by now, but he's quite conservative. Very sweet and old fashioned. That's part of his appeal for me. He makes me feel very feminine. You can lose that at times in this business.'
'Yes, I know.' Brooke picked up her iced tea and stared into it. 'Do you-are you in love with him?'
'I think I am.' Claire settled back against the gray and rose patterned sofa. 'I was only in love once before, really in love. I was your age, perhaps a bit younger.' Her smile was soft for a moment, a girl's smile. 'In all the years in between, I've never met anyone I was attracted to enough, comfortable enough with, trusted enough, to think of marrying.'
Brooke took a long swallow of tea. She thought she understood Claire's phrasing all too well. 'You're thinking of marriage?''
'I'm thinking I'm almost fifty years old. I've built this up'-she gestured to indicate Thorton-'I have a comfortable home, a nice circle of friends and acquaintances, enough new challenges to keep me from dying of boredom, and suddenly I've found a man who makes me want to curl up in front of a fire after a long day.' She smiled slowly and rather beautifully not the girl's smile this time. 'It's a good feeling.' She let her eyes slide to Brooke, who was watching her closely. 'I'd hate to see you have to wait twenty more years for it. Parks is a great deal more than mildly attracted to you.'
For the third time, Brooke rose to pace the room. 'We haven't known each other long,' she began.
'You're a woman who knows her own mind, Brooke.'
'Am I?' With a mordant smile, she turned back. 'Perhaps I do know how I think, how I feel. I don't really know Parks, though. What if I give too much? What's to stop him from getting bored and moving on?'
Claire met her eyes steadily. 'Don't compare him, Brooke. Don't make him pass tests for all those old hurts.'
'Oh, Claire.' Passing a hand through her hair, Brooke walked to stare out of the window. 'That's the last thing I want to do.'
'What's the first thing?'
'It's always been to have my own. To have my own so that nobody can come along and say, 'Whoops, you really only borrowed this, time to give it back.'' She laughed a little. 'Silly, I suppose I've never really shaken that.'
'And why should you?' Claire demanded. 'We all want our own. And to get it, you and I both know there are a few basic risks involved.'
'I'm afraid I'm falling in love with him,' Brooke said quietly. ''And the closer I get, the more afraid I am that it's all going to crumble under my feet. I have a feeling I need this defense…that if I fall in love with him, I need this edge of control, this little pocket of power, to keep myself from getting demolished. Is that crazy?'
'No. You're not the kind of woman who gives herself completely without asking for something back.
You did that once, but you were a child. You're a woman who needs a strong man, Brooke. One strong enough to take, strong enough not to take all.' She smiled as Brooke turned to face her. 'Give yourself a little time,' she advised. 'Things have a way of falling into place.'
'Do they?'
Claire's smile widened. 'Sometimes it only takes twenty years.'
With a laugh, Brooke walked back to the sofa. 'Thanks a lot.'
Chapter 8
Brooke sat cross-legged on the softly faded Oriental rug in Claire's den. Sometime during the fourth inning she'd given up trying to sit in a chair. To her right, Lee and Claire sat on a two-cushioned brocade sofa. Billings had outdone herself by preparing her specialty, Beef Wellington, then had been mutely offended when Brooke had done little more than shift the food around on her plate. Though she chided herself for being nervous, Brooke had been able to do nothing but worry about the outcome of the play-offs since Parks had taken off for the Valiants' home stadium. She'd been able to catch part of the first afternoon game on her car radio as she had driven to a location shoot. One of the production crew had thought ahead, bringing a portable radio with an earplug, and had kept up a running commentary between takes. Brooke had felt overwhelming relief when the Kings had taken the first game, then frustration and more nerves when they had lost the second. Now, she watched the third on the television set in Claire's small, elegant den.
'That man was out at second,' Brooke fumed, wriggling impotently on the faded royal-blue rug. 'Anyone with two working eyes could see that.'
As she launched her personal attack, the Kings' manager, a squat man with the face of a dyspeptic elf, argued with the second base umpire. If she hadn't been quite so furious herself, Brooke might have admired the manager's theatrical gestures as he spun around, rolled his eyes to heaven and pointed an accusing finger in the umpire's face. The umpire remained unmoved and the call stood. With the Kings holding on to a thin one-run lead, a runner on second with one out boded ill.
When the next batter sent one sailing over the fence and the slim lead changed hands, Brooke groaned. ''I can't stand it,' she decided, pounding her fists on the rug. 'I just can't stand it.'
'Brooke's become involved in the game,' Claire murmured to Lee.
'So I've noticed.' He dropped a light kiss on her cheek. 'You smell wonderful!'
The sensation of blood rising to her cheeks was pleasant. She had been romanced by suave masters of the game in the more than twenty-five years of her womanhood, but she couldn't remember one who had made her feel quite the way Lee Dutton could. If they had been alone, she would have snuggled closer, but remembering Brooke, she merely squeezed his hand. 'Have some wine, dear,' she said to Brooke as she reached for the iced bottle beside her. ''Good for the nerves.'
Because she was breathing a sigh of relief as the next batter struck out, Brooke didn't acknowledge the teasing tone. 'That's three out,' she said as she took the cool glass from Claire.
'Two,' Lee corrected.
'Only if you believe a nearsighted umpire,' she countered, sipping. When he chuckled, she sent a grin over her shoulder. 'At least I didn't call him a bum.'
'Give yourself a little time,' Lee advised, winking at Claire as she handed him a glass.
'You know, some of the players-' Brooke began, then broke off with a gasp as a smoking line drive was hit toward third. Her stomach muscles knotted instantly. Parks dove sideways, stretching his arm out toward the speeding ball. He nabbed it in the tip of his glove just before the length of his body connected with the hard Astroturf. Brooke thought she could feel the bone-rattling jolt herself.
'He got it!' Lee broke out of his casual pose with a jerk that nearly upset Claire's wine. 'Look at that, look at that! He got it!' he repeated, pointing at the television image of Parks holding up the glove to show the catch while he still lay prone. 'That young sonofa-'' He caught himself, barely, and cleared his throat. 'Parks is the best with a glove in the league,' he decided. 'In both leagues!' He leaned forward to pound Brooke companionably on the back. 'Parks robbed him, kid. Stole a base hit from him as sure as God made little green apples.'
Because she watched Parks stand up and brush himself off, Brooke relaxed. 'I want to see it on replay,' she murmured. 'Slow motion.'
'You'll see that play a dozen times before the night's through,' Lee predicted. 'And again on the eleven o'clock news. Hey, lookie here.' Grinning, he gestured to the set. 'That's what I call classy timing.' Brooke shifted her concentration to the de Marco commercial. Of course she'd seen it a dozen times in the editing room, and again on television, but each time she watched, she searched for flaws. She studied the graphics as Parks's cool clear voice spoke out to her. 'It's perfect,' she said with a smile. 'Absolutely perfect.'
'How's the next one coming?' Lee asked Claire. 'It's just waiting for Parks to be available. We hope to shoot next week.'
He settled back again, one arm around Claire. 'I'm going to enjoy seeing that one play during the series.'
'They still have two games to win,' Brooke reminded him. 'They're a run behind in this one, and-'
'The opera's not over till the fat lady sings,' Lee said mildly.
Brooke swiveled her head to look at him. Claire was snug beside him, a crystal glass in one hand. Lee's
