Hill Country Hero

by Ann DeFee

  “I’m on my way.” Jake grabbed a clean towel and a bottle of shampoo before marching off to the showers.

  Twenty minutes later, he was trudging up the stairs to Texas Bob’s private offices. He knew from personal experience that a royal summons was about as enjoyable as an IRS audit.

  Jake took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Get yourself in here.”

  Texas Bob’s greeting blew Jake’s hope for a cordial meeting.

  “Yes, sir.” Jake stepped into the office, expecting to see Texas Bob with his feet propped up on the desk, and he wasn’t disappointed. What he hadn’t anticipated was seeing Mrs. Texas Bob and Mac.

  “Come in, come in, son,” Texas Bob boomed. The owner’s habit of speaking in capital letters had probably contributed to his business success, either through intimidation or awe. Then Jake realized what he’d heard—Texas Bob had called him son.

  Marianne Hurst indicated a place on the couch. “Please sit down. We’d like to talk to you.” She patted the cushion next to her.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jake sat and propped his elbows on his knees.

  “So, what can I do for you?” He pasted on a phony smile. Heck, he was a man—he could face the music, be it good, bad or indifferent.

  Mac was lounging in a leather chair. She was the first to speak up. “We want to talk to you about CiCi.”

  Jake’s patience was already stretched thin and this line of questioning wasn’t helping matters. “Don’t you think you should have this conversation with your sister?”

  She had the grace to look embarrassed but it didn’t keep her from continuing. “CiCi is impossible to live with. So, we put our heads together, and Daddy suggested we talk to you.”

  Texas Bob shrugged.

  “Are you in love with my daughter?” Marianne asked.

  The Hurst women were double-teaming him. Even Terrell Owens didn’t get that much coverage.

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

  Marianne took his hand. “We’re not trying to meddle, truly we’re not. My daughter wants to fix things but she doesn’t know how. She loves you.”

  That got his attention. “Is that what she said?” he asked Marianne.

  “Well, uh…”

  Okay, that was clear enough, and it wasn’t the reply he wanted. “I know you mean well, but I think this meeting is going nowhere real fast. I’ve had a hard day, so I’ll just say goodbye.”

  He’d stood to leave when Mac spoke again.

  “She loves you,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “She’s been eating ice cream by the truckload. That’s a clear indication of a broken heart. You guys need to get your act together.”

  “Isn’t that the truth.” Up until that point Texas Bob had kept his opinion to himself.

  His wife glared at him. He put his hands up in surrender, but ruined the effect with his next words. “That girl’s driving everyone nuts.”

  It was perverse but Jake wanted to hear more. “I’m listening.” He sat back against the sofa cushion.

  “Great!” Marianne exclaimed. “Now, let’s discuss our plan.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Road Runners’ first preseason game was less than a week away and CiCi hadn’t made up her mind whether or not she’d attend. Her heart told her to make an appearance, no matter the consequences. Her brain said she was an idiot.

  CiCi was eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen when she heard giggles and then the patter of little feet. It was Molly and her cousin Trip.

  “Aunt CiCi.” Molly wrapped her arms around her aunt’s waist. “Mama and Grammy have a surprise for you.”

  “Really, what is it?”

  Molly giggled. “Silly, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” She grabbed CiCi’s hand and tugged. Trip did the same to her other hand. CiCi didn’t have any choice but to follow them to the sunroom.

  At first glance it seemed as if everything was normal. Then she saw it. CiCi squinted, hoping against hope that she was hallucinating. She closed her eyes, shook her head and willed it all away.

  Nope, it was still there on the couch. CiCi shot her relatives the evil eye. “What is Tex the Chicken doing here?” CiCi plopped into one of the easy chairs.

  “Baby doll,” Daddy began but was quickly overpowered by the cacophony of female voices, including Mac, Mia and Mama.

  “Girls, let me explain it.” Mama was obviously the chief conspirator.

  At first it looked like there was someone in the mascot suit, but then CiCi realized the red-crested chicken head was listing at half-mast.

  “Daddy needs a favor,” Mac said.

  CiCi glanced at her father. “If Daddy needs a favor, why doesn’t Daddy ask me?”

  Her disdain obviously wasn’t lost on Texas Bob. “It’s like this. Our newest mascot’s taken a hike and we need a stand-in for the first preseason game.” He rolled his shoulders. “I have the front office looking for a permanent replacement, but for the time being…”

  Benedict Arnold would fit right in with this family. “After everything that’s happened, what makes you think I’d do this, even for just one game?”

  Texas Bob put his chin in his hands. “We’re in a bind. Mac is too short and your mom is too, uh, mature.” As an afterthought, he gave his wife a wink. “Isn’t that right, snookums?”

  “Don’t ‘snookums’ me,” Marianne retorted before turning her attention to her youngest daughter. “Seriously, we don’t have anyone else who can do this, and what would a game be without Tex the Road Runner?”

  Mama had a point. “Oh, okay. But keep in mind this is temporary. One game only.” CiCi’s inner voice was screaming like a banshee for her not to do this.

  Too bad she couldn’t hear it because of the racket her heart was making. Her family was obviously up to something, she just couldn’t tell what. Unfortunately, she knew this “little favor” was going to turn out to be a whole lot bigger.

  JAKE HAD a bottle of beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. He was dead tired and looking for some mindless entertainment, but the phone rang. He checked the caller ID and discovered it was Texas Bob’s cell.

  “Hello, sir,” Jake answered.

  “It’s a go. CiCi will be the mascot on Sunday. The ball is in your court now, son.”

  That was what Jake wanted to hear, so why was his gut twisted like a pretzel? Perhaps he wasn’t looking forward to making a fool of himself on national TV. “Got it. I’ll take care of everything. Thanks.”

  After Jake clicked off, he flopped on the couch. Why had he agreed to this insanity? It wasn’t too late to back out, but did he want to? He desperately needed CiCi in his life.

  Jake stabbed a series of numbers into his cordless phone. No time like the present to call in a few favors. He hoped like heck he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

  “Whatcha need?” The voice on the other end was a southern drawl familiar to any fan of NFL Sunday.

  “Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?” Jake quipped.

  “Yep, she sure did, but I’ve got caller ID and I know it’s you. So I don’t have to be nice.” The man tempered his insult with a chuckle.

  After a few more good-natured jabs, Jake got down to business. “Hey, Fullbright. I’ve got myself a big problem and I need some help.”

  Jake’s explanation was met with silence. That wasn’t encouraging. “So what do you think?”

  “Dude, you gotta be jokin’. Right?”

  “Nope, I’m dead serious.” Oh, man, this had the earmarks of being a huge goat rope but he was determined to succeed. And if the broadcast network didn’t agree to help, he was going to have to come up with Plan B.

  Fullbright reacted with a huge belly laugh. “I can’t wait to see this. What do you need me to do?”

  “Grease the skids for me. Convince the network to play along.”

  “Who am I to get in the way
of true love? I’ll see what I can do. Call you later.”

  That was as much as Jake could ask for. “Great. Thanks, I owe you.”

  “You sure do, and don’t think I won’t collect.”

  “That wouldn’t enter my mind. I’ll buy you dinner the next time you’re in Houston.”

  “I’m gonna soak you for the biggest steak in town.”

  “It’s yours.”

  Jake hung up and put his head in his hands. If they pulled this off it would be a miracle.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sunday finally rolled around. The game was in full swing and Jake was sweating bullets. He wasn’t intimidated by the massive linemen who were trying to kill him. He wasn’t in awe of the coaches, or the fans or even Texas Bob. He was, however, terrified of a woman in a chicken suit.

  The Road Runner defense was on the field. It was a fourth down and less than a foot for the other team. Under ordinary circumstances he’d be at the yard marker, yelling encouragement. Not this time.

  Cole popped him on the arm. “Hey, guy, keep your mind on the game.” He was the only person—other than the Hurst family and the entire broadcast staff—who knew what Jake was planning. “What can happen, other than looking like a moron on national TV?” He tempered his jibe with a huge grin. “Screw you.”

  The quarterback hooted. “Not in a million years, dude, not in a million years. I sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

  His friend had that right. Jumping into a pit of snakes sounded less scary than what he was about to do. “Thanks for your support.”

  The quarterback hit him on the arm again. “Good luck, man. I’m on your side.” He grinned once more before turning his attention back to the game.

  A roar went up and Jake realized the other team had lost the ball on downs. It was his time to hit the field. He pulled on his helmet and trotted to the huddle. Another quarter and his fate would be sealed. Was he man enough to do the job? Or would he “chicken out” and call the whole thing off?

  “CULPEPPER, NEXT TIME I throw you a ball, you catch it, ya hear? You’re not up to snuff here.” Cole’s patience was about to run out.

  “No kiddin’. Ya better keep your mind on the game or the coach is gonna have you out here running wind sprints.” That pearl of wisdom came from a 300-pound linebacker. Irritating the offensive line was never a good idea, not unless Jake was hankering for a torn ACL.

  On the next pass play, he tried for a diving catch and missed. It was third down when Cole threw a perfect spiral to another receiver, who sprinted toward the goal line.

  Touchdown! A point after touchdown kick and the score was seven/zip. Jake had to get his head back in the game, at least until the halftime. The next series of downs produced an amazing run into the end zone for the opposing team. It was seven/seven and Jake hadn’t done a darned thing to help the team.

  “The next one’s gonna be yours. Don’t mess it up,” Cole said.

  Don’t mess it up, don’t mess it up. If the cameras hadn’t been on them, Jake would have shot his old buddy the one-fingered salute of friendship.

  The next offensive play was a pass to Jake that gave them a first down. Three series later and they were in the end zone for another touchdown. When the buzzer sounded, the score was fourteen to seven.

  And it was showtime!

  THE STUPID CHICKEN SUIT was stifling. Why had CiCi agreed to this lunacy? A smart girl would be up in the luxury box enjoying a frozen margarita, not down on the sidelines in a smelly mascot costume.

  The crowd roared. What had she missed? She checked the peephole and saw that Jake’s teammates were slapping him on the back. CiCi jumped up and down flapping her wings. Of course, her enthusiasm had nothing, absolutely zilch, to do with Jake. It was her job to root for the team. Uh-huh!

  A high-school band was gathered on the sidelines for the halftime show and the dance team had formed a semi-circle around her. Before they marched on the field, she’d better get out of the way or they’d mow her down.

  When the buzzer for the end of the half sounded, the Road Runner gals tightened the circle. That was CiCi’s first inkling that something was up. And when the network reporter showed up, microphone in hand, she knew for sure. And that was before she spied Buster Fullbright, the national broadcast co-host, heading her way.

  What in the bloody hell was going on?

  SWEAT DRIPPED DOWN the back of Jake’s neck and it had nothing to do with exercise. To put it succinctly, he was terrified. He signaled the cameraman and marched toward his fate.

  If this harebrained scheme went south, he’d have to banish himself to the Arctic Circle. With that cheerful thought in mind, he called on every ounce of courage he could muster.

  It felt like a replay of his first encounter with CiCi. Ten yards, five, three yards to the target. She was surrounded by members of the dance team. Then Cole appeared next to him—he was the ring bearer.

  “I can’t believe I agreed to do this,” the quarterback said but his grin was the size of Texas.

  Jake jabbed him, though with all the padding, it was more symbolic than effective.

  “Go on,” Cole prompted.

  Jake grabbed the mascot’s wing, hoping like heck she didn’t whack him. He couldn’t think of anything worse than getting decked by a six-foot chicken in front of millions of people.

  Buster Fullbright gave him a sly wink.

  He could do this. He could do this. He could do this. That was Jake’s story and he was sticking to it.

  Grabbing a handful of feathers, he dropped to one knee in front of CiCi. The camera was panning back and forth, the dance team was bouncing in place and unbelievably, the band was playing Alabama’s “Will You Marry Me.” How many people were involved?

  ALTHOUGH CICI’S FIELD OF VISION was somewhat limited by the chicken head, Buster Fullbright was hard to miss. What was he doing down on the field at halftime? It wasn’t until she saw Cole that she became convinced that something strange was happening.

  Then she saw Jake. He looked sort of green. When he grabbed her wing and fell to his knee, CiCi was afraid he was having a seizure.

  She tried to yell “Call 911,” but saying anything while wearing that stupid feather head was impossible. Everything from “go, team” to “get out of my way, you dumb cluck” came out as a garbled “humph.”

  The cameras were rolling, Fullbright was grinning like a court jester, Cole was holding a tiny blue shopping bag, and CiCi was ready to whip off her crested head and get on with the CPR. Then Jake held out his hand.

  Was that what it looked like? This had to be a dream. Jake Culpepper was in full pads, down on one knee and in his hand he had a ring with a diamond the size of a penny.

  This was hell, pure unadulterated hell. The man she loved more than anything in the world was offering her a glimpse of heaven, and she couldn’t do a thing about it because she had wings.

  No fingers. Nowhere for him to put the ring. And to make matters worse, she was stuck in a stupid feathered head. Dante couldn’t have come up with a more distressing scenario.

  “Let me help you with that,” Mac said and then CiCi noticed that her entire family was there, including Sugar Plum.

  Without warning, Mac ripped off the chicken head, leaving CiCi to deal with a bad case of hat hair. She was so busy trying to tame her locks she almost missed what Jake was saying.

  “Will you marry me?”

  She was only vaguely aware of the band, the dancing girls, the national television camera and the crowd of thousands—make that millions. Everything was obliterated by the beat of her heart and the roar of blood gushing through her body.

  Then Jake sealed the deal. He gave her one of those melt-her-bones grins and uttered the magic words: “I love you.”

  CiCi was flapping her wings like Foghorn Leghorn on speed, but what else could she do? She didn’t have any usable appendages.

  “Yes!” she screeched. The teachers from Miss Newcombe’s Finishing School would be sca
ndalized, but they’d never faced Jake Culpepper down on one knee holding out a dream. She realized that the fiasco with Tank had been nothing more than a fit of temper on both their parts.

  “I love you and I trust you. How about you?” she asked with a smile.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “In that case, definitely yes.” It wasn’t a champagne-and-roses proposal, but it couldn’t have been more perfect.

  CiCi tried to kneel beside him but the darned chicken feet tripped her and they both ended up flat on the ground.

  Seems turnabout was fair play. This time it was the chicken who tackled the tight end, and what could be better?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Eight months later

  Society section—Houston Chronicle—April 21

  Only In Texas

  Only in Texas could the society wedding of the year be held in a field of bluebonnets under the branches of an ancient live oak. But leave it to Collier Channing “CiCi” Hurst (daughter of Winston and Marianne Hurst) and Jake Culpepper, star tight end for the Road Runners, to pull it off with élan. The ceremony was held at the groom’s ranch.

  The bride wore a stunning Vera Wang strapless dress and carried a bouquet of bluebonnets and yellow roses. She was attended by her sisters, Mackenzie Coleman and Mia Stockton. The groomsmen included Road Runner quarterback Cole Benavides and Mr. Culpepper’s cousins, Dwayne and Darrell Scruggs.

  The guest list featured a glittering array of Houston society, the entire Road Runner team and the future residents of the Haven, the Culpeppers’ residential facility for at-risk teens.

  As an aside, the guests were advised to wear boots and to watch out for the rattlesnakes. In the spirit of the party, the bride and her party all wore hand-tooled cowboy boots.