Bonnie Winn - Substitute Father

Luke grasped Brian’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “That’s not going to happen.”

Together, they headed back to the kitchen. Brian spent more time with Bentley than usual and Luke suspected the boy was experiencing a slew of unsettled emotions. Still, it was soon time to get the kids off to school.

Hannah couldn’t find one of her shoes, and Troy insisted that he bring one of the hamsters for show-and-tell. The hamster, however, had different ideas as soon as Troy opened the cage door. And fifteen minutes later, they had just located both the shoe and the pet. Even so, they weren’t in time for the bus.

Leaving Wayne in charge of the clinic, Luke bundled the kids into his Bronco. It didn’t take long to reach the elementary school. As Luke turned into the driveway he noticed a banner hanging across the doorway: Soccer Tryouts, Grades 3-6, 4:00 p.m.

“What about that, Brian?” Luke asked, pointing to the sign.

Brian shrugged. “They try out when I’m doing my chores.”

Luke tapped the ballcap Brian was wearing, one Luke had purchased when Brian had eyed it yearningly. “There’s no set time for chores.”

“But—”

“Let me worry about the grown-up stuff, okay, Brian? I’ll be here at four.”

Delight tempered with caution lit Brian’s expression. “If you’re sure…”

“Get going. And don’t forget—four o’clock.”

“I won’t!” he hollered with a grin, nearly dancing up the sidewalk to the front door.

And that grin kept Luke smiling all day.

KEALEY SEARCHED the field, easily locating the stands that were filled with parents. Junior soccer in Greenville was the equivalent of pro sports in big cities.

A tiny shack, barely larger than a telephone booth, sold cans of soda and cold treats that were stored in Igloo coolers. Kids stood in line, polishing nickels, dimes and quarters as they waited their turn. Parents chatted easily among themselves as they tolerantly watched their children run across the grassy field in the still-warm weather.

Everyone was relaxed. Except Kealey. Watching the ease of the others, she wished desperately she could be like them. But every bad memory she held manifested itself in tightly wound nerves. Once she had been able to relax. But that was before she’d known what was in store…the dangers that lurked everywhere once your guard was down.

A few boys skipped past her, their shouts of laughter buffeting in the gentle breeze. Every child deserved that carefree abandon—which was why Kealey had chosen her profession. If she could, she would protect every unloved and unwanted child in the world. At the least, she was fiercely determined to watch over those whose cases she’d been assigned.

Which had brought her out to the soccer field today. Scanning the crowd, she spotted Luke. Hannah and Troy were on either side of him.

Kealey made her way toward them. “Hi.”

Luke looked up, his expression questioning.

“Wayne told me you were here,” she explained.

“Sit down,” Luke offered.

“Next to me,” Hannah requested with a shy smile.

Pleased, Kealey sat on the weather-beaten bleacher. “Where’s Brian?”

Hannah pointed toward the field with pride. “He’s on the team!”

“That’s great,” Kealey replied, meeting Luke’s gaze over the child’s head.

“Seems if you sign up, you’re automatically on the team,” Luke told her.

“I see.” She glanced down at Hannah and Troy. “Would you mind if they had a treat?”

“Nope. What’s a game without refreshments?”

Kealey dug into her purse, unearthing quarters for them both.

“I can do that,” Luke protested.

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Thanks!” both kids sang out, already jumping up, then running toward the refreshment shack.

“Trying to get me alone?” Luke asked wryly.

But she wasn’t smiling. “It’s going to make it more difficult when the kids have to leave if they become too deeply involved.”

“It’s junior soccer, not adoption.”

“Still…”

“Kealey, kids need to feel a part of things, even if it’s not permanent.”

A flash of remembered pain struck her with unexpected force. “Of course, but—”

“Don’t make more of it than is necessary. It hasn’t been that long since these kids saw their mother die, fled the authorities and lived in a deserted alley. They need some normality. And that means school and soccer and ice cream cones.”

Kealey swallowed, remembering how she’d once desperately yearned for just that.

Luke met her strained gaze, his own questioning.

Abruptly, she moved to stand.

“Wait. Don’t you want to see Brian’s game?”

Her throat worked. It would be wonderful to pretend even for an hour that she was part of a normal family, one that participated in soccer games, barbecues and picnics. But she couldn’t allow herself that delusion. “I have a lot of paperwork to do.”

“You don’t want to disappoint Brian, do you?”

“Of course not, but—”

“Then stay. Nobody’s ever reached the end of their life wishing they’d spent more time doing paperwork.”

An unexpected smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t suppose they have.” She glanced toward the field. Brian spotted her just then and she waved. He hesitated but finally his arm came up in an uncertain wave.

And in that moment she knew she had to stay. More than that, she wanted to.

To her relief, Luke didn’t make a big deal out of her decision. Instead, he glanced over at Hannah and Troy, still standing in line. “How about a Coke?”

“Excuse me?”

“Something to drink.” He glanced at her quizzically. “How long have you been in Texas? Down here every kind of soda is called a Coke.”

“Oh, right.” She had moved around so much in her life that she had no particular culture to call her own. And her social interaction since she’d moved to Greenville had been nearly absent. Only his sister, Rachel, had become a friend. And that was just because Rachel had pushed and pushed until Kealey had given up in defeat.

“If you’re lucky, there might be a Dr Pepper left, too,” Luke told her.

Feeling his gaze lingering too long in question, she managed the noncommittal smile she’d perfected years earlier. “Great.”

Together they walked toward the refreshment stand. Hannah and Troy were just unwrapping bright-red ice pops.

“Are they good?” Kealey asked, enjoying the look of pure satisfaction on their faces.

“Yum,” Troy replied.

“They’re the best,” Hannah added.

“The owner of the local ice-cream stand makes them,” Luke explained. “It’s an old family recipe, but I think there’s Jell-O in the mixture to make it richer. Nothing commercial can touch ’em.”

Kealey suddenly had a longing to try one. “They do look good.”

“Sold,” Luke told her with a smile.

“Oh, a soda’s fine.”

“Life’s not all about denial,” he responded. “Be daring. Have one. Cherry, peach, lime or grape?”

Torn, she considered, biting down on her lower lip. “Grape,” she finally decided.

He conveyed her request and his own to the teenager manning the booth, paid, then handed one to her. “And if you’re a good girl, you can try another flavor later.”

She removed the paper wrapper, then tasted. “This is good!”

Enjoying the rare treat, she smiled up at Luke. To her surprise, however, he seemed intent on watching the movement of her lips and tongue.

As suddenly, her throat dried up and her sense of speech seemed to take flight. Around them, children hollered to each other, parents chattered, and the thud of the leather ball being kicked echoed in the sunny afternoon.