Going Cowboy Crazy (26 page)

Slate must’ve put a little more zip on the ball because it hit Austin in the chest again. But the kid didn’t even flinch as his brown eyes stared back.

“So your mom just dropped you off? She didn’t stay?”

Slate shook his head and held his hands up for the ball.

Austin tossed it back. “But what about your dad? How come you didn’t go live with him?”

“I guess he didn’t want me, either.” Damn, he hadn’t
planned on being so truthful with the kid. Obviously, lack of sleep and strenuous exercise were not a good combination. Or maybe it was the soothing ball tossing that had his tongue so loose. Whatever the reason, he’d given more information than he wanted to. Especially to a kid who would soon be part of the team he coached. By this time next week, every person in school would know Coach’s sob story.

Great.

“Well, my dad wants me,” Austin blurted out as he fired the ball at Slate.

Slate’s fingers stung like hell as he caught it. “Of course, he does. And my dad probably wanted me.” He didn’t really believe it, especially since he’d rarely spoken to his father since the divorce. But he couldn’t tell Austin that. Not when his brown eyes looked so lost and confused. “It’s just that sometimes people have to make hard decisions. Decisions that don’t exactly work out for everyone.”

Austin snorted. “You mean, don’t work out for kids.”

“Pretty much.” Slate tossed the ball.

They didn’t talk for a few minutes as the ball sailed back and forth between them. The sun had moved up farther in the sky, but the air remained autumn crisp. In the distance, a train whistle blew as it chugged by the outskirts of town, and a few minutes later, First Methodist’s bell pealed in a vain attempt to lure folks away from First Baptist. A flock of startled quail took flight from the tall grass beneath a cluster of cedars on the far end of the stadium, while on the vibrant artificial field, two people tried to come to terms with the ball life had thrown them.

“I can’t believe you had a temper.” Austin finally spoke. “All I ever see you do is smile. Even when your quarterback just screwed the pooch by throwing an interception.”

“Well, my aunt always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“And you believe that shit?”

Slate held the ball and sent the kid a warning look. “Watch your mouth.”

Austin rolled his eyes. “Fine. You believe that crap? Because once in a while, you need to get mad. Otherwise how are people going to know how you feel? I just assumed you didn’t care about winning.”

Slate dropped his arm with the ball still in his hand and glared at him. “Of course I care about winning. I’m the damned coach, for God’s sake.”

Austin grinned. “See. Now I believe you.”

The kid really got under his skin. Between him and Faith, Slate was starting to doubt whether or not he could continue to keep his cool. Although maybe the kid had a point. Maybe he needed to show his team a little more emotion. Maybe honey didn’t catch flies as much as it just made a gooey mess.

And if anything was a perfect example of a gooey mess, it was his professional and personal lives.

“So are we just going to throw the ball for the next two hours?” Austin caught the ball and tossed it back. “Because I’ve got to tell you, Coach, I don’t know if that’s a good thing for my rotator cuff.”

“You really are a smart-ass, aren’t you?”

“Hey, watch your mouth.”

Slate caught the ball and tucked it under his arm. “You hungry?”

Austin perked up. “You brought something to eat?”

“No.” He tossed the kid his sweatshirt. “But I’ll buy you breakfast, and we can go over the playbook.”

“I know the playbook.” Austin pulled the sweatshirt over his head.

Slate was more than a little surprised since the kid had only had it for a few weeks before he was kicked off the team. “You know it? Completely?”

“Enough to start winning games.”

“I’m not playing you this week, so you can get that out of your head right now.” He started walking toward the locker rooms, wondering why he was even messing with the kid. Especially when he had a warm, willing woman waiting for him. At least, that’s who he hoped was waiting for him. Faith had more mood swings than his aunt during menopause. He just prayed the spike-haired angry Faith wasn’t waiting for him when he got home. That Faith scared the hell out of him.

Austin jogged up next to him. “Of course, you’ll play me. Because I’m your best bet.”

“What you are is one cocky kid.”

“A cocky kid who is going to win you games.”

They argued for most of the ride to Josephine’s. And by the time they got to the diner, Slate was actually enjoying himself. It felt good to say exactly what he thought for a change, instead of worrying about being Slate Calhoun, the easygoing coach. The diner was almost empty. Most of the town was at church while the rest were at home cooking up hot wings for the Dallas Cowboys game that afternoon.

Rachel Dean glanced up when they entered but didn’t give her normal greeting. In fact, she completely ignored
Slate and looked at Austin. “You’re that new kid from Iowa, ain’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His manners were surprising. Especially since all Slate got was sass.

“Your mama’s been in a few times, but I ain’t seen much of you around.”

Austin merely shrugged as he slipped onto a stool. Slate joined him, taking off his hat and setting it on the counter.

“Does Josie have leftover pot roast?” he asked.

“Nope.” Rachel’s eyes narrowed on him. “Remember, we was closed last night for the homecomin’ dance.”

Since there wasn’t a soul in town happy with him over the outcome of Friday’s football game, he ignored the scowl and flipped over his coffee mug. “Fine. I’ll have ham and two over-easy eggs with grits. And coffee when you get a chance.”

She sent him another dark look before she turned and grabbed the coffeepot from the back counter.

“I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon,” Austin said, then closed the menu and placed it back behind the sugar container. “And an order of pancakes.”

“You got it, honey.” Rachel winked at him before going back to glaring at Slate as she filled his coffee cup. But once it was full, she continued to stand over him.

Slate glanced up. “Is there a problem, Rachel?”

“There sure is, Slate Calhoun.” She slapped a big hand on her ample hip. “You had no business treatin’ Hope the way you did at the homecomin’ parade.”

Slate glanced over at Austin, who was playing with the lid of the cream pitcher. “I don’t think this is the time to talk about it, Rachel.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But just know this. If you don’t start treatin’ that girl better, she’ll never agree to marry you.” She huffed off to the kitchen.

“You getting married, Coach?” Austin asked as soon as she was out of sight.

“No, I’m not getting married.”

“Then who is this Hope everyone keeps talking about?”

Slate released his breath. He really didn’t want to explain the situation to a wet-behind-the-ears kid from Iowa, but he couldn’t see any way around it. And maybe Austin was the only person in town he could explain things to.

It didn’t take him long to relay the story.

“So people think Faith is Hope.” Austin went back to flipping the creamer lid.

“Yes.”

“And they think you and this Hope still have a thing going. But now you like Faith.”

There was a moment of sheer relief that finally someone understood the craziness. “Exactly.”

The kid slanted him a doubtful look. “I gotta tell you, Coach, that’s kind of low, hitting on two sisters. Especially twins. A friend of mine back in Iowa tried it with the Filmore girls, and they cornered him in the hallway after school and worked him over pretty good. Of course, he should’ve known better than to mess with big farm girls who toss bales of hay on the weekend.”

Slate lowered his head to his hand and rubbed at his temples. “I’m not hitting on two sisters.”

“Maybe not at the same time, but it’s the same difference. No wonder Faith hates you.”

He looked up. “Faith doesn’t hate me.”

“She doesn’t particularly like you, either.” Austin nodded at the cup of coffee. “You gonna drink that?”

Annoyed by the kid’s honesty, Slate slid the cup over to him, then watched as he poured half the cream and a third of the container of sugar in the coffee. As much as Slate hated to admit it, the kid probably had a point. Faith might like his kisses and the way he brought her to orgasm, but that didn’t mean she liked him all that much. And maybe that was what was making him so crazy. He didn’t just want Faith’s body to like him, he wanted… hell, he didn’t know what he wanted.

Leaning down to slurp off the overflow, Austin looked up at him. “So does this Hope know you love her sister?”

“Love?” Slate almost fell off the stool. “Who said anything about love?”

Austin held up his hands. “Okay. Okay. I got you. You don’t love Faith. I guess I figured you liked her a lot, since she was able to convince you to give me a second chance.” He went back to slurping his coffee as Rachel came out of the kitchen carrying their food.

“Here, sweetie.” She set Austin’s plate down first. “You let me know if you need anything else.” Slate’s plate was flopped down so hard, the bowl of grits actually jumped before she sent him a glare and headed back into the kitchen.

Austin attacked his food, while Slate wasn’t all that hungry anymore. The conversation with Austin had upset his digestive system. That just showed you what a wet-behind-the-ears kid knew about relationships.

Love Faith.

Yeah, right.

Like love could happen in only a week. Sure, he loved certain things about her. Like the way her nose crinkled up when she worried over things. The way she melted into his kisses. And the way she laughed. Or just smiled. The way she filled out a pair of Wranglers and the way she strutted in her bright red boots. He loved the feel of her skin and the peachy scent. The sleepy way her eyes had gazed at him that morning. And he loved—

Shit. He was in trouble.

“Hey, Slate!”

He swiveled around as Kenny Gene walked in the door followed by Harley and Rye.

Kenny flopped down next to him and pulled his Stetson off. “Twyla’s cooking up some steaks. You want to come over and watch the game?”

“No, thanks. I thought I’d hang out at home.” Although after his revelation, he wondered if it was a good idea for him to go back to Bubba’s. If he spent any more time with Faith, he’d find other things he loved. Then before he knew it, he really would love everything about her. Which was probably as close to love as a person could get.

Harley stepped up and looked over at Austin. “Hey, son. I was glad to see you at the dance last night.”

Austin nodded, but didn’t lift his head from over the plate.

“Of course, it surprised all of us that you came with Hope.” Harley smirked at Slate. “But I knew all along you were only pullin’ a fast one.”

Rachel Dean suddenly appeared. “What do you mean, Harley?”

Harley stuck out his big belly, and the buttons of his western shirt strained. “Well, it appears that Misty Jean
and Ike were having a little dispute in the parking lot of the stadium, when they saw Hope and Slate getting in his truck.”

Kenny shoved Slate in the shoulder. “You sly dog, you.”

“It seems,” Harley went on, “that our beloved football coach performed a little quarterback sneak.” He thumped Austin on the back. “With a little help from a friend.”

“A quarterback sneak?” Rachel looked confused.

Harley winked at Slate, who wanted to wipe the smile off the man’s face with his fist. “I called Shirlene this morning, just to check on Faith. But surprise, surprise, she wasn’t there.”

“Harley,” Slate started, but then realized he didn’t have anything to say. Until Burl and Jenna fessed up, no one would believe him anyway. Besides, he couldn’t very well call Misty Jean and Ike liars when Faith was still asleep in his bed.

“What?” Rye jumped in. “Cat got your tongue, Slate? Or maybe our little Hope.”

“And speaking of cats”—Kenny grinned—“I guess one’s out now.”

The men all laughed.

“Well, isn’t that the greatest thing.” Rachel finally smiled at him. “I knew you two wouldn’t be mad at each other for long.”

“So when’s the date?” Harley pulled a chair out from the table behind them and flopped down. “I figure football season is out.”

“Of course it’s out.” Rye pulled another chair out. “We can’t have our coach worrying about a weddin’ when he’s got games to win.”

“There’s not going to be any wedding,” Slate said.

“No wedding?” Harley’s eyes widened. “So you’re just going to live with our little Hope in sin, Slate Calhoun?”

“Of course he’s not,” Rachel said. “Burl would never put up with that.”

Slate groaned and turned his back to the group. In his desire to get Faith back in bed, he’d forgotten about her gun-toting, bad-tempered daddy. Now, thanks to Shirlene’s big mouth, he would need to do some fast talking or wind up with a hunting rifle aimed at his heart.