by Lisa Childs
“Somebody should do these dishes,” Brooks said, gesturing toward the dirty pile he’d taken from the sink and stacked on the counter.
“Myrtle comes tomorrow,” Brad said.
“What about Myrtle?” their dad asked as he joined them in the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator door and snagged a beer.
Brad smirked. “Just talking about her cleaning. Hey, I’ll take one of those.” He gestured toward the brown bottle.
“Try it and I’ll arrest you myself,” the sheriff warned.
“Hey, you’re all missing the game,” Ryan called, sticking his head through the doorway between the kitchen and family room.
They would probably hassle Brooks until he joined them, so he focused on finishing this bath. But the baby squirmed. To make sure he didn’t drop her, he tossed down the sprayer to hold her with both hands. Water shot over his face and shirt and across the room behind him.
“Hey!” Brad protested, while their dad laughed.
“You’re washing the kid again?” Ryan asked. “What are you feeding her? Turbo lax?”
Brad sputtered as he wiped water from his face. “Gross!”
“She wasn’t dirty,” Brooks assured them.
“Then why give her a bath?” Ryan asked.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Brad explained, as if Brooks wasn’t even there. “He shouldn’t be wasting his time trying to take care of a baby.”
“Wasting his time?” their father asked. “You think raising kids is a waste of time?”
“Not you raising kids,” Brad said, looking embarrassed. “But Brooks…”
“He’s got other things he should be doing,” Ryan added. “Like playing.”
“What about coaching?” Brooks asked. “Don’t you want me as your coach?”
Brad chuckled. “Not unless you guarantee us spots on the team.”
“You’ll be lucky if I even let you try out,” he teased. He lifted the naked baby from the sink and wrapped her in a dry towel.
“When are the official tryouts?” Ryan asked.
He shrugged. “Whenever Ms. Andrews says they are.” He wouldn’t step on her toes again. In fact, he would try to avoid her from now on. With the baby and coaching and the concussion, he had more than enough things on his mind. He needed to stop thinking about her, stop dreaming about her, stop wanting her.
PRISCILLA RAPPED HER knuckles against the door to the nurse’s office. “Just a moment,” Trudy called out.
She could have just phoned the woman, Priscilla thought; she really only had to check if the flu and meningitis vaccines had arrived before she sent out a memo in the school newsletter. But she’d also wanted to talk to Trudy about her anxious call over the weekend. Ever since she’d returned to Trout Creek, she’d been careful to avoid being the subject of town gossip. So she’d hate it if her panic about the baby became known.
Finally the door opened and a teenage girl stepped into the hall, which was deserted, since first hour had already begun.
“Debbie.” Priscilla greeted her with a mixture of relief and concern. The teenager had missed a lot of school at the end of last year and the beginning of this one. “Are you all right?”
The dark-haired girl nodded, but she wouldn’t lift her head to meet Priscilla’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah…”
When she tried to step around her, Priscilla caught her arm. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Miss Andrews?” Trudy asked. The older woman stepped into the hall, too. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, but I’d really like to talk to Debbie for a minute first. Can we use your office?”
“Sure. I need to get a cup of coffee from the lounge. Do you want me to bring you anything? Herbal tea?”
No doubt after Priscilla’s hysterical phone call, the nurse didn’t think she should have any caffeine. “No, thanks.”
“I really need to get to class,” Debbie said. “I’m already late.”
“Yes, you are,” Priscilla pointed out as she held open the door. “So a couple minutes more won’t matter.”
With a resigned shrug, Debbie stepped back inside the nurse’s office. The small room held a locked cabinet, a desk and a couch on which kids could rest until they felt better or their parents picked them up. Her breath hitched when Priscilla closed the door.
“I’m all right, really,” the girl insisted. But when she lifted her head, her eyes were red and swollen.
Recognizing the girl’s pain, Priscilla reached out and patted her shoulder. At sixteen, Debbie was already taller than her, and had the wide shoulders and strength of the male athletes with whom she’d played hockey. But no matter how tough she was, there were things a teenage girl just couldn’t handle on her own.
“How’s your grandfather doing?” Priscilla asked. She couldn’t imagine how the girl had felt when the only father figure she’d known had had a stroke. Coach Cook had always been so strong, but the stroke had nearly killed him.
“He’s getting better,” Debbie replied. “He’s home now.”
“That’s good. It’ll save your mom and you the long drive to the rehab center to visit him.”
She nodded. “But Mom still has to drive him into the city for his physical and speech therapy.” Which must leave the girl on her own quite a bit.
“That must be hard on your mom.”
Debbie nodded. “But everyone’s been pitching in. We got, like, a dozen casseroles in the fridge. Somebody’s always bringing over food, or mowing the yard or chopping wood.”
That was part of the reason Priscilla had moved back to Trout Creek. After living in a big, impersonal city, she appreciated the caring community in which she’d grown up.
“But Mom can’t work all her shifts at the store,” Debbie continued. “So I’ve been picking up some of them.”
“Is that why you’ve been missing so much school? You’ve been working instead?” There were state rules regarding how many hours a minor could work. If the Cooks were having financial difficulties, Priscilla didn’t want to have to enforce them, but neither did she want Debbie’s education to suffer. The girl looked exhausted.
She shook her head. “No, I’ve been sick a lot.”
“So your mother said when she called in your absences.”
“You think she’s lying for me?” Debbie asked, her voice defensive.
“No, your mother wouldn’t lie for you. I just hope you’re not getting run-down, that you’re not doing too much.”
“I’m only working as many hours as I’m allowed. And I’m feeling better now, so I won’t be missing any more school.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” And maybe she was physically, but Priscilla recognized the girl’s emotional pain and exhaustion. “If you ever need anything, I hope you know you can come to me. I’m here for you…even if you just want to talk.”
Debbie nodded again, but tears welled in her eyes. “Everything’s better now.”
“Hey, Mrs. K.,” a male voice called out.
Debbie gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at the turning knob. The door opened, and Brad Hoover barged into the room.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I was looking for the nurse. Hey, Debbie, are you going to try out for the team again?”
She shook her head.
“But your grades can’t be that bad. You’re all honors.”
“Not anymore,” she said as she pushed past him and fled from the room.
“What’s her problem?” he asked with an accusatory look at Priscilla.
“What’s your problem, Mr. Hoover?” Trudy walked into her office, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “You’re not going to sweet-talk me into letting you cut class, young man. Not like your brother used to.”
“Ryan?” Brad asked in surprise.
“Brooks,” she replied, with a smile and a wink at Priscilla. “I’ve been around a long time.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I just got a question. Can you get hepatitis
from being around baby crap? All Brooks’s kid does is spew all over the place. It’s gross. I can’t believe he’s keeping her.”
“He’s keeping her?” Trudy asked.
“Yeah, he thinks he’s gotta. That it’s his obligation or something.”
Obligation. Priscilla winced. She could identify with the poor baby girl. Obligation had put a ring on her finger, had made a man try to love her. She’d deserved more than that pathetic attempt. She deserved a man who could love her with his whole heart. And that little girl deserved a father who would love her the same way.
And Priscilla doubted the selfish boy she’d known had grown up enough to love like that.
USING HIS BACK, Brooks pushed open the door to the Trout Creek Inn. All conversation ceased as he stepped inside the restaurant with the baby swinging in her carrier from his right hand. In the left, he held the strap to her diaper bag, which had slipped from his shoulder.
How did mothers manage all this crap? How had his father?
A plate dropped, and half an English muffin rolled across the scarred pine floor. He stopped it with his foot and then glanced up. “Hey, everyone.”
“Well, I’ll be damned—it’s true,” an elderly man announced with a chuckle. “He’s got a baby.” The old man’s cronies sat with him at a corner table, a walker and a cane leaning against the paneled wall beside them.
“Brooks Hoover, what the hell are you doing with a baby?” Mr. Faulkner asked. The mayor sat at the big round table in the middle of the inn’s dining room. Brooks’s dad sat on one side of him; Buzz, the owner of the Trout Creek Icehouse, sat on the other. The round table had always held the town’s movers and shakers, the council members, the business owners, the mayor and the sheriff.
“She’s my daughter,” Brooks replied, causing another break in conversation. He repeated it louder for the old fogies with the hearing aids. “She’s my daughter.”
The mayor turned to his old friend and slapped him on the back. “Well, congratulations, Gramps.”
His comment inspired a flurry of congratulations. A redheaded waitress who looked vaguely familiar to Brooks gave him a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
And over her shoulder, he met Priscilla’s gaze. She sat at a corner booth with her boss. Mr. Drover, looking about a hundred with his skeletal build and thinning white hair, weakly lifted his mug in greeting. Priscilla continued to stare at Brooks, her green eyes unfathomable.
Had she thought about their kiss as much as he had these past few days?
“Is it true?” the waitress asked, still gripping him. “The baby has no mother?”
He shook his head. “She does.” Just as he had a mother. The woman had to be out there somewhere.
“But you’re not married?”
He shook his head again, and though his hands were occupied, tried easing away from the clingy woman. He remembered who she was. She’d been a couple of years behind him in school. “But you are, Brenda, last I heard.”
She shrugged. “Randy drives a truck. He’s never around.”
“Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be around.” He finally shook her off and slid into the chair Buzz had pulled out for him.
“The Eagles needed you at the game the other day,” he said. “They got their asses kicked nearly as badly as the high school team these past few years.”
“See, that’s why Trout Creek needs him as a coach right now,” his father said. “We have to get the team back to what it once was.”
“He’d probably have to play, for that to happen,” the mayor remarked. “Though I heard your younger boys show some promise.”
“They do,” Brooks agreed. “I just have to get them some teammates.” But he hadn’t been able to track down Priscilla to approve the hockey schedule. Even when she was at the school, she’d been too busy to see him.
“You think you can do what Coach Cook hasn’t managed in years?” Buzz asked. “You think you can put together a winning team?”
His breath caught as that pressure returned to his chest. “I can’t make any promises.” He glanced up and caught Priscilla’s gaze again. She probably wasn’t within hearing distance now that other conversations had resumed, but it didn’t matter. She already knew that about him.
“They asked your coach about you during that game,” the mayor remarked. “He didn’t say anything about you not being cleared to play.”
“But he’s not,” his dad answered for him, the color fading from his face. “He can’t….”
“You look fine—what’d you hurt?” Buzz asked.
Brooks set the carrier on the floor and rocked it with his foot so the baby would stay asleep. Then he tapped his fingers to his forehead. “Hit my head. But it’s hard.”
His dad snorted.
“I’ll be playing again.” He had to, because he didn’t have a whole lot of hope this coaching thing would work out, especially since he couldn’t even get the athletic director to talk to him.
His dad didn’t snort this time, just tensed his jaw.
“What will you do with that little pink bundle?” a woman asked as she walked up to the round table. Except for the lines around her eyes, Myrtle didn’t look her age, which must have hovered around fifty. Brooks had gone to school with her kids, whom she’d raised on her own after her husband died. Her slim, delicate build belied an inner toughness. The petite blonde crouched next to the car seat and ran a finger along the baby’s cheek. The kid opened her mouth and a bubble slipped out.
“Hey, Myrtle,” Brooks said in greeting, ignoring the question.
“Hey, honey, it’s good to have you back home.” She slid an arm around his shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of his head, as if she knew where he’d been injured, though she couldn’t have heard him tell his dad’s friends. Even during the interview after the exhibition game the other night, no one had reported what had happened to him during that unfortunate practice. And, not wanting to worry the younger boys, their father hadn’t told anyone how seriously Brooks had been hurt. Yet Myrtle seemed to know.
She unclasped the baby from the car seat and lifted her in her arms. Then she dropped into the chair next to his dad and gave him a wink. “She’s definitely a Hoover, a heartbreaker in the making.”
“Get Myrtle some coffee and get the boy a cup, too,” the mayor directed the waitress, who hovered near their table. “He looks like hell.”
Brooks blinked his gritty eyes and pushed a hand through his messy hair. “She doesn’t sleep much.”
“I don’t blame her—poor thing, living with a bunch of men,” Myrtle said as she swayed, rocking the infant in her arms. “You need some live-in help.”
“There’s barely room enough for all of us in that house,” his father replied. “But we definitely need some help.”
Myrtle slid the fingertips of her free hand across the back of his dad’s. “I’ll come by more often.”
Brooks couldn’t believe his eyes. His father was blushing! Was the town cleaning lady the woman Rex was seeing? Brooks had been as self-absorbed as that note with the baby had said. Over the years he’d never really asked about his dad’s life. Hell, he hadn’t figured Rex had much of a life, between raising his brothers and providing law and order in Trout Creek.
“Other women will be willing to help out,” the waitress said as she turned over the cup in front of Brooks and filled it. Her breasts brushed against his shoulder, and she shot him a sideways look of invitation.
A married woman? No way in hell was he interested. He glanced over to see Priscilla get up from the booth and head toward the door. She wore one of those drab suits again, a loose jacket and a skirt just short enough to reveal her sleek calves but not a hint of her knees or thighs.
He pushed back his chair and eased around the waitress. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Hey, Priscilla!”
She didn’t stop, just kept walking out the door and across the lot to her vehicle. He lengthened his stride to catch her,
closing his hand around hers as she reached for the door handle. “Hey…”
She drew in an audible breath, then looked up at him. “Hello.”
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“I didn’t hear you,” she said, but he could tell it was a lie.
“Was I supposed to use your last name again? Are we back to formalities?” After that kiss and all the things he’d imagined doing to her since? The baby wasn’t the only one who’d kept him awake.
“No.”
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Her cheeks grew pink, and not from the brisk morning breeze, he was quite sure. She jerked her hand out from beneath his. “I’ve been busy. I need to get to the school now—before the bell rings.”
“I don’t think you’ll be marked tardy,” he teased, leaning closer to her. The wind blew her hair across her face, so that it tangled with her long lashes. He reached out and pulled the strands away from her eyes.
Her pupils widened, swallowing the green irises. And she licked her lips. “I—I really need to be at school.”
“And so do I,” he said. “I need an office, somewhere I can meet with kids and strategize how I’m going to coach this team.” He required more than space to figure that out, though. “Do you have a place I can use?”
She shrugged. “I might be able to find you something.”
“And we need to set a date for tryouts and get practices started.”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“I’ve been trying for the past few days to talk to you, but the secretary claims you’re busy.”
“I am.”
“You’re not just pissed because I got this job, and you don’t want me to have it?”
“I’m not that petty.”
But her cheeks reddened even more, and dread hit his stomach as he figured out what she’d been busy doing. He thought he’d recognized one of the men who’d been waiting in the office to see her the other day. The old guy had been a hockey coach at another school back when Brooks had played for Trout Creek High. “You’re still interviewing candidates, aren’t you?”
“Candidates?”
“For my job.”
“It’s your job,” she assured him. “For as long as you choose to keep it.” Apparently she didn’t figure that would be very long. “I’ll find you some office space and work on that schedule with you.”
