Hawk's Way Grooms. Joan Johnston

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      Mac managed a smile. “Looks like they were wrong.”

      “When you didn’t come back after a whole year, they said you’d never play football again.”

      “It’s taken me a while to get back on my feet, but I expect to be back on the football field in the fall as good as new and better than ever.”

      “Really?” Colt asked.

      Mac was fresh out of the shower after his second morning of walking with Jewel, and wished now he had put on jeans and boots instead of shorts and Nikes. The kid was gawking at his scarred leg like he was a mutant from the latest horror movie.

      Mac figured it was time to change the subject, or he’d end up crying his woes to the teenager. He gestured to the football in Colt’s hands and said, “Are you on the football team at school?”

      Colt made a disparaging face and mumbled, “Yeah. I’m the quarterback.”

      Most boys, especially in Texas, would have been ecstatic at the thought of being quarterback. “It sounds as if you don’t care much for football.”

      “It’s all right. It’s just…” Colt slid off the arm backward into the slatted wooden chair, with his legs dangling over the arm, the football cradled in the notch of his elbow. “Did you always know what you wanted to do with your life?”

      Mac nodded. He had always known he wanted to play football. He just hadn’t been sure his body would give him the chance. “How about you?”

      “I know exactly what I want to do,” Colt said. “I just don’t think I’m going to get the chance to do it.”

      “Why not?”

      “Dad expects me to stay here and be a rancher.”

      “Is that so bad?”

      “It is when I’d rather be doing something else.”

      Mac stared at Colt’s troubled face. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

      Colt shrugged. “Naw. I guess not.” He settled his feet on the ground and rose with an ease that Mac envied. “Guess I’d better get going. Now that school’s out for the summer, I’ve got a lot of chores to do.”

      Mac turned his eyes in the direction of the squealing windmill.

      Colt laughed. “I’ll get to it right away. Hope it hasn’t been keeping you awake.”

      “I’ve slept fine.” Like the dead. He had slept straight through the afternoon and evening of his first day here, and yesterday he had been exhausted after a day spent mostly sitting down, working out a crafts program for the camp with Jewel. He knew his body needed rest to heal, but he was tired of being tired. He wanted to be well again.

      Colt began loping away, then suddenly turned and threw the football in Mac’s direction. Instinctively, Mac reached out to catch it. His fingertips settled on the well-thrown ball with remembered ease, and he drew it in.

      Colt came loping back, a wide grin splitting his face. “Guess you haven’t lost your touch.” He held out his hand for the ball.

      Mac looked up at the kid, an idea forming in his head. “How would you like to throw a few to me over the next couple of weeks, after I get a little more mobile?”

      Colt’s eyes went wide with wonder. “You mean it? Really? Hot damn, that would be great! I mean, golly, that would be great!” he quickly corrected himself, looking over his shoulder to see if any of his family had heard him. “Just say when and where.”

      “Let’s say two weeks from today,” Mac said. “I’ll come and find you.”

      Colt eyed Mac’s injured leg. “Are you sure—”

      “Two weeks,” Mac said certainly.

      Colt grinned. “You got it.” He took the ball and sauntered off toward the barn.

      Mac let out a deep sigh. He had given himself two weeks to get back enough mobility to be able to run for a pass, when it was taking him thirty minutes to walk a mile.

      He turned as he heard the screen door slam and saw Jewel. She was just out of the shower, having been second again this morning, since she had gotten a phone call the instant they came back in the door from their walk. She must have blown her hair dry, because it looked shiny and soft enough for him to want to put his hands in it.

      The only time he had ever touched her hair in the past was to tousle it like an older brother or tug on her ponytail. He couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have all that long, silky hair draped over his body.

      Mac turned away. This is Jewel. Your best friend. You’d better get laid soon, old buddy. You’re starting to have really weird fantasies.

      She was wearing jeans and boots and a long-sleeved man’s button-down, oxford-cloth shirt turned up at the cuffs with the tails hanging out. He wondered if the shirt had belonged to her fiancé and felt jealous of the man. Which was stupid, because Mac and Jewel had never been lovers.

      Would you like to be?

      He forced his mind away from that insidious thought. It would mess up everything if he made a move on his best friend. He needed Jewel’s friendship too much to spoil things that way.

      The shirt was big and blousy on her, and she wore her hair pulled over her shoulders in front to hide whatever there might have been left to see of her figure, which wasn’t much.

      He started to say “You look great!” and bit his tongue. It sounded too much like something a man might say to a woman he wanted to impress. “Hi,” he said instead. “Hope you had enough hot water.”

      “Barely. I made it a quick shower. I’m definitely first tomorrow.” She took the seat next to him, leaned back and inhaled a breath of flower-scented air that made her breasts rise under the shirt. The sight took his breath away.

      Whenever he had thought about Jewel in the years they had been apart, it was her laughter he had remembered. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips curved, revealing even white teeth, and how the sound would kind of bubble up out of her, as effervescent as sparkling water.

      He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t remembered her breasts. He could see why a man might stare. Had they been that large six years ago? They must have been, or close to it, because he had joked with her about them a lot, he remembered. And she had laughed in response, that effervescent, sparkling laugh.

      He realized he hadn’t heard her laugh once since he had arrived. She had smiled, but her eyes had never joined her mouth. A sadness lingered, memories of more than uncatchable balls. More like forfeited games.

      “Who was that on the phone?” he asked.

      “Mrs. Templeton. Her eight-year-old son, Brad, is supposed to be a camper during the first two-week session, but he was having second thoughts about coming.”

      “Why?”

      “She’s not really sure. He was excited at first СКАЧАТЬ