Still Waters

Four

Maddy saw that the smoky look was back in Zack's eyes and wondered if she'd gone too far. She couldn't imagine what had come over her, to use Bosley to flirt that way. Good heavens, a sensuous dragon! Who'd have thought she had it in her?

She didn't have it in her-not really. It was just the darn puppets. She was so accustomed to interacting through them in highly charged emotional situations that they sometimes took on personalities all their own. She glared accusingly at Bosley, but the dragon only returned her look of reproach with one of sleepy-eyed innocence. With a small noise of helpless dismay, Maddy plunked the puppet back onto its stand.

Now she felt naked and defenseless. Zack's presence in the huge, sunlit room made it seem too crowded, the air precious. Realizing that she was twisting her hands together in a childish manifestation of nervousness, she waved one in the general direction of the sofa and said, "Um… won't you sit down? Ill go fix some coffee-unless you'd prefer iced tea." She wondered for a moment if he needed something stronger after the shock of seeing Theresa, and was trying to remember whether she'd saved the bottle of rum Jody had brought to make eggnog last New Year's Day.

"Do you suppose," Zack asked with a disarming flash of his famous smile, "that I could have a glass of milk?"

A peculiar warmth flooded Maddy's chest. She found herself smiling back without her usual reserve. "Oh. You really do drink milk!"

His smile slipped. "Yeah… a habit that stayed with me." His hand was resting flat against his belly, just above the waistband of his jeans. Through the thin knit of his white polo shirt Maddy could see the sculptured muscles. She had a sudden vivid recollection of that chest, smooth and tan and beaded with water droplets, and felt an unfamiliar squeezing sensation in her own midsection.

Belatedly realizing that she'd been staring at both the hand and the body beneath it for quite some time in tongue-tied silence, Maddy felt the heat from her chest surge upward into her cheeks. She didn't know what she mumbled as she turned and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Coward, she thought as she groped in a cupboard to find a glass. Idiot, she moaned inwardly as she opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk. What was the matter with her? He was only a man, and a very nice one, at that. Okay, so he was Zack London, but he wasn't Aquaman, or any other superhero. He was a perfectly ordinary, human man.

Except that there wasn't any way her brain was ever going to convince the rest of her that this man was "ordinary." Even now, as she watched him through her kitchen's pass-through window, she could feel the rhythms of her body change in subtle but frightening ways. Not only her pulse and respiration, but all her senses and life forces had somehow intensified. Even from this distance she could see the way the hair grew on the back of his neck, longish, unruly, undisciplined. And for the space of one heartbeat, like a dream or a memory in which a whole range of events and emotions are telescoped into a single instant of awareness, she knew what it would feel like to weave her fingers through the crisp silk of that hair and touch the hard-muscled column of his neck. She could feel his skin, like warm satin beneath her fingertips; she could smell it, soap and sunshine and a faint tang of chlorine; she could taste it…

Amanda, for heaven's sake!

The sensual images collapsed under an avalanche of guilt. With a degree of care and concentration completely unwarranted by so simple a task, she poured a glass of milk and put the carton back in the refrigerator. Carrying the glass, and her body, like fragile crystal, she walked back into the cottage's main room.

Zack hadn't accepted Maddy's invitation to sit down. He was prowling the perimeters of the room, examining the puppets that filled and overflowed every shelf and tabletop.

"This is quite a hobby you have here," he said, turning as she moved toward him. Though his eyes were in shadow, making it impossible to see the expression in them, something about the stillness of his body as he watched her made her terribly self-conscious.

"Oh, well," she murmured with a little shrug as she handed him the glass of milk, "it's actually a bit more than a hobby."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he took the glass with an effortless grace Maddy envied. "Really? Are you a professional entertainer?"

"Professional, yes. Entertainer… not exactly." Now her hands were empty again. To fill them, she picked up a little-girl puppet with round pink cheeks and a head full of bobbing, corkscrew curls. In a prominent place above one bright blue eye, there was a large Band-Aid. "This is Didi," Maddy explained as she settled the puppet, using her free hand to poke an errant curl into place. "She's one of the puppets I use most often in my work."

"Why does she have a Band-Aid?" Zack asked, smiling at Maddy as he touched it with a finger.

She gazed steadily at him and didn't return the smile. "That's the first thing the children always ask too," she said softly. "It's amazing what an icebreaker it can be."

"Icebreaker?"

"Yes. I use the puppets in my work with children like Theresa. Even very frightened and confused children will tell a puppet things they would never tell a strange adult."

Zack stared at her for a moment in tense silence. Then he muttered, "God," under his breath and turned away from her to set his glass of milk, untasted, on the coffee table. Keeping his back to her and spacing his words with precision, he said, "What I don't understand is how you can deal with this kind of thing all the time. I guess you must just get… hardened, huh?"

"No," Maddy answered carefully. "Not hardened. You never get hardened. But insulated… maybe."

He turned back around. "You learn not to care, is that it?"

Wincing a little, but realizing that the anger in his voice wasn't really directed at her, Maddy spoke instead to the pain in his eyes. "Of course you care. But not… in a personal way." She fussed for a moment with the puppet, while she tried to think of a way to make him understand. "It's like a doctor," she said finally, touching the Band-Aid on the puppet's fuzzy brow. "Doctors care about their patients, but if they allowed themselves to become emotionally attached to them, they wouldn't be able to help them. They have to maintain a certain amount of distance- professional objectivity-in order to be effective. Do you understand? That's why doctors usually don't treat members of their own families."

Zack didn't answer immediately. Instead he picked up a puppet-a dog with sad eyes and long, floppy ears-and fitted it over his hand and arm. He cocked the puppet's head and opened its mouth in an experimental way. Then, to Maddy's surprise and delight, he reached out and touched Didi's cheek with its shiny black nose. "I'm sorry," he murmured as the dog gazed soulfully at Didi. "I had no right whatsoever to judge you like that."

Zack's dog puppet gave Maddy's Didi puppet a gentle nudge under the chin, but his eyes were looking across the two fuzzy heads and directly into Maddy's eyes. She opened her mouth, then closed it again in confusion. The sensation in her stomach was something like a stampede of butterflies. She couldn't think, let alone talk!

In a kind of panic she tore her gaze from those smoky eyes and gave Didi's curly yellow head a shake.

"Oh, that's okay, I understand," the puppet said in a sappy, little-girl voice. Manipulating the rod that operated Didi's right arm, Maddy made the puppet pat the dog's head. Then, in another one of those unexpected and dangerous impulses, Didi planted a quick puppet-kiss squarely on the dog's nose.

The dog gave a startled "Wuf!" and actually seemed to look taken aback. Maddy jerked her gaze back to Zack's face, once again afraid she'd gone too far. There was a peculiar little half-smile on his lips.

"I understand too," he said enigmatically, and, taking both his puppet and Maddy's, laid them carefully back on the shelf. Before she had any idea what he had in mind, he turned back to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned across the space between them, and kissed her, oh, so gently, on the lips. And then again, softly, on the tip of her nose.

"I like it much better," he said firmly, "without go-betweens."

He released her, but she could still feel the weight of his strong hands on her shoulders, still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers. He moved away to finally, belatedly, take his seat on the couch. As he reached to pick up his milk glass, Corry appeared from nowhere. The cat bumped his head once against Zack's elbow, then arranged himself like a feather boa along and over one lean thigh.

For a moment Maddy and the cat just blinked at each other. "Yes… well, um…" Maddy cleared her throat and attempted an intelligent comment. Corry looked faintly disgusted. Maddy tried again. "I-" She gave up and sat down on the telephone table, a safe distance from the sofa.

Zack drank the milk and offered the glass to Corry, who haughtily sniffed it and declined. "Tell me what happens now," he said, frowning at the glass as he rolled it between his palms.

"To… Theresa?"

"Yes, of course." He lifted his gaze to hers, that funny half-smile back on his lips. "I'm pretty sure I know what's going to happen with us."

Maddy's whole body broke into goose bumps, responding to something in his voice that felt strangely like warm hands on her skin. She looked desperately around for a puppet, but the only one within reach was Boz, and she certainly couldn't be trusted.

"Well," Maddy said, after clearing her throat once more, "first people-a juvenile officer and a public-health nurse, probably-will go pay the family a visit. They will check on the home environment, talk to the parents and tell them a report is being filed, check Theresa to see if she needs medical attention-" She stopped because Zack had made a noise, but he waved her on. She continued with more assurance, finding refuge from the unfamiliar feelings he was arousing in her, in the familiar realities of her professional routines.

"They'll evaluate the situation-recommend what needs to be done, put the parents in touch with the right agencies, support groups-"

"What about the kid?" Zack interrupted. "Won't they get her out of there? She's been hit before, I'd stake my life on it, and she's going to get hit again, unless somebody does something to stop it!"

"Somebody is doing something," Maddy said patiently. "You did the most important part-you reported it. Now let the professionals handle it. Zack… they do know what to do."

"Right… I know. I'm sorry." Controlling himself with a visible effort, he sat back and stretched his arms out along the top of the sofa. Maddy watched the thin knit of his polo shirt pull taut across his chest, and swallowed.

"Tell me something," he said, watching her with a thoughtful appraisal that made her self-consciousness even worse. "How did you get into this? Were you an abused child yourself?"

"Of course not!" She stared at him. "What on earth makes you think-"

He shrugged and said, "Sorry," but didn't soften his unnerving scrutiny. "It seemed to make sense. You have a pathological fear of water, and that kind of phobia usually comes from a real trauma of some kind, doesn't it? And then, you're unusually shy for such a beautiful woman-"

"I'm not!"

"Not shy, or not beautiful?" He was smiling at her now, a rare smile that touched his eyes with a soft sparkle.

Words failed her. Again. She felt gauche and stupid. She felt thirteen, with adolescent males staring, red-faced, at her bosom. What could she say that wouldn't sound either false or egotistical? She was shy, and she was supposedly beautiful. She'd been told often enough that she was. How could she ever hope to explain to anyone that she just didn't think of herself that way? On an unexpected tidal wave of memory came the image of her own nine-year-old face in the bathroom mirror, pale and round-eyed, trying not to wince as her mother's hands pulled and tugged her masses of corn-silk hair into tight, stiff braids. And above her own face was her mother's, thin-lipped with disapproval, her voice cold, her words punctuated by the jerking of her hands. "Pretty is as pretty does, Amanda. The devil himself can put on a pretty face."

Maddy took a deep breath and said evenly, "I'm not very good with snappy comebacks. And I'm not very comfortable with men who are self-assured and… glib."

"Glib?" He looked genuinely surprised. "That's the last thing I want to be. I'm just trying to get to know you better, that's all. I made an observation and came to a very natural conclusion. You certainly are beautiful, and you seem shy, at least around me."

"I guess maybe I am," she murmured, embarrassed by her churlishness. "Around you."

"Why?" He leaned forward suddenly, intent on her answer. When she only shrugged and muttered evasively, he prompted, "I don't make you nervous, do I? Why, because of the swimming? The fact that you fainted in my arms? What?"

Maddy stared at him, wondering if the man could possibly be real. "You're… Zack London!" To her, at least, that explained everything.

He made a disgusted noise and sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head. Corry gave a small meow of complaint and blinked in a resigned sort of way before rearranging himself on Zack's lap. After a moment Zack heaved a sigh, and said, "Maddy, I'm just a guy who worked real hard and practiced a lot, and that was a long time ago. Don't confuse me with some glossy image you saw on a billboard once upon a time. That wasn't me up there. I'm just a small-town guy. I'm nobody you should be intimidated by." He shook his head, and laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes for an instant. "If anything, I'd say you'd be accustomed to doing the intimidating."

Maddy found herself laughing, too, but with self-deprecation. "I guess I do intimidate some people, for some reason. I don't know why. Maybe because I'm so tall."

"Or so blond," Zack said with a straight face.

"But that isn't me either," she said earnestly. She touched her chest. "In here, I'm just… Amanda from Indiana." She shrugged helplessly, wondering if he would understand.

For a minute she thought he wouldn't. Then, to Corry's disgust, he stood up and held out his hand. "Hello, Amanda from Indiana," he said briskly. "I'm Zachary. Nice to meet you."

Startled, and then entranced, Maddy slowly stood and placed her hand in his and felt its warmth flow through her. She heard herself say, "Nice to meet you, Zachary."

He didn't let go of her hand. "Overs?" he asked softly.

"Overs." Her own voice was breathy, and very faint.

"Good. Now, tell me, Amanda from Indiana, just what do you do?"

"I'm a social worker," she answered promptly, getting into the spirit of the thing. "Oh-and I make puppets."

"Great! We have a lot in common. I sell sporting goods. And I teach swimming."

She smiled, and felt the smile blossom into laughter. It felt good. "How nice! Children or adults?"

"Children." His eyes caught hers and held on. "And in rare and very special cases… adults."

She stared back at him, her smile fading, hopelessly tongue-tied once more.

"Maddy, I'd like to teach you to swim."

"Oh, no-I couldn't." She pulled her hand from his warm and oddly comforting grasp, and, because her hands felt so empty, picked up Bosley. Instead of fitting the dragon over her hand, she hugged it to her chest. Its head flopped forlornly over her arms. What was it about this man that made her feel so naked and exposed that she needed to keep something solid between them?

"Why not?" he asked. He was frowning at her, quietly implacable.

"Well… because…" She fumbled to a stop, then asked uncertainly, "You don't mean private lessons?"

"Yes, I do. At my house. My pool."

"Oh, no." She took a step backward, shaking her head firmly. "No, I really couldn't. It wouldn't be-"

Zack sighed. "Dorothy, haven't you noticed? This isn't Kansas. And I'm not the wicked witch of the West. I've got nothing in mind except teaching you to swim."

"Oh. Well, of course not. I mean…" How foolish of her to think… whatever she'd thought. She didn't know what to think, that was the problem. In fact, she felt very much as if she had been hit by a tornado. The idea of learning to swim was terrifying; the idea of Zack London's teaching her to swim was both terrifying and exhilarating. She licked dry lips and murmured, "I can't afford you."

His gaze was following the movement of her tongue across her lips, but his expression was carefully dispassionate. "Did I say anything about charges? I'd consider you a professional challenge."

She said faintly, "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes." When she still felt as if she'd been turned to stone, he carefully removed Bosley from her clutches and took both of her cold hands in his. "Maddy… look. I told you before, I know it took courage for you to show up at that pool the other day. I admire you for that. I know what this must mean to you. You need to learn to swim, not just for all the usual reasons, but because you owe it to yourself. And I'm the one who can teach you. If you'll trust me. Will you let me, Maddy? Please?"

She wanted to trust him. She did trust him, even though she wondered why it seemed so important to him that she learn to swim. Why should he care?

Then she wondered, why she should care what his motives were. She wanted so badly to learn to swim, to overcome her awful fear of water, and here one of the world's all-time great swimmers was offering- was begging-to teach her! And she really was sure she could trust him. She knew that a man still in the process of healing from a terrible emotional wound wasn't likely to be looking for new entanglements. So what was she hesitating for?

Besides, a thought had just struck her. Now that Theresa's case had been turned over to the proper authorities, there wouldn't be any reason for Zack to contact her again. That realization hit her with a sensation that felt a lot like panic.

"All right," she heard herself say. "I'll do it."

"Good girl. We can start… how's tomorrow evening? Early. Can you come right after work?"

She cleared her throat. "I have flexible hours."

"Six o'clock, then. Still plenty of daylight left." He grinned suddenly. "Although, come to think of it, there's no reason we couldn't do this at night. A pool can be beautiful at night, with the underwater lights on."

"Six is fine," Maddy said quickly, remembering the lighted pools she'd seen, and the crystal-clear view of the bodies in them. "Where do you live?"

"I'll draw you a map. It's up by the golf course; might be hard to find." He let go of her hands at last and picked up the pad and pencil by the telephone. After scribbling rapidly for a few minutes he tore the top sheet off the pad and handed it to her.

With a curious mixture of excitement and dread, Maddy took it and whispered, "Thank you."

"Now, don't flake out on me." He reached out to touch the side of her face. "Promise you'll come."

"I'll be there," she murmured absently. She'd just noticed that his eyelashes were very long. They didn't look long, because the tips were bleached golden. That seemed utterly fascinating to her. "I promise."

"You'd better be there. You're a personal challenge to me, you know, not just a professional one."

"What do you mean?" Perhaps she'd better pay attention. She was already beginning to wonder if she'd been wrong about his emotional condition.

"Yeah…" His thumb was lightly stroking her jaw, moving back and forth in an absent sort of way. He didn't even seem aware of what he was doing. "Someday, you know, you're going to trust me enough to tell me what happened to make you so afraid of water."

A shiver jolted Maddy, dispelling the last wisps of fog. "You seem awfully sure of yourself," she retorted.

"Oh, I am." His hand dropped away, and as he turned to go he added cryptically, "For the first time in a long, long time."

He left her shivering in a warm golden shaft of sunshine.

From his car, Zack looked thoughtfully back at the odd little house. With no windows, at least she couldn't look out and catch him gazing at her home like a smitten adolescent. And wouldn't that frighten her to death!

A stroke of genius, he thought, coming up with the swimming-lessons idea as a way to get past that guard of hers. Not only would she be vulnerable and dependent in the water, but it was one place she couldn't take along those damn puppets!

Though why he wanted to get closer to her he couldn't imagine. At first glance she'd seemed exactly the sort of woman he'd tried diligently to avoid these past few years. And yet… something about her made him think of lost puppies and orphaned kittens. Maybe because, as he'd told her, she really was a long, long way from Kansas. Or Indiana.

He had a feeling that, if he were ever really going to get close to her, he was going to have to help her find the way back.