Changing Her Plans (Santa Fe Bobcats)

by Jeanette Murray

He sighed, and she could tell she’d annoyed him. But if her being professional and dignified in the workplace annoyed him, he’d just have to find a straw and suck it up.

  “I met your son, Isaac, back in the offices.”

  That gave her pause. “Oh.” Then, because her mind began spinning, “Did he say something inappropriate? Or bother you?” Her eyes widened at the hundred ways a teenager could have messed up. “Oh my God, he didn’t—”

  The coach laughed, cutting her off. “No, not at all. He was struggling with a bookshelf. I happened to be nearby, and helped him out.”

  “Maybe Coach Jordan should have split the twenty bucks with you,” she said, inwardly pleased when he chuckled again. It highlighted that he had laugh lines by the corners of his eyes. She didn’t know his age—refused to check the HR files, though she could have—but she’d guess he was early to midforties. Not married, from both the lack of a ring and word around the office. She had no clue if he had children, but…

  Wait, why was she analyzing the man? She wasn’t looking for a date. Especially not from him. He was ruthless on the field. Watching him coach the players scared her. She recognized all types of coaching, had seen her son experience most of them...but there was just something about him she didn’t like on the field.

  But when he smiled…okay, fine. The man was charming.

  “He seems like a good kid, your son.”

  Damn charming.

  Anytime someone complimented her son, especially out of the blue, it warmed something inside her. “Isaac’s fantastic. I can hardly take any credit there, actually. He just sort of came out of the womb responsible and easygoing.”

  “He asked me to be his baseball coach.”

  That made her sit back and take a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, he did what?”

  “Hey, easy.” He crouched down on the balls of his feet, one hand on the arm of her chair, blocking her in.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice unsteady…mostly due to the proximity of his body and how deeply he was staring into her eyes.

  “You went white as a sheet for a second.” His light blue eyes bore holes through her. “Either your blood sugar bottomed out right in front of me, or you’re not a fan of my coaching your son.”

  “What? That’s not true,” she denied, but the words were forced through a tight throat and came out cartoonish and squeaky. Clearing her throat, Kristen tried again. “Sorry, that’s not true. I just can’t believe he asked you. That was so…exactly something he would do.” She finished on a sigh. “I’m sorry. I hope you were firm when you said no, or else he’ll come back again. He’s tenacious. A quality I usually find endearing, unless it’s being used against me.”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  That had her sitting back in her chair again. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?” Something sparkled in his light blue eyes. Mischief? Playfulness? It added an element of good humor to the handsomeness she was finding more and more attractive by the moment.

  Terrible idea, Kristen. Horrible. The worst.

  “The hours are terrible,” she started, “and you’re outside all the time. Some of the kids are real shits. Believe me, not all of them are like Isaac,” she added with a shudder. No exaggeration there. Her son and his best friend were two sweethearts. But so many of the others already believed they were God’s gift to baseball and acted accordingly.

  “Not to mention the parents, who are the reason why those kids are not-so-little shits.”

  “Parents are definitely one thing I don’t have to deal with in this coaching gig,” he admitted, chuckling a bit. “But it’s the off-season. I’ve got some time, and you know our organization is always pressing community service. It’d be a good example to set for the players.”

  How did someone argue with an attitude of servitude? “There’s travel,” she said weakly.

  “Being a travel team, I suspected,” he said dryly.

  “Could you…” She cleared her throat and waved a hand between them. “Could you maybe step back? It’s hard talking like this.” Mostly because the man was throwing off pheromones like a St. Patrick’s Day parade float tossing candy. And though she wouldn’t bet her 401(k) on it, she had a hunch it was unintentional. The man was just damn sexy, without trying, without meaning to be. And something deep inside her, something she’d kept locked away first out of necessity and then out of habit, slowly woke.

  “Huh?” He glanced between them, then shook his head, almost as if he had forgotten he’d been crouching down, crowding her. As he stood, Kristen smoothed down her skirt and stood herself. In her stacked heels, she was nearly eye level with him. More even playing field.

  The left side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile, and that damn dimple popped again. “Well, I think you’ve sealed the deal for me.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m taking the job.”

  Chapter 2

  Kristen sat in the bleachers of the practice field, doing her best not to roast while still getting a good view of the field. Not that there was anything to watch yet. The team was still in the dugout. Probably being introduced to their new coach.

  “Hey, girl.” Sienna Maker sat beside her, a wide-brimmed hat shading her pale features. “Haven’t seen you at practice much in the past year or so.”

  “Since Isaac got his license and his dad got him his own car, the job of chauffer became a thing of the past.” She grinned at the other mom. “Freedom.”

  “Ugh, don’t tell me that. I switch between being thrilled Nathan will take his test in a few months and terrified. Every time I think I can taste a little bit of freedom, the realization that a teenage driver will have the same amount of freedom scares me back into the Land of It’s Not Happening.”

  “I’ve lived there a time or two,” Kristen said on a laugh. It appeared as though they were the only two parents to attend this practice, which wasn’t unusual. Nathan was a baseball phenom and played up in the age brackets for added competition. As most of the boys on the travel team started driving the year before, the number of parents staying through practice had dwindled to just Sienna.

  “I heard there was a new coach to replace John. Do you know who he is?” Sienna shielded her eyes with one hand as boys started to file out of the dugout.

  Kristen coughed. There was no way around it. “I do, actually. He’s part of the Bobcat organization. Doing some volunteering during the off-season time.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet. And good for you, getting us a second coach. It really is a two-man job.”

  “Isaac was the one that pinned him down,” Kristen protested.

  Sienna patted Kristen’s knee absently, then got out a magazine. Clearly, she had a practice routine. Most of the moms did, and it varied from anything like paying bills to checking Facebook, if they even stayed at all anymore.

  She watched as Clay—he was unmistakable—headed to the outfield for some fielding practice while the head coach—Anton—did some pitching work. And she kept her eyes and ears trained to the situation.

  But nothing, literally nothing, she heard sounded one bit like a Bobcats practice. There were no gestures of aggravation when a player bobbled a catch. When he called out an instruction, it was done firmly but without any of the salty language she’d heard him—and okay, other coaches too—use with the football boys. And he laughed… Something she’d never once heard him do in his coaching job.

  Sierra didn’t look up from her magazine, just kept flipping and occasionally folding a corner of a page down to mark it for later.

  And so Kristen took the opportunity to study Clay a little more. He wore a baseball hat—backward now, she assumed to keep out of his way—and shades. Unlike the team polo shirt and slacks or khaki shorts he usually wore to work, tonight he was dressed in a faded gray shirt and jeans. She couldn’t help but notice the shirt stretched nicely over his arms and chest as he lobbed balls for the boys to hustle after.

>   Okay, yes, the man was flipping gorgeous. That didn’t make ogling him the right decision.

  Another sideways glance at Sierra confirmed the woman was fully engrossed in an article about which celebrity breakup was the most brutal.

  Fine. Five more minutes of ogling. Then that was all.

  Okay, maybe ten.

  Clay waited for the team’s coach—Anton, a slender man with dark brown skin and a ready smile—to finish giving the guys their next week’s practice schedule, a few words of encouragement, then dismiss them. The boys started to talk at once, moving like a blob in their matching shirts and grass-stained baseball pants.

  “Do they always wear jerseys to practice?” he asked Anton as the boys started to slowly merge out of the dugout.

  “Those aren’t jerseys, just practice shirts. It’s something one of their other coaches started a few years ago, and they’ve kept it up.” Anton slung a large bag full of equipment over his shoulder. When he gestured to a tub of baseballs, Clay took the cue and picked them up, following behind the head coach. “These boys have been playing together for years. They’re damn good too. If the parents want to pay for practice shirts so the boys feel a sense of unity from the start, I’m not gonna argue.”

  Neither would Clay. Just as they reached the parking lot, Isaac and another boy jogged back over.

  “Coach, hey.”

  “Hey,” both Anton and Clay said simultaneously. Clay chuckled, then held up his hands and took a step back. “Sorry, your show.”

  “Well, I meant both of you. Sorry for the confusion.” Isaac grinned, and Clay saw his mother in the boy’s eyes. “But the guys were all talking about grabbing a slice at Pizza Dan’s. Interested?”

  Anton shook his head. “Sorry, boys. I’m out for the night. Gotta get to my daughter’s ice-skating practice. There’s a sentence twenty-five-year-old me never thought I’d say,” he added on a mutter for only Clay’s benefit. Clay laughed.

  “I’m in, if you guys don’t mind the newbie tagging along.” When Isaac and his teammate nodded, he said, “Let’s go.”

  “Great. I’ll just go ask my mom,” Isaac said quickly, then darted off. Clay followed the boy’s retreat, barely managing a wave as Anton started to head to his car. The kid ran like a gazelle toward the bleachers, where Kristen sat.

  Did she always come to practices? The only other mom that stayed through had already taken off with her son—whom Anton had clued him in about, being that he was too young to drive, unlike his teammates. But Isaac could, and did, drive himself to practice.

  Dollars to donuts, she was checking to make sure he didn’t screw this all up to hell and back.

  He wanted to be annoyed at that...but she was being a mom. After watching his sister handle the job by herself for a year now, he’d come to respect a mother’s intuition and insight.

  “Mom’s coming!” Isaac shouted, then waved. “See you over there!”

  Kristen approached slowly, and he took stock of her outside the office. Her casual look was new to him. For once, she wasn’t wearing killer heels and a pencil skirt that made a man salivate. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t impressed...

  Skintight jeans molded to her hips and thighs before flaring out slightly around the calves. She wore tennis shoes—a little beat-up—and a Hornets T-shirt. The Hornets were the baseball team’s mascot, he knew. They’d kept the same one since they were twelve. Or so sayeth the team.

  “Hey,” she said lightly, looking over her shoulder as if checking on her son.

  “Hey.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Come to practices often?”

  “Not so much since he started to drive.” She blushed a little and looked toward the ground. “I have to confess, I might have been spying.”

  That she would admit it so easily made the last of the residual annoyance float away. “And?”

  “Fishing for compliments?” she teased, finally meeting his gaze. “You were good with them. They liked you. I could tell.”

  “Hmm,” was all he said, then started following her to the lot. Their cars were the only two left. “I’m surprised Isaac invited you for pizza.”

  “Really?”

  “That came out wrong.” He wanted to groan. Nice impression you’re making, idiot. “I just meant, most teenage boys don’t want their moms hanging around, you know?”

  “Oh, that.” Kristen laughed lightly and nudged his arm with her elbow. “You can’t see right through the ploy?”

  He shook his head, opening his trunk to toss in his mitt and bat before closing it again.

  “He wants me there so he doesn’t have to pay. That’s the rule, mostly. When he goes out alone, he’s on his own for cash. If I’m along, I usually pay. He’s a mooch.”

  That made Clay laugh. “Smart kid.”

  “He can be,” she agreed. “You don’t have to go though, if you don’t want to. They won’t be offended if you have somewhere else to be.”

  “Why is it I always feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?” he wondered, watching a tendril of her hair escape from behind her ear to float around her shoulder. He fought back the urge to brush it away for her.

  “Just wanting to make sure you don’t feel extra obligated to step up and lose more of your time. It’s finite. I don’t want you to feel like it’s wasted.”

  “I appreciate that. But I don’t mind going out for a slice of pizza. And you’ll be there, right?”

  “Mm hmm,” she agreed.

  “Then it won’t be wasted.”

  What in the world did he mean by that?

  Kristen sat in the corner booth of Pizza Dan’s, poking her second slice of pizza with the crust of the first. Normally, she could eat three slices of the delicious stuff without hesitation, but her mind was too preoccupied to enjoy the taste.

  It won’t be wasted.

  Because she was going to be here. Was that because he wouldn’t feel awkward with a bunch of teens, alone? Or was that...more?

  Clay sat down again, his breath huffing out as he slid into the booth. “Those boys kicked my ass on that video game. No mercy shown.”

  “Good for them. Play to win and all that.” She grinned when he gave her a sardonic look. “What? Were you hoping they’d go easy on you because you’re old? I can guarantee you, that’ll never happen.”

  “So noted. And I’m not that old. I’m forty-two,” he grumbled, grabbing another slice of pizza from the pie on their table. “That’s not old.”

  Four years older than her. She’d been right, mostly, about his age. Maybe it was his more stiff demeanor at work that had her guessing up a few more years. With the teens, he was more relaxed. He laughed, he smiled, he joked. This was a side of him she’d never witnessed before.

  She liked it...too much.

  The server dropped off another diet soda for her, a regular one for Clay, and the check. She started to reach for it, but Clay shook his head.

  “New guy buys. It’s tradition.”

  Kristen started to argue, then saw in the way his eyes glinted that it would be futile. “You can’t buy Isaac’s pizza and mine. That’s not right.”

  “I didn’t. I bought the team’s pizzas. Don’t go thinking you’re all that special.” He winked and said it with such a humorous light and a smile that she knew he was kidding.

  “You keep offering to buy food for a pack of teenage boys, and you’ll go bankrupt,” Kristen warned. Seeing he wouldn’t budge, she caved. “Fine. But I’ll pay the tip.” Which, at the rate the team had gone through the pizzas and soda, would be nearly what her and her son’s meals cost outright anyway.

  Clay considered, then shrugged one large shoulder. “Fine, that works.”

  He could be reasonable. Impressive.

  “Mom, hey, I’m heading to Dillon’s for a while.” Isaac squatted down by her bench, his face a little flushed from the exertion of trying to win the shooting game in the corner of the restaurant.

  “Can we try that again?�
�� she asked mildly.

  “Maternal figure,” he said, his voice more like a robot’s now, “may I please go over to Dillon’s place of residence?”

  “Better. And yes. But next time lose the sass, or I’ll kiss you in front of the team,” she warned. The horrified look on her son’s face was payment enough. “Shoo.”

  “Thanks!”

  She watched him and his best friend and teammate Dillon leave the restaurant. They were the final two players.

  “And then there were two,” Clay said quietly.

  “Happens all the time.” Kristen smiled fondly as her son and Dillon got in their separate cars. The mom in her waited until both boys backed out of their parking spaces and drove out of the parking lot at what appeared to be a respectable speed before she could look back to Clay. “He’s such a good kid and naturally responsible that I try to let him have a lot of flexibility. He misses time with friends on the times he goes to his father’s.”

  Clay opened his mouth but closed it again and simply nodded. “He seems like a really great kid. You’ve done well.”

  “His father had a hand in there too, plus some genetics. But…thanks.” She smiled. “Do you have any kids?”

  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. It was too personal. Too private. Why, oh why, had she asked that?

  “Nope, no kids.” He signed the check with a flourish. Kristen took a quick peek at the total to calculate the tip, then discretely left the bills under the salt and pepper shakers.

  “I should go,” she said, sliding out of the booth. He started to stand, and she had a feeling it was out of gentlemanly manners. Nice but unnecessary. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I can—”

  “I’ll walk out with you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Let’s just say I want to and leave it at that.” He followed closely behind as she walked through the restaurant. As they were almost at the door, someone recognized him and stopped him for an autograph and a photo.

  She could have made a break for it. He wouldn’t have left the fans hanging to chase after her. But that would have been cowardly. And pointless since she saw him at work. There was no ditching him in the grand scheme of life.