Devil Moon (9 page)

Feeling like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, she answered weakly, "In the hills..."

He nodded. "Ah."

They stood there staring at each other like a couple of goofy teenagers until Phil snapped to. "So, did you come to run or flirt with me?"

Embarrassed outrage filled her big blue eyes. "I do not flirt and I certainly wouldn't flirt with you if I did." She pushed off.

Keeping up with her, he said, "No, you'd save that come hither glance for Phineas Manchester."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Just shut up and run."

And so they did. They ran and ran, keeping pace with each other amazingly well. She was long in the leg at five foot seven, something he admired greatly. Maintaining grace and elegance while sweating around a track took some doing, but somehow she managed it. He imagined her wearing a fancy ballroom gown, himself dressed in a tux, spinning a waltz in a garden setting, the light dim and intimate. He shook his head, thinking, man where did that come from? He was probably getting dehydrated.

After seven laps, they were panting like dogs. Maddie's water bottle was empty and Phil's throat completely parched. He would have stopped at five laps, but pride is a powerful stimulus. Maddie slowed her pace as they reached the bleachers and stopped to hold onto the front railing, taking measured breaths.

"That's…enough…for me," she said.

"Really?" he said inhaling huge gulps of air. He was about to lie and say he was good for three more laps, but instead spit out, "Thank God!"

They laughed and limped up onto the bleachers.

The early morning breeze felt good passing through their damp clothes as they caught their breath on the metal benches. Maddie grabbed a knapsack she had stowed and pulled out a small towel she draped around her neck. Then she brought out two water bottles and threw one to Phil.

"Granola bar?" she asked.

Phil winced. "Never touch the stuff, but thanks for the water. You do come prepared, don't you?"

"I find a bit of careful planning makes life much easier."

Maddie sat very straight, patting herself with the towel, drank water and looked out over the field. A mockingbird dive-bombed a pair of squirrels playing in a large elm tree that grew near the chain link fence. The slant of the sun sparkled everything with a fresh, clean look.

Phil sprawled back, rested his arms on the bench behind and locked his gaze on Maddie's profile. Her nose turned up at the end, making her look cute and snooty at the same time.

Laying on a thick accent he said, "So, Miz Harris, where do you holler from? You don't sound like ya'll come from these here parts."

He was teasing her again and, darn it, she liked it.

"I'm from Boston originally, but my father was raised here and I spent my summers in Beaver Cove with my Grammy, uh, Grandmother. What about you? Are you a native?"

"Oh yeah. You can take the man out of Arkansas, but you can't take Arkansas out of the man. I've bounced around a lot, but I guess you could say I've come full circle, hoping to beat the Bender Tigers. Only this time, I'm the coach instead of the quarterback."

She turned and looked at him. "Oh, that's right. Your opening game is tonight. Are you nervous?"

Phil shrugged. "Nervous? It's only a high school football game. It's nothing to lose any sleep over." Maddie's honest blue eyes tore down his defenses. "Listen, I won't kid you. Okay, I'm nervous. These kids might pull it together or they might just get clobbered. It could go either way. These boys are depending on me for leadership and I'm not sure I'm getting through to them. I really don't want to screw this up."

Phil's hand rested on the bench and Maddie instinctively covered it with her own. "I have the feeling you're the sort of person who gets the job done. I've read your resume. You're vastly over qualified for this position. Just do what you've been trained to do and expect the best from your boys. They'll give it to you."

Phil lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." He turned his hand over and captured hers. "So you read my resume, huh? Part of the job or personal curiosity?"

Maddie said nothing and tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tighter and began making little circles with his thumb over her knuckles.

"May I have my hand back, please?"

The sides of his lips turned up every so slightly. "I'm not finished with it yet. You know, I'm curious about you, too. I ask myself what a woman with your education and drive is doing in this hick town. I see you in your little business suits and those awful dark-rimmed glasses and I wonder who you think you're fooling. You try to be a real hard-ass, but, honey, I can see right through you."

She pulled her hand away from his relentless minor caress, feeling breathless. And it wasn't from the running. "I congratulate you on your superior x-ray vision, Mr. Wilcox, but I can assure you I am exactly as I appear. I'm organized, disciplined and neat–all attributes which appear to elude you. I dress in a manner suited to my position and I expect a certain amount of respect from the students and the staff. However, every time I'm near you I feel as though you're mocking me, laughing at some sort of private joke at my expense. I can tell you, I don't like it."

Phil's brown eyes crinkled as he leaned a little closer in her direction. "You know what it is, don't you? You want everyone to see you as the assistant principal and I look at you as a woman. You're afraid of being a woman, aren't you, Maddie?"

They stared at each other almost nose to nose. He had seriously ticked her off. She needed some sort of snappy reply
. Afraid of being a woman
. She'd tell him. She'd show him....

She cupped her hands around his cheeks and came at his mouth with intensity, her hot lips taking the smirk off his face. She'd show him who was afraid of being a woman.

As she pressed her mouth to his, she anticipated his surprise.
Weren't expecting this, were you, macho man?

Of course…she wasn't expecting spontaneous combustion
.
She felt it happening.
Pow!
The strings, the cords of control she'd so carefully laced around her inner woman began popping. She could almost hear them–
zing, ping, snap
! Phil's arms wrapped around her and the kiss transformed from an assault to a surrender. She folded into him, going soft and pliant. Total meltdown.

Phil lifted his head, saying hoarsely, "I take it back."

Maddie blinked, struggling to focus, trying to regain strength. "What? Take what back?"

"The crack about your being afraid of being a woman. Honey, you are
all
woman." His brown eyes smiled, almost merry.

Coming back to her senses, Maddie pushed away and stood up, a little unsteady. "I really have a lot of work to do. I need a cup of coffee." Oh, God, did she need coffee.

She nervously packed her little knapsack, keenly aware of Phil’s frank stare.

He said, "Thanks for the run. I feel better about facing the day."

She started to walk down the steps. "Good."

"Are you coming to the game?"

She stopped and turned to look at him. She'd planned on renting a video to watch at home. Her eyes softened. "Of course, wouldn't miss it. I'll be rooting for you."

He smiled a teddy bear grin. "Good."

* * *

Maddie stood before her closet at six o'clock that evening, still groggy from an afternoon nap. She'd meant to do laundry and run the vacuum, but weariness overcame her and she crashed on her flowered quilt. She chose a t-shirt bearing the beaver mascot, jeans, and coordinating jacket.

Examining her myriad of scarves, she procured an appropriate match and tied it on. The trademark began as a lark at the school and now was expected. Students would think her half-naked without it. At Christmas she received boxes of imaginative scarves from favorite students. Slipping into comfortable flats, she headed for the door just as Randy rang the bell.

She opened the door. He wore a raccoon coat and carried a megaphone. "Who are you supposed to be–Rudy Vallee?"

"You've got it! Going to the first football game of the season is so 1920's, makes me want to do the Varsity Drag. I should have told you to dress as Clara Bow."

"Sorry, you'll just have to settle for plain ol’ Madeleine Harris, uptight assistant principal." She walked out to the car.

Taking the curvy roads, Randy glanced at her from the driver's side. "You've got to promise me–only one Coke."

Maddie appeared highly insulted. "Randall, I am not a foolish college coed any longer. I've learned how to control my natural exuberance at sporting events."

He watched the dusky light play on her face. "Oh, yeah? Do you remember last year's Super Bowl Watch Party? And that was in front of the TV!"

Maddie had washed down M&M's with a half liter of Coke at Randy's party and nearly come to blows with four of his friends who were rooting for the opposite team. For Maddie, caffeine and sugar took on drug-like properties.

"I assure you that was a complete aberration. Besides, this is a high school game. How exciting can it get?"

Randy didn't say anything, but Jimmy Durante's voice echoed in his head.
You ain't seen nothin' yet
.

* * *

At the Finn household, Ginger put the finishing touches on Reba's hair, gazing over the girl's shoulder into a mirror. Reba chewed her lip and examined her sweater and jean outfit fearing that it made her look fat–all eighty-nine pounds of her.

"You think this makes my butt look big?"

Ginger scoffed, "Don't gripe to me about big butts." She clicked the clip in place. "There! That'll do it."

Reba stared at her reflection, seeing the curly hair, wishing she didn't have freckles across her nose. Still, she liked the ribbed sweater her mom had bought at a garage sale.

Since her singing debut on Thursday, she was suddenly someone people noticed. All day Friday kids said "hi" in the halls and she got invited by some popular girls to hangout with them at the game.

Downstairs, Wade finished packing baggies of pot in his jacket pocket. He intended to sell the last of his supply at the game, an easy way to make some fast bucks. He'd been doing it for years. Everyone thought he was such a big fan. Like anyone could get excited about a half-assed high school football team. Usually he went alone, but tonight Reba had begged to go along.

"Reba, I'm leaving here in five minutes. I ain't waiting for you!" He hollered into the hall.

The walls shook as Reba hopped down the stairs. "Comin' Pa!"

George and Vince yelled at each other over a Nintendo game that had them glued in front of the TV, while Faith sat coloring a picture at the kitchen table.

Wade focused on Reba as she entered the kitchen. "Damn, you look good, girl! Our baby daughter is growing up on us, Ginger."

Ginger entered the room holding baby Garth. "She's the same age I was when I met you." Suddenly Ginger frowned and spoke sharply, "Don't you go off with any boys, Reba."

"I told you, I'm meeting some girls, Mom."

Ginger eyed her suspiciously. "You keep an eye on her, Wade."

Wade slipped on his jacket. "It's just a friggin' Beaver High football game. She can't exactly get lost in the crowd."

* * *

"Come on...hurry up..." Melissa watched her mom primping before the bathroom mirror. Pam sprayed her bleached hair in place and leaned in close, examining a slight smudge of her lipstick. Mom still liked to think she was a young cheerleader, but the lines around her eyes told a different story. The way she poured over fashion magazines and dressed like Britney Spears made Melissa want to hurl.

Pam glanced at her tomboy daughter standing impatiently in the doorway, dressed in a backwards baseball cap, torn sweatshirt and loose jeans. Melissa looked and acted like her father, more than Pam would ever admit. The girl was a slob, didn't bother with things that didn't interest her, but could get totally absorbed in a Discovery Channel show about lizards, sharks, tarantulas or any assortment of disgusting creatures.

Despite Pam's best efforts, Melissa displayed no feminine talents. She had the fashion sense of a bag lady. She'd hated dance lessons, but had begged to play softball. Pam detested sitting in the hot sun watching little girls miss the big ball with their clumsy bats. Of course, Melissa had a killer pitching arm.

Pam knitted her eyebrows. "Are you going dressed like that?"

Melissa looked at her mother's outfit–tight turquoise Bermuda pants, topped by a snug scooped-neck sweater that accentuated her bouncy breasts, and asked, "Are you going dressed like
that
?"

Pam examined her profile in the mirror and thought she looked hot. She wanted Phil to see what he was missing. She also wanted to bask in his reflected glory. She was his ex-wife, after all. There had been a big spread in the local newspaper heralding the return of a football hero. While Pam always concentrated on Phil's failures, the reporter had highlighted the successes.