Fourth and Goal

by Jami Davenport

  "I tripped. Again.” Rachel tugged on the bottom of her skirt to cover her knees.

  Derek raised one eyebrow but didn't pursue that line of conversation. Smart man. He bounded up the porch steps and angled around to look at the laptop screen. “Damn. You're incredible. You've color-coded your to-do lists?” He scanned the details. “This is for me."

  "Absolutely. We'll start tomorrow evening with some hand-eye coordination drills."

  "I do those all the time."

  "You'll be doing more of them."

  "Razor talked to you."

  "Maybe. Maybe I did my research. Maybe both."

  "Damn. I'm impressed."

  "Thanks.” She'd always had a talent for quickly and efficiently organizing any task without getting bogged down in minutiae. It was one of her strengths. In college she'd organized his homework assignments and other tasks and saved him countless hours of frustration, not to mention wasted time.

  "You should play up your organizational abilities. It's a talent."

  "I can't imagine how that'd help me become a scout."

  "It plays right into scouting. Don't you think those guys have to keep track of every little detail of every player they're scouting?"

  "I guess you're right."

  "Everyone has to start somewhere. You don't walk into a job like scouting. Use your talents as your way in. Capitalize on them."

  He picked up the book sitting on the porch. Studying it, he turned it over to read the back-cover blurb. “Allie K. Adams, huh? ‘If it doesn't sizzle, it's not hot enough'? Rae, I never would have pegged you as someone who reads this kind of playbook in your spare time.” He assessed her as if he'd never really seen this side of her.

  Well, she had to get her kicks somewhere. Allie K. Adams's books made for great company on lonely nights. “It's not my book. It's Cass's. She wants me to read it.” All part of Cass's campaign to change her image. “Ty liked it too."

  "Ty? No way in hell. He can't even read."

  "You'd be surprised. Some men enjoy romance."

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you hinting I'm not romantic and Tyler is?” He seemed incredulous.

  "I wouldn't know, and it's none of my concern."

  He frowned as he considered that. Flipping open the book to a spot in the middle, he read a few paragraphs to himself. His eyes got bigger. His face turned red. He looked up from the book. “Have you read this book? It's kinky. No wonder Tyler likes it."

  "I've read several just like it,” she lied. A partial lie—she did intend to read it.

  "No way.” He shook his head in disbelief, but she could tell he was worried. Rachel turned away and made a show of throwing the ball for Simon.

  He stared at her for a long minute. “You're bullshitting me."

  She raised one eyebrow and gave her most innocent “little ol’ me?” expression. His sexy mouth crooked in a grin; those warm brown eyes twinkled with mischief. Oh Lord, she wanted to taste that mouth again, wrap herself in those strong arms, and beg him to carry her to the bedroom. Maybe she'd even read him a few passages from Allie's book to set the scene—not that they'd need much encouragement.

  Her heart forgot to beat. She missed him, everything about him. He'd kept his hands to himself so far. What if he didn't? Then where would she be? Most likely ripping the man's clothes off and running her hands all over that toned body. One night, just one more night with him. What she'd give for that.

  Now she was thinking like a country song.

  Heaven help her. Grabbing the book from him, she fanned herself with the hot romance novel, but doing so only served to fan those flames. Derek removed it from her hand. Smoldering dark eyes held hers for a brief moment.

  Snapping his fingers at his dog, he turned to leave.

  "Derek, where are you going with my book?"

  "I'm borrowing it. I want to see what I'm missing."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  Reading the Defense

  Rachel adopted her best no-nonsense pose—easy to do in her perfect casual business attire. It wasn't so easy to feel a level of comfort in these clothes. She wondered if she'd ever get used to them. Cass had a knack for finding dirt-cheap clothes in all sorts of places, from bargain basement sales to secondhand stores. A whistle, courtesy of Derek, hung around her neck.

  Her manner of dress instilled a wariness in Derek that kept him at arm's length, another excellent reason to continue the ruse. Thank goodness, because Razor's outrageous suggestion on how to relax Derek made her even more aware of Derek's sexuality. The chemistry between them sizzled like a live electric charge. The suggestion had been ridiculous, of course, even if a teensy part of her toyed with the possibility. Men often revealed their innermost secrets during bedroom play.

  Tyler stood about ten feet away, jaws moving with a steady stream of complaints, as he tossed a football in the air.

  "He bitches like an old woman.” Derek winked at Rachel, and she nodded agreement.

  "Hey, I heard that.” Tyler groused. “This is fucking stupid. A fucking waste of time. I can't believe we're doing this. This is fucking junior high stuff. Peewee football shit. Basic crap. We're way beyond this."

  "You're never beyond the basics, Grandma. Quit your griping,” Derek shot back.

  Tyler flipped him the bird.

  Derek laughed and turned to Rachel, ignoring the white noise caused by Tyler's grumbling. “Okay, boss, what's next?"

  Rachel outlined the next exercise she wanted them to run, per instructions from Razor. “Ty, I want you to stand five yards away. Toss the ball both overhead and low. Derek, practice turning different ways and catching the ball. Keep your eyes on the point of the ball."

  "You're fucking kidding me?” Tyler snorted from his post a few yards away. “I could run these piece-of-shit drills in my sleep."

  "Then shut your eyes and do it!” She'd never found Tyler the least bit intimidating. She'd figured him out long ago. His bluster and badass attitude concealed a very confused and insecure person. People rarely spared the time to scratch beneath his surface to see the real person underneath. They took him at face value and loved to hate him. He perpetuated the myth and encouraged the hatred, basking in the attention.

  Derek, on the other hand, just wanted everyone to love him, like a big, faithful dog. Together they'd been the best players her father ever produced.

  Rachel blew her whistle. “A hundred times. Get started, boys. We don't have all night."

  Frowning, Tyler looked at his cousin. “I don't remember her being this bossy."

  "It's the suit.” Derek sighed and took his position.

  For the next couple of hours, Tyler tossed the ball and Derek caught it. Rachel blew her whistle and gave orders. The guys worked until sweat dripped off their brows and left patches on their T-shirts. Once they settled in, Tyler went right to work, perfectionist that he was. It didn't matter if he was lobbing a short pass or throwing a bomb, he took each pass as seriously as a touchdown pass in a regular season game. He berated his cousin for every dropped ball and bobbled pass. Rachel let him talk. She wouldn't be there to shut him up during a game. Afterward they stood together and discussed the results.

  "Thanks, Rae.” Derek grinned at her, a little of the old confidence shining in his eyes. Her heart flip-flopped, and she smiled back.

  Tyler smacked her on the back. “You're all right. You know that? You can be my coach any day."

  Rachel stumbled, but Derek was ready. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him. Tyler watched them both with sharp, knowing eyes. For once he held his tongue.

  "Sorry.” Tyler almost looked contrite.

  "That's okay, Ty.” She pushed away from Derek. He dropped his arm from around her, almost as if he'd forgotten it was there.

  Tyler threw back his head and howled. “You two are so fucking pathetic. Just hop in the sack and get it over with.” Turning, he sauntered to his car. His laughter drifted on the evening bree
ze.

  Derek scanned the sparse crowd for Rachel and found her sitting with Mitch directly behind the bench about twenty rows up. His former good buddy caught his eye, glared at him, and gave him the one-finger salute. Derek faced the field and wiped the image from his mind. Time to concentrate on the game, not the past. The game was all that mattered and the only thing partially under his control.

  The Rams kicked off to the Jacks, and the punt returner bobbled the ball, falling on it ten yards from the wrong end zone. A few plays later, Dante leaped in the air to make an impossible catch on an overthrown ball. As he came down, two defenders slammed into him. His body rocketed several yards before bouncing across the turf like a rock skimming a pond. When he finally came to rest, he didn't move.

  Shit.

  The trainers tore out to the field. Derek stood with the rest of his teammates, straining to catch a glimpse of Dante and sending up a silent prayer for him to be okay. After several nerve-racking minutes, Dante wobbled to his feet and staggered off the field wedged between two huge tackles.

  "Ramsey, get your ass in there!"

  Derek jumped, so absorbed in worry about Dante that HughJack's bellowing startled him.

  He strapped on his helmet and raced onto the field. One sack and a broken play later, the Jacks were backed up to their end zone, third down and twenty-two on the one. HughJack threw down his battered clipboard, stomped on it, and cussed a blue streak. Their second regular game of the season was turning to crap.

  Tyler shot a defiant glare at HughJack. Determination etched on his face, he nodded at Derek as they broke the huddle. Derek knew the meaning of the nod; he'd seen it all through high school and college. Throwing caution to the wind, Tyler called an audible at the line of scrimmage.

  Derek ran his pattern, surprised to find no one covering him. They obviously didn't consider him a threat. Well, fuck that. The insult gave him renewed strength.

  Tyler looked in the opposite direction for an open receiver. The defenders scrambled in that direction. He sidestepped a diving linebacker and spun around. Cocking his arm, he lobbed a short pass in his cousin's direction. Derek caught it in one hand and put it away. No one was getting this ball out of his arms. He turned upfield. One glance verified it was a foot race.

  With his speed, the defense didn't stand a chance. Surging with confidence, he eluded a couple of tacklers angling toward him from the sidelines and turned on the afterburners. His feet pounded on the ground and ate up the yards. His lungs pumped air. His eyes focused on the goalposts at the opposite end of the field. He listened for footsteps behind him, even chanced a glance over his shoulder. The closest defender lagged several yards behind, quickly losing ground. He was home free and breezed into the end zone for six points.

  Doubling over, Derek rested his hands on his knees and gulped for air until his teammates caught up to him and slapped the hard-won oxygen back out of his lungs. The half-full stadium erupted with noise. Derek stood up, only to have Tyler hit him full force. He would have gone flying if a 330-pound lineman hadn't held him up.

  Tyler, ever the attention whore, showboated and shoved his fist in the air, dancing around his teammates. Derek cradled the ball in his arms, his first professional touchdown in four years. The ball would be going home with him.

  Sidestepping invitations to after-game parties, Derek slipped out of the locker room and headed home. After his touchdown run, he had caught a few short passes. The Jacks lost by a last-minute field goal, which sucked. Zero and two. The loss soured the good feeling he'd gotten from his touchdown.

  He didn't relish sitting in that big old rambling house by himself, so he parked in front of the barn. Rachel's place was dark, but her truck was in the driveway. Bummed, he walked down the aisle and breathed in the comforting scent of horses. For as long as he could remember, horses had given him peace. As a little boy, missing his mother, he'd spent more time in the barn than in the house.

  He talked softly to each horse as he went. Derek grabbed a handful of carrots from the bucket by the tack room and a brush from the shelf. He opened Mac's stall. The big stock horse nickered at him. Derek grinned at his old friend. Mac frisked him for carrots, sniffing his pockets. Derek ran a brush over the dark bay coat. His horse lowered his head and closed his eyes, relishing the personal massage.

  A gift from his rancher father for his tenth birthday, Derek would like to say he'd trained the horse himself, but not so. As a six-year-old cow horse, Mac had known his stuff, even though he needed a few more years of experience. They'd done everything together: calf roping, bulldogging, team roping, even just riding the range of his father's eastern Washington ranch.

  Derek moved the curry comb in circles, loosening the dirt, taking his time and deriving pleasure from a simple act. Mac sighed and rested one hind foot.

  The barn door slid open. Footsteps sounded on the concrete aisle, followed by a couple of missteps as if the person stumbled. A slow smile slid across Derek's face.

  Rae.

  His heart sped up. She stopped in front of the open stall door and peeked inside. Her green eyes met his, and he glimpsed the old Rachel beneath her ice princess facade. He breathed in that sweet, uniquely hers scent. His pulse quickened, and his palms started to sweat.

  Shit. This was stupid. This Rachel didn't need him on a personal level. She needed who he was and what he could do for her career. For her it was all about her ambitions, her future. And so should it be for him.

  "Hey. You okay?"

  "I'm fine. I tripped in the aisle."

  "I heard.” Her clumsiness was so damn cute.

  "I saw your truck outside."

  "Did you just get home?"

  "Mitch dropped me off. We had a bite to eat after the game.” She caught Derek's quick look and laughed. “Don't worry. He's gone."

  "Good."

  "I'm sorry he flipped you off."

  "You caught that, did you?"

  "Yes. He thinks I need protecting."

  "I've known your brothers for years. Remember?"

  "Of course."

  God, he missed her. “Remember how we used to sit around and dissect every game. Hell, you knew as much as any of us."

  "I still do, buster."

  His mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile and nodded his agreement. “I ruined a good friendship. I screwed up."

  "Actually I did.” Rachel shrugged. “I needed comfort and to forget. You helped me out.” She stared at her feet.

  "Yeah, I guess.” Feeling uncomfortable, Derek shifted his weight from one foot to the other. An awkward silence ensued until he finally broke it with a change in subject. “What did you think of the game?"

  "You're playing better, but you still aren't where you need to be."

  "I can't get in the zone."

  "You're too tight."

  His mouth grew dry. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Razor's suggestion on how he could loosen up played in living color in his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, he banished those thoughts to the locker room. Not with Rae, not that she'd even agree to it. He turned back to Mac and brushed him more vigorously. Maybe she'd be smart and remove temptation by leaving.

  "Derek?"

  No such luck. She was still there. “Yeah?” He stiffened when she touched his shoulder.

  Knowing he shouldn't, he turned to face her. She stood less than a few feet from him. His fingers itched to take her in his arms and never let her go. A hint of something flickered in her eyes. Regret? Concern? Gone in a flash, her face settled into the calm, icy persona he'd come to expect in the past month or so. Everything about her screamed unapproachable. She didn't want a relationship with him, just their business agreement and a superficial friendship.

  She was right. He knew that. She'd always had ambitions as strong as his; she'd just suppressed them. They weren't suppressed anymore, and he pitied any man who stood in her way.

  Her hand fell from his shoulder and hovered near his chest. He held his breath, waiting to see wha
t she'd do next.

  "I'm glad you had a good game.” She touched his chest, searching his eyes for something.

  "Yeah, me too.” He removed her hand from his chest and tried to smile, but his smile lodged in his throat.

  Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure Ty's on time."

  "I'll try. Good night, Rae.” He watched her leave. Her heels clicked on the concrete aisle. She actually made it out of the barn without tripping. His chest ached. He felt as empty as a football stadium with no spectators.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Ten

  Encroachment

  Derek dragged his weary body into bed. It'd been a tough couple of weeks. Up at five every morning, he worked out with Tyler at the practice facility. They did countless push-ups, sit-ups, crunches—you name it, they did it.

  After that, regular practice for several hours in which the coaches, especially Razor, were relentless.

  In the evening on even nights, the Mistress of Torture put them through devious forms of torment and physical tests for an hour or two. Derek and Tyler ran patterns over and over until they could run them from a deep coma. Even Tyler quit bitching and followed Rachel's orders. Derek had always known she had steel in her, but never like this.

  On odd nights, they evaluated game film, either with Rachel or at the practice facility with the guys. Derek even managed to cram in a few hours of charity appearances a week, finding it hard to say no to anyone with a good cause.

  Definitely running on empty, his mind was almost too tired to think of Rachel as anything but a taskmaster, one advantage to his constant state of exhaustion. Not that she didn't look damned attractive in her workout suit; a woman who had a whistle and knew how to use it was sexy as hell.

  Yet all the sweat and muscle aches didn't pay off. Arizona blew the Jacks out in an embarrassing 47-14 defeat, and they fell to zero and three.

  Tomorrow the team played at home. Derek would be damned if he'd walk off the field with his tail tucked between his legs again. They were going to win this one. A team could rescue their season with only three losses, but add another one, and it started getting out of hand.