Opposites Attract

more frequently. Though her play was no less intense and concentrated, the air of being driven was fading.
    From the first row of the stands Ty watched her in early morning practice. He’d just completed two hours of his own. Now, his legs stretched out, he studied her from behind the protection of tinted glasses. She’d improved, he mused . . . not only as an athlete. He remembered how important athletic ability was to her. The fact that she was a strategist and a craftsman had never been enough. Always, she had striven to be recognized as a good athlete. And so she would be, he thought, as she raced to the net to slap a return with her two-fisted backhand. Perhaps in some ways the years of retirement had toughened her.
    His face clouded a moment. Consciously he smoothed the frown away. This wasn’t the time to think of that or to dwell on the questions that still plagued him. Whys—so many whys hammered at him. Yet he recognized that she was grabbing this time to be carefree. He’d give her that. He would wait. But when the season was over, he’d have his answers.
    When her laughter floated to him he forgot the doubts. It was a rich, warm sound, heard all too rarely. Leaning back, Ty chugged down cold fruit juice and looked around him.
    If Wimbledon was his favorite stadium, the grass of Kooyong was his favorite surface. It was as hard as a roadbed and fast. A ball bounced true here, unlike other grass courts. Even at the end of the season, when the courts were worn and soiled, the surface remained even. Even after a deluge of rain, the Australian grass was resilient. Kooyong was a treasure for the fast, for the aggressive. Ty was ready for just such a match. Through half-closed eyes he watched Asher. She was ready, too, he decided. And ever more ready to enjoy it. A smile touched his mouth. Whatever questions there were, whatever answers, nothing could harm what was between them now.
    Noting the practice session was winding up, Ty jumped lightly down to the court. “How about a quick game?”
    Madge shot him a look and continued to pack up her rackets. “Forget it, hotshot.”
    He grabbed a racket from her, bouncing a ball lightly on the strings. “Spot you two points.”
    With a snort Madge snatched the ball, dropping it into the can. “Take him on, Asher,” she suggested. “He needs a lesson.”
    Catching her tongue between her teeth, Asher studied him. “Head to head,” she decided.
    “You serve.”
    Asher waited until he had taken his receiving position. Cupping two balls in her hand, she sent him a smile. “Been a while, hasn’t it, Starbuck?”
    “Last time we played you never got to game point.” He gave Madge a wink. “Sure you don’t want that handicap?”
    Her ace answered for her. As pleased as he was surprised, Ty sent her a long look. Removing the tinted glasses, he tossed them to Madge. “Not bad, Face.” His eyes followed the trail of the next serve. He sent it to the far corner to brush the service line. Ty liked nothing better than to watch Asher run. The range of her backhand was limited, but perfectly placed. He was on it in a flash. The last time they had played he had beaten her handily even while holding back. Now he scented challenge.
    Asher lined the ball straight at him, hard and fast. Pivoting, Ty slammed it back. The ball whistled on her return. With a powerful swing Ty sent her to the base line, then nipped her return so that the ball brushed the net and died in the forecourt.
    “Fifteen-all.” Ty feigned a yawn as he went back to position.
    Narrowing her eyes, Asher served. The rally was a study in speed and footwork. She knew he was playing with her, moving her all over the court. Aware that she was no match for his power, she chose to catch him off guard. The ball thudded. She raced. It soared. She followed. The sounds of rackets cutting air had a steady, almost musical sound. A rhythm was set. Patiently she adhered to it until she sensed Ty relaxing. Abruptly she altered the pacing and slapped the ball past him.
    “Getting crafty,” he muttered.
    “Getting slow, old-timer,” she retorted sweetly.
    Ty slammed her next serve crosscourt. After the bounce, it landed somewhere in the grandstands. Under her breath Asher swore pungently.
    “Did you say something?”
    “Not a thing.” Disgusted, Asher shook her hair back. As she readied to serve, she caught the look in Ty’s eyes. They rested not on her ball or racket, but on her mouth.
    All’s fair, she