Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (27 page)

I’m laughing so hard now that I can’t stop, and it seems to me like a ridiculous joy is filling me. The sky is achingly blue around us, the day crisp and cool, the streets decorated with trees and lights and big green wreaths made of real pine and decorated with delicate golden ornaments. And there’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen getting out of a limo and walking around to open my door for me.
 

Roll with it
. A voice deep inside of me tells me to just go on and enjoy. Maybe it’s that woman I used to be, coming back for one last fight. I thought she was gone a long time ago, but as Rowan walks me around the Coming Home Foundation building, I think she just might have a chance.

“This is it,” he says. “Star has her mural on this side.” I huddle into the fleece Rowan gave me this morning. It’s black with the Coming Home logo embroidered on the chest, and it’s far warmer than the leather jacket I brought with me. Eliza follows us as we walk up to the building, sniffing the ground and barking off into the distance when she hears a scuffling in one of the surrounding trees. “The weather should be warming up for the next week before the snow sets in—”

“Snow? It snows here? I mean, not just on the mountaintops?”
 

“No, girl. Not just on the mountaintops.” He points out Star’s mural—a burst of bright color, like sunshine—but I know I’ll examine it further when I get to know Star and the team of people working here. After that, he leads me inside, Eliza following close behind us. “And this is Coming Home. I hope the snow holds off until after the fundraiser. I won’t be a happy man if it doesn’t. We’ll get by, I reckon, but it’ll be a damn sight better if the board members and community folk can come by without having to use the four-wheel drive.”
 

The building is huge, with a round open space in the middle, filled with light and trees and a little koi pond beneath a tall glass ceiling. On either side of the lobby are ten large rooms that look out into the gardens. Most of them are for group therapy, but they’re called “playrooms” so that the children who come here will feel more comfortable. Glass windows look into all of the room save for the back two, which are for private therapy sessions. The rooms are all filled with art supplies and wooden toys, bean bags, and works of art from children of all ages. “Holy shit. This is amazing.”

“It’s great, huh?” Usually, I don’t see pride register on Rowan’s face, but when he talks about the nonprofit, I see how proud he is. And coming here, I understand exactly why. “There’s a whole art studio down the hall. There’s a kiln and everything. Once it opens up for the day, we’ll see all the families who live here.”

“People
live
here?”

“We provide temporary housing for families in need. And there are plenty of families in need, even in ski resort towns. Any town near a reservation is going to be that way. We’ve got lots of people who’ve had to declare bankruptcy, or who just need a place to stay between leases. There are a hundred dormitories, and we want to expand to a thousand by 2017.”
 

“A damn big goal.”

“Like I said, I could
build
it myself, but I can’t run it myself. I need community support, and support at the reservation. Otherwise, we won’t have any damn clients, no way to help people.” I hear one of the doors down the hallway opening, and about ten kids—all wearing their backpacks—run into the main area. The kids are all different ages, most of them Apache, but there are many different races and backgrounds represented here. A few parents straggle behind and wave at Rowan like he’s someone they see at their bus stop every day. One of the littlest kids—a small girl—runs up to Eliza Doolittle and slides in to hug her around the neck. Eliza looks up at me and grins and then lays her head down on the girl’s shoulder.
 

“Morning, Rowan!” the girl chirps into Eliza’s fur. She darts off out of the door with the gaggle of other kids and parents to wait for the bus.
 

“Did I mention that Eliza’s our favorite therapy dog? Had her trained once she was all housebroken and that kind of thing. She has a real affinity for the little ones.” Rowan waves at the kids as they walk outside, and Eliza follows them out to the bus stop, sticking close to the kid who stopped to see her.
 

“For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me,” I say.
 

“Scuse me for just one minute, Cadence,” Rowan says and steps over to the parents to chat. I watch him as he puts an arm around one of the fathers and claps him on the back, then as he embraces one of the women in a hug. Their faces light up when they see him, and one of the toddlers in the crowd comes hurtling toward him at full force and hugs his leg. Rowan picks the small boy up and stows him on his hip as he talks to the mothers and fathers who live at the Coming Home Foundation.
 

*He doesn’t talk to them like he’s a billionaire. He talks to these people like they’re his friends.
 

The toddler fiddles with the buttons on Rowan’s jacket, and Rowan bounces the child on his hip like it’s nothing. I just stand and watch him, lost in thought until he turns to look at me and gestures for me to come over to the crowd of parents. After introductions are made and the parents all make their way to the bus stop, Rowan takes my arm and walks me through the halls, pointing out the paintings and sculptures he had commissioned to fill the place with brightness.

Warmth expands and flows through my body as he walks with me, my arm still in his. I have half an impulse to pull away, to make sure that I don’t get caught up in a silly crush on a man I shouldn’t have--no, can’t have. But the clean and cozy beauty of the Coming Home Foundation lulls me into a sense of false security, and I cling tight to Rowan’s perfectly formed bicep as we walk through the U-shaped hall, exploring the colorful rooms that he created with the help of this community.
 

*Is he real? How can he be real?
 

I’m starting to get it--to get him--the heart of this unusual man who lives so far removed from the world, but who wants to make it a better place when and where he can. I know that if I looked at him from the outside, I might not understand. I’ve always chosen to surround myself with people, to hide inside a city where I’m anonymous more often than not. But Rowan is more comfortable with himself and the world he lives in. He *knows his place in it.

*But still, why is a man like this alone?
 

We walk along in silence as we round the corner that leads us back to the lobby. Even though we don’t speak, I feel comfortable walking beside him. As we walk into the lobby, full of light and green plants, I see a woman walking toward us. Instinctively, I let go of Rowan’s arm and step away from him. Something tightens in my chest, and pricks of electricity travel through my veins. The way she’s looking at him, the way he meets her eyes.
 

The woman laughs, and my image of her changes. Her dark eyes are warm and friendly, and when she brushes a shock of black hair over her shoulders, I’m struck by her casual elegance. She’s wearing a colorful caftan that looks like it must be hand-embroidered on the reservation, and her pants are equally bright but don’t match her shirt in any way. This must be--

“Cadence, this is Star--the artist who’s been working on the mural for the east side of the foundation. She’ll help you get started on the west side.” Star comes up to me and takes my hand in her cool, slim fingers, and she pulls me into a quick embrace like we’re old friends.
 

“Welcome to the Foundation, Cadence. I know Rowan’s told you everything about it, but you’ll find we can’t stop talking about it when it comes to how much we all love it here. He’s got something really special.” Another pang of jealousy rises up in my body, but I push it down and nod at Star dumbly. No words will come out, and I have the passing thought that she might wonder whether or not I’m mute.
 

“She’s one of my oldest friends in New Mexico.” When Rowan says the word “friends,” he looks at me pointedly like he he’s reading my mind. “She and her husband welcomed me here when I first moved out and got set up on the ranch. And they haven’t let me down a day since then.”
 

My heart starts beating fast again--this man has an insane effect on my pulse. And I gulp back my guilt at misunderstanding the situation. My eyes flicker between the two of them, and I realize what I’m seeing is an old, comfortable friendship. Not anything else.
 

*But why, why is he alone? If not Star, then why not someone else? Maybe he’s a playboy? Maybe gay? No, no. The good Lord would be playing tricks on me if he made this man gay. He can’t look that good and own so much flannel if he’s batting for the other team... especially not if he’s a billionaire.
 

I realize I still haven’t spoken a word to Star since I met her, and she’s still holding onto my arm while she chats with Rowan about the designs she has for the front mural. “It’s nice to meet you,” I chirp. My voice doesn’t quite sound natural, but at least I managed to get out a few words, even the face of my complete ridiculousness.
 

*Please don’t let him see anything. Please don’t let him notice. Damn, I need to get back out to that guest house as soon as humanly possible. God, let the damn electrician and plumber come today. Oh God, please. Don’t let me hang on this man’s words, the curve of his full lips, the length of his jawline, or the way he keeps the top two buttons of that shirt undone, just hinting at the strength of the muscles beneath.
 

I take a breath and pretend to listen to Star and Rowan as they talk about the architectural plans for the expansion of the foundation. But instead, I’m slipping deeper into thinking about Rowan and his body, his naked skin beneath the sheets of his bed, just down the hall from where I’m sleeping. And what would happen if he got up in the night and came knocking on my door, dressed only in his boxers, or maybe... nothing? I’m not a small woman by any stretch of the imagination, but Rowan might make me feel delicate, like a sexy woman he can throw around and use as he wishes--

I see Rowan’s full, strong lips moving, and he nods in my direction. But my eyes are locked on his jawline, and my brain is wondering about the length of his tongue. And I have no earthly clue what the hell he’s saying, and whether or not I should respond.
 

*If I were in college and he were a frat brother at NYU, I’d be grabbing his hand and pulling him back to his bedroom. Maybe bringing him a drink or two to loosen him up.

*Oh shit, he’s talking to me. He’s talking to me, and I’m thinking about taking advantage of him in a frat house. Ten, no, hell--fifteen years ago. Before all this shit happened. Before I became lifeless and cold, and oh God, he’s still looking at me.

My eyes dart back and forth, and I open my mouth, frantically trying to search for something to say.
 

“I--I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. I was thinking about... I was thinking about the mural.”
 

“Always got business on her mind, this one,” he says and winks at me. There’s something naughty about the way he looks at me right after that, but his expression changes after a moment, and my heartbeat slows as he turns to Star. “She’ll even give you a run for your money, Star. No question about it. I’ve seen her murals and they’re amazing.”

“Oh, I think we’ll have plenty to talk about,” Star says. “But right now, I’m going to take her on a tour of the studios where she and I will be sketching out her ideas. I promise I’ll give her back to you in one piece.” Star turns toward the back of the building again and pulls me along beside her. Rowan makes a gesture at us like he’s tipping his hat, and I swear his eyes flicker back over my body for a moment. My breath hitches in my throat, just like it did when I first met Eli. But there’s something dirtier, something raunchier, about the way Rowan is looking at me.

Or the way I *think he’s looking at me. Because this could all just be a fantasy--something I’m making up in my head to pass the time.
 

“Y’all don’t get up to too much trouble. I’m supposed to get Cadence back to the ranch so she can sketch. And we’ve got the electrician coming out to the guest house so she can stay there--“

“We won’t,” shouts Star, and she pulls me along the corridor. I look back one more time at Rowan, and his eyes are locked on my body.
 

I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just tips his imaginary hat again and his eyes sear straight through mine, like he’s looking through my clothes--or worse, like he’s searching for that core of a woman deep inside, the one whose light got snuffed out a long time ago.
 

A pinprick of light, like the very beginning of desire, starts deep inside. The flames swirl through me, and I’m left in a state of wonder before I turn back around and try to shut down the idea completely.

Before I start talking with Star, though, I wonder—is it possible that woman still exists?

CHAPTER SIX

I wake to light coming in the windows. It’s been a damn long time since I’ve woken up after the sun rose. I’m usually out there with the horses at four in the morning, cleaning out their stables and brushing them down, checking their hooves for signs of infection and overgrowth.
 

“You can hire someone to do that for you, Rowan. Why the hell are you always waking me up so early so you can go play farmhand?”