Read Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) for Free Online Page B

by the way he slowly set his right ankle on his left knee, Zander knew that Brent was waiting for someone to notice them.
    Olivia did the honors. “Son,” she began evenly, “did you skin Bart Simpson to have those shoes made?”
    “That’s an awful thing to say, Olivia,” Brent chuckled.
    Zander thought Olivia’s question was fair. Brent’s latest kicks looked like they had been cobbled by a master but dyed by Dr. Seuss. Most of the upper was dark mustard-yellow leather; the outer side of the vamp was blue and the inner side was the same bright bloody red as his jacket.
    “Italians,” Olivia sighed, shaking her head.
    “So how are we going to handle Faith Wheeler?” Brent asked, turning their attention from his wardrobe to business.
    Zander turned his attention to mother and son. “What do you mean, ‘handle?’ ” he asked. “You sound like you’re planning to put a hit out on her.”
    “I hope it won’t come to that, but I certainly can’t rule it out,” Olivia said blithely, slowly rising from her chair. “With one Personality! headline, that pretty little minx could undo an image it took me years to craft and destroy a product perched on the edge of superstardom. I won’t have it all ruined because of some reporter trying to make a name for herself.”
    “Faith isn’t like that,” Zander said.
    “So you do know her,” Brent remarked. “Mom pulled her bio. What else can you tell us about her?”
    It had been years since Zander last felt the urge to flee an uncomfortable situation, but the old instinct flared as he contemplated the best way to answer Brent’s question. If he would at all.
    Zander absently switched places with Olivia, moving closer to her desk while she went to the bar near the office door. He let the majestic sight of the mountains carry him to another one in another time, a dying mountain overlooking a terminal town on the opposite side of the country.
    * * *
    Marsh Spring really didn’t have a chance, not with quarterback Rafe Hatchett at the helm for Dorothy. As if playing in the shadow of Kayford Mountain didn’t make the Marsh Spring Cardinals feel small enough, with a full quarter left to play, the Lincoln Black Bears of Dorothy led them by twenty-four points. Ordinarily, Black Bears coach Hiram Benton would not have run up the score, but the annual Thanksgiving Day game between Lincoln and archrival Marsh Spring was one of the few games that drew scouts from major collegiate football programs.
    Rafe was having a good season, and a good “Turkey Bowl” performance was sure to earn him a four-year ticket out of Dorothy.
    From the far end of the uppermost bleacher bench, Alex watched the game. Even though most of the town had turned out for it, Alex still managed to isolate himself. He was the only spectator dressed in black instead of Lincoln’s gold and blue on the sunny but chilly November morning.
    His shoulders hunched against the cold in his worn and scarred motorcycle jacket, he rested his elbows on his knees. The smoke from the Marlboro pinched between his thumb and forefinger curled upward, mingling with his condensed breath to shroud his head and shoulders. His right knee bounced as if he were apprehensive over the outcome of the game.
    Alex could not have cared less about the game. He’d come to watch Faith.
    She seemed immune to the frigid air blowing off the mountain, although in deference to it, she and her cheermates were outfitted in their winter uniforms—fitted, long-sleeved jerseys in Dorothy’s colors of gold and blue—and blue skirts trimmed in gold with white spanky pants underneath.
    Faith wasn’t head cheerleader, but she certainly stood out most. Her ballet training softened the stiffness of some of the signature cheerleading moves. A little punch of a shoulder when she raised her arms for the “V, V-I-C” half of the Victory cheer, followed by a saucy shift of a hip when she twirled into the V-I-C-T-O-R-Y part set her performance apart