by JoAnn Ross
“Surely you’re not saying professors actually decide whether they’ll teach at a school by how big a success its sports program is?” Claire asked.
Foregoing a traditional college, after graduating from BHHS, Claire had enrolled in Los Angeles’ Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. Which, needless to say, had not had any sports program.
“Not every person. And not every program, obviously. But yeah, it makes a difference, because a strong team brings in more money in ticket sales and merchandise. Which, in turn, results in more income to the college or university, which, in turn, is available for professor salaries.”
“That’s depressing,” she said.
“It’s reality.”
“So what did you do?” Matt asked.
“I gave up the idea of getting any sports scholarship and went for an academic one instead.”
“You were a scholar-athlete,” Claire reminded her son.
“I think the definitive word there, Mom, is were.”
“Surely any college admission officer would overlook your grades slipping during such a difficult personal time.”
“Fortunately,” Dillon said, “your slide happened the last semester of last year and the beginning of this year. You still have nearly three years to pull your GPA up.”
“See?” Claire said. “You just need to work a little harder. You’re so smart, Matt. If you apply yourself to your schoolwork the way you do to basketball, I know you can achieve any goal you set for yourself.”
Hadn’t her own mother given her the same pep talk when the home pregnancy test had shown that little plus sign her freshman year at FIDM? Having Matt had admittedly altered her path to that glittery life she’d imagined for herself—having her jewelry routinely appear on red carpet runways, and partying with the stars—but with her mother’s help she’d managed to complete her BA in five years and had been able to have a career while being a stay-at-home mom. And she wouldn’t trade her son for all the Oscar parties in the world.
“None of us get a free pass,” the coach backed her up. “Having strong grades is a big advantage in the recruiting process. An academic scholarship doesn’t count against the total allowed to the athletic department, which right away makes you attractive to coaches, because it frees up one for a player whose grades might not be that high. Plus, there’s an additional advantage that a lot of programs are looking for players they might not have taken otherwise, if those players can help raise the team GPA.”
“Well.” What had begun as distressing news could turn out to be a good thing. Claire had been trying to get Matt focused back on his schoolwork. But he’d remained stubbornly resistant to all her appeals. Now it appeared Coach Slater had shown up at her door with the magic bullet. “That’s certainly something to think about, isn’t it, honey?”
“Yeah.” Matt’s voice was flat and more subdued than it had been earlier. She suspected that was, in large part, due to hearing those cold hard numbers.
He’d always been assured he was the best. That the basketball world was his oyster. She knew he didn’t apply himself as much as he could in school because, quite frankly, he hadn’t needed to. He’d been born with a gift for math and sciences—which she’d long ago decided he must have gotten from his paternal genes because everyone in her family tended to live in their creative right brains. Even Matt’s father, who’d come to FIDM from New York City to guest lecture on merchandising, had been a textile designer before joining the executive ranks of some of the world’s top fashion businesses. With those genes woven through his DNA, Claire had never figured out where his sports talent had come from.
Apparently Dillon picked up on Matt’s decided lack of enthusiasm, because he tabled the discussion for now.
“So, anyway, getting back to our point guard rankings, as good as Nash is—and he’s damn good—he’s got a way to go before I’ll credit him with being the best. It’d help if he had some finals experience under his belt. The obvious choice is Magic Johnson, who’s definitely in the running, because not only could he shoot, he could play all positions when he was needed, which made him a total team player. But I’m still going with Isiah Thomas.”
“You said everyone needs to be able to play both sides of the ball,” Matt argued. Claire couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that he was willing to argue with his coach. On one hand, he’d gotten a bit of his spark back; on the other, would Dillon Slater see it as a lack of respect? “Thomas was a scoring guard.”
“He let Joe Dumars handle more of the passing,” the coach allowed. “But he could and did play both offense and defense. Where he stood out, in my opinion, is his absolute leadership. Who could forget the sixth game in the 1988 finals against the Lakers when he checked himself back in the game and hobbled through the fourth quarter on a badly sprained ankle, scoring twenty-five points?”
“I wasn’t even born in 1988,” Matt pointed out. “But even I know Detroit lost that game.”
“In points, maybe. But not only does Thomas hold the record, that game he reached a level he’d never reached before by winning. He didn’t give up. He stayed mentally strong and persevered. And that never-say-die, never-give-up-the-dream mentality was, hands down, what made him the best.”
Claire knew Matt believed she’d snatched his dream away from him by bringing him to Shelter Bay. Now she could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the coach’s words.
“You think I gave up?” he asked.
“You’ve been through a lot, but I wouldn’t have put you on the team if I didn’t think you had it in you to be the kind of leader Thomas was. I’m not going to lie, Templeton. It’s going to be a rough year. The other teams in the league are used to the Dolphins providing a check in their win column. And yeah, that’s not going to change overnight. But we’re damn well going to make them work for it. And if we do, we can win more than we lose.”
“Hell with that,” Matt said. “I think we’re going to state.”
The coach surprised Claire by laughing at that. A deep, rich sound that slipped beneath her skin and sent alarm bells jangling.
20
Kara Conway Douchett couldn’t deny that she loved having her husband sitting beside her in the birthing class. While many of the other husbands were obviously uncomfortable surrounded by so many females talking about detailed physical aspects of pregnancy, Sax seemed to take it all in stride.
Also, there was the fact, she thought with wifely pride, that he was, hands down, the sexiest man in the room. None of the others, in her opinion, came close.
With Jared deployed for most of her previous pregnancy, she hadn’t experienced much sexual desire over all those months. Or perhaps, she thought, since sex hadn’t been available, she simply hadn’t allowed herself to think about it.
Lately, perhaps because her body was being flooded with hormones, she thought about sex. A lot.
Although the exercises they were being led through were designed to encourage relaxation, the feel of her husband’s strong hands moving across her shoulders, then down her spine to the small of her back, then lower still, did nothing to instill calm.
By the time they made it all the way through the series of prescribed exercises, she was ready to jump him.
“All right.” The nurse-practitioner leading the class said the fatal words. “It’s time for the video.”
* * *
“I’m so sorry,” Kara said as she and Sax got back into the car. After what he’d told her about his harrowing missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, his reaction to the birthing video came as a total surprise.
“You’re laughing at me.” He leaned his head against the back of the driver’s seat. His face was an unhealthy shade of gray and his eyes were closed.
“I am not,” she said, not quite truthfully.
Hearing the faint crack in her voice, he turned his head toward her, opened his eyes a slit, and shot her a glare. “Admit it. You’re finding this funny.”
<
br /> “Funny?” She put a hand on her chest, as if shocked by the accusation, even as she struggled to rein in the laughter that was rising in her throat. “Of course not.” Okay, that was a lie. “What kind of woman would find humor in watching a grown man swoon in public?”
“I didn’t swoon,” Sax replied, repeating what he’d said at the time. “Or faint, or pass out, or any other smart-ass euphemisms you might be thinking up. I merely became a little light-headed.”
“I stand corrected.” She pressed her lips together but knew he could spot the laughter in her eyes. She’d never been able to get anything past this man. Not even back when he’d been close friends with her high school sweetheart, who’d later become her first—and now late—husband.
Then, making it worse, a laugh escaped her lips.
“It wasn’t all that funny,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t. Not really.” Her breaking into full-fledged, out-of-control laughter belied her words. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Taking a deep breath, she struggled for calm. “It’s the hormones,” she insisted. “They swing all over the place these days.
“But if you could’ve seen your face!” She choked, then managed, just barely, to recover. “I honestly didn’t have any idea the video was going to be so graphic.”
Having given birth before, Kara had taken the video in stride, while many of the women in the room had looked horrified. Admittedly, Sax hadn’t been the only husband who’d looked ill. He was, however, the only SEAL present, which undoubtedly had upped his embarrassment level.
Remembering another time, when Kara had been pregnant with Trey and wept in his arms, there was no way Sax was going to be annoyed at her musical laughter now.
But when those graphic images flashed through his mind again, Sax’s stomach lurched. Willing himself not to hurl, he dragged his hands down his still-sweaty face.
“It wasn’t the film,” he lied. “I think it was the sliders I had for lunch. The shrimp must’ve been bad.”
“I had them, too,” she pointed out. “And I’m feeling fine. Besides, the Crab Shack always gets one hundred percent on its state health inspections. Jake doesn’t serve bad seafood.”
She really was enjoying this. As he viewed the sparkle in his wife’s eyes and the curve of her luscious lips, Sax decided that he’d be willing to toss his cookies every day to make this woman he’d loved seemingly forever laugh.
Never one to dwell on failure, he put the humiliating incident behind him. “I think,” he said, “that since this time of day between the lunch rush and dinner is always slow at Bon Temps, and Cody’s capable of handling whatever business drifts in, maybe I ought to go home and crash in bed for a while.”
Kara had not only been Shelter Bay High School’s valedictorian; she was still one of the smartest people he’d ever known. While she might not have realized that he’d fallen head over heels in love with her their senior year of high school, she’d definitely had his number since they’d both landed back in town.
“You just want to have sex.”
“I always want to have sex with you.” That was the absolute truth.
“Me, too.” Her teasing voice had slipped into that warm silky tone he immediately recognized.
“Guess it’s the hormones,” he repeated her earlier claim.
“No.” She unfastened her seat belt long enough to lean across the center console and touch her lips to his. “It’s you. And since Trey won’t be home from school for another hour…”
The kiss, which was short and potent and included a hot bit of tongue teasing, cleared his head and sent the blood flowing south.
“Sweetheart,” Sax said as he twisted the key in the ignition while she buckled up again, “you are playing my tune.”
21
Phoebe was curled up in a ball, looking small and defenseless between the flowered sheets that had been a housewarming gift from Sedona, the pretty blond baker from Take the Cake. Her beautifully delicate face was as pale as marble and tears had left tracks down her cheeks.
After carrying her back into the apartment and putting her to bed, holding her as she’d cried herself to sleep, Ethan had remained sitting beside her for a long, silent time. And as the minutes stretched into an hour, then longer, he thought about the two very different women who’d made such a difference in his life.
He’d loved Mia, but their marriage had been one of youthful optimism. Sure, they might have had their problems, especially when he’d come home from deployment and they’d had to figure out how to settle back into being a family. Also, it couldn’t have been easy for her when he’d separated from the service and tried, for a very short time, to work on his parents’ farm.
Unfortunately, working with his brother, who’d resented Ethan’s college degree and new environmental ideas, had been like mixing gasoline and a flamethrower.
It had been Mia, who’d grown up on a farm herself in Idaho, who’d convinced him to buy Blue Heron Farm, although she’d been killed before they’d been able to settle in. With herb gardener Sofia De Luca’s help, he’d turned the farm organic and had been, if not as happy as he and Mia had planned, satisfied with both his work and his life.
Then he’d walked into the kitchen of Haven House and felt his well-ordered, comfortable world tilt on its axis.
Dammit, Phoebe had been through so much with her bastard husband. But she’d never given up. Although he’d wanted her from the first, falling in love with her had felt totally natural. And right.
Knowing she needed time, he’d mustered up all the self-discipline the Marines had drilled into him to give her however much time she needed. There’d been a moment, just a few months ago, when he’d thought they could move on. Until Fletcher had shown up in Shelter Bay and thrown a monkey wrench into Ethan’s plans to move their relationship to the next level.
And now, just when he’d thought they’d be able to move on for good, despite being dead and supposedly gone forever, the bastard was back in their lives…
She looked so vulnerable. No one looking at her would imagine the battle she’d waged—a delicate, amazingly brave David against that murderous, larger-than-life Goliath. Ethan had vowed that whatever it took, he would not allow anyone to hurt this woman ever again.
Her hair was spread out on the pillowcase, which smelled like the lavender he knew she bought at Lavender Hill Farm. Unable to resist the lure, he stroked it, kissed it, inhaled its familiar fragrance. Her lips were unpainted and parted ever so slightly.
Phoebe Tyler was Sleeping Beauty in the flesh. And amazingly, she was his.
She sighed, not sadly, but, he thought, with pleasure, which was surprising after the hit she’d taken. He wondered if she could be dreaming of him.
Which would only be fair, since his dreams had been filled with her for months.
He’d helped her move in, had even put her pretty white iron bed together. Not wanting her to risk climbing a ladder in her condition, he’d painted the walls a soft hue the color of sea foam. He hadn’t been in this bedroom since that day. Gauzy white curtains framed the windows; the sunny faces of perky daises she’d placed in small white bud vases brightened the gray Pacific Northwest view; ivory candles stood in distressed white lanterns, waiting to be lit.
It was definitely a woman’s room. A man wouldn’t feel comfortable here unless invited. Which, from the way she’d flirted with him before that process server had arrived, he’d suspected had finally been about to happen.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Ethan?”
Her weeping had left her eyes red rimmed and shadowed. But the uncensored emotion in them was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You were expecting someone else, perhaps?”
“No.” Her smile as soft as her voice, she reached across the sheet, took his hand, and lifted it to her cheek. “I’m glad you’re still here. Thank you for staying.”
“I wouldn’t leave you.” Waves of emotion, like from a tropical sea, washed over him. �
�Ever.”
Then, unable to resist, he lowered his mouth to hers.
He kept the kiss gentle, lacing it with all the tenderness swelling his heart. She sighed as she allowed herself to sink into the warmth of it.
Nibbling at her lips, Ethan tasted his way from one corner of her mouth to the other. “You taste like temptation,” he murmured as he dampened her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.
“Chef Maddy’s been teaching me all about flavor profiles.” She twined her arms around his neck. “But we haven’t covered that one yet.”
“It’s sweet… and warm.” He skimmed his tongue up her jaw. “Ripe.”
She trembled as he circled her ear. “Ethan.”
“God, I love to hear you say my name.” He punctuated his words with slow, melting kisses. “Say it again.”
His hands slipped beneath the hem of her sweater.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice somewhere between a sigh and a plea.
Although it took every ounce of willpower he possessed, he kept his kisses light, his hands gentle. “Again.”
Just when he thought they were finally going to forge a future together, Fletcher had, yet again, infiltrated himself into her life. Into their lives.
“About that subpoena,” he said, having come up with an idea while she’d been sleeping.
“No.” She framed his face in her hands and brushed her lips against his. “I don’t want to talk about all that right now.” Her warm, sweet lips plucked at his, encouraging a response. “I just want to make love with you, Ethan.”
She drew her head back and, although her confidence had grown in leaps and bounds in the past months, in her remarkable eyes Ethan could see faint seeds of doubt. “If you want to…”
How the hell could she not know that making love to this woman was what he’d been thinking about ever since he’d found her in the kitchen of the shelter, her hands deep in bread dough?