The Back-Up Plan (6 page)

Hank figured Stevens had recognized the aura just prior to losing consciousness. The kid had stopped in the middle of the field, pulled off his helmet and spit out his mouthpiece before falling to the ground. Hank had cleared the huddle of players around Stevens and turned him on his side. All he could do now was watch. He had read up on the disorder and knew he shouldn’t interfere unless—

“Damn.” The kid was chewing his tongue. He grabbed the boy’s discarded mouthpiece. If he could insert it back into his mouth maybe he wouldn’t hurt himself with all that chewing. Hank cursed when his fingers slipped and got caught in the grinding action. He couldn’t get the mouthpiece in.

Where was that doctor?

As suddenly as the episode had begun, the convulsions stopped. The kid’s body stilled. Hank heaved a sigh of relief and thanked God. He would rather take a beating than to watch a kid suffer. He tossed aside the ineffective mouthpiece and caught a glimpse of Donna Jacobs running, bag in hand, across the ball field. The other players stood watching from a distance as Hank had instructed.

“It’s gonna be okay, Stevens.” He squeezed the boy’s limp hand. Stevens looked pale. Tiny beads of perspiration had formed on his face and his skin felt cool and clammy. Normal reactions, Hank reminded himself.

“What happened?” Breathing hard from the run, Jacobs dropped to the ground on the other side of the boy and started her examination.

“Stevens has seizures. He takes phenobarbital. I don’t know if maybe he forgot to take his medicine or what, but he had a pretty rough seizure.”

The doc’s gaze analyzed Hank’s for a moment. “How long did the seizure last?”

“Too long,” he answered, concern adding a faint tremor to his voice. “I didn’t exactly time it.”
Damn
. He felt like a used up battery. Drained and unnecessary.

Heaping even more remorse on his back, he recognized the disapproval in the doctor’s questioning gaze. She was wondering why he let a kid with a history of seizures play on his team. Right now he could care less what she thought about him; Stevens was his only concern. He would worry about appeasing the doctor when he knew the kid was okay.

Her attention dropped back to the boy. Stevens started coming around as she checked his vitals. “That’s right, Stevens, time to wake up,” she said softly.

The kid’s eyes opened and he blinked. “Where...where am I?”

“It’s okay. I’m Dr. Jacobs.” She spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. “You had a seizure. Do you remember if you took your medicine today?”

“I...I don’t remember.”

“I didn’t think you would, but I had to ask.” She gave the boy a smile that made even Hank feel better.

Stevens furrowed his brow in confusion. “Did I miss practice?”

Hank breathed a light chuckle. “No, Stevens. You didn’t miss practice. In fact, you kicked the best field goal I’ve ever seen.” He gently tousled the boy’s hair.

“Wait’ll I tell my dad.” His weak smile touched Hank.

“Let’s get you in the field house. You can rest there while you wait for your old man.” Hank helped the boy to his feet and walked him to the field house. He positioned him on a small cot the team used for injured or overheated players.

“Can we get some of this gear off of him?” Jacobs brushed past Hank to get to the kid.

Hank muttered something he hoped resembled a yes. He knelt next to the cot to help Stevens out of his jersey and shoulder pads.

Jacobs perched on the edge of the narrow cot to monitor the boy. She checked his pulse and took his blood pressure again. She didn’t seem to notice that her knees were nudging Hank in the side. He shifted to avoid the contact and tried to refocus his attention on Stevens.

“His father is on his way.”

“That’s good.” The doc glanced at him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Bradley, he’s going to be fine.”

Hank knew he looked rattled, but it must have been worse than he thought for her to care.

The minutes ticked by slower than contract negotiations. It was impossible, this close, not to notice her cute little turned-up nose and lush lips. He ordered his attention back on Stevens but every time she moved he ended up looking at her again. If she leaned forward his attention went automatically to the vee of her blouse, followed that irresistible trail of skin. The subtle rise and fall of her breasts mesmerized him. She smelled nice too.

“Are you all right, Mr. Bradley?”

Hank jerked his gaze up to meet her questioning look. “I’m...I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look a little out of it.” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

What was wrong with him? He should be worried about Stevens, not getting a hard-on. He pushed to his feet and backed away. “I’m just...I need to...check on the team.” He needed some air. “I’ll be right back,” he explained as he backed toward the door.

Hank collided with an equipment rack and helmets clanged to the floor. His useless efforts to grab the falling gear only served to send it in a dozen directions across the floor.
Damn
, he muttered as he picked up the mess he had made. Maybe he needed a doctor instead of Stevens. He needed his head examined, that’s what he needed.

Jacobs didn’t seem to pay any attention to his clumsiness. She continued to question Stevens to make sure he was coherent.

With the equipment rack back in order, Hank crossed his arms over his chest and went to the door to check on the rest of his players. The team captain had the others running laps. Hank propped against the open door and scanned the parking lot. Watching for Mr. Stevens to arrive would keep him out of trouble. He needed an excuse not to leer at Donna Jacobs like a horny teenager. She looked entirely too tempting in those tight jeans and that clingy blouse.

Obviously he wasn’t thinking straight. Stevens had scared the hell out of him. Besides, doctors weren’t supposed to look like that. At least he had never been lucky enough to have a doctor like Donna Jacobs.

To his relief, the boy’s father arrived. Dr. Jacobs explained to Mr. Stevens they had determined that it had probably been two days since Stevens had taken his medicine. She emphasized the dangers of his carelessness. Stevens promised that he would be more careful in the future. She recommended the kid see his regular physician right away for a thorough examination. Better to be sure than to regret it later, she urged.

His sentiments exactly, Hank added silently.

He saw Stevens and his father off, then dismissed the rest of the players. With as much anticipation as anxiety, he returned to the field house where Dr. Jacobs waited. Why hadn’t she left when everybody else did? That way Hank wouldn’t have to worry about doing or saying something stupid. In his present state of mind he might just do either one or both. But he knew why she’d stayed. She would have twenty questions about his allowing the Stevens kid on the team. Jacobs had made no attempt to hide her skepticism.

“Thank you, Dr. Jacobs. I appreciate your coming so quickly.” He extended his hand as he approached her and produced what he hoped was a charming smile. This entire day had sucked. Hank was ready for it to be over. He could see a couple of cold ones in his immediate future.

“I’m curious, Mr. Bradley.” She tucked her stethoscope into her little black bag. “Were you aware of Stevens’ epilepsy when you allowed him to play on your team?”

“Of course.” Hank drew back his unshaken hand. “Complete physicals are required for all players.” Did she consider him negligent as well as incapable? Something about the expression on her face told him that the answer to that question still hung in the balance.

“What made you decide to let Stevens play?”

Long brown hair fell across her shoulders as she cocked her head to study him. She usually wore her hair pulled back. He liked it down.

“Mr. Bradley?”

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked what made you decide to let the Stevens boy play.” Her right hand tightened on the black bag and the left came to rest impatiently on one hip.

“Stevens is ah...Stevens is a good kid. He wanted to play so badly he could taste it. I had a conference with his parents. They wanted him to play.” Hank shrugged. What else? Oh, yeah. “I personally spoke to his doctor who gave me his okay. Stevens is the kicker, so there’s little or no possibility of his being injured on the field.” He paused and shrugged again. “I saw no reason not to let him play.”

She pursed her lips. She had really nice lips. “Is he an exceptional player?” she asked, continuing her interrogation.

Hank shifted and ran a hand over the late afternoon stubble on his chin. “Not particularly. He’s a hell of a runner. I—”

“Let me see your hand.”

The demand caught him so off guard that he almost drew back a step. “What?”

She moved in closer and took his hand. “Did Stevens do this to you?” With a touch whisper soft, she traced the bloody bite mark on his finger.

How in the hell she aroused him by just touching his hand was beyond comprehension. “I tried to keep him from hurting himself, but I—”

“So you let him hurt you instead?” Her gaze lifted to his.

God, she smelled good. The idea that the lovely brown-eyed doctor had already betrayed him once in the span of their short acquaintance punched him in the gut.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, pulling his hand from her grasp.

“You should wash your hands thoroughly and use some antiseptic.” She studied him for a moment before turning toward the door. “Good day, Mr. Bradley.”

Hank watched her go. His frustration expanding with every step she took. Why had she gone to Masters? Would she report this incident to Masters as well? If she just didn’t like him, he would learn to live with that; but making things worse for him with Masters, Hank couldn’t tolerate. He had to know. “I have a question of my own, Dr. Jacobs.”

She paused and turned back to him. “Yes.”

Another few seconds and she would have been out the door. He shouldn’t have stopped her. But he had. There was no turning back now. Half expecting her to run, he strode to where she waited and glared down at her. He knew one sure fire way to make a person spill their guts—intimidation. He had a feeling that male aggression tripped this doctor’s trigger quicker than anything else.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you’d done?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her gaze never wavered from his, though he knew exactly how threatening he must look at the moment looming over her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back—”

“We had a deal.” He purposely kept his voice low and ominous and took a step closer. “And you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain.” She was intimidated now. He saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty...or maybe guilt.

“Mr. Bradley, you’ve evidently been out in the sun too long this afternoon. Or perhaps the incident with the Stevens boy affected you more than you realize. Whatever the case, I’m convinced you’re not thinking straight. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I’m talking,” he pressed, “about Melissa.”

“What about Melissa?” Outrage swept away all signs of uncertainty or guilt. “Your note said she was doing fine.” She nailed him with a challenging glare of her own. “I strongly recommend you get to the point of this senseless conversation before I walk out that door.”

“You took your complaint to the principal after you agreed to work things out with me.” He took yet another step, putting himself in her personal space now.

“You’ve lost your mind. I’ve never met the principal.”

“Right.” Hands on his hips, he leaned in, his face only inches from hers. His pulse raced. His body hummed with desire now rather than irritation. “I guess that’s why I got called into her office and warned that you were considering removing Melissa from my classroom.”

“The only person I said that to is you, mister.” She punctuated her statement by jabbing him in the chest with one perfectly-manicured finger.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him. His other arm curled around her waist and before he had the good sense to stop himself, he pressed his lips to hers. Then nothing else mattered. Soft and sweet. She tasted good. His heart hammered, wanting more.

Her hands flattened against his chest, he felt her feeble attempts to push away. He held her tighter, traced her lips with his tongue, testing her acceptance before plunging deeply into her hot, sweet mouth. She took him. She didn’t resist. Any good sense he had left evaporated.

She pushed against him harder now. He had to let go. But, mercy, he didn’t want to. His breath ragged and his body aching for more, he set her away from him.

He blinked. What the hell had he done? “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t believe I did that.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed and with those sweet lips still damp from their kisses. Then, without a word, she grabbed the bag she had dropped and disappeared out the door.

Hank blew out a burst of frustration. He had lost his mind. If the doc had disliked him before, she probably hated him now.

When Cynthia Masters heard about this he would be in serious trouble. As crazy as it seemed, the thought of Donna Jacobs hating him bothered Hank far more than anything Masters could do to him.

Somehow he had to find a way to make this up to the doc. The question was, would she let him?

~*~

Donna didn’t allow herself to think until she was parked safely in the clinic lot. Thinking would probably have been hazardous to her health, as well as anyone else’s who happened to be on the same street with her. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Slow, deep breaths. She was hyperventilating.

What had she done?

“Oh, God,” she groaned aloud.

She’d just kissed her daughter’s teacher. Kissed? It wasn’t just a kiss. It was hot, burning desire. Passion, stronger than she had ever experienced before. Another groan choked out as she squeezed the steering wheel tighter.

She hardly knew the man. What she did know she didn’t like. He was a jock, for Pete’s sake. They had nothing in common. She had just moved to here. This wasn’t supposed to happen for a long time yet. And when it did it was supposed to happen with a quiet, reserved man—not with some stud who thought he was still a high school heartthrob.