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It Started with a Crush...
Melissa McClone



“What do I get if I find your nephew’s team a coach?”
Lucy wondered if Ryland was serious or teasing her. His smile suggested the latter. “My undying gratitude?”
“That’s a good start.”
“More cookies?”
“Always appreciated—especially if they’re chocolate chip, which happen to be my favorite,” he said. “What else?”
His lighthearted and flirty tone sounded warning bells in her head. Ryland was teasing her, but Lucy no longer wanted to play along. His charm, pretty much everything about him, left her … unsettled.
“I’m not sure what else you might want.”
He gave her the once-over, only this time his gaze lingered a second too long on her lips. “I can think of a couple things.”
Dear Reader,
For the past eight years my fall and spring Dedication weekends have been full of soccer games. All three of my children have played and my husband has coached recreational teams for years.
Soccer isn’t something I grew up with. I attended my first game in 1984, but wasn’t really sure what was going on. Friends kept telling me how big soccer—they called it football—was outside the US, but I never realized how big until 26th June 1994, when I attended a match between Colombia and Switzerland at Stanford Stadium. Not even the two Super Bowls I’d gone to came close to matching the excitement and passion of these soccer fans.
Ever since then I’ve wanted to write a romance with soccer as the background, but it wasn’t until my son started playing competitive soccer for an Oregon club in spring 2010 that the story ideas started flowing. After speaking with one of my son’s coaches, who also played for the Portland Timbers, a professional soccer player named Ryland James came to life.
Having access to people who can help with research adds realism to a story. I was fortunate in the soccer assistance I received, but when it came to my heroine, Lucy, who’d had a liver transplant as a teen, I wasn’t sure where to turn for help.
A friend had been a living donor for her daughter’s successful liver transplant in 2007, but I happened to mention my work-in-progress to another mom during our kids’ swimming practice. Turned out she was a two-time liver and kidney transplant recipient. Talking with her helped me understand and fill in Lucy’s backstory of her having liver failure. It also made me understand the importance of organ donation and the lives being saved by transplants.
To all those who have signed up to be donors: thank you!
Melissa

About the Author
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONE ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her “happily-ever-afters.” When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two loveable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that decided to call the garage home.
Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website, www.melissamcclone.com.

It Started
with a Crush…
Melissa McClone


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For all the people who generously volunteer their time
to coach kids—especially those who have made such a
difference in my children’s lives. Thank you!

Special thanks to Josh Cameron, Brian Verrinder, Ian
Burgess, Bernice Conrad and Terri Reed.

CHAPTER ONE
EVERY day for the past four weeks, Connor’s school bus had arrived at the corner across the street no later than three-thirty Every day, except today. Lucy Martin glanced at the clock hanging on the living-room wall.
3:47 p.m.
Anxiety knotted her stomach making her feel jittery. Her nephew should be home by now.
Was it time to call the school to find out where the bus might be or was she overreacting? This parenting—okay, surrogate parenting—thing was too new to know for certain.
She stared out the window, hoping the bus would appear. The street corner remained empty. That wasn’t surprising. Only residents drove through this neighborhood on the outskirts of town.
What to do? She tapped her foot.
Most contingencies and emergencies had been listed in the three-ring binder Lucy called the survival guide. Her sister-in-law, Dana, had put it together before she left. But a late school bus hadn’t been one of the scenarios. Lucy had checked. Twice.
No need to panic. Wicksburg was surrounded by farmland, a small town with a low crime rate and zero excitement except for harvests in the summer, Friday-night football games in the fall and basketball games in the winter. A number of things could have delayed the bus. A traffic jam due to slow-moving farm equipment, road construction, a car accident …
A chill shivered down Lucy’s spine.
Don’t freak out. Okay, she wasn’t used to taking care of anyone but herself. This overwhelming need to see her nephew right this moment was brand-new to her. But she’d better get used to it. For the next year she wasn’t only Connor’s aunt, she was also his guardian while his parents, both army reservists, were deployed overseas. Her older brother, Aaron, was counting on Lucy to take care of his only child. If something happened to Connor on her watch …
Her muscles tensed.
“Meow.”
The family’s cat, an overweight Maine Coon with a tail that looked more like a raccoon’s than a feline’s, rubbed against the front door. His green-eyed gaze met Lucy’s.
“I know, Manny.” The cat’s concern matched her own. “I want Connor home, too.”
Something caught the corner of her eye. Something yellow. She stared out the window once again.
The school bus idled at the corner. Red lights flashed.
Relief flowed through her. “Thank goodness.”
Lucy took a step toward the front door then stopped. Connor had asked her not to meet him at the bus stop. She understood the need to be independent and wanted to make him happy. But not even following his request these past two and a half weeks had erased the sadness from his eyes. She knew better than to take it personally. Smiles had become rare commodities around here since his parents deployed.
Peering through the slit in the curtains gave her a clear view of the bus and the short walk to the house. Connor could assert his independence while she made sure he was safe.
Lucy hated seeing him moping around like a lost puppy, but she understood. He missed his parents. She’d tried to make him feel better. Nothing, not even his favorite desserts, fast-food restaurants or video games, had made a difference. Now that his spring soccer team was without a coach, things had gone from bad to worse.
The door of the bus opened. The Bowman twins exited. The seven-year-old girls wore matching pink polka-dot dresses, white shoes and purple backpacks.
Connor stood on the bus’s bottom step with a huge smile on his face. He leaped to the ground and skipped away.
Her heart swelled with excitement. Something good must have happened at school.
As her nephew approached the house, Lucy stepped away from the window. She wanted to make sure his smile remained. No matter what it took.
Manny rubbed against her leg. Birdlike chirping sounds came from his mouth. Strange, but not unexpected from a cat that barked when annoyed.
“Don’t worry, Manny.” She touched the cat’s back. “Connor will be home in three … two … one …”
The front door flung open. Manny dashed for the outside, but Connor closed the door to stop his escape.
“Aunt Lucy.” His blue eyes twinkled. So much like Aaron. Same eyes, same hair color, same freckles. “I found someone who can coach the Defeeters.”
She should have known Connor’s change of attitude had to do with soccer. Her nephew loved the sport. Aaron had coached his son’s team, the Defeeters, since Connor started playing organized soccer when he was five. A dad had offered to coach in Aaron’s place, but then had to back out after his work schedule changed. No other parent could do it for a variety of reasons. That left the team without a coach. Well, unless you counted her, which was pretty much like being coachless.
The thought of asking her ex-husband to help entered her mind for about a nanosecond before she banished it into the far recesses of her brain where really bad ideas belonged. Being back in the same town as Jeff was hard enough with all the not-so-pleasant memories resurfacing. Lucy hadn’t seen him yet nor did she want to.
“Fantastic,” she said. “Who is it?”
Connor’s grin widened, making him look as if he’d found a million-dollar bill or calorie-free chocolate. He shrugged off his backpack. “Ryland James.”
Her heart plummeted to her feet. Splat! “The Ryland James?”
Connor nodded enthusiastically. “He’s not only best player in the MLS, but my favorite. He’ll be the perfect coach. He played on the same team with my dad. They won district and a bunch of tournaments. Ryland’s a nice guy. My dad said so.”
She had to tread carefully here. For Connor’s sake.
Ryland had been a nice guy and one of her brother’s closest friends. But she hadn’t seen him since he left high school to attend the U.S. Soccer Residency Program in Florida. According to Aaron, Ryland had done well, playing overseas and now for the Phoenix Fuego, a Major League Soccer (MLS) team in the U.S. Coaching a recreational soccer team comprised of nine-year-olds probably wasn’t on his bucket list.
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek, hoping to think of something—anything—that wouldn’t make this blow up in her face and turn Connor’s smile upside down.
“Wow,” she said finally. “Ryland James would be an amazing coach, but don’t you think he’s getting ready to start training for his season?”
“MLS teams have been working out in Florida and Arizona since January. The season opener isn’t until April.” Connor spoke as if this was common knowledge she should know. Given soccer had always been “the sport” in the Martin household, she probably should. “But Ryland James got hurt playing with the U.S. Men’s Team in a friendly against Mexico. He’s out for a while.”
Friendly meant an exhibition game. Lucy knew that much. But the news surprised her. Aaron usually kept her up-to-date on Ryland. Her brother would never let Lucy forget her schoolgirl crush on the boy from the wrong side of town who was now a famous soccer star. “Hurt as in injured?”
“He had surgery and can’t play for a couple of months. He’s staying with his parents while he recovers.” Connor’s eyes brightened more. “Isn’t that great?”
“I wouldn’t call having surgery and being injured great.”
“Not him being hurt, but his being in town and able to coach us.” Connor made it sound like this was a done deal. “I bet Ryland James will be almost as good a coach as my dad.”
“Did someone ask Ryland if he would coach the Defeeters?”
“No,” Connor admitted, undaunted. “I came up with the idea during recess after Luke told me Ryland James was at the fire station’s spaghetti feed signing autographs. But the whole team thinks it’s a good idea. If I’d been there last night …”
The annual Wicksburg Fire Department Spaghetti Feed was one of the biggest events in town. She and Connor had decided not to go to the fundraiser because Dana was calling home. “Don’t forget, you got to talk to your mom.”
“I know,” Connor said. “But I’d like Ryland James’s autograph. If he coaches us, he can sign my ball.”
Signing a few balls, mugging for the camera and smiling at soccer moms didn’t come close to the time it would take to coach a team of boys. The spring season was shorter and more casual than fall league, but still …
She didn’t want Connor to be disappointed. “It’s a great idea, but Ryland might not have time.”
“Will you ask him if he’ll coach us, Aunt Lucy? He might just say yes.”
The sound of Connor’s voice, full of excitement and anticipation, tugged at her heart. “Might” likely equaled “yes” in his young mind. She’d do anything for her nephew. She’d returned to the same town where her ex, now married to her former best friend, lived in order to care for Connor but going to see Ryland …
She blew out a puff of air. “He could say no.”
The last time Lucy had seen him had been before her liver transplant. She’d been in eighth grade, jaundiced and bloated, carrying close to a hundred pounds of extra water weight. Not to mention totally exhausted and head over heels in love with the high-school soccer star. She’d spent much of her time alone in her room due to liver failure. Ryland James had fueled her adolescent fantasies. She’d dreamed about him letting her wear his jersey, asking her out to see a movie at the Liberty Theater and inviting her to be his date at prom.
Of course, none of those things had ever happened. She’d hated being known as the sick girl. She’d rarely been able to get up the nerve to say a word to Ryland. And then …
The high-school soccer team had put on two fundraisers—a summer camp for kids and a goal-a-thon—to help with Lucy’s medical expenses. She remembered when Ryland handed her the large cardboard check. She’d tried to push her embarrassment and awkwardness aside by smiling at him and meeting his gaze. He’d surprised her by smiling back and sending her heart rate into overdrive. She’d never forgot his kindness or the flash of pity in his eyes. She’d been devastated.
Lucy’s stomach churned at the memory. She wasn’t that same girl. Still, she didn’t want to see him again.
“Ryland is older than me.” No one could ever imagine what she’d gone through and how she’d felt being so sick and tired all the time. Or how badly she’d wanted to be normal and healthy. “He was your dad’s friend, not mine. I really didn’t know him.”
“But you’ve met him.”
“He used to come to our house, but the chances of him remembering me …”
“Please, Aunt Lucy.” Connor’s eyes implored her. “We’ll never know unless you ask.”
Darn. He sounded like Aaron. Never willing to give up no matter what the odds. Her brother wouldn’t let her give up, either. Not when she would have died without a liver transplant or when Jeff had trampled upon her heart.
Lucy’s chest tightened. She should do this for Aaron as much as Connor. But she had no idea how she could get close enough to someone as rich and famous as Ryland James.
Connor stared up at her with big, round eyes.
A lump formed in her throat. Whether she wanted to see Ryland James or could see him didn’t matter. This wasn’t about her. “Okay. I’ll ask him.”
Connor wrapped his arms around her. “I knew I could count on you.”
Lucy hugged him tight. “You can always count on me, kiddo.”
Even if she knew going into this things wouldn’t work out the way her nephew wanted. But she could keep him smiling a little while longer. At least until Ryland said no.
Connor squirmed out of her arms. “Let’s go see him now.”
“Not so fast. This is something I’m doing on my own.” She didn’t want her nephew’s image of his favorite soccer player destroyed in case Ryland was no longer a nice guy. Fame or fortune could change people. “And I can’t show up empty-handed.”
But what could she give to a man who could afford whatever he wanted? Flowers might be appropriate given his injury, but maybe a little too feminine. Chocolate, perhaps? Hershey Kisses might give him the wrong idea. Not that he’d ever known about her crush.
“Cookies,” Connor suggested. “Everyone likes cookies.”
“Yes, they do.” Though Lucy doubted anything would convince Ryland to accept the coaching position. But what was the worst he could say besides no? “Does chocolate chip sound good?”
“Those are my favorite.” Connor’s smile faltered. “It’s too bad my mom isn’t here. She makes the best chocolate-chip cookies.”
Lucy mussed his hair to keep him from getting too caught up in missing his mom. “It is too bad, but remember she’s doing important stuff right now. Like your dad.”
Connor nodded.
“How about we use your mom’s recipe?” Lucy asked. “You can show me how she makes them.”
His smile returned. “Okay.”
Lucy wanted to believe everything would turn out okay, but she knew better. As with marriage, the chance of a happy ending here was extremely low. Best to prepare accordingly. She would make a double batch of cookies—one to give to Ryland and one for them to keep. She and Connor were going to need something to make them feel better after Ryland James said no.
The dog’s whimpering almost drowned out the pulse-pounding rock music playing in his parents’ home gym.
Ryland didn’t glance at Cupcake. The dog could wait. He needed to finish his workout.
Lying on the weight machine’s bench, he raised the bar overhead, doing the number of reps recommended by the team’s trainer. He used free weights when he trained in Phoenix, but his parents wanted him using the machine when he worked out alone.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d ditched his T-shirt twenty minutes ago. His bare back stuck to the vinyl.
Ryland tightened his grip on the handles.
He wanted to return to the team in top form, to show them he still deserved the captaincy as well as their respect. He’d already lost one major endorsement deal due to his bad-boy behavior. For all he knew, he might not even have a spot on the Fuego roster come opening day. And that … sucked.
On the final rep, his muscles ached and his arms trembled. He clenched his jaw, pushing the weight overhead one last time.
“Yes!”
He’d increased the amount of weight this morning. His trainer would be pleased with the improvements in upper-body strength. That and his core were the only things he could work on.
Ryland sat up, breathing hard. Not good. He needed to keep up his endurance while he healed from the surgery.
Damn foot. He stared at his right leg encased in a black walking-cast boot.
His fault. Each of Ryland’s muscles tensed in frustration. He should have known better than to be showboating during the friendly with Mexico. Now he was sidelined, unable to run or kick.
The media had accused him of being hungover or drunk when he hurt himself. They’d been wrong. Again. But dealing with the press was as much a part of his job as what happened for ninety minutes out on the pitch.
He’d appeared on camera, admitted the reason for his injury—goofing off for the fans and the cameras—and apologized to both fans and teammates. But the truth had made him look more like a bad boy than ever given his red cards during matches the last couple of seasons, the trouble he’d gotten into off the field and the endless “reports” on his dating habits.
The dog whined louder.
From soccer superstar to dog sitter. Ryland half laughed.
Cupcake barked, as if tired of being put off any longer.
“Come here,” Ryland said.
His parents’ small dog pranced across the padded gym floor, acting more like a pedigreed champion show dog than a full-blooded mutt. Ryland had wanted to buy his mom and dad a purebred, but they adopted a dog from the local animal shelter, instead.
Cupcake stared up at him with sad, pitiful brown eyes. She had mangy gray fur, short legs and a long, bushy tail. Only his parents could love an animal this ugly and pathetic.
“Come on, girl.” Ryland scooped her up into his arms. “I know you miss Mom and Dad. I do, too. But you need to stop crying. They deserve a vacation without having to worry about you or me.”
He’d given his parents a cruise for their thirty-second wedding anniversary. Even though he’d bought them this mansion on the opposite side of town, far away from the two-bedroom apartment where he’d grown up, and deposited money into a checking account for them each month, both continued to work in the same low-paying jobs they’d had for as long as their marriage. They also drove the same old vehicles even though newer ones, Christmas presents from him, were parked in the four-car garage.
His parents’ sole indulgence was Cupcake. They spoiled the dog rotten. They hadn’t wanted to leave her in a kennel or in the care of a stranger while away so after his injury they asked Ryland if he would dog sit. His parents never asked him for anything so he’d jumped at the opportunity to do this.
Ryland hated being back in Wicksburg. There were too many bad memories from when he was a kid. Even small towns had bullies and not-so-nice cliques.
He missed the fun and excitement of a big city, but he needed time to get away to repair the damage he’d done to his foot and his reputation. No one was happy with him at the moment, especially himself. Until getting hurt, he hadn’t realized he’d been so restless, unfocused, careless.
Cupcake pawed at his hands. Her sign she wanted rubs.
“Mom and Dad will be home before you know it.” Ryland petted the top of her head. “Okay?”
The dog licked him.
He placed her on the floor then stood. “I’m getting some water. Then it’s shower time. If I don’t shave, I’m going to start looking mangy like you.”
Cupcake barked.
His cell phone, sitting on the countertop next to his water bottle, rang. He read the name on the screen. Blake Cochrane. His agent.
Ryland glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock here meant seven o’clock in Los Angeles. “An early morning for you.”
“I’m here by six to beat the traffic,” Blake said. “According to Twitter, you made a public appearance the other night. I thought we agreed you were going to lay low.”
“I was hungry. The fire station was having their annual spaghetti feed so I thought I could eat and support a good cause. They asked if I’d sign autographs and pose for pictures. I couldn’t say no.”
“Any press?”
“The local weekly paper.” With the phone in one hand and a water bottle in the other, Ryland walked to the living room with Cupcake tagging alongside him. He tried hard not to favor his right foot. He’d only been off crutches a few days. “But I told them no interview because I wanted the focus to be on the event. The photographer took a few pictures of the crowd so I might be in one.”
“Let’s hope whatever is published is positive,” Blake said.
“I was talking with people I grew up with.” Some of the same people who’d treated him like garbage until he’d joined a soccer team. Most accepted him after he became a starter on the high-school varsity team as a freshman. He’d shown them all by becoming a professional athlete. “I was surrounded by a bunch of happy kids.”
“That sounds safe enough,” Blake admitted. “But be careful. Another endorsement deal fell through. They’re nervous about your injury. The concerns over your image didn’t help.”
Ryland dragged his hand through his hair. “Let me guess. They want a clean-cut American, not a bad boy who thinks red cards are better than goals.”
“You got it,” Blake said. “I haven’t heard anything official, but rumors are swirling that Mr. McElroy wants to loan you out to a Premier League team.”
McElroy was the new owner of the Phoenix Fuego, who took more interest in players and team than any other head honcho in the MLS. He’d fired the coach/manager who’d wanted to run things his way and hired a new coach, Elliot Fritz, who didn’t mind the owner being so hands-on. “Seriously?”
“I’ve heard it from more than one source.”
Damn. As two teams were mentioned, Ryland plopped into his dad’s easy chair. Cupcake jumped onto his lap.
“I took my eye off the ball,” he said. “I made some mistakes. I apologized. I’m recovering and keeping my name out of the news. I don’t see why we all can’t move on.”
“It’s not that easy. You’re one of the best soccer players in the world. Before your foot surgery, you were a first-team player who could have started for any team here or abroad. Not many American footballers can say that,” Blake said. “But McElroy believes your bad-boy image isn’t a draw in the stands or with the kids. Merchandising is important these days.”
“Yeah, I know. Being injured and getting older isn’t helping my cause.” As if twenty-nine made Ryland an old man. He remembered what the team owner had said in an interview. “McElroy called me an overpaid liability. But if that’s the case, why would an overseas team want to take me on?”
“The transfer period doesn’t start until June. None have said they want the loan yet.”
Ouch. Ryland knew he had only himself to blame for the mess he found himself in.
“The good news is the MLS doesn’t want to lose a homegrown player as talented as you. McElroy’s feathers got ruffled,” Blake continued. “He’s asserting his authority and reminding you that he controls your contract.”
“You mean, my future.”
“That’s how billionaires are.”
“I’ll stick to being a millionaire, then.”
Blake sighed.
“Look, I get why McElroy’s upset. Coach Fritz, too. I haven’t done a good job handling stuff,” Ryland admitted. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never been an angel. But I’m not the devil, either. There’s no way I could do everything the press says I do. The media exaggerates everything.”
“True, but people’s concerns are real. This time at your parents’ house is critical. Watch yourself.”
“I’m going to fix this. I want to play in the MLS.” Ryland had already done an eleven-year stint in the U.K. “My folks are doing fine, but they’re not getting any younger. I don’t want to be an ocean away from them. If McElroy doesn’t want me, see if the Indianapolis Rage or another club does.”
“McElroy isn’t going to let a franchise player like you go to another MLS team,” Blake said matter-of-factly. “If you want to play stateside, it’ll be with Fuego.”
Ryland petted Cupcake. “Then I’ll have to keep laying low and polishing my image so it shines.”
“Blind me, Ry.”
“Will do.” Everyone always wanted something from him. This was no different. But it sucked he had to prove himself all over again with Mr. McElroy and the Phoenix fans. “At least I can’t get into trouble dog sitting. Wicksburg is the definition of boring.”
“Women—”
“Not here,” Ryland interrupted. “I know what’s expected of me. I also know it’s hard on my mom to read the gossip about me on the internet. She doesn’t need to hear it firsthand from women in town.”
“You should bring your mom back with you to Phoenix.”
“Dude. Keeping it quiet and on the down low is fine while I’m here, but let’s not go crazy,” Ryland said. “In spite of the reports of me hooking up with every starlet in Hollywood, I’ve been more than discreet and discriminate with whom I see. But beautiful women coming on to me are one of the perks of the sport.”
Blake sighed. “I remember when you were this scrappy, young kid who cared about nothing but soccer. It used to be all about the game for you.”
“It’s still about the game.” Ryland was the small-town kid from the Midwest who hit the big-time overseas, playing with the best in the world. Football, as they called it everywhere but in the U.S., meant everything to him. Without it … “Soccer is my life. That’s why I’m trying to get back on track.”
A beat passed and another. “Just remember, actions speak louder than words.”
After a quick goodbye, Blake disconnected from the call.
Ryland stared at his phone. He’d signed with Blake when he was eighteen. The older Ryland got, the smarter his agent’s advice sounded.
Actions speak louder than words.
Lately his actions hadn’t been any more effective than his words. He looked at Cupcake. “I’ve put myself in the doghouse. Now I’ve got to get myself out of it.”
The doorbell rang.
Cupcake jumped off his lap and ran to the front door barking ferociously, as if she weighed ninety pounds, not nineteen.
Who could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone.
The dog kept barking. He remained seated.
Let Cupcake deal with whomever was at the door. If he ignored them, maybe they would go away. The last thing Ryland wanted right now was company.

CHAPTER TWO
LUCY’S hand hovered over the mansion’s doorbell. She fought the urge to press the button a third time. She didn’t want to annoy Mr. and Mrs. James. Yes, she wanted to get this fool’s errand over with, but appearing overeager or worse, rude, wouldn’t help her find a coach for Connor’s team.
“Come on,” she muttered. “Open the door.”
The constant high-pitch yapping of a dog suggested the doorbell worked. But that didn’t explain why no one had answered yet. Maybe the house was so big it took them a long time to reach the front door. Lucy gripped the container of cookies with both hands.
The dog continued barking.
Maybe no one was home. She rose up on her tiptoes and peeked through the four-inch strip of small leaded-glass squares on the ornate wood door.
Lights shone inside.
Someone had to be home. Leaving the lights on when away wasted electricity. Her dad used to tell her that. Aaron said the same thing to Connor. But she supposed if a person could afford to live in an Architectural Digest–worthy home with its Georgian-inspired columns, circular drive and manicured lawn that looked like a green carpet, they probably didn’t worry about paying the electricity bill.
Lucy didn’t see anyone coming toward the door. She couldn’t see the dog, either. She lowered her heels to the welcome mat.
Darn it. She didn’t want to come back later and try again. A chill shivered down her spine. She needed to calm down.
She imagined Connor with a smile on his face and soccer cleats on his feet. Her anxiety level dropped.
If no one answered, she would return. She would keep coming back until she spoke with Ryland James.
The dog’s barking became more agitated.
A sign? Probably not, but she might as well ring the bell once more before calling it quits.
She pressed the doorbell. A symphony of chimes erupted into a Mozart tune. At least the song sounded like Mozart the third time hearing it.
The door opened slightly. A little gray dog darted out and sniffed her shoes. The pup placed its stubby front paws against her jean-covered calves.
“Off, Cupcake.” The dog ran to the grass in the front yard. A man in navy athletic shorts with a black walking-cast on his right leg stood in the doorway. “She’s harmless.”
The dog might be, but not him.
Ryland James.
Hot. Sexy. Oh, my.
He looked like a total bad boy with his short, brown hair damp and mussed, as if he hadn’t taken time to comb it after he crawled out of bed. Shaving didn’t seem to be part of his morning routine, either. He used to be so clean-cut and all-American, but the dark stubble covering his chin and cheeks gave him an edge. His bare muscular chest glistened as if he’d just finished a workout. He had a tattoo on his right biceps and another on the backside of his left wrist. His tight, underwear model–worthy abs drew her gaze lower. Her mouth went dry.
Lucy forced her gaze up and stared into the hazel eyes that had once fueled her teenage daydreams. His dark lashes seemed even thicker. How was that possible?
The years had been good, very good to him. The guy was more gorgeous than ever with his classically handsome features, ones that had become more defined, almost refined, with age. His nose, however, looked as if it had been broken at least once. Rather than detract from his looks, his nose gave him character, made him appear more … rugged. Manly. Dangerous.
Lucy’s heart thudded against her ribs. “It’s you.”
“I’m me.” His lips curved into a charming smile, sending her already-racing pulse into a mad sprint. “You’re not what I expected to find on my doorstep, but my day’s looking a whole lot better now.”
Her turn. But Lucy found herself tongue-tied. The same way she’d been whenever he was over at her house years ago. Her gaze strayed once again to his amazing abs. Wowza.
“You okay?” he asked.
Remember Connor. She raised her chin. “I was expecting—”
“One of my parents.”
She nodded.
“I was hoping you were here to see me,” he said.
“I am.” The words rushed from her lips like water from Connor’s Super Soaker gun. She couldn’t let nerves get the best of her now that she’d accomplished the first part of her mission and was standing face-to-face with Ryland. “But I thought one of them would answer the door since you’re injured.”
“They would have if they’d been home.” His rich, deep voice, as smooth and warm as a mug of hot cocoa, flowed over her. “I’m Ryland James.”
“I know.”
“That puts me at a disadvantage because I don’t know who you are.”
“I meant, I know you. But it was a long time ago,” she clarified.
His gaze raked over her. “I would remember meeting you.”
Lucy was used to guys hitting on her. She hadn’t expected that from Ryland, but she liked it. Other men’s attention annoyed her. His flirting made her feel attractive and desired.
“Let me take a closer look to see if I can jog my memory,” he said.
The approval in his eyes gave her goose bumps. The good kind, ones she hadn’t felt in a while. She hadn’t wanted to jump back into the dating scene after her divorce two years ago.
“I have seen that pretty smile of yours before,” he continued. “Those sparkling blue eyes, too.”
Oh, boy. Her knees felt wobbly. Tingles filled her stomach.
Stop. She wasn’t back in middle school.
Lucy straightened. The guy hadn’t a clue who she was. Ryland James was a professional athlete. Knowing what to say to women was probably part of their training camp.
“I’m Lucy.” For some odd reason, she sounded husky. She cleared her throat. “Lucy Martin.”
“Lucy.” Lines creased Ryland’s forehead. “Aaron Martin’s little sister?”
She nodded.
“Same smile and blue eyes, but everything else has changed.” Ryland’s gaze ran the length of her again. “Just look at you now.”
She braced herself, waiting to hear how sick she’d been and how ugly she’d looked before her liver transplant.
He grinned. “Little Lucy is all grown up now.”
Little Lucy? She stiffened. His words confused her. She hadn’t been little. Okay, maybe when they first met back in elementary school. But she’d been huge, a bloated whale, and yellow due to jaundice the last time he’d seen her. “It’s been what? Thirteen years since we last saw each other.”
“Thirteen years too long,” he said.
What was going on? Old crushes were supposed to get fat and lose their hair, not get even hotter and appear interested in you. He sounded interested. Unless her imagination was getting the best of her.
No, she knew better when it came to men. “It looks as if life is treating you well. Except for your leg—”
“Foot. Nothing serious.”
“You had surgery.”
“A minor inconvenience, that’s all. Nothing like what you suffered through,” he said. “The liver transplant seems to have done what Aaron hoped it would do. All he ever wanted was for you to be healthy.”
“I am.” She wondered why Aaron would have talked about her illness to Ryland. All they’d cared about were soccer and girls. Well, every other girl in Wicksburg except her. “I take medicine each day and have a monthly blood test, but otherwise I’m the same as everybody else.”
“No, you’re not.” Ryland’s gaze softened. “There’s nothing ordinary about you. Never has been. It sucked that you were sick, but you were always so brave.”
Heat stole up her neck toward her cheeks. Butterflies flapped in her tummy. Her heart …
Whoa-whoa-whoa. Don’t get carried away by a few nice words from a good-looking guy, even if that guy happened to be the former man of her dreams. She’d been a naive kid back then. She’d learned the hard way that people said things they didn’t mean. They lied, even after saying how much they loved you. Lucy squared her shoulders.
Time to get this over with. She handed Ryland the cookies. “These are for you.”
He removed the container’s lid. His brows furrowed. “Cookies?”
Ryland sounded surprised. She bit the inside of her mouth, hoping he liked them. “Chocolate chip.”
“My favorite. Thanks.”
He seemed pleased. Good. “Aaron’s son, Connor, helped me make them. He’s nine and loves soccer. That’s why I’m here. To ask a favor.”
Ryland looked at the cookies, then at her. “I appreciate your honesty. Not many people are so up-front when they want something. Let’s talk inside.”
She hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of going into the house. Once upon a time she’d believed in happily ever after and one true love. But life had taught her those things belonged only in fairy tales. Love and romance were overrated. But Ryland was making her feel things she tried hard not to think about too much—attraction, desire, hope.
But the other part of her, the part that tended to be impulsive and had gotten her into trouble more than once, was curious. She wanted to know if his parents’ house was as nice on the inside as the exterior and front yard. Heaven knew she would never live in an exclusive neighborhood like this one. This might be her only chance to find out.
Ryland leaned against the doorway. The casual pose took weight off his right foot. He might need to sit down.
“Sure.” She didn’t want him hurting. “That would be nice.”
He whistled for the dog.
Cupcake ran inside.
Lucy entered the house. The air was cooler than outside and smelled lemony. Wood floors gleamed. A giant chandelier hung from the twenty-foot ceiling in the foyer. She clamped her lips together so her mouth wouldn’t gape. Original watercolor paintings in gilded frames decorated the textured walls. Tasteful and expensive.
She stepped through a wide-arched doorway into the living room. Talk about beautiful. The yellow and green décor was light, bright and inviting. The colors, fabrics and accessories coordinated perfectly. What she liked most was how comfortable the room looked, not at all like some of those unlivable magazine layouts or model homes.
Family pictures sat on the wooden fireplace mantle. A framed poster-size portrait of Ryland, wearing a U.S. National team uniform, hung on the wall. An open paperback novel rested cover-side up on an end table. “Your parents’ house is lovely.”
“Thanks.”
He sounded proud, making her wonder about his part in his parents’ house. She’d guess a big part, given his solid relationship with his mom and dad when he’d been a teen.
“My mom thought the house was too big, but I convinced her she deserved it after so many years of apartment living.” Ryland motioned to a sofa. “Have a seat.”
Lucy sat, sinking into the overstuffed cushions. More comfortable than the futon she’d sold before leaving Chicago. She’d gotten rid of her few pieces of furniture so she wouldn’t have to pay for storage while living at Aaron and Dana’s house.
Cupcake hopped up next to her.
“Is she allowed on the couch?” Lucy asked.
“The dog is allowed everywhere except the dining-room table and kitchen counters. She belongs to my parents. They’ve spoiled her rotten.” Ryland sounded more amused than angry. He sat on a wingback chair to her right. “Mind if I have a cookie?”
“Please do.”
He offered her the container. “Would you like one?”
The chocolate chips smelled good, but she would be eating cookies with Connor later. Better not overdo the sweets. The trips to the ice-cream parlor and Rocket Burger with her nephew were already adding up. “No, thanks.”
Ryland took one. “I can’t remember the last time someone baked anything for me.”
“What about your mom?”
“I don’t spend as much time with my parents as I’d like due to soccer. Right now I’m dog sitting while they’re away.” Cupcake circled around as if chasing her own tail, then plopped against the cushion and placed her head on Lucy’s thigh. “She likes you.”
Lucy ran her fingers through the soft gray fur. She’d never had a dog. “She’s sweet.”
“When she wants to be.” Ryland bit into the cookie. He took his time eating it. “Delicious.”
The cookies were a hit. Lucy hoped they worked as a bribe. She mustered her courage. Not that she could back out now even if she wanted to. “So my nephew …”
“Does he want an autograph?” Ryland placed the cookie container on the coffee table. “Maybe a team jersey or ball?”
“Connor would love it if you signed his ball, but what he really wants is a coach for his spring under-9 rec. team.” She didn’t want to waste any more of Ryland’s time. Or hers. “He wanted me to ask if you could coach his team, the Defeeters.”
Ryland flinched. “Me? Coach?”
“I know that’s a big request and likely impossible for you to do right now.”
He looked at his injured foot. “Yeah, this isn’t a good time. I hope to be back with my team in another month or so.”
“I’m sure you will be. Aaron says you’re one of the best players in the world.”
“Thanks. It’s just … I’m supposed to be laying low while I’m here. Staying out of the press. The media could turn my coaching your nephew’s team into a circus.” Ryland stared at the dog. “I’m really sorry I can’t help you out.”
“No worries. I told Connor you probably couldn’t coach.” Lucy knew Ryland would never say yes. He’d left his small-town roots behind and become famous, traveling all over the U.S. and the world. The exotic lifestyle was as foreign to her as the game of soccer itself. But maybe she could get him to agree to something else that wouldn’t take so much of his time. “But if you happen to have an hour to spare sometime, Connor and his teammates would be thrilled if you could give them a pep talk.”
Silence stretched between them. She’d put him on the spot with that request, too. But she’d had no choice if she wanted to help her nephew.
“I can do that,” Ryland said finally.
Lucy released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thanks.”
“I’m happy to talk to them, sign balls, pose for pictures, whatever the boys want.”
She hoped the visit would appease Connor. “That will be great. Thanks.”
Ryland’s eyes darkened, more brown than hazel now. “Who will you get to coach?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Practices don’t start until next week so I still have a little time left to find someone. I can always coach, if need be.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “You play soccer?”
Lucy hadn’t been allowed to do anything physical when she was younger. Even though she no longer had any physical limitations, she preferred art to athletics. “No, but I’ve been reading up on the game and watching video clips on the internet, just in case.”
His lips narrowed. “Aaron was great with those kids when we put on that camp back in high school. Why doesn’t he coach the team?”
“Aaron’s coached the Defeeters for years, but he’s overseas right now with the army. Both he and his wife were deployed with their Reserve unit last month. I’m taking care of Connor until they return next year.”
“Aaron talked about using the military to pay for college,” Ryland said thoughtfully. “But I lost track of him, of everyone, when I left Wicksburg.”
“He joined the army right after high school.” Lucy’s medical expenses had drained their college funds, her parents’ saving account and the equity in their house. Sometimes it felt as if she was still paying for the transplant years later. Aaron, too. “That’s where he met his wife, Dana. After they completed their Active Duty, they joined the Reserves.”
“A year away from home. Away from their son.” Ryland dragged his hand through his hair. “That has to be rough.”
Lucy’s chest tightened. “You do what you have to do.”
“Still …”
“You left home to go to Florida and then England.”
“To play soccer. Not protect my country,” Ryland said. “I had the time of my life. I doubt Aaron and his wife can say the same thing right now.”
Lucy remembered the tears glistening in Connor’s eyes as he told her his mom sounded like she was crying on the phone. “You’re right about that.”
“I respect what Aaron and his wife, what all of the military, are doing. The sacrifices they make. True heroes. Every one of them.”
Ryland sounded earnest. She wanted to believe he was sincere. Maybe he was still a small-town guy at heart. “They are.”
Cupcake rolled over on her back. She waved her front paws in the air.
Lucy took the not-so-subtle hint and rubbed the dog’s stomach.
“So you’ve stuck around Wicksburg,” Ryland said.
“I left for a while. College. I also lived in Chicago.” Aaron had accused her of running away when her marriage failed. Maybe he’d been right. But she’d had to do something when her life crumbled around her. “I moved back last month.”
“To care for your nephew.”
She nodded. “Saying no never entered into my mind. Not after everything Aaron has done for me.”
“He was so protective of you.”
“He still is.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Ryland rubbed his thigh above the brace he wore. He rested his foot on an ottoman. “Did you leave your boyfriend behind in Chi-town or did he come with you?”
She drew back, surprised by the question. “I, uh, don’t have a boyfriend.”
He grinned wryly. “So you need a soccer coach and a boyfriend. I hope your brother told you the right qualities to look for in each.”
Aaron always gave her advice, but she hadn’t always listened to him. Lucy should have done so before eloping. She couldn’t change the past. But she wouldn’t make that same mistake again.
“A soccer coach is all I need.” Lucy figured Ryland had to be teasing her, but this wasn’t a joking matter. She needed a boyfriend as much as she needed another ex-husband. She shifted positions. “I have my hands full with Connor. He’s my priority. A kid should be happy and carefree, not frowning and down all the time.”
“Maybe we should get him together with Cupcake,” Ryland said. “She goes from being happy to sad. I’m a poor substitute for my parents.”
Lucy’s insecurities rushed to the surface. She never thought she would have something in common with him. “That’s how I feel with Connor. Nothing I do seems to be … enough.”
Ryland leaned forward. His large hand engulfed hers. His touch was light. His skin was warm. “Hey. You’re here to see me about his team. That says a lot. Aaron and his family, especially Connor, are lucky to have you.”
Ryland’s words wrapped around Lucy like a big hug. But his touch disturbed her more than it comforted. Heat emanated from the point of contact and spread up her arm. She tried not to think about it. “I’m the lucky one.”
“Maybe some of that luck will rub off on me.”
“Your injury?” she asked.
“Yeah, and a few other things.”
His hand still rested upon hers. Lucy hadn’t been touched by a man in over two years. It felt … good.
Better not get used to it. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from beneath his and reached for her purse.
“If you need some luck, I’ve got just the thing for you.” Lucy removed a penny from her change pocket and gave it to Ryland. “My grammy told me this is all a person needs to get lucky.”
Wicked laughter lit his eyes. “Here I thought it took a killer opening line, oodles of charm and an expensive bottle of champagne.”
Oh, no. Lucy realized what she’d said. Her cheeks burned. “I meant to change their luck.”
He winked. “I know, but you gave me the opening. I had to take the shot.”
At least he hadn’t scored. Not yet, anyway. Lucy swallowed.
“Aaron would have done the same.” She needed to be careful, though. Ryland was charming, but he wasn’t her big brother. Being near him short-circuited her brain. She couldn’t think straight. That was bad. The last time she allowed herself to be charmed by a man she’d ended up with a wedding ring on her finger.
“You said your nephew loves soccer,” Ryland said.
She nodded, thankful for the change in subject. “Yes. Connor and Aaron are crazy about the sport. They wear matching jerseys. It’s cute, though Dana says it’s annoying when they get up at some crazy hour to watch a game in Europe. But I don’t think she minds that much.”
Lucy cringed at her rambling. Ryland didn’t care about Aaron’s family’s infatuation with soccer. She needed to shut up. Now.
“That’s great they’re so into the game.” A thoughtful expression crossed Ryland’s face. “I haven’t been back in town for a while, but I bet some of the same people are still involved in soccer. I’ll ask around to see if there’s someone who can coach your nephew’s team.”
Her mouth parted in surprise. She liked being self-reliant and hated asking for help, but in this case Ryland had offered. She’d be stupid to say no when this meant so much to Connor. “I’d appreciate that. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble. I’m happy to do it. Anything for …”
You, she thought.
“… Aaron.”
Of course, this was for her brother. Ryland’s childhood and high-school friend and teammate. She ignored the twinge of disappointment. “Thanks.”
Ryland held the penny between the pads of his thumb and index finger. “You’ve made me cookies, given me a lucky penny. What do I get if I find a coach?”
Lucy wondered if he was serious or teasing her. His smile suggested the latter. “My undying gratitude?”
“That’s a good start.”
“More cookies?”
“Always appreciated, especially if they’re chocolate chip,” he said. “What else?”
His lighthearted and flirty tone sounded warning bells in her head. Ryland was teasing her, but Lucy no longer wanted to play along. His charm, pretty much everything about him, unsettled her. “I’m not sure what else you might want.”
He gave her the once-over, only this time his gaze lingered a second too long on her lips. “I can think of a couple things.”
So could Lucy. The man was smokin’ hot. His lips looked as if they could melt her insides with one kiss. Sex appeal oozed from him.
A good thing she’d sworn off men because she could tell the soccer pitch wasn’t the only place where Ryland James played. Best not to even start that game. She’d only lose. Again.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
Time to steer this conversation back to where it needed to be so she could get out of here.
“How about you make a list?” Lucy kept a smile on her face and her tone light and friendly. After all, he was going to try to find Connor’s team a coach. But if Ryland thought she was going to swoon at his feet in adoration and awe, he had another think coming. “If you find the team a coach, we’ll go from there.”
Ryland’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, taking her breath away. “I always thought you were a cool kid, Lucy Martin, but I really like who you are now.”
Okay, she was attracted to him. Any breathing female with a pulse would be. The guy was appealing with a capital A.
But Lucy wasn’t stupid. She knew the type. His type.
Ryland James spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
Once he visited the Defeeters, she never wanted to see him again. And she wouldn’t.
It was so good to see Lucy Martin again.
Ryland sat in the living room waiting for her to return with Cupcake, who needed to go outside. Lucy had offered to take the dog to the backyard so he wouldn’t have to get up. He’d agreed if only to keep her here a little while longer.
He couldn’t get over the difference in her.
She’d been a shy, sweet girl with freckles, long braids and yellowish whites surrounding her huge blue eyes. Now she was a confident, sweet woman with a glowing complexion, strawberry-blond hair worn in a short and sassy style, and mesmerizing sky-blue eyes.
Ryland had been wrong about not wanting company this morning. Sure she’d shown up because she wanted something. But she’d brought him cookies—a bribe, no doubt—and been straightforward asking him for a favor.
He appreciated and respected that.
Some women were devious and played up to him to get what they wanted. Lucy hadn’t even wanted something for herself, but for her nephew. That was … refreshing.
Cupcake ran into the living room and hopped onto the couch.
Lucy took her same spot next to the dog. “Sorry that took so long, the dog wanted to run around before she got down to business.”
“Thanks for taking her out.” Lucy had brightened Ryland’s mood, making him smile and laugh. He wanted her to stick around. “You must be thirsty. I’ll get you something to drink. Coffee? Water? A soda?”
Lucy shifted on the couch. “No, thanks.”
Years ago, Aaron had told Ryland that his sister had a crush on him so to be nice to her. He had been. Now he was curious to know if any of her crush remained. “It’s no trouble.”
But he could get in trouble wondering if she were still interested in him. He was supposed to be avoiding women.
Not that he was pursuing her. Though he was … curious.
She grabbed her purse. “Thanks, but I should be going.”
Lucy was different than other women he knew. Most would kill for that kind of invitation from him, but she didn’t seem impressed or want to hang out with him. She’d eagerly taken Cupcake outside while he stayed inside. Almost as if she’d wanted some distance from him.
Interesting. His charm and fame usually melted whatever feminine resistance he faced. Not with Lucy. He kind of liked the idea of a challenge. Not that it could go anywhere, he reminded himself. “I’d like to hear more about Aaron.”
“Perhaps another time.”
“You have somewhere to be?”
Her fingers curled around the leather strap. “I have work to do before Connor gets home from school.”
Ryland would have liked it if she stayed longer, but he would see her again. No doubt about that. He rose. “I’ll see you out.”
She stood. Her purse swung like a pendulum. “That’s not necessary. Stay off your foot. I know where the door is.”
“My foot can handle it.”
Lucy’s gaze met his. “I can see myself out.”
He found the unwavering strength in her eyes a big turn-on. “I know, but I want to show you out.”
After what felt like forever, she looked away with a shrug. “It’s your foot.”
He bit back a smile. She would be a challenge all right. A fun one. “Yes, it is.”
Ryland accompanied Lucy to her car, a practical looking white, four-door subcompact. “Thanks for coming by and bringing me cookies. I’ll give you a call about a coach and talking to the team.”
She removed something from an outside pocket of her purse and handed it to him. “My cell-phone number is on my business card. Aaron has a landline, but this is the best way to reach me.”
He stared at the purple card with white and light blue lettering and a swirly border. That looked more like Lucy. “Freelance graphic designer. So you’re still into art.”
“You remember that?”
She sounded incredulous, but the way her eyes danced told him she was also pleased.
“You’d be surprised what I remember.”
Her lips parted once again.
He’d piqued her interest. Good, because she’d done the same to him. “But don’t worry, it’s all good.”
A charming blush crept into Lucy’s cheeks.
“We’ll talk later.” Ryland didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but flirting with her came so easily. “You have work to do now.”
“Yes, I do.” She dug around the inside of her purse. As she pulled out her keys, metal clanged against metal. “Thanks. I’m … I look forward to hearing from you.”
“It won’t be long.” And it wouldn’t. Ryland couldn’t wait to talk to her again. “I promise.”

CHAPTER THREE
THAT afternoon, the front door burst open with so much force Lucy thought a tornado had touched down in Wicksburg. She stood her ground in the living room, knowing this burst of energy wasn’t due to Mother Nature—the warning siren hadn’t gone off—but was man, er, boy-made.
Manny usually couldn’t wait for Connor to get home and make another escape attempt, but the cat hightailed it into the kitchen. A ball of dark fur slid across the linoleum before disappearing from sight.
Connor flew into the house, strands of his strawberry-blond hair going every which way. He was lanky, the way his dad had been at that age, all limbs with not an ounce of fat on him. The set of his jaw and the steely determination in his eyes made him seem more superhero than a four-and-a-half-foot third grader. All he needed was a cape to wear over his jersey and jeans.
“Hey.” Lucy knew he wanted to know about her visit to Ryland, but the sexy soccer player had been on her mind since she’d left him. Much to her dismay. She didn’t want to start her time with Connor focused on the guy, too. “Did you have a good day at school? You had a spelling quiz, right?”
He slammed the front door closed. The entire house shook. His backpack hung precariously off one thin shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care. “Did you talk to Ryland James?”
Connor had the same one-track mind as her brother. When Aaron had something he wanted to do, like joining the military, he defined tunnel vision.
Lucy might as well get this over with. “I went to Mr. and Mrs. James’s house this morning. Ryland liked the cookies we baked.”
The backpack thudded against the entryway’s tile floor. Anticipation filled Connor’s blue eyes. “Is he going to coach the Defeeters?”
This was the part she hadn’t been looking forward to since leaving the Jameses’ house. “No, but Ryland offered to see if he can find the team a coach. He’s also going to come out and talk to the team.”
Different emotions crossed Connor’s face. Sadness, anger, surprise. A thoughtful expression settled on his features. “I guess he must be really busy.”
“Ryland’s trying to heal and stay in shape.” Her temperature rose remembering how he looked in only a pair of shorts and gleam of sweat. “He doesn’t plan on being in town long. Maybe a month or so. He wants to rejoin his team as soon as he can.”
Manny peered around the doorway to the kitchen, saw Connor and ran to him.
Connor picked up the cat. “I guess I would want to do that, too.”
Poor kid. He was trying to put on a brave face. She wished things could be different for him. “There’s still time to find the Defeeters a coach.”
He stared over the cat’s head. “That’s what you said last week. And the week before that.”
“True, but now I have help looking for a coach.” Lucy hoped Ryland had been serious about his offer and came through for … the boys. “A good thing, otherwise, you’ll be stuck with me.”
Connor nodded.
She ruffled his hair. “Gee, thanks.”
“You’re the one who said it.” He flashed her a lopsided grin. “But no matter what happens, having you for a coach is better than not playing at all.”
Lucy hoped he was right. “I’ll do my best if it comes down to that.”
“It won’t.” Connor sounded so confident.
“How do you know?”
“If Ryland James said he’d find us a coach, he will.”
She’d been disappointed too many times to put that much faith into someone. Ryland had seemed sincere and enthusiastic. But so had others. Best not to raise Connor’s hopes too high on the chance his favorite player didn’t come through after all. “Ryland said he’d try. He’s going to call me.”
“Have you checked your voice mail yet?” Connor asked.
His eagerness made her smile. She’d been wondering when the call might come herself. They both needed to be realistic. “I just saw Ryland a couple hours ago.”
“Hours? He could have found us five coaches by now.”
She doubted that.
“All Ryland James has to do is snap his fingers and people will come running,” Connor continued.
Lucy could imagine women running to the gorgeous Ryland. She wasn’t so sure the same could be said about coaches. Not unless they were female.
“Check your cell phone,” Connor encouraged.
The kid was relentless … like his dad. “Give Ryland time to snap his fingers. I mean, make calls. I know this is important to you, but a little patience here would be good.”
“You could call him.”
No, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “He said he’d call. Rushing him wouldn’t be nice.”
She also didn’t want to give Ryland the wrong impression so he might think she was interested in him. A guy like him meant one thing—heartbreak. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“Let’s give him at least a day, maybe two, to call us, okay?” she suggested.
“Okay,” Connor agreed reluctantly.
She bit back a laugh. “How about some cookies and milk while you tell me about school?”
Maybe that would get Ryland James out of Connor’s thoughts. And hers, too.
“Sure.” As he walked toward the kitchen, he looked back at her. “So does Ryland James have a soccer field in his backyard?”
Lucy swallowed a sigh. And then maybe not.
After dinner, Ryland retreated with Cupcake into the media room aka his dad’s man cave. He had all he needed—laptop, cell phone, chocolate-chip cookies, Lucy’s business card and a seventy-inch LED television with ESPN playing. As soon as Ryland found Lucy a coach for her nephew’s team, he would call her with the good news.
Forget the delicious cookies she’d made. The only dessert he wanted was to hear her sweet voice on the opposite end of the phone.
Ryland laughed. He must need some feminine attention if he felt this way.
But seeing Lucy again had made him feel good. She also had him thinking about the past. Many of his childhood memories living in Wicksburg were like bad dreams, ones he’d pushed to the far recesses of his mind and wanted to keep there. But a few others, like the ones he remembered now, brought a welcome smile to his face.
Cupcake lay on an Indianapolis Colts dog bed.
Even though Ryland played soccer, his dad preferred football, the American kind. But his dad had never once tried to change Ryland’s mind about what sport to play. Instead, his father had done all he could so Ryland could succeed in the sport. He would be nowhere without his dad and his mom.
And youth soccer.
He’d learned the basic skills and the rules of the game playing in the same rec. league Aaron’s son played in. When Ryland moved to a competitive club, playing up a year from his own age group, his dad’s boss, Mr. Buckley, who owned a local farm, bought Ryland new cleats twice a year. Not cheap ones, but the good kind. Mr. Martin, Aaron and Lucy’s dad, would drive Ryland to away games and tournaments when his parents had to work.
Lucy taking care of Aaron’s son didn’t surprise Ryland. The Martins had always been a loyal bunch.
In elementary school, other kids used to taunt him. Aaron stood up for Ryland even before they were teammates. Once they started playing on the same team, they became good friends. But Ryland had wanted to put Wicksburg behind him when he left.
And he had.
He’d focused all his effort and energy into being the best soccer player he could be.
Now that he was back in town, finding a soccer coach was the least he could do for his old friend Aaron. Ryland pressed the mute button on the television’s remote then picked up his cell phone. This wouldn’t take long.
Two hours later, he disconnected from yet another call. He couldn’t believe it. No matter whom he’d spoken with, the answer was still the same—no. Only the reason for not being able to coach changed.
“Wish I could help you out, Ryland, but I’m already coaching two other teams.”
“Gee, if I’d known sooner …”
“Try the high school. Maybe one of the students could do it as a class project or something.”
Ryland placed his cell phone on the table. Even the suggestion to contact the high school had led to a dead end. No wonder Lucy had asked him to coach Connor’s team.
Ryland looked at Cupcake. “What am I going to do?”
The dog kept her eyes closed.
“Go ahead. Pretend you don’t hear me. That’s what everyone else has done tonight.”
Okay, not quite. His calling had resulted in four invitations to dinner and five requests to speak to soccer teams. Amazing how things and his status in town had changed. All his hard work had paid off. Though he was having to start over with Mr. McElroy and the Fuego.
“I need to find Lucy a coach.”
Cupcake stretched.
Something flashed on the television screen. Highlights from a soccer match.
Yearning welled inside him. He missed the action on the field, the adrenaline pushing through him to run faster and the thrill of taking the ball toward the goal and scoring. Thinking about playing soccer was making him nostalgic for days when kids, a ball and some grass defined the game in its simplest and purest form.
Lucy’s business card caught his eye.
Attraction flared to life. He wanted to talk to her. Now.
Ryland picked up his cell phone. He punched in the first three digits of her number then placed the phone back on the table.
Calling her tonight would be stupid. Saying he wanted to hear her voice might be true, but he didn’t want to push too hard and scare her off. Other women might love a surprise phone call, but Lucy might not. She wasn’t like the women he dated.
That, he realized, surprisingly appealed to him. Sitting in his parents’ living room eating cookies and talking with a small-town girl had energized him in a way no visit to a top restaurant or trendy club with a date ever had.
Ryland stared at the cell phone. He wanted to talk to her, but if he called her he would have to admit his inability to find her a coach. That wouldn’t go over well.
With him, he realized with a start. Lucy wouldn’t be upset. She’d thank him for his efforts then take on the coaching role herself.
Ican always coach, if need be.
You play soccer?
No, but I’ve been reading up on the game and watching coaching clips on the internet just in case.
He imagined her placing a whistle around her graceful neck and leading a team of boys at practice. Coaching would be nothing compared to what Lucy went through when she was sick. She would figure out the basics of what needed to be done and give the boys her all.
But she shouldn’t have to do that. She was doing enough taking care of her nephew. The same as Aaron and his wife.
His gaze focused on Lucy’s name on her business card. The script might be artistic and a touch whimsical, but it showed strength and ingenuity, too.
Ryland straightened. He couldn’t let people saying no stop him. He was tougher than that. “I might have screwed up my career, but I’m not going to mess up this.”
The dog stared at him.
“I’ll find Lucy and those kids a coach.”
No matter what he had to do.
Two days later, Lucy stood in the front yard kicking a soccer ball to Connor. The afternoon sun shone high in the sky, but the weather might as well be cloudy and gray due to the frown on her nephew’s face. Practices began next week and the Defeeters still didn’t have a coach. Ryland hadn’t called back, either.
She tapped the ball with her left foot. It rolled too far to the left, out of Connor’s reach and into the hedge separating the yard from the neighbor’s. Lucy grimaced. “Sorry.”
Connor didn’t say a word but chased the ball. She knew what he was thinking because his expression matched her thoughts. The team needed someone who knew soccer better than she did, someone who could teach the kids the right skills and knew rules without having to resort to a book each time.
Her efforts to find a coach had failed. That left one person who could come to her—and the team’s—rescue.
It won’t be long. I promise.
Ryland’s words returned to her in a rush. Pathetic, how quick she’d been to believe them. As if she hadn’t learned anything based on her past experiences.
Okay, it had been only a couple of days. “Long” could mean a few days, a week, even a month. But “promise” was a seven-letter word that held zero weight with most of the people in this world.
Was Ryland one of them?
Time would tell, but for Connor’s sake she hoped not. He kicked the ball back to her.
She stopped the ball with her right foot the way she’d seen someone do on a video then used the inside of her foot to kick the ball back. She had better control this time. “Your teacher liked your book report.”
“I guess.”
“You got an A.”
Connor kicked the ball her way without stopping it first. “Are you sure he hasn’t called?”
“He” equaled Ryland. Connor had been asking that question nonstop, including a call during lunchtime using a classmate’s cell phone.
Lucy patted her jeans pocket. “My phone’s right here.”
“You checked your messages?”
“I did.” And rechecked them. No messages from Ryland. From anyone for that matter. She hadn’t made any close friends in Chicago. The ones who lived in Wicksburg had remained friends with her ex-husband after Lucy moved away. That made things uncomfortable now that she was back. The pity in their eyes reminded her of when she’d been sick. She wanted no part of that ever again. “But it’s only been a couple of days.”
“It feels like forever.”
“I know.” Each time her cell phone rang, thinking it might be Ryland filled her stomach with tingles of anticipation. She hated that. She didn’t want to feel that way about any guy calling her, even if the reason was finding a coach for her nephew’s soccer team. “But good things come to those who wait.”
Connor rolled the ball back and forth along the bottom of his foot. “That’s what Mom and Dad say. I’m trying to be patient, but it’s hard.”
“I know it’s hard to wait, but we have to give Ryland time.”
Connor nodded.
Please come through, Ryland. Lucy didn’t want Connor’s favorite player letting him down at the worst possible time. She didn’t want her nephew to have to face the kind of betrayal and disappointment she’d suffered due to others. Not when he was only nine, separated from his parents by oceans and continents.
He kicked the ball to her. “Maybe Ryland forgot.”
Lucy didn’t want to go there. The ball rolled past her toward the sidewalk. She chased after it. “Give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Connor didn’t say anything.
She needed him to stop focusing so much on Ryland. “Your dad wants to see videotapes of your games. He can’t wait to see how the team does this spring.”
She kicked the ball back. Connor touched the ball twice with his foot before kicking it to her.
“Next time only one touch,” she said.
Surprise filled his blue eyes. “That’s what my dad says.”
“It might come as a shock, but your aunt knows a few things about the game of soccer.” She’d found a book on coaching on the living-room bookcase and attended a coaching clinic put on by the league last night while Connor had dinner over at a friend’s house. “How about we kick the ball a few times more, then go to the pizza parlor for dinner? You can play those video games you like so much.”
“Okay.”
Talk about an unenthused reaction.
An old beat-up, blue pickup truck pulled to the curb in front of the house. The engine idled loudly, as if in need of a tune-up. The engine sputtered off. The truck lurched forward a foot, maybe two.
The driver’s door opened. Ryland.
Her heart thumped.
It won’t be long. I promise.
Tingles filled her stomach. He hadn’t let her down. He was still the same nice guy he’d been in high school.
Ryland rounded the front of the truck. He wore a white polo shirt with the Fuego logo on the left side, a pair of khaki shorts and the boot on his right foot. He wore a tennis shoe on his left. His hair was nicely styled. He’d shaved, removing the sexy stubble.
Even with his clean-cut look, she knew not to let her guard down. The guy was still dangerous. The only reason she was happy to see him was Connor.
A little voice inside her head laughed at that. She ignored it.
“It’s him.” Awe filled Connor’s voice. “Ryland James.”
“Yes, it’s him,” she said.
Ryland crossed the sidewalk and stood near them on the lawn. “Hello.”
Lucy fought the urge to step back and put some distance between them. “Hi.”
He acknowledged her with a nod, but turned his attention to the kid with the stars in his eyes. “You must be Connor.”
Her nephew nodded.
Lucy’s heart melted. Ryland knew how important this moment must be for her nephew.
Connor wiped his right hand against his shorts then extended his arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. James.”
As Ryland shook his hand, he grinned. “Call me Ryland.”
Connor’s eyes widened. He looked almost giddy with excitement. “Okay, Ryland.”
He motioned to the soccer ball. “Looks like you’ve been practicing. It’s good to get some touches on the ball every day.”
Connor nodded. The kid was totally starstruck. Lucy didn’t blame him for being wowed by Ryland. She was, too.
Better be careful.
Ryland used his left foot to push the ball toward Connor. “Let’s see you juggle.”
Connor swooped up the ball and bounced it off his bony knees. He used his legs and feet to keep the ball from touching the ground.
“You’re doing great,” Ryland encouraged.
Connor beamed and kept going.
Ryland glanced at her. “He reminds me of Aaron.”
“Two peas in a pod,” she agreed.
The ball bounced away. Connor ran after it. “I’ll try it again.”
“The more you practice, the better you’ll get,” Ryland said.
“That’s what Aunt Lucy told me.”
His gaze met hers. Lucy’s pulse skittered at the flirtatious gleam in Ryland’s hazel eyes.
“Your aunt is a smart woman,” he said.
Lucy didn’t feel so smart. She wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction to Ryland being here. Okay, the guy was handsome. Gorgeous, really. But she knew better than to be bowled over by a man and sweet talk.
So why was she practically swooning over the sexy soccer star? Ryland showing up and the way he was interacting with Connor had to be the reason. Nothing else made sense.
She straightened. “I thought you were going to call.”
“I decided to stop by, instead.”
Warning bells rang in her head. “The address isn’t on my business card. How did you find this place?”
“I went into the café for a cup of coffee and asked where Aaron lived,” Ryland explained. “Three people offered directions.”

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