Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “It’s easy. I stand at this board, you stand at the other one and we throw bean bags at the boards, trying to get the bags to either stay on top of the board or fall through the hole to the grass. We play to twenty-one.”

  Her dad finished throwing his bags. All three of them landed on the grass to the side of the board. Ramos whooped and picked up his wife to twirl her around the playing area. Anna giggled, but pumped her fists in the air a few times in victory.

  “I think this calls for a beer,” her dad said, and he and Earl headed for the patio and the cooler filled with drinks.

  “Girls versus guys?” Ramos said, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Couple versus couple,” Brooks said. “And neither of us is over sixty so don’t think you’ll win so easily this time.”

  Jonas tossed his bags in the practice round, missing the board every time. Brooks landed two bags and the other slipped off the back. Ramos hit three holes in one, and his wife missed all three of her shots.

  “This is maybe not such a great idea,” Jonas said as he picked up the bean bags.

  “Afraid of a little competition?” his friend ribbed him.

  Jonas shrugged and took position beside Ramos on their side of the playing area. Brooks and Anna stood on the opposite side.

  Anna’s first two tosses went wide, but the third landed on the board. Jonas measured his aim, and landed all three bags on the board.

  “Not bad, QB,” Ramos said, gathering the bags for his turn. Brooks did the same.

  Ramos hit one hole in one, but the other two bags slid off the back side of the playing surface. Brooks landed two holes in one and the third bag fell far short. She winked at Jonas.

  “I’ve got you covered,” she said, willing him to grin back at her. He did, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  I’ve got you covered. The words echoed in her mind. She only hoped she was right.

  * * *

  JONAS SAT IN a lawn chair in the backyard of the Smith property, watching. Ramos and his wife were snuggled together with their girls on a blanket. Tom and Trisha were still talking quietly off to one side while Earl and Jimmy lit Roman candles and fountains at the other end of the yard. They’d considered going into town for the big fireworks show, but no one seemed motivated to actually get into their cars to go. That’s when Ramos pulled two packages of fireworks from the back of his SUV and suggested they keep the party right here.

  After that night at the bar, it shouldn’t have surprised Jonas, but he was still getting used to the new Ramos. Or the old Ramos.

  The real Ramos, he guessed, and wondered again how he’d never noticed that when he and the other players were doing their damnedest to have fun the big linebacker wasn’t really joining in. He was there, but he wasn’t there.

  Kind of the way Jonas felt tonight. He knew he was in Jimmy and Heidi’s backyard because he’d driven past that tire swing at least twenty times over the course of the summer. Brooks sat beside him, holding his hand. Heidi fussed at her husband and Earl when they got too close to the fireworks. His friends were here.

  But just as he’d felt during lunch and again when he was watching the first round of corn hole, he felt separate. As if he was watching all of this through a pane of glass.

  Much like he’d felt when he was a kid, watching his mother in her lab or listening when she talked over an experiment with a colleague.

  He shouldn’t feel this way. He knew and liked these people. Understood their conversations. Liked the feel of Brooks’s small palm in his, and when she smiled at him over the table or when he hit that last shot on corn hole to take down Ramos, the joy on her face made his stomach clench. He loved her.

  There was not a doubt in his mind that what he felt for Brooks was love.

  Just as there was not a doubt in his mind that he had no idea what to do about it.

  He was Jonas Nash, struggling football player.

  She was Brooks Smith, rising star of a sports broadcasting network.

  “Oh, my God, look at that one,” Brooks pointed into the sky where one of the fireworks exploded into a mass of purple and red stars. She put her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. Another firework launched into the sky, this one sending sizzles of white stars zigging and zagging across the night sky. Jonas put his arm around Brooks’s shoulders, trying to enjoy the moment.

  He was holding his girl. The woman he loved. What was wrong with him?

  When they were flirting around this attraction, even when they’d first slept together, it didn’t bother him. Now, though, he couldn’t get a handle on the other feelings that loving her brought to the surface. Like pure joy.

  Like the fear gnawing in his gut right now.

  Brooks deserved a million days like this, surrounded by friends and family. Watching fireworks, eating barbecue and kicking ass at a silly yard game.

  He didn’t know if he could give any of that to her. Without football, what did he have to give? As much improvement as he’d seen in the past month, there was still a great, big, black question mark over him, and he could feel the weight of it crushing against his shoulders.

  Another firework launched into the sky. Ramos’s girls pointed as it showered down sparks of green and red.

  Then there was the question of Brooks getting what she wanted. She loved her job. She was good at it. She could do anything she wanted. If she remained focused on her career.

  If his career—or reputation—didn’t distract her.

  He knew enough about broadcasting to know the network wouldn’t take another scoop like the one this summer without serious repercussions. She’d asked him the hard questions, but only after the network demanded she do the story. She was holding back, and it had everything to do with him. With her feelings for him.

  Jonas clenched his jaw. He loved her, but he couldn’t be the reason Brooks stopped being the reporter she was meant to be. And still, he couldn’t imagine letting her go. Going back to flirting in a locker room or baiting her with princess references.

  It was selfish, he knew, but he wanted as much of Brooks as he could get.

  And he was going to take it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BROOKS HURDLED A sawhorse covered in mud and looked behind her. Jonas and a few of his football buddies were closing in, and if she didn’t get to the rope swings before them, they’d drown her. Again. She shook off her hands. She was a running, dripping mud puddle thanks to the guys and the first rope swing.

  She grinned. As messy and gross as she was, she felt great.

  Ramos, the square-faced defenseman with a sweet wife and daughters, had reached the first rope swing first. He flew across and threw it back to Brooks, promising to catch her at the edge. He’d caught her all right. For a split second her feet were on solid ground, then Ramos grinned and pushed her backward toward Jonas who was swinging by on another rope. Their bodies smacked off one another and both went tumbling into the mud pit. Ramos howled with laughter. Brooks got him back, though. She’d taken the harder incline, beat the man to the top and pelted him with a machine water gun filled with muddy water. Parker ran with them, as well as a couple of offensive linemen. Earl declined to run, but he’d made a nice donation to the cause. All of them looked as if they’d been left behind after a huge battle somewhere.

  On the plus side, she was lighter than the men, and she made it through the barbed wire crawl faster. Brooks lunged at the second rope swing, held on for dear life as she flew over a rectangular bog and then reached for solid ground with her feet. Safely on the other side, she turned to watch Ramos, Tom and Jonas huff and puff up the last hill. Jonas grabbed the rope and swung across. Parker brought up the rear, waiting behind Tom as Ramos swung across. When the big defender reached her side, Brooks put her hands on his chest and shoved as hard as she could.
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br />   Ramos let out a war cry and threw his body back as if the bog beneath was made of cotton and not muddy water.

  “Paybacks are hell,” she called to the man who saluted her as he began crawling out of the bog. Parker and Tom had gone ahead, leaving her with Jonas as a running partner for the last leg of the race.

  “You realize this mud run war you started will never end,” Jonas said.

  “I started? Me? I was perfectly clean until he shoved me into you back at the beginning.” They cleared the hill and started down the other side. She could see the finish line in the distance. “I don’t mind,” she decided. “My mom always said when boys pull your hair it’s because they like you. I figure pushing a girl into the mud is like pulling her hair.”

  “He’s not allowed to pull your anything.”

  “Do you want to pull my something?”

  Jonas shot her a heated look, and she smiled. They crossed the finish line, grabbed a couple of cups of water from the run volunteers and clean towels from the table nearby. Brooks wiped mud from her face, arms and hands, but she still felt as if thirty showers wouldn’t clean off the muck.

  Tomorrow he would go back to the doctor for the final checkup.

  The thought made her nervous. Tomorrow he might be cleared to play, or his hopes at a comeback would be over. Tomorrow her report might be part of the reason he was let go from the Kentuckians.

  “Brooks!” A photographer called from the sidelines of the run. “Just a couple of questions for you about Jonas.”

  She pasted a smile on her face, but shook her head. “Today is about the clinic,” she said, and waved to Trisha a few feet away. “You want to talk to Dr. Lamott.”

  The photographer started to say something more, but Brooks kept walking, certain Trisha would keep him occupied for a few minutes.

  She and Jonas hadn’t exactly hidden their relationship, but they also hadn’t paraded it around. Other than the Fourth of July barbecue with her parents, most of their time together was spent at his place or hers, far away from cameras and reporters.

  They’d been lucky, she realized, but luck couldn’t last forever.

  She had no doubt the rival anchor would go after Jonas again.

  Still, the other reporter wasn’t her biggest concern. The nerves she’d felt the afternoon of the barbecue hadn’t gone away. She was nervous. Not only about Jonas. She couldn’t put her finger on what, exactly, bothered her, but something wasn’t right.

  The rest of the team crossed the finish line, jostling one another as they did.

  “Drinks at the Yard,” Parker called out to the crew, “I’ve got the first round.”

  The guys cheered, and Jonas shot her a look.

  “Go,” she mouthed the word.

  He put his muddy arms around her and Brooks decided she would never be clean again. His lips pressed against hers and he lifted her up, pressing her fully against him. Maybe dirty wasn’t such a bad thing. “I could help you get clean before I go,” he murmured.

  “I love your dirty mind,” she whispered. “But we’re driving your truck. I am not getting all this mud on my leather seats.”

  A spray of cold water hit Brooks square in the back and she squealed. She craned her neck to see Ramos standing near a water spigot holding a hose. More water hit her, and she held up her hands. “What? You guys want to get the worst of the mud off before you head home, right?” His eyes were wide with innocence, making Brooks laugh.

  Football guys. She just had to love them.

  * * *

  JONAS LIFTED HIS arm over his head and rotated it around a few times while Dr. Phillips made notes on the chart and looked over the latest ultrasound images of his shoulder. Dr. Phillips instructed him to make another rotation, and made another notation on the chart.

  “I hear you and some of your teammates had some fun last night,” the doctor said, making small talk.

  “Kind of a last bit of fun before training camp starts,” Jonas said, and wondered why he felt like he was being chastised. It wasn’t as if he’d closed the Yard down. He’d had one beer, for Pete’s sake.

  It wasn’t as if one beer would be the difference in his shoulder healing and not healing. Besides, he had been missing Brooks.

  Which was ridiculous because he’d run with her during the 5-K, he’d made love with her in the shower afterward and spent most of the afternoon sitting on the overstuffed sofa in her barn reading a football predictions magazine and watching film of his opening day opponent.

  She was so serious. So dedicated to her craft.

  “So what we’re seeing is some scarring, which is expected in a tear like this,” Dr. Phillips said. Jonas put his arms down, only half listening. He’d heard this part of the doctor’s explanation a handful of times and it never varied. Scarring, check. Mobility issues, check. “How’s the strength training going?”

  That snapped Jonas back to the exam room. Finally, on to new territory. “About fifteen pounds shy of my pre-injury weight, but no pain during, and I’m doing the ice-and-heat rotation after to keep the inflammation down.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Dr. Phillips made another notation. “So what I’m seeing is a solid shoulder. You’re moving well, you report no residual pain—” he looked pointedly at Jonas, who nodded “—and yet you’re willing to risk another injury to go back on the field.”

  “Yep.” Jonas didn’t have anything more to say than that. He’d heard enough explanations on why going back on the field could lead to problems later on, and he was sick of hearing about it. He understood the risks and he was willing to take them. He needed to be whole, and football made him whole.

  The doctor chuckled as he swiveled the little stool around to face the cabinet holding his tablet. He tapped the screen a few times. “Just be careful out there, okay? I’d like to not see you in here. Ever,” he said.

  “I’m free to go?”

  “You’re cleared. I’ll have the paperwork sent to the team for your files. Despite me telling you to get lost just now, if you do start having pain, call. Don’t wait until you’re popping aspirin or living in a cold shower to dull it. Get in here fast and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Jonas wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you” seemed inadequate. “I’ll call” seemed patronizing. He shook the doctor’s hand. “I understand the risks,” he said, “and I appreciate how supportive the clinic was through all of this.”

  “Any time,” the doctor said, releasing his hand. “And by any time I hope that turns out to be never.”

  Jonas grinned and left the exam room feeling as if he’d finally gotten his life back. He had his coach. The team was coming together. He had football.

  Best of all he had Brooks.

  * * *

  BROOKS WALKED INTO Lionel’s restaurant just after seven to find most of the players already there. Jonas had rented the place for the night, inviting the players, coaches and their families to the restaurant for a casual dinner before training camp began the next day. For the next three weeks the guys would sleep in a dorm, while the team determined who were the best candidates for each position. She had no doubt that, after being cleared earlier that afternoon, Jonas would be the quarterback. He sat near the bar, Ramos and his family on one side and an empty space on the other. Her space.

  Her man.

  “Are you sure they won’t mind a non-team-member, non-WAG showing up?” Trisha asked from behind her.

  “You may not be a wife or girlfriend, but you’re my friend. Besides, there is someone who I’m pretty sure wants to see you,” she said.

  The bar was set up buffet-style, but the familiar waitress still made her rounds, flirting with the guys and keeping glasses filled with Lionel’s famous sweet tea.

  “I don’t need to be set up,” Trisha reminded her.

  “Did you
or did you not hint you were ready to find someone special? And did you or did you not spend most of the July Fourth barbecue making moon eyes at Tom? And were you or were you not at the mud run specifically to see him run?”

  “Hinted is a strong word. And I thought you were a reporter, not a lawyer.”

  “Come on, he’s exactly your type.” Brooks picked up a red plastic cup filled with sweet tea and drank. “I want you to be happy. Like I am.”

  Trisha grumbled once more, but it was good-natured grumbling. She straightened her already pristine tunic and checked her makeup in a tiny compact. “If he wanted to see me, he’d have called.”

  “Did you give him your number?”

  “He didn’t ask for it. Another reason not to be here tonight.”

  “What happened to my straightforward friend who asks guys out all the time?”

  Trisha twisted her mouth to the side. “I only make the first move if I’m sure where the second is going. I have no clue about Tom. I’ve dated football players and basketball players and once they know I’m a doc all they want to do is talk about stress fractures and muscle pain.”

  “He’s not a player, remember? And he was making those moon eyes right back at you,” Brooks assured her friend.

  Tom joined Jonas and Ramos at the table and Brooks saw their chance. She grabbed Trisha’s hand and made a beeline for the table to make introductions. She’d only met Tom a handful of times, but she knew he was Trisha’s type from his slightly-too-long hair to the boyish grin he flashed as often as possible. He was also a trainer, giving them something in common. She looked from Trisha to Tom expectantly but neither made a move.

  “You might not recognize me because I traded in my Swamp Thing gear for regular clothes.”

  Trisha laughed. “I love that movie.” Trisha took the chair next to Tom. Ramos and his wife headed to the buffet and Brooks took a seat next to Jonas.

  Parker walked in the door with a girl on each arm. No, stumbled, Brooks decided. The new tight end bumped into the door and then tripped over his feet because he didn’t see the small step that separated the vestibule from the dining area.