Defending Hearts

by Shannon Stacey

“I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her move.”

  “She is lazy, but when she’s in a puppy kind of mood, her energy level is exhausting.”

  “The chickens must love her.”

  Gretchen blew out a breath and shook her head. “She kept trying to get in the fence at first, but she finally caught on. Now she mostly ignores them, since they’re pretty far back behind the garage.”

  “And you keep them fenced?”

  “Yeah. We don’t like the furry woodland creatures getting to them, if you know what I mean. Plus, it’s kind of a secret, but Gram hates chickens. She’s afraid of them, though she won’t admit to that part.”

  Alex’s eyebrow arched. “Really? Tough affliction for a farmer’s wife.”

  “Gramps always said she was a wife worth tending to the chickens himself for.” She felt the familiar bittersweet pang—sorrow at his loss, but grateful for the happy memories of him.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t know your grandfather. I mean, I knew who he was, but I didn’t really know him.”

  She shrugged. “You were ahead of me in school, and I tended to stick close to the farm. We ran with different crowds. Do you want me to go after your shirt?”

  “Nah.” He shrugged, drawing her attention to his amazing shoulders. As if she hadn’t already memorized them. “I’ll grab another before dinner and find that one at some point. She won’t dig a hole and bury it, will she?”

  That made her laugh. “No. It’s already in her bed, tucked down between the cushion and the wall so you can’t see it.”

  It didn’t take her long to give the chickens and the horses fresh water, but Alex still beat her into the house. She stepped into the kitchen just in time to watch his broad back disappear into the living room, probably in search of his shirt.

  Gram beckoned her to the stove and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t care how old I am. It does a woman good to see a body like that shirtless.”

  Gretchen was glad she was standing slightly behind Gram, because she might have blushed. “Because your dog ran off with his shirt.”

  “I should give her a treat.”

  “You’re so bad.” Gretchen leaned over the stove to peer into the pot and then kissed Gram’s cheek. “It was hot today. Do I have time to grab a quick shower before supper?”

  “The sauce is simmering and I haven’t put the pasta in yet. I’ll wait and cook that when I hear the water shut off.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  Alex had disappeared, so Gretchen assumed he’d gone to his room to clean up for dinner. She hoped he wasn’t in the shower, because the hot water heater could handle only one at a time.

  After a quick round of tug-of-war with Cocoa, Gretchen ran up the stairs, using her fingers to unravel her braid as she went. She paused briefly outside Alex’s door but didn’t hear the shower running, thank goodness. After stopping in her room to grab a change of clothes, she went into her and Gram’s bathroom and locked the door.

  Gram had cleaned in there during the day, and Gretchen had to rummage around for the wide-toothed comb she used on her hair. She finally found it in the second drawer, but when she lifted it out, she saw it had been sitting on top of the small basket Gram kept her makeup in.

  On a silly whim, she dug through it until she found a black lipstick tube with a sticker labeled Cherry Hot Pants on the bottom. Pulling the cap off, she twisted the bottom a little and smiled. It was definitely red. And a very-special-occasion lipstick, based on how little it had been used.

  She leaned closer to the mirror and frowned at her reflection. First she made a kissy face, but she didn’t think the lipstick would go on smoothly that way. So she parted her lips and slowly painted them. Then she smacked them together, because she’d seen that on television, before standing back to look at herself.

  She looked like a little girl who’d gotten into her mother’s makeup basket. While she’d managed not to smear the Cherry Hot Pants around her mouth, it definitely didn’t have the polished look that Jen’s lipstick always had.

  Gram had been right, though, about the red looking good with her coloring. With her dark hair, the color made the bow of her mouth stand out. If she knew how to put some bounce in her hair and give herself smoky eye makeup, she could look like a sexy, retro pinup girl. But, considering how she’d done with the tube of Cherry Hot Pants, she wasn’t going anywhere near her eyeballs with a mascara wand.

  Sighing, she plucked a tissue out of the box and wiped at her lips.

  Giving herself a makeover might change her face, but it wasn’t going to change who she was. And not only did she like who she was, she didn’t really give a damn if Alex Murphy didn’t.

  Gretchen knew all about the differences between people who stuck and people who didn’t stick, and she wasn’t going to open herself up to somebody just passing through.

  05

  On Saturday morning, Alex was at the practice field bright and early to scope out vantage points, the sun’s angle and how the shadows were falling. Coach was there even earlier, talking to his assistant coaches, who were sitting on the bleachers with travel mugs of coffee when Alex arrived.

  He didn’t really know any of the other guys. Often teachers willing to give the time and energy, the coaching support staff tended to come and go, and there had been some turnover at the high school. But Coach was practically an institution, and none of them even wanted to try to imagine what would happen to Eagles football when he retired.

  Because he’d arrived so early, Alex was ready when the first kids showed up on the sidelines. Hunter Cass, the running back, jogged out to the center of the field with his arms up and his voice raised in some kind of triumphant yell. Alex fired off shots at will. He had plenty of memory in the camera and he could pick through the results later, on his laptop.

  He recognized a couple of the other boys from Eagles Fest. PJ, the cornerback who never shut up. And Ronnie, whom Alex had spent some quality time with thanks to the kid having the sense of direction of a broken compass. And he’d probably get to know more of them in the weeks to come.

  Spirits were high. For quite a few of the boys, the tryouts were merely a formality. It was a small school, and the core of the team tended to move on to the new year intact, other than freshmen coming in and seniors going out. But there was a heightened sense of celebration with the start of this season simply because it had come so close to not happening.

  There was a lull in the action when Coach sat them down and gave them a pep talk before explaining how the process would go. Alex caught a few of the freshmen, their nervousness and eager anticipation coming through for the camera. And he got a few good shots of Coach doing what he did best—laying out his expectations and inspiring young men to meet them.

  Over the course of the morning, he took countless shots of the players being put through their paces. Even through the lens of his camera, he could recognize some of the hallmarks of a Walt McDonnell–coached team. There was no sabotaging to protect their spots on the roster. No gloating. No throwing insults at those who weren’t quite up to the varsity level yet.

  Every boy on that field was dedicated to making the entire team the best it could be, and there were a couple of times Alex almost got choked up watching them. He knew better than almost anybody what being a part of the Eagles meant, and it was so much more than simply playing a game or dating cheerleaders, though he’d done his share of that back in the day.

  He was half hidden behind the bleachers, looking for action shots as the assistant coach working with the offense threw passes to potential wide receivers. Because the coach was testing them, they had to fully extend or dive for the balls, which made for good photography.

  Just as he was about to fully depress the shutter button, a face appeared in front of the lens. “Photobomb!”

  Even as his eyes and the camera refo
cused, Alex laughed. “Sanders, you asshole.”

  “That’s a Pulitzer Prize shot right there. Don’t delete it. And make sure you thank me in your speech.”

  Alex lowered the camera, letting it dangle from the strap around his neck so he could shake Chase’s hand. “Good to see you. Not necessarily in extreme close-up, but still good to see you.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were coming back to Stewart Mills. I mean, I know why I came back. There’s only one Kelly McDonnell, but there’s a lot of world out there for you to photograph.”

  “Yeah, there is, and I’ve photographed a lot of it. Being back here last month just felt right somehow and I didn’t feel like the story was done. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I get it.” Chase looked over the field, where the coaches were signaling for a break. “You had lunch yet? We can walk to O’Rourke’s from here.”

  O’Rourke’s wasn’t the only place in town to eat, but it was one of the best, and Alex wasn’t starving—thanks to Ida’s breakfast—but he could eat. “That sounds like one hell of a good plan.”

  Cassandra Jones showed them to their booth personally, making small talk along the way. She and her husband, Don, had owned the restaurant for years, but her maiden name was slapped on the business after a town-wide debate on where the apostrophe would go made Cass forgo the Jones just for the sake of getting the sign made.

  Once they’d ordered—and Chase had thoroughly mocked Alex’s choice of a salad with grilled chicken—Alex stuck a straw in his tall glass of iced tea and drained a quarter of it.

  “How are things going?” Chase asked. “Getting some good stuff?”

  “I just started really. I took some photos of the town, but tryouts starting this morning kind of kicks everything off. And I’ll have to start talking to people pretty soon, I guess.”

  “You guess? Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

  Alex shrugged. “The talking isn’t my favorite part of the job. I prefer being behind the camera. And I underestimated how much the fact that I’m from here would change things. Even though impartiality isn’t a big deal, since I’m not here in a journalistic capacity, I’m not used to having my own personal history all tangled up in my subject matter.”

  “Are you rethinking the project?”

  “No, I’ll finish the story. I’m still not sure if it’ll be a book or just a long photo essay, but I knew going into it I wouldn’t make that decision until later. Mostly I just wanted a break from the travel and to see how things are going here.”

  “How about the farm? Is it weird, staying there?”

  Weird was an interesting word, but he thought he knew what Chase was getting at. “Gretchen’s younger than us, plus she ran with a different crowd, so I don’t remember her well. It’s almost like being strangers, and I’m used to boarding with people I don’t know. But it would probably be weird if we’d been friends in high school, I guess.”

  “So . . .” Chase let the words trail off, obviously hoping his raised eyebrow would fill in the rest for him.

  “So?”

  “So Gretchen’s not hard on the eyes. Your eyes. Not mine. I only have eyes for Kelly, of course.”

  Alex chuckled. Chase wasn’t lying. He’d had it bad for Coach’s daughter pretty much from the moment he’d rolled into town for the Eagles Fest fund-raiser. “Yes, Gretchen is attractive. I wish she’d give me permission to photograph her.”

  “That’s not really the direction I was going in, but okay.”

  “I know exactly what direction you were going in, and that’s a wrong turn. She’s not the kind of woman you screw around with—especially while living with her—and then tip your hat to as you ride off into the sunset.”

  “I don’t know about that. Kelly said she rarely gets away from the farm for more than a few hours and she doesn’t date much. Having you under the same roof on a temporary basis might be just the thing she needs. Is she giving you any signals?”

  “I don’t know.” It was hard to tell with Gretchen. Sometimes he thought she was interested, and then other times she was so closed off to him he wasn’t sure she even liked him very much. “I don’t want things to get messy when, as you said, I’m living under her roof.”

  Chase shook his head. “Your loss, man.”

  “You’re not going to turn into one of those guys who gets married and then tries to get his friends all married off so he’s not the only one, are you?”

  “Maybe.” Chase grinned. “I’m not married yet, but I’m close enough to know I want all my friends to get to feel the way I do right now.”

  Alex rolled his eyes at the cheesy words that sounded like dialogue straight out of some romantic movie, but he didn’t bother to point out he’d tried the marriage thing once and it hadn’t worked out. His lifestyle wasn’t conducive to a long-term relationship, and changing that lifestyle would put one hell of a dent in his ability to sustain his career.

  But he didn’t go into that. It would be a douche-bag move to bring up his divorce when Chase was so damn happy to be talking about marriage. So he took a sip of his drink and then shrugged. “Maybe someday.”

  “Enough relationship crap. Let’s talk football. While you were watching through that lens, did anybody really stand out this morning?”

  —

  When Cocoa turned a couple of joyful circles with her tongue hanging out before heading for the back door, Gretchen knew Alex was home. The dog recognized the sound of his Jeep and, naturally, she could hear it before her or Gram.

  Not quite a week and the dog already considered Alex a part of the family, Gretchen mused as she saved the budget file she’d been working on and pushed away from the computer desk. She hated budgets and computers and being inside, but she forced herself to do it once a week anyway and used self-bribery if necessary. Tonight she was going to watch a favorite action movie for what was probably the twentieth time, but only if she got the stupid budget done.

  Rubbing the back of her neck, she walked into the kitchen just in time to see Cocoa’s tail disappear out of the screen door she’d pushed open. “Alex is back.”

  Gram slid on a mitt and opened the oven door. “I figured he must be home when Cocoa went jogging through.”

  Frowning, Gretchen pulled three napkins out of the rack and started setting the table. As she added the silverware and plates, she wondered what—if anything—it meant that it bugged her how Gram used the word home when it came to Alex. At the end of the day, Gretchen would say he was back, while her grandmother said he was home.

  It was a subtle difference, maybe, but she preferred the separation. It was hard enough, with Gram and Cocoa acting like he was the long-lost member of the family they’d been waiting for forever, to keep a line drawn in the sand between them. Landlord. Tenant. It should be easy enough to stay on her own side of the line.

  But when Alex walked through the door and his gaze sought hers immediately, she felt as if his smile was a wave washing away the line she’d so carefully drawn. “Hey, Gretchen. Ida.”

  “You have perfect timing,” Gram said, pulling a meat loaf out of the oven. “That just needs to sit for a few minutes and then I’ll slice it up.”

  “It smells delicious. Just give me a few seconds and I’ll make up a salad.”

  Once he’d gone, Cocoa on his heels, Gretchen went to the fridge and started pulling out the salad fixings. She’d start on the salad to save time. Alex had gone grocery shopping several days before and stocked the fridge with fruits and vegetables. Since then, they’d gotten in the habit of having salad with their supper.

  Gretchen hadn’t missed his little tricks for cutting back on Gram’s food without having to say something that might hurt her feelings or make her feel as if she needed to change the way she cooked. For instance, he claimed it saved on hand-washing dishes if he just put his salad right on his dinner p
late, but Gretchen saw the way he used the mound of lettuce and various veggies to minimize the amount of space for the rest of the meal. And he always ate the first helping of salad and took seconds before starting on Gram’s food.

  It was sweet, she thought as she sliced a cucumber. He must have recognized how important feeding her family—and her tenant—was to Gram, so he went out of his way to find a way to balance his eating habits with her cooking habits.

  By the time Alex walked back into the kitchen, the salad was almost done and Gretchen had worked herself into feeling a serious case of the warm and fuzzies for him. It made her smile at him and initiate the conversation for once.

  “How did tryouts go? Did you get some good pictures?” she asked, setting the big wooden salad bowl in the middle of the table.

  “I did. And the tryouts were great. The energy level’s ramped up because they’re more excited than usual to get back to football, and the emotion really comes through in pictures. It was a really good day.”

  Gretchen felt the warm glow of pride and satisfaction. The whole town had pulled together to save Eagles football, but it was she and Kelly and Jen who had led the committee. Kelly had come up with the fund-raiser idea and bringing the guys from the first championship team home for alumni events, but where one of them went, they all went together. Gretchen hadn’t been as much help to Kelly as Jen, who spent countless hours on the Internet looking up and applying for grants and donations, but she’d done her part.

  Hearing that the team still felt good about what they’d done and appreciated it made the work all the more satisfying. It had started as Kelly trying to save the team that meant everything to her dad and giving the boys a continued reason to stay out of trouble, but in the end it had been a massive community effort that Gretchen was proud to have been a part of.

  “Oh, and Chase showed up,” Alex continued. He went to the fridge to get the iced tea pitcher. “We went to lunch and caught up since Kelly had to cover Dylan’s shift for a few hours.”

  “It’s a bummer she had to go in. I know she was excited for Chase to come home for the weekend.”