Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,10

such thoughts to the back of her mind. She would deal with her problems as she came to them. A little chuckle escaped her lips as she switched legs and her dark head bounced down to the other knee. She was planning a marriage. Maybe she wouldn’t get to first base with Wesley Adams. According to Cassie, he could have his pick of females. Why should he marry her? Even if he was attracted to her. She was a twenty-nine-year-old widow with three children. He could probably have any number of bright, sweet young things—women who demanded no commitment and had no responsibilities to tie them down.

And then...Another thought nagged her. What if Wesley didn’t get along with the children? She would never marry anyone, madly in love or not, unless he cared for the children and they for him.

Life, she decided with a wry grin, was a bitch.

But it could be so much better if she could only marry a kind, pliable man like Wesley Adams. She wouldn’t always be worried about having to make a buck. She would be a good and true wife, but she would also be free to go her own way, to play with her children, to dance as she longed.

At that moment she closed her mind to right and wrong. Her heart hardened, not callously, but desperately. The dream of a good life was too sweet to allow for sentiment. She would use every one of her feminine wiles in the pursuit of Wesley Adams. And there was no time to lose. He only planned to be in Gettysburg for two weeks.

“Mommy!”

Jamie’s voice, screaming over the stereo, jolted her from her reflections. Her head jerked up guiltily, and she looked to her son in the studio door and then gasped with dismay.

Jamie was standing with the man who had so completely filled her thoughts, Wesley Adams. The man she had planned to captivate and sweep off his feet. And here she was, no makeup, sweat-streaked hair glued to her forehead, clad in a black leotard that had long since faded.

“Wesley!” she croaked, scrambling to her feet and unconsciously smoothing back a stray tendril of hair. Then she turned to her son with reproach. “Jamie, I told you never to answer the door! You must always get me.”

“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” Wesley Adams explained with a crooked grin. His eyes were friendly, laughing, almost matching the knit, forest-green shirt that outlined his broad chest and well-muscled biceps. It wasn’t difficult to return his grin.

“I rang,” Wesley continued, “but no one came to the door. I heard the stereo, so I walked around back and found your son.” He tousled Jamie’s light brown curls and hoisted the boy into his arms. “I convinced him I was a legitimate friend.”

“Oh...” Sloan stammered weakly. This second meeting wasn’t working out at all as she had planned. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess...I need a shower...I—I wasn’t expecting you this morning!”

He laughed easily, and she marveled at what a comfortable man he was. “I think you look stunning.” His eyes roamed unabashedly over the trim but enticing figure so vividly displayed by the tight leotard. Yet his gaze held nothing licentious; it was one of teasing but respectful admiration. Foolishly, Sloan found herself blushing.

“Well, er, can I get you something?” she asked, laughing a bit nervously as she walked to the stereo to carefully lift the needle. “A cool drink? I have iced tea, lemonade, and oh, I think a few beers—”

“Run and take your shower, first,” Wesley suggested, smiling at Jamie. “Then I’d love to have a glass of tea with you.”

“Thanks,” she smiled wryly. “But I can’t. The baby should be waking up any minute.”

“I’m the proud uncle of four nieces and six nephews,” he told her. “If your little one wakes, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle him.”

“No!” Sloan protested. “I can’t have you watching my children—”

“Sure you can.”

Sloan smiled uneasily. That lopsided grin of his could be most endearing and, and unnerving! He really was an attractive and...what?...man. Vital. The word sprang to her mind, followed by one even more disturbing—sexy. He may have retired from pro ball, but his sturdy structure and lithe movements proved him to be every inch an athlete.

“All right,” Sloan murmured, confused by her jittery reaction to him. I’m the one out to entice him! she reminded herself. “Thanks. I’ll just hop in and out. I’ll hurry.”

“Take your time. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled faintly as she sidled