Читать книгу Mixed-Up Matrimony - Diana Mars - Страница 8

Nervously, Tamara opened the door and got out of the Porsche.

Sabrina looked at Tamara with condemning eyes. “Do you and Mr. Kensington know each other, Mother?”

Bronson had also gotten out of the car and had come to stand by her. Tamara could feel him stiffen next to her at Sabrina’s insolent tone, and it took all of her willpower to keep from lashing out at this stranger, who was once her daughter, who stood so challengingly before her. Glancing pointedly at Sabrina’s hand, which was held tightly in Christopher’s, she said coolly, “Not as well as you know Christopher, Sabrina. Bronson and I just met today.”

Since Sabrina had stopped addressing her as Mom today, Tamara had also dropped her own shortened version of Sabrina’s name, Brina. It hurt like the very devil to do so, but if Sabrina wanted a war, she was going to get one. As Bronson had said, she could not show any weakness that either of the kids could capitalize on.

“Ready for lunch now?” Tamara asked.

“Christopher and I decided to eat later. We’re not really hungry now, and it’s better if he waits until the scout takes a look at him. He shouldn’t play on a full stomach, because it’ll slow his footwork.”

“Well, I didn’t have any lunch—or breakfast, for that matter. I’m sure your mother is in the same boat, since she has to work like the dickens to keep you in lessons and a private school. I vote we go out to lunch—there are plenty of restaurants in the nearby mall.”

Christopher seemed ready to object to Bronson’s peremptory suggestion, but after one look at his father’s face he desisted. Perhaps he was choosing which battle to fight.

Tamara felt renewed stabs of fear. Sabrina was hot-tempered, very much like Bronson. She could be counted on to blurt out exactly what she felt. But if Christopher was the self-possessed type, who kept things close to the vest...well, she and had Bronson better stay on their toes.

“I’ll ride with you, Sabrina. My car got towed.”

“You parked it in a red zone, Mother?” Sabrina asked, her voice full of that unique blend of condemnation and superiority that teenagers seemed to master as soon as they hit those magical years.

Once again Bronson came to her rescue. Although it was unneeded, it felt good to have a man rise to her defense.

“Your mother was so concerned about you that she gave no thought to her job or her car. All she wanted was to make sure you were all right.”

“How do you know so much about my mother?” Sabrina asked, her tone and expression vibrating with hostility.

“It’d be obvious to a blind person how much she cares about you. And as for the rest, the fact that she’s single, yet manages to send you to a good school, pay for your car and tennis expenses means she must be sacrificing like mad on your behalf. The least she deserves is some consideration, and a hot meal.”

An awkward silence ensued. It occurred to Tamara that Bronson had hit the nail on the head. Sabrina was spoiled. She had been given everything at great cost to Tamara, and because her daughter had kept up her grades and worked so hard at tennis, Tamara had tried to make everything else easier for her.

She had ended up making it too easy.

“I’ll follow you in my car, Christopher,” Bronson told his son.

After a slight hesitation, Christopher let go of Sabrina’s hand. “Will you be all right, Bree?”

Tamara could not contain herself. “What do you think I plan on doing to her, Christopher? Beating her up? Kidnapping her? Keeping her out of school like you did?”

“Christopher had nothing to do with my decision to skip school, Mother,” Sabrina said quickly, coming to the boy’s defense. “It was totally my idea to come here today and help him warm up. The coach was delayed at a clinic he was giving, but he left word he’ll still take a look at Christopher this afternoon.”

“Which means I won’t be having any lunch, Dad,” Christopher said pointedly. “You know I can’t eat this close to playing. And I don’t want to keep the recruiter waiting. He’s going to be at the national tournament in Florida next month, but he was interested enough in me that he said he’d approve an early admission if he liked what he saw of me indoors.”

“Which means Christopher has to be back here in ninety minutes, Mother.”

Bronson and Tamara looked at each other. The teenagers’ united front and fearless defiance signaled open warfare. This was going to be even harder than they’d anticipated.

Without another word, Bronson and Tamara went their separate ways, Bronson to his car, waiting to follow Christopher’s Celica, and Tamara joining her daughter in the Mustang.

Tamara buckled herself in on the passenger side of her daughter’s car. It was truly humiliating to have had the Continental towed, today of all days, and after all the lectures she’d given Sabrina on being responsible for her car.

She would call the university from the restaurant and arrange to get her car later. Right now she wanted to have a little talk with her daughter, the stranger.

* * *

Bronson watched Tamara get into her daughter’s car and admired anew the luscious curves and long legs that were elegantly folded into the Mustang. With her blond hair, gray eyes and youthful complexion, she looked more like Sabrina’s sister than her mother.

Except when one got close enough to look into that steady gaze. He had read knowledge and experience there, which could only have been acquired through the bruising wringer of responsibility, bills, and single parenthood.

The pain visible in those luminous gray eyes was enough to make Bronson want to choke his own son—and her daughter. Instead of being grateful for all they’d been given, they had gone ahead with their own selfish agenda and had not even had the guts to confront either him or Tamara.

Bronson had just met the woman, and knew he had not made a great first impression. He planned on changing that. He understood what she was going through—hell, he felt as if he’d been branded with a hot iron that reached deep into his soul—and her only crime, like his, was loving so much she had put her kid’s welfare and happiness before her own. Like him, she had sacrificed, tried to make up for a missing parent, and been betrayed by the person who had been the very center of her life.

Christopher and Sabrina might well be at the mercy of their hormones, and all the turbulence of adolescence in a world that made it increasingly harder to grow up. But they had been shown love, self-sacrifice, devotion. They were smart enough to know right from wrong, and nothing—not their raging hormones, nor the pressures from the outside world—excused their lack of honesty and, yes, downright betrayal.

* * *

“Why didn’t you tell me about Christopher, Sabrina?” Tamara asked her daughter quietly as soon as they pulled out of the Eck Tennis Pavilion parking lot.

“I tried to, Mother,” Sabrina said, smoothly maneuvering the car as she headed toward Angela Boulevard. “But you were always too busy.”

“Oh, come on,” Tamara said, shifting in her seat to look at Sabrina’s expression. Her chest constricted. Her daughter might think she was an adult, but the baby roundness of her face, the innocent look in those green eyes...they spoke of a child protected against the harshest realities of the world, with its cruelties, unfair rules, and gaping jaw waiting to devour the unprepared.

Had she overprotected Sabrina?

Sabrina shot her a quick glance, and the hostility and coldness Tamara read there froze the blood in her veins.

“You know you were always too busy. The only things you cared about were that I got good grades and practiced hard.”

Mystified, Tamara shook her head.

“And what is wrong with that, may I ask? You know you need good grades to get into a good university. And in order to have any chance at turning pro, you need a high national ranking—which would also allow you to get into top schools like Stanford, Northwestern, or Notre Dame—”

“What about my social life, Mother? Why should I have to give up everything?”

Anger shot through Tamara, and she had to contain herself to keep from raising her voice. “You know that the reason you don’t have a higher ranking is that I didn’t send you to more tennis camps, and gave you the choice to attend concerts and dances instead of participating in important tennis events—”

“It’s all about tennis, isn’t it, Mother?”

“What do you mean—all? You made a choice not to attend one of the tennis camps in Florida, or California. As a matter of fact, I was quite willing to move to either coast so you could play year-round and have more access to competition and world-class pros—”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Mother!” Sabrina practically shouted. Shocked, Tamara looked at her daughter. Only in the past few months had she even dared raise her voice at Tamara.

“Sabrina, calm down. You’re driving, remember?” Tamara reminded her as they approached an intersection. As the light turned yellow, Sabrina slammed on the brakes and swore.

Tamara paled and watched, speechless, as both Bronson and Christopher, who had made the light, pulled over to the side of the road to wait for them.

Another admirable trait of her daughter’s was her self-control. When her opponents were cursing up a blue streak on court, she had always maintained a calm, reserved demeanor. A tournament director in Kentucky who had seen Chris Evert play as a junior had compared Sabrina’s sportsmanlike behavior during matches to the legendary champion’s.

But this out-of-control teenager was nothing like the daughter she had raised.

As the light turned green, Sabrina leaned on the accelerator and took the turn with a squeal of tires.

“Sabrina, take it easy!” a horrified Tamara yelled as they almost hit a car in the next lane.

Sabrina slowed down and swore again.

“Stupid jerk!”

“I’m sorry to say, Sabrina, but the jerk in this case is you. What’s happened to you, anyway?”

As her daughter turned a wounded, confused look on her, Tamara regretted her outburst.

“That’s what I mean, Mother. The only time you’re ever with me, or have anything nice to say to me, is when I get A’s or win a match—or preferably the damned tournament.”

Expertly passing, Sabrina caught up to Christopher’s Celica, which was the lead car, and motioned for him to open his window. When he did, Sabrina said, “Chris, let’s skip the restaurant altogether. Let’s just go over to the room and get this over with.”

Christopher looked from Sabrina to Tamara, accusation plain in his gaze, and nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll tell Dad, and I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

Bronson swore fluently, as he saw Sabrina head toward the highway. He was glad he was alone in the car, because he really felt like throttling the two kids.

Obviously, things had not gone too well with mother and daughter, since Sabrina had changed their plans and had indicated to Christopher that she did not even want to keep them company while they had some lunch.

Fear joined anger as Bronson followed his son to the motel. Had they lost before they had even begun?