Strong and Steady Read online

  “Of course, she did,” Simon replied. He was casual in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeve button-down shirt. “How did the shoes work out?”

  He had to gloat. I had to roll my eyes.

  “I hooked an auditor named Bob or Bill.”

  “Which was it?” Looking downright gleeful, he added, “Was he any good?”

  I tilted my head down and gave him the stern look I used on Chris when he was a pain-in-the-ass teenager. “Any good? I didn’t catch his name, and there was no way I’d sleep with that guy. He ate Rocky Mountain Oysters like they were donut holes.”

  “Bull balls?” Simon cringed. “Yeah, no good. You’re too normal. You need someone who’s different. Who catches you by surprise. Someone you wouldn’t expect. And I don’t mean finding someone who eats that shit.”

  “Me, normal?” I asked, faking insult as I picked up my bag. I knew what he meant. I was plain old Emory. I worked, I worked out. I volunteered. And up until a few months ago, I was a high school parent. I was… dull. Divorced and dull. I needed some excitement, and Bob/Bill wasn’t going to cut it. But Gray just might. Just thinking about him was giving me a hot flash. I could only imagine what would happen to me if he actually touched me and not just by holding my hand. Or kissed me. Or got me beneath him.

  Did I want to continue just to be normal? I wanted to feel like I had last night when I was talking with Gray. Again and again. That was not normal. The cowboy who was a personal trainer and played flag football. How not normal of a guy was that? He'd invited me to his game. He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t meant it. So what was stopping me? My embarrassment from last night? Fear? Nerves?

  Simon gave a little wave and started to go back inside. I called to him.

  “Yeah?” he asked, sticking his head out the door.

  I fiddled with the strap on my bag as I considered. Screw it. Screw normal. I was going to go see Gray. “Will you go with me to Antelope Park tomorrow to watch a flag football game?”

  I’d definitely confused him. He stepped back out onto his stoop. A car drove by, music blaring from the open windows. “Explain.” He gave the circular hand gesture to keep going.

  I ran my toe over the worn stone tread hot beneath my feet. “There was this other guy last night. I made a complete fool of myself.” I shook my head at my own stupidity. “Not going to say what I did. You can probably imagine.”

  He looked at me for a moment, his expression serious. He must have seen something different in me because he didn’t poke fun as he normally would. Thankfully, because that wasn't what I needed right now.

  “Yeah, okay. I won’t ask.”

  “He wants me to come watch him play tomorrow at eleven. I want to go, but I’m nervous to go by myself. He makes me nervous.”

  “This is so seventh grade.” A big grin split Simon’s face. “A guy makes you nervous? I’m in. I’ll totally be your wingman.”

  He winked and went inside. As I was about to do the same, I heard crying. Little kid crying. Turning around, I saw a boy of about eight or nine walking his bike down the sidewalk. He was sniffling and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He wore shorts and T-shirt, sneakers. I could see his knees were bloodied, and he’d scraped an elbow.

  I dropped my bag, and as he continued down the sidewalk, about to pass by, I went down to him. “Looks like you’ve had a serious fall. Were you trying to be Evil Knievel?”

  He stopped and looked up at me, all sweaty and tear stained. I stood beside him and did a quick visual assessment. Nothing looked broken, it didn’t look like he hit his head. Just a typical bike spill.

  His face scrunched up in confusion. “Who’s that?”

  “He was a man from when I was a kid who would jump across rows of cars on his motorcycle. I think he even jumped across the Grand Canyon once.”

  The boy had black hair that curled and was damp with sweat. His eyes were dark and had a Mediterranean look about him. Italian perhaps. His eyes widened, clearly impressed, then he frowned. “Nah, I just got my wheel caught in a storm drain.”

  I nodded, understanding. Those old grates were the perfect width to catch bike tires if you rode over them the wrong way. It was easy to do.

  “You don’t live nearby, do you?” I asked.

  He tilted his head. “A few streets over with my uncle. Why?”

  “Well, I think I’d have seen you before if you did. I’m Emory.”

  “Jackson. Jackson Baker.”

  “Hi, Jackson. How about a few Band-Aids for the road? I know it always made my son feel better.”

  “You have a son? Can he play?”

  I smiled indulgently at him. Sounded like he was a little lonely. “Well, he’s not a kid anymore. He’s away at college. But I bet he’d like to meet you when he comes home. So, Band-Aids?”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell you what. Lean your bike against the side of the steps and have a seat. I’ll go get them and come back out.”

  By the time I’d gotten the Band-Aids and a glass of water, he was sitting with his knees tucked up, but his tears had stopped.

  “I thought you might be thirsty.” I handed him the water.

  “Thanks.” He took the plastic cup and drank half the water, handed it back.

  “Do you want to put the Band-Aids on yourself or do you want me to do it?” I knew boys pretty well. They had their own little egos and pride just like the bigger versions. I had to be careful not to mother him too much. Or at least let him think he wasn’t being mothered. “Just so you know, I’m a nurse and work at the emergency room, so I see cuts like these all the time. I probably won’t throw up.”

  His face crinkled again. “Gross. You won’t throw up cause you’re a mom.”

  I nodded. “Especially because I’m a mom.”

  “Then you can do them.”

  “Okay, but this first part might sting a little.” I used a wet paper towel to dab at the cuts, then covered one scrape after another, making sure no blood or sore spot was exposed, just as Chris used to want. He flinched at first, but Jackson acted very brave.

  “Do you want to call your mom or dad to come pick you up?”

  “I live with my uncle and grandfather. So no. I can ride home now.”

  “Is your front tire damaged?”

  He shook his head, dark curls bouncing. “Thank you for the Band-Aids, Miss Emory.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He gave me an awkward side hug then dashed down the steps to his bike.

  “Jackson,” I called out.

  He looked up at me, all chubby cheeked and happy once again. I’d forgotten that Chris was ever his size.

  I held up one finger. “Can you wait just a minute? I have something for you. For riding your bike.”

  “Sure.”

  I ran inside then to the covered back porch and dug into the basket filled with a variety of sports equipment.

  “Here,” I said to Jackson when I returned, going down the front steps. I handed him a bike helmet. “This belonged to my son, but his head’s too big for it now. It’s really important you wear a helmet when you ride a bike. Okay?”

  He looked at the blue helmet with a Colorado flag sticker on the side of it. “Wow, cool! Thanks.”

  I helped him adjust the straps, so it fit him. It was a little big, but it was better than nothing, and he’d quickly grow into it. “There. If you ever get into trouble again, you can always knock on my door. You can remember it because the door’s red. Okay?” Since the block had about twenty houses and all were identical brick and white trim, I used the colored door as an easy way to indicate to people which one was mine.

  He gave me a big grin, a tooth missing on the bottom. “Thanks, Miss Emory!”

  I watched him ride off and around the corner, wounds forgotten.

  5

  EMORY

  * * *

  Simon and I showed up at the park a little before noon. I didn’t want to seem too eager, and I had to do some serious psyching
up at home to actually go. I'd even chickened out twice. Committing Simon yesterday had been a smart move; I hadn’t been able to back out. There was no way he was going to miss seeing the guy who’d gotten me all flustered. When we’d met on the sidewalk out front, Simon had given me a once over as usual.

  I looked down at myself. Because it was hot and we'd be out in the sun, I wore black shorts and a racer-back tank top that was black-and-white stripe on the front and solid red on the back. A pedicure had been my Saturday night excitement, but at least my toes looked good in my flip-flops. I’d pulled my hair back into a ponytail, the shorter curls framing my face. I wore sunglasses and a thick layer of sunscreen. “It’s a flag football game in a park. I can dress myself for that.”

  My slight grumbling tone made Simon’s eyebrows go up, but he didn’t push. I could only assume he could tell how out of sorts I was and didn’t want to either make me run back inside and lock the door or start to cry. Not that I had plans for either, but he didn’t know that.

  When we got to the park, guys were out on the field running around, the game already started. I didn’t follow football all that much but knew the basics of the game. There was no scoreboard or time clock though, and it looked like a complete free-for-all to me. There were about twenty other spectators along the sidelines, some in folding chairs, others on blankets. Kids ran around chasing each other on the sides of the field, and babies took naps in their strollers, worn out from the heat.

  I spread out a blanket as Simon put down the small cooler I'd packed, then we settled in to watch. He handed me a soda as I sat cross-legged.

  “Which one is he?” He popped the lid on his drink.

  One team wore black-and-white striped T-shirts like a bunch of convicts, the other wore dark green ones with a yellow collar. As I scanned the men, I realized Faith would have enjoyed this. Watching sweaty, fit men run around and tackle each other, showing off their caveman qualities would spike any woman’s libido. It certainly worked on mine. But when I finally glimpsed Gray on the field, my heart stuttered. The other night wasn’t a fluke. He did something to me, not just the snap shirt. This guy, why this guy? Was I insane? There was one way to find out.

  “There.” I pointed.

  “The blond?”

  I shook my head, took a sip of soda to cool myself down. Gray looked… God, amazing. Manly. He was wearing one of the ridiculous convict shirts, the neckline stretched out by someone’s rough grab. It didn’t have any snaps, but it looked damned good on him. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he had a streak of dirt on his forearm that blended in with the tattoo. With his arm exposed, I could see it was large enough to creep up his forearm and over his biceps. Although he was tan, the tattoo stood out in stark contrast. I hadn’t been wild about tattoos in general before, but on Gray… it totally melted my butter. I had to wonder if he had any others, and if so, where?

  “No, the tall one with the dark close-cropped hair.”

  Simon looked where I pointed, his brows going up. “Holy shit, Em. That’s the guy?”

  I nodded.

  “I can see why he made you nervous. He’s fucking hot and nothing like a guy you’d normally be interested in.”

  There was that word again. Normal.

  “I know,” I admitted, taking another sip of my soda. “I don’t know what it is about him.” I turned to Simon, hoping he’d truly understand because I sure didn’t. “I mean, he’s got tattoos! And he’s a cowboy, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him now, but his snap shirt the other night made me want to toss him my panties.” I didn’t dare look at Simon after admitting that. “And when I first saw him Friday night, my heart stopped, and my brain went to mush. I swear I had a hot flash.”

  He looked at me over the top of his sunglasses, serious. “Maybe he’s the kind of guy you need and just never knew.”

  We sat in silence, watching the game. Had I been interested in all the wrong guys? It wasn't like I’d had much chance to find out. Being pregnant at nineteen, married and with a baby at twenty didn’t offer much opportunity to play the field. Of course, Jack had decided he’d wanted more and ditched me for a newer model. Maybe a guy like Gray was exactly what I needed. He wasn't normal. He sure as hell would push my boundaries.

  I watched his body as he played the game, and I tried not to drool. Muscles tightened and flexed in ways that had me taking another big swig of my soda just to cool off. What would it be like to kiss him, to run my hands over that body, to have his weight pin me up against a wall? Those thoughts made butterflies return to my stomach and scared the crap out of me at the same time.

  I hadn’t even realized there was a ref until he blew the whistle. I obviously wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to the game, only Gray, and he'd only had the football a few times. The men worked their way to the sidelines, exhausted and sweating, slapping each other on the back. I couldn’t tell by the looks on their faces who’d won or lost. The camaraderie was surprising, considering they’d just been tackling the crap out of each other.

  Gray was drinking from a water bottle when he saw me. His eyes narrowed, and I felt once again frozen in place as if he had a freeze ray stare. He swallowed, wiped his chin with the back of his hand and smiled. With a little bob of his head as hello, he held up one finger. He didn’t look away until I nodded back.

  “Jesus, Em,” Simon whispered. Yeah, he didn’t have to say anything more for me to know what he meant.

  While Gray talked with other players, Simon leaned in and said, “You can bring me to watch anytime.” I glanced up, and he waggled his eyebrows. I grinned. Not having a boyfriend at the moment, Simon was no doubt checking out the possibilities, but I was only interested in Gray.

  A minute later, Gray walked over to us, a teammate with him. Although he'd looked pretty darn fine the other night, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, sweaty and dirty, he looked downright sexy. Rugged and manly. This was his element. His chest and shoulders were clearly delineated, his biceps thick and bulging, his thighs and calves well defined. Everything about him was powerful, and the way he watched me now was seriously intense. I licked my lips and saw his eyes drop to follow the action.

  Simon and I stood as they got closer.

  “Hi,” he said, stopping directly before me. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  “I just so happened to be in the park.” I swiped my hand through the air. “Big coincidence.”

  He gave a quick laugh, reminded by what he’d said on Friday night. It felt good, really good, to make him laugh. For once, I said something right. He angled his head. “This is my friend Rob.”

  “Everyone calls me Thor,” the other man added, his voice deep. He held up his hands. “I’d shake your hand, but you probably would rather not.” Streaks of mud and sweat covered his palms.

  I could see why he got the nickname. He had two inches on Gray, making him a giant. Football linebacker big. Hot dog eating contest winner huge. Dark hair, dark eyes, square jaw, goatee.

  “I like your team spirit,” he added. “Looks better on her than us, don’t you think, Gray?”

  I frowned, confused. He pointed to my tank top. Glancing down, I realized my shirt was also black-and-white stripe.

  “Of course. Wouldn’t want to be accused of rooting for the other team,” I countered with a smile then shrugged as if it were no big deal. “This is my neighbor, Simon.”

  Simon shook Gray’s hand and nodded at Thor.

  “Hey, wow. I didn’t recognize you at first, but it’s a pleasure,” Simon gushed, practically ogling Gray. “How are you enjoying retirement?”

  Simon knew Gray? Brant Valley was a pretty big town, so what were the chances?

  Gray glanced at me as he answered. “Getting better every day. Everyone usually goes to the bar down the street after the game for some burgers. Want to join us?”

  Simon looked to me to answer. He was waiting for me to decide if he was still needed or not. Since he and Gray seemed to know each other, he’d pro
bably want to tag along, but he seemed to have the wingman thing down. He gave me a little head nod, and I knew he was giving his personal green light on Gray.

  This was it, the moment between a life of normal and a life of… God, I could only imagine. “I’d like to go, but Simon has something to do.”

  Simon smiled broadly, clearly thrilled I was content to not need him to tag along. If I'd said otherwise, Gray would blatantly know Simon was sticking around for me, and that would only be more embarrassing. Besides, it would make Gray think I thought he was a letch or something, and I needed a chaperone, which was the farthest thing from the truth.

  “Yeah, I have plans,” Simon said, but no doubt, everyone knew he was lying through his teeth. “Another time, however. Definitely.” He turned to me. “Do you want me to take your car?”

  I paused. “Oh, um. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’ll drive you home later,” Gray offered.

  Simon raised a brow, waiting. Pulling my keys from my little purse that I had slung cross-shoulder, he took them, gave me a wink, then grabbed the blanket and cooler.

  “Thanks, Simon,” I called out as he left.

  He spun and replied as he walked backward. “Anytime.” He gave a little salute and turned.

  Gray watched me closely, silently.

  “I’ll have to catch up with you,” Thor told us. “My wife’s going to kill me if I don’t get home. Kids,” he added, as if that clarified everything.

  “How old are they?” I asked. This was a topic I was familiar and comfortable with.

  “Four and six. Boys.”

  I nodded, a little wistful. It was at rare moments when I longed to see my son, to hear his voice, even to have him little again. “I remember that age. It’s hard.”

  Gray looked to me, his face neutral. “You have kids?”