didn’t feel up to socializing. She needed to gather her poise before tonight’s dinner. It didn’t look as if Adam Kendall would be contributing any money to the hospital now, so she would have to treat tonight’s guests doubly well. If she could only find time for a short nap….
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 didn’t enjoy Jennifer’s company at the best of times— Jennifer’s conversation consisted mainly of snobbishly chronicling the family trees of everyone she knew, which naturally made Lacy uncomfortable. To Jennifer, Lacy’s family tree barely qualified as a shrub…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.
“Lacy, darling!” Jennifer waited for Lacy to clean up her chin, then kissed the air around her cheek. “What wonderful good luck that I should run into you now! There’s something I simply must know!”
Lacy smiled. So Jennifer wanted something. That was no surprise. She raised her brows in polite inquiry but didn’t hurry her chewing. Jennifer was rather like a diesel engine. She hardly needed a push from Lacy to get where she wanted to go.
“It’s about Adam Kendall,” Jennifer said, lowering her voice dramatically. “He’s right over there, playing basketball with Jason. Good heavens, Lacy, don’t look now!”
But it was too late. Lacy’s gaze had jerked automatically toward the central play area, where a basketball hoop had been sunk into the concrete for recovering pediatric patients—as 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 Jennifer’s 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 she’d entered a time warp. She’d 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 team—but at six-three Adam hadn’t been quite tall enough to overcome the liability of being poor. Had he been six-ten, the coach would have happily bought 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 swallow—one 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 Adam— She felt her heart kick at the wall of her chest. Adam looked so young, so virile…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. Laughter had smoothed the harsh edges from his face.
He didn’t look much older than Jason. He was almost too beautiful to bear.
Lacy swallowed again, as if the pear wouldn’t quite go down, and somehow forced her gaze back to Jennifer. “Yes, I see him. What about him?”
The other woman patted her perfectly coiffed blond page-boy and took one long last look at Adam, like a nicotine addict taking one last drag of a cigarette. Narrowing her eyes, she unconsciously licked her lips. Lacy could almost hear the internal purr of appreciation.
“Well, I hear you took him on the hospital tour this morning.” Jennifer eyed Lacy carefully. Though few people in their social set today had any clue that Lacy and Adam had once dated in high school, of course Jennifer knew. Jennifer was a pro—she made it her business to know everything about everyone. “So. Did the tour go well?”
Lacy chuckled, then took a slow sip of coffee. “He didn’t commit to the neonatal unit, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said comfortably. She knew how to deal with the Jennifer Lansings of the world. Let them know you’re on to them, but do it with the most cordial of smiles. “You’re perfectly free to approach him about the museum. The word is he’s loaded these days, although I’m sure you’ve already heard that.”
Jennifer smoothed her skirt, a stalling technique that surprised Lacy. Since when did Jennifer need to buy time in one of these elementary-level verbal duels?
“Yes. I mean, no….”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lacy could see Tilly returning to the table. Jennifer saw, too, and looked annoyed.
Taking a deep breath, the blonde smiled, obviously deciding to save time by taking the candid approach. “Look, Lacy. I’ve already approached Adam about the museum. That’s under control—in fact, we’re having dinner tonight. But it’s more than that. I’m…well, I’m intrigued by Adam Kendall. But I thought you might—well, I would just hate to step on your toes, you know. I’d hate to spoil your plans without at least warning you.”
Her lovely smile was loaded with false sympathy for the pitiful girl who couldn’t dream of competing with the stunning Jennifer Lansing. “I guess my question is—what exactly are you after, Lacy? The money? Or the man?”
The arrogance! Lacy tasted something bitter in her throat, as if the pear had been rotten. But two could play this game. Widening her eyes as if surprised, she summoned a smile that was every bit as artificial as Jennifer’s.
“Why, the money, of course,” she said with syrup-covered steel in her voice. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve already had the man.”
GWEN WAS STARTING to wonder whether it had, on second thought, been such a great idea to buy a motorcycle.
It had a few good points. She definitely liked the way she looked in black leather pants and jacket. Very James Dean. And she loved the leers she got when she took off the bad-ass black helmet and her long blond curls came pouring out. “Well,” one great-looking guy had said with an appreciative smile. “If it isn’t Hell’s Angel.”
Right then, she hadn’t even minded having crazy hair. Biker chicks weren’t supposed to possess the Sleek Gene.
But she’d owned the bike only a week, and already the honeymoon was over. She had discovered that the stupid leather outfit was hot. Not hot like sexy. Hot like sweaty. Hot like gross and uncomfortable. And the motorcycle made an insane amount of noise, which was kind of cool at first but eventually gave her a thumping headache.
And frankly she was having a little trouble staying balanced on the darn thing. Especially when she was taking off.
She wobbled in an irritating circle now, trying to kick the starter pedal just the right way so it would catch, but she
