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THAT afternoon, the front door burst open with so much force Lucy thought a tornado had touched down in Wicksburg. She stood her ground in the living room, knowing this burst of energy wasn’t due to Mother Nature—the warning siren hadn’t gone off—but was man, er, boy-made.
Manny usually couldn’t wait for Connor to get home and make another escape attempt, but the cat hightailed it into the kitchen. A ball of dark fur slid across the linoleum before disappearing from sight.
Connor flew into the house, strands of his strawberry-blond hair going every which way. He was lanky, the way his dad had been at that age, all limbs with not an ounce of fat on him. The set of his jaw and the steely determination in his eyes made him seem more superhero than a four-and-a-half-foot third grader. All he needed was a cape to wear over his jersey and jeans.
“Hey.” Lucy knew he wanted to know about her visit to Ryland, but the sexy soccer player had been on her mind since she’d left him. Much to her dismay. She didn’t want to start her time with Connor focused on the guy, too. “Did you have a good day at school? You had a spelling quiz, right?”
He slammed the front door closed. The entire house shook. His backpack hung precariously off one thin shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care. “Did you talk to Ryland James?”
Connor had the same one-track mind as her brother. When Aaron had something he wanted to do, like joining the military, he defined tunnel vision.
Lucy might as well get this over with. “I went to Mr. and Mrs. James’s house this morning. Ryland liked the cookies we baked.”
The backpack thudded against the entryway’s tile floor. Anticipation filled Connor’s blue eyes. “Is he going to coach the Defeeters?”
This was the part she hadn’t been looking forward to since leaving the Jameses’ house. “No, but Ryland offered to see if he can find the team a coach. He’s also going to come out and talk to the team.”
Different emotions crossed Connor’s face. Sadness, anger, surprise. A thoughtful expression settled on his features. “I guess he must be really busy.”
“Ryland’s trying to heal and stay in shape.” Her temperature rose remembering how he looked in only a pair of shorts and gleam of sweat. “He doesn’t plan on being in town long. Maybe a month or so. He wants to rejoin his team as soon as he can.”
Manny peered around the doorway to the kitchen, saw Connor and ran to him.
Connor picked up the cat. “I guess I would want to do that, too.”
Poor kid. He was trying to put on a brave face. She wished things could be different for him. “There’s still time to find the Defeeters a coach.”
He stared over the cat’s head. “That’s what you said last week. And the week before that.”
“True, but now I have help looking for a coach.” Lucy hoped Ryland had been serious about his offer and came through for … the boys. “A good thing, otherwise, you’ll be stuck with me.”
Connor nodded.
She ruffled his hair. “Gee, thanks.”
“You’re the one who said it.” He flashed her a lopsided grin. “But no matter what happens, having you for a coach is better than not playing at all.”
Lucy hoped he was right. “I’ll do my best if it comes down to that.”
“It won’t.” Connor sounded so confident.
“How do you know?”
“If Ryland James said he’d find us a coach, he will.”
She’d been disappointed too many times to put that much faith into someone. Ryland had seemed sincere and enthusiastic. But so had others. Best not to raise Connor’s hopes too high on the chance his favorite player didn’t come through after all. “Ryland said he’d try. He’s going to call me.”
“Have you checked your voice mail yet?” Connor asked.
His eagerness made her smile. She’d been wondering when the call might come herself. They both needed to be realistic. “I just saw Ryland a couple hours ago.”
“Hours? He could have found us five coaches by now.”
She doubted that.
“All Ryland James has to do is snap his fingers and people will come running,” Connor continued.
Lucy could imagine women running to the gorgeous Ryland. She wasn’t so sure the same could be said about coaches. Not unless they were female.
“Check your cell phone,” Connor encouraged.
The kid was relentless … like his dad. “Give Ryland time to snap his fingers. I mean, make calls. I know this is important to you, but a little patience here would be good.”
“You could call him.”
No, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “He said he’d call. Rushing him wouldn’t be nice.”
She also didn’t want to give Ryland the wrong impression so he might think she was interested in him. A guy like him meant one thing—heartbreak. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Let’s give him at least a day, maybe two, to call us, okay?” she suggested.
“Okay,” Connor agreed reluctantly.
She bit back a laugh. “How about some cookies and milk while you tell me about school?”
Maybe that would get Ryland James out of Connor’s thoughts. And hers, too.
“Sure.” As he walked toward the kitchen, he looked back at her. “So does Ryland James have a soccer field in his backyard?”
Lucy swallowed a sigh. And then maybe not.
After dinner, Ryland retreated with Cupcake into the media room aka his dad’s man cave. He had all he needed—laptop, cell phone, chocolate-chip cookies, Lucy’s business card and a seventy-inch LED television with ESPN playing. As soon as Ryland found Lucy a coach for her nephew’s team, he would call her with the good news.
Forget the delicious cookies she’d made. The only dessert he wanted was to hear her sweet voice on the opposite end of the phone.
Ryland laughed. He must need some feminine attention if he felt this way.
But seeing Lucy again had made him feel good. She also had him thinking about the past. Many of his childhood memories living in Wicksburg were like bad dreams, ones he’d pushed to the far recesses of his mind and wanted to keep there. But a few others, like the ones he remembered now, brought a welcome smile to his face.
Cupcake lay on an Indianapolis Colts dog bed.
Even though Ryland played soccer, his dad preferred football, the American kind. But his dad had never once tried to change Ryland’s mind about what sport to play. Instead, his father had done all he could so Ryland could succeed in the sport. He would be nowhere without his dad and his mom.
And youth soccer.
He’d learned the basic skills and the rules of the game playing in the same rec. league Aaron’s son played in. When Ryland moved to a competitive club, playing up a year from his own age group, his dad’s boss, Mr. Buckley, who owned a local farm, bought Ryland new cleats twice a year. Not cheap ones, but the good kind. Mr. Martin, Aaron and Lucy’s dad, would drive Ryland to away games and tournaments when his parents had to work.
Lucy taking care of Aaron’s son didn’t surprise Ryland. The Martins had always been a loyal bunch.
In elementary school, other kids used to taunt him. Aaron stood up for Ryland even before they were teammates. Once they started playing on the same team, they became good friends. But Ryland had wanted to put Wicksburg behind him when he left.
And he had.
He’d focused all his effort and energy into being the best soccer player he could be.
Now that he was back in town, finding a soccer coach was the least he could do for his old friend Aaron. Ryland pressed the mute button on the television’s remote then picked up his cell phone. This wouldn’t take long.
Two hours later, he disconnected from yet another call. He couldn’t believe it. No matter whom he’d spoken with, the answer was still the same—no. Only the reason for not being able to coach changed.
“Wish I could help you out, Ryland, but I’m already coaching two other teams.”
“Gee, if I’d known sooner …”
“Try the high school. Maybe one of the students could do it as a class project or something.”
Ryland placed his cell phone on the table. Even the suggestion to contact the high school had led to a dead end. No wonder Lucy had asked him to coach Connor’s team.
Ryland looked at Cupcake. “What am I going to do?”
The dog kept her eyes closed.
“Go ahead. Pretend you don’t hear me. That’s what everyone else has done tonight.”
Okay, not quite. His calling had resulted in four invitations to dinner and five requests to speak to soccer teams. Amazing how things and his status in town had changed. All his hard work had paid off. Though he was having to start over with Mr. McElroy and the Fuego.
“I need to find Lucy a coach.”
Cupcake stretched.
Something flashed on the television screen. Highlights from a soccer match.
Yearning welled inside him. He missed the action on the field, the adrenaline pushing through him to run faster and the thrill of taking the ball toward the goal and scoring. Thinking about playing soccer was making him nostalgic for days when kids, a ball and some grass defined the game in its simplest and purest form.
Lucy’s business card caught his eye.
Attraction flared to life. He wanted to talk to her. Now.
Ryland picked up his cell phone. He punched in the first three digits of her number then placed the phone back on the table.
Calling her tonight would be stupid. Saying he wanted to hear her voice might be true, but he didn’t want to push too hard and scare her off. Other women might love a surprise phone call, but Lucy might not. She wasn’t like the women he dated.
That, he realized, surprisingly appealed to him. Sitting in his parents’ living room eating cookies and talking with a small-town girl had energized him in a way no visit to a top restaurant or trendy club with a date ever had.
Ryland stared at the cell phone. He wanted to talk to her, but if he called her he would have to admit his inability to find her a coach. That wouldn’t go over well.
With him, he realized with a start. Lucy wouldn’t be upset. She’d thank him for his efforts then take on the coaching role herself.
Ican always coach, if need be.
You play soccer?
No, but I’ve been reading up on the game and watching coaching clips on the internet just in case.
He imagined her placing a whistle around her graceful neck and leading a team of boys at practice. Coaching would be nothing compared to what Lucy went through when she was sick. She would figure out the basics of what needed to be done and give the boys her all.
But she shouldn’t have to do that. She was doing enough taking care of her nephew. The same as Aaron and his wife.
His gaze focused on Lucy’s name on her business card. The script might be artistic and a touch whimsical, but it showed strength and ingenuity, too.
Ryland straightened. He couldn’t let people saying no stop him. He was tougher than that. “I might have screwed up my career, but I’m not going to mess up this.”
The dog stared at him.
“I’ll find Lucy and those kids a coach.”
No matter what he had to do.
Two days later, Lucy stood in the front yard kicking a soccer ball to Connor. The afternoon sun shone high in the sky, but the weather might as well be cloudy and gray due to the frown on her nephew’s face. Practices began next week and the Defeeters still didn’t have a coach. Ryland hadn’t called back, either.
She tapped the ball with her left foot. It rolled too far to the left, out of Connor’s reach and into the hedge separating the yard from the neighbor’s. Lucy grimaced. “Sorry.”
Connor didn’t say a word but chased the ball. She knew what he was thinking because his expression matched her thoughts. The team needed someone who knew soccer better than she did, someone who could teach the kids the right skills and knew rules without having to resort to a book each time.
Her efforts to find a coach had failed. That left one person who could come to her—and the team’s—rescue.
It won’t be long. I promise.
Ryland’s words returned to her in a rush. Pathetic, how quick she’d been to believe them. As if she hadn’t learned anything based on her past experiences.
Okay, it had been only a couple of days. “Long” could mean a few days, a week, even a month. But “promise” was a seven-letter word that held zero weight with most of the people in this world.
Was Ryland one of them?
Time would tell, but for Connor’s sake she hoped not. He kicked the ball back to her.
She stopped the ball with her right foot the way she’d seen someone do on a video then used the inside of her foot to kick the ball back. She had better control this time. “Your teacher liked your book report.”
“I guess.”
“You got an A.”
Connor kicked the ball her way without stopping it first. “Are you sure he hasn’t called?”
“He” equaled Ryland. Connor had been asking that question nonstop, including a call during lunchtime using a classmate’s cell phone.
Lucy patted her jeans pocket. “My phone’s right here.”
“You checked your messages?”
