The Weather Girl

by Amy Vastine

  “Observe away,” he said, as if he didn’t think he could stop her anyway.

  “You have an insatiable curiosity. I see that in the pictures you take. I hear it in the questions you ask. Don’t be trapped by your past. Anything is possible. Start dreaming.” She nudged him with her elbow. “What about Travis Lockwood, Lion Tamer?”

  The look on his face said she was crazy. “Are we really doing this?”

  “Come on,” she encouraged.

  Travis shook his head but played along. “I hate cats. Big and small.”

  “All right, no cats.” She hummed and thought. “What about Travis Lockwood, Restaurateur? No cats. All the barbecue you want. Reasonable and achievable.”

  “Much more doable,” he said, adjusting the zoom lens and snapping a few pictures of those carefree clouds floating above them.

  “Ever think about Travis Lockwood, Motivational Speaker?”

  His camera came down and those eyebrows pinched together again. “Motivational speaker? Really? You think people want to hear me talk?”

  “You were pretty inspirational to those high-school boys. I think lots of people would listen to you talk.”

  He didn’t seem so sure about that. He continued taking pictures while they took turns coming up with new and interesting vocations to which Travis could aspire. Her favorite was Travis Lockwood, Eating Challenge Champion. There was a hot wings competition at this little place near the station she was going to make sure he entered. She was about to mention it to him when a loud clicking noise went off by her ear. Summer sat up on her elbows. Just then, water shot out of the in-ground sprinkler, hitting her with a force she couldn’t have expected.

  They both jumped up as the entire field came to life, showering the dried-up grass and the two friends with shockingly cold water. Travis protected his camera and ran for the track. The old groundskeeper shouted at the younger man, who must have accidentally turned the system on. He was now oblivious because of the music being pumped into his ears.

  Instead of running, Summer stood in the middle of the field and laughed. Once she got used to it, the cool water felt nice. She lifted her arms and tilted her face up to the sky. She closed her eyes and spun around as if dancing in the rain like when she was little. It was her mother’s favorite thing to do. They’d strip off their socks and shoes and jump around in the wet grass while the heavens poured down. Their clothes would stick to their skin, and their hair would flatten and fall in their faces, but it was the best part of storm chasing.

  Summer opened her eyes to find Travis standing on the track with his camera in hand. He took one more photo of her before bringing the camera down. The old groundskeeper finally figured out how to shut the sprinklers off and the water stopped its assault. Summer locked eyes with Travis, and her heart picked up the pace.

  He moved toward her slowly, never breaking his stare. Summer let her gaze wander from the slightly damp T-shirt that stretched across his chest, to his narrow hips and back up to his clean-shaven, taut jawline. He stopped in front of her and placed a hand on her cheek. There was a strange uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Did you know that one inch of rain falling over one square mile is somewhere around 17.4 million gallons of water?” Summer asked, wishing the wet ground would open up and swallow her whole.

  “Why did you invite me here?” His tone had an edge to it.

  Summer wanted to step back but was frozen. “I’m trying to help you.”

  Travis dropped his hand, releasing the imaginary hold he had on her. “Help me what?”

  “Find what you love to do, so you can do it,” she admitted. It sounded almost as strange as her weather facts. She was sure the next question would be why. Why did she want to help him?

  Travis bent down to snatch up the camera bag that he’d left behind when he ran for the track. “Anything to get your thirty seconds back, right? If I leave KLVA, you’ll get what you want. Sorry to disappoint you, Weather Girl. It looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  His accusation was unexpected. He shoved his camera in the wet bag, then slung it over his shoulder. Summer watched as he strode away, wiping the water from her face. His mood changed faster than the weather around these parts, but unlike the weather, this she had never seen coming.

  CHAPTER TEN

  TRAVIS WAS IN trouble. Big trouble. He was falling. Falling for a blond-haired, blue-eyed weather girl. A girl with heartbreaker written all over her. It was pathetic, really, and he hated himself for letting it happen. That was why he’d lashed out at her on Saturday. It was easier that way. If he let himself believe for one second that she cared about him, he was a bigger fool than he’d been with Brooke.

  He didn’t know how to deal with this unexpected turn. When Ken hatched his plan for them to work together, Travis thought for sure they were so incompatible there would be no risk of getting involved. The best part about Summer was that she didn’t like him. He wasn’t even sure that had changed. She tolerated him. Now he didn’t know what he wanted. Most of the time, he wanted to kiss her. Other times, he wanted to shake her...and then kiss her. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as confused as he thought. His problem was, kissing Summer Raines wasn’t going to make him what she wanted or needed.

  Conner wasn’t wrong when he’d teased him about not being good enough for her. Summer needed a guy who knew what he wanted out of life, the way she did. She needed a guy who took chances and didn’t let fear get in his way. She needed a man with some confidence. If he couldn’t figure out how to be what she needed, she would leave just like Brooke, and Travis wasn’t up for that kind of heartache.

  There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on when it came to Summer. He didn’t know why, but he felt she always had one foot out the door. Something tethered her to Abilene, but it was only a matter of time before that woman broke free. He could tell by the way she pushed him to look for more out of his own life. Summer was born to run—literally and figuratively.

  Travis’s uncertainty accompanied him to the gym at the crack of dawn Monday morning to meet Conner. Lifting weights required focus that allowed him to shut out everything else. All he could think about was the burn of his muscles and the rep count.

  “You sure you want to do that much weight?” Conner stood behind the bench press, ready to spot. “I thought you were supposed to increase the reps before you increase the weight.”

  Travis sat down on the bench. He was pushing himself, searching for that relief. He didn’t need to be babied; he knew his limits. “It’s fine. My shoulder can’t take a hit from a three-hundred-pound lineman. You plannin’ on tackling me?”

  Conner frowned, unamused. “The last thing I need is to have to explain to Dad why you’re back in the hospital, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Travis lay back and gripped the bar with both hands. “I’m never playing ball again. So what’s it matter?” Conner had nothing to say to that. No one ever did. Everyone was used to football and Travis being synonymous— like Summer and the weather. Summer. Thinking about Summer wasn’t helping. He lifted the barbell, focusing on his breathing and form. He did twelve reps before setting it back down.

  “You all right?” Conner asked from above him.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look...troubled.”

  “Troubled?”

  “Remember when Mom got you that math tutor because algebra was kicking your butt? Every time she came over, you got this look on your face.” Conner laughed and Travis scowled. “You have that look right now, buddy. Troubled.”

  Travis ignored him. “Again,” he said, lifting the bar. One, two, three. Summer was worse than a quadratic equation. There was something about her that made Travis feel as if at any moment a storm would roll through and take her with it. Eight, nine, ten. Sweat began to drip down his temple. The muscles in his chest f
elt the burn. Eleven, twelve. He set the weights down.

  “Is it the weather girl?” Conner asked. He was much smarter than he looked.

  “No, this isn’t about the weather girl. Don’t talk about her.” He picked up the bar again. It felt as if it had doubled in weight. He got six reps in before it became too much and Conner had to help him set it back down.

  “So it’s the weather girl,” Conner said, ignoring his brother’s demand.

  Travis tried to lift the bar again, but Conner pushed down so it was impossible. Travis sat up in defeat. “I’m used to knowing exactly where I’m headed. Never had to think too much about anything, you know?”

  Conner nodded. Travis couldn’t have been much older than nine or ten when he’d told his brother he was going to play ball at UT. Not only that, but he’d be the first player to be drafted into the NFL from Sweetwater High since Sammy Baugh back in 1937. The future was predetermined. All Travis had to do was stay on course, never veer from the goal. He couldn’t have imagined the road closing down on him. There were no detours, no alternative routes. He was lost without a map, and worse, without a new destination.

  “What’s Dad think?”

  Travis tried not to laugh too loudly. It always came down to what their dad thought. No one in the family made a decision without running it by the old man first. “He thinks I’m a loser for not letting another doctor try to patch me up so I can get out there and play.”

  “That’s harsh. I mean, they can’t really patch you up—” Conner had that hopeful look in his eyes that was like a knife through Travis’s chest “—can they?”

  Travis got up from the bench and moved to another machine. He slid the pin between the weights and sat down. “No. No one can fix me.” He didn’t bother to look at Conner and the disappointment that was certain to be written all over his face.

  “So, what’s this have to do with Summer? Who, for the record, is hot in a smart-girl kind of way.”

  “You think she’s smart?” Travis risked a glance in his brother’s direction. Smart wasn’t the way most people would describe the last couple women with whom he had had relationships. Not that he had a relationship with Summer.

  Conner settled onto the hamstring curl machine. “Let’s just say, when I jokingly asked if she made sure it wouldn’t rain on homecoming, I got a five-minute lesson on clouds and how I could tell if rain was coming by which kind was in the sky. That woman knows more about clouds than I know about football. She’s smart.”

  Travis smiled as he finished his set of leg presses. That sounded like Summer. “She’s too smart to get mixed up with someone like me. That’s what Summer has to do with this. You ever want something you know you can’t have?”

  “Travis.” Conner sounded as though he was scolding him for something he’d done wrong. “You could have that girl in a heartbeat. Don’t you see the way she looks at you?”

  “Like I annoy the hell out of her?”

  Conner laughed and tossed a sweaty towel at Travis’s head. “No, you idiot.”

  “Well, I am an idiot. I pretty much ruined everything on Saturday. If she liked me at all, she doesn’t now.”

  “This isn’t you, little brother. Where’s your confidence? And don’t say it got left on the field when you hurt your shoulder.”

  Travis shook his head. “I’m not who I was and it’s only a matter of time before everyone realizes I’m nobody without football.”

  Conner’s bulky shoulders sagged as he sighed. “You said yourself this woman doesn’t even care about football. She likes you—not some football player. Whatever you did on Saturday, apologize. Women love men who can admit they were wrong. Trust me. I admit I’m wrong all the time. It’s the only way Heidi lets me sleep in our bed most nights.”

  “You are obviously the last person I should take advice from,” Travis said, tossing the sweaty towel back at his brother.

  Conner caught it with ease. “I see the way you look at her, too. Man up and apologize. Brooke moved on. It’s time you did the same.”

  * * *

  TRAVIS WENT HOME to shower and change for work. His house was quiet, unlike the gym. Quiet and lonely. As Travis finished shaving, he thought about getting a dog. Maybe some companionship was exactly what he needed. Summer had a dog.

  He shook his head at himself in the mirror. Did all his thoughts have to lead back to Summer? Lately they did. He thought about her in the morning when he got up and noticed the sun shining as she’d predicted the night before. He thought about her when he saw a certain shade of blue or heard that song on the radio about being struck by lightning. The doorbell interrupted his latest Summer daydream. Throwing on his dress shirt, he buttoned it halfway before swinging the door open. His dad stood on his front porch with a white paper bag in one hand and a cup holder with two drinks in the other.

  “Called you twice but you didn’t pick up.” He handed the bag to Travis. “Brought you some lunch—I hope you didn’t eat yet.”

  “I must have been in the shower,” Travis said, backing up. “Smells good.”

  His dad stepped past him and checked out the new place. Back in Miami, Travis’s house was filled with all the football paraphernalia of a star quarterback. His high school and college jerseys were mounted, framed and hung in the great room. Sports Illustrated covers and the Austin Chronicle’s front-page article about his NFL draft were proudly displayed. Trophies and awards covered the mantel. In this house, the only thing Travis could bear to look at was the Heisman Trophy. The rest of it was in storage, boxed up with everything else that didn’t fit in his new life.

  “Looks like you’re settling in okay, huh?”

  Travis knew it wasn’t very impressive, but it was enough for now. Between workouts, appearances for the station and late nights in the studio, he wasn’t home much anyway. Maybe a dog was a bad idea.

  “Conner came by a few weeks ago and helped me get some pictures on the walls and such. Mom hung some curtains and bought some stuff to make it more homey.”

  His dad nodded, picking up one of the candles Olivia had placed on the end table. He lifted it to his nose and made a face. “Your mother loves buying things that make me want to sneeze.” He set it down and headed for the dining room. “Picked up some sandwiches at that barbecue place you like in Merkel.”

  The old man was full of surprises. Travis ran back to his bedroom to finish dressing, then grabbed some napkins and forks from the kitchen, suddenly feeling more than a little famished. The two men dug into their lunches and didn’t come up for air until all the food was gone. His dad asked if there were any brownies left from the box his mother sent home with him, giving Travis a reason to escape their painful silence. There had to be a reason his dad had come all this way to have lunch with his son, and something told him it wasn’t to see where he was living.

  “So,” his dad started once all the food was gone and there was no way to avoid a conversation. Sam Lockwood was a salesman and rarely a man without something to say, but today he seemed at a loss for words. The room was so quiet Travis could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen and the air conditioner kick on.

  “So,” Travis repeated. His knee began to bounce under the table. It felt as if the temperature in the house went up ten degrees. Travis cursed himself for putting on his tie already. He loosened the knot and prepared himself for the plea his dad was surely here to make. He had to be here to plead his case about seeing the doctor again. It was the only logical explanation.

  “Your mother agrees with you about the doctor.” His father leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “She doesn’t think you should see any more doctors.”

  Travis was more than surprised. He was sure his dad would have kept the whole doctor conversation to himself. Thank God for his mother. She was the only person who could tell Sam Lockwood he was wrong and get away
with it.

  “At least one of you sees it my way.”

  “I don’t understand what harm talking to the man would do, but I understand you’re ready to move on.” His dad reached into the front pocket of his perfectly pressed white shirt and pulled out a business card. He slid it across the table. “Here’s your plan B,” he said as Travis examined the card with the University of Alabama logo staring back at him. “You call this guy. He wants you to come work as a quarterback coach. They got their eye on a kid coming out of Odessa. They think you can teach him what he needs to know to be their leader in a year or two. This is as close as you’re gonna get to doing what you love.”

  Travis blinked, as if the words on the card would somehow change. Alabama? Quarterback coach? He flapped one end of the card against his hand. This was one scenario he hadn’t considered. Travis Lockwood, Quarterback Coach.

  “It’s not the same as playing, but close enough,” his dad continued. “If you work your way up, I could see you getting a head coaching job somewhere down the line. I suppose I saw that in your future after a long and successful career on the field. I think former quarterbacks make good coaches. This is a great opportunity.”

  Travis didn’t know what to say. Coaching wasn’t the same as playing, but he’d been coached by some of the best and had always been a fast learner. At the same time, coaching required a certain dedication to football Travis wasn’t sure he had in him anymore. There was also something to be said for experience— Travis had none as a coach but plenty as a player. He would know exactly what this kid from Odessa was about to face.

  “How long have you been working on this?”

  His dad shrugged. “Couple weeks ago someone reached out to me. I told the guy I didn’t think you’d be interested because I figured you’d jump at the chance to play if I could find someone who could fix you up.” As soon as he met his gaze, the disappointment and defeat staring back at him made Travis want to look away. “Guess that’s not the direction you’re headed.”