dinersâshe didnât feel up to socializing. She needed to gather her poise before tonightâs dinner. It didnât look as if Adam Kendall would be contributing any money to the hospital now, so she would have to treat tonightâs guests doubly well. If she could only find time for a short napâ¦.
No such luck. She had just taken a large, sloppy bite of her pear when a shadow fell over her plate. Pressing her napkin carefully against her chin, she looked up, somehow managing a polite smile without opening her lips.
Oh, great. It would be Jennifer Lansing, the chairman of the Pringle Island Historical Society. Lacy didnât enjoy Jenniferâs company at the best of timesâ Jenniferâs conversation consisted mainly of snobbishly chronicling the family trees of everyone she knew, which naturally made Lacy uncomfortable. To Jennifer, Lacyâs family tree barely qualified as a shrubâ¦and a common shrub, at that.
Things were particularly tense between the two women right now. The historical society hoped to build a museum, and Jennifer was busy soliciting donations from the very same people Lacy needed for the neonatal wing. Though extremely civilized, it was the most intense rivalry in town, and Lacy knew it was providing juicy dinner-table gossip all over Pringle Island.
âLacy, darling!â Jennifer waited for Lacy to clean up her chin, then kissed the air around her cheek.âWhat wonderful good luck that I should run into you now! Thereâs something I simply must know!â
Lacy smiled. So Jennifer wanted something. That was no surprise. She raised her brows in polite inquiry but didnât hurry her chewing. Jennifer was rather like a diesel engine. She hardly needed a push from Lacy to get where she wanted to go.
âItâs about Adam Kendall,â Jennifer said, lowering her voice dramatically. âHeâs right over there, playing basketball with Jason. Good heavens, Lacy, donât look now! â
But it was too late. Lacyâs gaze had jerked automatically toward the central play area, where a basketball hoop had been sunk into the concrete for recovering pediatric patientsâas well as visiting youngsters. Adam? Here?
She swallowed her pear half-chewed. Yes. Here. Adam, stripped to his T-shirt and slacks, had just stolen the orange ball from Jenniferâs fifteen-year-old son, Jason. As she watched, he arced his torso elegantly, arms extended over his head, to toss the ball toward the basket. It sank with only a whisper of net, and even Jason whooped with delight, high-fiving Adam with genuine admiration.
For a breathless moment Lacy wondered if sheâd entered a time warp. Sheâd spent so many hours, long, long ago, watching him play this game he loved so much. It had been cruel that the coach had kept him off the teamâbut at six-three Adam hadnât been quite tall enough to overcome the liability of being poor. Had he been six-ten, the coach would have happilybought his uniforms for him, overlooking the fact that he had no parents to contribute to the program.
His exclusion from the team had been a bitter pill to swallowâone of many he had been forced to endure as the only child of an out-of-work alcoholic.
No trace of that bitterness was left now, even though the golden-haired, silver-spooned Jason Lansing proudly sported the blue-and-white uniform Adam had once so longed to wear. As the two male bodies battled, fighting muscle on muscle toward the basket, both of them were laughing, jiving, obviously loving every rigorous moment.
And Adamâ She felt her heart kick at the wall of her chest. Adam looked so young, so virileâ¦so happy. His body was as lithely powerful as it had been ten years ago, his pectoral muscles straining at the cotton T-shirt, his well-defined biceps curving and flexing, his tight hips shifting neatly as he ducked and dodged with an unconscious grace. His eyes were lit with pleasure.
No such luck. She had just taken a large, sloppy bite of her pear when a shadow fell over her plate. Pressing her napkin carefully against her chin, she looked up, somehow managing a polite smile without opening her lips.
Oh, great. It would be Jennifer Lansing, the chairman of the Pringle Island Historical Society. Lacy didnât enjoy Jenniferâs company at the best of timesâ Jenniferâs conversation consisted mainly of snobbishly chronicling the family trees of everyone she knew, which naturally made Lacy uncomfortable. To Jennifer, Lacyâs family tree barely qualified as a shrubâ¦and a common shrub, at that.
Things were particularly tense between the two women right now. The historical society hoped to build a museum, and Jennifer was busy soliciting donations from the very same people Lacy needed for the neonatal wing. Though extremely civilized, it was the most intense rivalry in town, and Lacy knew it was providing juicy dinner-table gossip all over Pringle Island.
âLacy, darling!â Jennifer waited for Lacy to clean up her chin, then kissed the air around her cheek.âWhat wonderful good luck that I should run into you now! Thereâs something I simply must know!â
Lacy smiled. So Jennifer wanted something. That was no surprise. She raised her brows in polite inquiry but didnât hurry her chewing. Jennifer was rather like a diesel engine. She hardly needed a push from Lacy to get where she wanted to go.
âItâs about Adam Kendall,â Jennifer said, lowering her voice dramatically. âHeâs right over there, playing basketball with Jason. Good heavens, Lacy, donât look now! â
But it was too late. Lacyâs gaze had jerked automatically toward the central play area, where a basketball hoop had been sunk into the concrete for recovering pediatric patientsâas well as visiting youngsters. Adam? Here?
She swallowed her pear half-chewed. Yes. Here. Adam, stripped to his T-shirt and slacks, had just stolen the orange ball from Jenniferâs fifteen-year-old son, Jason. As she watched, he arced his torso elegantly, arms extended over his head, to toss the ball toward the basket. It sank with only a whisper of net, and even Jason whooped with delight, high-fiving Adam with genuine admiration.
For a breathless moment Lacy wondered if sheâd entered a time warp. Sheâd spent so many hours, long, long ago, watching him play this game he loved so much. It had been cruel that the coach had kept him off the teamâbut at six-three Adam hadnât been quite tall enough to overcome the liability of being poor. Had he been six-ten, the coach would have happilybought his uniforms for him, overlooking the fact that he had no parents to contribute to the program.
His exclusion from the team had been a bitter pill to swallowâone of many he had been forced to endure as the only child of an out-of-work alcoholic.
No trace of that bitterness was left now, even though the golden-haired, silver-spooned Jason Lansing proudly sported the blue-and-white uniform Adam had once so longed to wear. As the two male bodies battled, fighting muscle on muscle toward the basket, both of them were laughing, jiving, obviously loving every rigorous moment.
And Adamâ She felt her heart kick at the wall of her chest. Adam looked so young, so virileâ¦so happy. His body was as lithely powerful as it had been ten years ago, his pectoral muscles straining at the cotton T-shirt, his well-defined biceps curving and flexing, his tight hips shifting neatly as he ducked and dodged with an unconscious grace. His eyes were lit with pleasure.
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