From the Start (13 page)

And yet he’d had to walk away from the life he’d built when his wife got sick. He’d found a way to make a new life for himself. Amazingly, he seemed content.

What if Colton could do the same?

“You’re thinking about it.” Behind Coach Leo, his players rose in trickles to begin their laps.

“Maybe.”

“Hey, isn’t that . . .” Kate’s voice rose and fell, her eyes on the field, recognition sparking through them. “It’s the kid from the depot. The one who broke in.”

He followed Kate’s gaze, landing on a player hefting himself from the ground.

“You’re talking about Webster Hawks?” Coach lifted bushy eyebrows. “Don’t tell me he got in trouble.”

“Not exactly. He didn’t steal anything.” Because he hadn’t had time. No, the moment the kid had seen Kate and Colton he’d frozen at the cash register, an alertness about him, enough that Colton had practically witnessed his mental wheels turning as he assessed the situation—the doorway, Colton, Kate. And then he’d darted with a wildcat-like quickness and perfect footwork. “What position does he play?”

The coach’s forehead wrinkled underneath the bill of his cap. “He’s new—transferred this year when he was placed with a foster family. Said he played secondary at his old school.”

Foster family.
Colton’s gaze found Webster once more, now tracing the edge of the field in lanky, even strides. Put a ball in the crook of his arm, and he’d be a ready-made carrier. He could just feel it. “I think he’s your receiver.”

“You don’t even know if he can catch.”

“You can teach a player to catch. But reading the field and making your move, there’s an instinct there. I think Webster might have it.” Colton tipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “’Course, it’s just my gut speaking. I’m no coach.”

“You could be.”

He felt Kate’s eyes on him, her interest mingling with his own.

“Look, I’ve got an idea.” Coach turned, waved down Webster, now rounding the goalposts. “Hawks, come here.”

The kid jogged over, breathing hard, and as he approached the curiosity in his expression shifted to something closer to unease. Did he recognize Colton and Kate from Saturday night? “Yeah, Coach?”

“This is Colton Greene. Hear you had a bit of a run-in the other night.”

Webster’s attention flickered from Colton back to Leo.

“He thinks you’re a wide receiver. What do you say to that?”

The kid shuffled his fingers through shaggy hair. “Dunno. Except first game’s in a few days. Isn’t it a little late to make a change like that?”

Colton couldn’t help cutting in. “Not if it’s a smart change.”

“Normally I’d balk at another guy telling me how to arrange my roster, but Greene here is a special case. And he sees something in you.” Leo leaned against the fence. “I have a feeling he might be willing to work with you. Test out his gut and see if I should have you on offense after all. That right, Greene?”

So that was the coach’s idea. Launch the proposition right in front of Webster so Colton couldn’t say no.

But who said he wanted to? Webster might be standing there with arms folded and chin jutting, trying for all the world to don a nonchalance that said he didn’t care, but Colton had worn the same forced indifference after years of foster-home hopping. He could feel the undercurrent of Webster’s wariness as clear as the wind now rattling through the bleachers behind him.

That’s what insecurity did to a kid—the kind that came from wondering how long
this
bedroom in
this
house with
this
family would last.

And he found himself nodding. “Sure, I could—”

“Coach, you want me to play receiver, I’ll do it,” Webster jutted in, a hardness in his eyes. “But I don’t want to be anybody’s special project.” His jaw tightened. “I got another lap to do.”

He turned on one foot and shoved off, the force of his movement like an Olympic swimmer pushing through a wall of beating water. Even angry, Webster displayed the athletic bent for a larger role on the team. He passed his teammates now finishing their laps and flocking to the water cooler propped on a table on the sideline.

Leo let out a sigh. “I have a feeling he’ll get home tonight,
realize he just said no to one-on-one coaching from an NFL quarterback, and kick himself.”

Ex-quarterback.
Colton shrugged. “Can’t blame him. I might feel weird, too, if I was singled out.”

“Why don’t you stick around anyway, Colt?” Kate asked the question softly. “Take up Coach Leo on his offer. Help with the team some. We can meet back up later and—”

“Don’t think so.”

Questions—probably the kind he didn’t want to answer—hovered in her eyes. “But why—”

“Thanks, Coach, but I’ve got a book to write and repairs at the depot and . . .”

Working with Webster was one thing, but he couldn’t hang out on the sidelines playing pretend coach to kids running the field with their whole future ahead of them.

It’d be too close to watching the person he used to be.

And too much of a reminder that he’d never be that person again.

6

H
e won’t talk about himself, Rae. How am I supposed to write a book about a guy who won’t talk about himself?”

Kate dropped three quarters into a cheerleader’s hands and picked up a cup of hot chocolate. How was that teenager staying warm without a jacket in the day’s low temps? The first of autumn’s leaves scampered across the town square now, stirred by a nipping wind that seemed to forget today only marked the end of September’s first full week. No Indian summer this year.

“But you’ve spent the past three nights sitting on the porch with the guy. I thought you were interviewing him.” Raegan paid for her cocoa and stepped away from the table set up in the square.

“I was. But all I’ve got are notes about his favorite games and memories of teammates. At this rate the book’s going to turn out little more than a glorified
Sports Illustrated
article.” A swirl of clouds knotted overhead, crouching low in a sky more gray than blue.

Raegan sipped her drink, then wrinkled her nose. “Blech. They didn’t get this mixed well. Powdery hot chocolate. Mom would not approve. Remember how she made it?”

Oh yes.
Thick and so sweet just half a cup could put a person
in a diabetic coma. “At least we successfully participated in Booster Club Friday and did our part to help the cheerleaders afford new pompons.”

Booster Club Friday was always the first weekend of the school year. School let out early, and the town square played host to tables and booths and, of course, the football player auction, during which community members “bought” players for an afternoon of volunteer work.

“Yep, now all we have to do is use the money Dad gave me to buy a player. He said to get someone who looks like he’d be good at shingling a roof. How are you supposed to assess that skill by just looking at a person?”

They walked toward the gathering of townspeople fanning around the band shell, Coach Leo’s auctioneer voice rattling over the square. “Don’t know, but you better hurry up and pick someone. There are only a few players left.” They stopped at the edge of the crowd. “I still don’t see why I needed to come along to this, though.”

She should be helping Dad at the depot. Or clearing the mess of branches and storm debris still littering the backyard. She’d felt compelled to come, though, when Raegan asked. Ever since their argument at the bonfire, she’d been looking for ways to smooth things over with her sister.

Raegan poured the rest of her hot chocolate in the grass and tossed the cup in a bin. “Believe me, you’ll be happy you came. Today is going to be . . . rewarding.” The hot pink scarf fluttering under Raegan’s chin matched the streaks in her hair.

“You sound like a personal trainer trying to get someone to do push-ups.” What wasn’t her sister telling her?

“This will be way more fun than push-ups. Trust me.”

“Can’t. Not when you’ve got the same look in your eyes as that time you convinced me to perm my hair in high school.”

Raegan clapped her hands together. “Oh, my goodness. I forgot about that. Your hair was so short back then. You were like the brunette version of Annie.” Raegan’s burst of giggles competed with Coach Leo’s auctioneering. “And then your date showed up with his head shaved and it was just too perfect. Annie and Daddy Warbucks off to the prom.”

“And this would be why I can’t trust you. Because you’re still mocking me for something that happened thirteen years ago.”

Raegan clamped down on her laughter and leaned in. “You’re right. That was ages ago, and I’ve got much newer material to work with.”

“If you say one word about me getting into bed with—”

Raegan held up one hand. “Fine, not a word. But you were talking about him. Finish spilling.”

“Nothing more to tell. He won’t talk about himself. Period.” Kate swallowed the last of her watered-down cocoa.

“Next up, we’ve got T.J. Waring.” Coach Leo’s booming voice echoed through the park.

“Ooh, the Waring kid. His dad owns a roofing company. Hello, obvious choice.” Raegan waved her hand in the air. “Fifty bucks!”

Kate ditched her paper cup and crossed her arms. “You ever stop to think this town could get in trouble for auctioning off kids for work? Like child labor or something?”

“They’re high-school guys. I don’t think they like to be called kids.” Raegan flapped her hand again. “Sixty-five!” She continued bidding until she’d secured her purchase for ninety dollars. “Mission accomplished. And for ten bucks less than what Dad sent me with. Almost thought Lenny Klassen might outbid me, but behold, the power of a pouty smile.”

“You’re shameless.”

Raegan counted out nine ten-dollar bills and pocketed the
tenth. “And ten buckaroos richer.” She turned to Kate then, the buzz of Leo’s voice continuing in the background. “So here’s a question about the Colton thing. Why not just research the guy? He’s famous. There can’t be much about his past that hasn’t hit the Internet.”

Rain clouds tussled overhead, and Kate zipped up her black fleece. “I don’t want facts, Rae. I want stories, anecdotes, memories. I want to know what shaped him, turned him into the man he is now.” Her gaze sought him out—standing across the square, leaning against the old oak tree, bulky arms folded. Surprisingly, he’d bid on one of the team members earlier—Webster, the one who’d rejected his offer to practice together earlier in the week. “He’s interesting. One minute he’s joking around, teasing, loaning out his hoodie. The next he’s . . . broody.”

Like when Leo had asked him to coach and he’d refused so swiftly she’d have thought
coach
was code for skinny-dipping in the Blaine River. Colton had barely said a word the rest of that night.

“And with Miles Venton going at eighty bucks, we’ve reached the end of our squad.” The coach pulled his mic off its stand. “But not the end of our event. Boys, bring up the baskets.”

Wind wrangled through the square. Kate slid a glance to Raegan. “Baskets?”

“Kate, this is where I’m going to need you to remember I’m your sister and you love me.”

Suspicion plunked in. Up front, a bunch of guys from the team climbed the stairs to the band-shell stage, four or five baskets each dangling over their arms. “Talk.”

“Couple years ago, the boosters needed to raise extra money to replace the marching band uniforms. So they tacked on a basket auction.” Raegan’s explanation released in a
whoosh
of words. “Girls put a basket together, guys bid on it, they go on
a picnic or a date in the evening or whatever. Everybody had so much fun, it became an annual thing.”

“And.”

Raegan backed up a step. “And I made a basket for you.”

“What?”

“See, there’s this guy—”

“Nope. Uh-uh. Not happening.” She turned.

“He’s sweet and nice and a math teacher.” Raegan followed her, grabbing her elbow. “His name is Sheldon.”

“First up, we have a basket that’s so heavy I’d be willing to bet there’s a pan of lasagna inside.”

Sheldon. Somewhere in this crowd was a guy named Sheldon who Raegan had talked into buying her basket. A basket she hadn’t even put together for a date she didn’t want.

“You can’t leave, Kate. I gave him fifty bucks.”

She halted, mouth gaping as she spun. “You
paid
him?”

“Well, I . . . I just wanted to make sure . . .”

Oh no. No, no, no
. A flash of blue caught her eye then.
Colton.
Still standing under that tree.
Yes.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she jogged toward him, skirting around Raegan, out of breath by the time she reached him.

“Hey, Ros—”

“I’d tell you it’s Kate, but clearly you’re ignoring that, and it doesn’t matter anyway because I don’t have much time and I need to ask you a favor.”

His dimples curved with his smile. “So what’s up with this basket thing? Like something out of a prairie novel.”

“You read prairie novels?” She shook her head. “Beside the point. Please, Colt. Please, please, please, bid on my basket.”