No Strings Attached (27 page)

Along the way, he learned that William’s younger brother had established the first local newspaper in town. The
Sun
was printed once a week and was a one-page news sheet. William’s eldest son was instrumental in the construction and extension of the First Southern Railroad. The one-rail line brought a slow stream of commerce to town. William’s youngest daughter ran a bakery out of her home kitchen. She baked the best apple pies in the county.

He also discovered that his great-great-grandfather had had polio and his great-aunt had died of scarlet fever. They had no town doctor for many years. The local women applied stitches and used home remedies to treat the common cold and pneumonia.

The crowd grew bigger and Dune fell farther behind. He came across Mac outside the T-shirt shop and stopped to talk to his partner. Mac held a large soda and two corn dogs.

Something was definitely wrong, Dune thought. Mac had a cast-iron stomach and went through food as if life was an eating contest. Yet at that moment, both drink and dog went untouched. They had one hour before volleyball practice. Dune hoped he wasn’t sick.

“You standing or stalking?” he asked Mac.

Mac pointed to a fissure in the foundation. “I’m holding up the wall.”

“Three Shirts isn’t falling down,” Dune informed him. “The crack’s been there for fifty years.”

“I’m here in case it caves in.”

Dune narrowed his gaze. “That’s an interesting way to spend your morning. Is Jen aware of your Herculean strength?”

“She looked out the door and scowled at me,” Mac said. “A few minutes later that boy Randy delivered a glass of
warm
tap water.” Mac liked his drinks packed with ice.

Dune shook his head and smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” Mac demanded.

“The fact that we’ve stood here for five minutes and you haven’t made one comment on women’s waxing.” Beautiful women strolled the boardwalk. Most wore tiny bikinis. They flashed a lot of smiles and skin.

Mac cut his glance to the next three sunbathers coming their way. “Brazilian, bikini, bikini,” he said half-heartedly.

“Nice jersey, Ace-hole,” one of the two bikini babes said to Mac as she passed.

Mac nodded. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too,” Dune stated, eyeing the familiar jersey. Mac often raided his closet when they were on tour or vacation. He’d paid a sizeable amount for the vintage 1925 Packers football jersey. He should’ve framed and preserved the shirt, but he enjoyed wearing it when Mac didn’t confiscate it.

Mac rolled his shoulders. “I ran out of clothes.”

“Ever hear of a washing machine?”

“I put out my laundry, but Frank has yet to run a load.”

“You’re his guest,” Dune reminded him. “Be considerate of my grandfather.”

“I’m family,” Mac said. “Frank calls me ‘son.’ ”

“Son of a bitch when you’re out of earshot.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

Dune glanced at his watch. “Jen or the gym?” he asked.

Mac considered his options. “Jenna hates my guts and won’t speak to me. I can work off my frustration at practice.”

Dune turned serious. He seldom poked his nose into Mac’s personal business, but Jen was family. “Are you into my cousin?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m asking, you’re answering.”

“True confession?” Mac asked.

“Be honest with me. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“She’s the one being shitty to me,” Mac said.

“You bring out the worst in people.”

“I’m a freakin’ nice guy,” he defended. “I want—”

“Someone you can’t have,” Dune said flatly. He went on to remind Mac, “We’re leaving town shortly. My family is close. We look out for each other. Don’t do something so stupid you get banned from our community.”

“What do you consider stupid?”

“Don’t mess with Jenna’s mind.”

“What if she screws with me?”

“You’d deserve it.”

Mac said a bad word.

Dune motioned to him. “Enough said. Let’s walk.”

Mac had finished one corn dog and half his soda by the time they reached the Tahoe. He dumped the remainder of the food in a trash receptacle; then Dune drove them to the high school gym. He knew the coaches well and had reserved the facility for two hours.

Dune shouldered an athletic bag inside. He’d brought them each a change of clothes. Dressed in gray tank tops and athletic shorts, they took to the indoor court. He’d have preferred to practice on the beach, but they’d draw a crowd there. He didn’t want media publicizing his injury. He slipped on his brace.

They each took a side to practice their serves. Dune soon realized that Mac’s mind wasn’t on the court. Ace-hole was in his own world. His serves were unfocused, his placement sloppy. Dune needed to jar his ass back to reality.

Dune strained his wrist, but he got his message across. He aimed an overhand slam at Mac’s head. Strong and accurate, it served his purpose.

“What the fuck?” Mac jumped, ducked, and was forced to chase the ball down. “I’m your partner, for Christ’s sake. You nearly took off an ear. I don’t want to be the Vincent van Gogh of volleyball.”

“Concentrate,” Dune shouted over the net. “We need to be ready for Huntington.”

Mac narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. His return serve blew Dune away, landing beyond his reach.

“Nice,” Dune admired.

“How’s your wrist?” Mac asked. “Am I going to have to carry you in two weeks?”

Dune hoped not, but he was afraid Mac might. “Be ready for anything.”

“I’ve got your back.”

They went through a series of two-man drills. Hot and sweaty, they called it quits at the end of ninety minutes. Dune bought them each an apple juice from the vending machine. He tossed Mac a towel from his athletic bag. They sat on the bleachers and cooled off.

“I may be leaving town earlier than I planned,” Dune confided in Mac. “My orthopedist called. He has a treatment for my tendonitis he wants to try, one that could strengthen my wrist.”

“Solid,” said Mac. “What’s the procedure?”

Dune rubbed the towel across the back of his neck. “I get shots of platelet-rich plasma created by my own blood injected in the ruptured tendons.”

Mac winced. “How long does it take to work?”

Dune rolled his wrist. “I’m a speed healer. I should see results within a day.”

“Yeah?” Mac asked, curious.

“I should have more flexibility in my wrist and less inflammation,” Dune said. “I’ll stay on for observation and additional therapy. If all goes well, I’ll be in top shape for the tournament.”

Mac exhaled slowly. “You’d no longer face retirement. We could continue on the tour.”

“That would be the best scenario.”

They both knew the worst, but neither wanted to go there.

“What about Ghost?” Mac asked.

“He’ll stay with my grandfather until I return. Frank could use the company.”

“I’ll take him for walks and give him snacks.”

“No pepperoni, potato chips, or peanut butter. Otherwise—”

“He farts,” Mac finished for him.

Dune cut Mac a look. “No more tricks, either. You taught him how to play dead. He lay like roadkill on our last walk. I had to carry him home. I also don’t like the fact he can twist doorknobs with his mouth. He occasionally sneaks in and sleeps on the floor in Frank’s bedroom. My grandfather trips over him in the morning. I don’t want Frank hurt.”

“No more tricks,” Mac promised.

Dune knew he lied.

Mac nudged him with an elbow. “Does Sophie know about your injections?”

“Not yet, but I plan to tell her before I leave.” He rubbed his brow. “She’ll feel worse than I will if the treatment doesn’t work.”

“She cares for you.”

“She’s cute when she blushes.”

Mac grinned one of his more annoying grins.

Dune’s neck heated. “What now?” he asked.

“You’re crazy about her. C’mon, admit it.”

He kept his feelings to himself.

“She’s going to miss you,” said Mac.

“She won’t even know I’m gone.” Dune then told Mac about his chat with the mayor. “Sophie knows the town better than anyone. I’m sure she’ll accept the challenge.”

“There’ll be no more adventures.” Mac sounded disappointed. “I truly thought she’d make a great mime.”

“I’m relieved she’s out of harm’s way,” Dune admitted.

“You’ve been concerned about her.

“Yeah,” Dune admitted. “Sophie’s special.”

Mac finished off his juice and stood up. “I’d ask her out if you weren’t seeing her,” he said. “I still might once you leave town.”

“You’re such an ass.” Dune pushed to his feet, then stepped off the bleachers. “You need to fix things with Jen.”

“I will eventually,” Mac conceded.

“I need your A-game at Huntington.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring it.”

Sophie Saunders brought a pair of goggles, a nose clip, hand paddles, flippers, a snorkel, a kickboard, and a waist strap with foam blocks to her first swim lesson.

She answered the door in her blue tankini and full aquatic gear. Dune couldn’t help staring. “You’ve been shopping,” he noted.

“I got outfitted at Diver Dan’s.”

She’d gotten the works. He was surprised the salesclerk hadn’t sold her a wet suit, air tank, and speargun. “All you need is me, Sophie.”

She deflated. “Think I overdid it?”

He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Maybe just a little,” he said. “The items you purchased are for swimming in the Gulf. We’ll be in the shallow end of your pool, where you can stand.”

“I’m scared,” she confessed.

“You jumped in twice.”

“Both times without thinking.”

Dune evaluated their situation. She’d been excited about her swim lesson earlier in the day, yet she’d had hours to dwell on her decision. She’d worked herself up and he needed to calm her down.

He dropped his athletic bag on the aqua marble floor and drew her close. He wanted to feel her against him. Six inches of foam block kept them apart. The lifebelt dug into his groin. He sucked air. Shifted his stance.

Despite their separation, Sophie stretched and wrapped her arms about his waist. She slapped him on the back with her hand paddles. Her flippers tromped his bare feet. Her eyes looked twice their size behind the goggles. The nose clip forced her to breathe through her mouth. She puffed air.

Dune gently set her back. “Let’s strip down to the basics,” he suggested. “Swimsuits only.”

He helped her remove her goggles. She blinked up at him. Her expression reflected her every emotion. She was self-conscious in her swimsuit and deathly afraid of the pool. Color drained from her face. She needed reassurance.

He brushed her hair out of her eyes.

She leaned her cheek into his palm.

He kissed her lightly.

She managed a small smile.

He wanted her relaxed. He soothed her further. He skimmed his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Her skin was as soft as living silk. “It’s going to be fine, Sophie, trust me.”

She nodded, and he removed her nose clip. She inhaled deeply and tried to rub her nostrils. She nearly poked her eye out with the end of a hand paddle. Dune massaged the bridge of her nose until the red marks faded.

Off came the foam block belt and paddles. He then knelt down and helped her remove the flippers. They fit her feet tightly. Her toes were pinched. He noticed she’d changed the color of her toenail polish from purple to a glossy red. He smiled to himself. She was going for sexy.

She stood before him now in only her suit. He could sense her apprehension as she fought her nerves. Dune had never been afraid of anything in his entire life. He wanted to infuse that kind of confidence into Sophie.

He took her by the hand and led her down the hallway. She dragged her feet. He caught sight of the hamsters. Sophie had purchased them a new plastic ball. They cornered the kitchen and rolled straight toward them. The girls appeared to have grown overnight.

Sophie perked up. “I named the darker of the two Scarlett,” she said, “as in Scarlett O’Hara. I love
Gone with the Wind
and think Scarlett is a brave name.”

Dune agreed. “She looks like a Scarlett.”

“I want you to name the other.”

The honor carried a huge responsibility. He gave it some thought. “How about Glinda,” he said, “after the Good Witch of the North in
The Wizard of Oz
.” He figured the movie would appeal to her.

And it did. “Glinda is perfect!” She seemed pleased.

The Dwarfies did a U-turn and followed them all the way to the sliding glass doors. Their little legs were churning fast. Dune and Sophie slipped out before the girls could follow them. He then secured the sliders. The hamsters reversed their direction. There’d be no repeat of the ball in the pool incident.

He drew Sophie across the pool deck to the shallow end. The night was quiet, the air calm. The inside lights reflected outward. The glow was both intimate and private.

Dune tugged on her hand, hoping she’d take the stairs down into the water alongside him. Instead, she held back. He scooped a handful of water and splashed her.

She glared at him.

He laughed at her.

“Ease up, Sophie,” he teased. “The pool is as warm as bathwater.”

She gripped his hand tightly. He was her lifeline. One step down and an inch of water covered her ankles. He was sure she’d hyperventilate.

“Take deep breaths,” he instructed her.

Her eyes were wide. She trembled.

He continued down the stairs ahead of her. He now stood on the floor of the pool. Their clutched hands and outstretched arms connected them. He squeezed her fingers.

“I want to kiss you,” he enticed her.

“Come back to the steps.”

“No, you come to me.”

Her expression nearly did him in. She wanted him, would do anything for him, yet fear paralyzed her.

“Three steps, Sophie,” he encouraged her. “You can do this.”

She blinked and a tear escaped.

He felt awful.

She probably felt worse.

Her breathing deepened as she gathered her courage. The stairs were forgotten as she took a wild leap. She landed in his arms. He collected her to him. She buried her face in his neck and her heartbeat raced against his chest. Her thighs tightened like a vise at his waist. She wasn’t ready to be kissed. Her full concentration was centered on not drowning.