Five's A Crowd (12 page)
Authors: Kasey Michaels
“And we really, really think you’re being a first-class chump,” Thelma chimed in from the doorway. “Now, if that’s settled, who wants to go to Cape May for a little shopping and some dinner? Woody, Tiffany? I think we should be making ourselves scarce around here tonight—give Holden some room to maneuver, you know? Tiffany—there’s one of those new-age-y type crystal shops you’d really like and,
Woody, I’ll show you how to get to the zoo. If they don’t keep you and put you in a cage with the rest of the wild animals, we can even drive down to the end of the highway after dinner and watch the sun set over the bay. You’ll think you’re back in California.”
“Wow, Thelma! Kewl! I’ll go call Lance!” Tiffany was already heading for the door.
“Tiff—” Holden called after her, then shook his head. “Oh, what’s the use? Go ahead, Woody. Have a good time.”
“And you’ll talk to Taylor?”
“Don’t push, Woody.”
“Well, will you?” Thelma demanded. “Or are you going to let that woman go? You know, sometimes you have to tell a man what he’s thinking before he knows he’s thinking it himself. Why, I remember the time Sam—”
“Thelma,” Holden began warningly, then grinned. “All right, all right, I’ll
talk
to her. But are you two sure you don’t want to take over Sid’s role in my contract negotiations? I think you’ve both missed your calling. You’re very persuasive, in a cheerfully abrasive sort of way.”
Thelma stuck a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. “Just make an honest woman of her, that’s all I’m asking. And feed her—that always works. I’ve got two steaks marinating in the fridge, and you can put a couple of potatoes on the grill to bake—and slice up some of those ripe New Jersey tomatoes I’ve got sitting
on the windowsill. Oh, and I wouldn’t mind a move to Philadelphia, in case you were wondering. Always did like those hot dogs they serve at the stadium. Think about it. You two are going to need a housekeeper, you know. Especially when the babies start coming.”
“I’ll certainly keep your offer in mind, Thelma,” Holden responded, trying to keep a straight face.
“Do that,” she answered, then reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out Taylor’s ring, tossing it to him so quickly he reached up and caught it in self-defense. “I’d even give up smoking for the babies, which Sam was always after me to do anyway. Now, give that sparkler back to her, and this time make sure she knows why she’s getting it. Come on, kid, let’s get this show on the road.”
Woody put his arm around the little woman and they walked out of the room.
“So, I think that went well,” Holden heard Thelma say to Woody in obvious satisfaction as they headed toward the staircase.
Woody just turned his head to look at Holden, and grinned.
H
OLDEN WAS WHISTLING
as he scrubbed potato skins, thinking how great Thelma was and how he could see her in his life—in his and Taylor’s life. In the house they’d buy on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Well, not in the house, maybe. But in one of those carriage-house apartments that big, rambling old houses seemed to have. Yeah, that would do it. Close, but not too close.
And it would have to be a really big house. With room for Woody and Tiffany when they wanted to come East and visit him and Taylor and the kids. With lots of land around it, too, for horses, maybe?
It just kept getting better and better, this rosy future Holden was building as he scrubbed potatoes—until he noticed with surprise that he had washed six of the things. Who did he think he was feeding—an army?
This was going to be good. Really good. Thelma had set the table in the upstairs living room before she left, right down to the candles she’d placed in holders she’d dug up somewhere. The champagne was on
ice. The steaks were still marinating. The tomatoes were sliced, arranged on a plate and cooling in the refrigerator. The potatoes were ready for the grill.
And for dessert? Ah…dessert!
Holden grinned.
He knew it was a grin—much more than a smile.
And he knew he probably looked stupid.
And he didn’t care.
“‘Just get me to the church on time!’” he sang as he patted the pocket of his team shorts, feeling the ring that resided there. This was going to work. Oh, yes, it was. A little groveling, a little apologizing—maybe some hangdog looks—and then the ring. This time, for
real
.
And finally, dessert.
He grinned again.
And then the doorbell rang, and he frowned. The doorbell wasn’t supposed to ring. Taylor had a key, so she couldn’t be ringing it. So who was ringing it? Some reporter? A neighbor asking for an autograph?
Whoever, it is, he told himself as he stepped out onto the small porch and quickly tossed two potatoes into the already-heated propane grill, then raced down the stairs two at a time, they were going to be on their way in two seconds flat, because Taylor would be back from her late-afternoon run on the
beach any minute, and the last thing he wanted was any sort of interruption.
It was going to be hard enough to make her stand still and listen to him as he groveled, told her what a jerk he’d been and how much he loved her, really loved her, without having an audience around!
“What?” he barked out as he threw open the door, then pushed his head forward as if he needed a closer look to recognize the man standing there in a wild pink-and-green flowered shirt and baggy shorts that revealed his knobby knees. There was a lei of rather crushed and wilted orchids around his neck.
“Sid?”
He stepped back two paces, not knowing whether to be shocked, angry or amused, and watched as the much shorter man walked into the foyer, then repeated,
“Sidney?
Is that
you?”
“Uncle Sidney?” Taylor exclaimed from the doorway—obviously back from her run—then ran inside to fall into the agent’s open arms and give him a huge hug.
“Here’s my girl!” her uncle crowed, returning her embrace. “Taylor, Taylor, my multi-multi-unbe-lievably-
multi
million-dollar stroke of genius!” He held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. You’ve been wonderful, wonderful!”
“You
look wonderful, Uncle Sidney!” Taylor answered, still avoiding Holden’s gaze.
“He looks like he was caught in a freak flower-shop explosion,” Holden grumbled as Sid took the orchid lei from his neck and placed it around Taylor’s, then stood on tiptoe to kiss her on both cheeks. “They let you on an airplane dressed like that? Isn’t there some sort of dress code? You know—nothing that might frighten small children?”
Sidney, never one to stand on ceremony—or be easily insulted—headed for the stairs, Taylor’s hand still in his. “It was a long, long flight, with two layovers I don’t even want to remember, let alone talk about right now. I need a drink, Holden,” he said, hesitating on the first landing for a moment, then unerringly heading for the next level and the carefully set table and the bottle of champagne that sat in a plastic ice bucket on the coffee table.
He pulled the bottle from its icy cocoon and looked around for a corkscrew, which he spied not far from the bucket. “One thing I have to say about you, Holden. You sure do know how to live. And so do I, seeing as how I’m the one who lined all this up for you. Nice place, and that housekeeper I hired must be a treasure, setting you up like this every night. Now, go get another glass, and we’ll toast your new contract.”
“The negotiations are over?” Taylor asked, her voice quiet, her smile replaced by a closed, shuttered look that revealed more than it hid. Holden would
have been cheered by her sudden sadness if he didn’t believe his groveling was going to have to be done while Taylor was madly throwing clothing in a suitcase in anticipation of running away from him.
“Over? Honey, it’s just the beginning!” Sidney crowed, puffing out his chest. “Everything we wanted, Holden. Just the way I said it would happen when I talked you into this in the first place.
Everything!
And a couple of things I didn’t even think to ask for—if you can believe that. And all because of Rich Newsome. That right cross of yours put the seal on it. If you can punch out a creep, you can throw a ball—or words to that effect. That’s what the owners said, anyway. They can’t wait for you to come back to the city and sign on the dotted line so all the other teams will go away. Which we’ll do, right? Tonight okay with you? Holden, for the next five years—five years!—you are safely set in Philadelphia.”
The cork slipped out of the bottle with a small
pop,
and Sidney wrinkled his nose in pleasure like some psychedelic pixie.
“So? Holden? And you’d be waiting for—what? It’s okay. You can bow down and worship at my feet now.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah—thanks, Sid,” Holden said as Taylor slowly walked from the room, heading for the stairs. “Now do me a favor, Sid, okay?”
“Anything, Holden,” his agent agreed happily. “Just name it.”
“Go away, Sid,” Holden said, following Taylor. “I’ll call you tomorrow. But for now—there’s a bonus in it for you if you’ll just go far, far away.”
W
ELL, THAT’S THAT
, Taylor thought as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom, wishing she didn’t have to blink quite so much to keep the tears at bay.
As the superheroes say before flying off, “I’ll be on my way now. My work here is done!”
She strode into the room, leaving the door open behind her, dragged her large duffel bags out of the closet and threw them onto the bed, then walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
“Going somewhere?”
Taylor bit her bottom lip as she looked into the mirror on the wall over the dresser and saw Holden’s reflection in the glass. “Aren’t you? Uncle Sidney said he wanted you to drive back to Philadelphia with him tonight. There’s a limousine waiting outside, you know. I saw it when I got back from the beach.”
A door closed somewhere in the distance. “The sound you just heard was our Don Ho impersonator heading back to New York,” Holden said. He walked into the room to stand behind Taylor, then reached around her to push the drawer shut, leaving his hands
pressed on top of the dresser. “I’m not going anywhere.”
If she turned around, just moved her feet a little and turned, she’d be in his arms. Face-to-face. Heartbeat to heartbeat. She remained where she was, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to look at his reflection. “You turned down the contract? Uncle Sidney seemed to think it was a great deal. Well, either way, I don’t see as how it’s any of my business. We haven’t even
talked
to each other in three days, for crying out loud.”
Without a word, Holden pushed himself away from the dresser and moved to the doorway once more—leaving, she was sure.
Sure, Angel, remind him that he’s mad at you. Good job!
She let out a shaky breath, part of her wanting him gone, the other part of her wanting to scream at him to stay.
But he didn’t go anywhere. He just stood in the doorway, looking into the mirror, silently daring her to turn around.
“What?”
she exclaimed at last, as her nerves, already stretched taut, snapped. “What do you want? A farewell massage? Well, you can just forget it, buster.”
“I was hoping we could have dinner,” he said, sounding as innocent as a choirboy—which was her first clue that
something
was very, very wrong. Or
very, very right? “But I suppose a massage wouldn’t hurt. Come with me?”
“I’d sooner go wading in a snake pit,” she told him, pressing back against the dresser as if the piece of furniture could offer her some sort of protection from her own raging emotions that told her half a loaf was reported to be better than one. Would it really be so bad to be in his arms again just one more time? “And where is everybody anyway?” she asked, searching for something to say that wouldn’t end up with her telling him exactly what was on her mind. “And who set that table upstairs in the living room? We’ve never done that before.”
Holden leaned his tall frame against the doorjamb and rubbed a hand across his mouth—still looking for that nonexistent mustache, Taylor supposed. It was one of his most endearing habits, not that she had noticed. Or kept a mental record of every sweet, endearing thing the man did. She rolled her eyes, calling herself every kind of fool she could imagine.
“What was that for?” Holden asked, obviously referring to her expression. “Or did you just figure out that you and I are alone here in the condo? Did it finally occur to you that Tiffany and Woody and Thelma are gone, and that the table upstairs is set for two, and that, since Sid came and fouled up my plans, I’m going back ten to punt, trying my damnedest to figure out a way to tell you what a jerk I’ve been?”
Taylor stuck out her tongue to wet her suddenly dry lips. “You’ve been a what?”
He pushed himself away from the door, made his way back down the hallway, then turned up the stairs.
She followed, of course. He must have known she’d follow him. How many times did someone get to hear the Master of the Game call himself a jerk?
“I said,” he continued once they were both back in the upper living room and he had handed her a flute of champagne, “I’m a jerk. I’ve been a jerk for so long that it took me a while to figure out just how much of a jerk I’ve been—but I think I’m getting the hang of it now. Want to hear me say it again? I’m a jerk, I’m a jerk, I’m a damn jerk!”
Taylor giggled in spite of herself, then took a sip of champagne.
“Hey—you can stop me anytime, you know,” Holden complained, taking the glass from her hand and placing it on the coffee table. “Humble has never been my most successful play.”
“But you do humble very well, Holden,” she told him. She walked over to the table, picked up the book of matches left there so that she could light the candles. “So, are we having crow for dinner? I could use a serving or two myself.”
“What do
you
have to apologize about?” he asked, and she turned to him and smiled, for he really, really was a wonderfully handsome, appealing man.
And she loved him, so even his clumsy attempts at thanking her for her help before saying goodbye seemed somehow special in her eyes, in her breaking heart.