Making the Play

by T. J. Kline

  There was a distinct possibility that this was her worst-­case scenario.

  She was falling for Grant McQuaid, hard and fast, and that was something she simply couldn’t do. He was leaving town in a week for his medical appointments and training camp. Starting a relationship that was bound to end in heartache, and hurt James, was the stupidest thing she could do. Logically, she knew it yet it didn’t stop her from wanting him.

  That moment on the couch, she’d almost given in to the feelings that welled in her chest. When he’d pulled her down beside him, it had taken every ounce of her control not to sigh and curl into his embrace, practically purring like a kitten. She hadn’t been strong enough to keep from leaning against him, inhaling the musky scent of his soap or feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath her hand on his chest, its pulse matching the way her own heart raced.

  She’d been sure he was going to turn his head and kiss her, welcomed it even, until he jumped up and made her head practically bounce off the cushions along the back of the couch.

  She sighed. At least one of them had been thinking clearly.

  She made her way back to the stairs and, from the top, could see him standing below. “Are you leaving?”

  “I should get going.”

  “Oh.”

  Disappointment rang in her voice and she hoped he didn’t hear it. Grant hadn’t said anything about when, or if, they might see him again, even when she hinted at needing a sitter again. It was probably best to reconcile herself to the fact that this was as good a time as any to put this crush of hers to rest.

  She made her way down the stairs. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for James.”

  “Just James?” Grant was looking up at her with those dark eyes of his. She might get lost if she continued to stare into them. There was emotion there but she wasn’t sure she wanted to name it. Desire? Maybe. Apprehension? Definitely. She just wasn’t sure why.

  She gave him a slight smile. “No, not just James. You’ve helped me too.”

  Bethany gasped as she stepped down from the last stair and Grant’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. Her heart pounded against her ribs and it stole her ability to speak. She sucked in a quick breath just before he dipped his head. The touch of his lips was gentle, warm and seductive. Her hands were caught between them, against the hard washboard of his stomach, and clenched instinctively. She needed to feel the rest of him under her fingers, to feel his skin, his heat. He brushed his mouth over hers, toying with her, teasing her, and she realized he was testing her to see what she would allow.

  The problem was that she didn’t know what she really wanted anymore. Her body craved being closer to Grant but fear warned her to move away, to hide from the storm of emotions he was creating inside her.

  She hadn’t even been kissed by a man since the morning her ex-­husband kissed her cheek before turning his back on her and James without warning. She hadn’t been this close to a man, or let one this close to her and James, since Matthew’s abandonment. She’d forgotten how a look could send the butterflies in her stomach flitting, how a glance could make her tingle with anticipation and how a touch could make her limbs go liquid with desire. Grant was forcing her to come alive, making her feel things she hadn’t felt in the last six years like she was awaking from hibernation.

  Who was she kidding? She’d never felt this heady desire, not even with Matthew. They’d been friends and lovers, but there had never been this overwhelming hunger that made her feel simultaneously hot and cold, weak and powerful.

  Grant curled his fingers into her hair, drawing her closer, and her hands found their way over his chest, climbing the granite wall of muscle to his shoulders. His tongue swept over hers and he tasted of sweet mint. She sighed, leaning into him for balance, for something solid to help her regain her equilibrium. She was about to wind her arms around his neck and give herself over completely to the reckless abandon her body craved, when he withdrew, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

  She knew she should be trying to maintain a safe distance, for her heart and her body, but it was the last thing on her mind as the muscles of his shoulders twitched, tensing under her fingers. He didn’t release her and she didn’t try to move out of his arms.

  Grant didn’t even bother to hide the cocky tilt of his grin. “You’re a pretty damn good kisser, Ms. Mills.”

  She could hear the soft drawl in his voice from his time spent in Memphis with the team and it made her want to melt against him. It reminded her of riverboat cruises up the Mississippi, afternoon barbecues and home. She felt connected to Grant in a way that went beyond football and she felt a few more of her reservations fade into the distance.

  What if . . . her heart whispered.

  She wanted to cling to the possibility for a moment longer, before she allowed reality to crash in, spoiling her fantasy. Bethany arched a saucy brow at him and leaned backward, her hips pressing into his. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. McQuaid.”

  Grant groaned deep in his throat, growing suddenly serious. His eyes became dark pools of desire as his hand slid to her hip, his fingers slightly curling into the flesh as he pulled her firmly against him. She could feel the evidence of his arousal against the front of her.

  “Bethany, unless you want me to forget being the gentleman my Mom raised, don’t do that again.”

  She felt the blush rise over her cheeks and took a step backward, bumping into the railing of the staircase. “I didn’t . . . I mean . . .”

  His smile was gentle again but the hunger didn’t leave his eyes. “You really have no idea what you do to a man, do you?” he asked, leaning close to her ear. “You look at me with those big, innocent eyes and I forget.”

  She felt the shiver of yearning travel down her spine making her want to press against him again. His hand ran down her arm and back up her side, his lips brushing over the edge of her ear sending shivers of delight spiraling through her limbs.

  “Forget what?”

  Her voice was barely a whisper of sound. She couldn’t chance speaking louder. Doing that might break the spell he’d woven over her and make her come to her senses. It might make her remember that these feelings weren’t made to last.

  He brushed his lips against hers, barely a featherlight touch. His hand found the curve of her jaw and he cupped her face with both of his hands reverently.

  “I have to go,” he murmured, his lips moving over hers. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

  Without looking back, he hurried out the front door, leaving her standing at the foot of the stairs with the fingers of one hand over her lips. She heard the roar of his car engine only seconds before it faded down the street. Bethany refused to acknowledge the regret trying to creep up on her or give in to the angry tears welling at the back of her eyes. She’d known better and this was all a result of her not listening to the warnings she’d given herself, for plunging headlong into the vulnerable state she now found herself in.

  I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t stay any longer.

  How ironic that Grant had used such similar words to those in the note Matthew had left on the kitchen table the morning he’d left them behind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I THOUGHT YOU were putting an end to this?” Grant’s father tossed the paper beside him as Grant sat down with a cup of coffee, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I like her, Grant. Don’t do this to her.”

  Travis McQuaid had never been one to mince words and, since he’d already been up for at least a few hours, he had little sympathy for any of his sons who slept in past six in the morning.

  “Think you could give me five minutes to wake up first, Dad?” Grant slid the paper closer.

  While the headline was about the upheaval in town over a new box store that had proposed coming in, the story just below it was yet another picture of him. This time, it showed Gra
nt and the back of James head, having burgers, detailing how he was spending time with the unnamed child. He noticed they were careful enough not to show James’ face, since they didn’t have his parent’s permission but, since there weren’t any other hearing-­impaired kids in this town, it would be hard for anyone to mistake the implants on James’ head or who it was a picture of.

  “Son of a bitch,” Grant muttered. “At least this makes my story that I’m spending time with him as part of an outreach more believable. I told them we weren’t an item and tipped them off so they would see Bethany on her date . That should have been enough to satisfy most ­people.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not that woman or her kid they’re really interested in, son. It’s you. You should have stayed out of sight.” He sipped his coffee.

  “I thought I did.”

  “They’re going to keep following you around until you leave. Just like they always do.”

  “If I leave.” Grant stared down into the mug, letting the steam from the coffee invade his senses, hoping the caffeine might give him some clarity on what to do next.

  He hadn’t told Bethany about the phone call from the team owner. Maybe he should have. Because what he really needed to do was find out how she would feel about his staying and if she felt the same connection sizzling between them. In truth, he wanted to know if she believed there was any possibility of a relationship between them that went beyond friendship. If that kiss was any indication, they didn’t just sizzle, they could burn the town to the ground.

  But there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to hop on a plane today and fly out to Memphis to prove to Wolf that he still had it, that he could still keep up with the rookies coming in, that he wasn’t a liability regardless of what the doctors might be telling him.

  “What do you mean ‘if’?”

  Grant shook his head. “I got a call yesterday. They’re ready to put me out to pasture, even if the doctors clear me. They want to buy out the rest of my contract and have me work with the offensive coordinator.”

  His father ran his finger and thumb over his jaw, the same way Grant did when he was thinking. He and his father were so much alike, enough to drive each other crazy, but in times like these, it came in handy to have someone who understood him so well.

  “Hmm, are you considering it?”

  Grant shrugged half-­heartedly. In truth, it wasn’t a bad offer for someone in his position. He’d risked everything he’d saved over the years on the ranch, knowing it would pay off in the end. He just hadn’t realized the end of his career would come before the return came in. Still, being around the team but unable to continue playing would prove to be torture.

  “Doesn’t sound like something you’d want to do if there were other options,” he pointed out.

  “I’m not sure there are.”

  “What about going to another team?”

  Grant sighed and sipped the coffee, willing the caffeine to give his brain a much needed jolt. “I’d need an offer from one and I’m not sure I could get one before spring training starts, which means I’d be fighting for a starting position. At my age, with my record . . .” Grant shook his head. He couldn’t even deny the humiliation he felt.

  “Aren’t you doing that anyway?”

  Grant knew it was a valid point. “I mean, I always knew a time would come when I’d retire, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to come so soon.”

  “Could you? I mean, you’ve invested a lot into this place and with Jackson. Not to mention your little venture.”

  His father was talking about the business he’d started just before his family had needed his backing, a high-­end camping facility that he had yet to put time into marketing.

  “With the buyout they’re offering, I could manage until things pick up around here. But if I take this position they’re offering, I’d have to relocate to Memphis permanently. I mean, you need help here, the family is here.”

  “Would you really be happy in Hidden Falls forever, without all the attention and glory you get from football?”

  The image of Bethany and Grant settled in his mind, warming him. “In the right circumstances, I think I could be.”

  His father arched a graying brow at him. “Son, I love you and ranching might be in your genes, but it’s not in your blood like it is with the twins or the way it is with me. I’d hate to see you give up something you love for something you’re just settling for.”

  Grant couldn’t tell his father how much his words might apply to a completely different subject. He looked down at the picture of him with James again. Was he willing to give up his last chance at football, the only chance he’d have to prove himself again, for the chance at a future with Bethany?

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “For what?”

  “Putting things back into perspective for me.” He finished off the mug of coffee and rose to refill it, holding the pot out toward his father who nodded. Grant topped off his father’s cup. “And for letting me off the hook as far as the ranch goes.”

  Travis McQuaid scrunched up his face in doubt. “I didn’t let you off the hook. I just know where your strengths lie. Now go help your brother saddle up those horses. We have calves to band today.”

  Grant shook head. He should have known his father would make the most of the one day this week he had all his kids, minus the one on his national country music tour, at the house together. “Okay, let me change into old clothes. I know how messy this gets.”

  His father chuckled. “That’s one way to put it. Be sure to wake up Andrew and Ben too. I just don’t understand how the three of you can sleep the day away,” he grumbled into his mug.

  “Because we don’t go to bed with the chickens like you, old man,” Grant yelled back as he headed out the door for the bunkhouse.

  If nothing else, the talk with his father had made him realize he didn’t need to accept this new position with the Mustangs yet, unless he wanted to. His buyout wouldn’t be enough to retire on long-­term, but it was enough to get him by until next year when Jackson’s first foals sold. In the meantime, he would just talk to his agent about setting up some endorsement deals or something, unless there was a chance he could get on another team, maybe one of the West Coast teams. Then he could turn his focus to the only thing other than football he was most interested in—­the very woman who was probably pouring herself a cup of coffee with a little blond boy chattering away at her kitchen table. If last night had proven anything to him, it was that Bethany Mills had a way of making him forget his worries about the future to focus on the here and now.

  I DON’T WANT to go . . . I have to.

  Grant’s words kept replaying through her mind, like a nonstop, degrading loop that made her feel like she’d slipped backward in time. Bethany rubbed her eyes and poured herself a cup of strong, black coffee, adding in far too much of her flavored creamer in hopes that it might sweeten her mood. She paused and poured in more, knowing that she was going to need all the help she could get this morning. She was surprised James was still sound asleep since he was usually an early riser but attributed it to the busy day he’d had with Grant yesterday.

  She sighed, wishing she could go back and relive the last few days. If she had a do-­over, she’d stick to her original plan and turned him down for pizza both times he asked and send him off the same way she had every other man who’d invited her to dinner over the past six years.

  But Grant isn’t like other men.

  “You can say that again,” she muttered into her coffee before taking a sip.

  She might not be able to pinpoint what it was about him that drew her like filings to a high-­powered magnet, but that didn’t stop the force from working overtime. He seemed to draw everyone to him, the same way James did, but being with him in person was different than watching the man in interviews teasing the media and charming ­people
from the field. It was like he had his own gravitational pull, and the more time she spent with him, the stronger it felt.

  When he’d kissed her last night, every inch of her body had ignited in a fire she’d thought would burn her alive. Her fingers moved to her lips, as if trying to relive the memory of his kiss.

  “But it didn’t stop him from leaving either.” Her words trailed off with a sigh. Matthew was the last person she wanted to think about.

  Rising from her chair, she reached for the carton of milk in the refrigerator. She needed to do something, anything, to keep her mind off Grant, and maybe making pancakes for James would help. She gathered the ingredients and began mixing the batter. She had just lifted the container of blueberries to fold them into the mixture when her phone rang and she heard the soft pad of James’ feet on the staircase.

  She reached for her phone. “Hello?”

  “Well? How was your date the other night with Grant McQuaid?” Her mother’s voice held far too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning.

  “Mom, it was only pizza,” she corrected as she gently stirred the mixture, turning on the griddle to preheat.

  James made his way to the table and took a seat, resting his chin in his hands, his eyes still only at half-­mast. Good morning, she signed to him. He smiled at her and climbed down from his chair, wandering closer to wrap his arms around her waist. Bethany kissed the top of his head and signed for him to set the table.

  Is Grant coming for breakfast? he asked.

  She shook her head at him, trying not to acknowledge the way her heart clenched at the disappointment she could see in his big blue eyes.

  “So, when are you seeing him again?” Her mother’s voice broke her focus on her son.