McNeil's Match

by Gwynne Forster

  “Sloan—”

  “And don’t tell me I’m moving too fast. I haven’t made one bit of headway since we sat down here.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at him, at the merriment that twinkled in his eyes and the roguish smile that lit up his face. Little did he know. “If you haven’t made any headway, why would I tell you that you’re moving too fast?”

  His long, tapered fingers punished his scalp, and she had the pleasure of seeing him as perplexed as she felt. The waiter brought their dinner, and Sloan locked his gaze on the man who, having had his comeuppance earlier, managed not to look at her.

  When she thought Sloan had forgotten her question, he said, “Looks as if what’s fast to you is a snail’s pace to me. I want to see some evidence.”

  She changed the subject. “I got used to saying grace before I eat, so—”

  “I say it, too. When did you get used to it?”

  “When I was married to the reverend Willard Marsh. He preached and he prayed, and he was as cruel as a person could be.”

  Sloan fingered his chin in a way that suggested he didn’t know he was doing it. “I suppose anyone who had an unpleasant marriage would be reluctant to develop a liaison of any kind. But I’m asking you, Lynne, don’t make me pay for your ex-husband’s sins.”

  She put her knife and fork on her plate, rested her hands in her lap and looked into his eyes. “I already know that you are nothing like him, and if I seem reluctant, it’s because I am. I don’t see how I can focus on my goal so long as you are a distraction.”

  “Woman, I am not a distraction. I’m the man you’re going to wrap your life around.”

  Be careful, girl. That’s a leading statement. “I’m not going near that one,” she said.

  * * *

  “I enjoyed dinner with you,” he said as they walked hand in hand to the hotel to get his car. “But I almost wish we’d gone to El Mercado. It’s too early to leave you.”

  “Exploring El Mercado with you would be fun, Sloan, but right now, my body is telling me to go home and give it a chance to rest. How about Saturday?”

  He thought his heart would dance out of his chest, as joy suffused him. “All right.”

  She was as cautious as he, and that was one of the things he liked about her, but he needed the taste of her lips, the sensation of her skin heating his. Maybe he was moving too fast, but he longed to know the feel of her in his arms, sweet, loving and pliant. Would she be the soul mate of his dreams? Intuition told him not to rush her, and at her door, as much as he wanted to kiss her, he merely brushed her right cheek with his hungry lips.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said after checking her house for intruders and finding none. “And if you’d like me to help you pick out a dog, we can do that.”

  He didn’t recall ever having been so flustered as when she stood on tiptoe, reached up and brushed his lips with hers, then dashed into the house, closed the door and locked it.

  He stood there for a while staring at the door. “Well I’ll be damned. Whatta you know?”

  * * *

  “You gotta get with it, honey,” Max told Lynne several mornings later. “You’re sluggish, but you’re not going to give Max Jergens a bad name. By the end of the week, I want you to be doing fifty push-ups, fifty sit-ups, forty minutes of stretches and weight lifts, and I want you to do it all in the space of two hours. You also gotta run eight miles every morning.”

  “I ran ten miles this morning, and it’s a wonder I can move.”

  He waved his hand as if to say, that’s nothing. “If I don’t have you into shape within the next three weeks, Gary Hines will dump me. I’ve trained all of his players, and you’re not going to be a fly in this ointment.”

  She fastened her knuckles to her hips and glared at him. “Stuff it, Max. I’m in as good a shape this minute as I was when I was eighteen. I run faster, can lift heavier weights and do more sit-ups. You may be doing this to please Gary, but I’m doing it for myself. In less than two years from now, I’ll be number one. Who has the greater incentive? You or me?”

  Max glared right back at her. “I don’t give a rat’s behind for your reasons, honey. When I finish with you, you’ll be able to play three sets in one-hundred-degree heat without getting tired. And beginning next week, you’ll work out in the afternoon on your clay court. So get me a couple of straw mats.”

  She tolerated Max’s bossiness because she could see that, with every workout, she made progress. She had begun to serve with the power for which she was once famous, though she lacked consistency. But she couldn’t see Sloan as frequently as she would like, and she wondered if he had begun to develop other interests.

  “What do you mean you wouldn’t want to see me if I was bringing you a billion dollars?” Sloan asked her during one of their nightly telephone chats. “I want you to know that I do not appreciate that.”

  Barely able to move her neck, she whispered, “I’m worn out. Please understand and don’t be annoyed. I want to see you, but I have to rest.”

  “Thanks for that much. Sleep well.”

  She fell asleep, and the next morning, she didn’t remember telling him good-night.

  “I’m glad you dropped that mechanic,” her brother Brad said during their conversation later that morning. She swallowed her coffee, and in a sharper voice than she intended, she asked him, “Why do you think I’ve dropped him?”

  “Because you haven’t mentioned him lately.”

  “Really? When you see Sloan McNeil, you won’t envisage anybody dropping him.” A note of amusement colored her words. “He hasn’t done anything to make me curtail our friendship. He’s nice, Brad.”

  “But he’s a friggin’ mechanic. Dammit. How do you know what he’ll turn out to be?”

  “That’s worth a laugh, brother. I married a minister of the gospel, and look what he turned out to be. Don’t be such a snob. I’ve never met anyone like Sloan.”

  “You bet your life you haven’t. Are you willing to let that guy escort you to the Grammy Awards or to the Academy Awards? Are you?”

  Laughter rolled out of her. “If he looks as good in a tux as he did in that tan linen suit a couple of Saturdays ago, he can take me to the White House or anywhere else.”

  “Lynne, I’m serious. Didn’t it occur to you that he could be after your money?”

  She spoke forcefully now, no longer amused by her brother’s antics. “I’m serious, too, and no such thing has occurred to me. Besides, the bulk of my money is in a retirement trust, safe even from me, and learning that made Willard so mad that I’m sure he’d counted on spending a lot of it.”

  “Well, you be careful. You hear?”

  “Brad, I am not rushing into anything with anybody, including Sloan.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  * * *

  Brad might have relaxed a little if he had known that Sloan never rushed into anything, that he charted his course carefully after considerable thought. At that moment, Sloan was digging into himself. He questioned the wisdom of an involvement with a world-famous woman whose drive to reach the pinnacle of her sport might cost her heartbreak, injury and disappointment, and who might experience adversity when he was thousands of miles away and unable to help or to comfort her. Gloomily he signed the weekly paychecks for his employees, closed the service station and locked it.

  “See you Monday,” he called to Bill. “It’s shaping up to be a great weekend for sailing. Enjoy it.”

  “Do my best, Sloan. The kids always love it. You have a good one, too.”

  “Now what do I do with myself from one o’clock Saturday until Monday morning?” he said aloud. “If I were luckier, Lynne would be waiting for me with open arms.” He leaned against the door, ruminating about his options. “What the hell!”

  He went ho
me, showered, dressed in a pair of white trousers, a yellow, collared T-shirt, yellow socks and white shoes and headed for the barber shop. An hour later, after getting a haircut, shave and manicure, he stepped out into the blazing sunlight. The thought of calling a woman he knew would gladly meet his needs occurred to him, but after pondering it, he thought better of the idea. It wasn’t what he wanted or needed.

  If I want Lynne, I have to fight for her. If she cares for me, she’ll be glad to see me, if only for a few minutes, no matter how tired she is.

  He got into his Buick LeSabre, pointed it toward 2791 Corpus Christi Lane and parked it in front of Lynne’s house at about three-thirty. When she didn’t answer her doorbell, he walked out to the tennis court and saw her running in place on the clay court.

  “Raise your knees. Higher. Higher, I said. Higher,” Max screamed at her. “Come on. Faster. I said faster.”

  Suddenly she groped her way to the bench behind the baseline, nearly fell onto it, folded her forearms across her knees and rested her head there.

  “Get up, for Pete’s sake. You’ll never get anywhere folding up in a little heat. If you can’t stand this, you can’t play tennis in one-hundred-degree heat. Move it,” Max yelled.

  Infuriated, Sloan rushed to Lynne, sat beside her and, with one arm around her, rested her head on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

  She raised her head, glanced at him and returned to the comfort of his shoulder. “Oh, it’s you. I’m so glad to see you. Dizzy. I could hardly stand up straight. Real dizzy.”

  He looked at Max who stood nearby, akimbo and belligerent, his legs widespread. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t need to be babied,” Max said to Sloan, who glared at him.

  “You’re not talking to me,” Sloan growled. “You wouldn’t have the nerve. I say she’s finished for today, and it may as well be carved in stone. In the future, try to be a little more human. And it wouldn’t hurt you to remember that she doesn’t work for you—you work for her.”

  He looked down at her, fragile and limp, her head on his shoulder and her right hand clutching his T-shirt. “Where’s the key to your front door? We need to lock the house. I’m taking you to the clinic.” He intended to take her to hospital emergency, but he didn’t say so for fear of alarming her.

  “The key’s on the table in the foyer.”

  “Sit here. I’ll be right back.” After securing the house, be went back to her and encouraged her to stand, but when she sagged against him, he lifted her and carried her to his car. He put her in the front seat and fastened her seat belt, aware that Max was still on the clay court smarting for having been outdone.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said after driving several miles, and from a glance in the rearview mirror, he realized that Max was no longer behind them, but had taken his red convertible in a different direction. He had concluded that the man was either sadistic, unfeeling or stupid. He turned into Houston Street and headed for Santa Rosa Hospital at the corner of Santa Rosa Street. Never had eight miles seemed so long, he thought, as he drove into the hospital’s emergency zone and parked. With his arm holding Lynne tight to his side, he spoke to the guard at the desk.

  “She all but passed out in the sun, and she’s too weak to walk alone. She needs to see a doctor.”

  “In a minute.” The guard relayed the information via intercom, and a doctor arrived at once. “This way, please.” No one asked him whether he had a right to stay with her, so he didn’t leave her.

  “Are you her husband?” the doctor asked him in the examining room as he prepared to examine Lynne.

  When he said that he wasn’t, the doctor asked him to step outside while he examined her.

  “I’ll call you in a few minutes,” he said.

  After what seemed like an hour, but was only eighteen minutes by his watch, he was allowed to reenter the examining room. “What’s the problem, doctor? Is she going to be all right?” Lynne reached for his hand, held it and smiled, but he wasn’t satisfied. “Well?” He glowered at the doctor.

  “She’s dehydrated and exhausted. I’ve told her to rest, and I’ve given her fluid, but she must drink a lot of water and any nonalcoholic liquid.” He looked down at Lynne. “You must rest. That’s crucial.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “And that’s what she’ll get, Doctor,” Sloan said. He sat beside the bed holding her hand, uneasy because she seemed so sleepy at four-thirty in the afternoon.

  After about an hour, the doctor returned. “You may go home now, but I want to impress upon you the need to rest. You’ve got a strong guy to look after you, so do as I say, and don’t forget to drink plenty of water. The hospital will send you a bill.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Sloan,” she said when he parked in front of her house.

  “I don’t need thanks. I’m grateful that I ignored your insistence that you were too busy to spend a few minutes with me.” He took her hand and walked with her to her front door, judging her ability to navigate properly.

  “It’s been like that every day, and on Sundays, I’ve hardly been able to move. I wanted to see you, but I didn’t think you would enjoy being with a woman who was tired and worn out.”

  I want to be with this woman every possible minute. He took her door key out of his pocket and handed it to her, and from her inquiring look, it was clear to him that she didn’t remember how he happened to have it. She opened the door, stood beside it, half leaning, and waited.

  It was his move. “You’re supposed to rest, and I want to see that you do, so this evening, I’ll be your cook and bottle washer.” He smiled in the hope of reassuring her. “I need to do this, Lynne.”

  “Uh...okay, but can you cook?”

  He suppressed a sigh of relief thinking that such an expression might unsettle her. “Of course I can cook. I’m single. I live alone, and I eat.” She reached behind him and closed the door, and he said a silent word of thanks. He had needed evidence that she trusted him.

  “Park yourself on the living room sofa,” he said, affecting an air of jocularity meant to put her at ease. He went into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. Carrots, celery, spinach and tomatoes. Nothing there that he wanted to cook or eat.

  “I’m going to the supermarket. Be back shortly.” He bought shrimp, filet mignon, bib lettuce, Idaho potatoes, asparagus, orange juice, cranberry juice and ice cream. Ordinarily he’d want wine with the meal he planned to cook, but she couldn’t drink it, so neither would he.

  He returned to find her asleep on the sofa, and began to wonder if that doctor did his job well. He put an ice cube into a tall glass, poured cranberry juice over it and took it to her.

  “Lynne, wake up. Wake up, baby, and drink this. You need to drink.”

  She sat up slowly. “Why am I so sleepy?”

  “The doctor told you that you’re exhausted. Could that be the reason? I brought you some cranberry juice. Drink up. And before you nod off again, where do I find the table linen?” She told him. “Maybe if you turn on the TV, you’ll wake up. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  * * *

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  The voice came from far away, but it was a voice that she liked and she wanted to get closer to it. She tucked the cover to her body and hugged the pillow.

  “Sweetheart, dinner’s ready.”

  Sweetheart? Willard never called her names of endearment. Where was she?

  “Aren’t you hungry? If we don’t eat, the food will spoil.”

  She dragged herself upright, rubbed her eyes and looked around. Her gaze fell on Sloan, who hunkered beside the sofa with a kind and indulgent smile on his face.

  Her right hand stroked his left cheek. “You’re so sweet. When did you put this bedding over me? And this pillow? I was sleeping so good.” She stood, and for a second
, it seemed that she floated, but he was there with a hand on her arm.

  “This food is wonderful,” she told him later, savoring the shrimp diablo. “How’d you cook all this without getting a spot on those white trousers?”

  “I’m a genius. Also, I tucked a towel in my belt.”

  “Are we having dessert, too?” she asked him when he took their dishes to the kitchen. “I love dessert.”

  His right hand went to the left side of his chest. “You wound me. Would I feed my best girl and not give her dessert? Horrors.”

  He served the ice cream with two tablespoons of coffee liqueur poured over it. “It isn’t much, so you’re not disobeying the doctor. After I clean up, I’ll bring us some coffee and we can talk.”

  She ate the last spoonful of ice cream, wondering if the man facing her was real or imagined. “You’re a wonderful man, Sloan,” she said before realizing that the words would slip from her mouth.

  He got up to collect the dessert bowls, stopped and regarded her. “I’ll be happy if you still feel that way six months from now.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “By then, you should know what I mean to you and whether I suit you in every way. Then, if you tell me I’m wonderful, I’ll welcome it.”

  Not every comment demanded a response. He was counseling caution, and he may as well have told her that he was being careful where she was concerned. She sat in the living room, thoroughly awake after the best home-cooked meal she’d had in a long time. He brought the coffee and a bowl of the grapes he found in the refrigerator. I could really get used to being with this man.

  “Tell me about yourself, Sloan. I mean...tell me who you are down deep where it counts.”

  He rubbed the square chin that set off his lean, longish face and gave him the appearance of one in command. “My parents aren’t poor, and they aren’t rich. I’m an only child, but I worked my way through college because they wanted me to appreciate my education. I’m glad for that. After working for an unscrupulous man, I started my own business, the McNeil Motor Service. I bought the plant from a man who had decided to retire. At the beginning, I paid my employees when I couldn’t afford to buy myself a decent meal. They knew I was hurting, and they went the extra mile for me, so to speak. I’m solvent now, debt free, and by the first of the year, I hope to open my second service station in Castle Hills. My goal is to have a chain of them throughout Texas.