Close To The Fire

by Suzanne Ferrell

  On the far side of the field other groups were practicing. One coach, the one that looked like a small mountain and wearing some sort of police uniform, was showing kids how to come out of a crouch and rush forward. Pretty good moves for a big guy.

  The other coach had his guys running backwards, then sideways, tossing the ball to them at the last second. Every now and then one of them would catch it.

  “Look out!”

  The warning came from the field about the time a football hurled towards the sidelines directly at Rachel, who still had her eyes down and her head bobbing to whatever song was playing on her phone. The tall, lanky guy was running after it, but his angle headed him right at Rachel.

  Kyle took off at a dead sprint. His eyes darting from the ball to Rachel’s spot and back again. The other guy was still running, his vision only on the ball and not Rachel. If he didn’t do something the guy was going to plow her and the food over.

  Checking the angle, he timed his jump, knocking into the side of the guy with his shoulders and his hands snagging the ball at the same time. Long-and-lanky landed about two feet to the side of Rachel, who jumped up with a scream just as Kyle landed on his back in front of her, the ball still clutched to his chest.

  “You okay, kid?” the defensive coach asked, his voice deep and scratchy.

  It took Kyle a minute to catch his breath as he stared up at the man with scars going up one side of his neck and along his jaw to his left ear. A flash of a memory hit him.

  Rain. Pouring down in buckets. The priest saying words. Strangers standing on both sides of him. A lady to the left. She reached down to take his hand. A man to the right. He’d looked up. Scars, thick and red on his neck and jaw.

  This man.

  “You okay?”

  The question knocked him out of the odd memory flash and back into the here and now. He nodded and took the man’s outstretched hand to struggle to his feet.

  “Great catch. What’s your name?” the other coach said as he and the team circled around him.

  “Kyle Gordon.” He handed the ball back to the man.

  “That was some interception. Knocked Tanner clean off his feet on the way down, too.”

  “I would’ve had it, Coach Justice,” the tall kid said, half a sneer on his face and his eyes narrowed at Kyle.

  Great. All he wanted to do was blend into the local scenery and now he’d made an enemy.

  “Yeah, you would’ve caught it if you’d been running like you meant it,” the short guy from the café joked and shoved his friend sideways a little.

  Tanner shoved him back. “He blindsided me. Besides, we weren’t scrimmaging, just practicing routes.”

  “Can it, you two.” The other coach gave them a glare that said I’m-in-charge-and-you-will-listen-to-me and both guys stopped immediately. Kyle liked the coach. Then he turned that stare on Kyle, but softened it a little around his eyes. “Ever play defense?”

  “No. Never played defense. Didn’t mean to interrupt your practice, but he was gonna mow down Rachel.”

  He looked her way and she smiled at him. Something flipped inside his chest, almost knocking the wind out of him worse than landing with the football had.

  “Hey, it’s a football field, people get hit on the sidelines occasionally,” Tanner continued to defend his near miss, this time in Kyle’s face. “Ever watch a game on TV?”

  “She didn’t see you and you have her by fifty pounds,” Kyle said, this time going toe-to-toe with the guy.

  Quarterback Brett stepped up beside his friend. “I yelled look out.”

  “I didn’t hear anything with these on.”

  Everyone looked at Rachel.

  She twirled the ear buds by their cords to make sure everyone saw them. “Didn’t know anything was happening until Kyle flew in front of me.”

  Again, he felt a swelling in his chest at her words. He’d protected her, done something good, and for once someone was acknowledging it publicly. Not just someone. Her. Rachel, with the sharp wit and cute smile.

  “Okay. That’s enough. We’re done for the day. You guys go get something to eat,” Coach Justice said to the whole team in a voice that brooked no argument. “Glad you’re okay, Rachel. Next time, take a seat in the stands, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff,” she said then headed over to the food table.

  Kyle started to follow.

  “Kyle, wait a minute,” the coach with the scratchy voice stopped him.

  “I said I was sorry.” His ingrained defensiveness popping up, he took a step backward, out of arm’s length from either big man. Spending years getting blamed for things you didn’t do, in homes and shelters where you really weren’t wanted tended to do that to a person.

  “No one’s blaming you for anything. I just wanted to ask if you’d like to join the team?”

  That surprised him, but he was careful not to let it show. Never show someone you wanted what they offered. They could use it against you. “You want me to play football? On your team?”

  The coach gave a half shrug. “You did the fastest sprint of anyone all day, read the trajectory of the ball correctly, adjusted your route, leveled Tanner with a shoulder to his side, caught the ball and didn’t complain when you hit the ground. I’d say you’d do great on the defense.”

  Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen. Best to stop him before he learned who he was, where he was living and anything about his past. “Sorry. Can’t. Gotta work over at the café.”

  Before either man could question him further, he jogged over to help Rachel dish out food to the sweaty players.

  Deke and Gage exchanged a look.

  “Damn, that’s one big don’t trespass sign the kid just hung out, isn’t it?” Gage said, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the group over at the food cart.

  Deke nodded, crossing his arms in the same fashion and shaking off the odd feeling of having met the kid before. He watched Kyle jog over to where Rachel was handing out food. The kid jumped in to help Rachel, but kept his distance from the guys, not really interacting with any of the members of the team. “Damn sure could use his abilities on the defense.”

  “Took out Tanner and didn’t even seem to break a sweat doing it.” Gage chuckled. “Maybe a little competition like that would light a fire under all the receivers’ butts.”

  “Only if we can get the kid to agree to play against them.” Deke studied Kyle. “Wonder what has him so defensive?”

  “Back when I was working undercover in Columbus, I’d see street kids like him. Some were into drugs, gangs or prostitution. Others were just trying to keep out of sight, as if they were expecting anyone who made eye contact with them would cause them trouble.”

  Deke considered Gage’s words. People dealing with gangs or dangerous friends didn’t usually put themselves in physical danger to protect someone like Kyle had for Rachel. Something told him there was more to this kid.

  “Might just have to talk to him away from here. Think I’ll pop into the Peaches ‘N Cream tonight and have a little chat with him, man-to-man.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For a Tuesday night, the café was packed—even at eight o’clock when Deke walked in. A quick scan around the café told him all the tables and booths were taken. One seat was left at the dining counter. He took the seat and pulled up the menu, even though he knew the Tuesday special was Lorna’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes and a vegetable. He glanced around the crowd. Rachel and the two older waitresses, Polly and Glenna, wove their way through the tables with trays of food and drinks, but no sign of Kyle.

  What if he had the night off? Well, at least he’d get a good meal out of this.

  “What’ll it be, Deacon?” Lorna asked as she set a glass of ice water in front of him, her other hand holding the order slip pad and a pencil.

  “I’ll take the Tuesday special, with broccoli.” He set the menu aside. “Met your new kid today.”

  “Kyle. Pretty good worker,” Lorna
said, slipping the pencil behind her ear, her-bright blonde hair trapping it in place. “Why? You want to talk to him?”

  “Wanted to have a word with him about trying out for the football team. Any chance I can talk to him a moment?” He gave her his most sincere look, which only made her lift one painted brow at him.

  “We’re busy, in case you hadn’t noticed. You can talk with him on his break.” With a humph, she sauntered back to her kitchen.

  The ching-chang of the antique jukebox clattered through the chatter as someone fed it change. Suddenly the place filled up with a nineteen-fifty’s do-wop song. Deke smiled. He, Libby, Bill and Gage had spent many an evening listening to the oldies—both here and at Gage’s house, where his father had the most extensive collection of classic fifties’ rock and roll albums. They’d even dreamed of having a do-wop group, except none of them could really carry a tune. Well, all the guys. Libby had a very sweet alto and kept them from sounding like cows bawling to be milked.

  Humming along, he was instantly pulled back to the first time he’d gotten Libby to dance with him. It was at Gage’s house. They’d brought their latest girlfriends over and were trying to impress them with their singing. A slow dance popped up on Sheriff Justice’s old juke box. Bill and Gage had their girls up slow dancing, leaving him and Libby sitting on the covered bar stools, just like the one he was currently perched on, in the kitchen, watching the other couples.

  “Want to dance?” he asked, after a few minutes of awkward silence between them.

  She shrugged, giving him that shy smile that always hit him square in his chest. “I guess so, if you do.”

  He held out his hand and she placed her soft one in it. He’d never held anything so delicate in his life. He led her over to join the others, sliding his hands over her hips as she slipped her arms up over his shoulders. Her hair smelled of something lemony. Sweet and tart, just like her. He smiled as he lowered his chin onto her shoulder and held her slender body against his.

  The song finished, dropping him back into the present and the sounds of families laughing all around him.

  “Got your dinner,” Rachel said, standing in front of him, holding a plate of mouthwatering food, complete with Lorna’s special peppery brown gravy. “But Mom says you can’t eat it here.”

  He blinked. Was Lorna throwing him out? He eyed the china plate and rolled up silverware in a napkin in Rachel’s other hand. “That doesn’t look like a take-out box, Rach.”

  “It’s not. Come with me.”

  Curious, he slid off the stool, grabbed his water and followed her across the café to a corner booth.

  Oh, hell no.

  “Rachel,” he said in warning as they approached the table and its occupant.

  Libby looked up from the papers she was studying, her blue eyes wide with surprise.

  “Sorry, guys,” Rachel said as she slid his dinner on the table near the booth seat opposite her. “Mom says since you both want to talk to Kyle, you might as well wait together and free up a seat. Couldn’t argue with her. She’s the boss.”

  Before he could respond, the teen scooped up Libby’s empty plate and headed back to the kitchen, leaving him standing there like a fool, not sure whether to sit, speak or just leave.

  “Sit down, Deacon,” Libby said, closing the files.

  “Sorry about this, Libby.” He slid into the booth, wanting to say more, to tell her how he was sorry for other things, but this wasn’t the place.

  “Don’t worry about it. You know how Lorna gets sometimes.” She rolled her eyes, gave him a whisper of her smile then took a drink of her tea.

  Mesmerized, he watched her lips press around the lip of the glass, remembering how those lips had tasted against his. The muscles of her long slender neck worked as she swallowed and his mind turned to other memories. Fighting an urge to groan, he tore his gaze away. He picked up his knife and fork to dig into his meal. He glanced up to see her staring out at the rest of the café.

  Damn. She couldn’t even bear looking at him. He couldn’t blame her. He’d killed her brother, for God’s sake. The fact that she hadn’t actually stormed out the minute Rachel marched him over to her table actually surprised him.

  As if she knew he was watching her, she swung her head around and fixed him with that clear blue gaze of hers. “So, what is it you want to talk to Kyle about?”

  Caught off guard by her question, he drank some water to wash down the meatloaf in his mouth before answering. “Football.”

  “Football?”

  “Gage is the acting coach for the high school until the school board can hire a new permanent one. So, my good buddy conned me into being his assistant coach in charge of the defense.”

  She blinked at him. “Defense? You never played defense.”

  She’d remembered he played offense. Somehow that meant quite a bit to him.

  “That’s what I said. Gage told me that’s why I’d be a plus to the defense. I could teach them how to defend against someone playing wide receiver like I did. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He shrugged, ate the last scoop of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, then set aside his cutlery. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he sat back in the booth. “Anyways, we had a bit of an incident at the practice today and I wanted to talk to Kyle about it.”

  Her brows furrowed and she tipped her head sideways. Funny, he’d forgotten how she did that when something puzzled her.

  “An incident? What kind of incident?”

  Something in her voice got his attention and awakened the hairs on his neck. Not a serious-kind-of-trouble reaction those hairs gave him, just an odd sort of curiousness. Setting his elbows on the table he leaned closer and lowered his voice.

  “Why are you waiting to talk with the kid?”

  * * * * *

  “Do you think it’s working, Mom?” Rachel asked her mother as the pair stood peeking out the order window into the café’s dining area.

  “I don’t know,” the café owner said, shaking her head. “Those two were made for each other and it’s about time they figured out how to fix whatever’s been wrong with them.”

  “I remember they used to date. I’d see them together when I was really little.” Rachel pointed discreetly towards the corner. “Look. At least they’re talking now. I wonder what about?”

  “Well, whatever it is, all I can say is it’s a good thing and about damn time.” Lorna stepped back into the kitchen. “Come on, we’ve got food to serve. And you,” she pointed at Kyle. “When you’re finished with that pile of dishes you can take a break. I promised that pair they could talk with you then.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kyle peeked over at the dining room corner. He recognized the coach from the football field, but who was the pretty lady sitting with him? Were they the people Rachel and her mom were talking about? And what did they want with him?

  Other than intercepting that wayward ball and knocking that ego-inflated Ethan Tanner on his ass, he hadn’t gotten into any trouble. Hell, between Banyon’s rules and Miss Lorna’s working schedule, he’d been busy since the moment he stepped into Westen.

  A sick feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. Had the past caught up with him here, too?

  “Go on, get those dishes done, son,” Pete, the cook, said as he flipped burgers over on the flat iron griddle. “You can find out what sort of trouble’s going on when that’s done. No use adding Lorna’s wrath on top of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No, sir, here, kid. I’m just plain old Pete.”

  Kyle went back to the sink and started scrubbing a stack of dirty plates. He studied Pete out of the corner of his eye. The man wasn’t too tall—just under six feet, if he had to guess—skinny as a meth user, with a scraggly beard and wild, grey-and-black hair he held out of his face with a faded red, white and blue striped bandana. He was a bit of an odd duck, as his mom used to say. “How long have you been working here, Pete?”

  Pete lifted the toasted bun top onto the burger, the
n set the whole thing on the bottom half of the bun resting on the plate to the side of the stove. Taking the plate over to the fryer, he tossed half the basket of double-fried crispy French fries on the other half. He set the nearly overflowing plate in the serving section along with the ticket and started serving up two Tuesday specials. “Been here a while, came into town right after the doc and Miss Emma got hitched. Lorna needed a cook, I needed a job.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Here and there.” Pete dinged the bell to tell the waitresses another order was up. “Mind those dishes get clean or Lorna will have you doing them again.”

  In other words, mind your own business.

  Kyle set a plate into the drying rack and picked up another one, not even noticing the heat of the sudsy water anymore. Doing the work kept his mind off what trouble might be waiting for him at his break.

  * * * * *

  “I’m waiting to talk with Kyle as part of my job, actually,” Libby said, gazing into those coffee-brown eyes of Deke’s. Every time she stared into the dark depths, she’d swear she could see straight to his soul—a place where she’d felt loved and desired.

  This time, he’d closed that off to her. The knowledge helped her put the shutters on her own emotions. Calm and cool was all she’d let him see. Not the hope. Not the guilt. Certainly not the sadness.

  “You’re meeting this kid here in the café for your job?” The curiosity and doubt in his voice almost made her smile.

  “As the county social worker, I sit on the board of town administrators for Colbert House, and part of my job is to interview and keep in regular contact with any of the young men living at the house. Per the rules of the house Kyle got a job here and I’d thought it would be nice to chat with him on neutral territory.” And she didn’t want to do it in front of Todd Banyon. The guy just seemed to naturally bring out the antagonism in the young men that stayed at the halfway house. There was no reason, however, to let Deke know this about the man. After all, Todd did help young men find more stable lives.