4

Micara watched from the front-row bleachers, near the fifty-yard line at the Sweet Home football stadium. The spectators, band, cheerleaders, and booths selling various spirit items drew her attention. MeMaw’s booth had a steady stream of customers, but it had slowed down enough that Micara felt comfortable enough leaving her on her own to visit with Garrett.

Garrett had invited her to sit with him at the junior high football game after she’d called the school to check on him and left her number. She was sure his politeness stemmed from her helping him with his injury. But she was excited to spend the evening with him, even if she wasn’t much of a sports person. And the fact that she’d already planned on attending to help MeMaw set up and take down her booth made it seem like it was meant to be.

They’d visited the concession stand and now waited for the game to start again after halftime.

“Are you gonna eat all those nachos?” Garrett snagged a tortilla chip covered with melted cheese and jalapeño peppers and shoved it in his mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Hot!” Tears streamed from his eyes.­

Micara hiked a brow. “That’s what you get for stealing my nachos.”

Garrett swallowed and let out a gush of air. “I didn’t take you for a spicy food fan.”

“You might be surprised by a lot of things about me.”

He swallowed the offending nacho and took a sip of his soda. “Let me guess. You’re an innocent landscaper by day. By night, you sneak into yards and plant weeds on purpose. Maybe even poison ivy for your worst enemies.”

She chuckled. “Oh, you know it. I’m a lean, mean, jalapeño-eating machine. Watch out, or I’ll plant a prickly bush on your walking path.”

“Come on now. I doubt you’d even let a flower wilt.” Garrett licked the cheese sauce off his finger and thumb. The corner of his mouth lifted into a boyish grin.

“I wouldn’t say I’m that perfect. Somewhere between not letting a single flower wilt and placing poisonous plants on pathways.”

“That’s a pretty big window.” Garrett abandoned stealing nachos and dug into his own chili-cheese fries.

With halftime over, the band played a lively tune, and the announcer’s voice vibrated in the oversized speakers on either side of the wooden press box. On the front of the little building, someone had painted an eagle with talons extended and wings spread.

“I guess it just depends on what mood I’m in. Every rose has its thorn.”

“Oooh, quoting a song on the first date. I like it.” He nudged her with his elbow.

Micara smiled. “Actually, it’s an ancient Greek proverb.”

Garrett’s brows shot up. Micara couldn’t help a little twinge of pleasure. She’d impressed him. “I’m familiar with the song too. It’s a fun song.”

“Excellent. Excuse me a minute.” He started to get up.

“Do you need some help?”

“Nah, I’m just going to check on the game plan for the second half. I like to know what’s going on with all the football teams, not just my high school varsity team. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here. Take your time.”

Garrett placed some weight on his bad leg and bounced a little, then winced.

Micara flinched. She shoved her paper tray of nachos onto the bench and started to stand.

He raised one hand to stop her from getting up. “I’m good. Just testing the waters before I take a plunge. And I will take my time. Couldn’t hurry if I wanted to.”

He limped to the field where he conversed for a few minutes with the coach on the sidelines. He patted the man on the shoulder, limped back, and gave Micara a grin. “What did I miss?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you.” She nibbled at her lip, dreading the confession she must make. “I know nothing about football. Friends have tried to explain, but it just doesn’t click. Touchdowns, free throws, and negative yards. It’s crazy. I mean how does one achieve negative yards? Running backward?”

Garrett’s hearty laughter drew the attention of people around them. He was about to explain negative yards, she just knew it.

“Free throws are for basketball.” He lowered his voice and talked slow, as if teasing her. “As for negative yards—”

Micara pressed her hand over his mouth. “Stop! Don’t even try to explain it.”

He pulled her hand off of his mouth and smiled. “You’re something else, Micara Lee.”

She giggled. “Thanks for inviting me out tonight. Even if I wasn’t already planning on being here, I would’ve accepted. I’ve had two long days of hard work at Gabriel’s place, and I still have two more days to go. This was a much-needed break before I wrap things up.”

“I’m having a fantastic time, too. At these junior high games, I sit up in the press box with the announcer or stand on the sidelines. I haven’t watched a game like a regular spectator in a long time.” He extended his leg across the bleacher in front of him. “Plus, I was afraid if I didn’t ask you out before you finished up at my brother’s place, I might not find another convincing reason to speak to you. When you called to check on me, it gave me the perfect opportunity.”

Micara stared at him for a moment and shifted in her seat. So he’d wanted to see her again. Overwhelmed with self-consciousness, she played with a braided string bracelet that adorned her wrist and then took a sip of soda. “You could have just called. You didn’t need a reason.” She leaned toward him. “You’ve done a lot of dating, then?”

“Right after my accident, when I was in college in Dallas, I was quite the ladies’ man. Still hurting from my breakup with Jayanne. Nothing serious though. I taught school there for a couple of years, but football kept calling my name. The competition for coaching positions was tough, so when the opportunity to be the head football coach opened up here, I took the job. And I’ve been here ever since. With my knee so unpredictable, I couldn’t coach anywhere else. They are understanding of my physical situation. In bigger schools…well, there’s just too much pressure to risk having the head coach on the injured list. So here I’ve stayed. But I haven’t dated much since I’ve been back in Sweet Home.” As much as he hated to admit it, this town had been decent to him. And every time he glanced at Micara, he came up with another reason to stay.

“That’s understandable.”

“The dating part or the part about how I succumbed to the black hole that is Sweet Home?”

“Both. But I was referring to the dating part. I was in a serious relationship that ended on bad terms. I haven’t dated anyone in Sweet Home, but not because I haven’t wanted to. No one’s come along.”

“I’m surprised you and I haven’t run into each other before now, especially since your grandmother has a booth. I thought everybody here knew everybody else.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m glad we have now, though.”

She quivered under the awkwardness of his gaze—and of broken relationships in a rural area where running into your ex on a regular basis was.

When it came to dating in a small town, everyone knowing everyone else only made things more trying. Creating displays of flowers and plants for others to view and discuss was one thing, but building a relationship under the constant scrutiny of friends, family, and Fred-from-down-the-road was entirely another, so she hadn’t sought anyone from town to date. Besides, she had too many responsibilities occupying her time.

The band started the fight song, and the crowd erupted. Micara jumped to her feet as well. Sweet Home scored again, putting them in the lead. She cheered along with the crowd. “Go, Eagles! Home run—”

“Touchdown,” Garrett said quietly and pulled on her arm.

“I mean, touchdown. Woohoo!” She laughed, unfazed by her blooper. She took the hand on her arm and squeezed it. Then she sat back down, surprised but gratified when he didn’t let go of her fingers for several seconds. Was he making sure she wouldn’t jump up and make a fool of herself again? Or was he contemplating holding her hand? Whatever the reason, she enjoyed his gentle touch if only for a moment.

Sweet Home scored three more touchdowns before time ran out on the scoreboard. The Eagles’ freshman team started off the season with a win, and the man at her side was slowly but surely winning her over.

Garrett kept close by as they loaded MeMaw’s spirit products into the back of her car. He couldn’t lift much yet, but he helped the work go faster by escorting them in the school’s golf cart. Afterward, as MeMaw drove away, Garrett offered Micara a ride to her car across the parking lot.

Making their way through the departing crowd to her car, he peered at her from under his baseball cap. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“I did. I haven’t been to a football game that I’ve actually watched since high school. I don’t know if you can tell, but I don’t know that much about the game.”

“Nah, you looked like a seasoned fan out there.” His lips twitched. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.” He squeezed her hand, then stiffened and let it go. “Slade!” His booming voice shot across the lot, and he steered the golf cart in the direction of his call.

A group of boys was crowded under the bleachers. A skinny, blond kid’s head snapped up. Several of the other teens scattered as Garrett pulled up. He climbed out of the golf cart and limped in their direction.

Not sure what to do, Micara followed him.

“I’m disappointed that you weren’t playing tonight, Slade.” Garrett spoke in a stern, no-nonsense voice.

The boy ducked his head. “Yeah, well, I’ve missed too much school.”

“The school year’s just started. What’s going on?” Garrett’s tone was full of concern.

The boy slung his hair out of his eyes. “Things change, Uncle Garrett. ’ Sides, I got better things to do anyway.”

Slade played the cool card for his friends quite well.

“Better things to do, huh? We’ll see how your attitude changes come baseball season, won’t we?”

The kid shrugged.

“Where’s your father?”

Micara understood how teenagers could be. She’d helped with the youth program at her church several times. Teens required a little TLC. She hung back and observed the conversation. Garrett seemed to know what he was doing. With his job, he dealt with hormonal teenagers on a daily basis.

Slade shrugged. “Work, I guess. I keep up with him about as well as he keeps up with me. I care about as much, too.”

Garrett grimaced. “You need a ride home?”

“Nah, I rode my bike. Thanks, anyway.” Slade gave them both the peace sign before walking toward the front gate with his buddies.

“Who was that?” Micara asked.

“Gabriel’s son, Slade.” Garrett’s gaze followed his nephew through the front gate, where the kid picked up a bike that leaned against the ticket window and rode off across the parking lot.

Gabriel had a son? Two full days she’d worked at his home, with no sign of a child. There must be some issue between them. She sent up a quick, silent prayer for both the boy and his father, asked God to take control, to touch their hearts, and do what was best for them. She shot up a prayer for Garrett, too. He seemed distraught over his nephew’s behavior and his attendance problems at school.

She’d prayed for Garrett a lot in recent days.