Making the Play (2 page)

“Where've you been hiding those moves, Grant? Because I haven't seen that on the field in a long time.”

His friend tossed him his t-­shirt and he slipped it over his head before glaring at his partner, then turning back toward her. “I'm Grant McQuaid and this is my brother Jackson. Jackson, meet James and . . .” He let his words trail off expectantly.

“Oh, I'm Bethany,” she filled in. At least with his shirt on again, she could breathe.

“Bethany,” he repeated, as if testing the name on his lips. “That's pretty.”

“You're on the Memphis Mustangs,” James announced, excitedly. “Mom, he plays football for Grandpa's team.” He set the football Grant had handed him at his feet and signed to her, his hands moving with lightning speed.

As soon as James pointed it out, she realized this was Grant McQuaid, star running back of the Mustangs and James' favorite player. Both men watched them curiously and she could read the questions in their faces. She signed to James to wait and let her speak for a moment before turning back to the pair of too-­attractive men still standing in front of her.

“Mom?” Grant asked, arching a brow.

His brother laughed. “What were you, twelve, when you had him?”

Bethany crossed her arms over her chest defensively. She had always looked young for her age but if this was an attempt at starting a conversation, this guy sucked at it. “Not that it's any of your business but I was twenty.”

“Sorry, you just don't look much older than twenty now.”

Jackson nudged his brother but Grant glared at him and looked back at James. “When did he get his C.I.?”

She tipped her head to one side, surprised he knew anything about cochlear implants, let alone the abbreviation for them. “When he was an infant.”

“I guess that explains why he can speak so clearly.” Grant nodded. “So why go through the extra work to teach him to sign too?”

While she was touched by his acknowledgment of the hard work she and James had put in on his speech, she arched a brow, wondering what made this man feel he had the right to question the choices she'd made for her son. Just because he was some sort of star didn't make him entitled to answers about her parenting decisions. Before she could answer, Grant awkwardly signed
hello
and introduced himself to James in ASL. James face lit up with excitement.

“He knows how to sign, Mom,” he whispered loudly.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And he can hear you too.”

James giggled at her and introduced himself to Grant in sign language. The irritation she'd felt a moment ago disappeared as her son's boyish laughter filled her ears. She had no idea how Grant knew ASL, or why, but neither mattered right now.

Thank you
, she mouthed to him, her heart swelling with gratitude at the fact that Grant had gone out of his way to meet James on common ground.

Grant grinned. “I haven't had anyone to sign to in a long time.”

Bethany ruffled James' hair before returning Grant's smile. “I admit I'm impressed you know any. Not many ­people do.”

He shrugged. “I used to be better when I was volunteering at the children's hospital back in Memphis. I've gotten rusty.”

“We can help,” James chimed in. “Right, Mom?”

“Oh, um . . .”

James wasn't about to be deterred. “And you could teach me to be better at football.”

Bethany felt the panic rising up in her. So far, she'd been able to confine her son's love of football to a safe, controlled version of catch with her. She knew it meant the world to him to meet his favorite player and, from the look of pleasure on his face, Grant McQuaid enjoyed spending time with his fans, but he couldn't possibly understand the precautions she needed to take with her son, especially where contact sports might be concerned.

“James, I'm sure Mr. McQuaid doesn't have time for that. He's an important part of the team. He'll be in training again soon and it takes a long time to learn to sign, remember?”

“Actually—­” Grant began.

“We should probably get going,” Jackson muttered to his brother, jerking his head toward the parking lot. “Gotta get a fence fixed. It was nice to meet you, Bethany. You too, James. Maybe next time we come out here, you can come play ball with us.”

James immediately looked up at his mother. “Can I?”

“We'll see,” she answered, humoring him as Jackson left the three of them and headed toward the parking lot. The two men were just being polite and didn't really mean it, but James was still too young to understand that.

“Yay!” James scrunched up his face, looking up, and a bright smile spread as he got an idea. “Then you could come to my house for dinner and call my Grandpa and tell him I played football with you.”

A blush covered Bethany's cheeks. Her son didn't realize he was practically setting her up on a date. “James, I don't—­”

Grant dropped his head back and laughed out loud. It was a warm, relaxed sound that reminded her of the afternoons she'd hung out in sweats, watching football with her Dad, or nights curled up with James, watching him sleep. Inviting, homey, comforting.

“Little man, you're on.” Grant winked at her son. “I'll make you a deal. If you promise to help me practice my sign language, I'll take you guys out for pizza tonight. Your Grandpa can join us.”

He turned his gaze toward Bethany, jerking her back to reality. He looked like he was waiting for her agreement, as if the idea that she might turn him down wasn't even an option. She stared at him, unsure where to begin—­by flat out turning him down because of his assumption that she wouldn't or being honest and explaining she'd chosen not to date until James was older.

James broke in, filling in the moment of uncomfortable silence. “Grandpa doesn't live here. He lives at my old house in Tennessee.”

The note of sadness in her son's voice made Bethany's heart ache and her throat close. He might have acclimated well to their move last summer but she knew he missed living with his Grandparents. It had been a big adjustment for the child to go from doting grandparents giving him attention twenty-­four hours a day to only the two of them. For a child who had few close relationships he could trust in, tearing him away from two ­people who loved him had devastated her.

“Oh, I see.” Grant squatted back to James' level. “Well, then we'll call him after we eat. What do you say?”

“Can we, Mom?” James clasped his hands together and turned his angel face up to hers, the way he did whenever he wanted something badly. “Please?”

“Yes, please?” Grant copied her son comically, but she didn't miss the way his eyes darkened, or the arrogant wink he gave her.

He obviously thought he could turn that deep brown gaze on her and charm her. He might be able to use his good looks and celebrity status to get his way with other women but, unfortunately for him, the only eyes that charmed her were her son's deep blue ones. She wasn't about to fawn over this man simply because he knew a little sign language and smiled at her.

“I don't think it's a good idea.”

Grant's brow immediately furrowed and he looked back at James. She reached for her son's hand, forcing him to drop the football.

“We really need to get going. It was nice to meet you, Mr. McQuaid.”

Even as she pulled James back toward the trees, she could feel him tugging against her hand, turning to look behind him. It wasn't fair for this man to use her son's hero worship to finagle a date and, while it hadn't been the first time a man tried, it still pissed her off that anyone would use a child that way, let alone hers.

James planted his feet and stopped. “Mom, please. Do you know who that is? He plays football for—­”

She turned around and knelt down. “Baby, I know who he is, but I have some things to get ready for school tomorrow.”

She was lying through her teeth, something she rarely did to James, but she couldn't explain to him why they couldn't go out for pizza. How was she supposed to tell a six-­year-­old that his hero was far too good-­looking, that he made her stomach flutter in ways she hadn't remembered it ever twisting and twirling or that he had what her mother fondly called “bedroom eyes?” Just because she didn't date, didn't mean her libido was dead.

But since she couldn't say any of that to James, it was far easier to tell a little white lie.

Glancing up, she saw Grant jogging the short distance to catch up to them. “Bethany, look, I think you got the wrong impression.” James' eyes swung toward Grant as he reached them and immediately lit up. Grant pressed the football into his small hands. “Would you hang on to this for me, big guy?”

“Yes,” James answered, completely serious as he watched Grant move closer to her.

“I don't want you to think I go around asking pretty women and their sons out to dinner at the park all the time.” Bethany tightened her jaw and crossed her arms, refusing to admit that was exactly what she suspected. He flashed her a smile. “As a matter of fact, I've never done this before.”

She found that hard to believe. “While I appreciate the offer, Mr. McQuaid, I don't date.”

“What's a date?” James asked. Bethany cursed the fact that they were even having this conversation around James and ignored her son's question.

Grant stood and shrugged. “Who said anything about a date? This will just be two guys talking about football in sign language, right, James?” Grant held his hand out for James to give him a low-­five and her son obliged.

Bethany was having a hard time looking away from Grant's dark eyes and the entreaty she could see there. When she looked down at James, the pleading blue was even harder to deny. She knew how much this opportunity to spend time with his hero meant to James, regardless of how cocky Grant might be, but she didn't like the way he was going about this. Regardless, she could feel herself caving.

She took a step closer, moving between Grant and James so her son couldn't see her face or read her lips. “I'm sorry, Mr. McQuaid, but my son isn't some kind of toy for you to use to get a date.” She pressed a finger to his chest. “No one is going to use him as an easy target.”

“Whoa, wait a minute—­” He took a step backward. “Now, I
know
we got off to a bad start.” He looked at James, peeking at him from behind her skirt, then back at her. “Look, it's obvious James is a fan and I really was just looking for a way to hang out with him for a bit. It had nothing to do with you.”

She arched a brow in disdain. “Right, because all football players enjoy hanging out with six-­year-­olds.”

His eyes slid over her slowly, taking in every inch and she cursed the way her body responded, feeling heat travel the length of her spine into her legs. “Okay, maybe not
nothing
but not what you think either. I really
could
use the refresher with signing. I wasn't trying to use your kid to get a date. I swear.” His eyes softened as he held up his last finger. “Pinkie promise?”

“Seriously?” What kind of man even
said
that out loud? “How old are you?”

“Pinkie promise,” James interrupted, moving beside her and raising his hand to hook fingers with Grant.

Bethany sighed, realizing she'd just been overruled by her six-­year-­old. “Fine, but not dinner.” Grant nodded and James mimicked the movement seriously. “Tomorrow after school. We'll come
if
he gets his homework done.”

Grant grew serious with James and let his fingers move. “You hear that?”
Do your work so we can play football tomorrow
, he signed. “I'm looking forward to playing ball with you . . .”

He stood up and stared down at her. “I really am, you know.”

She wanted to ask him why, to find out exactly what his intentions were. There had to be something in this for him, some good press at the very least, but he took off before she could speak. Bethany watched as he jogged across the field to meet up with his brother in the parking lot, trying not to appreciate the way the muscles down his back and legs rippled under his clothing with the movement. She felt her stomach twist and somersault like a gymnast, something it hadn't done since she'd started dating Matthew in high school. Grant McQuaid was definitely a fine male specimen, maybe enough so that she should rethink her no-­dating policy.

What in the world was she thinking? She'd made the rule to protect James from getting hurt. The last person she needed to date was a professional football player who was only home for vacation, especially as cocky as this one seemed. James didn't need that kind of emotional upheaval in his life. But she couldn't help wondering if she was more worried about James or herself.

 

Chapter Two

“
Y
OU
'
RE REALLY
GOING
to meet up with them again?” Jackson asked as he drove them back to the ranch.

“Sure, why not?”

Grant wasn't actually sure what possessed him to ask Bethany and James to join him the next day, other than the fact that he'd been completely taken in by the kid. Not only was he fearless enough to go after the football when Jackson threw it, but Grant had never met a kid that young who recognized him and knew his name. The kid's Grandfather must be one hell of a Mustangs fan. He made a mental note to get his address to have some Mustangs gear sent his way.

The kid's absolute joy at the thought of having dinner with him had been infectious. Of course, it didn't hurt that his mother was gorgeous, even in her near-­panicked state. However, Bethany hadn't seemed impressed in the slightest by his status as a player, unlike her son. Most of the beautiful women who hung around the locker rooms and bars couldn't wait to nab a “player.” In fact, she'd seemed dubious of him and, at times, rather antagonistic. Although it was pretty adorable to see her jump to James' defense. The look of surprise in her big, dark eyes when he began signing to James had made every second he'd spent learning sign language worth it. Regardless of how cute she was, she seemed like a damn good mom and, if the kid was any indicator, she had to be pretty amazing.

“I didn't know you knew sign language.” Jackson cast him a questioning glance. “Surprised me a little.”

“Yeah, learned a few years ago while I was in Memphis.”

It was one of the many things Grant loved about the Mustangs' team. The owner was big into giving back to the community, something he enjoyed doing. Each and every one of the players took part in several charity events each year, and over the past eight years since he'd been drafted, he'd been able to work with different charities—­raising money for homeless shelters, building houses for low income families, visiting hospitals—­but his favorite, by far, had been working with special needs kids.

The first time he returned home from the children's hospital, he'd stayed awake all night. They'd left him completely energized. Seeing the kids in the hospital coping and thriving, facing circumstances that would bring most adults to their knees in fear, had been inspiring. He'd gone back every day after practice, just to visit and play games with them. Over the next few months, he'd learned American Sign Language from a private tutor just so he could spend time in the children's hospital, conversing with several of the young patients who'd received cochlear implants, letting them laugh at his antics and pitiful ASL techniques.

Seeing the joy in the faces of kids who faced struggles he couldn't even imagine had made him feel like he had a purpose outside of football. He'd heard the melancholy in James' voice when he mentioned his Grandfather and found himself wanting to see the kid's face light up with that smile again. While it might have just been homesickness for his Grandparents, Grant got the feeling that there was more to it. He wasn't just a kid looking to connect with his sports hero, there was a loneliness that seemed to come off him in waves, in spite of his happy-­go-­lucky attitude.

Maybe if he ended up not returning to football, he could find a way to work with kids like James. At least then the last ten years of fame would have some benefit rather than being a millstone dragging him down.

Don't even go there.

He couldn't let his mind stray toward some of the more negative predictions he'd read about himself online just this morning. Sports commentators were already speculating about the extent of his injuries and what it would mean for the team to lose him. He wasn't about to buy into their prophecies. He
had
to come back. It was as simple as that.

“Did you forget you promised to help me with the fence?” Jackson's voice was a welcome distraction from the turn his thoughts had taken.

“We can finish that tonight.”

“Uh, nope. You haven't seen it. It's going to take a few days.”

“Great.” Grant rolled his eyes. “Because I was kinda hoping that if things went well at the park tomorrow, I'd ask them out for pizza after.” Grant didn't want to bail on his brother but he couldn't mend fences and go out to dinner. He was sure Jackson would have done the same. “Come on, Jackson, you saw that kid.”

Jackson chuckled. “He was a pretty cool kid. And, no fear.”

“Right?”

“But didn't she already shoot you down once?”

Grant shrugged. “Never hurts to ask again.”

Jackson sighed but Grant knew he was less irritated than he was pretending to be. “Go. I didn't really expect you to help anyway. But I'm not going to be the one to tell Mom you won't be there for dinner. You can face that firing squad alone.”

“Please.” Grant waved his brother off. “All I have to do is tell her I have a date and she'll start begging me to hurry up and make her a grandmother already.”

“Well, you're the oldest and it's not like you're getting any younger, bro.”

“At least I have a prospect,” Grant taunted.

“Sure you do,” he said with a laugh. “Most of the time you were talking to her, that woman looked like she'd rather scratch your eyes out than let you kiss her. I don't see any kids coming out of this date.”

“Yeah? Well, it's the rest of the time that matters,” he replied with a chuckle.

In spite of the teasing note in his voice, Jackson wasn't wrong. For all her civility, Bethany had seemed annoyed at the prospect of dinner with him, even if it was just pizza. He'd barely gotten her to agree to them hanging out at the park. It wasn't a reaction he was used to getting. Most of the time, women were lining up for his attention. Not that he expected women to fawn over him—­hell, they lined up for any pro football player. Regardless of the fact that he was one of the “old guys” on the team now and most women wanted the up and coming stars, even the longtime veterans weren't lacking for dates.

You're not on the team at all now
, he reminded himself.

Funny how every subject seemed to return to his undecided future. Grant didn't want to think about his pending retirement right now. It hadn't been announced yet, wouldn't be until after he was given a final evaluation just before their pre-­season workouts began. He had two weeks left to prove to his doctors that he was healthy enough to return.

“So, are you wanting to hang out with the kid or his Mom?” Jackson pressed. “I mean the kid was cute but his mom—­whoa!” Grant looked at his brother and arched a brow in question. “What?” Jackson asked. “She's hot.”

“Mom would kick your ass if she heard you call a woman ‘hot.' ” Grant shook his head. “But, yeah, she was pretty.”

Pretty didn't even begin to describe Bethany. She was beautiful . . . and prickly. She'd been as friendly as a porcupine with a cactus up its butt. “Know anything about her?”

His brother shrugged as they pulled off the main road onto their family ranch. “I've never even seen her before but it's not like I get into town that often. Dad keeps me pretty busy at the ranch since all of you decided to take off and leave Jefferson and me behind. The only time I get into town is when I hit the feed store.”

Grant wanted to deny his brother's jab. As the oldest of seven kids, he'd jumped at the chance to play college ball and get as far from the family ranch as possible. He didn't hate the ranch, but he didn't want to be stuck here in the small town of Hidden Falls forever. He'd wanted to see the world and football had given him the opportunity to do that while allowing him to help support his parents' cattle ranch. But when his brothers, Andrew and Benjamin, left the ranch to pursue careers as a police officer and fireman, then Linc left to pursue his music career, that had left only the twins, Jackson and Jefferson, to help their father run the place, including the fence he'd promised to help fix. Guilt ticked at the edges of his conscience, making him consider canceling his park date. Disappointment instantly filled his chest but he wasn't sure if it had more to do with the pretty woman who would be there or her son.

“You should ask Maddie. She works at the school a ­couple days a week. She probably knows at least a little about the kid.”

Their sister, Madison, the only girl allowed into their boy's club, was a speech therapist. She would probably be able to fill him in on everything he needed to know about James, and his wary mother. But Grant wondered if he wasn't just asking for more trouble than he needed right now. He hoped to be leaving town come spring. He wasn't looking for another reason to tie himself down in a small town, and a romance, even a casual one, with a kid involved would do just that.

“
M
OM,
I
CANNOT
believe James did this to me.”

The next morning Bethany paced the small master bedroom of her tiny cottage home with the cell phone pressed to her ear. It wasn't fancy, but the house was hers and had a huge yard for James to play in. Plus, it was walking distance to Hidden Falls Elementary. She'd easily fallen in love with the two-­bedroom house when she'd move to town over the summer.

“Honey, you don't really think he did it on purpose, do you?” Her mother's laughter rang through the phone. “He's six and he just met one of the Mustangs face-­to-­face. Your father would have done the same thing.” Her mother paused for a moment. “You could have just said no,” she pointed out.

“I did say no. But you didn't see James' face, Mom.” Bethany began swiping hangers aside, trying to find something to wear to work. “And this wasn't just
one
of the Mustangs, this was Grant McQuaid, the
only
Mustangs player in James' eyes. Then they pinkie promised.”

“They what?”

“You know, where you link pinkie fingers . . . it doesn't matter.” She waved a hand in the air. “If you'd seen him, you'd know this was probably the greatest thing to ever happen to him. How am I supposed to keep telling him no after that?”

“So go to the park. Have a good time.”

“I just don't want James to get hurt. If he gets too attached—­”

“Honey, it's not like you're marrying this guy. You're going to the park, with your son. Relax.”

She was right, Bethany was reading far too much into a simple afternoon at the park. Just because Grant McQuaid had asked her to dinner didn't mean he would again. And she could talk with James before they saw him, make it clear to him that this was just some time at the park and nothing else. She felt the muscles in her shoulders relax slightly. Her mother always had a way of calming her worries. Bethany only prayed she could be the same kind of mother for James.

“Besides,” her mother began. “Maybe it's time to start dating again.”

And there is was. The suggestion that there
might
be more to this.

“Mom,” Bethany scolded. “This guy's a football star. He has his pick of a million women. I'm sure the last thing he's looking for is a single mom. Besides, you saw what happened with Matthew. He couldn't handle
things
.”

Couldn't handle the pressure of his job, couldn't handle being a father, couldn't handle a son with a disability, couldn't handle saying goodbye in person.

“It's hard enough to explain to James why his father isn't around like his friends' dads and why he sounds different from everyone else when he talks. He doesn't need to get close to someone else only to have that person bail on him. I won't put him through that kind of emotional turmoil. The move and making friends has already been hard enough.”

She heard her mother sigh into the phone. “James is a tough kid, Bethie. He can handle more than you give him credit for.”

“But he shouldn't
have
to, Mom, and I'm going to make sure he doesn't have to as long as I can.”

She pulled a white sundress from her closet. Paired with a jean jacket and her boots, it would be a casual look without looking like she was trying to impress anyone.

Are you?

Bethany didn't want to listen to the nagging voice in her head, let alone acknowledge the idea that she might want Grant McQuaid to think she was attractive. It had been a long time since she'd felt attracted to any man, and to think that a man who could have his choice of women would give her more than a passing glance was flattering. Okay, maybe exhilarating was a better description, she realized as her heart pounded against her ribs. Her body was just going to have to settle back down and control its hormonal outbursts because she was not about to risk falling for someone like Grant McQuaid when she had a responsibility to watch out for James. A guy like him would never want more than a quick hookup with a small-­town girl like her and that was the last thing she would give in to, regardless of her excitable pulse. She was too responsible for that.

“I'd better go, Mom. I still need to take a shower and dry my hair.”

“What,” her mother teased, “no ponytail? I thought that's all you wore.”

A shirtless James came and stood in the doorway of her walk-­in closet, watching her, patiently waiting for her to get off the phone. “Not always, Mom,” she said with a laugh. “We'll call you later. I love you.”

“Give my boy hugs and tell him Grammie loves him.”

“I will,” she said as she disconnected the call. Bethany tipped her head to one side and smiled at her son. “What's up?”

“Do you know where my football jersey is? The one Grandpa got me?” He looked at her nervously and she wondered why.

“It should be in your dresser. Let's go look.”