Truth or Dare (15 page)

The answer came immediately. 
Shotz.

Whatever was between Shotz and Rachel, the man obviously new her secrets.  Secrets she had not confided in Jared.

He reached for the tape, then drew his hand back.  He wanted to know her.  Wanted to know all about her, backwards and forwards, inside and out.  Everything about her.  But dammit, he wanted her to
tell
him her secrets.  He didn't want to find out from some impersonal video tape someone had sneaked into his office.

In seconds he was at the small wet bar pouring himself a tall glass of straight Jack Daniel's.  His hand shook so badly the neck of the bottle clattered against the rim of the glass.  When he tried to take a drink, bourbon sloshed out and ran down his hand.

He couldn't stop himself.  He picked up the cassette and slammed it into the tape machine behind his desk.  After a few seconds of color bars, a slate popped up on the screen:

CHAPTER SEVEN

With a vicious oath, Jared rammed his fist against the eject button.  The machine whined, the tape slid out.  Jared stared at it and took a gulp of his drink.  Jack Daniel's seared all the way down to his stomach, where it caught fire and made him shudder.

Watching the tape, to him, would be an invasion of Rachel's privacy.  Never mind that half of St. Louis had probably seen what was on there.  He would feel like a Peeping Tom.  He didn't want to see some reporter's version of her life.  He wanted her to tell him.

With careful, deliberate movements, Jared pulled the tape free of the machine and set it on the far corner of his credenza, with the label facing the wall.

Then, with shaking hands, he poured the rest of his drink down the drain and walked out of his office.

*  *  *  *

Jared overslept the next morning.  The price one paid for spending the night with Jack Daniel's.  Jared had come home from the office and gone straight to the wet bar in his den.  Damn.  He wasn't used to this.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a hangover.

When he got to the station, a half hour late, there was a note on his desk saying Rachel had called in sick.  He started to phone her, but didn't.  He dropped his briefcase on the desk and walked out.

Her car wasn't home, but then Mike probably had it at school.  She didn't answer the doorbell.

"Rachel, open up.  I know you're in there."

Nothing.  She didn't answer.  He pounded on the door.  Not until he threatened to beat it down did she finally open it.

"I thought I better check on you."  He brushed past her and entered the house.  "You're not sick, are you?"

Rachel clasped her arms around her stomach and turned away from his penetrating gaze.

"You're still upset over that argument you had with Shotz last night."

Rachel's heart fluttered in her chest.  Slowly, she turned to face him.  "Did you talk to him?" she asked, her voice breathless, her nerves in shreds.

"Shotz?"  He hesitated only briefly, then said, "No, I didn't talk to him."

Rachel nearly collapsed with relief.  She'd been granted a reprieve.  It was temporary, she knew, but she'd take it.

When Jared placed his hands on her shoulders, warmth and life flowed into her.  "Come here," he whispered.  Then his arms closed around her and pulled her against the hard wall of his chest, and it was like nothing she'd ever known before.  It was shelter and safety; it was warmth and comfort.  It was like coming home.

When his lips nuzzled her temple, she nuzzled back.  He trailed kisses across her fluttering eyelids, down her cheek, until he captured her mouth in a kiss so tender she wanted to cry.  It seemed forever, yet only a second, before he pulled away and looked into her eyes.

Again she wanted to cry, at the tenderness and caution she saw in those dark green depths.  He kissed her forehead, then cradled her head against his shoulder.

"I swear, Rachel," he said in a voice rough with emotion, "I'll try my hardest not to rush you into anything you're not ready for.  I won't pressure you into telling me what's wrong.  But I'm not about to let go of you, lady.  Not now, not ever.  I can't."

But he did let her go, a moment later, and left to return to work.  Rachel stared out the living room window at the driveway and watched him leave.  She hugged her arms around herself, trying to recapture the warmth and security of his embrace.  It didn't work.

A bright blue sky and the new green of spring didn't go with her heavy thoughts.  Jared's vow of holding onto her forever should have reassured her.  Instead, it terrified her.  If he knew the truth, would he change his mind?  She turned from the window.

She was falling in love with a man.  Her head snapped up and her heartbeat quickened.  She
was
in love with him!  It was so simple.  Why hadn't she realized it before?

She knew the answer to that one, though.  She didn't want to love a man.  Love meant being honest.  It meant trusting another person.  She wasn't sure she was ready to do either.

But whatever happened, she knew she couldn't hide out at home.  With determined strides, she went to the bedroom and searched for something to wear to work.  She was through with the tight bra and sloppy clothes, and good riddance.

As far as her relationship with Jared, the wig might as well stay home, too.  But how would she explain long blonde hair to the others at work?  Her new figure was going to be enough of a shock.

One step at a time, girl,
she told herself.  That's how she would handle her job, her co
–
workers, Lyle Shotz, and Jared.  One step at a time.

*  *  *  *

When the taxi let her out at the station an hour later, Jared was plainly surprised to see her.

"I thought you were staying home today."

Rachel stared at him through the door to his office.  "I, uh, changed my mind."

Something flickered across his eyes, too fast for her to interpret.  A corner of his mouth almost curved up.  "Was it something I said?"

She hesitated, then her mouth twitched in answer to his.  "Maybe."

His eyes roamed intimately over her figure, noting the real shape of her.  He smiled
.  "It's good to have you
―
"  His ga
ze settled on her wig.  "―
almost back."

She gave a jerky nod and turned toward her desk, flustered as usual with his close perusal.  Flustered, but flattered.  And excited.  And scared.

More than a few people during the day commented on her "new
shape" and "new clothes," not the least of whom was Mike when he picked her up from work.

A slow grin spread across his face when she climbed into the car.  "Nice to have the old Mom . . . almost back."  His eyes flicked to her wig as he spoke.

Rachel laughed.  "Jared said the exact same thing."

Mike centered his gaze on the road and pulled out of the parking lot.  "He did?"

"Well, he didn't call me Mom."

Mike drove in silence for several minutes, a thoughtful look on his face.  "He still doesn't know about You
–
Know
–
What?"

"No," she answered with a sigh, her light mood evaporating.

"Somebody's bound to recognize you and remember.  What happens then?  You know he's gonna find out.  Think he'll give you a bad time?"

Rachel had never tried to hide anything from her children.  Except
—
she hadn't told them what actually happened in Las Vegas.  She'd only said he'd seen her.  Close enough.

She would have shielded them from the ordeal five years ago if she had been able, but Mike and Caro had been caught in the middle.  Even if they hadn't been, the media coverage of the whole ugly story had been too widespread.  Mike had even caught some of the boys at school talking about her.

So she didn't try to hide anything from him now.  "I meant to tell you last night, but I . . . well, I couldn't."

"Tell me what?"

"We hired a new reporter yesterday.  Lyle Shotz."

"Goddamn."

"Michael!"

"Sorry.  He didn't recognize you, did he?"

"He did.  He guessed why I was disguised and threatened to tell Jared everything if I don't give him an interview."

Mike chewed on his bottom lip.  "What are you gonna do?"

Rachel dropped her head against the seat back and closed her eyes.  "I don't know.  I'm not giving him an interview, that's for sure."

"Think he'll really tell the coach?"

"I wouldn't put anything past that buzzard."

"What if he does tell him?"

What if he does?
  Rachel had been asking herself that one over and over.  She still wasn't sure of the answer.  "Jared won't react the way others have.  But I don't really know just how he will react.  I imagine he'll think what most everyone else thinks
—
that I
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
well, you know.  I don't think he'd fire me, unless the station ended up getting some bad publicity over the whole mess."

"But you're worried about what he's gonna think of you when he finds out, right?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and blinked the sudden fog from her eyes.  "When did you grow up on me, Mike?  How did you get to be so smart?"

Mike's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel.  "I grew up on the sidewalk in front of the county courthouse in St. Louis, when I was twelve years old." 

She could see him trying to force himself to relax, and she hurt for him.  He was her son.  She was supposed to be able to shield her children from pain, but life didn't really work that way.  Not for her.  Not for her children.

To have their own father walk out of their lives when they'd needed him the most had been a crushing blow.  For Hank to have totally ignored them, with the occasional exception of an impersonal child support check, during the past five years was unforgivable.

"As for being so smart," Mike said a moment later, a grin curving his lips, "I take after my old lady."

"Hey.  Watch that 'old lady' stuff, will ya, kid?  I'm feeling every one of my years today."

"Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"And how's that?"

"I don't know what your boss thinks of you, but I'd say the way a certain softball coach looks at you, you've got a few more good years left."

"Michael!"  Rachel felt her cheeks heat up.  A nervous laugh escaped her lips.  "You're imagining things."

"No," he said, a thoughtful frown wrinkling his brow.  "No, I'm not.  I think he means it, Mom.  I think he really likes you.  The Bluejays have lots of mothers and older sisters hanging around at practice and the games.  He's never looked at any of them the way he looked at you the other night.  And he sure never left the park with any of them before."

When Rachel didn't say anything, just stared out the side window and played with the clasp on her purse, Mike prodded.  "Well, do you like him or not?"

She ignored the dull ache of hopelessness and managed a smile for her son.  "Yes.  I like him.  I like him a lot."

A moment later, he said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"So what are you gonna do about it?  You just gonna sit around and wait for Shotz to tell his version of what happened?"

"Meaning I should tell Jared myself," she said, not expecting an answer.  "I know I should.  But it's going to take me awhile to work up to it."

When they pulled up into the driveway at home, Mike grinned at her.  "So, when does the wig go?"

"That's something else it's going to take me awhile to work up to," she said with a laugh.  "I haven't figured out quite how to explain it to everyone at work."

*  *  *  *

That night, in keeping with her "honesty
–
at
–
home" policy, Rachel sat Caroline down and told her what was going on.

Caro surprised her with, "Well I don't think you have anything to worry about.  Coach is the neatest, nicest man I've ever known.  And he likes you, I can tell.  And Mom, he's
so
good looking," she added, rolling her eyes to the ceiling dramatically.  "Don't you just
drool
every time you look at him?"

Rachel laughed.  "Not quite,
sweetie
." 
It's more like I melt.