Heather Graham (30 page)

“Julie!” Katie wailed. She shuddered as Kent took the first punch, but then he returned it with a resounding speed that sent Paul flying into a pair of garbage cans. Instantly, he was back on his feet.

Suddenly, it seemed to Katie, there were people all over the street, cheering the fighters on. And she realized that they were both willing to get torn to shreds to get at the other. The fight was a very tense one, something they seemed to have wanted for a long time. Punch for punch, they were both back at it again.

“Where are the police when you need them?” Katie muttered. Then she pursed her lips together and turned around.

“What are you doing?” Julie asked.

“I’m getting my purse, and I’m leaving. As soon as I’m gone, see that someone reminds them both that the Superbowl is in less than two weeks. That should break them up.”

Julie smiled. She would have offered to go with Katie, but she had a hunch she should stick around. She waited until she saw Katie enter the cab. Then she nervously risked life and limb to get near the fighters.

“Hey, you two are supposed to be doing something like that on the field in two weeks!”

Both of them were staggering; both of them paused. Paul made the mistake of staring too long at Julie.

Kent smiled grimly and landed one last punch.

Paul fell to the pavement with a little groan. The crowd cheered and began to break up. Julie stepped toward Kent, handing him the jacket she’d found on the stairs.

“You look like hell,” she told him, smiling. He might look like hell, but she liked his looks. He wiped a trickle of blood from his jaw, and Julie noticed it was a strong jaw, determined and well defined.

“Where’s Katie?” he asked.

Someone had helped Paul. He was back on his feet, putting his own jacket back on.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Hart—real soon. And on that football field, there won’t be anything but rubbish left of you.”

Kent ignored him. Paul straightened his shoulders, gave Julie an evil glare, and started back into the restaurant. Julie decided he would figure out that Katie had already left.

She gave her attention to Kent. “Katie left.”

“Left?” He was incredulous and obviously growing angry. There was a definite pulse ticking madly in his throat. Julie thought it looked sexy.

“Yes, she left,” Julie said, watching his dark eyes.

He didn’t get mad; he didn’t rave at her. He lifted a brow again, then sighed. “You said this wasn’t what it seemed. What was it, then?”

Julie lifted her hands a little bit helplessly. “I can’t really explain. Katie was after something. You could … trust me.” When he kept staring at her, she sighed with exasperation. “You could trust her, you know. I think she’s in love with you.”

He laughed hollowly. “In love with me? Then why did she leave?”

“Well,” Julie murmured uneasily, lowering her eyes, “you really haven’t been all that charming to her, you know. And she certainly doesn’t know …”

“Know what?”

“What you feel for her.”

He planted his hands on his hips, aggravated. Then he threw them up into the air. “I came after her, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Julie admitted, restraining a laugh. “You did come after her.”

He looked bewildered then—tense, perplexed, and a little bit lost. “Just what does she want out of me?”

Julie smiled. “I can tell you if you really want to know.”

“Oh?” He crossed his arms over his chest. He had a really nice smile, and he was smiling at her then. “Well, tell me.”

Julie’s smile became a very broad grin. “She wants you down on your knees, absolutely begging her forgiveness!”

“She
what?”

“She wants you down on your knees, begging her forgiveness—” Julie broke off when Kent started laughing.

“Little witch, isn’t she?” he inquired pleasantly.

“Well, she is stubborn,” Julie agreed. She hesitated a minute. “I can give you a few suggestions to go with that if you’d like.”

“Oh, please, do go ahead,” he said, watching her with that good-natured smile in place, his arms still laced across his chest.

Oh, I like him, Julie thought. I like him very much. “Hmm,” she murmured out loud. “If you have forgiven her, that is. She is innocent, by the way.”

“Go on.”

“Well, then, I think—as long as you’re going to be on your knees anyway—you should ask her to marry you. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you promised to retire from the game soon. Not that she’d mind the traveling, or that she’s the jealous type—never mind, I take that back. Any normal woman would get jealous over you. But seriously, she’s naturally frightened by the game. Besides, she loves you, and you’ve been out there a long time. Why take added risks?”

Kent dusted off his jacket the best he could. “Shall we get a cab? I’d like to see that you get home. Then you can call Katie, then call me to let me know she got home all right. I don’t think I’m going to try and call myself.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve got to get back to Philadelphia tonight, and I have to report back to work tomorrow.” He paused for a minute. “What do you think she’ll do? Is she going to head for New Orleans?”

“I have a funny feeling she won’t miss this game for the world.”

Kent slipped a friendly arm around Julie’s shoulder, and they started down the street looking for a cab.

“Kent?”

“Yes?”

“You should be worried about this game.”

“I am. But we’ve got to play it out. There’s no way to prove anything.”

“I guess,” Julie murmured.

“It would be nice to win,” Kent said softly. He smiled down at Julie, who was surprised to see that his dark eyes could sizzle with laughter every bit as compellingly as they could with anger.

Julie merely nodded in acquiescence, content for the moment just to listen.

“It would be nice to go out in a blaze of glory, don’t you think?” he asked.

K
ATIE SAT AT HER
desk, paper in her typewriter, ostensibly turning her notes into a smooth, cohesive story. It wasn’t going well. She had been given a reprieve over the holidays when Raff assigned her an interview with the mayor, but her deadline on Kent’s story was nearing and she only had a rough draft of the first half done.

Katie turned from her typewriter and began to doodle on her blotter. She glanced at her calendar and began to circle the day. It was Thursday, and the nation was gearing up. The Superbowl was only days away, and the players had all been down in New Orleans for more than a week, testing out the turf for the big day. And she hadn’t heard from any of them, not even at Christmas or New Year’s, days she had spent with Julie.

He wasn’t going to call her, she thought bleakly. He had come to New York, somehow discovered where she was, and found her dancing with Paul. Surely, it had been like the closing of a lid on a coffin.

It shouldn’t hurt so badly, she told herself. When she left him in Denver, she knew that it was over, that it had to be over.

But it did hurt terribly. Every night was a new agony; after a lifetime of sleeping alone, it had suddenly become the most painful thing in the world to do.

Katie started to chew on the eraser at the end of her pencil, realized it tasted horrible, and forced herself to stop. She set the pencil down, then picked it up again. Idly, she began to draw on her blotter. She realized that she was drawing a possible lineup of players for the Superbowl. Then she started to write down names: Sam Loper, Kent Hart, Paul Crane, and Harry Kolan, also known as Humpty Dumpty. Why had Paul had Harry’s name and number in his wallet? Did it mean anything—or nothing?

Her phone rang. Katie glanced at the blinking lights and saw that there was an outside call but that the interoffice line was also lit up, so Julie apparently wanted to talk to her before she picked up the outside line.

She hesitated before touching the phone. Even Julie had been completely won over by Kent Hart. She’d called Katie the night of the fight and told her what a nice night she’d had with Kent. He’d insisted on taking her home, but they’d wound up stopping for drinks first. He’d been an absolute gentleman, and, oh, Julie was sorry, he hadn’t really said a thing at all about Katie.

That had been the hardest night. The one in which it had been absolutely impossible to sleep. Julie, she knew, would never hurt her on purpose. She really had no right to be jealous. And yet the fact that her best friend had apparently had a lovely time enjoying drinks with Kent had made her ache impossibly, eating herself alive with jealousy.

Katie picked up the phone. “What’s up?”

“An unusual call—at least I think so,” Julie murmured.

Katie’s heartbeat quickened. “Is it—”

“No, it’s not Kent. But it’s a woman who says she used to be his wife.”

“Oh,” Katie replied, depressed but startled … and very curious.

“I thought you’d like to be forewarned.”

“Yes, thanks,” Katie murmured. She pressed the other button. “Hello, this is Kathleen Hudson. May I help you?”

There was the slightest hesitance. “Miss Hudson, this is Paula Blank. I’m Kent’s ex-wife. I hope I’m not interrupting you. None of this is my business … I just—well, I just thought that it might be important to call.”

A strange, uneasy feeling settled over Katie. “You’re not interrupting me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, over the phone, that is,” Katie murmured. Was it? What was going on here? Ex-wives were supposed to be nasty people, determined to mess up their ex-spouses lives. She didn’t sound at all nasty. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Blank?”

“Well, you can start by calling me Paula, please. I’m hoping that we can be friends.”

“Paula,” Katie murmured. Why should it matter that they be friends—or even acquaintances? Was there a reason? “Paula,” she repeated, “what can I do for you?”

“Well, I understand that you’re doing an article on Kent. I thought perhaps we could have lunch. I could probably give you some information on him.”

“Oh, uh, well, thank you,” Katie said, stumbling over her words a bit, and she heard a pleasant, husky laughter in return.

“Don’t thank me—not yet. To be perfectly honest, I want to find out a few things myself.”

“Oh?”

The woman’s pleasant, husky chuckle came to Katie again, a bit rueful. “Yes. You see, Miss Hudson, Kent has remained an old and dear friend. And quite frankly, I’d like to know just what you did to him.”

“What I did to him?” Katie gasped.

“Oh, I am sorry! Bad wording, wasn’t it? Please forgive me … and let me start over. I’m worried about him. He didn’t sleep at all when he was here—”

“When he was there?” Katie interrupted, swallowing.

“Oh, not with me, Miss Hudson, I assure you. I was with my husband. My current husband. Oh, God, this is starting to sound like a soap opera, isn’t it? I’m doing this horribly.”

“No, no,” Katie murmured. “None of this is
my
business.”

“But it is. I’m in the city, Miss Hudson. Could you—would you be willing to meet me for lunch?”

Katie didn’t hesitate a second. She didn’t know if she was longing for any association with Kent or if it was pure curiosity driving her or both, but she said, “Of course I’ll meet you. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“If you’ll call me Katie, please.”

“Certainly, Katie. Where shall we meet?”

“Which station are you at?”

Paula told her. Katie mentioned a Chinese restaurant on a nearby corner where the seating was private. She was reaching for her purse and coat before she had set the phone down.

Katie’s breath caught in her throat when the waiter led her back to the small, round table where Paula was already waiting. For some reason she had wanted Kent’s ex-wife to have aged into a pleasantly plump and matronly lady. But Paula was anything but plump. She was slim, her hair was soft and swingy, and she had deep, laughing hazel eyes that were very open and honest. She was wearing a very fashionable red business suit with a wide-brimmed hat that created a more than arresting picture. The woman was lovely.

“Katie!” Paula rose to greet her, extending a slim, manicured hand in a strong, warm handshake.

Katie smiled and sat and quickly ordered a drink. She felt comfortable, and completely uncomfortable.

While they waited for Katie’s drink to arrive, Paula chatted about the weather and the subway system. But once Katie’s drink had arrived and they were left alone, Paula lowered her voice and got directly to the point.

“I appreciate your coming very much, and again, I know that none of this is my business.” She grinned. “But you’ve won my daughter’s heart, Katie, which isn’t an easy feat. Oh, I—um—heard a little of what happened, and I want to apologize. Anne’s behavior was just horrible.”

Katie lowered her eyes to sip her drink quickly, aware that a heated flush was rising in her cheeks. It seemed terribly embarrassing to know that this lovely and elegant woman—who had been married to Kent—knew some of the circumstances of what must look like a rather cheap affair.

“I’ve done it again!” Paula moaned. “Oh, Katie, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“It’s all right, really. And I—I wasn’t upset at all by Anne.” Katie grinned. “I’ve been there myself, you see.”

Paula watched her a minute, then turned her attention to her own drink, a pink concoction with a little umbrella sticking out of it. “I knew your father,” she murmured. “He was a wonderful, wonderful man. During the divorce, he managed to be Kent’s friend as well as mine. I think your father was the one who made a friendship possible between us afterward. Which was, for Anne’s sake, wonderful.”

Katie smiled. It only hurt a little to think about her father. And it felt very good to hear Paula’s words. They brought something back to her—all the greatness that had been the man, not the football player.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Katie said.

Paula gazed at her again, flashing a quick smile. Katie realized she was also being assessed, but she couldn’t resent Paula for it. No more than she could condemn her own curiosity about this woman who had once held Kent’s heart.

The waiter was hovering near the table. “Let’s order,” Paula suggested, “so that we can be left alone.” She grinned.