This Time

by Rachel Hauck

  "Show's back. Bye." Belle hung up.

  She listened as he announced his retirement, her eyes misting as he testified of his faith and commitment to Jesus.

  Duke nodded approvingly. "He's doin' all right. I'll have to phone Reese and tell him we raised that boy right."

  Belle hid her face in the pillow, dabbing away her tears with the tips of her finger, hope swelling in her heart. Perhaps she and Burke could mend the tear in the tapestry of their lives and create a future together.

  Gates called again at the next commercial. "Girl, if you don't give him a second chance, I'll, I'll--"

  "You'll what?" Belle wondered, laughing, warmed by her friend's sentiments.

  "Give him a second chance," Gates demanded.

  "Gates, he hasn't asked for one."

  "He will, Belle, he will."

  "How do you know so much?"

  "Call it a gut feeling. I just think he will."

  A thousand tiny butterflies flitted in Belle's stomach. Burke had been gone five days, and it suddenly seemed like five weeks. When did he say he'd be home?

  "Commercials are over," Gates said, clicking off the phone.

  But the next segment of the David Dubois Show doused any hope that might ignite her heart.

  A hot, burning embarrassment tingled over her scalp and down her back the moment Burke recognized Grace as contestant number three. The television camera caught and revealed his excitement at seeing the lovely actress again.

  What crazy assumptions had she let herself believe? Belle kicked herself mentally for letting girlish dreams replace sound reasoning. She'd think twice about listening to Mary Beth or Gate's lofty musings. Why would he choose her over Grace? Their relationship was obviously special and close.

  Look at them. How can I compete with her?

  One by one, she replaced each brick she'd taken from the wall around her heart.

  She could feel Duke's eyes on her. "Isn't Grace something, Daddy? Burke is a lucky man."

  "Don't look like he's all that keen on her."

  She laughed cynically. "Please, Daddy. What man wouldn't give his eyeteeth to be with someone like Grace Peterson? She's beautiful, talented, has a heart of gold."

  "She is all those things, but that don't mean Burke's set on her. I seen the way he's been a lookin' your way this summer. Got that old glint in his eye."

  She reached for the remote and powered off the television. "Whatever," she said, fighting tears. "Good night."

  The phone rang as she ran up the stairs, a sick feeling coating the pit of her stomach. "Don't answer it, Daddy. It's Gates. I'll call her tomorrow."

  ***

  Burke and Grace walked along Malibu Beach in view of her new hillside cottage that overlooked the Pacific. Their shoes dangled from the tips of their fingers and the cuffs of Burke's pants were rolled up to his knees. The setting sun blazed fiery hues across the twilight sky as it dipped beneath the edge of the ocean.

  They talked as they strolled, rehashing the events on the Dubois show with laughter. Grace recounted her adventures in Australia, enthusiastic about the film she'd just finished and anticipating the one she would start in the fall.

  "Enough about me, tell me what's going on with you," she concluded, jabbing Burke in the ribs.

  He recapped his summer in Haskell, elated about his new career as a high school football coach. He captivated her with his tornado tale and intrigued her with his work at the Bar J.

  "Interesting," she said when he'd finished. She stopped and watched the waves curl toward the shore.

  "Interesting?" He stood beside her.

  "You never mentioned her once."

  He looked out over the water, the Pacific breeze cool and salty in his face. "I'm in love with her."

  Grace started walking again. "I expected as much."

  He caught up to her and slipped his arm through hers. She peered up at him with dry eyes. "All summer I prayed for us, wrestling with the Lord, wanting my will to prevail. But my words were like weighted balloons. Once I stopped praying my will and asking for His to be done, my desires changed."

  "How'd they change?"

  "I finally realized that I wanted us to stay together because I didn't have an alternate plan. You are the only man in my life at the moment, so I didn't want to give up yet."

  Burke squeezed her elbow lightly indicating that he understood. "Did you ever think we were heading for marriage?" he asked.

  Grace slowly shook her head. "Not really, but I wanted to hold onto you until someone else came along. Guess you found your person first."

  "I found her in third grade on the playground swings."

  "Now, how could I ever compete with that?"

  "You'd like her, Grace."

  "I'm quite sure I would." She glanced up at him, a pretend pout on her lip. "I wish I'd found someone in third grade on the playground swings."

  He chuckled. "The Lord has the right man for you. He'll find you soon enough."

  "Well, this summer the Lord also dealt with my notion that I have to have a man in my life. I finally realize it's okay to be single, to be on my own."

  Burke stared at her wide-eyed with a raised brow. "You had a busy summer."

  Her melodious, delicate laugh resonated through the air like tiny bells. "I had a great summer."

  "I'm going to miss you."

  "And I you." A subtle sadness etched her words.

  Burke rested his hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, suddenly sentimental. I've prepared for this all summer, but now that it's here--" She stopped and took a deep breath.

  "Come to Oklahoma. I'll teach you to rope a calf."

  "Oh, no," she said, waving a finger under his nose as she turned toward home. "I'll let Mrs. Benning do the honors."

  Burke shushed her. "Quiet, she doesn't know yet."

  Grace frowned. "You think the wind is going tell her?" She faced him, hands on her slender hips. "Don't tell me you haven't told her how you feel."

  He shook his head as he stooped to pick up a pinkish seashell protruding out of the sand. "I thought I should talk to you first. Settle things between us." He considered the shell, turning it over in his hands. Its broken edges were rounded, smoothed by time and the washing of the waves. "Sometimes, over the years--" He stopped.

  "Sometimes what?" she asked tenderly, eyes studying the shell in his hand.

  He thought, searching for the right words. "Sometimes I'd catch a scent in the breeze and for one brief second, it reminded me of her. For days, I'd wonder about her, missing her, yet too proud to pick up the phone and call." He looked at Grace and grinned sheepishly. "Sounds corny, doesn't it?"

  "No, not at all. Sounds like the Burke Benning I've come to know and care about."

  They walked in silence for a few minutes in the light of the rising moon. Burke slipped the shell into his pants pocket.

  "When do you leave?" Grace asked in a whisper, breaking the silence.

  "I fly to Colorado in the morning."

  She grew serious and gripped his hands fiercely. She tossed her luxurious hair over her shoulders. "No good-bye's, Benning, okay?"

  "No good-byes, Grace, no good-byes," he replied, drawing his dear friend into a hug, placing a delicate kiss on her forehead.

  Out of nowhere, brilliant lights exploded from the tall sea oats that grew along the beach. Photographers leapt out of hiding and surrounded them, their camera flashes bursting and blinding.

  "Run for the house," Burke said low and firm in her ear. They dashed for the cottage steps.

  The photographers slipped and stumbled in the sand as they scrambled to follow, their cameras still whizzing and flashing. Burke reached the low brick wall that surrounded the starlet's home and with deft precision, unlatched the rod iron gate. They slipped inside, disappearing into the darkness, safe from the intruding eyes of the cameras.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A shopping basket hung from Belle's hand as she stood in the middle of t
he grocery store soap aisle reading bottles of bath soap, amazed that each one promised some sort of emotional healing.

  "Wash away stress," she read aloud with a guttural scoff and a roll of her eyes.

  If it were only that easy, she thought, picking up one of the products and dropping it into her basket.

  Ever since Burke's guest appearance on the David Dubois show, she'd been fighting the stress of disappointment, struggling with missing him.

  How did he become so much a part of her day? How did he manage to touch her heart so quickly? He only worked at the Bar J for a couple of weeks. She now routinely looked for his face in the morning, listened for the sound of his voice and felt a hollow pang the second she remembered he would not be there.

  Daily she captured her thoughts, willing herself not to think of him. The task was tedious and wearisome.

  Several minutes passed before she realized she still stood in the middle of the aisle. With a sigh, she turned to leave, a slight ache creeping over her scalp and down the back of her head.

  We're out of aspirin. Get aspirin. She tipped her head back to read the aisle indexes, searching for aspirin and the aisle number.

  "Excuse me, lady. You're in my way."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," Belle said, stepping aside. She looked up as the other customer passed. "Spence."

  "Hello, Belle," he said, his brown eyes laughing as he wrapped her in an exaggerated hug. "How are you, pretty lady?"

  She forced a smile. "I'm okay."

  He took a step back, shaking his dark head. "Frankly, Belle, I've seen you look better."

  "What a nice thing to say, counselor."

  Placing a protective arm around her shoulders, Spence walked with her toward the aspirin aisle. He pushed his cart with his free hand. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing," she said curtly as she picked up the first aspirin bottle she spotted and tossed it into her basket.

  He followed as she headed back up the aisle. "Sure ol' Spence can't help? I know people--" He lowered his voice and spoke out the side of his mouth.

  She laughed quietly. "What? Did you join the mob?"

  "No, just figuring out a way to make you laugh."

  "I needed to laugh," she said, choosing a checkout line.

  Spence stood in line behind her and said, "You going to tell me--" He stopped abruptly.

  Belle glanced around to see what interrupted his question. His crooked smile had faded, and shock shrouded his face.

  "What are you looking at?" she asked. Her gaze followed his, stopping at the magazine rack beside the cash register. There, on the cover of two major tabloids, was a picture of Burke on a beach with Grace in his arms. It appeared that they were kissing, but the enlarged, dark photo lacked detail and the images were murky and grainy. Several smaller insets depicted them walking along the beach, then running away from the cameras hand in hand toward a high brick wall.

  A bold headline sprawled across the page. "Football great Burke Benning proposes marriage on a romantic Malibu beach."

  "Belle, come on, you can't believe those rags," Spence said with an exaggerated chuckle. "You know Burke wouldn't--" Words failed him.

  She couldn't look at him, her vision blurred by tears.

  "That'll be nine eighty-five," the cashier said to Belle.

  She fumbled in her purse for her wallet, her hands trembling as she reached for a ten-dollar bill. She felt weak and desperate inside, void of courage and hope. She wanted to pretend it didn't matter that Burke loved Grace and would be married to her. But it did matter. It did.

  When the cashier handed her change and her purchase, Belle mumbled a hushed good-bye to Spence.

  "Belle, wait," he called after her, stuck in the checkout line behind his cart.

  "Gotta go," she said, her words choked and washed with tears. She managed to walk nobly out of the store, her head high. But once outside, away from Spencer's knowing eye, she ran across the parking lot to her truck and slipped in behind the wheel, succumbing to a torrent of tears.

  ***

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Benning," the first-class steward said as Burke buckled himself into his window seat. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

  "A diet soda, please," Burke said, settling back and closing his eyes.

  His trip to Colorado had proved profitable though exhausting. His days were packed with handling last minute details, rearranging his financial accounts, putting his house on the market and saying good-bye to friends.

  "Here you are." The steward placed a full glass of soda on Burke's tray table. "May I have your autograph?" He handed him a torn piece of notepaper and a pen.

  Burke smiled and asked his name, scribbling a few words on the paper before handing it back to him. He sipped his drink and stared out the small plane window, his thoughts drifting to home, to Belle.

  He wondered how the Bar J had faired without him for the past week and a half. He missed the tender nudge of Little General's nose on his hand and the song of the birds at sunrise. He missed the sound of Belle's voice and the shy way she looked away when he held her gaze too long. He missed their quiet talks in the kitchen before work, the early morning light falling across the floor like ribbons.

  He played with words in his head, planning what he would say when he saw her again. Now that he was free to express his heart, he yearned to tell her he loved her. Yet, his head warned him to take it slow, give her time to grow with the idea that he loved her.

  Quietly, he prayed for wisdom.

  In the next few minutes, the aircraft door slammed shut and jerked away from the jet way.

  The steward returned to the cabin, picking up glasses and trash, passing out reading material. When he stopped by Burke's row, he exchanged his empty glass for a small stack of magazines. "I thought you might like to read this, Mr. Benning. Congratulations."

  Burke furrowed his brow and reached for the tabloid size papers. "Thank you," he said, wondering if the news of his retirement had made headlines.

  He flipped through the stack looking for a sports magazine, but when the first gossip tabloid flashed by his view, the blood drained from his face.

  The photographer's from that night on the beach had moved quickly. Their situational photos supported a fabricated, unsubstantiated story of his engagement that would sell way more papers than the simple news of his retirement.

  He stuffed the papers in the seat pocket in front of him and fumbled under the seat for his carry-on bag, searching for his cell phone. But the plane had already taxied down the runway and the announcement to turn off all electronic equipment had been made.

  Burke sunk down into his seat. The whole world would think he'd become engaged to Grace when, in fact, the exact opposite had happened. With his head in his hands, he prayed the entire ride home.

  ***

  That evening at the Benning ranch house, sitting around the dinner table, Burke discussed the situation with his family.

  "Have you talked to Grace?" Reese asked when he finished talking.

  He nodded. "She's as upset as I am. She's had about a couple dozen calls from major news reporters, talk shows, DJs wanting an interview."

  "What are you going to do?" Elaine asked, concern in her blue eyes.

  Burke refilled his iced-tea, took a tasteless sip and set it aside. "I had John release a statement denying our engagement, but that story is not going to get any attention."

  "What are your alternatives?" his father asked.

  "Fight, take the papers to court, draw more attention to the situation than it deserves," Burke concluded.

  "Doesn't sound smart," Reese said.

  "No, it doesn't. I'm just angry."

  "Let it go, son," Elaine said, stretching across the table to place her hand on his. "Let the Lord take care of this."

  "Your reputation is in His hands," Reese added.

  His parents' advice made sense to Burke. In fact, it confirmed the impression he had from the Lord while praying on the flight home. Yet, it seemed so u
nfair to let them get away with such malicious gossip.

  "Have you talked to Belle?" his mother asked.

  "Not yet, I've been on the phone doing damage control since Dean picked me up at the airport. I tried her once, but got the machine."

  "You think she's seen the tabloids?" Elaine wondered.

  "Hard to say. She told me she's avoided checkout line magazines since I left town and went pro. She hates them and doesn't pay attention to them."

  "I don't like them either," Elaine said. "But son, that headline is hard to miss. It must be an inch tall."

  Burke got up from the table and pulled his car keys from his pocket. "It's late and I'm tired. I'm going home and forget about this for tonight. Besides, I have a seven a.m. practice that I need to be focused on for tomorrow." He kissed his mother on the cheek and thanked her for dinner. "I'll call Belle later."

  "See ya, Pop," he said, patting his father on the shoulder as he strode toward the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The clash of shoulder pads resounded in the warm September air as the Haskell Haymakers executed drill after drill during their afternoon practice. Burke watched intensely from the middle of the field, arms crossed as he studied the players, formulating ways to mold his team.

  He jotted a few notes and conferred with his offensive line coach. Since the start of twice-a-day workouts three weeks ago, they'd come a long way, rapidly overcoming the awkward moments between a new coach and his players. By the time school started they'd gained appreciation for one another and acted as a team.

  Their first game last Friday ended with an at home victory. The town folks had turned out in droves, enthusiastically showing their support for the new era in Haymaker football.

  The news media also turned out in droves, hounding him during practice and after their first game. Reporters and cameramen scrambled for the exclusive on Burke Benning's switch from star tailback to high school coach.

  Burke accommodated as many networks, magazines, and newspapers as he could until it wore him down and negatively impacted the team. After a few weeks, he limited the national press coverage to a few reporters he knew and trusted.