Going Cowboy Crazy (17 page)

“Austin?”

He turned away from the field. “Hey. You kill anyone today?”

She grinned as she took a seat next to Shirlene. “Almost, but Slate took my gun away.”

“Just another reason to dislike him.”

“Who’s that?” Shirlene asked.

“Austin,” Faith called. “This is Shirlene….” She paused when she realized she didn’t know the woman’s last name.

“Dalton,” Shirlene supplied. “I’m pleased to meet you, Austin. How come you’re not playing ball?”

“Dalton of Dalton Oil?” Austin asked.

“That would be my husband.”

“Geez, you must be rolling in it.”

She flashed her signature smile. “Pretty much. So answer the question, why aren’t you playing?”

“Personality conflict.” He turned away as if the conversation was over.

Faith followed his gaze to the field where young men in football gear were practicing. It didn’t take her long to pick out Slate. With the sun turning his hair a burnished gold, he was hard to miss.

“So how did you meet that kid?” Shirlene asked.

“I almost ran him over with Slate’s monster truck.”

“You mean Bubba’s truck?”

“Who?” Faith glanced over at her.

“Are we talking about the honkin’ big truck with all the stupid bumper stickers?”

Faith nodded.

“Yeah, that’s Bubba Wilkes’s truck. He showed up here a few years back to do some hunting, and I guess he liked it so much he decided to invest in some real estate.” She snorted. “As if anyone but a redneck would want to vacation in Bramble. Anyway, I guess Bubba loaned the truck to Slate so he could haul materials out to the house he’s building.”

“Slate is building a house?”

Shirlene pulled her gaze away from the field. “Don’t tell me you think Slate lives in that beat-up trailer Bubba uses as a hunting lodge.” When Faith only stared back at her, she laughed. “And you still liked him? Man, you have
been bitten by the Calhoun bug.” She shook her head. “No, Slate is only staying there until his house gets finished.”

The news she hadn’t slept with an arrogant redneck should’ve made Faith happy. Instead she was furious. Not only had Slate lied about his relationship with her sister, but he’d also lied about his truck and his home. And if he’d lied about those things, there was no telling what else he’d lied about.

She looked around the huge stadium. “I guess Bramble pays their coaches pretty well?”

Shirlene looked offended. “Of course we do. This is Texas, honey.”

Faith’s gaze narrowed on Slate as he walked across the field. Obviously, the man had no honor whatsoever. She watched as he leaned down to scoop up a football and toss it back to one of the players. He had no honor, but in jeans and a polo shirt with the wind ruffling his sun-kissed hair, he had sex appeal in abundance. Yes, she had been bitten by the Calhoun bug, but she would get over it. For now, all she could do was sit there and try not to scratch.

“Damn you, Slate. Coach that kid,” Shirlene said, extremely interested in what was taking place on the field. To Faith, it looked like mass confusion.

“What’s he doing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Shirlene grumbled. “That’s the problem. He’s been coaching for four years, and in all that time, I’ve never once seen him communicate with a kid. He comes up with the plays, and he enforces the stupid rules, but he has no relationship with his team. None at all.” She chewed on her thumbnail. “If he doesn’t make the play-offs this year, he’s gone. I don’t care if he is the golden boy of Bramble. Lyle won’t have a losing team.”

“Lyle owns the team?”

“Honey, Lyle owns most of this town.”

It didn’t make any sense to Faith, but there wasn’t much in Bramble that did, including Shirlene’s enthusiasm for football. If she wasn’t yelling at Slate, she was yelling at another coach or one of the players. While she ranted, Faith sat quietly and tried to keep her gaze from wandering back to Slate. She failed miserably.

Needing a distraction, she turned her attention to Austin, who watched the mass confusion of flying balls and smacking shoulder pads with such longing that she couldn’t help but get up and walk along the bleachers to where he sat.

Sitting down next to him, she stared at the field for a few minutes before she spoke. “You know, sometimes people change their minds.”

“About what?” Austin looked over at her from beneath the bill of his hat.

“I’m sure Slate would consider taking you back—that’s if he thought your attitude had improved.”

“It hasn’t.”

“Okay. I was just making sure you weren’t cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

“Funny,” he grumbled.

“Come on!” Shirlene called as she headed down the bleachers. “I’ve had enough torture for one day.”

Faith got up. “You need a ride home, or do you intend to sit here all night and wallow in self-pity?”

A grin cracked his face. “A ride would be good, although the self-pity was kind of fun.”

She swatted the bill of his cap. “Come on, smart butt, before Shirlene leaves us.” She trotted down the stairs,
but was easily overtaken by Austin as he agilely took the bleachers. At the tinny thump of his feet against the aluminum, the girls looked over. One, a pretty brunette with wide blue eyes, smiled and waved. Austin blushed.

“Girlfriend?” Faith teased.

“No.” He drew out the word even as his gaze flickered back to the girl.

When they reached the bottom, Shirlene was nowhere in sight, but Slate was. He’d moved from the other side of the field and stood on the black shiny asphalt of the track. A stopwatch hung around his neck, and he held a clipboard as he listened to one of his coaches.

It hadn’t been easy to ignore him from thirty bleachers up—only yards away, it was impossible. Especially when those deep hazel eyes stared back at her with an intensity that took her breath away. Her heart did a crazy little flip, and her stomach tightened with an uncontrollable longing to run her fingers through his wind-ruffled hair and press her lips to the hollow spot at the base of his tanned throat.

Instead, she turned and walked away.

“Man,” Austin said when he caught up with her. “You really do hate him.”

Hate him? No, she didn’t hate Slate. The feelings that assaulted her body weren’t even close to hate. Which was exactly why she needed to stay away from him.

Worried that Shirlene was still slightly tipsy, Faith drove Shirlene’s Navigator out to the house Austin shared with his mother and grandparents. It didn’t take long, but it was long enough for him and Shirlene to get into a heated discussion about Bramble High football. By the time they pulled up in front of the well-tended little farmhouse, Faith was concerned they might come to blows.

“I think you’re wrong. The offensive line is big enough; they just don’t have the right kind of motivation,” Shirlene leaned around the front bucket passenger’s seat and looked in the back at Austin.

“Motivation?” Austin snorted. “And who’s going to motivate them? Not that slow-witted senior they have for a quarterback.”

“Jared isn’t slow-witted as much as slow-footed. That boy couldn’t get out of the pocket if his life depended on it—which it does since the line won’t protect him. But still, he’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Did you see the game on Friday? It was his two intercepted passes that won the game for Plainsville. He’s telegraphing his passes like a billboard in Times Square.”

Shirlene’s eyes narrowed. “What position did you say you played back in Iowa?”

“I didn’t.”

“Quarterback,” Faith supplied, proud that she was finally able to enter the conversation.

“Quarterback?” Shirlene almost jumped out of her seat. “Varsity?”

“Look, I need to go.”

Austin got out, but not in time to beat Shirlene. She jumped in front of him before he could even slam his door. Worried she was about to do bodily harm to the kid, Faith hopped out and hurried around the front of the SUV.

“I assume Slate knows this,” Shirlene asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and smirked at her.

“And are you any good?”

Austin only raised his eyebrows, which made Shirlene let out a whoop and fist-pump the air.

“Hot damn!” She did a little dance that had Faith laughing but Austin scowling.

“It doesn’t matter,” Austin grumbled as he hooked his backpack over his shoulder. “I’m not playing for Coach.”

The smile died on Shirlene’s face. “You’re right. Slate can be pretty muleheaded when it comes to his rules. And if he kicked you off the team, then he’ll have to be the one to let you back on.” She chewed on a nail for a few seconds before her eyes lit up. “But maybe if you were to apologize…”

“Not a chance.” He started for the porch.

“Oh, come on.” She hurried after him. “How else can we get into the play-offs?”

“Not my problem.” He took two porch steps before Shirlene grabbed his T-shirt.

“Not your problem? But it’s your school.”

Austin jerked away. “My school is back in Iowa.” The front door slammed closed before Shirlene could finish her argument.

“Pigheaded people,” she fumed on her way back to the car. “I am surrounded by pigheaded people.” She circled around to the driver’s side. When Faith shot her a questioning look, she lifted her hand. “Believe me, I’m sober.”

“I assume I’m included in the pigheaded group,” Faith said as she climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“Actually, since the margaritas, you’ve gotten a little better. Not completely, but some.” Shirlene shook her head. “No, I was referring to Slate and that stubborn kid.”

“And you really think he’ll make a difference in the team?”

“I don’t know, but anything’s worth a try.” She glanced over her shoulder as she backed out of the dirt driveway. “Now if we can only figure out a way to get him back on it.”

“Austin isn’t going to apologize.”

“I can see that.” Shirlene clicked her bright red nails on the steering wheel as they drove along the dirt road. “So maybe we can get Slate to give in.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. Slate seems like a pretty easygoing guy.”

“Not about football.” Shirlene stopped at a stop sign before turning right onto the highway.

“I thought your house was that way.” Faith pointed in the opposite direction.

“It is, but we’re not going home just yet.”

“But I thought we had to get back for supper?”

“That was just to get out of the meeting. Tonight is half-off Ladies’ Night at Boot’s.”

Faith shook her head. “Oh no. No more margaritas for me—or you.”

“You’re right, but we’re not going there to drink, Faith. We’re going there to Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

Faith didn’t have a clue what that was, but it didn’t sound good.

D
AMN CRAZY WOMAN.

Slate wanted to toss down his clipboard and cuss a blue streak as he watched Faith’s little blue-jeaned butt sway out of sight. But he didn’t. Losing his temper only made things worse, something he had learned early in life when his adolescent tantrums had gotten him dumped off in Bramble. It didn’t take long to figure out that if he wanted to stay someplace, he needed to control himself. It was a lesson he learned well.

Almost too well.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really lost it. There were a few moments he’d wanted to. Like when his uncle had died, and when he hadn’t been drafted by the NFL. But those moments had been few and far between. Besides an inept football team, his life here in Bramble was calm and uneventful. At least, it had been up until the last few days. Now, every time he turned around, something else was pissing him off—the town refusing to listen to reason—Jenna and Burl giving up their own daughter—Faith looking straight through him as if he wasn’t even there.

Usually he could hide his anger behind a confident smile. But damned if he could smile when the crazy woman wouldn’t even acknowledge him.

Slate shifted the clipboard to his other hand and tried to concentrate on what his offensive coach was saying, but it wasn’t easy. Not when his mind kept returning to Faith.

In the last twelve hours, she’d turned into some kind of a chameleon. Where was the woman who looked up at him with big, blue, adoring eyes, the woman that melted into his kisses and went along with all his sexual suggestions? Where did that woman go? First, she tore his heart out by looking all weepy-eyed and crushed over her mama giving her away, and then she’d walked out of the trailer looking like some kind of cowgirl warrior with that huge bag flung over her shoulder and her hair all spiked. A woman who had no qualms about running him over with Bubba’s truck, or threatening a law enforcement officer with a gun, or walking fifty miles, or sitting up there in the stands as if it was something she’d done every day of her life.

He’d almost lost it when he looked up and saw her laughing with Shirlene. Not his temper, but something else entirely. His stomach did a weird little somersault, and he had the overwhelming desire to run up those stairs, yank her into his arms, and kiss the daylights right out of her.