Spring fancy

why aren't you with him right now, crying on his shoulder? He's the one who should be comforting you at a time like this.'

She pulled away and drew her knees up, looping them with both arms. 'Paul has a hard time dealing with the fact of death or even disease. He sees perfection as the ultimate, I guess. The imperfect bodies I work with put him off, and he's uncomfortable talking about them.'

'Did he try… this time?'

'He… I… no. I told you, he wasn't home when I tried to reach him. But when I first got Merry as a patient, I was upset one night and called him then.'

'And what did he do?'

'We talked a little bit about it.'

'Did he come over?'

She flashed him a warning glance. 'Don't judge him, Joseph. He has his own qualities. They may be different from yours or mine, but he has them just the same.'

'Such as?'

'Such as his supreme intelligence, his analytical mind, his… his tenacity. I mean, when Paul makes up his mind to do something, he does it, if it takes him a month or a year, he does it.'

'Such as providing you with a house and furniture?'

'Exactly. I'm the one at fault for wishing he'd-'

'Cut it out, Winn!' he snapped.

'Cut what out?' she snapped back.

'Rationalizing about your relationship with him. It stinks and you know it.'

'It does not stink! We get along wonderfully!'

'Oh, sure. That's why you came running to me instead of to him today. From what you tell me about him, he must have silicon chips for emotions!'

Her face colored deeply. 'You're overstepping, Joseph.'

'I'm pointing out what you already know but refuse to admit. The two of you have nothing in common except some goddarn house he's living in without you! If you were engaged to me, I wouldn't be letting you flirt around with other men at wedding dances.'

'I didn't-' But Joseph forged ahead.

'And your birth-control pills would be sitting in my bedroom. And your panty hose would be lying on my bedroom floor beside my jockstrap after we ended up every day with a rousing game of racket ball like the one we just played.'

She tried jumping to her feet, but he grabbed her wrist and held her where she was.

'Winn, sit still!' he ordered, refusing to release her. 'How in blazes did you ever end up with somebody like him in the first place?'

She simmered for a long time while their eyes locked angrily. Her wrist strained against his grip, and at the precise moment she wrenched it free, she spit, 'My mother!'

His eyes widened in surprise. 'Your what?'

'My mother introduced me to him.' Winn dropped her eyes, uncomfortable with the admission.

'Go on.'

'He was teaching a class on computers that she took, and the two of them discovered this great common interest in COBOL and FORTRAN.'

He screwed up his face. 'What?'

She waved an impatient hand. 'Oh, those are some high-level computer languages. Anyway, she told me she'd met this wonderful man.' Winn stopped and shrugged.

'Then why didn't she marry him instead of you?'

Winn stiffened. The corners of her mouth pulled down, and she glared at Joseph. How unflinchingly he hit upon her most vulnerable spot. How many times had she submerged the very thought, believing it too touchy to allow herself to think, much less voice!

'I don't think that's funny, Joseph.'

'Why? Did I hit a nerve?'

'The nerve here is yours, and you're displaying plenty of it.'

'It's nothing to be ashamed of. You wouldn't be the first woman who agreed to marry somebody because he was her parents' choice.'

'That's not why I'm marrying him,' she claimed, perhaps a little too emphatically.

'Then why are you? Did he sweep you off your feet-sexually?' Her mouth puckered tighter. He drove on, 'Well, it's sure obvious you didn't fall for him because he shared your interests. Or your goals or your tastes! You've already told me enough about him to know you're like steam and he's like ice. They may both be made of the same element, but that doesn't mean they're anything alike, Win, and you know it.'

She crossed her forearms on her knees and dropped her forehead onto them. 'I didn't come here so you could make me feel worse than I already did, but somehow you're managing it.'

'I'm sorry, Winn.' He rested a hand on her slumped shoulder, but she shrugged it away. 'I didn't mean to make you upset, but so far the only thing I can name that the two of you do well together is dance, and he leaves you behind to do that with me? I should think you'd be the one picking out these gaping holes in your relationship, not me.'

She raised her head wearily. 'Don't you understand? Our wedding is only six weeks away.'

His eyes pierced through her. 'Yeah. Scary, isn't it?'

Winn did leap to her feet then and leaned over angrily to scoop the blue ball off the floor. She began bouncing it vehemently with the racket while presenting her rigid back. 'Do you want to play another game or not?'

He glared at her shapely back, her erect shoulders and the irritation she displayed as she whapped the ball. He grew more than irritated. He was frustrated and angry that she refused to explore the mistake she was making in her choice of men just because of a few social commitments.

'You bet I do. And we'll see who whips who.' She was standing in the serving lane when his answer bit the air just behind her shoulder. Then he went on, 'I won the first match, Gardner. The serve is mine.'

She felt properly chastised and not a little embarrassed. There were men who extended the courtesy of always letting ladies serve first. It had always peeved Winn. She'd win on her own merits or not at all. How dare Joseph Duggan imply that she was trying to grab an unearned advantage! Wordlessly she retreated to the backcourt, leaving the serving lane to him. When the first ball came, it whistled off three surfaces before she reached it just in the nick of time. The volley was long and exhausting, and he took the point. Her ego was definitely stung, for she'd tried her hardest to take the initial point after their argument. As he bounced the ball preparatory to serving, she held her racket in a position that definitely stated, 'Attack,' leaning forward from the waist, rocking her hips from side to side, intensity written on every muscle of her face and stance.

The longer the game went, the better they both played.

They were neck and neck at fifteen, and her lungs felt ready to explode. She felt a slight cramp in her right foot but shook it off, promising herself Joseph Duggan would lose this game, come hell or high water.

He slammed a power shot off the back wall, and she missed it.

She executed a beautiful pass shot and left him standing on the opposite side of the court from where the ball rebounded.

At nineteen all, the sweat was running down their legs, backs and bellies. Her bra was soaked, and the band of her shorts stuck to her skin. His shirt-what there was of it-was so dark with sweat she wondered why he bothered to pull at its shoulder to swab his forehead.

She served a deadly one that struck with the speed of a copperhead and took point twenty to tie him.

On his next attack he reached and leaped at a scorcher skimming no farther than a quarter inch away from the wall. But in his intensity he grew careless, leaped too hard and hit the concrete, then bounced off and landed with a thick thud, flat on his back.

He winced, bared his teeth, grabbed his right knee and rolled back and forth, sucking air.

She dropped her racket and ran, falling to her knees beside him. 'Joseph, I'm sorry. Oh, Judas, what is it? Is it your knee? Here, let me see.'

He rolled and winced all the more.