by Jean Oram
Jackie pressed her index finger to her chin, her head tipped to the side as though she was confused. He wanted to march over and strong-arm her out of their home-town stadium and into the next county. Then get her to stay there.
He turned away in frustration, heading back to the huddle.
Jackie wanted to set him up with the one thing he would never give a woman again: marriage.
The whistle blew, the time-out over. Ryan barked out some last-minute orders. “Hernandez, pass to Wiggins. Wiggins, for crying out loud, catch the ball like we told you to in practice. Nice and low.” He cupped his hands, body crouched, to demonstrate. “Move your feet. You’re fast enough to get into position and catch the ball. If you don’t, I’ll flatten your truck tires. You hear?”
“Yes, Coach,” both Wiggins and Hernandez echoed.
“Hands in,” he commanded.
Hernandez, the team captain, led them in the Torpedoes chant, and then the boys were back on the field.
“Think we can win this?” Ryan asked Myles in the last half.
His brother frowned at him as though he’d lost his marbles.
“What?” Ryan asked.
“Have you checked the score recently?”
Ryan thought about it. He had looked, certainly. It was like a nervous tic. Check, check, check. But today he couldn’t recall where they were at. He swiveled to face the scoreboard near the end of the field. Okay, so they were ahead by three touchdowns, and there were only twelve minutes left in the game.
Then his team scored another touchdown. Where had that come from?
“Yes!” He felt a fizz of excitement lift him, and gripped Myles’s hand after a high five. “We’re going all the way to State again this year.”
“What’s with you?” Myles asked, not releasing Ryan’s hand, peering at him intently.
“What do you mean?” About to glance over at Carly, he caught himself and kept his eyes locked on Myles.
“You never say stuff like that. You never call a game until we’re off the field and the players are hitting the showers. Then you’ll let me celebrate and say that, yes, we won.” Myles pointed at the scoreboard. “There’s over ten minutes left. Anything can still happen.”
“It won’t.” But Ryan felt the excitement die. His brother was right. You never counted your win in football until the game was good and over. Especially in high school football. He’d seen a sure thing taken away in the last few seconds of a game. Unbelievable plays and twists of fate, taking what seemed like a definite win and turning it on its head.
Plus there was the old superstition of not calling a game or you’d curse it. He didn’t believe in that, but adhered to it just in case.
So, yeah. He might be a tad superstitious.
A fresh wave of nervousness tossed his stomach like a small plane gliding through turbulence. He muttered, “Sorry, I got caught up in the moment.”
“Is that all you got caught up in?” Myles asked, giving a pointed look over Ryan’s shoulder toward where Carly and Jackie were sitting.
“Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms over his clipboard. “That’s all. Football’s my only focus.”
And he would do well to remember that for the next month, until the season was over. Too bad the game no longer held quite the same level of appeal as his new stats keeper.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Jackie asked, as they packed up their things at the edge of the football field.
Carly hadn’t thought much about the details of next week’s holiday other than wondering if the Longhorn Diner would be open for supper. Her parents and brother were still in Montana, and during her last weekly phone call with her mom she’d finally broken the news that she wasn’t coming home for the holidays—neither Thanksgiving nor Christmas. The idea of facing the never-ending questions and worries about her newly chosen career didn’t hold much joy. Neither did the silent eyes watching her as she walked down the small-town Montana streets, with people wondering how she’d dodged being convicted for Eaton’s crooked bookkeeping. There was nothing like having the whole community know your business and make assumptions based on the half-facts they’d heard.
“No plans,” she admitted.
“I’m going to the Wylders. You can be my date.”
“No, no. I can’t intrude.” If she crashed Ryan’s family event he’d think she was looking for something she wasn’t. He’d already felt the need to warn her off thinking they were anything serious. Which was weird, since she was the one who’d told him she wasn’t looking for love. Having him feel as though he needed to make sure she adhered to her own rules had hurt.
Was he afraid to be seen with her? She’d felt the reaction brew again and tamped it down. She reminded herself that they were not looking for a relationship, and they were at an age where if they revealed their interest in each other the entire town would start pushing, pushing, pushing. People would expect them to sign up for more than either of them was willing to give.
Myles walked by, hand in hand with the petite, serious-looking librarian who also managed the cheerleading team. Carly had met Karen Hartley when she’d moved to town, using the local library’s internet before hers was hooked up at the house. Karen seemed a puzzling match for Myles, but they were obviously smitten with each other. And Carly figured that was what really mattered.
Myles’s steps slowed as they came alongside. “Did I hear Jackie suggest you join us for Thanksgiving?”
“I did,” Jackie said.
“Everyone’s welcome and there’ll be lots of food. We’re celebrating Thursday night. Pop over at five.”
“No, really,” Carly protested. “I can’t intrude.”
“No intrusion.” His warmth made her want to accept, and beside him, Karen was nodding.
“Say yes,” Jackie commanded, no doubt noticing how Carly was ready to reconsider.
“It’s an official invitation,” Myles said. “Neighbors should break bread together. We never know when we’ll need each other, right?”
“Fine,” Carly said with a nervous laugh, unable to avoid seeking out Ryan in the dwindling group of people at the edge of the field. He was accepting handshakes from various members of the community on the team’s win, and pointedly avoiding looking at her.
She and Ryan weren’t an item. They were neighbors. Joining the Wylders for Thanksgiving wouldn’t be presumptuous, right? And anyway, she knew men left, and Ryan would be no different. He was someone who followed ideas and dreams, and soon that would take him away.
“You’re sure it’s okay?” she asked.
Ryan had broken away from the community members and was wandering their way.
“Hey, Ryan,” Myles called. “Carly’s joining us for Thanksgiving.”
She noticed the hitch in Ryan’s step, his normally fluid moves pausing for a millisecond before he continued on with a quick nod, as though everything was fine, normal, not at all unexpected.
“Cool.” He beckoned to his brother. “The team’s waiting for us.”
“Sorry, gals, gotta go have our postgame meeting.” Myles gave Karen a kiss filled with such love and devotion that everyone nearby looked away.
Carly couldn’t recall ever being kissed like that. Not even by Peter.
She glanced at Ryan. He was a wonderful kisser, but there wasn’t that element of love pushing them over the edge. Myles and Karen’s kiss had been practically spiritual.
Beside Carly, Jackie sighed. “Those two are so sweet.”
Myles, looking as though it was a struggle to tear his gaze away from his girlfriend, said, “Thanks for your help tonight, ladies. See you at the Black Friday game next week?”
“Sure,” Jackie said casually.
Myles released Karen’s hand and headed toward his brother. “Just three more wins and we’re going to State.”
“Hey!” Ryan turned, palms raised. “I thought we weren’t doing that.”
“You know we’re winning.”
“Yeah, except you just curs
ed us.”
As the brothers walked away Carly could hear their laughter, even after they’d disappeared down the chute that led to the locker rooms. Karen had gone off in a different direction to collect her team’s bag of pompoms.
“Are the Wylders a close family?” Carly asked Jackie as they headed across the field toward the stands and parking lot.
“Pretty close.” She scrunched her nose, telling Carly there was a “but” to be added to that statement.
As they neared the bleachers, Jackie waved at Maria Wylder and her veterinarian son, Brant, who were talking under the bright field lights. This late in the season, the seven-thirty games started and ended in the dark. Right now it had gotten cold enough that Carly could see her breath.
“Hey, Carly,” Brant said, adjusting his red straw cowboy hat. “How’s Sergeant Riggs working out?”
“Beautifully. He rounded up my goats when they broke out the other day.” She’d been pleased by that. If the dog kept it up, he might earn his keep, considering those hefty bags of food he gobbled up.
“He’s a keeper?”
“He is.”
Maria nudged her son. “You should find me a dog now that I’m back on the ranch.”
“You want another barking beast out there?”
“Why not? The more the merrier.”
“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for one that might suit you.”
“Brant got you a dog?” Jackie asked Carly.
“Ryan asked me to,” Brant replied.
Carly frowned. “He did?” Ryan was not only talking about her, but telling his brother what she needed?
“Living alone on a ranch as you do, he figured it would be good protection.”
“Good protection against him returning my goats in the middle of the night?” she said with a laugh, trying to ignore the strange, warm feeling that was growing in her belly. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had a man do something so protective for her. At least not someone who wasn’t related to her.
Before she could examine what she was feeling, and what Ryan’s intentions may have been behind the dog request, she said, “I’m starting to think the goats were a terrible idea. They’re becoming the bane of my existence, and they’re not even producing milk.”
“I don’t know a ton about goats,” Brant replied, “but I might have some ideas to try.”
“All ideas welcome.”
“I’ll pop by one day soon.”
“Carly’s joining us for Thanksgiving,” Jackie told them.
“Wonderful,” Maria said warmly, smiling at her.
“We’ll talk then,” Brant suggested.
Carly nodded, then asked Maria, “Can I bring anything?”
“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of food, but if you have a specialty you want to share that’s fine. Or even just a bottle of wine. But don’t feel you have to bring anything.”
“We’re going dancing at the Watering Hole now,” Jackie announced, weaving her arm through Carly’s. “We’ll catch up with y’all later.”
“Have fun,” Maria said, as Jackie tugged Carly away.
Daisy-Mae Ray came hustling up in an outfit that must have nearly left her frozen while she watched the game. “Did I hear you gals mention dancing?”
Jackie nodded. “Join us! We’re meeting Jenny there, too.”
“We are?” Carly said in surprise.
“Of course!” She said in an aside to Carly, “She runs the Blue Tumbleweed clothing store beside the diner. Also single.”
Jackie looped her other arm through Daisy-Mae’s as they walked. “Girl, you’re freezing. Are you lookin’ to catch your death in that outfit?”
“Just a husband,” she replied with a grin.
Jackie giggled, then suddenly ducked her head and steered the trio in a different direction. “Oh, poop.”
“What?” Carly said, feeling alarmed.
“It’s Henry Wylder. That curmudgeon can bring a black cloud to a sunny day.”
“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Carly said. He’d made her consider things about her farm she hadn’t thought of.
“Please tell me you’re saying that with irony,” Jackie muttered.
“He was actually helpful.” A bit of a downer, but a practical one.
“Are you sure you met Henry? Not his brother Carmichael or nephew Roy?” Daisy-Mae asked, as Jackie hustled them along.
“Jackie was there. He gave me some sound advice on starting an organic farm.”
“Yeah, by focusing on all the hurdles in your way.”
“Well, sort of.” She winced. It had been tougher to feel optimistic after chatting with him. But she’d gone to the town office and Tracey had given her some helpful information on her property’s water wells. It turned out there were two more than she’d known about, and they all seemed to be in decent shape.
“Carly? Carly Clarke!” Henry called impatiently.
Jackie groaned and slowed her steps. “We were so close to making a getaway.”
“Are you still thinking about that organic farm?” Henry asked Carly.
“Yes.” She suddenly saw him in the way Jackie did, his frown telling her he was ready to rain down on her dream once again. She said quickly, “You were very helpful the other day. Thank you.”
The man hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on his boot heels, as though unsure what to do with the compliment. “I was?”
“Yes, you made me consider things I’d overlooked.”
He rocked again. “Well, good.”
Jackie’s eyes widened as the man stood speechless before them.
“If you need help with certification,” he said finally, “I might know a man.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“But you need to get all that soil tested and make sure nasty things aren’t running off the neighboring land and into your gardens. And get that well checked. You need good water, and lots of it.”
“Already done,” Carly replied. She began turning away with her friends. “Thank you, Henry. It was nice to see you again.”
“And talk to Ryan!”
“Right.” She wasn’t so sure about that one.
Once they were out of earshot, Jackie giggled, saying gleefully, “Oh, my gosh. I think he likes you. I can’t believe it!”
“It’s a miracle,” Daisy-Mae agreed.
Carly nodded. Once she’d recognized that Henry was a more blatant version of Peter with his your-dream-will-never-work, although without the undertone of you’d-better-let-me-take-care-of-things, she’d known how to deter him from continuing to rain on her parade. And somehow, from her kindness, he’d decided they were on the same team, helping her get further ahead on making her farm a reality.
5
Ryan kept pacing the front porch of the ranch house on Thanksgiving Day, and it wasn’t simply because he was trying to sort out how to ensure a profit from his new horse business.
His team had scored a win last week, meaning tomorrow night they played their regional playoff game. And that meant he’d be distracted by Carly’s presence as she volunteered as the team stats keeper once again. It hadn’t helped that she’d completely nailed which strategy might help ensure a shutout score last week. She was a benefit to the team, that was for certain.
He leaned on the porch railing, looking out over the yard toward the holly hedge that separated his grandfather’s home and yard from the main ranch. Beyond Carmichael’s was Carly’s. Where was she right now? Was she thinking of him?
Ryan mentally scolded himself. He needed to get his thoughts secured and his brain under lockdown. They weren’t doing a relationship. Just kisses.
Having her come dine with the family tonight was well-timed, and would surely send a much-needed bucket of ice water over his constant thoughts about her. After all, nothing could cool your jets like having the woman you were secretly kissing come to a family gathering.
There was a flash of color behind the hedge. For a moment Ryan though
t maybe Carly was taking the barely-there footpath that led between the properties and joined up with Carmichael’s path. Moments later Ryan’s seventy-nine-year-old grandfather ambled through the gap in the tall bushes. It wasn’t Carly. Why would she take the unlit route when her return trip would be in the dark? Unless she wanted a ride home from a neighborly guy such as himself…
“What are you staring at? Never seen an old man walk before?” Carmichael grumbled as he drew closer.
“Hey, Granddad. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Your mom got her layer dip out yet?” He made his way up the several steps to the porch with a grunt. Judging by how the old cowboy was walking, rain was in the forecast. As if on cue, a cool wind rustled across the yard and Ryan shivered. At this time of the year it wouldn’t be long until the sun set and night slipped in around them.
“I think Myles already ate it all,” he said to his grandfather.
Carmichael gave him a glare. “I keep waiting for you to outgrow that phase.”
“What phase is that?” Ryan asked innocently, holding the door for him.
“I can get it myself.” He glowered at Ryan from the doorway before making his way through. His thick plaid jacket, which had not so long ago been filled out by sheer strength, now hung loose on the older man’s shoulders. “I’m not dead yet.”
“What phase should I grow out of?” Ryan pressed, following him inside. Neither of them took off their hats or boots, the ranch house being a typical working farm home where anything went. Although at the dinner table they’d take off their hats or his mother would have their ears.
Ryan grinned at the thought. His mom could control the men around her as if she’d been born doing it. He’d heard the female teachers in the staff room claiming they needed more from their husbands, as well as me-time, so they could cope. But not Maria. His father had up and left, and she’d carried on, stronger than ever, never seeming to need time away for herself. Ryan wasn’t sure if she was, in fact, fully human. Then again, his mom had always seemed to have a bit of superhero steel in her backbone.
“The phase when you stop being a pain in my behind,” Carmichael said.
