Mixed-Up Matrimony. Diana Mars

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ practice, but I thought they were just friends. It’s quite common for competitors at their level to seek other juniors who can identify with the pressure they are under.” From Brandy’s gentle tone, Bronson could tell that his cousin was warning him to keep cool. But she’d better not talk about pressure. Pressure was working your way through school, and not knowing if there would be enough money to eat, let alone graduate. “They were supposed to hit together this morning with my assistant coach, since Christopher was being scouted at Notre Dame this afternoon and Sabrina has a tough invite coming up. Well, my assistant coach called in sick this morning. Imagine my surprise when I went over to the courts, and neither Christopher nor Sabrina was there.”

      Bronson’s insides clenched into a rigid knot. “And?”

      “I was worried, because they are both good students and responsible athletes.”

      Bronson could tell his cousin was trying to soften the blow that was coming. But all she did was heighten the suspense...and it was killing him.

      “Out with it, Brandy! Why isn’t my son in school?”

      “I made some discreet inquiries, and finally found out that Christopher was certain he’d get a scholarship from Notre Dame, and he wanted Sabrina to be with him.”

      Brandy paused for a moment before delivering the final blow. “They’ve decided to elope.”

      * * *

      Tamara Hayward finally located the object of her frantic search: a late-model, shiny black Mustang. How could Sabrina have been so inconsiderate?

      After all the late-night talks they’d had, after all the times Sabrina had deplored the subservient attitude of many of the cheerleaders at her school—as well as some of the other young women—who chased the football players like groupies, neglecting their own studies and ambitions simply to be part of a group, to belong, to make sure they would have a warm body on that all-important teenage altar, the Saturday night date—how could Sabrina have pulled a stunt like this?

      When Meghan Donahue had stopped by the house that morning, Tamara had been in a rush. She’d overslept, which was unusual in itself, because even though Tamara was not a morning creature, she practiced punctuality like a religion—and she had been surprised to open the door so early in the day to her daughter’s best friend.

      “Hi, Meghan. Did your car break down?”

      Meghan had looked at the floor in the living room as if it contained the answer to life’s riddles.

      “No, Mrs. Hayward. Sabrina swore me to secrecy, and I hate to betray her like this....”

      Tamara had looked down at the girl’s curly red hair and felt the first stirrings of doubt.

      “What is it, Meghan? I know you only have Brina’s best interests at heart, and I’m sure she won’t mind your telling me. Is she flunking something? Did she get called into the principal’s office?”

      Meghan’s hazel eyes were positively tortured as she raised her head and looked at Tamara.

      “Sabrina is going to hate me for this, and I know she will never count me as her friend again, but I just have to—”

      Alarmed, Tamara grabbed the girl’s shoulders. “Yes, Meghan. What is it? Is she sick? Did she get into a car accident?”

      “She’s eloping with Christopher Kensington, the boy she’s been going with since school started, right after the Notre Dame recruiter checks Chris out.”

      * * *

      Bronson saw the parking space in front of the Eck Tennis Pavilion and went for it. The spot was right next to Christopher’s Celica—the vanity plates read ACE ME 1.

      His quick instinctive maneuvering earned him a loud, enraged honk. Looking behind him, Bronson saw a blond woman raise a frustrated fist at him.

      He shrugged his shoulders. He’d cut her off, and was not a damn bit sorry. He had more important things to worry about than hurting the sensibilities of a spoiled rich brat driving her daddy’s brand-new Continental. The fact that he was driving a Porsche did not dawn on him. The only thing that concerned Bronson was finding that thoughtless son of his and teaching him the facts of life—and not the kind he was sure Christopher had been learning from that little hustler he’d met just weeks ago.

      * * *

      The nerve of the man! Tamara hit the steering wheel with her fist...and regretted it.

      Gingerly rubbing her hand, she reflected that there were obviously no gentlemen left. That jerk had seen her aim fulminating looks—and a hand signal or two—in his direction, but had ignored her as if she’d been no more than a pesky fly circling his picnic table.

      Well, she had more important things to worry about. And she needed to channel her hostility toward its true source. Sabrina was now a senior, albeit a modified one. Her daughter was so bright she had been able to complete her high school credits in three and a half years—and in a matter of weeks would be a high school graduate.

      As she pulled into a no-parking zone, Tamara felt deep pangs of regret. Not only was she losing her baby, but her baby was losing far more. Besides her innocence, Sabrina was forsaking her chance for a promising future, a great education and possibly superstardom.

      Young love was wild, impulsive, crazy.

      But did it have to be stupid?

      * * *

      Bronson located Christopher right away. He was down in one of the courts, warming up with a talented youngster. The young boy, a slender blond who was either precocious or small for his age, had a forehand any pro would envy. He was giving Christopher a run for his money.

      As the two played points on the farthest court, hitting winners from the baseline as well as the net, Bronson realized his son’s opponent might well be beating him handily if only he had a stronger serve. That—and the slight speed advantage Christopher’s long legs gave him—were the only things keeping him from being blown off the court.

      * * *

      Tamara looked at her daughter and her eyes grew moist.

      Despite her anger, rage and disappointment, maternal pride overrode all other feelings. Sabrina was damn good—better than the boy she was playing. He had muscle, speed and a more developed all-court game on his side.

      But Sabrina’s tremendous raw talent and fearless competitive spirit was making the boy run all over the court.

      As her daughter hit a cross-court forehand winner, followed in quick succession by a down-the-line backhand and a searing volley, Tamara could not keep from applauding.

      A man turned, a heavy frown on a handsome face dominated by incredible blue-gray eyes. Tamara stared him down. She knew it was bad etiquette to cheer, to make any kind of noise when two competitors were on the court.

      But this was just a practice match. And if the stranger was one of the coaches evaluating the young man’s talent—a young man who she was in no doubt was the hated Christopher Kensington—well, then, Tamara was happy Sabrina was giving such a good account of herself.

      A screaming return СКАЧАТЬ