by Arlene James
He finally looked at her. “For what?”
“Yesterday. I snapped at you.”
“Well, I essentially cross-examined you.”
She blinked. “That’s what you do, cross-examine people. That’s to be expected, but I called you cold and hard-hearted.”
“Believe me, I’ve been called worse,” he said with a lopsided smile.
She frowned, hating to think of him being called ugly names, but then she remembered something more important. Looking deeply into his eyes, she lifted her free hand to his shoulder. “Have you thought about what I said?”
“Uh…”
“You can’t give up!” she exclaimed.
He shook his head as if confused. “Give up on what?”
“Romance! Love.” He groaned, but she barreled on, “God is just waiting to heal your broken heart, and I know that love is out there for you. No one understands better than I do how difficult it is to have faith about this. I’ve been looking for the right guy my whole life, with zero results thus far. But I know that God will bring him to me when He’s ready, when I’m ready.”
He rolled his eyes, frowning. “You’re too young to even be thinking about settling down—”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Don’t you want children?”
“I—”
“You must. Think what a wonderful father you’d be.”
His brows drew together in a pained expression. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Why wouldn’t you be?”
He shook his head. “You have to be a good husband before you can be a good father, and I’m not husband material.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“Listen, I tried marriage, and I wasn’t any good at it.”
“Then she wasn’t the right woman for you,” Ellie insisted. “You just need the right woman.”
He stared at her for so long that she began to feel foolish. When his gaze dropped to her lips, her heart started to thunder. For one insane moment, she thought he was about to kiss her. She tilted her head and was on the very verge of going up on tiptoe when the door to the greenhouse thumped open.
Asher jerked back as if she’d suddenly burst into flame, shock contorting his face.
She had been right in what she’d said. All he needed was the right woman.
But that woman was not—and could never be—her.
Chapter Six
Following quietly as Asher slid through the heavy plastic sheet dividing the building, Ellie tried to quell her disappointment. This was precisely why she should avoid him. When she was around the man, she imagined all sorts of improbable scenarios! He was hazardous to her sanity, and now that she’d said her piece, she would definitely keep her distance.
That shouldn’t be too difficult after tonight. She was sure he’d want to avoid her now for fear that she’d read too much into his compliment. She understood now, of course, that it was just part and parcel of his apology.
Still, she would treasure his words.
“That’s Odelia,” Asher muttered, parting the branches of a small tree. He angled his shoulders as if about to push through the potted forest toward his aunt, but just then the door opened again and Kent came inside.
Quickly, Ellie grabbed Asher by the arm and tugged him back. Maybe her time hadn’t come yet, but she believed with all her heart that her grandfather’s had. When Asher looked at her, confused, she lifted a finger to her lips.
“Are you all right, Odelia? You don’t seem well.”
Odelia twittered, but the laughter sounded forced to Ellie’s ears. “Thank you for asking, but I’m fine. Just needed a breath of fresh air.”
“You came out without your coat,” he pointed out.
“Oh, but it’s wonderfully warm in here, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it is.”
She laughed again, that nervous, birdlike twitter that could not have sounded more uncomfortable. Kent sighed audibly.
“Odelia,” he said, “I wouldn’t willingly cause you a single moment of distress. Perhaps Ellie and I should find somewhere else to go.”
“Don’t be silly!” Odelia retorted, much too brightly. “Why would your being here distress me? I’m just feeling my age this winter.”
“Pish-posh,” Kent refuted heartily. “You are ageless, my dear, as beautiful, vivacious and adorable as ever.”
“Oh!” Odelia squeaked. “Oh, my!” With that, she fled the greenhouse.
Kent sighed once more. Ellie gently parted the limbs in time to see him follow Odelia out, sadly shaking his head. She turned at once to Asher.
“See? There’s still something between them.”
“That’s not how it seems to me. He may be carrying a torch for her, but she obviously wants nothing to do with him,” he said.
“Of course she does! How could she not?”
Asher folded his arms. “Look, I’m sure your grandfather’s a great guy, but Odelia declined to marry him once, and she doesn’t seem too keen on a flirt—”
“My grandpa’s not a flirt!” Ellie protested, insulted on his behalf.
Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just once, could you not interrupt?”
Ellie recoiled. “I didn’t realize that I was. I don’t usually.”
“Not only do you interrupt, you finish other people’s sentences.”
Wounded, Ellie concentrated on breathing steadily. Blinking her eyelashes to keep the tears at bay, she gulped. “I—I never mean to do that, and it’s only when y-you’re around.” Suddenly realizing what she’d just said, she couldn’t bear another moment in his presence. “Excuse me,” she whispered, plowing through the trees toward the door.
“Ellie!” he called, crashing behind her.
She pushed through the door and ran for the house, barely feeling the sting of the February chill. The door of the greenhouse slammed but she didn’t slow or look back.
“Ellie!” he called again. Then, just as she reached the house, he muttered. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m wasting my time.”
The words carried clearly over the cold night air. Wasting his time. He thought her a waste of time.
Ellie pulled open the French door and rushed into the sunroom. Dashing her hands across her eyes, she pulled herself together, lifted her chin and crossed the room to step into the hallway, which was mercifully empty. Despite her best efforts, however, tears were rolling from her eyes by the time she reached the privacy of her room.
“Of all the idiotic, ill-advised, inept…” Asher grit his teeth against further invective, mentally kicking himself as he strode around the great house. He’d be hanged if he’d follow her inside and try to apologize—again—in front of his aunts. Not after almost kissing the girl!
What on earth had possessed him to stay in that shadowy, private space with her anyway? He couldn’t even make a sensible, decent apology when she was around.
Surely, I don’t have to tell you that you’re very attractive.
Surely, he should have his head examined for saying such a thing! Except, she honestly hadn’t seemed to know.
What was that about anyway? Hadn’t any of those clods she’d dated told her?
He picked up his pace, only to nearly mow down someone hiding in the shadows, someone small and plump and wearing too much flowery perfume.
“Aunt Odelia,” he gasped, clasping his arms about her to steady her.
“Oh. Asher,” she said, trying to hide her sniffling.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“J-just taking a walk,” she warbled.
But they both knew it was too cold for a walk. That was why she’d gone to the greenhouse to begin with.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What m-makes you think there’s anything wr-wrong?”
“You’re crying!” he exclaimed. “Is this about the Monroes? If it is, I’ll have them out of here by dark tomorrow.”
“No!” Odelia gasped, her hand
s clamping onto his forearm. “You mustn’t!”
“But if Mr. Monroe’s presence here is—”
“Don’t you see?” she wailed. “This may be all I ever have! When he goes again, he may never come back.”
Asher’s jaw dropped. Then she shivered, and he quickly slipped out of his suit coat to drape it about her shoulders. As she murmured thanks, he turned her and walked her toward the front of the house. Gathering his thoughts, he ushered her across the thick, brown cushion of grass to the redbrick walkway, then turned her toward the front porch.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, climbing the few steps beside her. They walked to the trio of wrought-iron chairs placed to one side of the bright yellow door. With their cushions stored away for the winter, the chairs were stiff and cold, but Odelia sank right down onto the nearest one. Asher took the chair beside her, clasping her frail hand in his. “You don’t want the Monroes to leave?”
She shook her head then nodded and finally sighed. “That’s right. I don’t want them to leave.”
“Especially not Kent Monroe,” Asher probed gently.
She parked her elbow on the arm of the chair and dropped her forehead into her palm. “I never stopped caring for him, you know. I just couldn’t leave my sisters.” She looked up at him then with wide, liquid eyes, adding woefully, “No matter how handsome and charming he is.”
Good grief, Asher thought, dumbfounded. Ellie and Dallas are right.
“You won’t tell, will you?” Odelia asked urgently. “I know he doesn’t feel the same way, and I don’t want my sisters to think they’re responsible for anything. Because I chose them, I mean.”
“I won’t tell,” Asher promised. Still, he hated to see his sweet auntie so bereft. “But what makes you think he doesn’t feel the same?”
“Well, he married, didn’t he?”
Surely, she hadn’t expected the man to pine for fifty years. On the other hand, perhaps she had. And perhaps he did. “He seems pretty smitten to me,” Asher muttered beneath his breath.
“Oh, no,” Odelia refuted firmly. “That’s just his way. So charming.”
Asher opened his mouth to ask what she meant by that, but then he thought of the unanswered questions about the fire. Odelia didn’t deserve to get caught up in that. Besides, what were the chances that anything would come of this? The Monroes would eventually move out and the aunties would go on as always. Wouldn’t they? Patting her hand, he mumbled, “I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed, nodding her head decisively. “God will take care of everything in time. In truth, I’m grateful to Him. I never thought to have these weeks, you know.”
Asher didn’t know what to say to that. A chill raced across his shoulders then, and he rose, drawing his aunt up with him. “It’s too cold for you out here. I want you to go inside and ask for a nice, hot cup of tea.”
Odelia smiled. “Excellent idea. You always know what’s best to do, dear.”
He wished. Her confidence in him humbled him, however. He walked her to the door, received his coat, kissed her cheek and saw her inside before turning toward his SUV, wishing heartily that he had never come here this evening.
How had he let himself get dragged into this mess? Henceforth, he decided, he would limit his involvement to pressuring the insurance company and keep his distance from Chatam House and the Monroes. With the spring soccer season about to start, that shouldn’t be too difficult, since his time would be at a premium.
Why that thought didn’t comfort him, he didn’t even want to know. Meanwhile, he would ask his cousin Chandler about Garrett Willows and get a better read on the fellow that way. Beyond that, he didn’t know what else to do.
Poor Odelia, he thought. She was deluded about not one but two men—Kent Monroe and him.
Why, Asher wondered, gripping his cell phone almost hard enough to crush it, had he thought that his cousin Chandler would be impartial when it came to Garrett Willows? The man was Chandler’s brother-in-law, for pity’s sake. Of course he would have only good things to say about his wife’s brother.
Chandler had quite a bit to say about Kent Monroe and Ellie, too. Had Asher realized how well Chandler knew them, he’d have been more careful about his own comments, but no, he’d had to shoot off his mouth about Ellie’s ridiculous romanticism. At least he had enough sense to keep mum about the scheme to get Odelia and Kent together, but that didn’t keep Chandler from laughing at the notion that either of the Monroes or Garrett Willows might have had anything to do with the fire, and wondering aloud if Asher had more than a “professional” interest in Ellie.
“The girl is fifteen years younger than me!” Asher protested.
“So what?” Chandler retorted. “You’re both adults.”
“Not to mention,” Asher ground out, “that we’re total opposites.”
“You know what they say about opposites attracting.”
“Plus, she’s a client,” Asher pointed out incredulously.
“You’re entirely too rigid about that stuff,” Chandler chided. “You need to loosen up. Smiling Ellie might be good for you.”
“Smiling Ellie?”
“Sure. Haven’t you noticed? She’s always smiling. Kent, too. It’s one of the things I like best about them.”
Always smiling, Asher thought sourly, pinching the bridge of his nose, except around me. That might have to do with the fact that he continually found ways to insult her.
He wasn’t usually so ham-handed with people. He’d walked that fine line for years, the line between probing and speculating, implying and accusing. Yet, with Ellie he always seemed to say the wrong thing. Shame dogging him, he remembered the look in her eyes before she’d run away the night before. He should have followed her, but how could he when he obviously couldn’t trust himself around her? Really, he had no choice but to stay away.
He changed the subject to Chandler’s family and listened to Chandler gush happily about the joys of marriage and fatherhood. Though he was glad to know that his cousin was so happy, the conversation did nothing to help Asher with the Monroe case. He felt a bit depressed when the call finally ended.
What a perfect waste of a Wednesday afternoon, Asher thought in disgust. He pulled his office door closed behind him as went out, pausing only to lock up. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, with temperatures rising into the sixties. A good day for soc cer, then, even if not for him.
Today was the deadline for coaching assignments, which meant that he would have to disappoint at least one team. He didn’t look forward to telling a group of eager first graders that they didn’t have the adult volunteers or players to qualify for competition, but he really had no choice. Rules were rules, after all, and while they might yet recruit enough players to field a team, the team couldn’t play without a qualified coach, no matter how much they or he might wish otherwise.
Ten minutes later, he parked his SUV, shrugged off his suit jacket and surveyed the athletic field. Green was beginning to sprout in the carpet of winter-brown grass.
Three teams were milling around in front of three different goals. A few parents in lawn chairs had taken up seats on the sidelines. He recognized two coaches, one of whom balanced a soccer ball against one hip. The other team was scattered, with kids running around flinging dirt and grass clippings at one another while a blonde woman in jeans and a brown jacket sat watching from a rough bench, a bright orange cooler on the ground beside her. This, he assumed, was Ilene Riddle, the team mother who had vowed to find a coach, without success, apparently. They had spoken on the telephone but had not yet met.
As Asher strode toward her, he pulled his black referee’s cap from his rear pocket and fitted it to his head.
Only the letters “BCYSA” emblazoned on the front in yellow-gold letters, the acronym for Buffalo Creek Youth Soccer Association, set him apart from the other referees, who wore plain black. The blonde woman turned her head as he drew near, and he put out his hand
as he heard a vehicle pull into the graveled parking area behind him.
“Ms. Riddle?”
“Yes.”
“Asher Chatam, soccer commissioner.”
She hopped to her feet and slid her hand into his, her white-tipped nails lightly scoring his wrist. “Nice to meet you.” They shook before he parked his hands at his waist.
“I see that you haven’t found a coach.”
“Oh, we have.”
Asher lifted his brows. “Really? That’s good news. Where is he?”
“She,” Ilene Riddle corrected, pointing, “is right there.”
Asher turned. And couldn’t believe his eyes.
Ellie Monroe closed the door of a pickup driven by her grandfather. Wearing pink shorts and an overlarge, black, long-sleeve T-shirt, she had pulled back her curly hair in a short, jaunty ponytail. Waving goodbye to her grandfather, she turned toward the field and started forward at a jog, only to falter when she met his gaze.
“Asher?” she asked, coming to stop before him. “What are you doing here?”
Try as he might, he could not help but admire those violet eyes again. “You’re the coach?”
Nodding, she answered, “Yes, but why are you here?”
“I’m the commissioner,” he said, not sure whether to laugh or yell in frustration.
She gawked for a moment, then threw out her hands. “Dallas mentioned that you played soccer in college, but I had no idea you were still involved in the game.”
He’d hardly viewed what he was doing as being “involved in the game.” It wasn’t the way he’d hoped to be involved, anyway, but that was beside the point. Her involvement was the issue here. “Have you ever played?”
“Fourteen seasons,” she told him proudly, “from the time I was four years old straight through high school.”
Well, that’s just wonderful, he thought sardonically, wanting to tear out his hair. How was he supposed to keep his distance from her now? Desperate, he began shooting questions at her, testing her acumen. She didn’t miss a beat. Her violet eyes sparkled so brightly that Asher had to look away. When she started arguing for the Dutch Model, which focuses on foot drills, he all but gave up, despite his own conviction that the physical education class mode worked best for young children who didn’t take instruction particularly well or possess sufficient dexterity for skill-based coaching.