Читать книгу There Comes A Season - Carol Steward - Страница 10

Bryan pulled to a stop at the red light, then brushed Jacob’s dark fuzzy hair to one side with his hand. “How can one baby turn a man’s life upside down?”

Jacob pursed his lips and grasped the finger Bryan offered, holding it tight until Bryan pulled to a stop in front of Kevin’s house. Bryan took Jacob from the car seat, then shouldered the strap of the diaper bag and grabbed his briefcase.

After changing clothes and feeding Jacob his bottle, Bryan turned to Kevin. “I could use a run. You mind watching Jacob for an hour?”

“Mind? The kid and I have some football plays to discuss.”

“I have my pager, if you need anything.”

“Get out of here. We’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Take it easy today, you’re not as young as you used to be.” Kevin picked up the baby, then tucked the diaper bag under his arm and pretended to be charging through the offensive line on his way out the door.

Not for the first time in the last week, Bryan watched Kevin with envy, wondering how a dedicated bachelor had developed such a way with babies. Kids had always intrigued Bryan, but when his bride had announced that a baby would ruin her petite figure and her career, he’d eventually given up trying to change her mind. He’d directed his energy into his career, setting aside all hopes of a family. It was evident now that he wasn’t father material.

Torturing himself more, Bryan remembered how tenderly Laura had held Jacob. How could a woman who didn’t even know the child have such an effect on him? It seems like the first time Jacob has relaxed in a week. I’ve got to convince Laura to take care of him.

Bryan ran down the stairs and out the door. He cleared the last steps in one leap, starting his run at a rapid pace. Despite Kevin’s warning, today was a day to push himself…again.

As he ran, his lawyer’s haunting voice returned…“Bryan, Andrea’s lawyer called this morning…She died in an automobile accident yesterday. That’s not all. You’d better sit down…You have a son.”

A son.

His son.

Two days later, Jacob had arrived in the arms of a nanny. Three days later, they were on their own…

Bryan pushed harder.

Faster.

After extending his regime of rigorous sprints up and down the hill, he walked to stretch his aching muscles, grateful for anything that would take his mind off the ache in his heart.

Distracted by a group of boys playing football on the practice field ahead of him, Bryan ignored everything except the one boy who’d captured his attention.

“What a throw.”

An intense pain suddenly gripped the back of Bryan’s leg. He grabbed his calf muscle as his body hit the hard ground. Bryan groaned aloud, struggling to stretch his leg.

From across the field, he heard yelling. “Help! Call 911! Call 911!”

“What?” Bryan turned to see what the boys were screaming about, when the kid he’d been watching suddenly dropped beside him, a look of terror in his huge eyes.

“Mister! Are you alive!”

Bryan saw another boy running off as if his life depended on it, and realized that they were talking to him. “Me?”

Relief spread like melted honey across the freckled face as the boy watched Bryan’s every move.

“I’ll be fine. My leg cramped.”

“I thought you were dying or something.” The fear disappeared from the young boy’s face.

“I’m okay.”

“Joey, come back! He’s not dying!”

Bryan gritted his teeth and straightened his leg, then sat upright. “You have quite a team here. I’m Bryan Beaumont,” he extended one hand while the other held a tight grip on his leg. “Coach of the McKinley Mustangs.” He’d looked forward to coaching the eight and nine-year-old boys’ football team for months. Ever since his wife had left him, to be exact. “Any of you signed up?”

A few of them nodded, but not the one with real potential.

Beads of sweat dripped down Bryan’s face. He swiped the perspiration with the back of his hand, then rested it on his knee. He looked at the freckle-faced boy.

“Aren’t you going to play?”

“I dunno.” The kid shrugged.

“Do you like the game?”

“Sure,” he said, as if it were the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“Would you like me to talk to your parents?”

“I only have a mom. My dad died of a heart attack.”

Bryan froze. So that what why the kid had overreacted to his collapse. “I’m sorry about that. How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“You live near here?”

“I won’t take you there.” The kid backed away.

“That’s good. It’s okay. I don’t mean to frighten you. I was wondering if your mom might be able to come over to talk to me.”

“She’s real busy.”

“No problem. You ask her about playing.” He turned to all the boys and added, “I’d like to have all of you on the team. We practice at McKinley Elementary.”

“That’s the school just around the corner,” another kid exclaimed.

“Sure is. Anyone have a pen? I want to give you my phone number in case your mom has any questions.”

One of the boys ran to his backpack and pulled out a stubby pencil and a scrap of paper. Bryan scribbled his first name and phone number for the youngster, then struggled to his feet after the boys were gone.

Upon returning to Kevin’s, he found Jacob settled in his new crib, sound asleep.

Bryan filled the ice bag, grabbed a bottle of spring water, and hobbled into the den, hoping to forget his troubles.

“You cramped up again, huh? When are you going to realize Andrea isn’t worth this torture?”

“Even dead, she’s still a pain in the…Never mind. One of these days…years…I’m going to forget.”

“One day you’re going to realize she did you a favor.”

“Real favor. Poor kid. I don’t know anything about being a father. It’s not like Andrea gave me any clue she’d changed her mind about kids.”

Kevin looked at him, then back to the blueprints on the drafting table in front of him. “Other than grueling, how was your run?”

Bryan forgot the injury as the anticipation of coaching returned. Before he realized what he was doing, he was reenacting the play he’d seen just before collapsing.

“The kid is a natural athlete, Kev. I wish I’d found out his name, but I didn’t want to scare him any more than I already had.”

“You don’t actually think his mom will call, do you? You know what women think of football.”

Again, the simple reminder of his wife was enough to set Bryan’s enthusiasm back ten yards. “You’re right, she probably doesn’t even realize the talent the boy has.”

“That’s a safe bet.”

Bryan leaned his head back on the chair, resting his bottled water on one knee. He recalled his own mother’s hesitation to let him play, and his dad’s convincing argument. Remembering his father’s death, Bryan realized for the first time that his own son was destined to an equal if not worse fate. He’d never even know the rare beauty of a mother’s protective love. It was obvious that Andrea didn’t care enough to think of anyone but herself.

Interrupting his thoughts, Kevin grumbled. “Don’t even think it, Bryan. There are too many kids with problems for you to solve.”

“The boy needs a little encouragement, a big brother, so to speak. He’s eight years old!”

“Okay, so he needs someone. If I remember correctly…”

“You’re the one who got me into coaching at all. It wasn’t my idea.” Bryan pointed to his friend, knowing by heart the lecture that was coming.

Before Kevin had a chance to speak, he added, “Besides, this isn’t at all the same as with Andrea.”

“You’ll never change.”

Bryan walked to the window, setting his glass on the sill. “I thought I could make it work. She needed someone to love her. It was good for a while.”

“What wasn’t good then? You were the new executive at Computex, women at your door all hours of the day and night.”

Bryan interrupted. “Those women were on your doorstep, not mine, Buddy.”

“Like I said, they were good times.” Kevin laughed, but Bryan continued to stare out the window. “Andrea had you under her spell. She knew what she wanted, and you were her ticket.”

“How can I go on without her?”

“She left you almost a year ago, Bryan! Forget her.” Kevin took a long drink, finishing his tea in one swallow.

“If she would have seen the counselor with me, we could have worked everything out…And a baby!” Bryan mumbled an expletive. “She didn’t even tell me about my own son.”

“You’re a saint, man. She leaves you without so much as a word, doesn’t tell you or her lawyer she’s carrying your kid, and you think you could have saved a marriage she never cared about.”

Bryan closed his eyes and shook his head. “You don’t understand, Kev. There has to be more to it…”

“What I understand is, you’re better off without her. Snap out of it! Andrea didn’t deserve you. What you need is a…”

“The last thing I need is a woman complicating my life.”

Hamburger sizzled in the cast-iron skillet. Laura massaged her temple, trying to ward off the tension headache looming beneath the surface.

The front door slammed just before T.J. ran into the kitchen. “Mom. Can I play football this year? The McKinley coach came by the park and he wants me to play.”

Before the words were out of her mouth, her son rushed through an explanation of how he’d come to talk to the stranger. After having seen his own father at the hands of the paramedics, she didn’t have the heart to lecture her son about trying to help a stranger who’d appeared to need medical help.

“I don’t know how we could fit that in this year, honey.”

“But Dad said when I turned eight I could play.”

“T.J.” Her mouth went dry. How could she explain?

“Please, Mom.”

“Wasn’t the sign-up last week?”

The smile disappeared. It didn’t take a psychologist to see that she’d just broken her son’s heart. Didn’t every boy dream of being an all-star quarterback at one time?

“Here’s the coach’s phone number. Can’t you at least call him?” Then as if he knew exactly how to turn the knife, he added, “Dad wouldn’t have forgotten to sign me up.”

She took the tattered paper and stuffed it into her pocket. That was when Todd was going to be the coach. Things changed. “Go wash up. Supper’s ready.”

If you’d take this baby, you wouldn’t have to worry about the money. The fact remained, though, that Bryan Beaumont knew nothing about raising a child, which meant she’d not only be caring for his son, but also trying to teach another workaholic father how to be a dad. To make matters worse, this father wasn’t her husband. This one was single, incredibly handsome and obviously had the means to substitute his love and attention with any number of material toys.

Both hands full, Laura kicked the refrigerator door closed. She set the gallon of milk and the skillet of hamburger gravy on the table, then sat down and waited for the children to settle before offering thanks. Their routine had. changed so little, it was as if her husband were at a board meeting and would return before the evening was over.

After supper, she finished the dishes and helped the kids get ready for bed, still agonizing over both problems. She thought of calling Bryan’s secretary for more information, as Vicky had been a client once, but realized how unprofessional that would appear.

Then she wondered if she should call the football coach.

Out of the question.

What could she say? Thanks for your encouragement, but I just can’t afford it? Not a chance. The last thing she wanted was some do-gooder giving them charity. It wasn’t that there really was no money to spare, but she was trying to keep within a budget, and after buying new tires and paying the plumbing bill, it would cut into the emergency fund. Not a good way to start the month.

She could always go into detail about how challenging it was to transport nine kids to practices. Or spew out her personal sob story and sound like a whiny, helpless woman. Forget it. They’d manage. There would always be next year, after life had settled into a dull and boring routine again.

Football taken care of, she set her mind to the problem of filling her opening, or more to the point, how to not fill the opening. At least, not with the adorable son of a potently handsome widower who twisted her words to suit his needs.

Sleep. That would clear her mind.

Wrong.

The quiet only filled her mind with more guilt. The furnace kicked on, squealing at first, then dissipating to a rhythmic drone. Oh, the joys of a fixer-upper. Before winter’s over, the furnace too, will most likely need to be replaced.

She rolled onto her stomach and covered her head with a pillow as overgrown branches of the giant maple rubbed against the side of the house. Another chore Todd had meant to do this summer.

Before long, the mental list of possible repairs had tripled, and her headache was pounding. “Okay, I get the message, God. You’ve always provided for our needs, and now is no exception. But why through a single father with an attitude?”