were mild, he said.” Shaking
her head, she extended the other foot and rinsed it off. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay. He’s… all right, isn’t he? I mean, he’s
not an invalid, or—”
“Hardly.” She took the towel and dried off her feet. “He’s
spending the summer in the Caribbean with a friend, sailing. He couldn’t do
that if he were an invalid.”
“The whole summer? I didn’t realize that. I thought he was
just on a two-week vacation or something. What about his law practice?”
“He told me he retired three years ago.”
Tucker had that off-balance feeling you get on the beach when
an outgoing wave sucks the sand from beneath your feet. “Retired. Right. I
should have known that. I should have figured—”
Harley put a hand around his arm, and the ground stopped
moving. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me,” she said. “I can really use a
spotter on the bench press.”
***
Stars materialized in the deepening sky as Harley, executing
a languid backstroke, glided slowly from one end of the pool to the other and
back again. This was her favorite part of the day, when everything was done and
night was descending and she could relax a little bit.
She tried to put the past twenty-four hours out of her mind.
Tucker Hale’s unexpected arrival had tossed a bomb into her orderly life, just
as he had warned her it would. She still didn’t know when he would be leaving,
and she doubted he had given it much thought, despite his abrupt departure the
night before. He was both fascinating and irritating, and very hard to ignore,
but she would try, at least for a little while. Right now he was inside—she saw
lights on in the bathroom window of the maid’s room, and heard water
running—and she had the evening sky to herself.
She had killed the patio lights and switched on the pool
lights, the underwater bulbs making the blue water glow from within. She
usually took her evening swim in the nude, since the yard was so private. Of
course, she couldn’t do that with Tucker around. But there was no need for the
racing suit, so she wore a simple white maillot.
She had backstroked several dozen laps when she heard the
French doors open and close, and the sound of Tucker’s cane on the brick patio.
Pausing in the deep end to tread water, she saw him, a dark figure standing on
the deck at the shallow end. He kicked off his moccasins and sat down on the
edge of the pool with his feet in the water, an awkwardly executed maneuver.
After a moment there appeared a small red glow as he lit a cigarette.
Abandoning the backstroke, she swam underwater to the shallow
end, surfacing a few feet from the deck, and Tucker. She stood waist-high in
the water, smoothing her wet hair off her face and pretending she didn’t notice
his brown eyes swiftly appraise her. He never leered, but several times she had
caught him discreetly checking her out. She knew that some men found her tight,
athletic build unappealing, but she also knew that Tucker Hale wasn’t one of
them.
He exhaled a plume of blue smoke. “You’re a good swimmer.”
“So are you,” she said.
The frown lines between his eyebrows deepened momentarily and
then vanished. “The trophies,” he said. “Yeah, once upon a time.” He glanced at
his mangled leg. “No more.”
Harley twisted her hair to squeeze the water out. “Did the
doctors say you couldn’t swim anymore?”
He took a drag before answering. “Actually, they said I should swim. Said it’d be good therapy.”
She dropped her hair. “Why don’t you, then?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had enough physical therapy. Months and
months of it.”
“Swimming?”
“No, there was no pool at the hospital. They had me do
different things. It was a pretty grueling routine, actually. Machines, lots of
weight work.”
“Weights? I wondered about that.” In the gym that afternoon,
although he hadn’t worked out himself, he had handled hundred-pound plates as
if they were made out of
her head, she extended the other foot and rinsed it off. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay. He’s… all right, isn’t he? I mean, he’s
not an invalid, or—”
“Hardly.” She took the towel and dried off her feet. “He’s
spending the summer in the Caribbean with a friend, sailing. He couldn’t do
that if he were an invalid.”
“The whole summer? I didn’t realize that. I thought he was
just on a two-week vacation or something. What about his law practice?”
“He told me he retired three years ago.”
Tucker had that off-balance feeling you get on the beach when
an outgoing wave sucks the sand from beneath your feet. “Retired. Right. I
should have known that. I should have figured—”
Harley put a hand around his arm, and the ground stopped
moving. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me,” she said. “I can really use a
spotter on the bench press.”
***
Stars materialized in the deepening sky as Harley, executing
a languid backstroke, glided slowly from one end of the pool to the other and
back again. This was her favorite part of the day, when everything was done and
night was descending and she could relax a little bit.
She tried to put the past twenty-four hours out of her mind.
Tucker Hale’s unexpected arrival had tossed a bomb into her orderly life, just
as he had warned her it would. She still didn’t know when he would be leaving,
and she doubted he had given it much thought, despite his abrupt departure the
night before. He was both fascinating and irritating, and very hard to ignore,
but she would try, at least for a little while. Right now he was inside—she saw
lights on in the bathroom window of the maid’s room, and heard water
running—and she had the evening sky to herself.
She had killed the patio lights and switched on the pool
lights, the underwater bulbs making the blue water glow from within. She
usually took her evening swim in the nude, since the yard was so private. Of
course, she couldn’t do that with Tucker around. But there was no need for the
racing suit, so she wore a simple white maillot.
She had backstroked several dozen laps when she heard the
French doors open and close, and the sound of Tucker’s cane on the brick patio.
Pausing in the deep end to tread water, she saw him, a dark figure standing on
the deck at the shallow end. He kicked off his moccasins and sat down on the
edge of the pool with his feet in the water, an awkwardly executed maneuver.
After a moment there appeared a small red glow as he lit a cigarette.
Abandoning the backstroke, she swam underwater to the shallow
end, surfacing a few feet from the deck, and Tucker. She stood waist-high in
the water, smoothing her wet hair off her face and pretending she didn’t notice
his brown eyes swiftly appraise her. He never leered, but several times she had
caught him discreetly checking her out. She knew that some men found her tight,
athletic build unappealing, but she also knew that Tucker Hale wasn’t one of
them.
He exhaled a plume of blue smoke. “You’re a good swimmer.”
“So are you,” she said.
The frown lines between his eyebrows deepened momentarily and
then vanished. “The trophies,” he said. “Yeah, once upon a time.” He glanced at
his mangled leg. “No more.”
Harley twisted her hair to squeeze the water out. “Did the
doctors say you couldn’t swim anymore?”
He took a drag before answering. “Actually, they said I should swim. Said it’d be good therapy.”
She dropped her hair. “Why don’t you, then?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had enough physical therapy. Months and
months of it.”
“Swimming?”
“No, there was no pool at the hospital. They had me do
different things. It was a pretty grueling routine, actually. Machines, lots of
weight work.”
“Weights? I wondered about that.” In the gym that afternoon,
although he hadn’t worked out himself, he had handled hundred-pound plates as
if they were made out of
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