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“If you need some luck, I’ve got just the thing for you.” Lucy removed a penny from her change pocket and gave it to Ryland. “My grammy told me this is all a person needs to get lucky.”
Wicked laughter lit his eyes. “Here I thought it took a killer opening line, oodles of charm and an expensive bottle of champagne.”
Oh, no. Lucy realized what she’d said. Her cheeks burned. “I meant to change their luck.”
He winked. “I know, but you gave me the opening. I had to take the shot.”
At least he hadn’t scored. Not yet, anyway. Lucy swallowed.
“Aaron would have done the same.” She needed to be careful, though. Ryland was charming, but he wasn’t her big brother. Being near him short-circuited her brain. She couldn’t think straight. That was bad. The last time she allowed herself to be charmed by a man she’d ended up with a wedding ring on her finger.
“You said your nephew loves soccer,” Ryland said.
She nodded, thankful for the change in subject. “Yes. Connor and Aaron are crazy about the sport. They wear matching jerseys. It’s cute, though Dana says it’s annoying when they get up at some crazy hour to watch a game in Europe. But I don’t think she minds that much.”
Lucy cringed at her rambling. Ryland didn’t care about Aaron’s family’s infatuation with soccer. She needed to shut up. Now.
“That’s great they’re so into the game.” A thoughtful expression crossed Ryland’s face. “I haven’t been back in town for a while, but I bet some of the same people are still involved in soccer. I’ll ask around to see if there’s someone who can coach your nephew’s team.”
Her mouth parted in surprise. She liked being self-reliant and hated asking for help, but in this case Ryland had offered. She’d be stupid to say no when this meant so much to Connor. “I’d appreciate that. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble. I’m happy to do it. Anything for …”
You, she thought.
“… Aaron.”
Of course, this was for her brother. Ryland’s childhood and high-school friend and teammate. She ignored the twinge of disappointment. “Thanks.”
Ryland held the penny between the pads of his thumb and index finger. “You’ve made me cookies, given me a lucky penny. What do I get if I find a coach?”
Lucy wondered if he was serious or teasing her. His smile suggested the latter. “My undying gratitude?”
“That’s a good start.”
“More cookies?”
“Always appreciated, especially if they’re chocolate chip,” he said. “What else?”
His lighthearted and flirty tone sounded warning bells in her head. Ryland was teasing her, but Lucy no longer wanted to play along. His charm, pretty much everything about him, unsettled her. “I’m not sure what else you might want.”
He gave her the once-over, only this time his gaze lingered a second too long on her lips. “I can think of a couple things.”
So could Lucy. The man was smokin’ hot. His lips looked as if they could melt her insides with one kiss. Sex appeal oozed from him.
A good thing she’d sworn off men because she could tell the soccer pitch wasn’t the only place where Ryland James played. Best not to even start that game. She’d only lose. Again.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
Time to steer this conversation back to where it needed to be so she could get out of here.
“How about you make a list?” Lucy kept a smile on her face and her tone light and friendly. After all, he was going to try to find Connor’s team a coach. But if Ryland thought she was going to swoon at his feet in adoration and awe, he had another think coming. “If you find the team a coach, we’ll go from there.”
Ryland’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, taking her breath away. “I always thought you were a cool kid, Lucy Martin, but I really like who you are now.”
Okay, she was attracted to him. Any breathing female with a pulse would be. The guy was appealing with a capital A.
But Lucy wasn’t stupid. She knew the type. His type.
Ryland James spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Once he visited the Defeeters, she never wanted to see him again. And she wouldn’t.
It was so good to see Lucy Martin again.
Ryland sat in the living room waiting for her to return with Cupcake, who needed to go outside. Lucy had offered to take the dog to the backyard so he wouldn’t have to get up. He’d agreed if only to keep her here a little while longer.
He couldn’t get over the difference in her.
She’d been a shy, sweet girl with freckles, long braids and yellowish whites surrounding her huge blue eyes. Now she was a confident, sweet woman with a glowing complexion, strawberry-blond hair worn in a short and sassy style, and mesmerizing sky-blue eyes.
Ryland had been wrong about not wanting company this morning. Sure she’d shown up because she wanted something. But she’d brought him cookies—a bribe, no doubt—and been straightforward asking him for a favor.
He appreciated and respected that.
Some women were devious and played up to him to get what they wanted. Lucy hadn’t even wanted something for herself, but for her nephew. That was … refreshing.
Cupcake ran into the living room and hopped onto the couch.
Lucy took her same spot next to the dog. “Sorry that took so long, the dog wanted to run around before she got down to business.”
“Thanks for taking her out.” Lucy had brightened Ryland’s mood, making him smile and laugh. He wanted her to stick around. “You must be thirsty. I’ll get you something to drink. Coffee? Water? A soda?”
Lucy shifted on the couch. “No, thanks.”
Years ago, Aaron had told Ryland that his sister had a crush on him so to be nice to her. He had been. Now he was curious to know if any of her crush remained. “It’s no trouble.”
But he could get in trouble wondering if she were still interested in him. He was supposed to be avoiding women.
Not that he was pursuing her. Though he was … curious.
She grabbed her purse. “Thanks, but I should be going.”
Lucy was different than other women he knew. Most would kill for that kind of invitation from him, but she didn’t seem impressed or want to hang out with him. She’d eagerly taken Cupcake outside while he stayed inside. Almost as if she’d wanted some distance from him.
Interesting. His charm and fame usually melted whatever feminine resistance he faced. Not with Lucy. He kind of liked the idea of a challenge. Not that it could go anywhere, he reminded himself. “I’d like to hear more about Aaron.”
“Perhaps another time.”
“You have somewhere to be?”
Her fingers curled around the leather strap. “I have work to do before Connor gets home from school.”
Ryland would have liked it if she stayed longer, but he would see her again. No doubt about that. He rose. “I’ll see you out.”
She stood. Her purse swung like a pendulum. “That’s not necessary. Stay off your foot. I know where the door is.”
“My foot can handle it.”
Lucy’s gaze met his. “I can see myself out.”
He found the unwavering strength in her eyes a big turn-on. “I know, but I want to show you out.”
After what felt like forever, she looked away with a shrug. “It’s your foot.”
He bit back a smile. She would be a challenge all right. A fun one. “Yes, it is.”
Ryland accompanied Lucy to her car, a practical looking white, four-door subcompact. “Thanks for coming by and bringing me cookies. I’ll give you a call about a coach and talking to the team.”
She removed something from an outside pocket of her purse and handed it to him. “My cell-phone number is on my business card. Aaron has a landline, but this is the best way to reach me.”
He stared at the purple card with white and light blue lettering and a swirly border. That looked more like Lucy. “Freelance graphic designer. So you’re still into art.”
“You remember that?”
She sounded incredulous, but the way her eyes danced told him she was also pleased.
“You’d be surprised what I remember.”
Her lips parted once again.
He’d piqued her interest. Good, because she’d done the same to him. “But don’t worry, it’s all good.”
A charming blush crept into Lucy’s cheeks.
“We’ll talk later.” Ryland didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but flirting with her came so easily. “You have work to do now.”
“Yes, I do.” She dug around the inside of her purse. As she pulled out her keys, metal clanged against metal. “Thanks. I’m … I look forward to hearing from you.”
“It won’t be long.” And it wouldn’t. Ryland couldn’t wait to talk to her again. “I promise.”
CHAPTER THREE
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.
I can 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?”
“I did.” And rechecked them. No messages from Ryland. From anyone for that matter. She hadn’t made any close friends in Chicago. The ones who lived in Wicksburg had remained friends with her ex-husband after Lucy moved away. That made things uncomfortable now that she was back. The pity in their eyes reminded her of when she’d been sick. She wanted no part of that ever again. “But it’s only been a couple of days.”
“It feels like forever.”
“I know.” Each time her cell phone rang, thinking it might be Ryland filled her stomach with tingles of anticipation. She hated that. She didn’t want to feel that way about any guy calling her, even if the reason was finding a coach for her nephew’s soccer team. “But good things come to those who wait.”
Connor rolled the ball back and forth along the bottom of his foot. “That’s what Mom and Dad say. I’m trying to be patient, but it’s hard.”
“I know it’s hard to wait, but we have to give Ryland time.”
Connor nodded.
Please come through, Ryland. Lucy didn’t want Connor’s favorite player letting him down at the worst possible time. She didn’t want her nephew to have to face the kind of betrayal and disappointment she’d suffered due to others. Not when he was only nine, separated from his parents by oceans and continents.
He kicked the ball to her. “Maybe Ryland forgot.”
Lucy didn’t want to go there. The ball rolled past her toward the sidewalk. She chased after it. “Give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Connor didn’t say anything.
She needed him to stop focusing so much on Ryland. “Your dad wants to see videotapes of your games. He can’t wait to see how the team does this spring.”
She kicked the ball back. Connor touched the ball twice with his foot before kicking it to her.
“Next time only one touch,” she said.
Surprise filled his blue eyes. “That’s what my dad says.”
“It might come as a shock, but your aunt knows a few things about the game of soccer.” She’d found a book on coaching on the living-room bookcase and attended a coaching clinic put on by the league last night while Connor had dinner over at a friend’s house. “How about we kick the ball a few times more, then go to the pizza parlor for dinner? You can play those video games you like so much.”