.

  Finally, she slid the last of the cookie trays onto the refrigerated baking rack. “Okay, gang, let’s get this round inside to the ovens and then we can clean up while they bake.”

  “Aw, I don’t want to clean up. I’m a chef. Chefs cook things. They don’t clean up.”

  Mac tweaked Calvin’s nose. “They do when they’re first starting out and so will we. Who else do you think is going to do it?”

  “The ants!” said Janey Weston.

  Mac chucked Janey under the chin. “Nice try, kiddo. But we’re not inviting the ants to our cookie bake, so you’ll all have to grab a rag and get busy.”

  * * *

  JARED had a blast. God, he loved the game. Coaching kids wasn’t like playing in the majors, but as something to get him over the hump ’til he went back, it’d been fun. And it was great to see familiar faces from school and catch up, but after three hours of pitching, his legs and his ribs were protesting.

  And as for the kids . . . They were receptive to his advice, excited to learn, and some a little star struck. It was good for his ego, but even more importantly, it was good for his soul. It was nice to be appreciated for something he’d worked so hard to be good at.

  He pulled another two-hour stint signing everything from T-shirts to baby strollers and business cards, enjoying himself, smiling until his cheeks hurt, but he could really use a break. With all the physical activity of cleaning up after the kittens, surveying the attic, playing ball with Chase, and working out with Dave, plus this afternoon on top of it all, he was wiped out, and the line wasn’t getting any shorter.

  “Okay, gang, listen up.” Mac showed up with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. He could have kissed her for that.

  Well, among other reasons.

  “For those of you who already have Jared’s autograph, there are more cookies at the baking booth back there. If you head over, the other people in line can have their chance to meet him and we’ll be able to finish up. The cleaning crew wants to go home, too.” She said that last bit with a big smile, taking the command out of her words.

  Too bad the next woman in line didn’t listen. God knew, she had more than enough of his stuff to ensure she’d never have to wait in line.

  “What do you want, Camille?”

  She whipped out a piece of paper from the hideous fur purse she’d insisted on buying with his money for her own birthday. Only Camille carried fur year-round. “Your autograph, of course.”

  Every adult within hearing distance was watching them. Jared hated it. And he hated her for doing it.

  He grabbed the paper, ready to sign it just to get her out of here, when he looked at what it was.

  “You want me to sign over my house? Are you out of your mind? And that’s not a rhetorical question.”

  “If you want me to go quietly, you’ll sign it.” The bitch smiled at him as if she were just another fan.

  He was D.O.N.E. with her manipulative bullshit. “Go ahead, Camille. Make a scene. I don’t care. You’re not getting my house, and as soon as the eviction happens, I’ll be the one smiling. So how about you step aside for someone who actually likes me?” He was working very hard to hold on to his temper. There were kids around. They shouldn’t see their idol lose it on someone. Even if she did deserve it.

  “I’ve got all night, Jared.” Camille crossed her arms and her smirk got bigger. The red fox bag swung against her hip. “My only plans are to spend the night at home. My home.”

  Jared crinkled the paper into a ball, never taking his eyes from her. “Over my dead body.”

  “But then you’d have to have put me in your will and I have a feeling you haven’t done that.” Camille drummed her fingertips on her arm so nonchalantly that he wanted to shake her.

  Jesus, he’d never been one for physical violence. He raked a hand through his hair. He wasn’t going to start now. Camille wasn’t worth it.

  “Get out of here, Camille. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not playing it. This piece of paper is worthless.” He tossed it onto the table, daring her to take it.

  “I have copies, Jared. Did you really think that would make it all go away?”

  He wanted her to go away. But it wasn’t easy to argue with someone who refused to argue, so Jared just crossed his arms to wait her out.

  Thankfully, Mac showed up to rescue him once more. She walked up to the table, a smile on her face as if she didn’t know who was standing there.

  “Excuse me? Is there a problem here?”

  She knew. He recognized that tone—the one she reserved for the Renees and Maeves of the world and had used so effectively on his front porch.

  Jared sat back. He was going to enjoy this.

  “No. There’s no problem.” Camille didn’t even look at Mac when she said it.

  Big mistake. Mac didn’t like to be ignored.

  For the first time, Jared was glad about that.

  “Oh, that’s good, then. So if you could please step aside? We’re trying to move the line along so everyone can get home for dinner. You understand. If you have some personal business with Jared, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind waiting until he’s met with his other fans.”

  Man, the woman was good. That slight emphasis on other was a dig so subtle that if it were anyone other than the lying, conniving bitch, they wouldn’t see it.

  Camille, however, did.

  She glared at him. “Oh no. I have no personal business with Jared. It’s all business. You’ll be hearing from my attorney.”

  She could threaten a lawsuit all she wanted, but he had the deeper pockets and he wasn’t afraid to use them to get her out of his life. “Bring it on.”

  Mac smiled the entire time she thanked Camille then went to the next person in line, bringing him up to Jared.

  But Jared could see something simmering below the surface . . . and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. The last person he wanted to discuss Camille with was Mac.

  Unfortunately, Mac wasn’t on board with that plan. “You lived with that . . . that walking PETA nightmare?” she hissed when the last person left his table and she grabbed the bowl of raffle tickets she’d devised for three lucky winners to win a signed autograph ball.

  Besides being a good bouncer, Mac was good for PR, too.

  “If it makes you feel better, she’s allergic to it. That’s as far as her fur fetish can go. She has to put the thing in a plastic bag at home. Ticks her off immensely.” Which made him happy as hell. “But, yeah, living with her wasn’t one of my more brilliant moves.”

  Mac set the bowl down, the look of disbelief growing. “Did you just admit that you’re not perfect?”

  “Of course I’m not perfect, Mac. What gave you the idea that I thought I was?”

  “You’re arro—um, confidence.” Mac slid the bowl to the end of the table and made a big production of gathering up the markers he’d used to sign things—without once looking at him.

  “My”—If he weren’t already sitting, he would have at that. “You think I’m arrogant?”

  “No. Of course not. I mean, you have to be extremely self-confident to do what you do for a living, always being in the public eye, with fans’ expectations on your shoulders, always having to step up to the plate—I mean . . . Well, you know. You could crumble under all that pressure if you weren’t sure enough of yourself to handle it. Some people could call that arrogance.”

  She was babbling and it was kind of cute. Mac was embarrassed. He’d never seen her like this. Not even when he’d c
rushed her young heart with that unforgettably scathing kiss-off he’d delivered all those years ago. Back then, she’d just shut up and backed away.

  Jesus, he was arrogant. He’d done a number on her that night.

  Man, if only he could go back and make it right . . .

  Maybe he could.

  He stood up, his legs needing a change of position from sitting so long.

  “So did you have fun?” Mac made a big production of putting the markers in a cigar box.

  “I did. Thanks for suggesting this.” He handed her a marker that had rolled away.

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was something, Mac.”

  She looked up at him then, and Jared didn’t even think about what he did next.

  He cupped her cheek.

  For a few seconds, they stared at each other and Jared could’ve sworn the rest of the world stopped along with them.

  But then Mac took a step back and he reacted just a second too late to keep her from doing so.

  “Jared, maybe we should . . .” She tucked the hair that’d fallen from her ponytail back behind her ear. “It’s late. We’ve both had a busy day. We ought to just go home and get some rest.”

  “I agree, Mac. We should go home.”

  She swallowed and reached for the cigar box.

  He put his hand on hers. “Together, Mac.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “To . . . Together?”

  Oh hell, that hadn’t come out right. He wasn’t propositioning her for God’s sake. “I mean, you should come over and watch the movies with me.”

  “Oh.” She blew out a breath. “Oh. Um . . . that’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Why? Got a hot date?” He hadn’t really been teasing the other day when he’d asked her, and he sure as hell wasn’t teasing now. He wanted her with him tonight.

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks, Jared, but I sweated all day, have goops of melted chocolate chips in my hair, and have licked enough batter off my fingers to make me want an antacid and a pillow. I need to go home.”

  “So that’s a no then?”

  Her smile was a little more real at his joke.

  But Jared wasn’t joking. He had to move slow here. He knew that. Of course she was skittish. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing either, but what he did know was that he wanted Mac with him on the sofa tonight, even if it was just to watch the movies. Especially when she saw who was in them.

  “What if I offered you wine and a pillow to go with the movies? It’s not hot and it’s not a date, but I found my grandmother’s projector and set it up this morning. It still works and I think you’d like to see who’s on the film.”

  “If they’re my baby pictures, I’m out.” She stacked the raffle bowl on top of the cigar box and tucked them under her arm. “I don’t want to sit there while you make comments about me in a diaper.”

  He laughed. “If there are any of those, I haven’t found them.” He put a hand on her arm and finally got her to look at him. “But your parents are.”

  “My . . . parents?”

  He nodded. “They’re young. Probably not married yet. I haven’t watched much, sort of felt like you ought to see them before I do, you know?”

  She swallowed a couple of times. Blinked really fast. But it took her a minute or two before she answered him. “Give me a half hour to shower, then I’ll be over. Should I bring anything? Cheese? Crackers?”

  He didn’t let go because he could feel her trembling. “I got it covered, Mac. Just bring yourself. And your pillow if you must.”

  “It’s already there. I left it in Mildred’s room.”

  He didn’t know why, but that got to him. Her pillow was in his house. Such an innocuous thing but somehow . . . it wasn’t.

  You’re in a shitload of trouble here, Nolan. You should not be serving wine on a Saturday night and sitting on the sofa next to a woman who is undoubtedly going to be overly emotional while watching the movies. A woman who’d loved you once.

  Yeah, this was a dangerous move, but one he had to take. Seeing Camille had made him realize that he might have thrown away the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him and he wasn’t going to blow this chance. “Take longer if you like. They’re not going anywhere.”

  “That’s because they already did,” she whispered. Then, being the Mac he remembered, she straightened her shoulders and put some determination in her smile. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  YOU look like her.”

  Mac walked into Mildred’s parlor, unable to take her eyes from the screen. Jared had stopped the film on her mother’s face. She did look like her. So much that it was painful.

  “Mac? You okay?”

  No. God, she missed her parents.

  She walked to the nearest piece of furniture—the arm of the sofa. It was as far as her legs would take her.

  “Here. Sit down.” Jared shifted to the right, giving her room to slide onto the cushion.

  “They look so happy.” Her parents were cuddled on a wicker chair on the grass just off Mildred’s back porch, glasses of what looked like iced tea in their hands, clinking them together, her mother’s tiny diamond ring sparkling in the sun.

  “They do. From what my grandmother says, they seemed to have been very happy together.”

  “They were.” She cleared her voice. “I don’t remember a lot about them because I was so young, but I remember the laughter. My dad would swoop her up in his arms when he came home from work every day. I remember because Mom had just read me a whole bunch of fairy tales and I thought that was how the prince would act. I thought my mom was the luckiest woman in the world.” And she’d wanted to be just like her.

  Damn, the tears eked out. She quickly dashed them away. Crying solved nothing. They were still gone. And she was no Cinderella.

  “It’s okay to cry, Mac.” Jared reached for her hand.

  She let him have it. The emotions were threatening to overwhelm her and she needed something to hold on to.

  “Do you want me to turn it off?”

  Yes. “No.” She shook her head to clear that traitorous yes out of it. “No. I’ve never seen these before.”

  Gran walked out next, looking so young Mac’s mouth dropped. “She looks so pretty.”

  “Good genes run in your family.” He squeezed her hand, making her smile.

  Gran waved to the camera, then turned around and circled her arm to someone inside.

  Mac’s grandfather walked out, his walker leading the way.

  Mac’s breath caught. “Wow, I didn’t realize how bad he was. This might be right at the end.” Which just broke her heart all the more. Everyone was so happy, the drinks raised, hugs all around, a neighborly celebration, and it would all be so different all too soon. “God, life can change in an instant, you know? Look at them. They have no idea what’s going to happen—”

  Her voice disappeared. She couldn’t watch any more knowing that they’d be gone in a few short years, yet not wanting to miss a moment of this precious precious gift.

  She let go of Jared’s hand and reached for the glass of wine he had waiting for her, wanting the relaxation it offered. “Thank you for insisting I see these.”

  “I didn’t insist. I offered.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Potato, potahto.”

  He picked up his glass of wine. “At least it got you here.”

  She didn’t want to contemplate why he thought that was a good thing; for years, he’d been trying to get rid of her.

  “Oh, look. There’s your dad.” Mac pointed to the screen, glad to have someone else to focus on besides her parents.

  A woman walked into the frame and slipped her hand into Mr. Nolan’s.

  “And that’s not my mom.”
<
br />   “Who is she?”

  Jared took a gulp of his wine. “Not sure. But Dad certainly knows who she is.”

  Mr. Nolan kissed the woman then, and when they pulled apart, they were laughing as the woman held up her left hand.

  “Holy shit. They’re engaged, too.” Jared leaned forward. “What year is this?”

  Mac did some quick calculations.

  “That’s not possible.”

  She ran the numbers. “No, actually, it is. If my grandfather was still alive at this point, which we clearly see that he is, that’s when my parents got engaged because they got married when he went into the hospital. They had the ceremony in the hospital chapel so he could walk her down the aisle. I’m sure of it. Gran’s told me a thousand times about it. He died less than a week later.”

  “But that would be about seven months before I was born.”

  They looked at the screen again.

  “Um . . .”

  “Yeah.” Jared fell back against the sofa. “No wonder my mom pulls him around by the nose hairs. He got her pregnant and then asked someone else to marry him.”

  “But he obviously married your mom.”

  “But at what cost?” Jared exhaled. “So many things are making sense now. He felt guilty and she never let him forget it. Jesus.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “No wonder they’ve been miserable all these years.”

  On screen, Mildred walked out of the house carrying another round of drinks, and she had something draped over her arm. She set the drinks down then handed the thing to her son, Jared’s father.

  He held it up in front of him, a big smile on his face.

  “Holy shit! Are you kidding me?” Jared almost jumped out of his seat.

  Mr. Nolan was holding a baseball jersey. With NOLAN across the back.

  “They didn’t make vanity jerseys back then, did they?” Mac asked.

  “Hell no.” Jared’s eyes were glued to the screen and the very visible team logo. “That’s real. And it’s his.”

  “So your dad played professional baseball?”

  Jared looked at her then, his expression . . . bleak? Confused? Something.