Hometown Girl Read online

  Worry filled Claire Kendall’s eyes. “I wondered if he was making any friends at school,” she said. “He never calls anyone, and no one calls the house for him.”

  “School is as much about learning social skills as it is about learning math and reading,” he said. “That’s why I’m concerned.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said, and swallowed once. Pain filled her eyes and was quickly hidden. “His mother died very recently. Nick has a lot to deal with.”

  “I know about his mother. I’m sorry for your loss and his, and I think it would help him to get involved in an activity. He wants to play football.”

  “There are a lot of other activities that would be more suitable.”

  “Probably. But football is what he wants to do.” He leaned forward, trying to make her understand. “Do you know he’s been at practice every afternoon since school started? He stands against that fence over there and watches from beginning to end. Every day.”

  “I didn’t know he wanted to play football that much. I wish it was possible,” she said in a low voice. Her gaze wandered and he could see she was watching her nephew. “I want him to find something he loves, something to be passionate about. But his hip can’t take the kind of beating he’d get playing football.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” he said, his eyes on the boy. Nick was talking to Booger. He was more animated than Tucker had ever seen him. “Do you know anything about football, Ms. Kendall?”

  “Not a thing,” she said, tearing her gaze away from Nick. “Do you?”

  He wanted to tell her exactly how much he knew about football. He caught himself in time. The fact that she didn’t recognize his name meant she knew nothing about the game. And he was asking her to entrust her nephew to his care, a boy with physical drawbacks.

  “Yes, I know a lot about football. I’ve been playing it for twenty years.”

  Her gaze flickered over him, then she nodded. “All right. Tell me how Nick could play football.”

  Her small concession had him moving a step closer. “Every team needs someone to kick the ball. For field goals.” He pointed to the uprights at each end of the field. “We get three points if we kick the ball through those poles.”

  “I do know that much about football,” she said, her voice wry. “I live in Chicago. I’d have to be living in a cave not to learn something about football.”

  She hadn’t learned much, or she would have recognized his name. And thank God she hadn’t.

  “All right. We need a field goal kicker. We also need a punter. He kicks the ball when we have to give it to the other team.”

  “And you think Nick could be a kicker?”

  “Yes, he could. The kicker rarely gets tackled. The other team is concentrating on the ball more than the kicker, and the kicker usually ends up just standing on the field after the play is over.”

  “It’s the ‘rarely’ and ‘usually’ parts of what you just said that bother me, Mr. Hall.”

  “I’ll teach him how to avoid tackles. This is the one time in his life that his hip problem will actually be an asset, rather than a liability.”

  She frowned. “How can that be?”

  “His right leg is weaker than normal because of his problem. That means his left leg is a lot stronger. If he can kick with his left leg, he’ll have a big advantage.”

  “And you think you can teach him all this?” Her eyes held skepticism.

  The competitor in him leaped to attention. He’d never been able to resist a challenge. And Claire Kendall was clearly challenging him.

  “Yes, I can teach him that. That’s my job. And I’m damn good at it.”

  She tore her gaze away from her nephew. “I’m glad to see that you have a healthy ego, Coach. Although I’ve never found that trait attractive in a man, it doesn’t matter if you can help Nick.”

  “You don’t pull your punches, do you?” he said.

  “No, I don’t,” she answered coolly. “What would be the point?”

  Oh, yeah. This one was a ball-breaker. “Any other concerns you’d like to share with an egotistical Neanderthal? Before I get back to the kids?” he asked.

  Pink washed over her creamy skin. But she lifted her chin. “Nick has asthma, you know. That’s another reason he can’t play football.”

  “There are several other boys on the team with asthma. They all handle it just fine with their inhalers and medication.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you should see his doctor.”

  “Nick already has an inhaler. He won’t use it.”

  “He will if he wants to be on the team. That’s rule number one. If you need medication, you use it. If not, you’re off the team.”

  She watched him for a moment, then nodded. “All right, Mr. Hall. I’ll give you a chance. Nick can play.”

  He searched her gaze, startled. He’d been certain she wouldn’t give in, even though he’d answered all her questions. “Thank you,” he finally said. “And no one calls me Mr. Hall. The kids call me Coach Hall. You can call me Tucker.”

  She gave him a cool look. “I can’t imagine I’ll have much reason to talk to you, Mr. Hall.”

  He let his gaze sweep over her once. “You might be surprised.”

  A faint blush of color bloomed in her face once more. “I’ll be monitoring Nick closely,” she said, ignoring his faint come-on. “If I think this isn’t working, I’ll take him off the team.”

  “I hope you’ll talk to me about it first,” he said.

  “Of course. And one other thing. Nick may not even be here for all the games. As soon as he’s more comfortable with me, we’re moving back to Chicago.”

  “Is that so?” Of course they were moving back to Chicago, he told himself harshly. The confident look in her eyes, the challenging tilt of her head, the smooth sophistication of her clothes and hair were definitely out of place in Monroe. Claire Kendall had city girl stamped all over her.

  “Yes. I don’t know when we’ll be leaving, but don’t count on Nick for the whole season.”

  “Does Nick know about this?”

  Her gaze slipped over his shoulder, and he guessed she was watching her nephew again. Uncertainty and pain filled her eyes. “We’ve talked about it in general terms.”

  “Well, in general terms, I think Nick expects to be here for the season. It ends in November.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when we’re making plans,” she said, cool and collected again. “How soon before practice is over?”

  “About five minutes. I like to talk to them as a group before we call it a day.”

  “What equipment is Nick going to need?” she asked.

  “The sports store in town has a list. You can get everything there.”

  “Thank you.” She held out her hand, and he wrapped his larger one around it. She felt fragile and unsubstantial. But Claire Kendall was anything but weak. She might be small, but she packed a wallop.

  “I’ll see you at the first game,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  CLAIRE STOOD under the tree and watched as Tucker Hall talked to his team. His voice was low-pitched and quiet, and she couldn’t hear what he said. But every boy listened to him intently, their attention completely focused on him.

  She wasn’t surprised. Tucker Hall was the kind of man who commanded attention. It wasn’t just his size, although he towered over her and all the boys. He wasn’t bulky, but his broad shoulders and lean build would make him stand out anywhere.

  It was more his quiet assumption of authority, the way he carried himself, as if no one would think to question his leadership.

  Apparently it worked with teenage boys. It had certainly worked with Nick. He never paid that much attention to her.

  A few minutes later the meeting ended and the boys began to straggle toward the school. Tucker stopped Nick with a hand on his shoulder. Moments later, her nephew’s face lit up. He nodded vigorously, then turned and ran toward her.

  “Thank you,”
he said breathlessly, but she noticed he still wouldn’t call her by name. Not once had he called her Aunt Claire, or even Claire. “Coach Hall told me you said I could play. I’ll use my inhaler every day,” he promised. “Can we go get my gear now?”

  “Sure,” she said, glad to see Nick so excited. “What are you going to need?”

  As they walked to the car, Nick babbled about cleats and practice jerseys. Claire was almost glad she’d allowed him to play.

  Almost.

  Besides her worries about his health, football was another tie binding him to Monroe. As excited as he was about being on the team, there was no way he’d agree to leave before the season was over. She’d have to endure at least two more months of Monroe.

  She could do it, she told herself. She’d been here three weeks and survived.

  Of course, she hadn’t gone anywhere. She’d holed up in the house, working. She’d ventured out only to get groceries and school supplies for Nick, and she’d driven to the next town for that. But she couldn’t avoid everyone in Monroe for two more months.

  This trip to town would be her first. It was long overdue. She’d never thought of herself as a coward, but she’d been cringing in her house like a whipped puppy.

  Not anymore, she vowed.

  She tuned out Nick’s chatter as she parked the car, then she took a deep breath and slid out onto the hot asphalt. Downtown Monroe didn’t look any different than it had when she’d left.

  A few stores had different names, some facades had been updated, but most of the buildings looked the same. The library still occupied the old Rogard mansion, an elaborate, graceful Victorian set back from the street and surrounded by stately oak trees. City hall was still across the street, solid and sturdy in an old brick house. She couldn’t help looking at her ex-husband’s law office. It hadn’t changed, either. She reminded herself that she was a different woman from the girl who had fled Monroe, but the old shame and anxiety bloomed inside her anyway.

  “Where’s the sports store?” Nick asked, craning his head as they scanned the stores on Main Street.

  “It’s around the corner. This way.”

  Nick hurried to keep up with her, and she forced herself to slow down. She was an adult, she reminded herself sharply. A successful adult who’d built a good life for herself. She didn’t have to scurry around Monroe, ashamed and scared. If she did, she knew what would happen. It was just like dealing with a vicious animal—if she showed any sign of weakness, the people of Monroe would be merciless.

  They’d almost made it safely to the Monroe Sports Shop when the door of the barbershop opened and a man stepped into her path. She stopped in time to avoid a collision, but not before he’d recognized her.

  “Well, well, well. Look who’s in town,” Roger Vernon drawled, flashing an ugly smile. “I’d heard you’d moved back to Monroe. What are you doing here, Claire? Slumming?”

  Claire stood on the sidewalk, frozen in the summer heat, and stared at her ex-husband.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CLAIRE RECOVERED quickly, but not quickly enough. Roger had seen her moment of weakness and he pounced.

  “Who would guess you’d be back in Monroe?” he continued, sneering. “I didn’t think we were good enough for you.”

  “You certainly weren’t,” she retorted, her voice crisp.

  He flushed with anger, and she had to stop herself from cringing away from him. She was no longer twenty years old and married to him, she reminded herself sharply.

  “This must be Janice’s son,” Roger said, measuring Nick with his eyes.

  “Nick Kendall, Roger Vernon,” she said, her voice cold. “Sorry we can’t stay and chat, but we’re busy.”

  Stepping past Roger, she grabbed Nick’s arm and dragged him around the corner.

  Nick stared at her, astonishment in his eyes. “Wow,” he said. “Who was that dude? You shut him down big-time.”

  “Roger Vernon isn’t worth the time it takes to talk about him,” she said. “Here’s the store. Let’s get your gear.”

  They emerged from the store forty-five minutes later, Nick clutching the bag of equipment close to his chest. Back in the store, picking out shoes and practice clothes, he’d been the happy, sweet kid she remembered from her last brief visit with Janice. Five years ago, she reminded herself, guilt washing over her in a hot wave.

  A lot can change in five years.

  As they went by, Nick glanced into the window of the town’s small restaurant. The Dixie Diner had been a fixture in Monroe for as long as she could remember.

  “Did you eat here when you lived in Monroe?” he asked.

  She gave him a sharp glance. He never initiated conversations. But she saw no sarcasm in his eyes, just the painful longing of a child gazing at a denied treat.

  “Not very often,” she said in a neutral voice. “My parents couldn’t afford to take us to a restaurant.”

  That wasn’t the complete truth. Even if they’d had the money, neither her mother nor her father would have thought of spending it on a family outing. The idea would have been completely foreign to them.

  “Did you and Janice eat here before…” She couldn’t force the words before the accident out of her mouth.

  Nick didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. “Nah. Mom always said it wasn’t our kind of place.”

  But Nick desperately wanted to go to the diner. She could see it in his eyes. And suddenly she understood.

  When she was in high school, all the kids had hung out at the diner, and that probably hadn’t changed. When she’d been Nick’s age, she’d secretly hungered to go there, too. But there’d been no money for Cokes and French fries after school. So she’d walked past it every day, pretending she had no interest in the gathering at the diner.

  “Let’s have dinner here,” she said impulsively. “We both need a break from cooking.”

  “Really? Are you sure?” He glanced at the modest menu posted in the window. “The prices seem kind of high.”

  Another wave of shame washed over her. She could have made Nick’s life, and Janice’s, so much easier. Janice hadn’t wanted charity, but she could have found some way to help them. The trust fund she’d set up for Nick’s college education now seemed pitifully inadequate.

  “Let’s splurge,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Including hot fudge sundaes for dessert.”

  Nick was already pushing open the door to the restaurant. A tinny bell rang and the hostess looked up. “Table for two?” she asked brightly.

  “Please.” Claire looked around, remembering her desperate longing to be included in the gatherings here after school. She was pretty sure that the landscapes and lake scenes decorating the walls were the same ones from years ago. The chairs and tables looked old, as well, but the restaurant held an air of vitality. Apparently it was still the nerve center of Monroe.

  The hostess led them to a place in the middle of the diner, and Claire followed Nick into the booth. The air smelled of fried food and the turquoise vinyl seats were cold and stiff against her legs. Nick pored over the menu, his bag of football equipment tucked under his arm.

  Maybe, for one evening, they could pretend to be a normal family.

  They were halfway through dinner when Nick looked up. Wariness flickered in his eyes, then he glanced at her.

  Claire turned around to see what had disturbed him. She was dismayed to see Roger Vernon and a young woman standing by the door. Roger had his hand on the young woman’s back, a proprietary stance Claire remembered all too well.

  Coldness spread deep inside her. Had Roger married again? Or was he thinking about it?

  Roger spotted her staring at him and gave her a smug smile. He held her gaze as he followed the hostess through the restaurant, maintaining his contact with the woman’s back. The triumph and satisfaction in his eyes sparked a flare of anger inside her.

  He slowed as they passed her booth, and impulsively Claire jumped to her feet. She held out her hand to the startled yo
ung woman and said, “Hi. I’m Claire Kendall. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  The woman looked puzzled, but she held out her hand obediently. “I’m Andrea Vernon. Nice to meet you.” She studied Claire’s face. “Do you live in Monroe?”

  “I just moved back here.” She glanced at Roger, who seemed furious, then back at Andrea. “I’ll see you around town.”

  “Sure.” Andrea gave her another bewildered look, then Roger steered her away. Claire slowly slid back into the booth.

  Nick watched her with curiosity in his eyes. “You haven’t talked to anyone since you got to Monroe,” he said. “Why did you introduce yourself to her?”

  She stared at him, startled and surprised. Apparently he’d been watching her more closely than she realized. She struggled to frame her answer carefully. “Impulse.” She shrugged. “I thought maybe she could use a friend.”

  With the unselfconscious curiosity of the young, Nick turned around and looked at Roger and Andrea. “Why?”

  Roger caught his glance and glared at him. She saw Nick’s shoulders hunch, then he turned back to face her.

  Before she could answer his question, Roger was standing next to their booth. He put his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “You stay away from Andrea and keep your nose out of my business,” he warned her, his voice full of venom. “Do you understand?”

  Claire stared right back at him. “No, I’m not sure I do.” Her voice was steady, but she was shaking inside. Stupid, cowardly reaction, she told herself. But the instinctive response was too powerful, too ingrained to be ignored.

  Roger leaned closer. “I think you know what I mean,” he said. If she didn’t back away, he’d be touching her. Revulsion crawled over her skin, and he smiled with satisfaction.

  Before she could react, another voice spoke over her shoulder. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Hello, Nick, Ms. Kendall. Vernon.” The soft southern drawl was completely neutral in tone.

  It was Tucker Hall. Roger straightened and gave him an angry stare, then returned to his table. Claire watched his young wife, who gave her husband a frightened look. Claire vowed to call Andrea Vernon at the first opportunity.