Saving Grace (15 page)

Exactly forty-eight minutes later, Chord walked down that same flight of stairs, the Lone Stars were almost thirty million dollars poorer, but they had the best running back in the NFL. Seth Charming was six foot two, could pick a ball out of midair, could block a freight train, and could run all the way to Dallas and back before the other team even noticed he was missing. The once first-round draft pick had cost them, but he was worth every penny and more.

His cell rang, so he pulled it out of his breast pocket. It was Grace. He couldn’t help the stupid grin on his face. It was asinine to be this happy to see someone, but there it was. He hit answer. “Hey.”

“We’re in the parking lot having a hood picnic.” The sound of Grace’s voice made his pulse kick up a notch.

Clementine barked his approval, and Chord’s mood got even lighter. She’d brought the whole gang. If only CoCo were here…but school wasn’t out for another couple of hours.

“I’ll be there in five.” He’d never run so fast in his life. He was down the stairs and in the lobby before he’d gotten the phone put away in his breast pocket. Because it was faster, he bound across the field. It didn’t occur to him until he hit the Lone Stars’ logo in the middle that he was wearing loafers, which were strictly prohibited on the natural turf. Looking around, he made sure no one was there and kept on going.

He was the coach, he could run on the field in whatever shoes he chose.

His lungs burned as he hit the locker room, but he was out of the back door in no time flat. Grace’s pink car was parked close to the front gate. He slowed to a race walk so as to not appear too eager. He stopped short. Devon Harding was once again wrapped around Grace.

“Harding, I thought I was pretty clear when I told you to stop hitting on my…um…”

“CFO.” Grace added helpfully.

“I’m helping her put together these kites.” He held up a red paper dragon kite. “For the boys.”

“Right.” Chord glanced at the boys. They were sitting on the hood eating a pizza. HW had a shiner and swollen knuckles. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

He went to his little boy and gingerly touched his eye.

Clementine barked from the passenger’s seat open window wanting some attention.

“He’s fine.” Grace ruffled HW’s hair. “He was sticking up for his brother.”

“Grace took us to Amy’s Ice Cream and bought me two scoops with double hot fudge for taking care of Cart’s bully.” He leaned closer to Chord and whispered, “Tomorrow, I’m going to beat someone else up and see if I can get triple hot fudge.”

“No you’re not. Today was a one-time deal.” Grace’s face was turning red. “Fighting is wrong unless you’re defending yourself or standing up for someone else.”

“That’s right little man, fight only when you have too.” Devon patted HW on the back.

“What about triple hot fudge?” HW looked from Grace to Chord and back again.

“Yeah, Grace, what about triple hot fudge?” Chord grinned at her dawning horror at what she’d done.

“I’m beginning to think that double hot fudge as a reward for beating up some stupid bully was a bad idea.” She turned to HW. “The next time you defend someone, you get double brussel sprouts.”

HW’s eyes lit up. “Really? I love brussel sprouts.”

“I can’t win.” She threw her hands up.

Chord put a possessive arm around her. “He also likes cauliflower, broccoli, and beets. What can I say, he’s a pretty terrific kid.”

Grace nodded. “He is a pretty terrific kid.”

Devon’s stomach rumbled loudly. He shot Grace a self-conscious smile. “Skipped breakfast this morning.”

She pointed to the sandwiches, potato salad, and pizza on the hood of her car. “Help yourself.”

“Grace, how come your dog won’t get out of the car?” Devon studied Clementine. “Why is she wearing a lifejacket?”

“He’s my dog, and he likes that lifejacket.” Chord spoke up. Now Devon was moving in on his dog?

“He won’t get out of the car because you’re wearing a purple shirt.” Grace patted Clementine on the head. “The color purple makes him sad.”

Clementine whimpered for effect and hung his head out of the window.

Devon looked down at his shirt. “I can fix that.”

He shrugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the general direction of his car.

Chord watched Grace’s gaze take in the peaks and valleys of Devon’s abs.

“Wow. You work out a lot.” Grace’s eyes were glued to Devon’s chest.

“It’s my job.” Devon flexed his biceps.

Chord put his hands at his waist ready to yank his coat and shirt off, when he remembered looking at himself in the mirror last night. He was in shape, but not as in shape as Devon and the rest of the team. Physical training—PT—started tomorrow. Give him a month and he’d be whipping his shirt off with the best of them.

“You and Matthew McConaughey—any excuse to take off your shirt.” Chord shook his head. “Put your shirt back on.”

Clementine whimpered again.

He patted Clementine. “Okay, we’ll ask him to get another shirt.”

Clementine licked his hand. How that dog understood English was beyond Chord. Clementine was crazy as a loon and sharp as a whip. He opened the door for him. He looked around to make sure no other purple lurked in the distance, ready to jump out and attack him.

“Got a workout shirt in the car. On my way right now.” Devon jogged to his car, grabbed a shirt and jogged back.

Chord noticed that when Devon returned he was holding the shirt instead of wearing it.

Grace managed to peel her eyes off of Devon’s chest long enough to pick up a plastic zipper bag and hold it up. “For dessert—well, for those of us who didn’t eat ice cream—I brought my signature cinnamon bread.”

“Homemade?” Devon’s eyes were full moon sized as he finally slipped on the shirt.

“Yes, of course.” Grace shot him a look.

He grabbed the bag. “I’m starting with that.”

He shoved an entire piece into his mouth, closed his eyes, and mmmmm-ed.

Chord sighed loudly. “I told you not to feed them. Now we’ll never be rid of him.”

“I smell cinnamon.” A voice came from behind Chord. Reluctantly, he dropped his arm and turned around.

Clint smiled and waved as he walked to them. He was dressed in shorts and running shoes like he was about to run some laps.

“How did you smell the cinnamon all the way from the track?” Chord looked around incase more men wanted a piece of his cinnamon bread.

“Coach, it’s a gift. I can sniff out a baked good within a five mile radius.” Clint took the bag from Devon and snagged a piece. He popped it into his mouth.

“Holy crap.” He said around the bread. “Can you give Summer this recipe?”

“And my momma too?” Devon was on his second piece.

Chord snapped up the bag from Clint. “Save some for me.”

“When I get home, I’ll text it to both of them.” Grace nodded. She picked up a half of a sandwich and bit into it.

“Does that sandwich have avocados?” Davy Stubbins slammed his car door and headed over.

Chord glanced at Grace’s sandwich. How had he seen that?

“Yes, and it’s wonderful. Here.” She handed Davy the other half.

Clint petted Clementine and looked at Grace. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“My dog’s name is Clementine.” Chord said. How come the world assumed the dog was Grace’s.

Clint checked out the dog’s rather large equipment. “But he’s a boy. Why’s his name Clementine? What‘s with the lifejacket?”

“The name is a long story.” Chord shook his head. “He’s afraid of water. You have no idea.” Before they could ask. “All water.”

He held up a water bottle and Clementine cowered.

“Why don’t you call him Clem?” Davy said around a mouthful of sandwich.

Clementine forgot about the water and growled, baring his large teeth.

Chord pointed to the dog. “That’s why. He prefers Clementine, and when you’re the size of a gorilla, you can call yourself whatever you want.”

Davy nodded. “Got it.”

Devon picked up the potato salad and examined it and the plastic Whole Food container it was in. “I’m calling momma to bring over the left over potato salad she made for dinner last night. This stuff looks terrible.”

“Your mom’s potato salad is crazy good.” Keshan Dawkins walked over from his car. “Where’s the cinnamon bread?”

“How did you know about that?” Chord looked around. Was the parking lot bugged?

“Devon sent out a broadcast text. Said you guys were tailgating in the parking lot and flying kites…didn’t want to miss out.” Keshan grabbed the cinnamon bread and took a piece. “Cool dog, Grace.”

Chord threw up his hands and looked at Grace. “Do hordes of hungry men always follow you around?”

She shrugged. “Lately, yeah. These days I can’t throw a rock without hitting a hungry football player. Don’t you pay these men enough money to feed themselves?”

“Yes, but it’s so much better when we get to eat your food for free.” Devon pulled out his phone and rapidly typed. “Just texted Momma. She’ll be here soon with the potato salad, and she’s hooking up the smaller smoker to the back of her Caddy and bringing it too. She’s hungry for smoked chicken.”

“Did someone say smoked chicken?” Pete Masterson walked up from the front gate.

“Summer made a lemon buttermilk pound cake last night—”

“Oooo! Like the one she made for your bachelor party?” Pete licked his lips.

“Yes. I’ll text her and see if she can bring it over.” Clint pulled out his phone. “Damn, she’s still in school. She’ll be there for another two hours at least.”

A slow smile worked its way across Clint’s face. “I’ll call Chuck, he’s off this week, have him get the cake, and bring some of his famous margaritas.”

Devon nodded. “Good call.” He turned to Grace. “Chuck and Stan are Clint’s neighbors. They’re honorary team members and head up the gay branch of our fan club.”

If Grace had pegged Chord and his team as homophobic, she had another thing coming. “That’s right. Chuck and Stan are some of our closest friends and most ardent supporters. They’ve single-handedly increased our ratings by almost ten percent. And since they’ve let it be known we embrace all fans, game attendance is up.”

They were his friends, and he’d defend them to the death.

“Sounds great. I can’t wait to meet them.” She nodded at Clint. “Since we’re going to be here for a while, would you mind having Summer pick up CoCo on her way here?” Grace’s mouth went tight, and he could see how hard it was for her to ask for any help.

He hoped the trick to helping her was not to ask and just do it. He’d rather ask forgiveness than permission any day.

“Is my kite done?” HW slid off the hood and walked over to them.

Clementine moseyed along to sniff the food on the car hood. He eyed up the pizza, looked around to see if anyone was watching, spotted Chord, and headed for the nearest crotch to sniff.

“Nope, not quite.” Grace picked the red dragon up from the roof of her car and handed it to Chord. “Can you put that stick, support thingy through those two plastic hooks on the back?”

Chord, wanting to be her champion, popped the stick into place. He tied one end of the coil of string to the tab in the middle and handed the coil to HW. “Let’s move away from all these people.”

He nodded to Cart. “We’re moving over there to get them in the air.”

He pointed to the vast, empty parking lot.

They walked over to the south lot. Chord took Cart’s kite. “I’ll hold it while you unroll the string. We need a good amount so the wind will catch it.”

Cart unrolled a good twenty-foot of string as he walked in the opposite direction of the kite.

“That’s enough. Now pull the string tight and I’ll hold up the kite to see if we can catch the wind.” Chord held up the kite.

Cart pulled the string tight and Chord let the kite go. It did a nosedive directly into the pavement.

“You need to run it,” said a deep voice from over Chord’s left shoulder. He turned around. It was his boss, Warren Daniver. The normally stoic man grinned. “You need to run it to get lift.”

Daniver made it a point to never mix with the team. He didn’t come to practices, or team parties, or player’s houses for dinner. As far as Chord knew, the man had never smiled before…ever; even when they’d won the Super Bowl.

“Okay, we’ll give it a try.” Chord picked up the kite, laid it backside down, and yelled, “Run and see if we can get it off the ground.”

Cart ran for all he was worth, and it went up and then right back down.

Daniver loosened his tie, unlooped it from around his neck, and handed it to Chord. “Try this.”

Daniver being cordial and helpful was out of place—like watching a fish walk on shore, sit down under a palapa, and order a mojito.

Chord tied the tie on the string and Cart ran the kite again. It took off.

“See, you have to run it.” Daniver shrugged out of his suit coat and folded it across his left forearm. “Kites are like quarterbacks, they like to run.”

Daniver was so dry, Chord didn’t know if he was kidding until he grinned.

“Why pay for a good throwing arm if all they do is run around?” Chord countered.

“Good point.” Daniver nodded. “Do I smell cinnamon?”

“Grace made cinnamon bread. You’d better hurry before the offensive linemen eat it all.” Chord gestured to the ever-growing crowd of players. “When she bakes, the team seems to show up.”

“So that’s the formidable Grace I spoke with when you were ill.” Daniver’s eyes found Grace, and Chord couldn’t tell if his boss respected Grace or didn’t care for her.

“That’s her. She’s definitely a force to be reckoned with.” Chord took HW’s kite, untied his tie, and wrapped it around the string. Cart was letting string out and enjoying the height of his kite while HW vibrated with desire to do the same.

“So am I.” Daniver headed in Grace’s direction.

Was that interest in Daniver’s voice? His boss and his CFO, Chord didn’t like that at all.

***

“So you’re the famous Grace Kelley.” A man with perfectly styled coal-black hair and shockingly aqua-blue eyes held his hand out to Grace. He reminded her of Superman—all blue eyes and broad shoulders.