Wishing Lake

by Regina Hart

  “No, I don’t mind.” Doreen managed to respond to Alonzo even though Nessa’s arrogance stole her breath.

  Nessa’s thin cheeks paled. She looked at Doreen, seeming to shut out the other people around her. “I’ve said what I came to say.”

  “Yes, you have.” Doreen forced an even response.

  Alonzo, Darius, and Jackson stepped aside to clear a path for the council president’s exit.

  Ramona slid onto the bar stool beside Ean. “What’s gotten into Nessa? She used to be so rational.”

  Doreen collected coffee mugs for her friends. “She seems out for me personally.”

  “Are you all right?” Alonzo claimed her free hand once Doreen placed his mug within reach.

  “Thank you for everything you said.” Under Alonzo’s touch, Doreen’s hand stopped shaking.

  “In Nessa, you’ve made a dangerous enemy.” Audra took the stool next to Jackson.

  “If she plans on giving you trouble while you’re in office, you’ll have to protect yourself.” Megan walked along the counter, pouring coffee for the newcomers. “Keep a record of everything you do and every exchange you have with her.”

  “Megan’s right.” Ean nodded. “Don’t let your guard down.”

  “I agree.” Doreen sighed. “I wish I knew why she resents me . . . and what she’s up to.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “The bleachers are packed, and the game hasn’t even started.” Peyton followed Vaughn Brooks through the press of bodies in and around the Heritage High School football stadium Saturday afternoon. She was getting used to letting his broad shoulders clear a path for them through dense crowds.

  “Fans arrive early for the marching band’s pregame performance.” The Trinity Falls University concert band director spoke over his shoulder as he led her to the visitors’ side of the field.

  It was the second Saturday of November, but the weather had turned unseasonably warm, allowing Peyton to leave her coat at home. Why had she thought Ohio would be so much colder than New York in the fall? She was comfortable in her newly purchased navy-blue-and-white Heritage High School Warriors hooded sweatshirt. She hadn’t been able to resist the sales pitch. Besides, the purchase benefited the school. Granted, underneath the thick fleece material, she wore a jersey along with her blue jeans, thick tube socks, and black boots. If her mother saw her now, Irene “Fashionista” Biery Harris would go berserk.

  “There are a lot of Sequoia High School fans here.” Peyton stared in awe at the number of people crowded onto the bleachers. There were almost as many spectators on the visitors’ side as the number of fans here to support the home team.

  “It goes against everything in me to deliver you to Heritage’s rivals.” Vaughn stopped to gaze up at the Sequoia fans.

  “I promised Darius I’d cheer his brother. You know Noah’s a senior with the Sequoia Soldiers.” Peyton grinned. This wasn’t the first time the Heritage High School alumnus had groused about walking onto “enemy territory.”

  “Then he should have brought you to the stadium himself.” Vaughn pointed toward the bleachers. “There’s the traitor, third row from the top.”

  Peyton shaded her eyes with her right hand. She located Darius near the top of the stadium. June Cale, Noah’s mother, was with him. Darius’s midnight gaze locked with hers. Her heart did a plié, then pirouetted across her chest.

  “I see him.” Her voice sounded rusty. A cool breeze kept her cheeks from overheating.

  “Good, because this is as far as I’m bringing you.”

  “I understand.” Peyton offered her hand to her guide. She thanked him somewhat tongue in cheek. “I appreciate your assistance.”

  Vaughn shook her hand once before striding away, presumably to friendlier environs on the other side of the field. Peyton began her climb up the bleachers. Why had Darius and June chosen seats so high?

  Darius stood as she approached. His beautiful sepia features were a study in surprise and confusion. It did things to her pulse to know that this handsome man was waiting for her. Peyton hoped her smile wasn’t as dopey as it felt.

  Darius stepped aside so she could enter the row. He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “What are you doing here?”

  Peyton shivered in response. “I told you I was going to cheer for your brother. Your seats are pretty high up.”

  “They give you the best view of the field.” June shook Peyton’s hand. “Thank you for joining us.”

  “Where’s Simon?” Peyton sat. The right side of her body tingled where it came into contact with Darius. She shifted to give him more space.

  “I don’t know.” Darius’s voice was devoid of inflection. Tension surrounded him, communicating itself to Peyton.

  “It doesn’t matter, Darius,” June assured him.

  Darius didn’t seem to hear her. “Stan was going to come, but he had to work.”

  Their exchange caught Peyton’s curiosity. She understood why Darius was upset that Simon, Noah’s father, wasn’t at the game. But as Noah’s mother, why was June certain Simon’s absence didn’t matter? There was more to the story here.

  Peyton shrugged off her curiosity and turned her attention to the young men exercising on the field. “Which one of the teams is ours?”

  “Our team’s wearing the visitor’s white. Heritage is the home team, so they’re wearing their colors, navy blue and white.” Darius eyed her with curiosity. “Have you watched many football games?”

  He was doing that sexy thing again, arching his left eyebrow. Peyton exhaled. “This is my first.”

  Darius’s eyes widened. “What made you come to this game?”

  “I promised to root for Noah, remember?” Peyton frowned. Didn’t he recall the bet from the Books & Bakery Halloween celebration?

  His slow smile sped Peyton’s pulse. “Thank you.”

  She found her breath. “You’re welcome.”

  June patted Peyton’s forearm. “You’ve chosen a great game. It’s the last regular season game. Both Sequoia and Heritage are undefeated. The winner will go to the state championship.”

  As they waited for the pregame show to begin, Darius and June tried to prepare Peyton for her first football game. They explained the four fifteen-minute quarters, which were made longer by timeouts and fouls; the twenty-two young men on the field for each series, eleven each on offense and defense; the three phases of the game—offense, defense, and special teams; and the referees, whose calls were inevitably bad, unless those calls worked in Sequoia’s favor. Even with her doctorate, Peyton wasn’t convinced she’d be able to follow the game.

  The Heritage High School marching band took the field for the pregame show. The skilled musicians performed an exciting medley of Michael Jackson songs, including “Beat It” and “Black or White.” Dressed in their navy-blue-and-white caps and uniforms, the band members marched in time to the music, creating formations such as the Warrior logo.

  Peyton couldn’t sit still. Her rocking hips and wriggling shoulders drew Darius’s attention.

  “Perhaps you’d like to join the band?” His smile teased her. “I’m sure they could use you in the dance line.”

  Peyton gestured toward his tapping foot. “I don’t want to meet the person who can sit still through a Michael Jackson song.”

  “Neither do I.” Darius raised his hands in surrender.

  When the performance ended, Peyton rose with the rest of the audience for a standing ovation. “They’re exceptional.”

  “Yes, they are.” There was pride in Darius’s voice.

  June leaned toward her. “If you think the Warriors’ band is good, wait until you hear the Marching Soldiers.”

  Darius grunted. “Your football team will give Heritage a battle, but our marching band doesn’t even have to step on the field to outperform yours.”

  June gasped. “Now wait—”

  Standing between the rivals, Peyton took hold of their upper arms. “Get back to your corners. We’re here to cheer on No
ah. Stay focused.”

  She removed her hold from her companions as the band cleared the field. The announcer introduced first the visiting Sequoia Soldiers, then the home team Heritage Warriors.

  Peyton craned her head, trying to spot Darius’s brother. It was an impossible task, considering the identity-masking helmets and matching uniforms the forty-eight young athletes wore. “What’s Noah’s number?”

  “Eighty-one.” Darius pointed toward the Sequoia sideline. “He’s near the bench.”

  Peyton spotted eighty-one standing with a coach and another player. The adult seemed to be giving the young men last-minute instructions or encouragement. She sensed the coach’s intensity and his players’ focus. It was contagious. Anticipation fueled her pulse.

  The four quarters were a fierce battle of wills. The longtime rivals clashed in a well-matched competition. Peyton was swept up in the excitement as the stadium rocked with screams, shouts, foot stomps, and cheers.

  Darius’s company made the experience even more enjoyable. He stayed close to her, explaining each series—passing plays, running games, the value of a quarterback sneak at fourth and one. He seemed to enjoy introducing her to football, and she enjoyed his introduction. Peyton didn’t feel stupid or annoying as he took his time answering her questions and making sure she understood what was happening and why. Handsome, intelligent, and kind. It wasn’t any wonder Darius Knight was one of the most sought-after bachelors in Trinity Falls.

  She also studied Darius’s brother when the Sequoia offense went to the sideline. Noah spent the time urging on his teammates. He displayed passion and camaraderie, patting their helmets and hitting their shoulder pads. Had Darius played with the same drive and commitment? She gave the former high school athlete a sidelong look. She suspected he had.

  More than three quarters later, Peyton’s throat was raw from cheering on the Soldiers and blasting the referees. She tracked the Heritage kickoff. The Sequoia returner sprinted, weaved, and battled his way to the twenty-three-yard line. The clock drained to fifty-one seconds.

  “We’re down by three points. What do you think we should do?” Her eyes were glued to the Sequoia sidelines as she asked June and Darius for input.

  June clenched her fists. “The score’s twenty-three, twenty, Heritage. We need to get into field goal position, tie the game, and force an overtime.”

  Peyton shook her head. “Heritage will be expecting that.”

  Darius crossed his arms over his chest. “June’s right. We won’t be able to drive seventy-seven yards in fifty-one seconds. We should try for the OT.”

  The OT? Overtime. Peyton watched the sideline where Sequoia’s head coach gestured emphatically to his young players. If only she could see his face, read his lips. What was he telling them? What did he think?

  It didn’t matter. Peyton’s gut knew what Sequoia needed to do. “I say we go for it.”

  Her declaration was greeted with stunned silence.

  “It’s too risky.” June’s voice was a squeak of horror.

  “Why do you think we should go for a touchdown?” Darius sounded curious. He would have made a good teacher.

  “Our quarterback has a cannon for an arm.” Peyton had borrowed that line from one of the many screaming fans around her.

  “That’s true.” Darius’s midnight eyes considered her. “But Heritage’s defense is impenetrable.”

  Peyton smiled at the hint of pride in Darius’s comment. How hard was it for him to root against his alma mater?

  “They can’t cover every receiver, and Sequoia has a lot of weapons, including Noah.” Using her newfound football terminology was almost as much fun as watching the game.

  “We need the win.” June sounded frantic.

  “The championship’s at stake.” Darius nodded toward the field. “We need to go for the safe play.”

  “No guts, no glory.” She’d plucked that quote from history.

  Darius chuckled. “Are you sure this is your first football game?”

  Peyton blushed at the subtle compliment. She hugged the words to her heart even as she shifted her attention to the field. The Sequoia offense lined up at the twenty-three-yard line. The quarterback was in what Darius had called the shotgun position. It was a good sign.

  Peyton cupped her hands over her mouth and screamed, “Go for it!”

  As though responding to her rally, the Sequoia quarterback shot a bomb down the far side of the field. It raced with Noah. His long legs ate up the yards, keeping up with the ball. Two defenders dogged him, covering him like peanut butter on jelly, butter on toast, white on rice. Peyton held her breath as Noah picked up speed. He leaped from the field, rising barely above his defenders as the ball dropped to him. With his body vulnerable in the air, he coaxed the ball to him with the tips of his fingers. He landed with his toes inbounds. His body went limp, then rolled off the field. Twenty-nine-yard reception. First down. Clock stopped. Ball on Heritage’s forty-eight-yard line.

  Sequoia fans went insane. Peyton exhaled.

  The Sequoia Soldiers hustled to the line of scrimmage for their second play of the series. Forty-four seconds left to the game. The quarterback caught the snap from the center. The clock ticked. Forty-three, forty-two, forty-one, forty . . . A Heritage defender flushed the quarterback from the pocket. The ball handler scrambled to the right . . . thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven . . . A short pass to the running back saved the broken play. Net gain of five yards. The Heritage defender creamed the Sequoia quarterback, planting him in the grass.

  “Isn’t that a foul?” Peyton shot off the bench. “Foul! Foul, ref! Can you hear me?”

  “Zeus can hear you on Mount Olympus,” Darius cracked drily. “There’s the flag.”

  Peyton strained to hear the referee as he updated the crowd on the penalty. “Roughing the passer. Defense. Number thirty-eight. Fifteen yards. Ball on Warriors twenty-eight. First down.”

  “Yes!” June pumped a fist in the air. “Go for the field goal.”

  “We should go for the win.” Peyton stared at the field.

  “But there’s only thirty-one seconds left.” June gestured toward the field.

  “June,” Darius interrupted their exchange. “We can win this.”

  Peyton rewarded him with a smile. “Yes, we can.”

  She returned her attention to the field, pressing her fist against her lips. Peyton whispered into her hand, “I believe. I believe.”

  The quarterback took the snap. He danced back into the pocket. Noah waved for the ball from the fifteen-yard line. He was under double coverage, just as he’d been for most of the game. Other receivers were closer and more open.

  “Throw it to Noah!” June was almost jumping up and down with impatience. “Throw it to eighty-one!”

  The game clock counted down . . . thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight. The quarterback picked a more open target. The intended receiver bobbled the pass. The ball dropped to the field. Incomplete. The clock stopped at twenty-two seconds. Sequoia fans groaned their disappointment—all but one.

  “I told you to throw it to eighty-one!” June screamed the frustration of a disappointed parent.

  Sequoia called a timeout.

  Peyton patted June’s shoulder. “We still have twenty-two seconds and three downs.”

  June groaned. “We have to line up for the field goal.”

  Peyton pulled her gaze from Noah rallying his teammates. “Believe, June. Just believe.”

  “No guts, no glory.” Darius muttered the quote with his eyes set on the field.

  “You both are going to be the death of me.” June swiped the sweat from her brow.

  Sequoia returned to the field. Noah patted the quarterback’s helmet as he jogged past his teammate. The ball handler took the shotgun position. Noah was farther down the line on the right. Two Heritage defenders stood away from the receiver. The center snapped the ball. The game clock drained: twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen . . . The quarterback took four steps
back. Linemen formed a protective pocket around him.

  Peyton found Noah. He raced down the field desperately trying to shake his defenders. The quarterback bounced on his toes, buying time. Scanning left, scanning right, looking for an open man. Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen . . .

  Throw the ball to eighty-one!

  Noah’s strides carried him ten, fifteen, twenty yards. Peyton willed him faster, stronger, farther than the backs chasing him.

  Heritage defenders dogged the Sequoia linemen, crashing through the pocket. The quarterback pivoted free. Fourteen, thirteen, twelve . . . He sent the ball high. Silently, Peyton chanted, I believe. I believe. I believe.

  A collective gasp rose above the stadium as the ball arced toward the end zone. Eleven seconds, ten, nine . . . Peyton’s gaze scrambled to Noah. He jerked right, then cut left toward the goalpost. He sprinted toward the end zone, arms pumping, feet barely kissing the ground. He was flying.

  But his back was to the ball. Peyton slowly rose to her feet. She wanted to scream, “Turn around!” But she couldn’t form the words. She didn’t have the breath. All she could do was watch . . . and hope . . .

  I believe. I believe. I believe.

  Noah crossed into the end zone, dogged by Heritage defenders in blue. Eight seconds, seven, six . . . He spun right, sighted the ball, then sprang to meet it. Defenders jumped with him. Noah reached higher, stretched farther, and pulled it into his chest. He fell back to the end zone, tucking the ball into his body, then rolled to his feet.

  Touchdown!

  Time ran out. Sequoia Soldiers 26, Heritage Warriors 23. With the extra point, the final score was 27, 23, Sequoia.

  Sequoia faithful roared their victory. Peyton threw her arms wide and leaped into Darius’s arms. She kissed him. Hard. He kissed her back. His arms tightened around her, pulling her into his body. Peyton froze. What was she doing?

  She pushed against Darius’s chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He set her back on her feet, then pulled June into a bear hug.

  “We’re undefeated!” June released Darius to embrace Peyton. “We’re undefeated!”