My Man Pendleton(68)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Instead of pointing out to her that she’d been keeping Daddy on pins and needles for nearly two years now, he only nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready,” he lied. He only wished he knew for what.

Pendleton was nearly overcome with dread as he turned off River Road into Glenview and approached the majestic McClellan home. Again. So far, he was oh for two in having a good time at Cherrywood. Even when Kit directed him to pull his car around to the back of the house this time, thereby providing him with at least one small change, he was more than a little uncomfortable at the prospect of another evening spent curled up at home with those crazy—oops, he meant eccentric, of course—McClellans.

It helped little when he rolled the Carrera to a stop near the four-car garage, only to see Holt McClellan, Jr. not ten feet away, wearing one of his two-thousand-dollar power suits and dribbling a basketball on the pavement. Evidently, he’d been at it for some time, because he’d worked up a sweat, despite the cool evening.

“Oh, goody,” Kit said when she noted her brother’s activities. “It’s been a long time since I went one-on-one with Holt.”

Before Pendleton could say a word, she leaped out of the car and made a mad dash for her brother. So he climbed out, too, eager to see just what kind of chance she thought she had at roundball when pitted against an adversary who was four inches taller, seventy-five pounds heavier, not wearing spike heels, and, well…a guy.

“Kit!” Holt shouted in greeting when he saw her, clearly delighted by his sister’s arrival.

He laughed when she made a grab for the ball, and deftly ducked aside. Kit laughed, too, then feinted to the right, her maneuver successful in psyching him out enough for her to steal the ball. With a few easy dribbles and a couple of swift, elegant moves—and in no way hindered by the handicap of her high heels—she spun and executed a beautiful jump, tossing the ball toward the goal. She landed easily, poised like a pro, watching as it arced through the air and descended cleanly through the net with a soft, but unmistakable, swish.

“In your face, Holt!” she shouted with another laugh. “Just like old times!”

Okay, so maybe she had a pretty decent chance, Pendleton conceded. He made a mental note to brush up on his own moves a bit before taking her on himself. Then he smiled when he realized he should have followed that advice a long time ago.

Her brother grinned at her before he moved to retrieve the ball from where it bounced below the goal. Pendleton wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed a stranger scene than two people dressed like a photo shoot for Vogue behaving like a spread for Sports Illustrated. This was clearly an activity the two siblings had played out for a long time, and he wasn’t about to do anything to interrupt it. Especially since Kit looked so happy. Really, genuinely happy, and not the phony happiness she’d adopted when she presented the invitation to Sherry’s wedding.

Man, she was beautiful, he thought. Whether she would ever believe it or not herself, he didn’t know. But Pendleton was sure that he’d never encountered a woman in his life who looked better than Kit McClellan. Funny, how he hadn’t noticed that long before now.

The sister and brother completed another half-dozen baskets before Kit looked up and saw Pendleton watching. She blushed a bit when she did, as if she’d completely forgotten he was there and only now remembered. He wasn’t prepared for it when she shot the ball out quickly toward him, and he only barely caught it with a muffled oof as it slammed into his belly.

“You and Holt shoot a few,” she told him. “I’ll go see if Mrs. Mason needs any help in the kitchen.” Although he much preferred to follow Kit, something in her suggestion and demeanor made him think she wanted to go in by herself for now. So he let her go, watching until she passed completely through the back door. Then he spun around to find McClellan, Jr. posed for action.

“Give it your best shot, Pendleton,” he said.

Somehow, he seemed to be talking about something other than basketball, but Pendleton shrugged off the impression. He tipped his hand over and let the ball drop, then dribbled it a few times before taking a shot from where he was. The ball missed the hoop by a mile, but for some reason, he didn’t really care.

“Jeez, Pendleton,” McClellan said as he moved easily to retrieve the ball. “How long has it been since you played?”

“A long time,” he confessed. “Too long, really.”

“How about a game of twenty-one?” the other man goaded. “Dinner won’t be ready for an hour.”

Pendleton nodded."Yeah, okay. Why not?”

For the better part of that hour, he and McClellan went at it like two adolescents. Well, almost like two adolescents. There was that small matter of a rapid-fire pulse rate barely a few minutes into the game that Pendleton didn’t remember from his youth. Nor did he remember his muscles pulling so painfully so easily back then as they seemed to now. Nor had even the simple act of dribbling caused him to feel just so damned exhausted.

Two discarded suit jackets, two loosened neckties, and four rolled cuffs later, the men were tied at eighteen points and two cardiac arrests each.

“McClellan,” Pendleton panted as he scooped up the ball after the latest of his foe’s aborted attempts at a basket. “What say we pick this up where we left off later?”

The other man nodded, but declined comment, probably because he was too busy gasping for breath himself. With no small effort, he made his way over to Pendleton, then the two of them, obviously of the same mind, sank down against the side of the garage for a session of deep breathing. As the sun sank low, staining the sky with the pinks and oranges of another spectacular Kentucky sunset, the only sound to be heard in the McClellan backyard was the warble of two feuding cardinals and gasps of two dying men.

McClellan leaned his head back against the garage wall and swiped a damp sleeve over his forehead. “I don’t remember basketball being nearly that taxing.”

Pendleton knifed a hand awkwardly through the air. “It’s the suits. You can’t possibly play good ball when you’re wearing a suit.”

McClellan nodded, as if he were sure that was the only reason for his state of total exhaustion.

For another few moments, they sat in silence, until McClellan broke it by asking, “So things with you and Kit aren’t going too well, huh?”

Pendleton arched his eyebrows in surprise and turned his head to look at the other man. “They’re not?”