He stood up and paced just a little, like someone who had been confined to a very small space for far too long. "Everyone says, you can coach. You can get a job with radio, or TV. You can be a broadcaster."
''It's not just about a job." She stated what to her was obvious.
"No. It's not just about a job. Baseball is so much a part of what I am, that I don't know who I am without it." He paused, then added, his voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe I'm afraid to find out who I am now. Maybe I’ll find out that I'm really no one at all."
His solemn candor stunned her and took her breath away.
Before she could reply, he turned his back and said, "I guess it's a good time to turn in. You must be tired from walking through the storm."
She could only nod, suddenly grateful to know that within a few more minutes, she would be alone, away from his haunted eyes and the sorrow that seemed to overtake him, away from her sudden urge to put her
arms around him and comfort him, to reassure him.
"You can have my room. I'll sleep out here."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather sleep out here. I don't want to put you out of your bed," she said, knowing there was no way she would be able to sleep in a bed where he had lain. No, thank you. Sleeping in Papa Bear's bed might have worked for Goldilocks, but Quinn Hollister would stick to the sofa.
"I really don't mind…"
"I'd really rather," she said firmly.
"I'll get some blankets." He nodded as if he understood and went off down the hall, returning a few minutes later with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which he dropped on the sofa.
"I thought maybe you might be more comfortable sleeping in these." He handed her a dark gray thermal shirt and a pair of light gray sweatpants. "Val left a few nightgowns, but I doubt they'd be warm enough."
"These are fine. Thank you. Where can I change?"
"The bathroom is the first door on the left." He pointed toward the hallway.
She hesitated before asking, "Is there a shower?"
"Yes."
"Do you mind if I use it?" She felt sweaty from the exertion of her walk.
"Not at all. I’ll get you some towels."
Quinn nodded her thanks and followed him the short walk to the bathroom. He removed several fluffy towels from a small closet and handed them to her. "Soap's in there." He pointed through the open door as he reached behind her to turn on the tight.
Cale tried to concentrate on preparing a bed for Quinn on the sofa, piling the blankets and fluffing the pillow, and not on the fact that she was, at this moment, in his shower. That the water he could hear running on the other side of the wall was sliding down her back, across her shoulders…
He had added yet another log on the fire, and poked energetically at the embers, when he heard the bathroom door open, heard her soft footsteps behind him as she came into the room. Turning to her, his words stuck in his throat. He watched her as she placed her folded clothes into her bag, his stomach tightening, and he tried in vain to look away. Even with her long hair damp from the shower and wrapped in a towel, Quinn was, if possible, even more lovely than she had been as a girl. She had filled out just a little, rounding here and lengthening there, until she was, as he could plainly see, nearer to perfection than any woman had a right to be. He could not help but notice, too, that she filled out his old gray thermal shirt in ways it was never intended to be filled.
Feeling his eyes on her, Quinn practically leaped under the blankets and drew them up to her chin.
"Anything else I can get you?" he asked.
"Just your promise that I won't be bound and gagged when I wake up in the morning." She tried to make light of it.
"You've got it." Cale did his best to smile.
"Well then," she said, rubbing the. wet strands of hair with the towel, "I guess I'll see you in the morning. And thank you."
"For what?"
"For taking me in."
"Right." He backed away from the sofa as if it were on fire. "Good night, Quinn."