By Leaps and Bounds Page 2

  "I'm sure a chaperon could be arranged," Kerry said, "if it isn't possible for him to move there himself."

  "No, of course not.'' Melanie shifted restlessly, but even so, her movements were smooth and controlled. "He's a police lieutenant. He can't just transfer. It doesn't work that way. Besides, he hates New York."

  "It's just a suggestion " Kerry didn't want to upset the girl. "Something to think about, maybe discuss with him."

  "He'll say no." Melanie bit her lip. "Do you really think I'd have a chance? At one of the big companies?"

  "More than a chance," Kerry said. "Believe me."

  She wanted to pour out reassurances but stopped herself. Going to New York would be a gamble, even for someone as talented as Melanie.

  "I—I have to go change," Melanie said reluctantly. "I promised to baby-sit for my neighbor." Despite her busy schedule, Melanie took pride in helping earn the money for her lessons.

  "See you tomorrow." Kerry strode away toward her office, wondering how, although she was only twenty-eight, being around Melanie could make her feel so very old.

  She picked up her purse and wondered what to do about dinner. Actually, she wasn't very hungry, and she made a point of keeping her weight down anyway. The thought of going home to cottage cheese and fresh fruit didn't hold much appeal.

  A swim. That was what she needed.

  Nodding to herself, Kerry went out the door. The last thing she saw as she left the studio was Melanie emerging from the locker room down the hall.

  The girl looked lost in thought, her mobile face mirroring sadness mixed with determination. Kerry found herself hoping Melanie would win her battle; at least one of them ought to have a chance to see her dreams come true.

  The pool at the health spa was especially busy, since the club was running a promotion to draw in new members.

  Still, Kerry managed to ease through a few laps and work the kinks out of her muscles. She would have liked a soak in the whirlpool bath afterward, but it was crammed.

  Wrapping herself in a towel, she went to check the schedule for the masseuse. There was an opening in half an hour, and Kerry signed up for it.

  Some people jostled by her, a man and woman lost in each other's eyes. Kerry watched them go with more curiosity than envy. Sure, she felt lonely sometimes, as if she were missing something, especially after watching a romantic movie on TV. But none of the men she'd met had inspired her with anything more than a mild liking.

  As she walked through the club, idly taking in the sweaty bodies laboring over cycles and weights, she thought about George.

  He didn't enter her mind often these days, but she'd read an article about him the previous day in the L.A. Times. He had been invited to head a major symphony and to serve as regular guest conductor at another. The promise of seven years ago was rapidly becoming fulfilled.

  So far, there'd been no reports of any new lady in his life. That wasn't surprising, considering his schedule.

  During much of her lengthy rehabilitation, George had been on a European tour. They'd never announced their engagement, and after a while it had become clear to her that there would never be a marriage.

  Neither of them had really wanted it any longer, and yet his desertion hurt terribly. It underscored her fear that she had no value as herself, without the glamour of accomplishment.

  Sometimes she missed George, in odd moments. Not him so much as the life-style they'd shared, the whirlwind of sophisticated restaurants and parties, the company of clever, talented people, the feeling of riding on top of an immensely exciting wave.

  Kerry gave a mental shrug and strolled onto the bridge overlooking the racquetball courts.

  The sharp thong-thong of balls whacking against walls formed a kind of white noise, blotting out some of the tumult in her mind. She leaned against the railing, watching a game being heatedly contested.

  From here, she could see only the backs of the two men. One was stocky, clad in jogging shorts and a polo shirt.

  It was the other man who caught her eye.

  He was about six feet tall, wearing tan twill shorts and a dark brown T-shirt that clung damply to his back and shoulders, outlining every muscle. And there were quite a few muscles.

  He moved with an assurance that impressed her, not only because he was winning the game but because such natural grace was rare. She wondered if he danced or if there were dancers in his family.

  Kerry folded her arms on the railing, glad for the privilege of ogling the man without being observed. She smiled to herself. Ogling. Well, what else was she doing? No harm in that.

  Sometimes when she took a modern dance class at the gym, she would notice one or two men watching her out of the corners of their eyes. Occasionally they would come over to make conversation afterward, but they seemed more interested in getting her into bed than in finding out what kind of person she was, and that didn't appeal to her.

  Now this man in front of her...

  He leaped for the ball, pounded it with his racquet and then raced to retrieve it. Terrific eyesight, she decided; it took excellent peripheral vision and depth perception to be a good racquetball player. Or a dancer.

  Protected by anonymity, Kerry allowed herself to fantasize. Not that she'd ever really want to get involved with a man just for his body, but it was fun to imagine it.

  He had neatly cut, light brown hair, a well-rounded head and terrific shoulders. She wondered what it would be like to dance with him, to feel those strong arms lift her into the air. It would have to be a very private dance, one that could end with her sliding down into his embrace....

  This was crazy. She didn't even know what his face looked like!

  Amused at her ramblings, she checked the clock overhead. Fifteen minutes before her massage. Time to start back. Below, she was vaguely aware of the game finishing.

  She padded down the steps to the main floor, aware that she instinctively turned her feet out from years of training, as if she wore toe shoes instead of sneakers. All those hard-won muscles had helped her long ago when she had to learn to walk again, and she was grateful for them.

  At the foot of the steps, she spotted the two men coming out of the racquetball courts. Kerry stopped abruptly. Up close, the broad-shouldered man in the brown T-shirt looked even taller than he had on the court. Although he was sweating heavily, she found the scent refreshingly masculine. It reminded her of the men who had partnered her in ballet.

  The pair was about to walk by when, inexplicably, the tall one turned. "I thought it was you," he said.

  Kerry blinked. Although he looked familiar, she couldn't place him. His dark brown eyes had a warmth tinged with wariness; his face was strong, softened only by a clipped mustache. The kind of mustache policemen wore.

  "Oh!" she said. "You're Melanie's dad."

  He smiled and waved his companion on. "I do have a name, you know. It's Chris. Chris Layne."

  "I haven't seen you here before."

  "I'm new." He held out his hand and, feeling a bit awkward, Kerry shook it.

  He held her hand a moment longer than necessary before she withdrew it. "I'm—I'm afraid I have an appointment for a massage in a few minutes," she stammered, taken aback by the way he was looking at her.

  "Wish I could be there." His smile took the teasing edge off his words.

  "You—you were terrific on the court." The breathless catch in her voice surprised Kerry. It reflected a tightness in her chest, an unfamiliar tension. What had she turned into, a bashful teenager with a crush?

  Fortunately, Chris didn't seem to notice her discomfort. "I like to work off the tensions." The relaxed look in his eyes faded, and the creases around his mouth deepened. Kerry was sorry she'd reminded him, however inadvertently, of whatever was worrying him.

  He didn't move, though, and neither did she. It was as if they both had things to say but couldn't remember exactly what they were. As if they were both intimately aware of each other, wondering how it would be to touch and a litt
le afraid of the thought.

  "I was talking to Melanie—" she began.

  "I was wondering if you—" he said at the same time.

  They both stopped and chuckled self-consciously.

  "You were wondering what?" Kerry said.

  He twirled his racquet lightly in one hand. "My daughter's baby-sitting tonight and I'm on my own for dinner. I wondered if you'd join me."

  He probably wasn't going to eat diet food as she usually did, but on the other hand, Kerry wasn't eager to eat alone. "Sure," she said. "If you don't mind waiting—"

  "I need a swim," he said. "Outside in, say, forty-five minutes?"

  "Done."

  She hurried off, surprised at how eager she felt to be finished with her massage.

  The massage was relaxing, if mildly painful at times. Unfortunately, it reminded Kerry of the physical therapy she'd endured for so many months, and she had to force herself to let her thoughts float.

  Doggedly, they kept returning to Chris Layne.

  He was so sexy. How had she failed to notice it before?

  The answer was easy. She'd seen him only in the ballet studio and only in Melanie's company. He might as well have worn a label pasted over his forehead that said Father of Student.

  He'd never felt comfortable at the studio, she could tell, always in a hurry to get somewhere else. Today he hadn't been in a hurry at all.

  Had he asked her out because he didn't like dining alone? Had she imagined that moment of physical awareness between them?

  Kerry tried to remember whether she'd had such a strong physical response to George. She couldn't recall ever separating her feelings for him as a man from her awe of him as a musical genius. Even the few times they'd slept together, she hadn't felt much beyond a faint pleasure mixed with uncertainty.

  The massage ended. Kerry tipped the masseuse and went to dress.

  After applying more makeup than usual, she tucked her hair back into its accustomed bun. As she did so, she glanced around at the women blow-drying their coiffures, some using a curling iron for finishing touches.

  For a moment she wished she'd found some other way to fix her hair. Something more up-to-date and flattering. Well, not much she could do about it now.

  Pulling on the jeans and sweatshirt she wore outside the studio, Kerry slung her gym bag over her shoulder and walked out past the reception desk to the parking lot.

  Chris leaned against a sporty sedan, his hair still damp from swimming. He wore tailored slacks and a button-down shirt partly open in the front. "Want a ride?" he said. "Or would you rather meet me there?"

  "I'll meet you." Kerry preferred having her own car with her. Mobility meant freedom. "Where's `there?’ "

  "How about Brea Burger Palace?" She must have looked puzzled, because he quickly gave directions in case they got separated in traffic.

  "Fine." It wasn't exactly in a ritzy area, but the way she was dressed, it should suit her.

  She managed to get her battered station wagon started on the second try. Far from an ideal car, but the cargo space was useful for hauling costumes, equipment and sometimes students.

  They headed along Imperial Highway through thinning traffic. It was nearly seven-thirty and rush hour had ended.

  The Burger Palace turned out to be an unpretentious joint with a glassed-in front and lots of pickup trucks in the parking lot. You ordered and carried your own tray, the burgers were huge and the servings of fries far more generous than at franchises.

  It bore no resemblance to the posh places George used to take her, Kerry reflected as they made their way between the other diners. She considered that a plus.

  "Great place," Chris said as they set their trays on a table near two tattooed bikers, who ignored them.

  "Atmospheric," Kerry agreed, wondering what had possessed her to order such a huge, fattening meal.

  "You've never eaten here before? How long have you lived in Brea?" He began slathering his hamburger with condiments.

  "Six years." She wondered how much Melanie had told him about Kerry's early career and the accident. While it wasn't something she liked to discuss, she saw no point in being secretive.

  "Family around here?"

  Kerry shook her head. "You?"

  "Afraid not." His hamburger was disappearing at an amazing rate. "Makes it hard, raising a kid by myself."

  Kerry nibbled at her fries, fighting the impulse to wolf them down. She knew that Melanie's mother was dead, but not how or when. It didn't seem an appropriate subject at the moment. "Do you like police work?"

  He shrugged. "Beats being tied to a desk, although I don't get out as much as I used to."

  "You're a lieutenant," she said. "What does that mean?"

  Chris looked amused. "The guys don't salute, that's for sure."

  "No, I mean—"

  He finished a draft of soda. "It means all the reports end up on my desk. In detectives. That's where I'm assigned until the chief decides to get creative and rotate us again."

  "Detectives." Kerry ate a small bite of hamburger before going on. "I guess that's not as romantic as it sounds, huh?"

  "If they made a movie about me, it would put the audience to sleep," Chris agreed.

  Kerry smiled. "Sounds like ballet. Everyone thinks of it as glamorous, but it's mostly doing exercises over and over again. I suppose you know that, from Melanie."

  "It's been good for her." He glanced out the window as two motorcycles roared to life and the bikers spun out of the lot. "No helmets. We'll be peeling them off the pavement one of these days."

  "Do you always think like a policeman?" she teased.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. "Not always. Sometimes I just think like a man."

  Kerry flushed at the implication.

  He was watching her closely. "Are you really—no, that's none of my business."

  "Am I really what?"

  "As out of practice at this whole male-female business as you seem?"

  Darn it, how was she supposed to react to that remark? "I was engaged once. Seven years ago."

  "And since then?"

  Kerry shrugged and wished she could think of an inconspicuous way to change the subject. “Not a lot going on.”

  "The men around here must be crazy," Chris said. "I always assumed you'd be too busy to give me the time of day."

  "You noticed me?" From his expression, she could tell she'd said something naive. "I’m sorry. I don't know how to play this game."

  "What makes you think it's a game?"

  "Your expression. As if you're surprised I don't know the rules."

  He laughed. "Touché. I suppose I can't help wanting to be the one to teach you the rules, but at the same time, I'd hate to spoil that wonderful honesty."

  With half her mind Kerry longed to tease him back and find out where this conversation would lead; the other half yearned to bolt from the restaurant.

  Why was she still so vulnerable after all these years? So afraid that if she let herself open up, she might not live up to Chris's expectations, that he might reject her the way George had?

  Fumbling with her soft drink, she said, "I've been wanting to talk to you about Melanie."

  "Melanie?"

  "She's got a rare talent," Kerry said.

  "Is this really the time—"

  "I don't want to see her waste it, Chris."

  He studied her warily. "Meaning what?"

  "Meaning—" She knew she was ruining everything, destroying the mood between them, but she couldn't stop herself. "I think next year she'll be ready for one of the top ballet schools in New York."

  "New York?" He stared as if she'd proposed sending his daughter to Mars.

  "I did it myself," Kerry hurried on. "You live with other students. There are chaperons, of course, and you're so busy with classes that you hardly have time to breathe. And she will be sixteen—"

  "That's just the problem," he said.

  "Being sixteen?"

  "The part about hardly h
aving time to breathe." In Chris's level gaze across the table there was nothing left of the flirtatious man of a few minutes ago. "Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for how much ballet means to her. But there's more to life than dancing, and Melanie hasn't figured that out yet."

  "She's got plenty of time," Kerry said. "But the dancing can't wait. You have to make your move when you're young."

  "Are you so sure that's the best thing for Melanie?"

  "With her talent—"

  "Look, Kerry," he said. "You see her as a ballet student, and that's as it should be. But I see her as a girl who's had to take more than her share of blows in this life. A kid who hasn't even gone out on her first date in an era when other girls her age are, well, I don’t have to explain about that. Not that I want her to act like them. But sending her off to New York, burying her in a dance studio—no."

  "I did it," Kerry said. "I loved every minute of it."

  "You're not Melanie."

  "This time of her life will be gone so quickly." Distractedly, she noticed that he had eaten every bite on his plate. She had barely touched her meal.

  "I'm sorry, but until I see signs that my daughter is able to make a truly mature decision about her future, I'm not letting her go anywhere. And especially not to live three thousand miles away with some chaperon."

  He tilted his head, his jaw working, and she got the impression he wanted to recapture their earlier mood, but it was gone. Kerry supposed she'd shattered it on purpose, and now she wished she hadn't.

  After she finished as much as she could eat, Chris walked her to her car. Kerry opened the door, wishing she could think of something to say to restore the warmth between them and finding herself completely tongue-tied.

  "I guess we see things differently," Chris said as she slid behind the wheel. "Coming from different worlds and all."

  "I guess." Her voice threatened to catch on the lump in her throat.

  "Too bad." And with that, he strode across the lot to his car.

  Kerry revved her engine and pulled out onto the road. Why did the first man who'd attracted her in years have to be Melanie's father? He brought out such painfully conflicting feelings.

  She turned on the music and let a Mozart sonata do its best to soothe her thoughts. But it didn't make much headway against the turmoil, and she replayed the conversation with Chris all the way home, trying to figure out what she should have said to make it all end differently.