Except right now, it was damned hard to be sure he was pretending because stupid crap he didn’t mean kept slipping out of his mouth at the most inopportune and unintentional moments. He’d been trying to win her over this morning, to show her he wasn’t the bad guy but genuinely interested in her success and in the team’s performance. To get her to see him as an ally rather than an enemy.
But then she’d had to go and catch him off-guard with her observation that if she shifted the tight ends for that one play, she’d be signaling her intentions to the defense. She was, of course, one hundred percent right. And he hadn’t seen that problem with his idea until she pointed it out. So he’d popped off, because he’d felt called out.
Okay, and also because seeing her mussed and sleepy and clutching her bathrobe had reminded him forcibly of what he’d missed when she’d walked out on him in the middle of the night. Of everything he still wanted to do to her, with her. Things her darkened eyes and flushed cheeks and uneven breathing told him she wanted just as much as he did, even though her mouth kept shutting him down. She made him feel hungry and alive and unbelievably frustrated, which was undoubtedly why he kept tasting his own toes instead of her…well, all of her.
Great job, asshole.
The irony was that he’d stayed up until two in the morning last night, poring over her playbooks, looking for something—anything—to criticize so he could win his bet with her and stay with the team long enough to expose Donnelly, not to mention keep his promise to Harvey.
And it had been hard. He hadn’t been out to flatter her when he told her she could get a job as an offensive coordinator for a college. He’d meant it. She was that good.
“Did you finish your conversation?”
Cade all but jumped out of his skin. He looked over his shoulder to find Angie’s father standing a few feet from him. When had the other man come back into the house? How much had he overhead?
“More or less,” Cade answered grimly. “I was just leaving.”
“Ah,” Peterson said, inclining his head in a way that suggested he’d read more into Cade’s response than Cade had intended. “Tell me, Reynolds, what exactly are your intentions toward my daughter?”
Well, that was sure as hell direct, which was not very Minnesotan at all. It was also a little retro. But then, this was Harper Falls, and even now it felt a little like a town stuck in the 1950s. He wondered idly if Daryl Peterson kept a shotgun in the hall closet and decided the odds were pretty high. Probably best to keep the sexier aspects of his relationship with Angie—if it could even be called a relationship at this point—to himself.
“I’m her boss until Harvey gets better. That’s all.”
Peterson’s lips flattened into a line that said he didn’t believe a word of this, but he didn’t call Cade on the lie. Instead, he said, “Any truth to the rumor you’re in the running for the quarterback position with the Vikings?”
It was such an abrupt change of topic, Cade felt unbalanced. “No,” he said. Then amended, “I went and talked to them about it a few days ago, but they haven’t made an offer, and if they did, I’d turn it down.”
“That’s too bad. You could step right into Harris’s shoes without missing a beat. The team would be as good with you at quarterback as they are with him.”
“Which is why I won’t take the job,” Cade answered steadily. “Warren is a good friend, and I won’t be the one to stand in his way when he’s ready to come back to the game.”
“Admirable,” Peterson said with a curt nod. “Pity you can’t show my daughter the same courtesy. That team, those boys, her job…they mean the world to her. Just like I reckon being a big league quarterback means everything to you and to Warren Harris. Maybe you ought to take that under consideration. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have something to take care of in the garage.” With those words, Peterson ambled back out the door between the kitchen and the garage.
Well, damn. Put in his place by not one, but two Petersons in the same morning.
He deserved it, too. Why hadn’t he seen before now that what he was doing to Angie was no different from what had been done to him, what he’d consciously decided he wouldn’t do to Warren?
Because he’d arrogantly imagined her job couldn’t possibly matter as much to her as his did to him.
Suddenly, with a clarity that surprised him, Cade knew what he had to do. And he knew just how and when to do it.
Chapter Nine
Angie waited until Monday afternoon to put her plan into action. She leaned against the wall outside the boys’ locker room, arms folded across her chest, trying not to think about what Cade had done during this afternoon’s practice. Although the boys had voted to implement all of Cade’s changes to the playbook, he had told them everything he suggested had originally been her idea and he was simply approving them when Harvey hadn’t. In other words, he’d sacrificed his own credibility with them to raise hers.
She wasn’t fooled, though. Cade was no different than Donnelly. And she couldn’t allow herself to forget it.
Because if she did, she might start to feel guilty about what she was going to do.
As if to underscore her unease, Jake Hanssen, her star quarterback and the lynchpin in her plans, chose that moment to exit the boys’ locker room. Freshly showered, with his stuffed backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder and dressed in his green and white letterman’s jacket, he reminded her more than a little of the young Cade Reynolds.
Do not go there.
Jake caught sight of her and stopped, hitching the backpack up on his shoulder as he did.
“Hey, Coach Pete. What’s going on?”
Angie smiled at the nickname. It made her feel like they considered her one of their own despite her gender.
“I need your help with something,” she said.
Jake’s youthfully smooth brow furrowed. “My help? Really?” When Angie nodded, his expression brightened with pleasure. “Sure, Coach. Anything.”
Anything was good. Because this was going to be a doozy for a teenager.
“I need you to convince the rest of the first string offense to come to my house before school for an extra practice for the next week or so.”
“Um, okay,” he agreed dubiously. “How come?”
“I’ve drawn up a new play I’d like to test out. But I don’t want the rest of the team or Coach Donnelly to know about it.”
“Why not?”
Like any quarterback worth his salt, Jake wasn’t dumb. None of her players were, of course, but even so, she might have done better starting with one of the offensive tackles, who were automatically on board with almost anything that involved the possibility of shoving people around.
But Jake was the leader of the offense, and the rest of the players rallied around him. If he said they should do something, they’d do it, whether it made sense or not.
Loyalty was like that.
With a fortifying breath, she took the gamble and told the truth. “Because I need to prove to the school board that I can be the head coach of this team when Coach Lund retires in a few years.”
Jake gave her a quizzical look. “Well, duh. Everyone knows that.”
His support warmed Angie’s heart but then, she’d always known the players had faith in her. It was the adults she had to worry about.
“Then why did Coach Lund ask Mr. Reynolds to be the head coach until he gets back?”
The boy gave her a baffled look and shrugged. “I guess we just assumed it was like he said—Coach thought we’d get a big morale boost from having an NFL player around for a few weeks. And he is pretty awesome. He showed me a cool technique for throwing off the wrong foot the other day.”
Angie frowned. There were some things Cade could do for the players—and for the team—that she couldn’t. This was one of them. And she hated the fact that Jake had to remind her.
“Did I do something wrong?” Jake asked nervously.
“No, not at all. Ca—
Mr. Reynolds has a lot of practical experience as a quarterback. I’m sure anything he shows you is something you can benefit from.” Much as she hated to admit it.
Damn him.
The young man breathed a sigh of relief. “So, what’s the problem, then?”
“The problem is that the school board will think Mr. Reynolds is the reason we’re winning games while Coach Lund is gone. And maybe he is helping us, but if they think we couldn’t have done it without him, it’s going to be hard for me to convince them when the time comes that I’m capable of taking over the head-coaching job. They might decide Coach Donnelly would make a better choice.”
Jake shook his head. “But that would be wrong. You’re way better at designing plays and calling them and stuff.”
“I appreciate that you think so, Jake, but the school board doesn’t have any way to know that.”
“Well, all the players and I would come out to support you.”
She chuckled. “By then, you and most of the players on the team now will be in college.
Heck, you might even be playing in the NFL.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Do you really think so?”
She did, actually. Jake had great hands, good instincts, and the fierceness of a born competitor. Maybe not Tyler Johnson’s intercontinental ballistic missile for an arm, but more than enough juice behind his throws to make it in the big time. “Yeah, I do.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“So, will you help me with this?”
“Definitely, Coach Pete.” He gave her an affectionate punch in the shoulder. “You can count on me.”
Angie resisted the urge to hug him. At least there was one trustworthy man in her life other than her father. Even if he was only seventeen years old.
###
“So, how long am I going to be waking up to this?” Angie’s father asked as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee over the railing of the backyard deck.
Eleven teenage boys in sweats and cleats were arrayed across the well-tended lawn.
They’d spent nearly an hour working on the play Angie planned to pull out in the fourth quarter of their game next Friday night. The one that would prove she was really the head coach of this team, not Cade Reynolds.
She took the mug from her father with an apologetic smile. “Just until we get this play sorted out.” After taking a sip of her coffee, she hollered, “One more time, then you can all go home and get ready for school.”
The players dutifully lined up in their positions and ran through the pattern again.
“Hmmm,” her father said when they’d finished, “are you sure you want to use that in a game?”
Angie closed her eyes for a second. There was a reason she had decided not to suggest this play to Harvey after she’d first drawn it up, and her father had seen the problem right away.
By design, the ball would be unprotected for several seconds, and that meant a savvy defender could get to the quarterback before the pattern was well enough established for him to throw the ball. In other words, the play could just as easily result in a turnover as a huge gain, and Harvey always objected to plays he viewed as chancy. Angie, however, trusted her players enough to know they could pull this off with spectacular results.
“It’s just an insurance play, Dad. We won’t use it unless we really need it.” A small smile tugged at her lips, because they were going to need it on Friday night. The players had agreed, in an effort to make the win more dramatic, to hold back just enough to keep the game close until the final quarter.
Which was even chancier than the play itself. If she used it and it didn’t work, the Eagles could lose that game—and with it, their chance at the state championship. There were no sure things in football, after all, and even a perfect play could fail. But what other choice did she have? Cade’s criticisms on Saturday morning had made it eminently clear to her that her failure to take the bull by the horns and make the hard decisions would be held against her.
“I’m sure you know what you’re doing, chickadee. I never doubt you.” He leaned over the railing and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “When it comes to football strategy, anyway.”
Angie knew that was a subtle dig at her antipathy toward Cade, which she’d made no attempt to hide after he’d left Sunday morning. Although her father was fully on her side when it came to the question of her fitness to be the Eagles’ head coach, he was nonetheless smitten with Cade—in a purely bromance-y fashion, of course—and thought she was being too hard on him.
He was, after all, just the messenger.
Of course, he hadn’t been there when Cade had delivered his most cutting message.
You’re not brave enough to do this on your own.
“How was that, Coach?” Jake shouted.
Coffee in hand, Angie walked down the slight incline from the deck to the flat expanse of lawn between her father’s house and the canal that ran behind it. The boys clustered together, steam rising off their heads in the early morning chill.
“You’re all doing great,” she assured them before giving a few pointers to keep in mind for tomorrow morning’s practice.
“Are we going to get a chance to run through this in full pads against the defense?” Kurt Tompkins, the center, asked, obviously concerned.
Angie shook her head. “I’d like to, but this play is a secret weapon. If anyone else sees it before we use it in a game, we lose the advantage. But I promise, if everyone sticks to their assignments, this is a guaranteed touchdown. You all know where you’re supposed to be, right?”
They gave stout nods of agreement. No one wanted to be the weak link. None of them would be, either.
She was lucky to have these great kids—young men, really—playing for her, and even luckier that they trusted her to know what was best for them. That was probably why, as she watched them run up the hill and out to their cars and bicycles, she felt a twinge of unease.
Pulling off a play like this in a game was going to turn them into stars. Every one of them would be writing their own tickets to the colleges of their choice. But there was also a chance that the play would be blown and they’d lose the game, along with their shot at the championship. And whichever way it went, Angie would have to live with her decision.
Chapter Ten
They were losing.
Cade’s eyes kept flicking to the scoreboard, as though if he just looked often enough, the numbers would reverse themselves. But each time he checked, the score remained the same:
Guest 24, Home 21 with less than three minutes to play. The grand gesture he’d already discussed with Harvey and planned to reveal tonight after the game—to cede his position as interim head coach to Angie and give her full credit for the win—wasn’t going to be much of a gesture at this rate.
He glanced at her. She stood to his left, studying her clipboard as calmly as if the Eagles were already up by twenty points and on the verge of waltzing into the opponent’s end zone for another score.
Her team was about to lose the most important game of the season. Homecoming.
Against their only serious division rivals. In the closing minutes of the game. And the other team still had the ball.
Why wasn’t she concerned?
In retrospect, that should have been his first clue that she was up to something. As it was, he just thought she had an unnatural, unnerving calm.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” he asked under his breath.
She gave him a blank look, as if he’d just suggested she fly to the moon for some green cheese and a bottle of wine. “I am doing something,” she pointed out. “I’m deciding what play to call when we get the ball back.”
“Don’t you mean if?” The way the defense had played tonight, that seemed a real question. Not that they’d been bad, precisely. But they had seemed a little sluggish and late on their tackles. Of course, he’d only seen them play one other game last week, against a clearly inferior team. Perhaps this week’s opponent wa
s just that much better.
Angie gave him a serene smile and nodded toward the field just as an enormous cheer went up in the stands behind them, accompanied by a collective groan from the opposite side.
“No. I meant when.”
“Eagles! Eagles! Eagles!” the crowd chanted.
Cade could only shake his head in amazement. Somehow, at precisely the right moment, one of the Eagles safeties had landed an interception and returned it almost to midfield.
“You couldn’t have known that was going to happen,” Cade said.
“No,” she admitted with a shrug. “But I was pretty sure.”
Jake Hanssen, in the process of strapping his helmet onto his head as he jogged toward the field, stopped in front of Angie. “R27-6L?”
She nodded and gave him a push on the shoulder pad to turn him toward the field.
Cade frowned. He knew the play in question, of course. It was a straightforward I-formation delayed run up the middle that could reasonably be expected to gain no more than five yards unless a defensive player missed a tackle or seriously misread the play. With—he glanced at the game clock—two minutes and fifteen seconds left, it was also a call that made absolutely no sense.
After almost two weeks of working with her, Cade knew Angie would never call that play in this situation. Which could only mean…
“What are you up to?” he asked, his voice a suspicious hiss.
Her expression was absolutely benign. “I’m up to winning the game. What else?”
Oh, she was up to something else all right. She and the entire offense.
But since she clearly had a plan, it seemed better to wait and watch than to intervene. The players lined up in the expected I-formation, Hanssen tucked in tight behind the center and the running back, Mike Tamblyn, a few yards behind him. Hanssen called out the count and the center snapped the ball.
And then everything went simultaneously crazy and magnificent in the same moment.
Skin in the Game Page 10