Fourth and Goal (12 page)

Tyler shot a defiant glare at HughJack. Determination etched on his face, he nodded at Derek as they broke the huddle. Derek knew the meaning of
the nod
; he'd seen it all through high school and college. Throwing caution to the wind, Tyler called an audible at the line of scrimmage.

Derek ran his pattern, surprised to find no one covering him. They obviously didn't consider him a threat. Well, fuck that. The insult gave him renewed strength.

Tyler looked in the opposite direction for an open receiver. The defenders scrambled in that direction. He sidestepped a diving linebacker and spun around. Cocking his arm, he lobbed a short pass in his cousin's direction. Derek caught it in one hand and put it away. No one was getting this ball out of his arms. He turned upfield. One glance verified it was a foot race.

With his speed, the defense didn't stand a chance. Surging with confidence, he eluded a couple of tacklers angling toward him from the sidelines and turned on the afterburners. His feet pounded on the ground and ate up the yards. His lungs pumped air. His eyes focused on the goalposts at the opposite end of the field. He listened for footsteps behind him, even chanced a glance over his shoulder. The closest defender lagged several yards behind, quickly losing ground. He was home free and breezed into the end zone for six points.

Doubling over, Derek rested his hands on his knees and gulped for air until his teammates caught up to him and slapped the hard-won oxygen back out of his lungs. The half-full stadium erupted with noise. Derek stood up, only to have Tyler hit him full force. He would have gone flying if a 330-pound lineman hadn't held him up.

Tyler, ever the attention whore, showboated and shoved his fist in the air, dancing around his teammates. Derek cradled the ball in his arms, his first professional touchdown in four years. The ball would be going home with him.

Sidestepping invitations to after-game parties, Derek slipped out of the locker room and headed home. After his touchdown run, he had caught a few short passes. The Jacks lost by a last-minute field goal, which sucked. Zero and two. The loss soured the good feeling he'd gotten from his touchdown.

He didn't relish sitting in that big old rambling house by himself, so he parked in front of the barn. Rachel's place was dark, but her truck was in the driveway. Bummed, he walked down the aisle and breathed in the comforting scent of horses. For as long as he could remember, horses had given him peace. As a little boy, missing his mother, he'd spent more time in the barn than in the house.

He talked softly to each horse as he went. Derek grabbed a handful of carrots from the bucket by the tack room and a brush from the shelf. He opened Mac's stall. The big stock horse nickered at him. Derek grinned at his old friend. Mac frisked him for carrots, sniffing his pockets. Derek ran a brush over the dark bay coat. His horse lowered his head and closed his eyes, relishing the personal massage.

A gift from his rancher father for his tenth birthday, Derek would like to say he'd trained the horse himself, but not so. As a six-year-old cow horse, Mac had known his stuff, even though he needed a few more years of experience. They'd done everything together: calf roping, bulldogging, team roping, even just riding the range of his father's eastern Washington ranch.

Derek moved the curry comb in circles, loosening the dirt, taking his time and deriving pleasure from a simple act. Mac sighed and rested one hind foot.

The barn door slid open. Footsteps sounded on the concrete aisle, followed by a couple of missteps as if the person stumbled. A slow smile slid across Derek's face.

Rae.

His heart sped up. She stopped in front of the open stall door and peeked inside. Her green eyes met his, and he glimpsed the old Rachel beneath her ice princess facade. He breathed in that sweet, uniquely hers scent. His pulse quickened, and his palms started to sweat.

Shit
. This was stupid. This Rachel didn't need him on a personal level. She needed who he was and what he could do for her career. For her it was all about her ambitions, her future. And so should it be for him.

"Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine. I tripped in the aisle."

"I heard.” Her clumsiness was so damn cute.

"I saw your truck outside."

"Did you just get home?"

"Mitch dropped me off. We had a bite to eat after the game.” She caught Derek's quick look and laughed. “Don't worry. He's gone."

"Good."

"I'm sorry he flipped you off."

"You caught that, did you?"

"Yes. He thinks I need protecting."

"I've known your brothers for years. Remember?"

"Of course."

God, he missed her. “Remember how we used to sit around and dissect every game. Hell, you knew as much as any of us."

"I still do, buster."

His mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile and nodded his agreement. “I ruined a good friendship. I screwed up."

"Actually I did.” Rachel shrugged. “I needed comfort and to forget. You helped me out.” She stared at her feet.

"Yeah, I guess.” Feeling uncomfortable, Derek shifted his weight from one foot to the other. An awkward silence ensued until he finally broke it with a change in subject. “What did you think of the game?"

"You're playing better, but you still aren't where you need to be."

"I can't get in the zone."

"You're too tight."

His mouth grew dry. He swallowed and cleared his throat. Razor's suggestion on how he could loosen up played in living color in his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, he banished those thoughts to the locker room. Not with Rae, not that she'd even agree to it. He turned back to Mac and brushed him more vigorously. Maybe she'd be smart and remove temptation by leaving.

"Derek?"

No such luck. She was still there. “Yeah?” He stiffened when she touched his shoulder.

Knowing he shouldn't, he turned to face her. She stood less than a few feet from him. His fingers itched to take her in his arms and never let her go. A hint of something flickered in her eyes. Regret? Concern? Gone in a flash, her face settled into the calm, icy persona he'd come to expect in the past month or so. Everything about her screamed unapproachable. She didn't want a relationship with him, just their business agreement and a superficial friendship.

She was right. He knew that. She'd always had ambitions as strong as his; she'd just suppressed them. They weren't suppressed anymore, and he pitied any man who stood in her way.

Her hand fell from his shoulder and hovered near his chest. He held his breath, waiting to see what she'd do next.

"I'm glad you had a good game.” She touched his chest, searching his eyes for something.

"Yeah, me too.” He removed her hand from his chest and tried to smile, but his smile lodged in his throat.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure Ty's on time."

"I'll try. Good night, Rae.” He watched her leave. Her heels clicked on the concrete aisle. She actually made it out of the barn without tripping. His chest ached. He felt as empty as a football stadium with no spectators.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Derek dragged his weary body into bed. It'd been a tough couple of weeks. Up at five every morning, he worked out with Tyler at the practice facility. They did countless push-ups, sit-ups, crunches—you name it, they did it.

After that, regular practice for several hours in which the coaches, especially Razor, were relentless.

In the evening on even nights, the Mistress of Torture put them through devious forms of torment and physical tests for an hour or two. Derek and Tyler ran patterns over and over until they could run them from a deep coma. Even Tyler quit bitching and followed Rachel's orders. Derek had always known she had steel in her, but never like this.

On odd nights, they evaluated game film, either with Rachel or at the practice facility with the guys. Derek even managed to cram in a few hours of charity appearances a week, finding it hard to say no to anyone with a good cause.

Definitely running on empty, his mind was almost too tired to think of Rachel as anything but a taskmaster, one advantage to his constant state of exhaustion. Not that she didn't look damned attractive in her workout suit; a woman who had a whistle and knew how to use it was sexy as hell.

Yet all the sweat and muscle aches didn't pay off. Arizona blew the Jacks out in an embarrassing 47-14 defeat, and they fell to zero and three.

Tomorrow the team played at home. Derek would be damned if he'd walk off the field with his tail tucked between his legs again. They were going to win this one. A team could rescue their season with only three losses, but add another one, and it started getting out of hand.

So here it was Saturday night, and he was in bed by ten. His life sure had changed. Burrowing beneath the covers, he shut his eyes and waited for sleep to take him away. And waited. And waited.

Where was Rachel?

His eyes slammed open. Her truck hadn't been parked in her driveway when he'd gone by an hour ago. Derek rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His stomach lurched at the thought of her in bed with another man. It was a stretch to imagine her in her current state as an ice princess doing the nasty with another guy. Besides, she didn't have time for a relationship. He knew. She spent her evenings torturing Tyler and him and her days studying.

Unable to sleep, he reached for Allie K.'s book and opened it to chapter twelve, where he'd left off last night. Sex via proxy worked better than no sex at all.

"You're not sleeping with that fucking bastard, are you? If you are, I'll ram his balls down his throat.” It wasn't Mitch this time; it was her other brother, Riley, though Mitch nodded his agreement. Damn, they were double-teaming her, and she'd been naive enough to believe they'd just wanted her company at the Jacks game. She attempted to ignore them and concentrated on the Jacks warming up on the field below. Her brothers weren't easily deterred.

"You're watching him now. What the fuck is up with that?"

"It's purely business. I work for him. Of course I'm going to observe his performance."

"He's not performing yet. Just warming up. You can't take your eyes off him. Don't you learn?” Riley jabbed a finger in the direction of the field and knocked the baseball cap off the guy in front of him.

"Ramsey better keep his hands off you.” Mitch handed the cap back to the guy.

Rachel bristled. Irritation raged through her. Damn them. Her sex life was not her brothers’ business. “I'll sleep with anyone I damn well please."

"Not him."

"I'm not a little girl anymore."

"You act like one."

"
I
act like one? How dare you? Both of you? It's my body."

"You're our sister."

"So I'm supposed to remain a virgin until I'm married? Guess what, boys, it's too late for that."

"I'm gonna castrate that bastard.” Riley growled, and Mitch fisted both hands, murder burning in his green eyes.

"Give it up. You're boring me."

"He's no good for you. He'll just break your heart again.” Mitch changed his tone to one of pleading.

Rachel lowered her voice so Riley wouldn't hear. “This was partially your idea. Let me do what it takes."

"I wish we had an option.” Mitch's lips set in a firm line. His jaw jutted out, reminding her of a pouting little boy.

"Look, I came here to watch the game, not be lectured about my sex life. Give me some credit for brains. I don't have a romantic interest in that man.” She spoke with conviction she didn't feel.

Both brothers sipped their beers, accepting her answer for now. Rachel chewed on popcorn and watched one tall, lean man run wind sprints up and down the field.

Rachel stopped cold and swallowed. She still had time. Run now, while she could. Her hand hovered over the doorknob. Her feet anchored her to the porch. They weren't letting her go anywhere. She peeked through the side window.

Derek, oblivious to her watching him, did push-ups on his living room floor, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. Lord, the man had a gorgeous body. Muscles, as fine as any sculpted in bronze, flexed under the strain as he pushed his obsessed rhythm.

Her brother's accusatory words rang in her ears. “
You're not sleeping with that fucking bastard, are you
?” Her controlling family needed to get a life and quit trying to live hers. She'd sleep with the whole damn football team if she pleased. Biting her lower lip, she backed up a little. Her movement caught Simon's attention. He leaped to his feet, barking at the door.

She'd been outed. Lifting her hand to knock, she plastered an innocent expression on her face, as if she'd just shown up on his doorstep and not been drooling over that body for the past few minutes.

He stopped and looked up. Seeing her, a slow, sexy smile slid across his face. He jumped to his feet and opened the door. “Hey. What's up?"

Her gaze fixated on his chest, wet with sweat and heaving from exertion. “You're sweaty."

He chuckled. “That happens when I work out.” He stood aside and invited her into his lair. Dumb prey animal that she was, she accepted the silent offer. “Is this a social call? Or do you need something?"

She needed something, no denying that. Wetness pooled between her legs as her body remembered how good that sweaty body felt on top of hers. Her breath hitched.

He cocked his head and studied her. “Are you okay?"

No, she wasn't.

"Rae, it's pretty late. Is there a problem?"

"I found your wallet in the tack room. I thought you might need it tomorrow.” She held it out. He reached for it and tossed it on the nearby table.

"How the hell did it get in the tack room? I swear it was in my back pocket."

Rachel glared at Simon. “One guess."

Derek shook his head. “Damn, he's good. How about a drink?"

No, no, no
. “Yes, I'd love one."

"Let me get a towel first; then I'll make drinks. Have a seat."

Stiffly, she sat on the couch, then realized her foolish error. He'd take it as a hint. She should have sat in the chair. She couldn't get up now. It'd be even more obvious. He walked into the room, towel slung over his bare shoulders. She wished he'd put some clothes on.