“That’s not an answer,” Marilyn said.

Jennifer stirred her coffee with more vigor than was necessary. “I had lunch with Lee Youngson yesterday,” she said casually.

Marilyn was instantly alert. “That ballplayer? The Indian who just came to the Freedom this year?”

“That’s the one.”

Marilyn nodded slowly. “I saw him on the news when he signed his contract. He looked like Atahualpa come to life, all gleaming teeth and magnificent bone structure. Is he that picturesque in person, too?”

“More so.”

Marilyn’s hand froze in the act of reaching for the sugar bowl. “Oh-oh. I don’t like this. You’ve got that Bob Delaney look on your face again, Jen, and you know what that means.”

“I know what that means,” Jennifer repeated miserably.

“Did anything happen?” Marilyn asked, worried.

“Oh, no, of course not, I just met the man. But he’s going to be around all year, and I have a feeling I’m in for a long siege.”

Marilyn filled a teaspoon with sugar and then sifted some of it back into the bowl before adding the rest to her cup. “Has he asked you out yet?”

“No. I thought that he was on the verge of doing so yesterday, but he seemed to decide against it.”

“Uh-huh. You’re sure you weren’t giving off negative vibrations at the time?”

Jennifer thought back to the scene when Lee had left her, the two of them unable to say anything intelligent, unable to part, either. “No, I would say that the vibes were very positive.”

“Then,” Marilyn supplied. “But what about the rest of the day?”

“Well, I did give him a bit of a hard time at lunch,” Jennifer admitted.

“I’ll bet you did,” Marilyn said. “Can you wonder that the poor guy is confused?”

“The poor guy,’ as you put it, is probably working on the third edition of his little black book right now, and is hardly lamenting his lack of success with me. Judging by the reaction of Dolores and the other women I’ve seen in his presence, they drop like flies at an encouraging word.”

Marilyn nodded sagely. “It seems to me I’ve heard this song before,” she said. “As I recall, you said the same thing about Bob Delaney.”

Jennifer drained the last of her coffee. “You’re right. I can’t fall into that trap again.”

“Take it one step at a time,” Marilyn advised, standing and turning on the oven to preheat it for the roast. “If he’s interested, he’ll let you know.”

“If he’s interested! I don’t know if I’m interested.”

Marilyn favored her with a knowing look. “Ask me. I’ll tell you. It’s written all over your face.”

Jennifer said nothing.

“Be careful, Jen,” Marilyn said seriously. “Don’t set yourself up for another fall.”

“Don’t worry,” Jennifer said. “I won’t.”

She meant it.

* * * *

Jennifer buried herself in her work for the next two weeks, and successfully kept Lee Youngson out of her mind. She was flicking through the channels once on television, stopped short when she saw him being interviewed by a local sportscaster, and then forced herself to switch to another show.

The Friday afternoon before the benefit game, Jennifer drove out to Westminster State College, where the Freedom had its summer camp, with a stack of papers for some of the players to sign. They had to be in the house mail on Monday morning, and the athletes were notoriously unreliable about getting things in on time, so Jennifer decided not to take any chances. She set out for the school right after lunch.

It was a beautiful drive along the Philadelphia main line, and Jennifer enjoyed the scenery and the colonial landmarks along the way. It wasn’t long before she was pulling into one of the parking lots, scanning the practice field unconsciously for a glimpse of Lee. Her car made a curious whining sound as the motor died, and she frowned in momentary concern, but was too preoccupied with the business at hand to give it much thought.

Jennifer walked out to the bleachers and asked one of the assistant coaches how long it would be before the team took a break. He looked at his watch and guessed about ten minutes. She sat on the bottom step and prepared to wait. They were currently on the system of “two a day,” which meant a practice from nine to eleven, a break until one, and then another practice in the afternoon. She would have to stick around until they paused in the middle of the second session. Nothing, short of a bomb falling, was permitted to interrupt the work at hand.

She was the only woman in sight. Usually her appearance occasioned a few wolf whistles and catcalls, but the players were too absorbed in their practice to notice her arrival. She sat quietly and watched the various drills going on, which included her favorite, the “stomp” drill. During this exercise the team members ran in place as fast as possible, drumming their feet on the ground, and never failed to remind her of a crowd of oversized babies having a simultaneous tantrum.

After a few minutes they split up, and Jennifer spotted Lee sprinting to the backfield with the quarterback, Joe Thornridge, a lanky kid two years out of Auburn. Joe was known as “Thunderbolt Thornridge” for the speed and accuracy of his passes. Lee was his favorite target, and as Jennifer watched the two men working out together, it was easy to see why. They moved with the intricate, perfectly timed synchronization of a Swiss watch. Again and again Lee took off down the field, and Joe rolled back, arm cocked behind his head, and fired off a pass that dropped into Lee’s waiting hands as if it were an apple falling off a tree. They made it look so easy, but Jennifer knew it wasn’t. These two would not be collecting the paychecks they were if everybody could do it.

Lee was wearing the bottom part of an old uniform, complete with pads, and an ancient, ragged T-shirt, dampened now under the arms and in the hollow of his back from his exertions. Jennifer found herself wishing that he would take it off, and then shook her head, angry with herself. That sort of thinking was guaranteed to get her nowhere, fast.

When the head coach blew his whistle and the team members filed slowly off the field, Jennifer opened her briefcase and took out the documents that needed signatures. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lee take a dipper of water from the container on the bench, swish it around in his mouth, and then spit it out. He stretched his arms over his head, the muscles flexing across his back under the clinging shirt. Deliberately, she turned her head.

She managed to find all but one of the players she needed to see. Roy O’Grady told her that the missing man had been taken to a specialist for an examination for a possible torn ligament, but would be back by the end of the practice. Frustrated, Jennifer realized that she would have to hang around until the man returned. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to sit in the stands like some gawking groupie and watch Lee Youngson perform. She decided to take a drive and return when the time was right to see the last player and finish the job.

This idea was abandoned when she couldn’t get her car to start All she heard when she turned the ignition key was an ominous grinding noise.

Sighing, she walked back to the field and asked where there was a phone that she might use. She was directed inside the administration building of the college, where there was a pay phone in the lobby.

Jennifer had no idea which garage to call, since the one she usually used was twenty miles away, and she was not familiar with any in Westminster. There was a telephone book attached to the booth by a chain, and she picked a name out of the yellow pages, dialing with one hand and searching for her VISA card with the other. She had exactly fifteen dollars in cash and the strong feeling that it wouldn’t be enough to cover a fraction of what this would cost her.

It took her three tries before she could get a garage to send a mechanic out to her location, and then she waited thirty minutes for him to arrive.