Dream Runner (20 page)

“Let’s try this.” Crocker bent to slip the surgical shoe from her foot, and Marlea held her breath. Tensing, she stretched her fingers, then closed them tight.

“It’s going to be all right,” AJ whispered, squeezing the fingers she had thrust into his grasp.

Aware but discreet, Crocker opened one of the boxes stacked at the foot of his stool. He pulled out something that looked a lot like a cross between a baked potato and a house slipper.

Marlea’s face crumpled. “That goes on my foot? That’s the shoe you want me to wear?”

“You wound me, my dear.” Crocker let the corners of his mouth droop slightly, then smiled. “I would never have a pretty lady wear such a thing; this is just for sizing. We’re going to do a mold first. Your part of this is easy. Just relax.” Guiding her foot lightly, Crocker slipped the form over her toes, then lifted it into place over her arch and heel. Filled with a cool and soft material, the mold felt fine; comfortable, in fact.

“I don’t know if this is really my style, AJ. Does it come in a pump?”

“This one, no,” Crocker chuckled. “Eventually, we’ll get you into that pump. Meanwhile,” he gave her foot a pat, “we’ll let that set.”

When the pedorthist bent to shuffle the boxes at his feet, Marlea leaned close, her cheek brushing AJ’s. “Do you really think I’ll ever get to wear a real shoe again?”

“Marlea, you can get almost any style of shoe you want; you’ll just have to learn to walk in them.”

Her fingers tightened around his, and she reached for the courage she saw swirling in the coffee-toned depths of his gaze. “Then what I really want is a running shoe, because I plan to do more than walk. You promised.”

“That’s a promise I’m going to keep, Marlea. You can bank on it.”
Lord,
he thought,
if you made anything better than this woman, you kept her for yourself
. “Did you hear that, Jim? Running shoes. Two pairs. She’s going to need them.”

Chapter 19

…This season, the team counted on much more than big plays from the 27-year-old Yarborough. Built to get the job done at six-foot-two and 210 pounds, Yarborough is a starter and primary tailback—a role distinguished in the league by freakishly talented runners like Barry Sanders…

Yarborough has gained attention as one of the NFL’s best all-around backs. This season, he has led his team with 875 rushing yards and 93 receptions, so far. He has also scored an even dozen touchdowns…

With his NFL-caliber body and extraordinary talent, Yarborough was destined for the game, says Coach Newell. “Intangibles have set Yarborough apart. If I ask him to work hard, he works harder. He’s focused and coachable…”

Marlea turned the page for the rest of the article.

“She been sitting there long?”

“About two hours,” Martha Baldwin whispered back, selecting an apron from the pantry drawer.

“What is she reading?” Rissa asked, craning her neck. “Looks like one of the scrapbooks Mama made for AJ.”

“It is. She’s been going through them all week. All by herself, here in the kitchen, going through them page by page. She ought to know all about him by now,” the housekeeper said.

“And you in here keeping her secret?”

“Somebody has to.” Mrs. Baldwin dodged the nudge Rissa aimed at her. She shook the folds out of her apron and slipped it around her waist. “And we both know that you can’t.”

“You know you’ve only got two things going for you, don’t you?” Rissa made a face, propped a hand on her hip, and pointed her finger. “AJ can’t get enough of your cooking, and I love you.”

“Saves me every time,” the older woman smiled, eyeing Rissa. Taking in the tailored flat-front pants and the matching jacket folded over her arm, she guessed her favorite pain-in-the-neck was headed for work. “Want your usual, or do you have time for a real breakfast this morning?”

Rissa craned her neck again. Marlea still sat in the same place at the table, turning pages and learning about AJ Yarborough. “I’m going to make time for a real breakfast this morning,” she decided.

“I thought you might.”

Bills star AJ Yarborough engaged…
For no reason she could imagine, Marlea couldn’t seem to get past that headline. But like an onlooker at a train wreck, she couldn’t look away, either. Planting her index finger on the page, she traced the lines of print and began to read.

Heisman Trophy winner and first-round draft pick AJ Yarborough, dubbed ‘the Supersonic Man’, has become engaged to his girlfriend of one year, designer Bianca Coltrane, his publicist Greg Harper announced Wednesday…

…It will be a first marriage for both 30-year old Yarborough and 24-year old Coltrane.

A wedding date has not been announced…

And it never happened.
The thought was so sharp that it blurred her vision.
Why the hell does it matter to me?
Marlea wondered, looking up from the page.

“Whatcha readin’?” Rissa drawled, sliding into the chair across from Marlea.

She knows damned well what I’m reading.
Marlea closed the book on her hand. “Nothing.”

“Oh, we’re gonna play games, now? Looks like one of AJ’s albums,” Rissa said, reaching across the table to touch the cover. “Did you find that one in the library?”

She knows exactly where I ‘found’ this…

Mrs. Baldwin moved to the table and pushed her food-laden tray between the women. “I’ve got your coffee here.” She moved the sterling-silver pot over both their cups and shot a cautionary look at Rissa. “I b’lieve you both take cream and sugar.” Her eyes made Rissa close her mouth.

“I’ve got toast and, well, I believe I have everything you need.” Pointedly turning her face to Rissa, Martha Baldwin smiled sweetly. “If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, you ask me. You hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rissa pressed her lips together and decided not to press her luck, even when Marlea opened the album again. Busying herself with scrambled eggs and toast, she managed to stay quiet as Marlea turned two pages. She couldn’t stand it any more when Marlea turned a third page.

“AJ’s done a lot of stuff,” she blurted, then could have slapped herself when Marlea grinned.

“I knew you couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Keep your mouth shut, not even after the look Mrs. Baldwin gave you.”

“You saw that?” Rissa slid a little lower in her chair.

“It almost sizzled, girl.”

“Yeah, she’s got that ‘mother’ thing workin’ for her. I never want to disappoint her.”

“Then you need to learn to mind your own business!” Martha called from the sink.

“I guess she told you,” Marlea whooped.

“She’s always telling me,” Rissa laughed. “Seriously, though, if you want to know more about AJ, you ought to ask him.”

Marlea pushed the album to the side. “Why don’t you just come on out and say that you want me to ask him? And why is it such a big deal to you?”

“I think I told you once my brother is the bomb. Besides, there are not a lot of guys like him around. I mean, there’s Warrick Dunne with the Falcons and the work he does with single mothers, and others who do stuff, but I know AJ. I grew up with him—he’s my brother and I love him.”

“And he’s special?” Marlea’s fingers traced the leather edges of the book beside her plate, but her eye stayed on Rissa.

“Yeah, he is.” Rissa sat up straighter and began to recite a list of AJ’s favorite charities and events. “On top of that,” she finished, “he also sponsors several annual sports camps and clinics for Special Olympics.”

“Wow.”
Way to make me feel selfish.
Marlea thought of the cards and letters she had gotten from the children at the Runyon School—the ones she had yet to answer.
I guess I know what I’ll be doing this afternoon.

Licking apple butter from her fingers, Rissa couldn’t help herself. “AJ is really good at what he does. So do you like him?”

“I like him fine, I guess.”

“Don’t play coy with me; you know what I mean.”

Marlea’s whole body went cold. “No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

“I mean, like, forever. Like marriage. You want that?”

“AJ said you were nosy.”

“And he ain’t never lied, but ain’t no shame in my game, girl. So are you looking for a little nookie for now, or now and forever?

Scooting her chair back from the table, Marlea lifted her foot from the floor. “Look who you’re asking. It’s not like I could run a man down, now is it?”

“Something tells me that running a man down might not be the best way to get the one you want to keep.” Rissa looked down at the front of her neatly wrapped white shirt and brushed off a few toast crumbs. “You might just have to stay still to get him.”

“Is that…some kind of…hint?”

“Do you need a hint?”

* * *

“Dude, what’s up?”

“Not much. Stretching, trying to get a workout in. Want to join me?”

“You’re kiddin’, right?” When AJ shook his head, Dench spread his hands and backed toward a black vinyl-covered bench. Sitting, he tried to explain. “Man, it’s off-season. I get to take a break from running behind a bunch of knuckleheads, and I appreciate it. I ain’t tryin’ to do anything I don’t have to.”

“It’s on you, then.” Hands knotted behind his head, AJ bent left and right.

“Rissa said you got Marlea fitted for shoes. So what’s next for your pretty houseguest?”

“Hand me my gloves, will you?” AJ took the fingerless black leather gloves from his friend. Pulling them on, he debated what to say. There was a pretty good chance that Dench would repeat everything to the Mouth of the South, and Rissa would tell Marlea.
Better to only tell what we all already know
, he decided.

“I guess you know that the doctor who handled her case was the person who hit her. I can’t imagine Rissa didn’t tell you. Anyway, he’s been arraigned and his trial date set. Rissa talked to Marlea, and though she’s refusing to show up in court, she’s willing to settle on damages.”

Dench ran a wide hand across the top of his head. “That’s gonna leave her pretty well set for money. She can afford to recuperate just about anywhere she wants to, right? You think she’ll stay here with you?”

“She will because she needs me. I’m what’s best for her.” AJ knew he was hoping out loud.

“Sounds to me like you at least need to ask the woman out, get to know her as more than a patient, before you decide that you’re what’s best for her.”

“Trouble with you, Dench, is that I didn’t ask you for your opinion.”

“Uh-huh.” Dench plucked a towel from the floor, balled it up and tossed it toward AJ. “You might not have asked, but if you want her to stay with you, you’d better think about it.”

AJ snatched the towel from the air and sailed it back. “Say you’re right. Say I date her, then what?”

“Ain’t nobody in here said nothin’ about dating,” Dench chuckled.

“But you’re thinking it.”

“What I’m thinkin’ is not the question. The real question is, what are you thinking? And on that note, I’m leaving. You want the door open or closed?”

“Leave it open.” AJ watched him leave, then returned to his workout.

Stepping from the elevator, Marlea was careful. Even though she had used them for a few secret treadmill workouts, the bottoms of her new shoes were still more slippery than any running shoe she had ever worn. Not trusting them, she trailed her fingers along the wall as she made her way down the hall.

AJ’s scrapbook was still on her mind. She found a collection of fan letters at the back of the last one she had looked at this morning. Pages and pages of fan letters from people who seemed to think that he really was the nicest man in the NFL.
Well, those and the ones from the women who thought he was a walking work of art.
Marlea had to suppress a giggle.
Yeah, his fans were something else—especially that sister who promised to be the most flexible woman he had ever met! And he doesn’t seem stuck up about it,
she marveled.

The rhythmic clang of working iron guided her to his workout room, where they were to meet.
I’m early, but I don’t suppose he’ll mind.
From the doorway, Marlea held her breath, silently appreciating his working body.

He wore black nylon shorts that accentuated the length and breadth of his long, muscled thighs. His ripped torso was bare and bathed in light and shadow from the broad bay of windows separating the gym from the indoor pool.

Ripped
was the term body builders applied to finely built and carefully defined musculature, but AJ Yarborough had more. What he had could only be referred to as chiseled.
If I turned my hand just right…I’ll bet if I tried, my fingers could fit…
She had to look away to stop the thought.

Keeping her eyes on the floor came nowhere near helping Marlea to ignore him. After all, there he was, everywhere she looked. Reflected in mirrors surrounding the gym floor, the precision and symmetry of AJ’s rippling muscles and perfectly taut molten chocolate skin was in evidence.

Eye candy.

I have no business thinking of him like this.
Marlea pondered the mystery of AJ Yarborough.
All that running and working out with weights, what kind of energy is he trying to channel? Maybe it has something to do with that woman he almost married…
There was no photo with the article, and that struck her as odd.
Maybe his mama didn’t like what’s-her-name…Bianca. Bianca Coltrane. The article said she was a designer, but it didn’t say what she designed, and I’ve never heard of her. I wonder what she was like?

Tall, probably. AJ doesn’t seem like the type of man who would be threatened by any woman, but she was probably pretty. No, I’ll bet she was beautiful…like beauty-queen beautiful. He was playing in the pros then; she would have had to been a match for the lifestyle.
Feeling ungenerous, Marlea tried to fix the thought.
Maybe she was smart and had a good heart.

There had to be something special about her, something that drew him to her. But they never married. Wonder why? Maybe she broke his heart. That was…
Marlea tallied the years in her head…
almost seven years ago. And they never reconciled? They never found a way around whatever it was that came between them?

Maybe they’re still friends, at least. But I’m pretty sure that Rissa would have said something by now. What would it take to drive a man like him away, for good?

There’s nothing bitter about him, though. He seems to have gotten over her, but who or what has he put in her place?
Changing the load on his bar, AJ made a change in his routine.

Leaning against the doorframe, she watched him. Well worth watching, AJ’s body tensed as he balanced his weight. Reaching to grasp the overhead steel bar, AJ used the strength of his arms to hoist his body, gracefully curving his hips to coil his legs up, over, and around the suspended bar.

I’m about as bad as Rissa, digging into the man’s past. It’s not as though we have a future and I have a right to know anything more than what he’s willing to tell me. He’s going to get me walking again, and I’m going to walk right out of his life.
She looked down at her new running shoes.
No, I’m going to run—right out of his life. He promised.

Hanging from his knees, arms crossed at his chest, AJ began the punishing repetitions that were his habit. Tightening the muscles defining the length of his torso, the blocks of his stomach in matched pairs, he tucked his chin against his chest. Curling his body, releasing his breath in slow, controlled exhalations, his movements slow and deliberate, AJ worked through a range of motion designed to define and separate. A thin line of sweat crept along the tight dark skin of his bare chest, drawing deep-walled lines of fiber and flesh.

“How many more of those are you going to do?” Marlea whispered, wishing he would never stop.

Her low voice barely disturbed the air between them, and he heard her voice but not her words. “Marlea?”

“Yes.” She took a step closer, hoping he wouldn’t accuse her of voyeurism. “We were supposed to meet this morning.”