Love Lifted Me (12 page)

“Well, it's not a diamond necklace or a new car.”

Max laughed. “You want a new car?”

“What do you think? I love my old truck.” They'd shipped their vehicles to Texas three days ago, using one of Rebel's trucks until they flew out tomorrow.

“What is this?” Jade pulled out a legal-looking form. The word
adoption
caught her breath.

“Fill out and sign where Cara's marked. We can finish when we come home.

Either for Christmas or for good. Either way . . .”

Tears surfaced with a rush and trickled to the corner of Jades eyes, and she stretched over the table to kiss her husband. “I think I'll keep you, Max Benson.”

“For better. We've had enough of worse.”

“Are you excited, Max?”

He cracked a sporty grin. “Nervous like a cat, but yeah, excited. I love a challenge.”

“Your back's okay?” Jade had decided she was going to ask him about it if she wondered. “No temptation to go off with another woman?”

“My back is fine.” His light faded. “There is no one I want but you. Even that night—”

“Sometimes I'm going to ask, Max. I am.”

“I suppose you've earned the right.”

They chatted a bit more, then Max took Asa up to school for the last half of his school day and Jade hurried across to the Blue Umbrella. Max was working so hard to prove himself. She vowed to work harder to
see
.

“Lilla, I'm back. Do you want to go to lunch?”

Jade's faithful sidekick came out of the back, a feather duster in her hand.

“What took you so long? I'm starved.” She removed her apron and tossed it with the duster into the storeroom. “I'll get it when I come back.” She dashed out the front door and across to Mae's.

Oh, Jade was going to miss that girl. But there was no one she trusted more than Lillabeth to run the shop. Jade had hired Lilla's younger sister and one of her friends to work part-time, and Lilla had trained them and worked out a schedule.

Jade stepped into her office to put the adoption form with her bag to take home later. A business card sat on the edge of her desk. Jade scanned the dark lettering.

Landon Harcourt Financial Planner Denver, CO

Landon from Denver. Jade's pulse pushed hot, causing prickles over her skin. Asa's supposed father.

Jade ran out of the shop and dashed across Main into Mae's. A blue Taurus swerved wide to miss her.

Lillabeth sat at the counter, talking to Gypsy and watching TV. Jade dropped to the stool next to her.

“Where'd you get this?” She flashed the business card.

Lillabeth sipped her soda. “Some man stopped me in the alley, asking about you. I knew you were with
Southern Life
so I told him you weren't available.” She peered at Jade. “Why?”

“What did he say? Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just to give you his card.”

“That's it?”

“That's it, Jade. He was cute, though. Charming.” Lillabeth looked down when Gypsy set a grilled sandwich sided with fries in front of her. “Kind of full of himself, though.”

I bet
. “Did he say how long he'd be in town?” Thank goodness the McClures were out of the country.

“Hey, Jade, I have an idea. Why don't you call the number on his card and ask him.” Lillabeth smothered her fries in ketchup. “Now, if you don't mind, my show is on and I hardly ever get to see it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jade absently snatched one of Lillabeth's fries. “Take your time.”

Back in her office, Jade searched her desk for the candlelighter and walked out back to the Dumpster. Call him? She didn't know what this man wanted, but whatever it was, it didn't start with her. He'd better man up and face Max if he wanted to talk about his
supposed
son.

Rice, why didn't you think about the web you weaved?

Jade touched the candlelighter flame to the tip of the card and held it between her thumb and forefinger, letting the flame build and consume Landon Harcourt's name.

“Jade?”

She dropped the card to the pavement and snapped around. “Max, what are you doing here?”

“I left my sunglasses in the shop. Are you burning things?” Max nodded to the small pile of charcoal. “Is this some kind of ritual?”

“No ritual.” Jade shook her head. “Paper shredder is broken”—which was true—“so I thought I'd burn—”

“You know you don't have to burn them one at a time.” Max grinned with a wink. “We have a paper shredder at home. Just bring the stuff you want to shred to the house.”

“I think this is the last of it.” Jade ground the embers of the card into the ground with her heel, leaving the link to the dead woman's deceit smoldering in the alley.

Eleven

On Monday morning the third week of July, Max cut through the sun blades of Colby, Texas. The yellow daggers sliced through cumulus clouds, dividing the light and shade.

Colby High, home of the Warriors, was located on the south end of town, a straight shot from the '30s bungalow he and Jade rented on three acres just northwest of town.

The fifteen-minute drive down 23rd Street took Max through pasture and farm territory, past trailer parks and public housing, into the quaint, historic downtown where ancient foliage lined the streets. Colby Grounds Coffee Shop sat on the corner of Jones Street and 23rd. Until now, that's all he knew of this Texas town.

South of town new developments popped up on the plains. Moneyed Texans built rambling houses behind gated golfing communities.

A bend in the road, and Max saw the high school rising on the horizon. He tightened his hands on the wheel of his Mercedes.

This is it. Your big experiment is about to launch. Too late to turn back now
. But as Max neared the field house, something seemed amiss. Where was the beaten down, battered school with a failing football program?

In his mind he'd pictured a dilapidated structure with wobbly bleachers and a shed for a field house.

Instead, a pristine, massive structure rose from the prairie. The football stands looked more like a small college stadium. Fifteen-foot letters, at least, lined the top and spelled out Warrior Country.

Turning into the parking lot, Max followed Chevy's instructions to the field house. How could he miss it? An enormous Warrior, fiery spear in hand, rode a painted pony, galloping along the side of a beautiful block structure.

Confidence, don't leave me now
. Max cut the engine and stepped out, tucking his keys into his pocket. The sign over the door read Warriors Enter Here.

His footsteps echoed in the hall. His breath filled his ears. His heart strained against his ribs. Cold sweats gathered on his neck and arms. This was not the field house of a dying program. This was the field house of a faltering program looking to regain the crown. How'd they keep this thing going?

Boosters. Money. Expectation. The hall echoed with opulence. The tile glistened.

He stopped cold when he passed the room on his left. He pressed his forehead against the glass like a kid at a department store Christmas display.

Weight room. State of the art. Better than his gym back home. He scooted down to see through the window on the back wall door. Were those Jacuzzis? The signs above read Hot and Cold. When he'd played in high school, he went home after a football game and filled a baggie with ice from the freezer to rehab his tired muscles.

Next came the locker room. A wide, spacious room, white with red lockers and a gold floor. When he turned to his right, Max found the equipment room, organized, neat, and set up for fall play.

He was hyperventilating in the film center, complete with theater seating, when Chevy found him.

“Max, welcome, welcome.” Chevy strode toward him, hand extended. He wore pressed business clothes—slacks and a button-down with an open collar. He looked to be in his midforties, though his hair was completely gray. Probably from the last six years of football casualties. “What do you think? Let's get you set up in your office.”

“Chevy, this is the high school field house? Do you share it with a college? Like Texas Tech or A&M?”

The principal laughed as he opened a dark wood, windowed door and led Max into a square, spacious office that rivaled his digs at Benson Law. A glass wall gave him a full view of the field from the south end zone.

First glimpse he had of the field. Manicured. Green. Painted. Amazing like everything else.

“We hope you like it.” Chevy tapped a light wood desk complete with an iMac computer. Behind the desk was a credenza. Suspended from the corner was a flat panel screen with a Blu-ray player. “In here's your conference room for coach's meetings.”

Max peered through the door Chevy opened. Mahogany table, whiteboard, TV, Blu-ray, of course. Warrior carpeting.

Max's mind conflicted with his heart. This was . . . fantastic. This was . . . a disaster. What had he stepped into? This wasn't a poor man's program.

“Now over here”—Chevy crossed to the other side of the office, opened another dark wooden door, and flipped on a light—“is your private quarters. It's not much, but you have a bath and sofa, fridge and little reading area. One year we had a young, single coach and he just lived in here.”

“Not much? Not much,” Max finally spoke. “Chevy, this is incredible. Spectacular. I thought the program was broke, busted, on its last leg.” In all the dialog about coaching Colby High School football, Max never imagined asking about the condition of the field house—run-down, or in this case, state of the art.

“It is. Coaching-wise. But we have some very loyal, rich boosters. The field house was built eight years ago as we were coming off our winning season.

Coach Burke had retired. We had a new hotshot coach, Fin Ryan, who immediately broke every rule in the book. Out-of-season practices, practices lasting too long, cheating, lying, steroids. We got nabbed on that one by the state.

Seems we never recovered. The athletic director's looked high and low for our next Coach Burke.”

“Steroids?”

“Ryan wanted to best Coach Burke's legacy. I think he felt pressured by some of the boosters. Took things too far. Lost our bid in pre- and postseason games as part of our sanction for three years. Can't win a championship if you're not allowed to play.”

“Chevy, this is not the picture you painted for me when you asked me to come.”

“If I told you, would you have come?”

“I-I don't know. Maybe.” Max moved to the middle of his office. A leather, L-shaped sofa hugged the far wall. He imagined briefly it being a fun place to chat with the boys or coaches after practice. “I thought I was coming to help a poor school, a financially broke program.”

“Well, we are poor in some senses, Max. Poor in leadership. Poor in coaching. Poor in our program integrity and skill. Last coach we had fielded a bunch of brutes.”

“W-what about the A.D.? Isn't it his or her job to keep the coaches in line?”

“He says he did. You'll meet him in a minute as well as your assistants and a few key boosters.” Chevy took a leisurely seat on the sofa. “Well? Did you see the film room when you came in? You can get the whole team in there. All your keys are in your desk. Do you know how to use a Mac?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Max stepped to his desk, opening the drawer to see the keys.

“You have four assistant coaches. And an equipment manager. The Warriors still have an excellent booster program. With the recent slump in our football program, a lot of dollars have gone over to basketball, softball, and baseball. But I have their commitment to support you, Max. If you need anything, you let me know.” Chevy checked his watch. “Let's go to the film room. We're meeting everyone in there.”

Stunned didn't quite describe how Max felt. Overwhelmed. Deceived. Terrified. Those were good descriptions. Chevy led Max across the hall. The film room reminded Max of the Benson Law media center with its mounted screen and plush seating.

This couldn't all be from generous boosters. Max remained in the back, knots pulling taut in his belly.
What's the real reason you haven't been able to keep a coach, Chevy?

“Max, welcome to Texas football. Come on, sit down. Don't look so distressed.”

Lord, what have I done?
Max eased down the aisle. “Chevy, any coach with experience or ambition would walk across the prairie barefoot for a chance at a place like this.”

“I'm not interested in coaches who are bedazzled by the facilities. That's why I didn't really bring it up. You were willing to come without knowing. Big points in my book.” Chevy turned on another set of lights. “I'm working on making this a prep school, Max. I need kids with academics and athletics. I don't mind starting over a football program with a green coach. I started over basketball two years ago and we won our first regional this spring. The kids are excelling on and off the court. I want that from you for this football program. I read up on you. Tenth in your law class. Graduated with honors from Duke and Duke Law. Lots of pro bono work. Other than your . . .
problem
, which I talked with Axel about, you are the best candidate for what I want.”