Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,32

admitted it to herself, but no matter what appearances were, no matter what Wes said or did, no matter how much confidence she felt in herself as a human being and a woman, she was running a little scared. At first Wes had been little more than an appropriate pawn, but the more she saw of him, the more she became aware that she had stepped a little out of her league without really realizing it.

She would have to be very careful never to take him for granted, make any type of assumption. Ironically, where she often felt old at twenty-nine, he, just five years older, was young—no, not young, but at a “prime” age for a male. Twenty-nine wasn’t old, she reminded herself—it was being a “widow” that so often made her feel so—that and the responsibility of the children.

Nevertheless, Wes had everything to offer someone, while she had nothing.

She slept in a torment that night, altering between the conviction that he really did love her, and the fear that he would wake up and discover that she was nothing but a liability. And then again she would be plagued by guilt—because all she had to offer was love—and even that she wasn’t sure she could ever give, even though she enjoyed him, respected him, admired him.

The morning went all wrong, and she was glad Wes wasn’t making an appearance at her house. Trying to keep up “perfect” appearances all week, she had let many things slide. She had “cleaned” every night by stuffing things under the beds or into closets—and now, as she tried to dress the children, she discovered that she seemed to be missing the mate to every shoe she found.

And she didn’t seem to have a clean sock in the house for Jamie.

But eventually everyone was ready. Sloan dropped the kids off at Cassie’s—they would attend the performance with their aunt, uncle, and cousins—and hurried to the school, past the Fine Arts building today, and on to the main auditorium.

Where once again she met pandemonium. The dance was a major function for the school, and the students finally chosen to be a part of the performance were, naturally, nervous and jittery. They all needed a pat on the back as Sloan went over the program.

She had heard that time could stand still, but it dismayed her to discover today that it could flash by. She barely found the minutes to slip into her own costume, a mist of striking red and blue silks, before Jim was rushing past her to announce the students. The music department was out in full to lend support with accompaniment, and Jim waited with patience while the crowd quieted after the houselights dimmed.

She and Jim were the finale. As always for Sloan, she was immediately lost in the music. She loved to dance; she lived, came alive when she danced.

But today it was something more.

She knew that Wes watched.

Every movement was for him. Each kick was a little higher, each whirl and dip and spin a touch more sensual. For the first time in her life, her dance was a calculated one, planned to seduce one man into believing she was something special, that he couldn’t live without her.

The lie came home to her as the music ended and the auditorium rang with applause. Sloan, her head bowed over her knee in a split, lost the magic that had been hers as she danced. She was just a widow with three children, scrambling for a dubious existence—not in the least special.

But Wes was for real. A football hero matured into a very special man, a man with dignity, pride, compassion, strength and humor and love...And she couldn’t let him fall out of love with her. He had to keep believing and loving. She would make it up to him.

“Sloan.” Jim nudged her with a laugh. “You can get up now—I’d hate to see you stiffen in that position. Makes walking rough.”

She gave her boss a dry grimace and accepted his hand to rise. Smiling along with him, she curtsied to the audience, and together they seemed to float off the floor. “So how did we do?” she inquired briskly, lest he inquire into her mind wandering.

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Adams?” Jim suggested with an inclination of his head.

“Wes!” Sloan fought hard to keep her voice from shrieking as she saw him over Jim’s shoulder. “I—I thought I wasn’t going to see you until tonight!”

He was impeccable as he approached