The Heart's Victory Read Online Free PDF Page A

it was a pity he hadn’t dressed up the beige suit with a deep-toned shirt.
    â€œWe’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months,” he told her, unaware of the trend of her thoughts.
    â€œOh?” She gave him her full attention as she eased out of the way of someone bearing a tray of crackers and Gouda cheese.
    â€œI’m Kirk’s road manager. I see to all the traveling arrangements, accommodations for him and the crew, and so forth.” His eyes smiled over to hers while he lifted his glass to his lips.
    â€œI see.” Foxy tilted her head, then tossed back her hair. “I haven’t been around for a few years.” Catching a glimpse of her brother out of the corner of her eye, Foxy focused on him, then smiled. He had the animated look of a knight-on-quest as a brunette hung on his arm and a small tangle of people hung on his words. “We didn’t use a road manager when I was on the team,” she murmured. Foxy remembered more than once falling asleep in the backseat of a car in a garage that smelled of gasoline and stale cigarettes. Or camping on the infield grass, waiting for the morning and the race.
He’s a comet,
she thought, watching her brother.
A brilliant, flaming comet.
    â€œThere’ve been a number of changes in the past few years,” Scott commented. “Kirk began winning more important races. And, of course, with Lance Matthews’s sponsorship, his career has come more into focus.”
    â€œYes.” She gave a quick laugh and shook her head. “Money talks after all, doesn’t it?”
    â€œYou haven’t got a drink.” Scott noticed the lack of glass, but not the sarcasm in her voice. “We’d better fix that.”
    â€œSure.” Foxy linked her arm in his and allowed him to lead her to the bar.
I don’t care one way or the other about Lance Matthews’s money.
    â€œWhat would you like?” Scott asked.
    Foxy glanced at him, then at the short, graying professional bartender. “A spritzer,” she told him.
    ***
    Moonlight shone through the young leaves. The flowers in the garden were still new with spring, their colors muted with night. Their fragrance was light and tender, only whispering of the promise of summer.
    With a mighty sigh, Foxy dropped on one seat of a white glider and propped her feet up on the other. Dimly over the stretch of lawn, she could hear the sounds of the party ebb and flow. By slipping into the kitchen and out the back door, she had escaped to steal a few moments of quiet and solitude. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and clashing perfumes. Foxy took a long, greedy breath of spring air and pushed with her feet to set the glider into motion.
    Scott Newman, she decided, was handsome, polite, intelligent, and interested. And, she admitted, ordinary. Rolling her eyes on a sigh, Foxy stared up at the sky. Wisps of dark clouds were edged in gray. As they passed lazily across the moon the light shifted and swayed.
There I go,
she mused,
being critical again. Does a man have to stand on one foot and juggle for me to consider him entertaining? What am I looking for? A knight?
Foxy frowned and rejected the choice.
No, knights are all polished and shiny and pure. I think my taste runs to something with a bit of tarnish and maybe a few scratches. Someone who can make me laugh and cry and make me angry and make my knees tremble when he touches me.
She laughed quietly, wondering how many men she was looking for. Leaning her head back, she crossed her ankles. The hem of her dress lifted to tickle her knee. Tossing up her arms, she gripped the slender poles on either side of the glider.
I want someone dangerous, someone wild and gentle and strong and smart and foolish.
With another laugh for her own specifications, she stared up at the stars. With a hazy blue light, they peeked and glimmered through the shifting clouds.
    â€œWhich star do I wish on?”
    â€œThe