To Win Her Back

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Five minutes later, he pulled into his driveway. Sliding from the truck, he crossed the lawn to the back porch. He unlocked the door, dodging Daisy’s licking tongue when the exuberant lab attempted to greet him. Lucy sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter beside the stove, a pizza box at her hip. He flicked a glance toward the kitchen table as he hung his keys on the hook beside the door.

  “Something wrong with the chairs?”

  Daisy returned to her spot on the floor in front of Lucy, nose in the air as she waited expectantly for dropped scraps. Lucy shrugged a thin shoulder and plucked a melted lump of cheese and pepperoni from the slice in her hand. The blob disappeared into her mouth and she chewed. “I put the pizza on your tab.”

  “Of course you did.” He crossed to the refrigerator and opened it in search of a beer. “How many times do I have to tell you, no takeout deliveries when I’m not here?”

  She hopped from the counter, picked up the box, and brought it to the table. “I was perfectly safe, Sam. Daisy was here and Cody Thompson from next door made the delivery.”

  Sam shut the refrigerator and turned with an arched brow. “That’s Dad to you.”

  She shot him a dismissive smirk. “Are you sure? Did the test results come back?” She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t have to. He knew she’d been checking the mail twice a day since the test was taken. She’d grown more and more anxious each day the results didn’t arrive. Sliding onto one of the chairs, she sat with one leg folded beneath her and slipped the dog a crust.

  With an inward sigh, Sam opened a cabinet and grabbed a couple of paper plates. Crossing to the table, he set one in front of her and took an open chair. Using his given name was one of her favorite jabs, when she wasn’t testing him, trying to elicit a reaction with her outrageous demands. He’d shot down her tattoo request last month and merely laughed when she insisted she be allowed to pierce her nose. She’d waited a week to pay him back. He eyed the deep purple streak flowing through the dark hair at her left temple and hoped it wasn’t permanent.

  “Who won the game?” She picked up her can of pop. “And where’s the award you were supposed to be getting? I expected you to bring home a trophy or something.”

  He slid a slice of gooey cheese and pepperoni onto his plate, then pushed Daisy’s head away from his lap as the dog turned her focus onto him. “It’s a plaque. The coach is putting it in the trophy case at the high school. And speaking of the game, I need to talk to you about something.”

  Her lips turned down in a mulish frown. “I told you I have a term paper due when school starts up again after Christmas. Besides, football is boring.”

  He twisted the cap from his beer, took a deep swallow, and settled deeper into his chair. “That’s because you don’t understand the intricacies of the game.”

  She snorted and set aside her pop to pick up her pizza. “What intricacies? It’s just a bunch of sweaty boys chasing a ball and patting each other’s butts.”

  He couldn’t help his smile. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, but football isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. Not directly.” He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably and studied her profile. “An old…friend showed up at the game tonight with a job offer.”

  She froze with the slice an inch from her lips. “You already have a job.”

  He nodded and watched her closely. “I do, but my contract with the college is up and, so far, the administration and I haven’t been able to come to an agreement. This new offer would be a promotion of sorts.”

  She dropped her gaze to the table and lowered the pizza to the plate. “So, you’d get more money?”

  “Among other things.” He slammed the mental door on the image of russet curls and flashing blue eyes shimmering in his mind. Get a grip, pal. The “V” chapter of your life ended long ago.

  Lucy remained perfectly still, except for her fingers. She curled them into fists. “What’s the job?”

  “Offensive coordinator for the Manhattan Marauders.”

  Her head jerked up and fear widened her cocoa-brown eyes. Twin flags of color erupted on her pale cheeks. “You’re moving to Manhattan?”

  “If I take the job, yeah.” What color had remained leached from her face, and he swore beneath his breath. “But I wouldn’t go alone. You’d come with me.”

  The panic in her eyes eased only slightly. As if sensing her anxiety, Daisy pressed against Lucy’s thigh. She looked down and rested a hand on the dog’s wide head. “The court—”

  “Screw the court.” Sam covered his concern over the court’s potential ruling with a negligent shrug. According to the lawyer he’d hired, things could get sticky if the test came back negative, but with Maggie dead, tracking down a nameless man from fifteen years ago would be next to impossible.

  Lucy chewed her bottom lip. “What about school?”

  Back on safer ground, he smiled. “They have schools in Manhattan, and New York City is big when it comes to the arts. I’m sure we can find a studio where you can continue your dance lessons.”

  Her shoulders rolled in a stilted shrug, as if to say her lessons didn’t matter. He knew better. She played down her interest in ballet, but she spent every hour she could in the dance studio with Anita.

  He sighed when she remained silent. “I’ve got a game to coach tomorrow afternoon. It’s the last of the season. After that, I’m free. The Marauders want me in Manhattan for a meet-and-greet on Sunday and a tour of the complex Monday. What do you say we stay on for a few extra days and check things out?”

  She stared at the table and swallowed, then spoke in a small voice. “You want me to come with you?”

  “Hey.” He waited until she looked up. She peeked at him through a thick fringe of dark lashes, and the doubt in her eyes wrenched his gut. “No matter what happens, I’m not leaving you behind.” He shoved the plate aside to lean his elbows on the table. “But I’m not going to lie to you, either. This job is a big deal. One I’ve been working toward my entire career. I want it. So badly I can taste it, but whether or not I accept the position isn’t my decision alone. We’re in this together, kid. You’re going to have to sign off on it, too.”

  The surprised flash of hope in her eyes was painful to witness. She covered it quickly with the derisive smirk she employed most days. “So, if I say no, you’re not going to take it?”

  He narrowed his eyes, but was relieved. Call him crazy, but he preferred the snarky brat to the frightened little girl. “Oh, I’m taking it.” He straightened and picked up his slice. “And, like it or not, you’re going with me.”

  Her lips turned down at the corners, and he expected a further argument. He would have preferred one to her taunting drawl. “What about Patricia? Is she coming, too?”

  Aw, shit.

  Chapter 3

  “What kind of gentleman wakes a woman at the crack of dawn to dump her over the phone?”

  “I never claimed to be a gentleman, Patricia.” Sam shifted the phone to his other hand and opened the refrigerator. “Considering you’re floating around on the Caribbean, you’re lucky I reached you at all, and dump isn’t the term I would use.”

  “You’re telling me it’s over between us. What else would you call it?”

  Correcting a mistake came to mind. He didn’t think she’d appreciate the candor, however. The truth was, their on-again, off-again affair had lost its appeal long ago—for both of them, if her extended trip to Italy was any indication. In his experience, that was to be expected. For him, the fleeting pleasure of sex inevitably took a back seat to football and ambition. With Patricia, the lure of the next conquest was the irresistible draw.

  The no-strings arrangement had suited them both for a time, but had fallen flat since Lucy arrived in his life. She and Patricia were like oil and water, and he didn’t see that improving anytime soon. If ever. Now, with the Marauders’ offer…. Hell, even if the Marauders hadn’t come calling, Lucy came first and, frankly, t
he convenient sex wasn’t worth the headaches that went along with it.

  He plucked a beer from the fridge. “I’d call it a courtesy between friends.”

  Patricia’s harsh laugh coughed in his ear. “That’s a nice sugar coating, but our relationship is a little more complicated than simple friendship.”

  “You’re right. We’re friends who sleep together when neither of us is involved elsewhere.”

  “There is no need to be crude, darling.”

  “Just speaking the truth.” With a sigh, he twisted off the cap on his beer. “We’ve both known for a while this was where things were headed. Look at it this way. With me out of the picture, you won’t have to feel guilty for staying a little longer with whoever is currently warming your berth on that yacht.”

  “You can be a real bastard, you know that?”

  He chuckled at her petulant tone, but noted she hadn’t denied the charge. “Admit it. You’re just pissed you didn’t think to dump me first.”

  “I thought you said this wasn’t a dumping,” she purred.

  “Touché.” He smiled as the sound of a key in the kitchen door drew his attention. Daisy broke into a round of happy whining as TJ Burke let herself inside. Eying the phone pressed to his ear, she held up a bag of take-out and mouthed, “Sorry. I brought food.”

  His smile morphed into a grin as he ran his gaze over her. TJ was a mess, as usual. A stubbed needle of hay protruded from the long black braid falling over one shoulder. The left elbow of her button-down flannel shirt sported a tear, and both knees of her jeans bore stains of a questionable source. She looked as if she’d come straight from someone’s barn. As the town’s only veterinarian, odds were, she had.

  Although the concern in her tired smile set off warning bells, he was too relieved at the interruption to heed them. “I’ve got to go, Patricia. Someone’s at the door.”

  An irritated sigh floated through the phone. “This conversation isn’t finished, Samuel.”

  Across the room, TJ mocked sticking her finger down her throat. She batted her lashes, then bent to scrub her hands over his excited dog.

  “What is there left to say?” He snagged a second beer from the door of the fridge. “We agreed going in, neither of us were looking for long term. I’m saving us both time and aggravation.”

  TJ jerked straight. Her green eyes sparkled with gleeful anticipation. “Oh, please tell me you’re finally dumping the snooty cow.”

  He squinted at her in warning. She shrugged, unapologetic, and set the take-out on the counter.

  “I assume that’s TJ.” Patricia didn’t wait for affirmation. Her cultured voice slid into a sneer. “Tell your bovine-loving cousin, if anyone would know about cows, it’s her.”

  He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. As usual, whenever his cousin and Patricia clashed, things tended to head toward a catfight in a hurry. “Goodbye, Patricia. I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait, Samuel—”

  He thumbed the screen and ended the call. With a frustrated sigh, he tossed the phone onto the counter and met his cousin’s waiting gaze. “Don’t say it.”

  Daisy nosed TJ’s hand and she rubbed her fingers over the dog’s head. “Okay, but if you recall, I told you jumping into bed with Barlow’s Oil Princess would come back to bite you in the ass.”

  “Thanks for not saying it.”

  She smirked at his dry tone and caught the beer bottle he tossed her with practiced ease. Screwing off the top, she leaned her hip against the counter. “Word around town is, you’ve had a busy night.”

  He cursed beneath his breath. Obviously, she was referring to more than his international phone call. To his knowledge, V hadn’t spoken to anyone but him and Anita during her short stay earlier. Still, this was Barlow. Strangers stuck out like neon signs, especially curvy redheaded pariahs in cream woolen suits.

  Which would explain why TJ was in his kitchen at midnight when she was clearly exhausted. More than a cousin, she was his best friend. She’d had his back during the dark days after his injury, and despite there no longer being a need, the habit remained. Like a hundred-ten-pound warrior, she’d appointed herself as his protector and champion—and she carried a major grudge where her ex-friend V was concerned.

  “I guess you’ve heard.”

  She sipped daintily and swallowed. “About you and Victoria Price squaring off in the parking lot before tonight’s game?” He frowned and she nodded. “I spent the last eleven hours out at the Double J. They had three mares drop foals. One of them breech. Because I was starving, I stopped by the café before going home. Esther Gimmly was there.”

  Of course she was. Gleefully spreading the word of V’s appearance, no doubt.

  TJ’s kelly-green eyes studied him over the rim of her beer. “You okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  A sardonic arch of her brow was her only answer.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  He crossed the room in three long strides. She arched back as he slapped his hands onto the counter, caging her hips, and leaned in until they were nose to nose. “It’s been fifteen years, TJ. I moved on a long time ago. It’s time you did, too.” Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he reached past her for the bag of takeout. Daisy danced around his feet and followed as he crossed to the table and straddled one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Please.” TJ tore off several squares of paper towel and yanked open the silverware drawer. “Moved on to what? Bimbos like Patricia Amandola?”

  It was an old argument. One he wasn’t interested in hashing through for the hundredth fucking time. Daisy nosed his arm in a blatant beg for attention and he thumped her side. “I happen to like bimbos.”

  “That’s because you’re a slut.” He grinned and nodded his agreement, and she frowned. “You’re also thirty-five years old with a steady job, every woman you meet thinks you’re hot, and you have all your teeth.”

  He chuckled. “Is that an occupational observation? I’m not a horse, cuz.”

  She waved him off. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  He curled his lips in a leering grin because he knew it would piss her off. “You’re trying to say I’m a catch.”

  She stalked to the table and set several forks down before sliding into the chair across from him. “You’re a definite catch, but because of V, the only women you even look at are party girls who are only in it for the sex.”

  He laughed, ignoring the reference to V, but TJ wasn’t finished.

  Leaning forward, she chewed her lip, a definite warning he wouldn’t like what she was about to say. “But I’m talking about your heart and that family you always claimed you wanted when we were kids.”

  His grin slipped and he jerked his head toward the hallway. “My family is asleep down the hall in her bedroom.”

  That took some of the wind out of her argument. Her chest swelled on a shuddering sigh.

  He sat forward and grabbed the bag of takeout. “I love you, TJ, but I’m a grown man, responsible for my own choices. I don’t need you protecting me from V or any other woman, any more than I need you telling me how I should live my life. I get enough of that from Mom.” He tore open the bag, revealing two plates of his favorite Tex-Mex barbeque sandwiches and a large side of cole slaw. “So, unless you’re prepared to have me sticking my nose into your love life, I suggest we change the subject.”

  She tilted her chin stubbornly, but backed down…in her own way. “I don’t want her to hurt you again.”

  “She hasn’t had the power to do that in a long time. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

  “Okay.” She sniffed and dropped a paper towel on her lap with a nod. “But what was she doing in Barlow? What did she want?”

  “Not me, I can promise you that. At least, not on a personal level.” He smiled at the memory of V’s nervousness and slid one of the plates toward his cousin. “It turns out, she heads up the Manhattan Marauders’ publ
ic relations department these days.”

  TJ peeled back the foil cover on her plate and sniffed appreciatively at the fragrant steam. “I thought she represented Jake Malone.”

  So had Sam. He’d talked to Jake a number of times since he’d moved over to the broadcasting side of the sport at the end of last season, and the ex-pro hadn’t said a word about V taking a new job. Then again, since Florida, they’d respected an unspoken agreement to steer clear of the subject of V. Sam shrugged. “Once Jake retired from the field, she moved on.”

  “Well, there’s a big surprise. Moving on is V’s specialty.”

  He couldn’t argue with TJ’s assessment but, strictly on principle, he cocked his head and pinned her with a cautioning stare.

  She rolled her eyes and picked up her sandwich. “Fine, but you haven’t answered my question. Why did she come back?”

  Renewed excitement fired in his veins. “Apparently, the team is looking for a new offensive coordinator. She came to offer me the job.”

  TJ froze with her barbeque-stuffed roll hovering an inch from her lips. A mix of surprise and disbelief widened her eyes. “Get. Out!”

  He shrugged, but couldn’t help his satisfied smile.

  “Oh my God. Holy shit. Sam, the Marauders. Oh my God.” Her lips slowly curved in wide grin.

  “I know.” He shook his head. “Jesus. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find it’s all a dream. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. I only found out this evening the position is opening up. I haven’t said yes, yet.”

  She waved him off. “But you will, of course.”

  Damned straight, he would. “From what I’ve seen of the contract, I’d be a fool not to.”