Prelude to a Wedding by Patricia McLinn Page B

gentle. "And I was a borderline
shortstop at best. My making the majors was extremely
doubtful."
    Nancy Monroe looked from one man to the
other. If she forced her smile, she did it very well. "Well, if you
do go to Washington, Paul, be sure to give Tris our love, won't
you?" She turned to Bette in explanation. "Tris is Paul's cousin.
James's sister's girl. She and Paul were always close. When they
were children . . ."
    Nancy Monroe went on, skillfully drawing Paul
and his father into the newly directed conversation, and soon any
lingering tension dissipated.
    Nearly an hour later, as they said their
thank-yous and good-nights at the door, Bette thought James Monroe
was about to question his son once more, but his wife touched him
lightly on the sleeve, and he let it fade.
    As Paul pulled the car out of the drive, it
was obvious he, too, had seen the interplay. "Parents trying to
push their kids into making the same mistakes they did," he
muttered.
    "I always thought parents tried to prevent
their kids from making the same mistakes they did," she commented
mildly.
    He frowned at her, but then seemed to relax.
Before he turned back to the road, a quirk of humor lifted his
mouth. "That's one of those lines all parents are taught to feed
their kids, along with clean-up-your-plate,
don't-play-with-that-or-you'll-poke-your-eye-out and
someday-you'll-have-children-of-your-own-and-you'll-understand."
    "Ah, the famous 'School for parents' where
they learn one thousand and one ways to say no."
    He laughed, and the sound warmed Bette. She'd
brought him laughter. She'd changed his mood from bad to good. She
couldn't remember ever having done that for someone before.
    Instinctively, she reached for him. But she
let the gesture fall short, her hand dropping to the seat between
them.
    "That's the one," he answered. Without taking
his eyes off the road, he settled his right hand over hers where it
lay on the seat.
    The rest of the drive was accomplished in
easy silence.
    Easy was about all Bette felt capable of at
the moment.
    Occasionally, the wheel demanded both of
Paul's hands, but his right always returned to hers. Resting her
head against the top of the seat, she watched the lights go by
without bothering to focus. She felt surrounded by the scent of
pumpkins, straw, dried leaves and Paul Monroe. She was replete with
delicious food and the satisfaction of laughter.
    Languor seeped into her, until she wondered
if she'd have control over as simple a movement as raising her arm.
Did astronauts feel like this when they experienced weightlessness,
when a twitch translated into some large, slow, ungovernable
gesture and a step became a floating trip to unknown
destinations?
    When they reached her house, Paul drove the
car directly into the garage, turned off the engine, pressed the
button to close the automatic door and shifted to face her. She
tipped her head just enough to see him.
    "Bette?"
    His voice came, husky and near. He trailed
the knuckles of his right hand down her neck, then pushed her hair
back, behind her shoulder. Her cocoon of languor took on heat and
sensation. She should be thinking ahead, considering what might
come next. But she couldn't. She should be alert, prepared. But she
wasn't. For once the present moment filled the screen of her mind
so fully that there was no room to preview the future.
    "Bette."
    Slowly she shifted until she could see his
features, strong and marked by lines of humor in the slash of
artificial light slanting in through the garage window. She didn't
believe she had enough energy to move, but somehow she must have
had, because she felt the soft prickle of his stubbled jaw under
her palm.
    Then she experienced all the energy in the
world. It suffused her, pouring into her skin and bones and blood
when he turned his head against her hand and inscribed a circle
with his tongue.
    She thought again of the odd buoyancy of
weightlessness as her arms rose, seemingly of their own accord, to
his shoulders. He