Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats)

by Jeanette Murray

  Changing Her Plans

  Santa Fe Bobcats #7

  Jeanette Murray

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  BCC

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  One Night with a Quarterback

  About the Author

  Changing Her Plans

  Jeanette Murray

  Copyright © Jeanette Murray

  Cover Photo & Design: Sweet ’N Spicy Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To receive release alerts anytime Jeanette has a new book out, click here.

  To connect with Jeanette, you can find her at the following spots:

  Jeanettemurray.com

  Facebook.com/jeanettemurraybooks

  Twitter: @kjmurraybooks

  Quarterback coach Clayton Barnes is ready to settle down. Finally at home with the Santa Fe Bobcats, he’s feeling the pull toward starting a family. And he has his eye on the woman that would be his match.

  Single mother Kristen Keplar has one year before sending her teenage son to college. And then she’s free to explore life again. When one of the coaches makes a pass, she resists at first. Keeping it professional is her main worry. But he wears her down and takes her out. The sparks fly…

  Until Clay reveals he’s ready to start a family. Kristen’s on the tail end of her parenting shift and not interested in starting over. Just as they begin to work out the details of their fledgling relationship, a bomb is dropped on their quiet world. Will they be able to handle the pressure, or will the unexpected tear them apart?

  Thanks to Dominique Greer for her help with the social work.

  As always, any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

  Chapter 1

  Kristen Keplar looked up as the door opened to the main lobby of the Santa Fe Bobcats offices. “Hey, honey.”

  Her seventeen-year-old son let the door close behind him and walked over to her desk. He barely had to reach to lean over and kiss her cheek. God, he’d gotten even taller in the past few months. She’d thought he’d stopped growing when he turned sixteen and hadn’t budged in two years. But fate—and his father’s DNA—had decided to gift Isaac with another two inches at the last minute.

  “Hey, Mom. Can I get a few bucks?”

  Kristen rolled her eyes and glanced over at Marge working the secondary desk in the office. “Figures, right? It’s never ‘Hey, Mom, I missed you,’ or ‘Mom, just wanted to stop by and say hello.’”

  Isaac grinned, a few strands of too-long blond hair floating down to cover one eye before he shoved it off his forehead. “Hey, Mom, I missed you. Wanted to stop by to say hi.”

  They both paused, then Kristen added, “And ask for money.”

  “That too.”

  Mirroring his grin, Kristen shook her head and motioned for him to come around the desk. “What for this time, tough guy?”

  He leaned a hip on the edge of her large, imposing desk. The desk was meant to be a staple of the room itself, as the first line of defense for the Bobcats organization. “Dylan wants to see a movie, and his mom won’t let him go without company.”

  “And you graciously offered to be his chaperone,” Kristen said wryly. “Eventually that woman will have to admit her son’s almost an adult and can see a movie by himself. Damn it,” she muttered, looking through her wallet. “No cash.”

  “ATM card?” her son asked hopefully, holding up hands in an innocent gesture. “I’ll bring it right back with the receipt.”

  As she debated, the door leading to the hallway and the offices of the Bobcats staff opened.

  Head coach of the team Ken Jordan walked through, nodding to the security that flanked the door before heading for Kristen’s desk. “Morning.”

  “Morning, Coach Jordan.” She set her purse down on the floor, ready to shove her son and his need for quick cash aside for her job. This job…she loved it. Loved the purpose it gave her, the sense of accomplishment, the feeling of being indispensable. Being a mother was an otherworldly experience, but the older—and more independent—her son became, the more Kristen knew she needed challenges of her own. This job was everything she needed.

  “What can I do for you, Coach?” she asked.

  “Well, I… Oh, Isaac. Hey there, son.” Reaching out to pat her son on the shoulder, Coach Jordan smiled. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”

  “Baseball for school finished up last weekend. Summer travel teams start practicing this week.”

  “Couldn’t get the kid to play with a pigskin, could you?” the coach asked with a teasing voice.

  Kristen sighed and shook her head. “I’m ashamed to admit, he prefers the leather glove to the feel of a football. What a weirdo.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Isaac said with a groan.

  “I’ll let you finish up your family thing,” Coach Jordan said, stepping back a bit.

  “Oh, no, it’s fine. He just came to play the Mom’s an ATM card. Please, what can I help you with?”

  “Mom’s an ATM, huh?” Ken Jordan’s eyes sparkled. He had two—no, three—daughters of his own, two of whom were still teenagers, though Irene was in college now. Kristen knew he was thinking of his own daughters and that they likely had a similar habit of dipping into their parents’ wallets for incidentals. Parental hazard of raising a teenager. “I’ve got a better idea. How much time do you have, Isaac?”

  Her son glanced at her, then back at the coach. “Uh, an hour or so, I guess. Why?”

  She debated kicking him for not showing more respect, but that would only draw attention. Instead, she bit back a hiss and prayed the coach wouldn’t notice or comment.

  “I’ve got some furniture in my office I want moved around. I’m getting a new desk soon, and it’s going to change the configuration. Was planning to do that myself later, but if you’re willing and think your muscles can handle it…” He let that hang in the air, and Isaac jumped on it.

  “I can handle it, Coach. No problem. I’ll help out.”

  “I’m willing to pay, but only if you do the job right,” Coach warned.

  Isaac’s head bobbed in agreement.

  Kristen blew out a breath of relief. Her son had done odd jobs around the building for years now, usually as a way to keep him out of trouble. And the cash to compensate him had come from her pockets. That someone else would offer—without being asked—made her currently light wallet weep with gratitude.

  But she really should protest. “Coach, you don’t have to pay him,” she began, but Jordan held up his hand to stop her.

  “Kristen, if I’m using someone for hard labor, they’ll get compensated. Let’s go, son. I’ll show you what I’
m thinking. Kristen, he’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Oh, but what did you need from me?” she asked, standing to follow him toward the door.

  “Nothing that can’t wait. It’s spring. We’ve got time.” Coach Jordan winked over his shoulder and led Isaac back into the private office areas of the Bobcats building.

  Clayton Barnes sat with his head in his hands, debating the need for yet another six quarterback plays.

  Ken Jordan had asked him to review the playbook, remove six, and add in the same number with fresh, new ideas. Not Clay’s style, personally. He preferred to have a small, solid stable of plays that were tested and validated, and not horse around with dozens of fancy trick plays that nobody could remember, half of which ended up being relegated to the back burner when they didn’t work like they should on paper anyway.

  But when the head coach asked you to jump, you jumped…at least in your first year. He’d been coaching for over a decade overall between college and the pros and had no problem making waves. But he also believed in picking battles to strategically wage the war. So he’d create the new plays…but he’d push to keep the stuff that worked. If he lasted with this organization—and God, he hoped he did—then he’d be more confident on how to push back.

  The sound of a grunt caught his attention, then a curse and what sounded like furniture falling. Jumping up from his desk, he rushed over toward the sound. He passed by Frank, the assistant who guarded the coaching offices like a dragon guarding an ivy-covered tower holding a princess. The man didn’t even look up from his typing as he grumbled, “In Jordan’s office.”

  Clay rushed past him, noting Frank didn’t bother to even pick up the phone to call security. Crotchety old bastard.

  Head Coach Ken Jordan’s office door was open, and he looked in to find someone half behind a bookcase that was threatening to fall over. Books scattered the floor in front of it, the obvious source of the thumping. And whoever was behind there made a sound that was a mixture of distress and frustration.

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” he demanded, then blinked when a young man’s head popped up from behind the shelving unit.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly, voice cracking a bit. Not a young man but a teenager. “Sorry. I…I mean Coach Jordan, he asked me to come help him out, then he had a meeting, so I’ve been struggling with this bookshelf, and it’s still tipping and could you help for the love of God I’m about to lose my grip.”

  Biting back further questions, Clay stepped in and gripped the bookcase easily. “Crawl out from behind there and we’ll get it upright.”

  The kid scuttled out from behind the wooden shelves and sighed with relief. His dark shirt was smeared with dust, but he grinned. “Thanks, sir. He wants it right here.”

  Clay settled it against the wall, then they both just looked at the floor and the pile of binders and books that littered the rug.

  “Shit,” the kid muttered, then sank down to his haunches, picking them up one by one. “You wouldn’t happen to know what kind of order he had these in, would you?”

  “No clue.” But he squatted down and started helping out. The kid threw him a grateful smile before continuing to pick up papers and sort them into the binders they had most likely fallen out of. “What exactly are you doing back here again? Who do you belong to?”

  “Coach Jordan asked me to move a few things around for when his new desk gets here next week.”

  “And he didn’t have the building maintenance guys do that because…”

  “Because I needed a little cash.” The teenager blushed and kept his eyes down as he picked up a book and smoothed the pages down. “He does that sometimes, asks me to do jobs he could probably get someone else in here to do. I can’t have a job right now because of baseball, and Mom’s busy socking money away like it’s going to be repossessed by the government, so she can save for college. Coach Jordan knows it. He’s a nice guy, you know?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He handed the kid another binder. “I’m Clay Barnes.”

  “I know.” The teen shook his head, some sandy-blond hair covering his eyes before he swiped it away. “I mean, I know almost everyone here. You’re still new, so I haven’t met you yet. I’m Isaac Brown.”

  Clay flipped through his mental file and came up with no Browns that worked in the main offices. There was a Malik Brown on the roster, but he had a feeling there was no relation. “So who do you belong to again?”

  “Oh, right. My mom’s up at the front desk. Keplar. Kristen Keplar.”

  Clay’s stomach tightened just at the name. Kristen freaking Keplar. The woman was walking sex on heels. The few times he’d been near her, he’d found himself surprised by the ferocity of his reaction to the buttoned-up-librarian look. She wore clothes damn well, but she had a pulled-back, reserved look to her. Very you can look but don’t dream of touching.

  And he wanted to touch. He wanted his greedy hands all over that tight, sweet body of hers. Make her lose that starched-up professional look and watch her morph into a sex kitten, complete with mewls of lust while he did things to her she’d only dreamed about.

  It was then he remembered he was standing in front of her teenage son. Shit.

  “I see.” He covertly shook his left leg in an effort to get ahold of himself, helped Isaac get the books and binders back into the bookshelf, then stood with the teen. The kid actually towered over him by at least two inches. “Basketball?”

  Isaac shook his head and brushed at his shirt. “Baseball, all the way. Traveling season is about to start up. I’m a senior. Well, almost,” he added, grinning. “Finals in a week. Baseball is finished for us at school though.”

  “Baseball’s my second favorite sport.” Clay nodded at the room. “Anything else need moving?”

  “No, that was the last of it. Hey, if you like baseball, you should come see us play sometime.” Isaac’s eyes twinkled with humor as he added, “A few times a season, Mom will get one of the players to show up. Freaks the opposing team out. I can only imagine what one of the coaches would do to their heads.”

  Clay laughed at that. The kid was dynamite. “Sure thing. Youth sports are important. I’m all for supporting the cause.”

  “Supporting the cause, huh?” Something shifted in the kid’s eyes, and then he held his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels a bit. “You know, our second coach for our traveling team bailed at the last minute. Too much work or something.”

  “Bummer,” Clay said, leaning a hip against the doorjamb. He could waste a few more minutes with the kid. So far this conversation was the best chance he had to avoid making up pointless new plays just to say he’d done it.

  What would Kristen think of him hanging with her son? Was she one of those hyper vigilant moms who freaked out if another adult looked their kid’s way? Or more laid-back, one of those… What did his sister call them? Free-range parents.

  He’d put her somewhere in the middle. Too busy to be hyper vigilant, but too efficient to be free range. He’d guess strict but fair. And if he were a teenager, he’d also call her a MILF.

  “You wanna do it?”

  That had Clay blinking. His current thoughts were definitely not on topic. “Wait, do what?”

  “You said you support youth sports. I’m a youth. I’m in a sport.” Isaac’s smile was mischievous now, clearly enjoying that he’d surprised Clay. “We need two coaches on the team. You like baseball. It seems like sort of a no-brainer.”

  “Does it,” Clay murmured. Tricky son of a gun. “Ask your dad.”

  “He lives in Albuquerque. He comes to some games, especially if our tournaments take us his direction, but he can’t coach.”

  That explained the different name from his mother. “I’ll…think about it.”

  “Great! Here’s the first practice, and the place it’s at.” Isaac grabbed a sticky note from the head coach’s desk and scribbled something with one of Ken’s pens. “If you can do it, just come on over. The guys would lose their shit.�
�� He held out the note to Clay, who took it without word. “Thanks for the help with the bookshelf!” Then the kid was gone, off like lightning.

  Clay stared at the sticky note in his hand, musing. Somehow Clay imagined Isaac took maybe for a hell yeah, count me in.

  Kristen tapped one hand on the desk, debating whether to leave early. Early in the off months meant leaving at four instead of five, which she’d been given authorization to do. The entire office staff had. But if there was something to accomplish, she never felt quite right leaving before five and abandoning it. Today, though, there was nothing pressing on her desk, so…

  Isaac wasn’t home, having left with twenty dollars from Coach Jordan in his pocket to meet Dylan at the movie theater. That meant nobody was waiting for her to cook dinner. He’d gorge out on movie popcorn and soda and pick at anything she slaved over anyway. Maybe…

  “Hey.”

  She jolted and shrieked, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so, so…” She started, swiveling in her chair and finding Clayton Barnes standing beside her desk. “Sorry,” she finished on a mumble. “You startled me.”

  “Clearly.” His lips tilted up in a small smile, showcasing a dimple, which only made him even more handsome than he already was. Damn the man. “My bad. I bet you’re fun at horror movies.”

  “Wouldn’t know, I refuse to go,” she said primly, inwardly wincing at her cold tone. What was it about this man that made her throw up the defenses so fast? “What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?”

  “You can stop calling me that, like I asked you to last time, to start with.”

  She nodded once. Each coach had their own preferences, and she tried to stick with them when appropriate. “Coach Barnes then.”

  “Clay.”

  “Coach Barnes,” she said firmly. She was a woman in a male-dominated world. She let her professionalism and performance speak for her.