The Back-Up Plan Page 6

  “Well, well. Such conscientiousness.”

  Hank wheeled to face the sound that had him cringing as if somebody had scrapped their nails across the blackboard. The wicked witch of the west stood in his doorway. A shudder of revulsion churned the three cups of coffee he’d downed this morning. What did she want?

  Cynthia Masters crossed her arms under her skillfully displayed boobs and moved stealthily toward him like a cat cornering her prey. “If it were anyone but you, Coach, I would be impressed.”

  He bristled as she neared him. “What can I do for you, Ms. Masters?”

  Hungry eyes moved from his worn jeans to the ragged gray tee-shirt he should have thrown away years ago. Every aching muscle in his body braced for fight or flight.

  “Tell me about the incident on the ball field Thursday afternoon.” Like a buzzard, she circled once before stopping directly in front of him.

  Damn. He’d hoped she wouldn’t hear about Stevens’ seizure, at least not this soon, anyway. “It was nothing serious. Stevens forgot to take his medication. He’s fine.”

  “Nothing serious you say?” A scathing green gaze fixed on his. “So much nothing that you had to call the new doctor.”

  God, she made him crazy. When he could stomach it no longer, he turned and strode over to the waiting paint. He picked up a can and set it on the work table. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away. He’d never hated anyone in his life, but he hated her. She rode him constantly. Nothing he did was right. If this had happened to any of the other coaches, she wouldn’t even have noticed.

  “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell me the rest of the story?” Annoyance flared in her superior tone as she glided across the room and planted herself right next to him. Cynthia Masters did not like to be ignored.

  “Yes.” He dropped the paint lid he’d pried off onto the table and turned to look her square in the eyes. “I called the doctor. I thought it best to be certain the boy was okay.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets. Wringing her neck was too tempting to leave his hands free.

  “Why would you let a kid like that on the team?” Her hands on her hips now, she had gone into her I’m-the-boss mode. “He’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

  Hank tamped down his immediate reaction. She wasn’t going to get to him today. It was Saturday. “I’ve already made Stevens sit out a game for his carelessness. There’s no need to take any further action. Stevens is at no more risk than any other player on the team.”

  “And when did you become a specialist on the subject, Coach?”

  “I did my research, Ms. Masters,” Hank snapped, before he could catch himself. “I spoke with his parents and his personal physician, all of whom approved his placement on the team.” Dread joined the anger mounting inside him. This was not good. He didn’t want to hear what he knew was coming next.

  “I want that kid off the team as of this moment.”

  “There’s no need to do that. Stevens is as fit—”

  “End of discussion.” She squared her shoulders and tossed him a look that dared him to challenge her supremacy.

  And he did. “I won’t take him off the team.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bradley, you will do exactly that,” she returned with a defiant smile.

  Hank faced her, his hands digging into his own hips now. “I’m the coach, and I have the final say as to who plays.”

  Masters snorted a laugh. “Do you really believe that?”

  Barely restraining his anger, he tried one last time to reason with her. “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t know why he tried appealing to a sense of decency he knew didn’t exist. “You’d punish that kid just to get back at me?”

  “You had your chance to be a team player, but you screwed it up.” A blood-red nail traced the outline of his rigid jaw. He flinched. “You dropped the ball. Didn’t you, Coach?”

  Fury swept through Hank like flood waters rushing over a low-lying bridge. He shook his head slowly from side to side and pinned her with a threatening glare. “I’m willing to take a lot of crap from you, but I won’t let you do this.”

  As big as he was...as close as he was...as angry as he was, the woman was too stupid to be intimidated. A venomous smile slid across the face he had grown to despise.

  “And just how would you propose to stop me?”

  Hank ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to calm his runaway emotions. If he opened his mouth to respond to that they both would likely regret it.

  “I suppose I could be persuaded to reconsider.” She eased closer.

  “Stay away from me.” He backed away, holding his hands up stop-sign fashion. “Just stay away.” He had to get out of here.

  He stalked out of the room and down the hall, praying she was too smart to follow.

  Bursting through the double exit doors into the bright sunlight, he drew in a big, deep breath. The morning sun felt good on the taut muscles of his face. He braced himself against the shudder that threatened and fought to steady his breathing. She almost pushed him too far this time.

  If Cynthia Masters were a man, she would be picking herself up off the floor right now. But she wasn’t a man, she was a woman—his boss. And he would just have to deal with it. If he could only hold out until this term was over, she would be gone. She would have her fancy job at state, and Hank would have peace. But, at this rate, he would probably be out of his mind by Christmas.

  The important thing right now was protecting Stevens. One way or another Hank had to make sure Masters found no grounds to force him to drop the kid from the team.

  ~*~

  Sun filtered through the kitchen window and spilled across the table. Enthralled by the play of light, Donna savored her morning coffee. The quiet was soothing. Gave her a few minutes to plan out her day. Melissa hadn’t come downstairs yet. Maybe she would entertain herself until Patty arrived. Patty planned to take Melissa along with her girls shopping for the day. Not having a five-year-old underfoot would certainly make getting some of this painting done a lot easier.

  Scanning the faded pink walls and dingy white cabinets, the kitchen was clearly the place to start. Lucky for her budget, a lot of scrubbing and painting would whip this old house into an acceptable condition in no time at all. Patty and Sam had already refurbished the exterior as a housewarming gift. They’d offered to do more but they’d already done too much.

  Donna sighed as she surveyed her check register and dwindling bank balance. Most everything she had raked and scraped over the past few years had gone into buying and updating the clinic. Despite her sister’s objections, she insisted on paying rent on this house until she could afford a down payment for an official mortgage.

  For now she and Melissa were okay. She prayed the clinic would be a success.

  “An overnight success would be nice,” she declared to the big, empty kitchen as she pushed away from the table. But she knew better than to hope for that kind of return on her investment.

  Donna tossed her reconciled bank statement into a drawer and deposited her empty cup into the chipped porcelain sink. It would take time to build a patient list, and time was her enemy. Staying afloat until business grew steady would require some very skilled financial maneuvering and more luck than she had ever been known to possess in the past.

  Case in point, the Denver debacle. She’d barely come out of that federal investigation with her license intact. Her idiot partner had committed insurance fraud over and over for the past two years. When that hadn’t been enough to sustain his preferred lifestyle, he’d started over-prescribing pain medication to patients. Donna had missed the insurance issues, but she’d caught him red-handed in the drug scandal. He’d taken off one too many afternoons to play racquetball or golf, leaving her with his patients as well as her own. The need to flex those jock muscles was his downfall.

  The hardest part for Donna was the stain it had left on her name. Though she was completely innocent in the charges, no one wanted her joining the
ir practice. Maintaining a practice on her own would have been financially impossible in a big city. She’d had no choice but to figure out a plan b. What she didn’t know was that Patty had plotted this back-up plan years ago. She’d always intended to have her sister close by again. Deep down Donna had longed to be closer as well.

  All things considered, despite Melissa’s teacher and the ex-butcher shop sitting a few yards from the train tracks, it was working out reasonably well so far.

  Donna padded to the front hall where several gallons of paint waited for her in a neat stack near the staircase. She took the step ladder she’d borrowed from Sam and set it up at the far end of the kitchen. Melissa’s latest request nagged at her again. Since we have a real house with a real yard, can we get a puppy now?

  Donna cringed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like dogs, she was just afraid of them. Since she was seven and had gotten bitten by a neighbor’s mutt, Donna had been scared to death of dogs. Wouldn’t a goldfish or a Parakeet suffice?

  After gathering the paint roller, pan and gallon of paint marked Lemonade, she set the can on the kitchen counter and opened it. As she stirred the creamy yellow mix, the sunny walls of Hank Bradley’s classroom came to mind. Much to her frustration, that wasn’t the only thing about Hank Bradley that intruded on her thoughts. She groaned as his kiss replayed again and again with vivid clarity. She just couldn’t seem to bury the incident.

  After two sleepless nights of analyzing the reckless moment, Donna felt confident that her problem was sex deprivation. As her sister said, no one could ignore their needs forever and Donna had tried to do just that. The way the man had kissed her suggested he was pretty needy as well. Fat chance he’d been celibate the last six-plus years as she had. According to Patty, women flocked to him like he was the only single guy in the county.

  Somehow Donna had to get past this fixation—and that’s all it could possibly be. Nothing more. Just everyday male-female attraction. It happened all the time, didn’t it? Whatever it was, she wasn’t about to wind up a member of the Hank Bradley conquest club.

  Been there, done that.

  Brick Wallace had swept Donna off her feet. She had been in a vulnerable place. Med school had been draining, physically and mentally. It was her last year and she’d just begun to feel some of the tremendous weight lifting. She’d been so focused on being a student for so long, she’d needed something to make her feel like a woman again. Brick, all flash and charm, had mesmerized her with his golden-boy good looks.

  Like Hank, Brick had been a professional sports figure. A fullback for the Pittsburgh Steelers, but he never attained national celebrity status. Still, being a celebrity by virtue of his teammates had been bad enough. The macho-jock attitude coupled with his old-money background made him unbearably arrogant. He’d broken off the engagement and walked away, leaving her six months pregnant.

  Brick had only seen Melissa the one time. Though she had inherited his blonde hair and blue eyes, Brick wouldn’t know her today if he passed her on the street. Despite the irrefutable fact that he was lower than pond scum, the thought that he didn’t care enough about his own child to get to know her made Donna sad. The idea of how naive she had been to have ever believed in him made her sick to her stomach. It would never happen again. She would spend the rest of her life alone before she would take that chance a second time.

  Donna stopped stirring, recognized the unexpected doubt sucking the determination from her decree. Try as she might to block them, memories of that kiss had her wishing she dared explore the sizzling chemistry between her and Bradley. She couldn’t ignore the idea that he represented a serious threat to her decision to avoid men like him. She chewed her lip. There was just something about him.

  No. No, no, no. The best thing she could do was stay away from the man.

  But how? If only she could skip Melissa to the first grade, her dilemma would be solved. If only he hadn’t touched her...or kissed her. Maybe then they could have a normal parent-teacher relationship.

  But he had kissed her.

  And, worst of all, she had kissed him back.

  Banishing the mortifying thoughts to some deep hole reserved for things she didn’t want to touch or feel, she unlocked and raised the windows. She tied her shirttail up out of her way and climbed onto the ladder to edge the walls. After only a few brush strokes she could see that the yellow promised to be a tremendous improvement over the pink.

  The buzzing of the ancient doorbell made her jump. Her paintbrush dropped to the floor in a splat of yellow. “Shoot.”

  Patty was early. Shaking her head, Donna climbed down and snatched up the brush. She swiped up the mess on the floor with a paper towel. The doorbell sounded again. Had she locked the door? She didn’t remember locking it. She carefully placed the brush across the top of the paint can and wiped her hands on the rag hanging from the waistband of her tattered shorts as she headed for the door.

  The bell sounded a third time as she pulled open the unlocked door. “Why didn’t you just—” The rest of what she intended to say died on her tongue at the sight of Hank Bradley on her porch.

  “Good morning.” His lips curved into that disarming smile that knocked the fight right out of her. “You look comfortable this morning.” He lounged against the door-frame and took a tour of her body, starting with her pony-tailed head all the way down to her pink-lacquered toenails.

  Her hand went to her exposed midriff as his eyes made the return trip. Heat sizzled along her skin as if he’d traced that same path with his hands. She might look comfortable, but she felt half naked just now. Girding herself for the charge of emotions she knew would come, she met his gaze. “I didn’t know teachers made house calls.”

  His smile widened into an irresistible grin. “I thought you might invite me in for coffee. I brought pastries.” He held up a bag from the bakery in the grocery store for Donna’s inspection. “I kind of hoped something sweet would put me back on your good side.”

  A lock of his coal black hair fell across his forehead. Donna suppressed the urge to reach up and sweep it back. The memory of his firm, sensuous lips pressed against hers leaped to mind. She kicked the thoughts out of her head. “Assuming that you’ve ever been on my good side is rather presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “You have a point there, Doc.” He straightened and pulled a serious face. “I really do need to talk to you, though. If you can spare a few minutes.”

  Donna chose her words carefully. “Mr. Bradley, after what happened Thursday I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” He dropped his dark head and stared at the floor for a long moment. “I’d like to clear the air between us.”

  Donna felt her resolve softening. She had to get rid of Hank Bradley before she melted into a puddle right before his eyes. “Personally, I’d prefer never to think about the incident again, much less discuss it. Like it or not, you are Melissa’s teacher which pretty much rules out the possibility of my never having to interact with you again, but I don’t have to outside the school setting.” The lack of conviction in her voice made her want to scream, but there it was. Her brain told her he was trouble but the rest of her wasn’t cooperating.

  He folded and unfolded the top of the bakery bag several times, the crinkling sound made Donna want to snatch it from his hands and push him out the door. For some crazy reason her defenses were weak around this guy! She couldn’t trust herself, much less him.

  Finally, he let out a big breath and raised his gaze back to hers. “I know nothing I can say will earn me a do over, but I want you to know that I truly am sorry.”

  “Fine. You’ve apologized.” Donna gave him a tight smile and prepared to close the door before she did something unwise like invite him in. “Good day, Mr. Bradley.”

  “I really could use a cup of coffee.” He eased one broad shoulder into the path of the closing door.

  “Mr. Bradley—”

&
nbsp; “Mommy! Mommy!” Melissa bounded down the stairs. “Is Aunt Patty here?”

  “No, sweetie, it’s—” Melissa crashed into Donna’s legs. Before she could steady herself, her child flung herself at Hank.

  “Mr. Hank!”

  Hank squatted to accept Melissa’s enthusiastic hug. “Hey, squirt.”

  Donna looked away. She didn’t want to see—or feel—any of this.

  “Come see my new room, Mr. Hank!” Melissa took his big hand and tugged.

  Hank looked to Donna for approval. Great. Now she had to be the bad guy.

  “Sweetie, I’m sure Mr. Bradley doesn’t have time—”

  “Oh please! Oh please!” Melissa begged, pulling on his hand.

  He stood, his eyes never leaving Donna’s. She felt him trying to read her reaction. Damn, him! Why didn’t he make up some excuse? Like he had to leave, preferably.

  “What’ll it be, Doc?” he asked for her ears only. Melissa continued to tug and grunt with all her might. He kept a straight face, though his lips twitched with the slightest hint of a smile.

  The hopeful glitter in his eyes scattered the last of Donna’s fortitude, making it impossible to say no. She had to be the biggest fool that ever walked. “Come in, Mr. Bradley.”

  Already regretting her weakness, she stepped back to allow him entrance. Only for Melissa, she reminded herself. Her daughter seemed genuinely taken with the man. And why wouldn’t she be? He exuded charm. A five-year-old wouldn’t yet recognize male arrogance personified when it walked through her door.

  “Thanks.” He flashed Donna a sexy smile and thrust the bag at her before allowing Melissa to pull him toward the stairs.

  She closed the door and sagged against it. Melissa’s excited chatter and Hank’s attentive responses floated down to Donna as the two disappeared onto the second floor. She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Why did this man keep bulldozing his way into her life? Donna opened her eyes and looked around at her new home’s state of disorder.