by Arlene James
Charly’s heart pounded as she guided the car through the busy parking area, mindful of the children darting about heedlessly. It was perfectly juvenile, the way she reacted to him, and if she had a brain in her head she wouldn’t have agreed to let him help her coach the team.
Help her? Now that was a laugh. What she knew about soccer couldn’t fill a thimble, as evidenced by the team’s performance on the field today. When she came right down to it, she really had no choice. The kids needed someone with more know-how than she possessed, and Darren was the only likely source on the immediate horizon. It would be selfish of her to turn away his help just because he made her feel like a giggly adolescent mooning over her first boyfriend. Besides, he had made a significant financial investment in the team.
She would feel better about it if she didn’t so look forward to seeing him on a regular basis. Oh, this was dangerous. Darren Rudd was dangerous. And generous, concerned, caring…
Dangerous. Definitely dangerous. She’d a hard time walking away from him just now. The impulse to invite him to join them had been very nearly overwhelming. Ponce’s little voice intruded into her thoughts. It was as if he’d read her mind.
“D’you like that guy?”
Charly felt heat blossom in her chest, but she kept her gestures and reply cool and measured. Reaching up, she adjusted her rearview mirror so she could see Ponce in the back seat. He sat safely belted into place on the passenger side.
“Mr. Rudd?” She shrugged lightly. “Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?”
Ponce looked out the window, turning his face away. “I dunno.”
“Don’t you like him?”
“I dunno.”
“He’s been very generous in helping the team.”
“Uh-huh.”
She brought the car to a stop. “Does something about him bother you, Ponce?”
The boy looked down at his hands. Sometimes he looked so sad that it just broke her heart. “He likes you.”
“And that bothers you, Ponce? Why?”
“My mom,” he said quietly, “my other mom, when a guy liked her, she’d go off and I wouldn’t see her sometimes for lotsa, lotsa days.”
Charly put the car in park and twisted in her seat to look at him directly. “Ponce,” she said, “that’s not going to happen again. That’s never going to happen again.” She reached out a hand to him, her heart in her throat, and said, “Don’t you know how long I’ve waited for you? Since before you were born, Ponce, I’ve waited for you to come into my life. Being your mom is more important to me than anything else in the world.” He took her hand, beaming a smile so bright that it brought tears to her eyes. “Okay?” she asked.
“’Kay,” he said.
A car tooted its horn behind them. Charly twisted around to face forward again, checked the traffic and pulled out onto the street.
“Let’s get you some dinner,” she said happily. Her chest ached. It simply didn’t have room enough for all the love she felt for this beautiful little boy. Not Darren Rudd or any man stood a chance against him, and his fears were enough reason for her to keep Darren at a distance. She simply ignored the pang of disappointment that she felt at the thought.
Chapter Four
“Calvin, honey, no! Wait until—Calvin!” Charly sighed as the boy charged forward to get at the ball, which Kental then shot right past him.
Darren blew his whistle, and, predictably, play came to an immediate halt, albeit with much groaning and slinging of limbs. They just wanted to bump and tussle and chase after the ball, these kids. The finer points were completely lost on them, not that they weren’t capable of learning, provided the teacher was patient, friendly and prone to much repetition. Darren walked out onto the field and laid a companionable hand on Calvin’s shoulder.
“Hey, buddy, you’re leaving your position again. I know you want to kick the ball, and that’s good, but if you stay back in place and wait, you can kick the ball and be the hero. On the other hand, if you go up to kick it and they get by you, then you’re the goat, because there’s nothing and no one between them and the goal. See?”
Calvin nodded, pushed his glasses back up onto his face and asked, “What’s the goat?”
“In this case the goat is the person everyone will say messed up.”
“Oh.” The boy made a face, and his glasses promptly fell down again. Making a mental note to get the kid an elastic band to hold his glasses in place, Darren repositioned the boy’s sweatband so that it covered the ear pieces of his too-wide glasses, lending them a bit more stability.
That done, Darren picked up the ball, jogged back to the sideline and motioned Sarah over. He handed her the ball, backed away and blew his whistle again. Just as they’d practiced, she lifted the ball over her head with both hands and lofted it onto the field. Things pretty much broke down from there, but at least Calvin stayed in his place. Darren felt Charly at his elbow.
“They listen to you,” she muttered.
“They’d listen to you, too, if you’d remember to use this.” Turning slightly, he flicked the whistle hanging from a cord around her neck. Charly grimaced.
“I keep forgetting the darn thing.”
As she spoke, Kental shoved down Ponce in a frenzy to get to the ball. Charly had the previously forgotten whistle between her teeth and was heading onto the field before Darren could react in any way. The shrill bleat brought everyone to an instant halt once again. By the time Charly reached them, the other kids had gathered around and Ponce was sitting up, one hand going to the back of his head. His face was red and twisted, but he wasn’t crying.
“You shoved!” he accused.
“You got in my way!” Kental exclaimed, defending himself.
Darren jogged up in time to hear Charly ask Ponce, “Does your head hurt? Do you want to sit down, honey?”
Ponce shook his head and got to his feet. Suddenly he lunged at Kental and knocked him flat, crying, “See how you like it!”
“Ponce!” Charly gasped.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Darren said, stepping in to prevent any further aggression. “Come on, now. We’re all teammates.”
“I want you both to apologize,” Charly instructed sternly.
Kental rose to a sitting position, dusted off his hands and spluttered, “I didn’t shove you on purpose.”
Ponce fisted his hands. “Did, too!”
“That’s enough,” Darren said sharply. Crouching, he looked from one to the other of them. “Soccer is a contact sport. That means players are naturally going to bump into each other, but shoving is against the rules. If you start shoving, the refs will call fouls and give free shots to the other team.” He looked at Kental and said pointedly, “Good players aren’t bullies. They’re smart. They hook a foot in and slip that ball out of the pack. A smart player is better than a fast one or even a good shooter.” Turning to Ponce he remarked, “If another player shoves or elbows a smart player, he keeps his cool. That way, his team gets the advantage. If he retaliates, shoves back, both players are likely to wind up sitting on the bench and neither team gets the advantage.” Pushing up to his full height, he laid a hand on each of their shoulders and added, “Soccer is a team sport, but if you keep making each other mad, how are you going to play together, and then what happens to the team?”
Both looked shamefaced by now. Charly bent forward and added her voice to Darren’s. “Now, let’s have those apologies, or do you want to spend the rest of practice watching from the sidelines?”
Ponce was the first to mutter, “Sorry.”
Kental echoed Ponce. “Sorry.”
Charly rubbed both boys’ heads and smiled. “Okay. Let’s all take a water break and rest a few minutes.”
The children ran together toward the ice chest, a mob of little bodies jostling together. Darren smiled. They were cute as all get-out, a jumble of drooping socks, flopping ponytails, sweatbands and baggy uniforms. More important, they were actually improving. Their next opposing team was in for a s
urprise. He was pleased in a way he’d never expected. Charly, however, was troubled.
“I can’t believe Ponce did that.”
Darren looked around in surprise. “It’s no big deal. All little boys suffer spurts of aggression, no matter how sweet they look.”
“He doesn’t just look sweet,” Charly retorted. “He is sweet. Normally.”
“Well, sure he is,” Darren said, “even more than the rest of them.”
Charly brightened. “He really is the dearest little boy.”
“And one of our best players,” Darren said, wondering if he’d found the key to Charly’s heart. Funny, since learning that she was the boy’s foster mom, he’d expected her to be less certain than most moms of her little one’s superiority. Instead, she was every bit as bad as Jill, if not worse.
“Do you really think so?”
Fortunately, he didn’t have to lie to her. “Absolutely. He and Kental are definitely the stars on this team.”
She literally glowed. “Well, I thought so, but I wasn’t sure, you know, that it wasn’t just personal prejudice.”
He chuckled and said very casually, “Maybe I’m a little prejudiced myself, but I still think he’s one of the best, if not the best, player on the team.”
The way she looked at him then warmed his blood. He lifted a hand and skimmed it down her arm, watching her breath hitch. Electricity danced in the air around them. She was not immune. No matter why she wouldn’t go out with him, she was attracted sexually. He stepped closer, and suddenly a small body was shoving between them.
“Mama, can we have the oranges now?”
Charly stepped back and looked down at her foster son. “Not now, honey. After practice.”
The way he said “’Kay” with such easy acceptance told Darren that the boy had not really expected any other answer or particularly cared what answer he got, for that matter. His one purpose in asking had been to separate Charly from Darren. It wasn’t the first time, and Darren knew that he could do nothing but back off and concede the match.
He went to the sideline and got himself a drink, then sat with the kids, teasing and laughing with them, all except Ponce who stayed by his mother’s side. After about five minutes Darren got up, blew his whistle and motioned the team back onto the field, but even as he turned his mind back to the task at hand, he couldn’t help thinking that Ponce was both the way to Charly’s heart and the greatest obstacle. He didn’t stop to consider why getting Charly to fall for him was important. It just was. Picking up the ball, Darren tossed it to Ponce and jogged to the sideline, where he clapped his hands and pointed out positions to the kids. When the goalie—a quiet, chubby girl named Tulia who had proven to be both patient and quick—was in place, Darren nodded at Ponce. Lifting the ball over his head, the boy waited for Darren to blow the whistle. Then he threw it over everyone’s head to the center of the field.
“Good job, Ponce,” Darren called, clapping his hands. Though shameless pandering, it was, thankfully, true. A glance in Charly’s direction showed him that it was also working. Ponce might not particularly appreciate the praise, but she did. Her smile was as warm as her eyes. Darren turned his attention back to the field, satisfied. For the moment.
She was more nervous now than she had been at the first game. The kids were so pumped, so sure they were going to win this one. They were definitely improved, but it had only been a week, for pity’s sake, two practices. No one could reasonably expect them to actually win, and yet Darren seemed to. He certainly had them believing it, anyway. Charly couldn’t help worrying that they might all be bitterly disappointed if they didn’t live up to their own expectations.
As she walked back from the center of the field, where she and the other “head coach” had met briefly with the ref to turn in official rosters for the game, she couldn’t help noticing that Darren was on his knees in front of the kids, speaking. Despite swinging legs and busy hands, they listened raptly. Then, as Charly drew near, they tumbled off the bench to gather around Darren and stack their hands on top of his. Bending, Charly added her own to the mix, then pumped with the rest of them and shouted, “Comets!”
Darren stood back, and she began making the assignments. “Tulia, we have that goal.” She pointed, and the girl ran onto the field.
“Stay cool out there,” Darren called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Stay alert.”
“We get the kickoff,” Charly went on. “Kental, you take it. Ponce, remember to pass that ball. Defense, play your spots and try not to let them get that ball past you to the goal.”
“And remember what I told you,” Darren added, bending to bring his face close to theirs. “We’re a team. Maybe we’re not all buddies off the field, but on it we’re best friends, and we work together.”
Kental and Ponce looked at each other and nodded. Sarah slid her arm through Maria’s.
“Let’s get to it,” Charly said, sending them out onto the field with a wave of her arm.
“Go get ’em, Comets!” Darren yelled, clapping his hands.
The ref waited until everyone on both teams was in position, or as close to position as they were going to get, before he blew his whistle and backed away from the ball. Kental took a run and booted it. Everyone on the sidelines immediately started shouting encouragement and instruction. Both teams mobbed the ball, which, after some confusing seconds, rolled slowly free of the wriggling mass of kicking legs. Ponce immediately picked up on it. Charly screamed for all she was worth as he kicked it down the field—in the wrong direction.
“The other way! The other way! Turn it around!”
He finally figured it out, went around the ball and kicked it in the opposite direction.
“Pass it to Kental!” Darren shouted. “Pass it to Kental!”
Ponce paused to look to the sideline, then kicked the ball to Kental, who was dancing in place, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth as he concentrated on making the play. When the ball got to him, he turned and punted it down the field. Maria was there and kicked it out of bounds. So it went for half an hour before anyone so much as took a shot on goal. That someone, though, was Ponce, and when the ball actually flew past the other team’s goalie and into the net, Charly could not contain her joy.
“He did it! He made a goal! He did it!”
Darren reached out a hand to pound her on the back in congratulations, and suddenly she knew exactly who she had to thank for her son’s moment of triumph. Gratitude flooded her, and she threw her arms around his neck, hopping up and down at the same time. Darren put his head back and laughed, even as his long, strong arms wrapped around her waist, trapping her against him. Then he simply lifted his chin and kissed her.
It was just a smack, really, a quick, full-mouth meeting of lips, and yet, heat instantly exploded throughout her body and she became abruptly aware of him. The bulk of his muscles surprised her. She felt and identified the contours of his hard chest and thighs, the way his pelvic bones jutted slightly from a flat belly. His arms contained a ropy strength that was not in the least frightening, but it was his hands that she most felt, the wide, long-fingered weight of them seemed to burn right through her clothing. Those hands knew exactly what they were about, how to touch a woman, hold her. They displayed no tentativeness, no surprise, just a warm, easy familiarity. One of them cupped the knob of her hip just below her waist. The other splayed across her ribs, the thumb resting beneath her arm against the side of her breast. It was enough to lock the air in her lungs and stop her heart with a pronounced thud.
“I told you he was the best,” Darren said, grinning ear to ear.
For an instant, just a split second, Charly had no idea about what or whom he was speaking. Then it hit her. Ponce! The soccer game! Then it, or rather he, literally hit her, from the back, his small arms clamping around her legs.
“Mama! I won! I won!”
Charly twisted out of Darren’s arms and stooped to scoop up Ponce.
“You scored! Yeah! Tha
t’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you.”
“We won the game!” Ponce announced proudly, lifting his arms over his head. Darren chuckled and patted the boy’s head, reaching from behind Charly to do so.
“Not quite, pal. We still have fifteen minutes to play. But you did real good. You scored the first goal for the game and the team. Better get back out there now. The ref’s holding up the game for you.”
Ponce’s eyebrows rose sharply. Then he kicked out of Charly’s embrace and ran back onto the field. As soon as both feet were within bounds, the ref blew his whistle, and the other team threw in the ball. Like Ponce, the rest of the Comets seemed to think they had the thing won. By the time Darren got them back into the game, clapping and calling out to them, the other team had taken the ball down the field and taken a shot on goal, which Tulia easily stopped. They were not so lucky the next time when, in the last seconds of the game, the other team tied it up.
The kids didn’t know the difference. They ran to the sidelines laughing and asking happily, “Did we win?”
“Not quite,” Darren told them with a huge smile, “but we didn’t lose, either.”
“It’s a tie,” Charly explained. “One to one. Oh, I’m so proud of you all!”
“Bet we win next time!” Kental proclaimed excitedly.
“Practice hard and we just might,” Darren said. “Now who wants ice cream?”
They all started hopping up and down, yelling, “I do! I do!”
“Well, let’s get loaded up then,” he said, sweeping up the ball bag. The kids, all except Ponce, started running toward the parking lot. “Slow down! Watch the cars!” Darren waved over the two mothers who had driven the kids, and they hurried to shepherd the kids safely to the vans. Ponce stayed next to Charly. Darren thrust the ball bag at him. “If you grab our balls, I’ll load up the water cooler while your mom takes care of the paperwork.”
Ponce hesitated, but the moment Charly nudged him, he grabbed the bag and shot off to look for their balls. Darren smiled down into Charly’s eyes. “They’re as happy as if they had won.”
