An Unlikely Match (7 page)

“Asher?” she asked, coming to stop before him. “What are you doing here?”

Try as he might, he could not help but admire those violet eyes again. “You’re the coach?”

Nodding, she answered, “Yes, but why are you here?”

“I’m the commissioner,” he said, not sure whether to laugh or yell in frustration.

She gawked for a moment, then threw out her hands. “Dallas mentioned that you played soccer in college, but I had no idea you were still involved in the game.”

He’d hardly viewed what he was doing as being
“involved in the game.” It wasn’t the way he’d hoped to be involved, anyway, but that was beside the point. Her involvement was the issue here. “Have you ever played?”

“Fourteen seasons,” she told him proudly, “from the time I was four years old straight through high school.”

Well, that’s just wonderful,
he thought sardonically, wanting to tear out his hair. How was he supposed to keep his distance from her now? Desperate, he began shooting questions at her, testing her acumen. She didn’t miss a beat. Her violet eyes sparkled so brightly that Asher had to look away. When she started arguing for the Dutch Model, which focuses on foot drills, he all but gave up, despite his own conviction that the physical education class mode worked best for young children who didn’t take instruction particularly well or possess sufficient dexterity for skill-based coaching.

“That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be fun, of course,” she babbled on enthusiastically, “and I’ve got some ideas about that, too.”

“You’ll have to pass a background check,” he growled, already resigned to the fact his plans to stay away from her had failed, plain and simple.

“I’m a schoolteacher,” she reminded him cheerfully. “I’ve already passed a background check. It’s an unfortunate necessity for anyone who works with children.”

“The time commitment is significant,” he ground out.

“Nineteen more practices and nine games over ten weeks,” she acknowledged with a dismissive wave of one hand.

“You understand that the team could still be dis
banded if you don’t meet the league minimum of nine players within the next week?”

“I’ve put the word out at school that we’re looking for kids who want to play.”

Asher sighed. “I’ll get the forms you need to sign.”

“Great!”

“Great,” he muttered, trudging toward his vehicle for his clipboard and papers.

Ellie called together her team and introduced herself, though most already knew her—and, judging by the hugs she got from her players, liked her.

She put them in two facing rows and started them kicking balls to each other up and down the line. They missed more than they connected, but they kept at it even while she stepped aside to look over and sign the forms.

“I’ll leave a few recruitment forms with Ms. Riddle, but you can download and print others if you need—”

“I already have,” she told him cheerfully.

He slid the forms beneath the spring clip, feeling that she had somehow gotten a step ahead of him. “I’ll get a copy of your background check from the school and make sure it doesn’t need updating. There’s a meeting on Saturday morning that you are required to—”

“Just tell me when and where.”

He grit his teeth and forced out the words. “Nine. My house.”

She smiled. “Can I bring anything? Doughnuts, maybe?”

He stared at her stupidly. It had never occurred to him to serve anything more than coffee at these meetings.

A child shrieked with laughter, and Ellie glanced over her shoulder, saying, “I’d better get back to the team.” She turned away, calling, “See you Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he acknowledged.

The first of many in the coming weeks, apparently.

“Lord, help me,” he whispered fervently.

Ellie’s racing heart made her feel slightly light-headed. The thought that Ash was the soccer commissioner circled round and round inside her mind even as she went through the motions of drilling the kids. What did it mean? She had prayed and prayed about conquering these inconvenient feelings that she had for him, and avoiding his company had seemed the natural first step, but that idea had just been shot out the window. Asher was the soccer commissioner!

Should she back out of coaching?

Nope, she decided. Not an option. She’d given her word. Besides, this had come to her out of the blue. God had to have a purpose for that.

She would not dare to hope that His purpose had anything to do with romance—not hers, anyway.

Ah. There it was. This obviously had to do with her grandfather and Odelia. And Asher himself, of course. What a joy it would be to bring her grandfather and Odelia together! But to see Asher once more embrace the possibility of love and marriage…

She ignored the pang in her chest and lifted her thoughts Heavenward, falling back on a familiar phrase.
Holy Father, make me Your instrument. In this and in all else. I want what You want, and I trust You to bring me what is best, even if that’s not what I imagine it to be. Change my heart to comply with Your will. And heal Ash’s heart so that he might say the same. In the name of Christ Jesus, I pray.

Feeling a little calmer, she did her best to concentrate on the task at hand, but it was difficult, since she
had developed a kind of radar where Asher Chatam was concerned. She seemed to know just where he was at all times, even when he was across the field talking to another coach.

It was all she could do not to follow him with her eyes everywhere that he went.

W
hile Ellie went about drilling her players, Asher spoke to the other two coaches, reminding them of the mandatory Saturday meeting. He noted quite a few envious glances tossed toward Ellie’s players, who were laughing and chasing down balls like the neophytes they were. Asher figured he’d better stick around in case she needed a few tips. He could always use the time to return phone calls that he hadn’t gotten to that afternoon.

He strolled along the sidelines, one eye on Ellie and her team, his cell phone held to his ear. Despite the giggles and general air of fun, she had good control of her bunch. True, there were only seven of them, but at least they were routinely connecting with the ball and each other. He was less certain about the little jig she had them doing at the end. Then he realized that Ellie herself was dancing with the ball, dribbling in place. She let the kids try, none with success, but they were keen to work at it, and that, he had to admit, was half the battle.

As the practice wound down, cars began arriving with parents picking up their children. Asher made one more phone call, this one to his sister Petra in Waco,
who just needed an opportunity to vent. The things she saw, working the night shift at an upscale Waco hotel, made her question her career choice, but as she was in the final semester of earning her degree, he, of course, counseled her to stick with it. She had known that he would; she just needed to hear someone say it.

With their brother Phillip basically unreachable and Dallas unsympathetic, Petra had no one else to whom she could turn. Their parents would only tell her that she should have opted for med school. Asher suspected that they were hurt because none of their offspring had followed in their footsteps. They were wonderful Christian people and good parents, but they lived and breathed medicine to the point that little else existed for them. That attitude had prejudiced their children against medicine as a career.

He finished his call and looked around. Ellie sat sideways on a rough bench, her cell phone in her hand. Asher wondered where her ride was, but he waited until everyone else had gone before approaching her.

“Kent running late?”

“Yeah, he’s stuck in traffic. He had to run into Dallas to pick up a drug for some sick kid, and you know how that traffic is, especially at this time of day.”

“Doesn’t he have his own car?”

“He does, but it’s been in the shop. Again. I’m sure it’s ready to be picked up by now.”

“Kind of like you.”

She laughed, but he noticed that she had yet to look at him. “I thought about asking Ilene for a ride, but she already had a car full of kids. She really wants this team to make it, you know, so her daughter can play. She’s recruited half the kids herself, and I have to say they’re
pretty enthusiastic. There will be a lot of disappointed kiddos if we’re shut down.”

Asher said nothing to that. She seemed to be implying that he should bend the rules, but he couldn’t. Nevertheless, he felt a bit like an ogre.

She seemed uncomfortable now that everyone else had gone, and he couldn’t really blame her. Their private meetings never seemed to go very well, but he couldn’t drive away and leave her there on her own, so he sat down on the bench. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, he took it upon himself to make conversation.

“Can I ask you some—”

“Ask away. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He knew that was a reference to the fire and his grilling her that day in his office, but he didn’t want to go there, not now.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I was just wondering why you didn’t play soccer in college. You obviously know your way around the game.”

She shrugged. “I only wanted to go to BCBC, but so did nearly everyone else on my team, and some of them were better soccer players than me. Besides, I had other options.”

“Such as?”

“An academic scholarship. Couple of grants.” He was impressed. After a brief pause, she spoke again in a wistful voice. “When you don’t have parents willing to take responsibility for you, you can sometimes get a little extra help.”

He was sorry he’d asked. Despite their dedication to medicine, his parents had never shirked the smallest responsibility, especially not when it came to their
children. He’d attended one of the best universities in the country, and even though they’d been disappointed in his field of study, they’d paid every nickel that his soccer scholarship hadn’t covered. He’d been that rare graduate who hadn’t owed a penny in loans, and his siblings had followed in his footsteps. Maybe it was time that he stopped resenting his parents for wishing he’d become a doctor.

“Can I ask
you
a question?” she said after a moment.

He quailed at the thought, but he’d started this. “Okay.”

“I’ve been thinking about something Dallas said a long time ago. She said that the law was your second choice. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help wondering what she meant by that.”

He crossed his legs at the ankles. “She meant that I wanted to play professional soccer.”

Ellie swiveled around on the bench. “Really? Why didn’t you?”

“Blew out my knee in the middle of my junior year,” he said, rubbing the scar that ran alongside his kneecap. “They yanked my scholarship when the rehab didn’t go well.”

“That stinks.”

“The team gave me another shot my senior year, but I knew I wasn’t going to get picked up, so I enrolled in—”

“How could you know that?” she interrupted, and this time he found himself smiling at the interruption.

“I just did. I prayed about it, and deep down I knew that God was telling me to give up my dream.”

“That can’t be!”

“We all eventually give up our dreams, Ellie. It’s part of growing up.”

“I don’t believe that. The way I see it, if God doesn’t change your heart’s desire then He just brings it to you in another way or at another time. Look at David in the Old Testament. In his youth, he obviously aspired to music and poetry, but God called him to be king. And yet we have the Psalms as proof that David realized his dream of composing music and praise lyrics.”

“We also have Job as an example,” Asher pointed out. “He said it himself. ‘My days have passed, my plans are shattered, and so are the desires of my heart.’”

“Yes, but God gave it all back to him. He even doubled Job’s wealth because Job remained faithful and sought righteousness.”

“You’re thinking of your grandfather now, aren’t you?” Asher said, his tone sounding accusatory even to his own ears.

“I am, and why not? He’s a good man, a godly man, and he’s waited patiently and faithfully for what he wants.”

“And you’re not above ‘helping’ God to see that he gets it, are—”

“Yes!” she erupted, launching onto her feet. “I admit it. I tried to stall the insurance settlement so Grandpa could have time with Odelia, but I see now that was a lack of faith on
my
part. My faith doesn’t figure into it, though. It’s Grandpa’s faith that counts, his and Odelia’s.”

Asher felt a surprising urge to tell her what Odelia had revealed the night before, but he decided not to get involved. It was not his grand scheme. He looked at Ellie and felt a momentary rush of warmth for her, this woman who believed so strongly in romantic love.

“Come on. I’ll drive you home,” he said, getting to his feet.

She folded her arms mulishly, but she followed him to the SUV. While they drove toward Chatam House, she called her grandfather to tell him not to come to the soccer field, then gave him a glowing report of her first practice. The SUV swung through the gate and tooled up the hill. Asher brought it to a stop right in front of the walkway.

“Hilda probably has dinner ready. I’m sure your aunts would be happy to have you at their table again,” she said.

He shook his head even though she was perfectly correct about his generous aunties. He just didn’t think he could sit across a table from Ellie tonight—he needed some recovery time, so to speak. “Best get on. Give my love to my aunties for me.”

“I will,” Ellie promised, sliding down to the ground. “Thanks for the ride.”

Nodding, he drove away, knowing that skipping dinner was a pointless gesture. He was already thinking about when he was going to see her again.

What could God possibly be doing? Was He allowing Asher to be beset by unfathomable events meant to test faith and resolve? Or was He making a point that this lowly attorney could not seem to grasp?

As he watched Ellie disappear into the house, he had a feeling it was the latter.

“My sister’s husband was a brutal man,” Hilda said, tucking a thick stack of paper napkins into the basket that she had filled with three dozen plump, fragrant ginger muffins still warm from the oven. She had insisted on providing them when Ellie had mentioned
wanting to pick up some ready-made variety for the meeting at Asher’s house. “I feared he’d kill her before she could get away from him,” Hilda confessed bluntly, “but the Misses called Mr. Ash, and he took care of it.”

A large woman with thin, straight, gray hair cropped bluntly just below her ears, Hilda ruled the kitchen at Chatam House with a stern but indulgent hand. Covering the basket with a crisp, white cloth, she pushed it across the chrome worktable toward Ellie, saying, “It’s the least I can do after Mr. Ash handled Carol’s divorce free of charge.” That, apparently, had been years ago, and Carol had since joined the staff at Chatam House as a maid.

Ellie thanked Hilda and carried the basket out to her truck, belting it into the passenger seat. She couldn’t help smiling at this new information about Asher. Apparently, he’d always been willing to help anyone his aunties brought to him. She wondered if that was the limit of his largesse and somehow doubted that it was. He volunteered as youth soccer commissioner, after all, and that had to be a big job. She felt a certain pride in that, even though she knew she had no right to such pride.

Everything told her that she had zero chance with Asher Chatam. Even this beautiful, modern home made that clear. It was the exact opposite of the aging, modest Victorian house that she so loved. Asher was serious and confident; she preferred a sunnier outlook but constantly doubted herself. He projected a maturity far beyond his years; she still often felt like a mercurial teen. He was successful and ambitious; she loved teaching and had no plans beyond that.

She had to face facts. As much as she admired Asher,
she wasn’t cut out for a man like him. So why would God put her in the way of a broken heart like this—unless it was for Asher’s sake? Perhaps her purpose was to help Asher see the possibilities, even if she herself was not intended to be his. Well, so be it—she’d do what she could.

Squaring her shoulders, she pressed the doorbell and stepped back, grasping the handle of the basket with both hands. While she waited, she glanced around at the tall, arching entryway. Built of creamy white stone, it contrasted nicely with the rough brown brick and mossy green trim. She was not so admiring of the landscaping. Even with the arched drive crowded with vehicles, the plantings seemed rigid and unnatural. Ellie couldn’t help musing that Asher could use the assistance and expertise of his Aunt Magnolia and her gardener.

The door opened abruptly, signaling the impatience of her greeter. Asher stood there in faded jeans with a simple sweater over a plain white T-shirt, the sleeves pushed up to expose strong forearms lightly sprinkled with cinnamon-brown hair. Ellie couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re late,” he barked.

Ellie’s smile abruptly faded. “I am not. It’s four minutes ’til nine.”

“Everyone else got here ten minutes ago.”

“Good morning to you, too, Asher. I brought some muffins,” she said, wondering what she’d done to deserve such a greeting.

He glanced at the basket then turned and waved, indicating that she should follow.

Ellie stepped across the threshold.

A raised dining area at the rear of a sunken living room hosted a long, rectangular table and armless, tan
leather side chairs. A wall of glass looked out over a stone-rimmed swimming pool and several wood benches flanked by empty planter boxes. At least a dozen people, mostly men, sat or stood around the table. Nearly all held stiff paper cups of coffee. Each was dressed casually in some type of athletic clothing. And every one of them stared at her as she stood there in black flats, black leggings and an electric blue, long-sleeve tunic.

Ellie knew instantly that she had overdressed. Without even realizing it, she had dressed to impress. She had instinctively dressed for Asher without a single thought to who else might be in the room—or the actual purpose of the meeting. Her face heated.

Asher walked to the table and pulled out an empty chair before continuing on to another space at the far end.

“This is Ellen Monroe, team two-sixteen.”

“There are two hundred and sixteen teams?” Ellie asked, surprised at the large number.

“Uh, that’s sixteen teams in tier two,” a man explained. “We’re all tier two here today.”

Ellie nodded to the group and set the basket on the table just as someone else said, “I didn’t know that team made it.”

“It hasn’t,” Asher announced, pushing around some papers on the table. “They have a coach now but not the minimum number of players.”

“Yet,” Ellie said with a smile.

At the same time, the buff, fortyish man next to Ellie commented pointedly that “something” smelled good. A tall, slender woman with long, light brown hair reached across the table and lifted the corner of the crisp white cloth covering the basket.

“Muffins. Mmm.”

“From the cook at Chatam House,” Ellie confirmed, removing the cloth. “Help yourselves.”

A muscle flexed in Asher’s jaw as everyone surged toward the basket. Several minutes filled with happy chatter and appreciative noises as the assembled company enjoyed Hilda’s muffins—everyone but Asher, who stood at the end of the table with his arms folded, watching Ellie with an expression she couldn’t read. Reminding herself that she had done nothing wrong, she sat and nibbled at her own delicious treat while someone farther down the table poured coffee from an insulated carafe into a paper cup and passed it to her. After her second sip, Asher called the meeting back to order.