Making the Play (18 page)

His mother pursed her lips and glared at him. “The boy I raised to be honest never had a problem with reporters before, and he never had to sneak in and out of the house.”

“Yeah, well the boy you raised wasn't sidelined and about to get fired.” Grant stared into the coffee, wishing he'd learned the art of divining because he could sure use something that might give him some solid direction now. He felt like a leaf in the midst of a tornado.

“What?”

He heard the concern in her voice and knew he should have just kept his damn mouth shut. He hadn't meant to let it drop like a bomb but, as usual, his mouth outran his brain. “Don't worry about it, Mom. I've got it under control.”

She arched a doubtful brow at him. “Do you now? Because you don't sound like it's under control. This,” she said, tapping the paper, “doesn't
look
like it's under control.”

“The ranch is set for the next two years and Jackson should be in the black next year. By then, I'll have figured something out.” He took a swallow of the brew, letting its bitterness wash away the foulness building in his chest.

“I'm not worried about the
ranch
. I'm worried about
you
.” She laid her hand on his forearm and he met her deep brown gaze, filled with fierce devotion to her son. He gave her a half-­smile, trying to set her mind at ease. “Grant, I know what football means to you, what this career has meant, but there is more to life than football. You're nearly thirty-­three years old and you've been lucky to spend the last ten years playing a game you love. Maybe it's time to start living a
life
you love.”

She rose from the table and ruffled his hair, the way she had when he was little, moping at this very same table. Grant ran his hands over the table's planks, taking in the grooves cut into the hardwood from daily wear and tear. Years of homework. Too many nightly meals to count, surrounded by his brothers and sister. Life happened here but, as much as he loved it, loved them, he'd gotten out as quickly as he could because he'd thought staying meant getting stuck working the ranch just like his father. If he was going to do something, he wanted it to be something he loved to do and football fit that bill.

It had taken him all over the nation, even out of the country at times. Sure, there'd been long hours practicing, lonely nights in hotels, events like his brother's graduation from the police academy that he'd missed out on at home, but he'd traded all of that for the ability to provide for his family by doing something he loved. Hell, he'd been able to put Andrew, Ben and Maddie through college without his parents ever having to worry about any of it. He'd kept the ranch afloat in hard times and been able to fund Jackson's dream of breeding premier cow horses.

Knowing his family was well-­supported made it worth missing
life
, as his mother called it. He'd sacrificed a few years of his own to keep his family from going into debt for multiple loans. And, to be honest, he hadn't minded the sacrifice. He couldn't have asked for a better way to be able to do it.

Grant rose from the table and slid his cup into the dishwasher, rubbing one hand over the tight muscles at the back of his neck. “I'm going to go work out.”

“I'll call Ben at the station and tell him you're on your way.”

Grant shook his head. “No, I'm just going to go for a run.”

He didn't need the angry testosterone pounding of pumping iron. What he needed was a long run to clear his head, to put a few things into proper perspective so that he could decide what he really wanted. Because for the first time, he wasn't thinking about the game or the fans. He wasn't even thinking about the money being thrown his way by the network in New York. He was thinking about the way Bethany looked last night, sleeping on his chest with her hand tucked under her chin. Or the way her eyes had gleamed like multifaceted jewels when she made the decision to trust him. Or a blue-­eyed little boy who'd asked Grant if he could be his Dad over breakfast this morning while his mother slept upstairs.

 

Chapter Eighteen

“
P
LEASE TELL ME
you were Grant McQuaid's hot date last night,” Julie practically squealed as soon as Bethany entered the teacher's lounge.

“Shh!” She held a finger to her lips and shoved the other woman toward the coffeepot, trying to avoid several pairs of surprised eyes in the room. However, there was one set that didn't look shocked. Steven simply looked disappointed.

“Why are you shushing me? It's great!”

Bethany glared at her and shifted her eyes toward Steven across the room, where he was busy pretending that he wasn't listening to their conversation. Julie waved a hand. “Pfft, he was the one who showed me the paper. I'm pretty sure he's figured it out.”

Bethany bit the inside of her lip, hard. This was just one of the reasons she didn't date guys she worked with. Now she had to say something, at least explain herself after blowing him off yesterday, and it was sure to be awkward between them. She poured a cup of coffee and took the pot to Steven. “Want a refill?”

“Bethany, it's fine. I kinda had a feeling when I picked you up.”

“You did?” She slid into the chair, setting the pot on the table. “Why? I mean, when you and I went out, Grant and I were just friends.”

One of the second grade teachers took the pot from where Bethany had set it and shot her a scathing glare before walking away. Bethany cast the woman a curious glance and Steven gave her a sympathetic grin.

“Better get used to that,” he said. “I think you're going to get that a lot more from some of the single women in town. And, for the record,
friends
don't look at you the way he was, Bethany.”

She wasn't sure what to say. Grant had been the one to suggest she go out with Steven in the first place. Why would he have done that if he'd been interested in her? But she couldn't deny that only a few days later he'd stayed the night, even if they didn't actually have sex. She cringed. What the hell was she thinking? This was moving far too quickly.

“Steven,” she began.

“Like I said, it's fine. Maybe I shouldn't have waited so long to ask, or maybe I should have moved faster, I don't know.”

“That wasn't it.”

He nodded, shaking his head slightly with a look of self-­deprecation. “Maybe I should have just been Grant McQuaid.”

Guilt raced through her, choking her. Grant's celebrity wasn't what drew her to him. It hurt that Steven, someone who knew her, could think she'd been attracted to Grant for that reason. And if he believed that, what would the rest of the town, ­people who barely knew her, think? There was far more to her attraction to him than that. For starters, there was the way he treated her son.

Before she could say anything else, the bell rang. Bethany scooped up the construction paper she needed for their project this morning and, walking by the newspaper, she grabbed it and tucked it on top, pressing it against her breasts. The fewer ­people who suspected she was Grant McQuaid's “hot date,” the better.

S
ITTING IN HIS
car outside the small two-­room office building on Main Street, Grant debated what he was about to do. Confronting the editor about the lack of professionalism on the part of his reporter probably wasn't going to go over well. He took a deep, cleansing breath, willing himself to let go of his anger, but it wasn't working. Frustration continued to build in him. His five-­mile run hadn't done anything to clear the dissatisfaction he was battling and taking it out on an editor was likely going to cause more trouble instead of less.

The front door opened and a woman walked by his car. “Hey, Grant, what are you doing here?”

He recognized Gina Bradley, one of the girls who'd been on the cheerleading squad in high school. She'd been a few years younger and, while they'd hung with the same sports crowd in school, they'd never been more than acquaintances. He wasn't exactly in the mood to reminisce old times, but Grant wasn't about to be rude either.

Plastering the fake smile he usually reserved for the media on his face, he met her gaze in hopes this would be a quick conversation. “I'm good. What about you?”

“Good. I heard you were back in town for a while.”

He rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb toward the newspaper office. “You'd have to be living under a rock
not
to know I'm here, thanks to these guys.”

She laughed and brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ears, giving him a coy smile. “Yeah, you do seem to be quite the topic of conversation. If it's not your brother, it's you.”

“Which brother?” She giggled and he felt the warning bells signal in his brain.

“Depends on who's conversation it is, but it's usually your name or Linc's I hear mentioned. I guess that's the price of fame, huh? Everyone wants a piece of you.”

“Oddly, the shit I'm catching here has been worse than what I've gotten anywhere else. It's pretty ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “I don't know. The paper's only trying to keep afloat. You and Linc sell papers.”

He glanced back at the doorway she'd just exited. “You work here?” Maybe she could give him some help figuring out who the anonymous reporter was.

Gina laughed again and rolled her heavily made-­up eyes. “I wish. Nope, I'm at the coffee shop down the street. My Mom bought it, so guess who gets to manage it.” She jerked two thumbs at herself. “I was just dropping off the payment for an ad she wants to run next week.”

“Between you and me, how receptive do you think the paper would be if I asked nicely for them to leave my family alone?” Grant jerked his chin at the office in front of his car.

She gave him a bright smile, one that used to dazzle most of the football team. “If you were the editor of a struggling media format, and you had a meal ticket like reporting on not one but
two
famous brothers in the same family, and could get exclusive photos, how would you respond?”

Grant's confidence in the idea plummeted. She was right but he had to do something to make this stop.

“Don't sweat it, Grant. You're leaving for camp soon anyway, aren't you?” She looked up as the door to the newspaper office opened. “Look, I gotta head back to the coffee shop. I'll see you around. Come by before you leave, okay?”

Grant nodded and agreed to try as he slid out of the car, prepared to go to battle for his reputation as well as his ability to walk around this small town with Bethany without worrying that their picture would be plastered on every doorstep in town the next morning.

“
H
EY.
”
G
RANT
'
S VOICE
over the phone was husky and seductive.

How was it possible that one simple word could send her entire body spiraling into a quivering, heated ball of need?

Other than a few texts during the day to tell her that he couldn't wait to see her, she hadn't talked to him since he'd left her house yesterday morning. However, he hadn't mentioned when she might see him again or indicated that he wanted to make any solid plans, and it had led to some serious doubting on her part. Bethany was beginning to wonder if she'd hadn't been reading too much into their relationship and acting like a stupid girl with a crush. But hearing the warmth in his voice, she tried to cast her doubts aside, at least for the moment. She would deal with the heartache later.

“Hi. What have you been up to all day?” She settled back into the couch cushions as James glanced up from his homework at the kitchen table. She gave him a quick wink and he turned back to his handwriting.

“I ran a ­couple errands in town, made some phone calls, helped my brother check some fences and missed you like crazy.”

She felt her anxiety slip a little further into the distance. “I missed you too.” She glanced at James and saw his face light up. He must have guessed who she was talking to on the phone. “I think someone else is missing you too. And it doesn't look like he's going to finish his homework until he talks to you.”

“Put him on.” She could hear the smile in his tone, could visualize the way his dark eyes lit up when he was with James.

“Hang on.” She waved James toward her and handed him the phone.

“Hello?”

Bethany would have laughed at the excitement in her son's voice if the reality of their situation didn't worry her so much. Watching James' face as he talked to Grant, she could feel her misgivings building again. She'd willingly opened herself up for heartache but, in doing so, James was going to be hurt too. The longer this relationship with Grant went on, the more devastated James would be.

James handed her back the phone, a wide smile gracing his face while his eyes shone with renewed excitement.
I get to ride Shorty this weekend if I do my homework
, he signed.

What?
Bethany signed back. “Wait, what is this about Shorty this weekend, Grant?”

“I thought that you guys could come stay here for the weekend.”

“Stay? As in spend the night?”

“Or two,” he amended.

“Why didn't you ask me first?” She sighed, trying to balance the heady longing to agree with her need to protect James. “Grant, I don't know if that would be a good idea. I mean—­” She looked up to see James watching her, his entire demeanor going from ecstatic to sullen in a matter of only a few words. Bethany sighed and pointed at the table where his homework was waiting. “Hang on.”

You do your work and let me talk to Grant, okay?
Bethany signed to her son and pulled his chair out.

He clenched his jaw angrily and plopped back into the chair, shooting her an angry glare. She arched a warning brow at him and he went back to his homework without argument. Bethany walked into the backyard and shut the sliding door behind her for privacy.

“I wish you'd talked to me before you made him any promises.”

“I wanted to surprise you both with a weekend away. I want to see you, and for more than a movie night.”

“I want to see you too,” she admitted, swallowing the agony she could already feel her next words dredging up. But her first loyalty was to her son. “Grant, I'm not sure we can do this. I thought I could, and I've tried to ignore the newspaper articles, but ­people are putting two and two together. Steven even said something today.”

“So?” His voice was tight as if she'd insulted him.

­“People are talking, Grant. Pointing and making judgments about me, and James.” He was quiet and she pressed on. “You're going to be leaving again and I'm the one who has to face everyone in town when they look at me like your latest conquest. James has enough to deal with without being the kid whose mom—­”

“It's not like that, Bethany. You know that.”

Did she?
“That doesn't mean everyone else does.”

“Which is part of the reason I wanted you guys to come here this weekend.” Grant sighed into the receiver. “I can't take the two of you out of town somewhere, to Tahoe for the weekend maybe, the way I'd like to, but there are no reporters trying to get a story here on the ranch.”

“Grant, do you have any idea what this is doing to James? It's going to wreck him when you leave.” She felt the tears forming a lump in her throat. She tried to swallow and cleared her throat. James wasn't the only one who would be wrecked. “I can't do this to him.”

Grant didn't respond immediately. This wasn't how she'd meant for this to happen. She hadn't wanted goodbye to come so soon, but after seeing James' face as he talked to Grant on the phone, she knew she had no choice.

“Bethany, you're assuming that I'm going to completely cut ties with him like your ex. That I'm going to walk away and never come back like he did.”

Her heart stilled as she grasped what he was saying, what he was offering. She had never expected even this. “Grant, we've only known each other for a week.”

“Okay?” He couldn't possibly be serious but his tone said nothing less. “I'll bet I've learned more about you and James in the past seven days than anyone else here has in six months.”

He sighed again and she knew he was running a frustrated hand through his hair. She'd seen him do it several times over the past few days. She might not have known him long, but he was right. It felt like far more time had passed. It wasn't about the quantity; it was the quality of time they'd spent together.

Bethany had tried to convince herself that it was because he was in the public eye, and that she felt like she knew him because she'd seen him every Sunday over the years while she watched the game with James and her Dad, but it was a lie. They had a connection she'd never felt with anyone else. She'd opened up to him and, in doing that, opened herself up to being vulnerable again.

But he'd done the same with her. She knew things he'd never talked about to the media, things she only knew from spending time with him this past week. She knew how much he adored his mother and his sister. She'd seen his devotion to his family first-­hand at their house. She knew he didn't want to be a cattle rancher, in spite of respecting his father and brothers' choice to do so. She knew there was a gentleness to his hands, in spite of his violent career choice. Just as she knew if she gave herself half a chance, completely let down the wall around her heart, she'd fall madly in love with Grant McQuaid.

“Bethany, do you really think I'd have introduced James to my family if I was going to bail on him? On either of you?”

Bethany felt her heart clench at the thought of what it sounded like he was promising. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, like it was trying to escape her chest.

“Please come.” His voice was quiet and softly seductive.