This Time (17 page)

"
Run for the house," Burke said low and firm in her ear.
They dashed for the cottage steps.

The photographers slipped and
stumbled in the sand as they scrambled to follow, their cameras
still whizzing and flashing. Burke reached the low brick wall that
surrounded the starlet's home and with deft precision, unlatched
the rod iron gate. They slipped inside, disappearing into the
darkness, safe from the intruding eyes of the cameras.

A shopping basket hung from
Belle's hand as she stood in the middle of the grocery store soap
aisle reading bottles of bath soap, amazed that each one promised
some sort of emotional healing.

"
Wash away stress," she read aloud with a guttural scoff and
a roll of her eyes.

If it were only that easy, she
thought, picking up one of the products and dropping it into her
basket.

Ever since Burke's guest
appearance on the David Dubois show, she'd been fighting the stress
of disappointment, struggling with missing him.

How did he become so much a part
of her day? How did he manage to touch her heart so quickly? He
only worked at the Bar J for a couple of weeks. She now routinely
looked for his face in the morning, listened for the sound of his
voice and felt a hollow pang the second she remembered he would not
be there.

Daily she captured her thoughts,
willing herself not to think of him. The task was tedious and
wearisome.

Several minutes passed before
she realized she still stood in the middle of the aisle. With a
sigh, she turned to leave, a slight ache creeping over her scalp
and down the back of her head.

We're out of aspirin. Get
aspirin. She tipped her head back to read the aisle indexes,
searching for aspirin and the aisle number.

"
Excuse me, lady. You're in my way."

"
Oh, I'm so sorry," Belle said, stepping aside. She looked
up as the other customer passed. "Spence."

"
Hello, Belle," he said, his brown eyes laughing as he
wrapped her in an exaggerated hug. "How are you, pretty
lady?"

She forced a smile. "I'm
okay."

He took a step back,
shaking his dark head. "Frankly, Belle, I've seen you look
better."

"
What a nice thing to say, counselor."

Placing a protective arm
around her shoulders, Spence walked with her toward the aspirin
aisle. He pushed his cart with his free hand. "What's going
on?"

"
Nothing," she said curtly as she picked up the first
aspirin bottle she spotted and tossed it into her
basket.

He followed as she headed
back up the aisle. "Sure ol' Spence can't help? I know people--" He
lowered his voice and spoke out the side of his mouth.

She laughed quietly.
"What? Did you join the mob?"

"
No, just figuring out a way to make you laugh."

"
I needed to laugh," she said, choosing a checkout
line.

Spence stood in line
behind her and said, "You going to tell me--" He stopped
abruptly.

Belle glanced around to see what
interrupted his question. His crooked smile had faded, and shock
shrouded his face.

"
What are you looking at?" she asked. Her gaze followed his,
stopping at the magazine rack beside the cash register. There, on
the cover of two major tabloids, was a picture of Burke on a beach
with Grace in his arms. It appeared that they were kissing, but the
enlarged, dark photo lacked detail and the images were murky and
grainy. Several smaller insets depicted them walking along the
beach, then running away from the cameras hand in hand toward a
high brick wall.

A bold headline sprawled
across the page. "Football great Burke Benning proposes marriage on
a romantic Malibu beach."

"
Belle, come on, you can't believe those rags," Spence said
with an exaggerated chuckle. "You know Burke wouldn't--" Words
failed him.

She couldn't look at him, her
vision blurred by tears.

"
That'll be nine eighty-five," the cashier said to
Belle.

She fumbled in her purse for her
wallet, her hands trembling as she reached for a ten-dollar bill.
She felt weak and desperate inside, void of courage and hope. She
wanted to pretend it didn't matter that Burke loved Grace and would
be married to her. But it did matter. It did.

When the cashier handed her
change and her purchase, Belle mumbled a hushed good-bye to
Spence.

"
Belle, wait," he called after her, stuck in the checkout
line behind his cart.

"
Gotta go," she said, her words choked and washed with
tears. She managed to walk nobly out of the store, her head high.
But once outside, away from Spencer's knowing eye, she ran across
the parking lot to her truck and slipped in behind the wheel,
succumbing to a torrent of tears.

***

"
Good afternoon, Mr. Benning," the first-class steward said
as Burke buckled himself into his window seat. "Can I get you
anything to drink?"

"
A diet soda, please," Burke said, settling back and closing
his eyes.

His trip to Colorado had proved
profitable though exhausting. His days were packed with handling
last minute details, rearranging his financial accounts, putting
his house on the market and saying good-bye to friends.

"
Here you are." The steward placed a full glass of soda on
Burke's tray table. "May I have your autograph?" He handed him a
torn piece of notepaper and a pen.

Burke smiled and asked his name,
scribbling a few words on the paper before handing it back to him.
He sipped his drink and stared out the small plane window, his
thoughts drifting to home, to Belle.

He wondered how the Bar J had
faired without him for the past week and a half. He missed the
tender nudge of Little General's nose on his hand and the song of
the birds at sunrise. He missed the sound of Belle's voice and the
shy way she looked away when he held her gaze too long. He missed
their quiet talks in the kitchen before work, the early morning
light falling across the floor like ribbons.

He played with words in his
head, planning what he would say when he saw her again. Now that he
was free to express his heart, he yearned to tell her he loved her.
Yet, his head warned him to take it slow, give her time to grow
with the idea that he loved her.

Quietly, he prayed for
wisdom.

In the next few minutes, the
aircraft door slammed shut and jerked away from the jet way.

The steward returned to
the cabin, picking up glasses and trash, passing out reading
material. When he stopped by Burke's row, he exchanged his empty
glass for a small stack of magazines. "I thought you might like to
read this, Mr. Benning. Congratulations."

Burke furrowed his brow
and reached for the tabloid size papers. "Thank you," he said,
wondering if the news of his retirement had made
headlines.

He flipped through the stack
looking for a sports magazine, but when the first gossip tabloid
flashed by his view, the blood drained from his face.

The photographer's from that
night on the beach had moved quickly. Their situational photos
supported a fabricated, unsubstantiated story of his engagement
that would sell way more papers than the simple news of his
retirement.

He stuffed the papers in the
seat pocket in front of him and fumbled under the seat for his
carry-on bag, searching for his cell phone. But the plane had
already taxied down the runway and the announcement to turn off all
electronic equipment had been made.

Burke sunk down into his seat.
The whole world would think he'd become engaged to Grace when, in
fact, the exact opposite had happened. With his head in his hands,
he prayed the entire ride home.

***

That evening at the Benning
ranch house, sitting around the dinner table, Burke discussed the
situation with his family.

"
Have you talked to Grace?" Reese asked when he finished
talking.

He nodded. "She's as upset
as I am. She's had about a couple dozen calls from major news
reporters, talk shows, DJs wanting an interview."

"
What are you going to do?" Elaine asked, concern in her
blue eyes.

Burke refilled his
iced-tea, took a tasteless sip and set it aside. "I had John
release a statement denying our engagement, but that story is not
going to get any attention."

"
What are your alternatives?" his father asked.

"
Fight, take the papers to court, draw more attention to the
situation than it deserves," Burke concluded.

"
Doesn't sound smart," Reese said.

"
No, it doesn't. I'm just angry."

"
Let it go, son," Elaine said, stretching across the table
to place her hand on his. "Let the Lord take care of
this."

"
Your reputation is in His hands," Reese added.

His parents' advice made sense
to Burke. In fact, it confirmed the impression he had from the Lord
while praying on the flight home. Yet, it seemed so unfair to let
them get away with such malicious gossip.

"
Have you talked to Belle?" his mother asked.

"
Not yet, I've been on the phone doing damage control since
Dean picked me up at the airport. I tried her once, but got the
machine."

"
You think she's seen the tabloids?" Elaine
wondered.

"
Hard to say. She told me she's avoided checkout line
magazines since I left town and went pro. She hates them and
doesn't pay attention to them."

"
I don't like them either," Elaine said. "But son, that
headline is hard to miss. It must be an inch tall."

Burke got up from the
table and pulled his car keys from his pocket. "It's late and I'm
tired. I'm going home and forget about this for tonight. Besides, I
have a seven a.m. practice that I need to be focused on for
tomorrow." He kissed his mother on the cheek and thanked her for
dinner. "I'll call Belle later."

"
See ya, Pop," he said, patting his father on the shoulder
as he strode toward the door.

The clash of shoulder pads
resounded in the warm September air as the Haskell Haymakers
executed drill after drill during their afternoon practice. Burke
watched intensely from the middle of the field, arms crossed as he
studied the players, formulating ways to mold his team.

He jotted a few notes and
conferred with his offensive line coach. Since the start of
twice-a-day workouts three weeks ago, they'd come a long way,
rapidly overcoming the awkward moments between a new coach and his
players. By the time school started they'd gained appreciation for
one another and acted as a team.

Their first game last Friday
ended with an at home victory. The town folks had turned out in
droves, enthusiastically showing their support for the new era in
Haymaker football.

The news media also turned out
in droves, hounding him during practice and after their first game.
Reporters and cameramen scrambled for the exclusive on Burke
Benning's switch from star tailback to high school coach.

Burke accommodated as many
networks, magazines, and newspapers as he could until it wore him
down and negatively impacted the team. After a few weeks, he
limited the national press coverage to a few reporters he knew and
trusted.

Fortunately, the focus on his
new career eclipsed the contrived story of his impending marriage
to Grace Peterson. That story faded into the background a few days
after the tabloids hit the stands. The next week one them ran an
apologetic retraction. Elaine credited the power of prayer to the
recant. Burke agreed.

The offensive coach blew his
whistle, drawing Burke's attention to the fifty-yard line. He
watched as Jack executed a flawless play, completing his pass to
the down field receiver who ran the ball into the end zone.

In the fading afternoon light,
Burke checked his watch and called for the team to gather up.
Quickly he reviewed the day's practice, offered some correction and
praise, and prepped them for the upcoming game.

Driving home that evening, his
thoughts wandered from football to Belle. He sighed heavily,
wondering if she would ever let him in her heart again.

He'd called her the day after
his return from out west, but never managed to talk to a live
person. Now, he reminisced about his visit to the Bar J last week
when he stopped by after practice.

Belle greeted him politely when
she answered the door, exchanging superficial pleasantries for a
few seconds. Her aloof demeanor and brisk tone confirmed his
suspicion.

"
You saw the picture of me with Grace," he asked after she
tried to end their reunion with a subtle good evening.

She paused before
answering, then stepped out onto the porch, pushing her broad brim
work hat back on her head. "I did."

"
I thought you didn't read those trashy tabloids." He popped
himself against the banister, folding his brawny arms over his
muscular chest.