An Unlikely Match

by Arlene James

  “Hold on!” she called, laughing. “I haven’t booted it up yet. Give me a sec.”

  Leaving the doorway, she walked across the room to a computer station. Asher, as yet unnoticed, followed.

  “Hurry, hurry,” one little girl urged. “My mom will be here any minute.”

  “You can go first to show Donnie how it’s done,” Ellie said, as music swelled from the computer. “But then you have to let him play.”

  “It’s a soccer game,” Asher said, unaware that he’d spoken aloud until Ellie whirled to face him.

  She smoothed the surprise from her face, backing up a step. “Yes, it is. This particular game is designed to teach the rules of the game.”

  “Really?”

  “It gives you a scenario and several options for how to play it. Choose correctly and your play succeeds. Choose the wrong option and your opponent, in this case the computer, gets the ball, but only after the computer shows you the correct play. You go on until someone gets a goal scenario. Choose correctly then and you score.”

  “That’s marvelous,” Asher said. And fun, obviously.

  A cry of jubilation went up from the kids gathered around the computer.

  “You didn’t come here to watch computer games,” Ellie said to him.

  “I did not,” he acknowledged, presenting the form in his hand. “I need your permission in order to get a copy of your background check for the league records.”

  “No problem.” She took the paper from him and carried it to her desk, where she picked up a pen and signed her name.

  Meanwhile, a little boy at the computer was hitting buttons with lightning speed. Suddenly, everyone cheered, and the boy began to jump up and down.

  “I won! I won!”

  “And very quickly, too,” Ellie praised. Moving forward, she bent at the waist to bring her face level with his and asked, “So what do you think? Would you like to play real soccer?”

  “Uh-huh, yes! I wanna play!”

  Reaching back, Ellie whipped a sheet of paper off her desk and presented it to him with a flourish. “Take this to your parents. If they have any questions, they can call me.”

  “Okay.” Clutching his paper, the boy turned back to the computer, where another child was taking a turn.

  “An effective recruiting tool, too.” Asher smiled.

  “It certainly is.” Picking up some papers from her desk, she handed them to Asher.

  He glanced over them, his eyebrows rising. “You’ve already signed up three new players. You’ve made your team in a single day.”

  Ilene Riddle stuck her head in the door just then. “Let’s go, kids. I’m double-parked.” Three of the children trooped to the door, protesting as they went. “You, too, Donnie, your mom’s waiting outside. Ellie, Commissioner, see you tomorrow.”

  “See you!” Ellie called as the group disappeared. The boy raced after the others, waving his enlistment form.

  Asher shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  She smiled and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Wanna play? The upper levels are pretty challenging.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t.”

  “I dare you.”

  “No, really, I should—”

  “Coward,” she said with such a daredevil grin that he couldn’t quite manage to be offended. “I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

  He was surprised by how much he wanted to play that silly game with her. And why not? What would it hurt?

  He shrugged out of his coat. “Now I’m going have to beat you at your own game. Literally.”

  “Ha!”

  He pulled up two chairs while she plugged in the controllers and programmed the game. All those toggles and buttons were confusing at first, but before long he was giving her a challenge. It became evident quickly that they were fairly evenly matched, but Asher wasn’t about to push his luck, so the moment that he tied up the game, he called it.

  “I could beat you if I had time, but I’ll settle for a tie in the interest of my schedule.”

  “In your dreams, bub. I admit that I probably couldn’t keep up with you on a real field but—”

  “Probably?” he scoffed playfully.

  “But I’ve got this sewed up,” she bragged, grinning. “I was going easy on you, remember?”

  “Now who’s dreaming?”

  “Hang around and find out.”

  “Wish I could,” he said, “but I have to change and get to the soccer field.” He hauled himself to his feet and turned to see a tall, thin, familiar young man wearing a wrinkled shirt and a frown in the doorway.

  “Ellie,” the man said abruptly, “we need to talk.”

  Behind Asher, Ellie groaned. “Not now, Lance.”

  Ignoring her, he stepped forward and put his hand out to Asher, introducing himself. “Lance Ripley. We didn’t meet last time.”

  Asher slid into his coat, avoiding shaking hands with the man, whom he disliked instinctively, having witnessed him lay his hands on Ellie over a week ago. “Asher Chatam.”

  The fellow flushed, his ears turning red. Abruptly, he switched his attention back to Ellie. “It’s been too long since we went out. We’ll have dinner together tonight.”

  “Uh, no,” Ellie said flatly.

  Smiling to himself, Asher glanced over his shoulder. As he’d expected, she’d folded her arms. He almost wished she hadn’t. That was his pose, the one he so often elicited from her. Lance Ripley had no right to it. Or to her, no matter what he thought.

  “Now, Ellie,” Lance said, “you know you don’t mean that.”

  “Lance, I am not going out with you again.”

  “We’ll have a nice dinner and talk this over,” he said reasonably.

  “No. We won’t.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t accept that.”

  “I’m afraid you have no choice,” said Asher, unable to stay quiet any longer.

  Hostile, ice-blue eyes swung his way. “I don’t see what you have to say about it.”

  “Oh, I have quite a lot to say about it, actually. I’m Miss Monroe’s attorney, the one who will be filing the restraining order if you don’t leave her alone.”

  Watching the tumblers fall into place in Lance’s mind, Asher felt a greater sense of satisfaction than he had known in some time.

  “You’re that Chatam.”

  “Indeed I am. And you are not welcome. Remember that the next time you approach my client. She doesn’t want to see you, not here, not on the street, not at Chatam House. I trust I’ve made our position clear.”

  Eyes wild, Lance Ripley glared at Asher, his mouth working silently around unspoken words. Then he blinked, visibly calming himself, and lifted his chin before spinning away and disappearing.

  Asher smiled, only to feel a hand snatch angrily at his elbow and turn him about. “What are you doing? He’s going to think I’m suing him for harassment!”

  “Maybe you should. He has harassed you, hasn’t he?” Asher was puzzled by her anger.

  “That depends on your definition of harassment.”

  “Mine happens to be the legal one,” Asher told her. “I’d like to hear yours.”

  Sighing, she dropped down onto the corner of her desk. “Okay. Maybe he has been a bit persistent.”

  “Well, I don’t imagine he’ll be coming around here anymore.”

  “Oh, yes, he will,” she retorted. “That’s the problem. He works here. I can’t help running into him from time to time.”

  Asher literally gnashed his teeth over the thought. “I’ll speak to him again.”

  “No!”

  “You told him no. That should be the end of it.”

  “I just told you no, too.”

  He ignored that, another thought occurring. “I still can’t believe you went out with that jerk on Valentine’s Day.”

  “No one wants to sit home alone on the most
romantic night of the year.”

  Asher had, for a long time. He’d proposed to Samantha on Valentine’s Day, and he’d spent every one alone since they’d divorced. That seemed pointless now, a silly excuse to ignore the “most romantic night of the year,” as Ellie put it. Apparently, she hadn’t found this past Valentine’s Day date quite so romantic, though.

  “Look, Ellie, are you sure that you haven’t rebuffed some other guy who might have taken it out on your house?” he asked roughly, trying to get his mind off Valentine’s Day.

  She shook her head, laughing in a forlorn way. “Look, I’m just not the sort to inspire that kind of passion.”

  “Oh, yes, you are,” he replied. Ellie’s jaw dropped. Scurrying to recover, he babbled, “I—I mean, according to the insurance company, someone set that fire. If not one of your, ah, disappointed boyfriends, then who?”

  She looked positively stricken. Coming to her feet, she glanced around as if looking for threats in the shadows, her full lower lip clamped firmly between her teeth. Asher realized suddenly that she was trembling. Because of him. Because he had frightened her with his rash words.

  “It’s all right,” he promised, stepping forward to take her into his arms. “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”

  She nodded, resting against him. “I know.”

  “I mean it,” he told her, tightening his hold. He couldn’t help noticing that she fit neatly into his arms. He barely had to lift his chin to accommodate the top of her head. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “H-how can you?”

  “I’ll just do my job.”

  She shook her head, asking softly, “So, the insurance company thinks the fire was intentionally set?”

  “They’ve implied as much. So I don’t want you or your grandfather talking to anyone about the fire without me there. Understand?”

  Gulping, she nodded and turned her face into the hollow of his shoulder. Somehow, his hand found its way into her silky, springy hair.

  “If anyone contacts you, refer them to me,” he instructed softly. “No interviews unless I okay them.”

  “All right,” she said huskily. “Thank you.” She tilted her head back, her lovely violet eyes holding his. “You were right about me not being in favor of you handling this.”

  “No. Really?” he quipped with a lopsided grin.

  “But I’m really glad now that you are.”

  “Me, too,” he said. It seemed appropriate to cup her face in his hands then. Until he realized he was about to kiss her!

  Mentally recoiling, he derailed himself in time to land the kiss in the middle of her forehead, as if she were a child.

  She stepped back, her head bowed. His hands drifted down to his sides. She cleared her throat and turned away. “Will I see you at practice tomorrow?”

  He jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “Um, maybe. Probably not. I don’t know,” he stammered, confusion clouding his mind.

  “Okay,” she said lightly.

  He pretended to check his watch, saying, “Gotta run.” He managed a single step.

  “Ash.”

  The sound of her speaking his name stopped him right in his tracks. Cautiously, he turned back and saw that she held out the signed form.

  “Oh. Right.” Slipping forward, he gingerly took it from her. “Thanks.”

  She sent him away with a single nod.

  He couldn’t wait to get out of there. And at the very same time, he could hardly bear to go.

  Which was reason enough to run for his life.

  Chapter Nine

  It didn’t take a sledgehammer to penetrate her thick skull—a brotherly kiss to the forehead managed that just fine. That kiss in her classroom yesterday had made it abundantly clear that Asher was not attracted to her, no matter what her runaway imagination wanted to say about it. Oh, she had thought for a moment that he had meant to give her another kind of kiss entirely, but reality could not be denied. She simply did not draw men like him. No, she attracted the kooks and goofballs.

  Ellie turned away from the parking area where Asher, dressed in a black warm-up suit, was exiting his SUV. He had been so ambivalent about being at practice today that she had not expected to see him here, and for once she wished that he had stayed away. Looking down at herself, she sighed. This had seemed like such a fun, clever idea last night, but she could just imagine how Asher would see it. Too late to worry about that now. Determined to make the best of it, she put on a smile and ran toward her gaping team, her arms full of yellow tulle and caps. The wings on her head flapped and the tutu that she wore over her athletic gear fluttered as she moved.

  Dredging up as much enthusiasm as she could, Ellie passed out the tutus to the girls, who slipped them on over their workout shorts as instructed, giggling uncertainly. The boys got bright yellow caps decorated with black felt wings like hers. Partially stiffened, the wings flapped as the wearer’s head moved. Once the laughing kids had donned their respective costuming, Ellie broke out the black cotton gloves. She’d sewn the fingertips of both hands together to remind the children not to use their hands.

  “Okay, let’s line up for drills.” She demonstrated the proper technique of handling the ball, showing them how still her tutu and wings remained when she did it right.

  The kids worked at it uncertainly at first but with increasing progress as the practice went on. Ellie was aware that the other teams on the field had stopped to gawk. She even heard one little girl run to her mother and whine, “I wanna soccer tutu!” Ellie smiled. Not only were her players the envy of their counterparts, they were developing greater dexterity and finer technique, too.

  Blowing her whistle, Ellie signaled the start of a scrimmage. She rotated a different kid into the net every few minutes, reasoning that they all needed to know what they were up against on both sides of the ball. Before long, they were all pretending to be goalies making heroic saves. Ellie called them back to their purpose by reminding them that goalies did not score goals. She then pulled aside her best two goalie prospects and told them that goalies helped win games by keeping the other team from scoring. She rotated those two in and out of the goal while allowing the other kids to take one-on-one kicks before starting a new scrimmage.

  By the end of the practice, Ellie could feel that the team was coming together, and she had almost forgotten that Asher was watching from the sidelines. Almost, but not quite.

  Deciding that the tutus and winged caps had served their twin purpose, she took back only the gloves before removing her own “learning aids” and turning to face Asher. The kids ran to grab juice boxes and pretzels from Ilene before racing off to their respective parents, tutus fluttering and wings flying.

  Asher stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Determined to take her medicine without flinching, she walked over to him, tutu and cap in hand.

  “Your technique is stellar. Your methods, though…” He shook his head.

  She folded her arms, and his lips twitched. Then an instant later, he burst out laughing in great, wrenching guffaws. Sighing, she waited out his attack of hilarity, waving from time to time as players or their parents called out farewells.

  “Sorry,” he gasped. “Can’t help it. Never seen…such a thing…in my life!”

  She tapped a toe impatiently while he got himself under control. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Wiping his eyes with both hands, he nodded. “Quite possibly. They’re certainly the most enthusiastic team in the league, I’ll give you that. But you understand that they have to play in regulation uniforms.”

  “Of course I understand that they have to play in regulation uniforms,” she retorted, glancing at her cleats. “They don’t have to practice in regulation uniforms, though, do they?”

  Asher shook his head, still grinning. “There’s no rule about practice gear,” he began, “so long as they wear knee and elbow guards and rubber cleats, but—”

  “It’s just a bit
of fun,” she argued, “and they’re learning. You saw that for yourself.”

  “Fun, again.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Yeah, okay, fine. It’s your team. I’m not going to interfere.”

  Relieved, Ellie pressed her hands together in an attitude of prayer. “Thank you. That’s wonderful, because I have an idea about—”

  He raised a hand, palm out. “Don’t tell me! I don’t want to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” he said, “there is a principle known as plausible deniability.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “And the way things are going, sweetheart, I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  Throwing up his hands, he turned and walked back to his vehicle, chuckling and muttering that he’d be lucky if he wasn’t asked to resign his position. She dismissed that concern immediately. What she could not dismiss—what she would think about time and time again—was that he had called her sweetheart.

  Still grinning and shaking his head, Asher drove away. The sight of Ellie in a tutu and winged cap had made his eyes water with laughter. What amazed him, however, was the way her tutued and cap-winged team had caught on to her technique. The woman had a true gift for teaching kids, as well as a talent for making life bright and—he had to admit it—fun. More fun than he’d had in eons.

  She also had a way of banishing his good sense. So why was it, he wondered, that he couldn’t manage to keep away from her?

  Even if she wasn’t his client, she was still too young, too naive, too…exuberant. And the only commonality he could point to, really, was a mutual regard for family. Okay, so they both liked soccer, but her approach couldn’t have been more different than his. It was like comparing Roman gladiators to Keystone Kops.

  They were both Christians, too, of course, but her “brand” of Christianity seemed to be a kind of feel-good, pie-in-the-sky, God-is-going-to-take-care-of-everything hope, while his was… He had to think about that. His interpretation of Christianity was responsibility and righteousness, he decided, endurance, sober self-knowledge and acceptance of certain facts without complaint. This, after all, was not Heaven, he reminded himself, so naturally it lacked…what? Happiness?