The Best Way to Lose by Janet Dailey Page B

didn’t figure you’d stick it out. They thought you’d come into the business a-swingin’ and a-fightin’, then walk away when it was knee-deep in trouble.”
    “Weren’t you one of them?” Trace slanted Digger a dryly amused glance and finished the ice cream cone. With a handkerchief fromhis pocket, he wiped the stickiness from his hands, momentarily draping his jacket over his arm, then swinging it over his shoulder again when he was done.
    “Yeah,” Digger admitted a little sheepishly.
    Trace changed the subject. He’d already faced down all the doubts from others. Considering the heller he’d been, it wasn’t surprising that no one believed he’d actually stay with it. There had been a couple of times when he’d wondered if it was worth the resistance he met on all fronts, including the men he’d worked with on the tugs.
    “What’s this all about?” He gestured to the bandstand, where Pilar was making some kind of acceptance speech. “Do you know?”
    “It’s some kind of civic award, recognizing all the things she’s done for the betterment of the community or some such thing like that.” Digger shrugged away the inexactness of his answer. “The idea of making it a public presentation was just a way of getting people to come to the concert.”
    At the conclusion of her short speech Trace joined in with the desultory applause, his jacket swinging from his mildly clapping hands. As she was escorted down the steps he hesitated, then glanced at Digger.
    “Guess I might as well say hello to her so the gossips don’t start talking about me being rude and ignoring my father’s widow.” It sounded like a good excuse.
    “Yeah.” A dry smile lifted the corners of the man’s mouth as he seemed to gather up energy.“I’m supposed to be checkin’ out a complaint about kids smokin’ pot up here. Some poor old lady swears she could smell it. See ya later.”
    The band instructor lifted his baton and looked to see that all his young musicians were in readiness. The bronze plaque felt heavy in Pilar’s arms, its wood sticking to her bare skin. She was hot and tired of smiling for everyone’s benefit, but she was obliged to stay through a few more songs before it would be proper to leave.
    At least she was out of that hot sun, and there was a breeze. She longed to take her shoes off and feel the cool grass under the bottoms of her feet. She feigned an attentiveness to the band’s rendition of a popular song.
    A hand lightly touched her arm, drawing her sharp glance to the auburn-haired woman standing with her. “Look who’s here,” Sandra Kay murmured, her eyes alive with interest as their glance went past Pilar. “I didn’t know he was in town again, did you?”
    When she saw Trace Santee strolling across the grass toward their small party, heat-raw nerves prickled. “Hardly.” Her attention reverted to the bandstand in a struggling attempt at indifference.
    “In a way it’s a shame you and Trace never became close. After all, he is Elliot’s son,” Sandra Kay mused with absent regret, then shrugged faintly. “Of course, I don’t think Trace has ever felt any strong family ties. He’salways been something of a lone wolf.” She lowered her voice even further, an indication to Pilar of Trace’s imminent appearance. “I wish some psychiatrist would explain why women find rogues like Trace so attractive—even happily married women like myself. They always seem a little wicked, and a little dangerous. And I guess there’s the feeling that if you had a wild little fling, he’d never tell.”
    It was just innocent female talk, but Pilar was agitated by it. She didn’t care for the subject or Trace Santee. It had always been impossible to think of him as Elliot’s son, especially since he was six years older than she was.
    “Why, good evening, Trace.” Sandra Kay greeted him, pretending that she hadn’t seen him coming. “I never knew you attended something as tame as a band