Hill Country Hero (7 page)

Shortly after breakfast, Jake and Greg took last night’s wannabe car thieves out for a ditch-digging tutorial. It was hot and humid and the mosquitoes were in fine form. The kids were going to be miserable, CiCi thought as she watched from the shade and comfort of the porch. She was torn between feeling sorry for them and wondering if Jake was right. Perhaps hard work was exactly what they needed.

But what did she need? She pondered that question while sipping her coffee. Floundering around at eighteen was one thing, but doing it at thirty-two was ridiculous.

Enough introspection; there was work to be done. Although she was tempted to watch the chain gang, she’d leave it under Jake’s supervision—at least this time. There was more to managing a camp this size than volleyball games, campfires and picnics.

Ordering supplies was high on her To-Do list, but that didn’t necessarily require her to stay in the office. CiCi went inside just long enough to grab the cordless phone and Cookie’s list of groceries, then went back out on the porch to conduct her business.

The program at Camp Touchdown was more extensive than just sports and crafts. Academic subjects weren’t a high priority for most of these kids, so Texas Bob had hired a team
of educators to create a curriculum that would make learning fun.

Every morning the classes included a variety of scholastic pursuits, including drama, literature, botany and life sciences. Kids went about collecting insects with a single-minded pursuit that was usually found only in a scavenger hunt. Math was taught by playing poker. And who could forget Shakespeare done with a Texas twang.

The afternoons were dedicated to strenuous activities guaranteed to make the little buggers tired. And today, even Rondelle and his buddies had been released from the chain gang long enough to participate in the softball tourney.

Later that afternoon CiCi was sitting in the bleachers watching the teams play. As hard as she tried, though, she couldn’t keep her eyes off Jake. Imagine that?

He was deep in discussion with a nubile young lady named Heather who was the coach of the other team. CiCi realized this was purely professional but that didn’t ease the yucky feeling she got when said nubile-ite rested her hand possessively on Jake’s back.

CiCi knew better than to trust a man who had access to Sharpie-toting women wanting their boobs autographed.

Okay—she’d truly crossed the abyss to lunacy.

She needed to calm down. He wasn’t Tank, and as long as he wasn’t consorting with the college staff, whatever he did was his own business.

Sounds of “You Ain’t Nuthin’ But a Hound Dog” came from deep in her cargo pants’ pocket. That was Mac’s ring. Her sister normally wouldn’t call in the middle of the day so this had to be important.

“What’s up?” CiCi asked as she answered.

“You’ll never believe this!”

CiCi pulled the phone back from her ear. Mac was loud when she got excited. “What?”

“I had a date with Cole Benavides.”

It took a moment for CiCi to comprehend exactly what her sister said, but when she did she almost had a seizure.

“What! Wait, wait, please tell me you didn’t say that!” Cole Benavides was the Road Runners’ quarterback! What worm had burrowed into Mac’s brain?

“I did.” She paused. “It wasn’t really a date. We met at Starbucks for coffee. I like him.” Mac giggled.

Good heavens! Hadn’t Mac learned anything from her divorce? Why would she put herself through that kind of grief again? Cole Benavides was the NFL’s answer to Brad Pitt. Blond, athletic, charismatic and handsome as sin—he was a heartbreak waiting to happen, and absolutely the last per son in the world Mac should get involved with.

“Why are you so quiet?”

What could CiCi say? Other than “are you out of your mind?” As tempting as that was, she couldn’t bring her self to be that blunt, so she went with something a little more benign.

“Sweetie, I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but you really have to be careful. Guys like Cole Benavides eat people like you for a snack.”

There was a pause before Mac let her have it with both barrels. “I hate to tell you this,
sister dearest,
but I’m a grown woman. And I can decide who to see. So considering that I’m really irritated with you right now, I think I’ll hang up.”

CiCi stared at the phone, hoping her sister would call back, but no such luck.

Life hadn’t been easy for Mac and Molly since her sleazy husband left her for his massage therapist. In their more lighthearted moments, CiCi and Mac had laughed at the cliché.

Professional athletes in almost all sports lived in a heady environment. Millions of kids dreamed of going pro but only a tiny percentage ever made it, and those who did faced a
unique challenge. Could they keep their priorities straight de spite the money, adulation and fame? Tank had succumbed to an adulterous affair, as had Mac’s husband. What about Jake? Did he have his head on right? She didn’t know him well enough to answer that question.

That was a hurdle they’d never be able to get over. She’d known too many athletes who’d lost sight of common sense to ever get involved with another one.

It had been a long, hot, sweaty day and Jake was on his way back to the cabin for a cool shower. Amazingly, Camp Touchdown was growing on him. He’d only been there a couple of days and he was already getting used to the smell of newly mown grass, the sound of the cicadas nestled in the live oaks and the nonstop teenage noise.

Overall, Jake was content—that is, until he thought about CiCi Hurst. He’d dated some of the most beautiful women in Texas, but something about her appealed to him on a deeper level than “wow, she’s a hottie.”

Unfortunately, the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. Her reaction to his kiss made that quite clear. Why did she have such a low opinion of him? Heck, he could get dozens of people to testify that he was one of the good guys. Even his ex-girlfriends (Brenda excluded) liked him. So what was with CiCi Hurst? Women—you couldn’t live ’em and you sure as shootin’ couldn’t live without ’em.

Since he didn’t have a hope in hell of deciphering her thought process, Jake decided to press on to a subject that was more comprehensible—kids. Watching the campers let down their defenses and just be kids was pretty cool.

And if his being here made a difference in even one life, it might just would be worth the cramped quarters, cranky shower and interminable humidity. But that didn’t mean he
intended to get involved in their lives. Kids like Rondelle and crew were incredibly needy, and like Darrell and Dwayne they would suck the life blood out of him if he’d let them.

Jake was about to strip down to jump in the shower when he heard a racket.

“Jake! Jake, open the door!” CiCi was pounding on the cabin door as if there was no tomorrow. “I need your help.”

This time he remembered to zip his jeans before unlatching the screen. “What’s wrong?”

“Jennifer, one of the counselors, is in Spiceville and she just called to say that some of our kids are at a pool hall/kid hangout. They’re about to get in a fight with the townies.”

“Which kids?” Jake asked, even though he’d bet his last dollar he knew exactly who was heading up the pack. “Is it Rondelle and his buddies?” He truly wanted to throttle that kid. CiCi nodded.

“How did the little jerk have the energy to get in trouble after digging ditches and playing ball all day?” She shrugged.

Chip, the head counselor of the boys’ dorm, sprinted up. “There are five missing campers. Rondelle, Javier, Schultz, Timmy Smith and Shawn. One of the kids said they planned to hitchhike into town to get a beer.”

“Terrific,” Jake muttered. “They’re drinking under age and have probably been mouthing off to the locals. Those idiots have mush for brains.”

“Do we have a vehicle big enough to bring them all home in?” CiCi addressed her question to Chip.

“Just the gardener’s truck. We could load them in the back and hope someone doesn’t fall out.”

That was neither optimal nor safe—and it definitely wasn’t legal—but desperate times called for desperate measures. And keeping the kids from getting beat up trumped everything.

“Why don’t you go get the truck and we’ll head in to town to retrieve them.”

“Yes, ma’am, as good as done.” Chip sprinted off toward the employees’ cabins.

It took almost fifteen minutes for Chip to show up, driving the junker from hell. There was a huge wooden box fixed to the middle of the bench seat, leaving room for only two people to sit—and guess what, there were three of them.

Jake got a suspicious, sexy gleam in his eye. “Looks like you’re gonna have to get real cozy with me.”

Not likely! But what was her other choice? It was either sit on Jake’s lap or share the back with a load of lawn equipment. And would it be all that terrible to get up close and personal with Jake Culpepper?

“I can sit on the edge of the seat,” CiCi said, thinking that was a viable alternative. She didn’t count on the fact that a 260-pound male filled up more than his share of space.

Jake got in the truck and patted his lap. “Come on, I won’t bite.”

That part was debatable. She’d sit very lightly. It wasn’t that far into town. But when they finally made it to the city limits, her arms ached from gripping the dash. And to make matters worse every time she slid back onto his lap, she felt him chuckle.

“There. I think that’s the place.” CiCi pointed at a ramshackle building in the middle of a parking lot. It was surrounded by muscle cars, old rattle-traps and pickups with rifle racks. The flickering neon sign announced that this was the home of the Texas Ten-Ball Video and Billiard Emporium.

“Oh, my God.” There was no telling what they were going to find. CiCi hoped to goodness it wouldn’t involve flashing lights and badges. She was about to ask Jake what he thought when he unceremoniously slid out from under her and jerked the door open.

He was out of the truck and halfway across the pavement before the vehicle came to a stop. CiCi was right behind him. She had obviously missed something important. Then she saw what had grabbed his attention.

The ring of teens partially obscured her view, but she instinctively knew that Rondelle was at the heart of the altercation. The man who was about to pummel him had an advantage of at least ten years and fifty pounds.

CiCi pulled out her cell, ready to call 911. Then the crowd spied Jake and parted like the Red Sea.

“What’s happenin’ here?” he drawled in a quiet but dangerous tone as he stepped between Rondelle and his opponent. The smart guys hightailed it to their cars when he’d put on his “take no prisoners” voice. Even CiCi was tempted to back up.

“I really don’t think you want to find out what happens when you assault a kid, now do you?” He spoke so softly even the crickets had stopped chirping to listen. “So why don’t you, and whoever’s left of your buddies, call it a night and go on home.” Jake backed the redneck up until he was at least ten feet from Rondelle.

In an obvious effort to save face, the man uttered an expletive and stomped off.

Jake waited until the guy was in his pickup before he turned his glare on Rondelle. “You—” he stabbed a finger at the teen’s chest “—and your friends get in the truck. We’ll deal with you when we get back to camp.”

Rondelle’s dejected little gang practically tripped over their own feet in their race to the truck.

“I’
M NOT SURE
what to do next. Digging ditches obviously didn’t work,” CiCi said.

She, Jake, Greg and Chip were in the kitchen, eating cookies and contemplating their next move. Sugar Plum was
trolling the area for crumbs, while the ragtag band of ne’er-do-wells awaited their fate in the dining room—sans Oreos. Personally, Jake was ready to put them on a diet of bread and water.

“If someone would write an owner’s manual on teenagers they’d make a fortune. Studying this stuff at school is one thing—living it is something else.” CiCi looked as dejected as Jake felt.

“It’s especially tough when you’re dealing with the kind of boys we have here,” Jake said as he made a pot of coffee. “Most of them have had a hard life, and they’re desperately looking for structure and role models.” He wasn’t sure why he was willing to share this observation, but there it was. “The problem is they don’t know how to accept it when that’s offered to them.”

When the coffee gurgled, he stuck a cup under the stream of liquid. “You look like you could use this.” He handed CiCi the mug and sat down. “You guys want some?” he asked Chip and Greg, who declined. “Okay, here’s my suggestion. I think we should continue with the ditch digging and not make a huge deal out of this. Believe it or not, I think they can be trustworthy if they know what’s expected. At the moment, they’re testing us, seeing how far we’ll let them push the limits. So, we give them very specific rules and tell them exactly what will happen if they misbehave again. Three strikes and they’re out, if you want to use sports terminology. Then we sit back and hope to God it works. I really don’t think any of them are anxious to go home.”

C
I
C
I COULDN’T BELIEVE
her ears. Somewhere along the way, Mr. Grump had turned into an expert on dysfunctional adolescents. So he had a Chippendale body, a nice personality
and
intelligence. That was effen’ fantastic. She really didn’t want to like him but he was making it impossible not to. And
as far as dealing with the kids went, she didn’t have a better suggestion.

Every time CiCi thought she had Jake figured out, he did something unexpected. And then there was that kiss. Her reaction to that was embarrassing beyond words.

“Since I don’t have another plan, I’m willing to give it a try,” she said, hoping he couldn’t tell where her mind had wandered. “What do you guys think?” She looked to the counselors for their input.

“It’s worth a try,” Greg said.

Chip merely nodded.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“Are you
positive
you’re okay with this idea?” Jake asked.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.” CiCi was right behind him when he marched into the dining room to confront Rondelle and his friends.

“Okay, guys, here’s the deal—we’re going to call this your second strike. That means if there’s any more trouble, you’re on your way back to Houston. You don’t pass Go, you don’t collect two hundred smackers, nothing. You’re outta here.”

Jake stared at each teen in turn, praying his words would have an effect. He looked to CiCi for confirmation.

“That’s right,” she said. “One more incident and you’re toast.”

Javier, Schulz, Timmy Smith and Shawn all turned to Rondelle for guidance. They were doing the teenage sheep routine that Jake remembered all too well.

Rondelle gave his co-conspirators a barely perceptible nod. “Okay, dude. You’re the man. We won’t get in no more trouble.”

“Good. I’m going to hold you to it.” Jake held his hand out for the unique handshake indigenous to the projects.

Rondelle nodded again and his friends lined up to shake hands.

Jake hoped he was giving them something they’d been missing, and that was trust. Too bad that was easier said than done.