The Back-Up Plan Read online

  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 k
new 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.

  The man represented everything she despised. Too good-looking. Too self-confident. Too domineering. She didn’t want him.

  She did not want him.

  Oh, God, but she did.

  She did. Rather than slapping his handsome face for daring such a bold move, every fiber of her being had reacted to him…had melted into him. For the first time in almost six years, Donna wanted to have wild, mind-bending sex.

  She groaned.

  A loud tap rattled the window next to her ear. Her breath caught in her throat as she jerked her head up and around. Patty peered at her through the glass.

  “Are you okay?”

  Taking a moment to compose herself, Donna made a production of checking to see that she had everything before she opened the car door.

  “What’s wrong?” Patty stared at her as if she wore a sign that read Wicked Mommy.

  “Nothing.” Donna shouldered past her. “I’m fine. Just tired.” She felt Patty’s eyes on her back as she entered the clinic. She took her bag to her office and busied herself with checking the setup for patient files. A setup that had already been checked and rechecked.

  Patty stood in the doorway, wordless, but watchful. Donna would just have to think of something to tell her. But what? That she and the Coach had been making out in the field house? Donna had sworn she would never make this kind of mistake again. And look at her. Hands trembling, knees weak. She was a mess. She slammed the file drawer shut.

  “What?” Donna demanded, trying to look innocent.

  “Nothing.” Patty lifted a disinterested shoulder. “I just wondered how the emergency at the school turned out. I thought by the way you were acting that maybe somebody died.”

  Donna exhaled in self-disgust. That should have been the first thing she told Patty the moment she got out of the car. Deception wasn’t one of her strong points. Otherwise she’d still be partnered with one of Denver’s top physicians—except he was now fighting to stay out of jail.

  “Chip Stevens hadn’t been taking his medication properly. He had a seizure which scared the life out of his teammates, but he’s fine.” The only thing, Donna thought with remorse, that died this afternoon was any hope of self-respect she might ever have.

  “How did Hank handle the situation?” Patty eyed her with growing suspicion.

  “He was concerned, of course.” Donna turned her palms up and gave Patty an exaggerated shrug. “He...he did a good job handling the situation.”

  Patty nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

  “You know,” Donna grabbed her purse, “I think I’ll call it a day.” She shot her sister a feigned smile. “I’ve got lots to do at home.” Patty stepped aside to let her pass. They exchanged stiff good-byes and Donna flew out of the clinic, leaving her sister to lock up.

  She replayed the field house scene over and over in her mind as she drove home. Her excuse being that she needed to understand where she’d gone wrong. The truth was she couldn't remember the last time she’d really been kissed by a man. Since the breakup with Melissa’s father she’d hardly dated. Being celibate the last few years hadn’t been too difficult. At least not until now, anyway.

  Why had she reacted so completely out of character to Hank Bradley? She never fixated on a man’s looks. Not that she had dated ugly men, there just hadn’t ever been anyone who looked quite like Hank. Not even Melissa’s father. That was a subject she would not allow herself to ponder. Thinking about Hank would be safer for her mental well-being, or would it?

  The thought of his strong arms around her. The feel of his hard body against her. His lips, demanding yet gentle, had set her on fire. Her nipples tightened at the memory of his sensuous kiss. How on earth would she ever face the man come t
omorrow?

  She wouldn’t face him. That was the answer. Tomorrow Donna would simply send Melissa to school with Patty and her girls. That would give her until Monday to recover.

  Monday was three whole days away.

  Plenty of time to put her impetuous behavior behind her.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday morning Hank plopped three one-gallon cans of blue paint on the floor of his classroom. Yes sir, he glanced around the big, quiet room, blue would be a vast improvement. No matter how he looked at it, yellow just didn’t cut it.

  Tired muscles complained loudly as he slid a table to the center of the room in preparation for the painting. After tossing and turning for hours both nights, he’d finally gotten out of bed and trudged down to his basement and the personal gym he’d designed just to torture himself. Despite pushing himself to the point of total exhaustion sleep still would not come. The endless hours before dawn had inched by at a snail’s pace with Hank rehashing the act of stupidly disguised as passion he desperately wished he could take back. But he couldn’t.

  He pushed another table to the center of the room. He’d just have to live with it. Just like all the other stupid mistakes he had made in his life. Throwing away his big chance as a sports commentator after the knee injury being at the top of that list. Hank could have been another Mike Ditka. What was done was done. No point brooding over lost yards.

  Showing again just how hopeless this infatuation with the doc was, he stood in the middle of the room and considered that the kiss he’d laid on her hadn’t felt like a mistake. And it sure as hell hadn’t felt stupid. He rubbed his unshaven chin. Might not have been the brightest move he’d ever made.

  “Stop with the obsessing,” he muttered. The only real relief he’d gotten from his obsessive thoughts came during the season’s first football game last night. Coaching the team had taken all his attention for the duration of the game.

  The Hornets walked away with an easy victory. A disappointed Stevens spent the game on the bench. Even after the alternate kicker managed to miss his first attempt at a field goal, Hank stood by his decision not to let Stevens participate. He hoped keeping the bench warm would help him remember to take his medication as prescribed.