by Emily March
He expected to hear the bathroom door close. Instead, a few moments later, he heard his front door open, then softly close.
What the hell? Lucca sat up, staring like a fool at the empty doorway. She left? She just up and left?
Damn. That was a first. No woman had ever done that to him before.
So, the kindergarten teacher comes over for a booty call, then sneaks out at first light? What is that all about?
Completely sober now, he replayed the scene from the previous night in his mind. He recalled her desperation, her pain. Why couldn’t she be alone last night? What did she want to forget?
He thought about the sex. It had been … wild. Primal. She’d clawed at him, and he knew for certain that when he showered, he’d see the scratches to prove it. A sudden worry occurred. He hadn’t hurt her, had he? Was that why she had sneaked away? Sure, he’d been lit, but he hadn’t been falling-down drunk. He didn’t hurt women in bed.
No, he hadn’t hurt her. She’d acted as if he’d saved her. She’d acted as if he’d been her lifeline.
There’s another first. He’d never been anyone’s lifeline before. He didn’t know how he felt about the idea. Talk about role reversal.
Why? What misery had driven Little Miss Sunshine Kindergarten Teacher to such despair that she needed mindless sex to chase it away?
As he rose from his bed and padded toward his bathroom to take a shower, Lucca decided he wanted the answer. Now, how best to go about getting it?
Hope spent Sunday holed up in her house. She was embarrassed, mortified, and—honesty made her admit it—deliciously satisfied. She couldn’t believe what she’d done Saturday night, but she couldn’t entirely regret it, either.
What shamed her was the fact that she’d snuck out of his bed and house without having the courage to face him. Never in her life had she been so … what? Cowardly? Needy? Out of her mind? All of the above?
Was it shame that was making her feel warm as she remembered it? She’d never, ever tried to use sex to distract her from her pain. Why last night? Why with Lucca Romano?
Because he was damaged, too. Because whether he knew it or not, they had that in common.
And, frankly, because he did it for her. She’d hungered for him. She’d wanted the feel of his large hands on her, wanted his mouth, wanted to experience the sensation of having his body lying atop hers. Man, oh man, she’d gotten what she wanted. It had been the single most erotic experience of her life.
And she’d said thank you by sneaking out of his bed like a thief in the night.
That’s what shamed Hope. Not that she had turned to him in her pain, but that she didn’t have the guts to face him the morning after.
Lucca deserved an explanation. If she had any guts at all she would march over there and tell him why she’d acted the way she had. But she couldn’t do it. She could share her body, but not the secret of her heart. Not yet, anyway. After Mark’s call and her evening with the scrapbook, she needed a little more time before she could talk about Holly.
If she peeked out of her dining room window toward Lucca’s house a time or twelve just to see if she could catch a glimpse of him, well … who could blame her?
Following a mostly unproductive day, she dreamed about him that night, tossing and turning, sleeping fitfully and waking up tired. She drove her bus route, and by the time she picked up her last student, she had made a decision. Running away and hiding wasn’t right, nor was it working for her. After school, as soon as she was free, she’d track down Lucca and talk to him. She’d apologize for sneaking off Sunday morning and explain that she’d had an upsetting call from her ex and lost her … well … hmm. She couldn’t say good sense. That sounded insulting.
Well, she had all day to figure something out.
Or so she thought, until a knock on her door at the end of third period prompted her to look up from her paperwork. Lucca Romano stood in her classroom doorway. He wore jeans, a Colorado Buffaloes T-shirt, and a leather jacket. She couldn’t read the expression on his face as he said, “I’m here to serve one of my volunteer hours.”
In what way? Her cheeks flushed with warmth as an image that had no business in a kindergarten classroom flashed through her mind. “I planned to go see you after school.”
“Oh, yeah?” One corner of his mouth kicked up in a slow grin. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across his broad chest. “Maybe my volunteer efforts can wait another day.”
She glanced at the clock. “I have a parent conference in five minutes, but my lunch period is after that. Do you like chicken salad?”
“I do.”
“Want to share my sandwich?”
Challenge lit his green eyes. “Got any chips to go with it?”
“Carrot sticks.”
“Oh. I’m afraid that’s a deal breaker.”
“I could probably scare up some potato chips.”
“All right, then.” He straightened. “It’s a date.”
A date. Hope blinked. She’d forgotten all about their Friday dinner date. Had he?
Well, no matter. Friday was still five days away. Lunch was in half an hour. “It’s a nice day. There’s a small courtyard off the teachers’ lounge where I like to eat my lunch. I usually have it to myself. I could meet you there in thirty minutes.”
He nodded. “Thirty minutes, then. In the meantime, I’ll see if Principal Geary doesn’t have something I can do to knock out half an hour of my volunteering sentence.”
Hope rolled her eyes, but when she left her classroom for her meeting moments later, she was smiling.
She met Wade Mitchell’s mother in the conference room. A trim woman in her late forties, Darla Mitchell wore jeans, a blue chambray shirt, and cowboy boots that befit her position as a rancher’s wife. “Hello, Mrs. Mitchell.”
“Ms. Montgomery. Thank you so much for seeing me.”
“I’m always happy to speak to parents. I have to tell you, Wade is such a nice young man.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there a problem I’m not aware of?”
Darla gave a heavy sigh. “Not a problem, exactly. More of … well … it’s complicated. Wade tells me the school hasn’t hired a basketball coach? Practice starts soon, and you’re filling in?”
Oh, now Hope understood the reason for the conference request. “Mr. Geary did hire someone, but he quit right before school started, and Mr. Geary couldn’t find a replacement. I’m the only teacher here who played ball in high school.”
“I see.”
“So do I, Mrs. Mitchell. Wade is an excellent player and he deserves a better coach.”
“Well, that sounds embarrassingly rude, but … yes. You see, he has a complicated situation at home. If I share the story with you, may I have your word that you will be discreet with the information?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, then.” She exhaled a heavy breath. “I am squarely in the middle here, and I feel like I’m betraying my husband by doing this, but … Wade wants to go to college. He and I believe that the only way to make it happen is for him to earn an athletic scholarship.”
“Colleges offer financial aid, Mrs. Mitchell. I’m sure—”
“The money isn’t the problem. Well, it’s part of it, but Wade’s biggest stumbling block is his father. He doesn’t want Wade to go to college. He doesn’t see the need for it. Frankly, the idea scares him half to death because of something that happened in the past.”
She went on to explain that her husband was fighting for all he was worth to save the family ranch. “It’s his legacy, it’s Wade’s legacy, and my husband thinks Wade can learn everything he needs to know by working the ranch.”
“Wade doesn’t want to be a rancher?”
“No, that’s what is making this tricky. If he didn’t want to be a rancher, he could defy his father and go off and pursue whatever dreams he has. But he loves the ranch and he wants a future in ranching. He just wants to go to college first. He wants tha
t experience before coming home and settling down, but my husband is afraid to let him go. You see, my husband has been down that road before. His much younger brother—who was more of a son to him than a sibling—went off to college and never returned to Storm Mountain. He won’t admit it, but that broke my husband’s heart.”
“I can understand that,” Hope said, sympathy washing through her. “What I don’t understand is why a basketball scholarship would be different from an academic scholarship to him.”
“I won’t claim that this whole thing makes sense because it’s all based on emotions rather than logic. It’s different to David if one is recruited rather than applying.”
“All right, then. What assistance are you looking for from me?”
Again, Darla Mitchell inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. “I want to do what is best for both my son and my husband. As the team leader this year, you can be Wade’s advocate. I’m not trying to be rude, but someone with my son’s raw talent needs someone with the knowledge and experience to develop it. I can’t hire or even request a private coach. It would cause too much dissension in the family. But, as this year’s coach, you can bring someone on to help the team. I know that Gabi Romano played college ball. She shot baskets with Wade at the fund-raiser last week. Sheriff Turner played college basketball, too, so he could help if he could find time, though I know he has his hands full running the sheriff’s department. Then, of course, there is Coach Romano.”
She said it like “There is the Holy Grail.”
This time Hope was the one releasing a sigh. “I’m with you, Mrs. Mitchell. Both Principal Geary and I have been thinking in that same direction. He told me just this morning that he spoke to Zach and Gabi over the weekend. They’ve agreed to help as their schedules allow. As far as Lucca Romano goes … that’s tougher.”
“Wade saw him dunk the ball Friday night. He hasn’t stopped talking about it since.”
Hope had watched the boys’ basketball team play last year, and she knew that Wade was a talented player. “Lucca claims to be retired from coaching. I believe he is firm in that decision.”
“Maybe if we couched it in terms other than coaching? Consulting, perhaps? If Zach and Gabi can help with Wade’s fundamentals, and maybe get their brother Tony to visit for a private coaching clinic for Wade, then maybe Coach Lucca Romano could advise you on what Wade needs to do to catch the notice of scouts and recruiters?”
“Maybe.” Hope thought it over. Wade’s mother had a point. Who knew what Lucca would think of the proposal? Maybe it would be just the sort of thing he needed to ease back into that part of his life. “I certainly don’t see what it would hurt to ask. Heaven knows, I can use all the help I can get.”
“Thank you, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Hope. Please, call me Hope.”
“It’s a fitting name. I’m sorry to put you in the middle of family business, but I justify it because it’s part of a coach’s job to advocate for her players. However, I’m not a helicopter parent. No matter what happens from this point on, I give you my word that this is the last you will hear from me on this topic.”
“I will do my best to help Wade. I agree that it is part of my job. I’m glad you came to me, and, please, don’t hesitate to contact me about any concerns you may have in the future.”
Hope made small talk with Wade’s mother as she escorted her to the school office where she signed out of the building. A glance at the wall clock told her she had just enough time to stop by her classroom to grab a jacket and her sack lunch, and then duck into the cafeteria and purchase a bag of chips for Lucca.
She arrived at the courtyard to find him already there. He’s washing windows? His jacket lay draped over the picnic table. He had a squeegee in one hand, and a spray bottle of cleaner in the other. A white rag hung from the back pocket of his jeans. She watched his biceps bunch as he lifted his arms, and her mouth went dry.
Get your mind back where it belongs. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Washing the windows?”
“Just the top row. It’ll save your janitor quite a bit of time. He needs a step stool to reach it.” He gathered up his cleaning supplies, used a bottle of water to rinse his hands, then wiped them with the rag from his pocket while Hope set out their lunch.
“The weather is colder now than it was earlier,” she observed as she set out the chips. “This courtyard is nice because it’s sheltered from the wind. I heard we have a chance for snow later this afternoon.”
“I don’t know that I’m ready for snow,” he said. “Are those Cheetos I see?”
“And Fritos and pretzels and potato chips. I wasn’t sure of your junk food preference, so I bought some of each.”
“Love ’em all.” He lifted his long legs over the bench of the picnic table and sat. “Thanks. So, carrot sticks aside, you’re not one of those food-police types?”
“Not at all. I scored brownies for both of us in the cafeteria. They’re not as good as what Sarah bakes, but they’re not bad, either.”
“Excellent.”
He took a bite of sandwich, nodded his approval, then observed, “This is a nice little spot. I’m surprised it’s not overrun with students.”
“Access is restricted to faculty and staff. It’s our refuge, our little garden of tranquillity. I have a later lunch than the other teachers due to my half-day kindergarten, so I almost always have it to myself.”
“I’m glad, because I figure this conversation is better done in privacy.” He pinned her with a steady green-eyed stare. “So, tell me why you planned to visit me this afternoon.”
Hope looked down at her sandwich and felt her cheeks warm with a blush. “What … no easing into this?”
“I don’t know how much time you have for lunch.”
She twisted her mouth ruefully and then popped a grape into it to give her a moment to collect her thoughts. Its sour taste made her pucker. “I wanted to apologize to you for sneaking out of your house Sunday morning. That wasn’t well done of me.”
“Apology accepted.” He reached for one of her carrot sticks and bit into it with a crunch. While she frowned at him—hadn’t he claimed carrots sticks to be a deal breaker?—he studied her. He came to some sort of decision, because he nodded once and said, “I owe you an apology too, Hope. You were obviously upset and if I’d been a gentleman, I would have put the brakes on things.”
“I didn’t go looking for a gentleman, Lucca. I went looking for escape.”
“Escape from what?”
Hope sucked in a heavy breath. She had to go down this road. Part of the way, anyway. She owed him that much. “I had a phone call from my ex. It wasn’t pleasant.”
“Ah.” He took a bite from his half sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Tell me about your ex.”
“I’d rather not. It’d give me indigestion. Can we change the subject please? I’d like to tell you about the parent conference I mentioned.”
He gave her a long considering look, and she could see his inner debate. He wanted to press her. Hope lifted her chin. She had no intention of being pressed.
“All right, then,” he conceded. “I’ll keep my opinions about harassment to myself. Just tell me this. How long have you been divorced?”
Hope breathed a sigh of relief. “Four years. End of story. So, about my parent conference … we have a senior student named Wade Mitchell. His parents are local ranchers. He’s a good student, but not an exceptional one. I expect him to graduate with a B+ average. He is, however, an exceptional athlete.”
She didn’t miss her lunch partner’s subtle tensing. Nevertheless, she pressed on. “He’s tall and strong from his ranch work. He has quick reflexes and he thinks on his feet. He plays basketball.”
Lucca set down his sandwich. “Hope, if you’re thinking what I think you are thinking, then save your breath.”
“Just hear me out. Would you, please?”
“It won’t matter.”
“Our basketball coach quit just befor
e school started. Our principal couldn’t find a replacement. I’m filling in. Me. I haven’t played basketball since high school. Wade has the raw talent to play for a college team, Lucca, but he needs to develop his skills and he needs … we need … to call him to the attention of the decision makers.”
“No,” he said flatly and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.
Annoyed now, she wasn’t going to let it go. It was time he stopped wallowing. “The first practice is this afternoon. Helping Wade could count for your volunteer pledge. Wouldn’t it be easier to coach the young man a little than to go around the school washing the high windows? You could make a tremendous difference in that young man’s life. Wade Mitchell needs you.”
“I said no.”
“Why?” Irritation sharpened her tone. “Lucca, you’re not even thinking about it.”
“I don’t have to. No way, Hope. I saw the kid. You’re right, he does have talent. But I’m not a mentor, a teacher, or a coach.”
“What are you then? A paint scraper?”
“Presently, yes.”
“Well, that’s ambitious.” She wanted to reach across the table and shake him. “What are you going to do beyond that? Continue to wallow?”
Irked, Lucca scowled at her. “‘Wallow’? Seems you didn’t mind it the other night.” He tossed down his napkin and stood up to leave. “I don’t need this, Hope.”
“I think you do. You need it more than you’ll ever realize. You didn’t die in that van wreck, Lucca. You are still here. And all you’re doing is existing. You need to give something back and start living again.”
Before he could retort, she went on. “There are people in this world who have lived through all nine circles of hell and are still putting one foot in front of the other. They give back. Do you know why? Because it helps. It makes you feel better. It reminds you that you’re still alive even though you might wish you were dead.”
His eyes angry, he fired his words like bullets. “Seems to me that I’ve already done my share of giving. I gave you all you could handle the other night, didn’t I? You wanted escape, and I gave you a place to go. I didn’t ask for explanations or strings, and I’m damn sure not asking for advice.” He grabbed up his jacket. “So, thanks for the sandwich. And for the screw. Beyond that, we’re done here.”
