The Heart of the Matter Read Online Free Page B

pulse.
    Jason put a thumb to his wrist.
    Laura leapt off the stage and came toward him while the other ladies toweled off, drank water or stood with their fingertips to their necks, watching the big clock over the stage.
    “Never take your pulse with your thumb.” Laura surprised and momentarily befuddled him by putting her fingertips to the side of his neck just under his chin. Her green eyes looked past him to the clock, her complete attention riveted on it.
    He stayed absolutely still, sure his pulse must sound like someone on amphetamines. He could feel every small pad of every fingertip touching the sensitive skin at his throat. He couldn’t take his eyes off her eyes.
    Then she dropped her hand abruptly and swung a diagnostic gaze to him. He felt it like a touch, as though it soothed all the hardworking processes in his body. “Your thumb has its own pulse, so it confuses your reading. You’re a little fast but not too bad. How do you feel?”
    “Great,” he said.
    “Good. Test yourself once in a while as we go through the heavy-duty stuff. Your heart rate shouldn’t exceed about one hundred and twenty beats per minute. So every once in a while, check the clock for fifteen seconds andmake sure you’re not over thirty beats. Get it? A quarter of a minute, a quarter of your rate.”
    He nodded.
    “If you get higher than that, slow to a walk, or you can even stop if you get uncomfortable.” She turned to Philly. “You keeping an eye on him, Philly?”
    Philly grinned. “Already saved his life once. I think I might even take him home with me. Bob’s out fishing.” She turned a wicked grin on Jason. “Would you like that, Mr. Warfield?”
    “Jason,” he said. “Do you make brownies?”
    She patted the roundness under her baggy sweats. “How do you think I got this figure?”
    “Then, I’m yours.”
    Laura ran back to the stage, levered herself up with agile ease, then popped in another tape.
    Jason lost control of the situation at that point. For the next twenty minutes he felt as though he were on one of those iron-man weekends for executives who want to learn the limits of their endurance.
    He learned that he’d met his somewhere at the end of the warm-up. He even slowed down to a march step, walking his way through the moves with Philly while everyone else continued to jump, bounce, leap and run like some well-oiled set of pistons, beautifully synchronized, moving flawlessly in their appointed up-and-down rush to the unrelenting music.
    He was drained and renewing unwelcome memories of the first weeks of boot camp when the music stopped.
    He turned to Philly. “Is it…over?” he gasped hopefully.
    She patted his arm consolingly. “Now we’re going to the mat.”
    He raised an eyebrow in perplexity. He was sure it wasthe only part of him he’d be able to raise for the next few weeks. “But I was beaten to the mat twenty minutes ago.”
    She laughed and drew him toward the side of the room where all the other women had gone to retrieve exercise mats from a tall green stack.
    “Now we do floor exercises and cool-down,” Philly said. “You’ll like this part.”
    “You didn’t bring any of those brownies with you, did you?”
    She took a mat for herself and handed him one with a sunny smile. “You’re so funny. No wonder you get paid for it. Come on. You’ll want to drink a little water before we get going again.”
    Ten minutes later, in the middle of thirty crunches, he thought that no amount of water—or even brownies—would have seen him through the torture Laura inflicted upon her class now.
    Only, he seemed to be the only one in pain. There was lots of good-natured groaning, but when Laura called for thirty leg lifts, they gave them to her. And when she told them to turn over for thirty on the other side, they groaned again, but did it.
    And through it all, she lay on a mat on the stage, leading the routines with perfect form and seemingly limitless endurance. Her cheeks were