Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,27
smile. “Bring beer—Wesley’s bringing wine.”
“Will do, kiddo.” Jim stood and shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think even a millionaire could get you away from those memories of yours this fast.”
Sloan watched him leave her office with surprise. It was true, and Jim had seen it. She hadn’t lost her memories in the last few days, but she had shelved them away in a poignant past where they belonged.
Her last-minute midweek barbecue turned out to be a wonderful success. She had overextended herself a little on the preparations, but then she decided, as the saying goes, it takes money to make money.
And she wanted Wes to think her capable of hostessing a nice, if informal, affair.
The July sun stayed out a long time, enabling the party to eat on the lawn. Sloan was thankful for her sister’s appearance; with Cassie and George coming early with their two boys, she had left the supervision of all the children to them and managed to do a nice job of sprucing up the house and herself. By the time Wes had arrived, she had been cool and collected, her mad dash to collect children, clean house, and primp a thing of the past. She met him at the door with a brilliant smile, casually dressed in jeans and a body-hugging T-shirt that lent her an aura of feminine nonchalance.
When the food had been consumed and the grown-ups—including an eagle-eyed Jim—were leisurely relaxing in various stages of comfort on the back patio, George, an avid armchair quarterback all his life, talked Wesley into a football game.
“I need a handicap, though,” George admitted cheerfully, “I get Jim, and I guess I have to take Cassie”—he paused with a grimace as Cassie frowned and whacked his shoulder—“and you get Sloan.”
Wes chuckled and angled his head toward Sloan. “What do you say?”
Sloan shrugged with a slow smile. “Sure. If you can play ballerina, I guess I can be a halfback!”
“Go easy, halfback,” Jim warned, and Sloan was startled into seeing her friend’s appraising eyes on her. “Don’t forget we have a performance on Saturday. I’m not dancing with a partner on crutches.”
Sloan smiled at him, but her smile was uneasy. She felt he was warning her about more than a game.
“Touch game, only,” Wes said, a semismile, warmly insinuative, on his lips as he cast a protective arm around Sloan’s shoulders.
“And watch who you’re touching where!” Cassie interjected, giving her husband an elbow in the ribs. She looked at the group with feigned grievance. “I think the man would love to get his hands on my sister!”
“Cassie!” George and Sloan gasped the protest together.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Cassie moaned. She laughed, half in earnest, half in jest. “I don’t think he’d dare turn the wrong way at the moment, anyway! Wesley could fell him with one twitch of the finger.”
“Hey!” George grumbled as they ambled away to form their team. “I’m not in that bad a shape—am I?”
Neither Wesley nor Sloan got to hear his wife’s reply. They were laughing and forming their own huddle.
Wesley spelled out their plans for action to a giggling Sloan, who didn’t understand a single play. “Woman,” Wes groaned, “I’m glad you were never on the team. However”—his arms tightened excitingly around her and his whisper, warm and moist against her ear, inflamed her body from head to toe—“I never enjoyed a huddle like I’m enjoying this one.”
The mini football game was fun. She and Wes had the advantage of his speed and prowess, and George had the advantage of a third person. Even with her frequent fumbles, though, she and Wes won the game. Or rather, Wes won the game. She was almost useless, but all of Wes’s grumbling was good-natured. Eventually, as the summer sun faded entirely, they all wound up back where they had started—lazily sprawled around the patio, hot and pleasantly tired and thirstily finishing up the beer.
The talk was casual. Sloan, drowsy from an entire day of physical activity and rushing, didn’t say much, but listened to the chatter with a feeling of well-being. She was vaguely pleased that Jim and Wes had hit it off so well. Even if she were to leave her teaching job at the college—which she intended to do if her scheming worked—he was a dear friend, one she would like to keep. Perhaps—and she allowed her mind to wander off to dreams—the two of them could form their own school one day without the miles of red tape...
“Sloan?”
“Ummm!” She was