Winner Takes All (9 page)

Not that Annabelle cared. She rarely ever looked at the page.

But you will now.

No. No she wouldn't. Because she didn't need another reason to salivate over Blake Carpenter. His confidence and dark brooding were enough without adding his naked, sweaty torso to the mix.

Virginia pocketed the phone. “Are you ladies going to the pancake breakfast on Saturday?”

Stella nodded. “Of course. Best pancakes of the year.”

The pancake breakfast was a fund-raiser the football team organized. The players made breakfast and half the town showed up to offer their support and funds for the football program. It was typically held at the school gym before the first game.

Only when Stella elbowed Annabelle did she realize she'd been standing there without giving an answer.

“I wouldn't miss it,” she answered.

B
lake tossed his keys around in his hand and strolled onto the football field, his shoes sinking into the soft, freshly cut grass, and the early morning sun edging above the craggy mountain peaks. The air was crisp with a cool breeze blowing across the back of his neck and reminded him that winter wasn't far away. He zipped his jacket up higher, wishing he'd put on a longsleeved shirt underneath instead of short sleeves because—

“What the hell?” he muttered when his attention was snagged by his players—
his
players—on the field in the middle of warm-ups…with Annabelle.

His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses when the meddlesome—and
damn
she was hot in spandex—woman jabbed her hands on her hips and nodded as the players moved from one stretch to the next. She meandered across the grass, weaving around the players, nodding at some and making corrections with others.

“She's a sight, isn't she?” Cameron said after he'd strolled up alongside Blake. Casual as you please, as though Annabelle Turner, a woman who'd caused Blake to take more cold showers than a nymphomaniac, wasn't completely stepping on Blake's toes.

“What the hell is she doing?” Blake inquired.

You mean other than turning you on?

Cameron made a pair of quotes in the air. “She's ‘helping.'”

Blake turned to his friend and assistant coach. “Was that before or after you told her to get lost?”

Cam smirked. “Are we talking about the same Annabelle?”

Blake shook his head. “Never mind.” Then he walked away from Cameron and approached the woman he fully intended to tell to back the eff off.

What the hell did she think she was doing, warming up with
his
team without him? How did she just think she could stroll in here and take over? As though she had every right? As though he wasn't doing a good enough job with his own players?

He knew she thought she was helping, but shit.

Even worse than her encroachment was his reaction to her. Damn, from the moment he'd laid eyes on her with the team, his heart had lurched up into his throat, a previously unfamiliar feeling that was growing more familiar each time he saw her. Then she'd laughed and tilted her head and the erratic beating of his heart had bloomed into warmth across his chest.

Damn it, but he could not develop feelings for this woman. Hell yeah, she turned him on. But that's where it needed to end. She rubbed him the wrong way. She annoyed the shit out of him. She was too opinionated and stubborn for the likes of him.

So why did he get all kinds of warm fuzzies in his belly when he saw her?

That's the irritation talking.

Yeah, that was it.

Irritation.

Annabelle took another turn and walked in between the players, eyeing each one and making more corrections. When she was within hearing distance, he called, “Were you going to take over coaching too?”

Her head jerked around, her high sleek ponytail swinging around her shoulders and brushing her breasts.

Then she smiled. Honest to God grinned, like she was happy to see him. “Oh good, you're here,” she responded, instead of uttering something more appropriate like, “Please forgive me for taking over your team.” But she didn't. She said something even more horrifying. “I just wanted to try out some new stretches and get them warmed up for you.”

Blake dropped his bag on the grass. “So should I take a seat in the stands and hand over my whistle?”

Her grin grew. “Don't be so dramatic, Blake. I just wanted to make sure they were properly stretched before practice.”

One of his brows arched. “And I don't?”

“I didn't say that. I—” She stopped midsentence and studied him, tilting her head in a way that made him feel like he was under a microscope. “Blake, do you think I'm trying to take over your job?”

What the hell was he supposed to think?

“Gee, I don't know, Annabelle. I arrive to start practice with my team, and here you are. Without my knowledge or my permission.”

“I didn't realize I needed your permission to stretch with them.” She gestured toward the boys behind them. “I've been doing it for weeks.”

“Not in this capacity,” he pointed out.

She was silent for a moment. “How is this any different?”

Yeah, Blake. How?

“It just is.”
Good answer, asshole. Maybe next you can drag your knuckles on the ground.

She stared back at him, her lush lips set in a firm line. “Oh, I get it,” she said slowly. “So all that talk in your office before about trust and you assuring me that you know I'm not that kind of person…” She turned and walked back through the kids. “And saying you trust me and coming to an agreement about the players…” She turned back around and pinned him with a hard stare. “That was all bullshit?”

Had they come to an agreement? “Uh…”

She held up a finger to stop him. “Setting aside the fact that you want what's best for these players, which you've stated several times. Am I wrong?”

Why wasn't his brain working? “Annabelle—”

“Am I wrong, Blake?” She jabbed her hands on her hips and tapped her foot on the soft grass.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then what is your problem?” she demanded while jabbing a finger into the center of his chest. “Seriously, Blake. Why don't you want me here?” Her pointy little finger stabbed into his chest one last time for emphasis.

He wrapped his hand around hers so she couldn't poke him again. “Ow.”

“Oh, don't give me that,” she said. “I've poked boulders softer than you.”

He couldn't help the grin that crept up his mouth. “Thanks. I think.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So what gives? Why are you so eager to get rid of me?”

“It's not that…” His words trailed off because, damn. Was he trying to get rid of her? Yeah, he supposed he was. But not for the reason she thought.

She circled her hand in the air. “Okay, so…”

He grabbed her elbow and maneuvered her away from the kids. “Maybe next time you could just give me a heads-up.”

“Why, so you can tell me to butt out?” she asked.

She's got your number.

“Not…exactly,” he replied.

She shook her head. “I was right. You are full of shit.”

Huh?

“The only reason you don't want me here,” she told him, “is because your massive ego won't make room for anybody else. Well, get over yourself because I'm not going anywhere.” And then she was gone, spinning around on her heel and sashaying across the grass with that 'tude, holding her head up high.

And damn if he wasn't half proud of her.

“Don't look now,” Cameron whispered to Blake. “But the Dollys have targeted you and set their course for destruction.”

Blake bit back a groan as he dumped syrup all over his pancakes. His mother would scold him for sending himself into sugar shock, and his father would tell him to add a side of bacon.

Whatever.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Dawn Putnam and Rhonda Powell, aka “the Dollys,” aptly named for their minuscule waists, which some people claimed had been surgically altered, and their teased blond hair. As though the style were still popular thirty years later. To be honest, Blake had always thought they looked like something that had stepped out of
Steel Magnolias
. They'd both attended Blanco Valley High School, cheered, were voted homecoming queens—a tie two years in a row because, apparently, the student body couldn't decide which one of the girls they liked more.

Now they both had daughters who cheered and would most likely follow in their mother's footsteps as part of the homecoming monarchy. Both their husbands were wealthy developers who'd been responsible for building up half the town. And they served on the PTA. Basically any other way they could use to make school/football/cheerleading/student body stuff their business.

Personally, Blake had never had a problem with them. He'd graduated three years before them and considered them busybodies who thought nothing existed outside of high school. As long as they stayed out of his way and didn't stick their nose in his coaching business, like everyone else had this morning, he was fine with them.

Blake had just cut into his pancakes while cradling his paper plate with one hand when the two women approached them.

Dawn extended her hand first. “Mr. Carpenter, we wanted to stop by and introduce ourselves. I'm Dawn and this is Rhonda.”

Blake stuck a forkful of pancake in his mouth before shaking the women's hands.

Dawn turned and gazed around the school gym. “Isn't this a great turn-out?” she said.

When Blake and the team had arrived at 7:00 a.m. that morning, there had been a line wrapped around the gym. The people had cheered and waved at the team, like they were a bunch of celebrities. No one had expected this kind of attendance, mostly because in recent years, the town hadn't shown much interest in the team.

Now the gym was packed with students, teachers, and citizens, eating pancakes, mingling, and discussing the upcoming season. The Beehive Mafia was there, as well as Brandon, who'd been headed their way when he spotted the Dollys and made an abrupt U-turn in the opposite direction.

Sneaky bastard.

He'd also spotted Annabelle because, well, why wouldn't he spot her? His Annabelle radar was always turned on.

Cam elbowed him when Blake hadn't answered Dawn's question.

“Yeah.” He nodded, not really sure what else to say. “Looks like we're going to bring in a lot of money for the football program.”

“You know, Rhonda and I rallied most of these people to come this morning,” she told them, and the two women bobbed their heads in unison. Blake briefly wondered if they coordinated their lives to match, down to the way they styled their hair. “We're good at getting people involved. Last week we went to the Cat and put a special announcement on their blackboard,” Rhonda chimed in.

The Cat, as known by the locals, was the Bobcats' diner and a popular hangout of students and players. They usually gave free breakfast to the players on game days and stayed open extra late on Friday nights.

“We told people to come on out here and meet their new coach,” Dawn continued. “Then Rhonda went into Screamin' Beans and put a big colorful poster in the window.” Dawn spread her hands in front of her. “‘Come and have breakfast with the Bobcats.' That's what it said.” Dawn glanced at her friend. “She even painted little orange and black paw prints on the storefront window.”

Blake nodded because, really, he wasn't sure what else to do. He just wanted to eat his breakfast. “Well, we're grateful for your effort. I'm sure it's brought the team a lot of money.”

Rhonda stepped even closer and, shit, were they trying to invade his personal space? He could practically drip his syrup on the woman's cleavage. “Well, if there's anything else you need from us, we're real good at gathering a crowd. We could gather up boosters for you because, word has it, the team could use some more.”

He paused with a bite of pancake halfway to his mouth and glanced back and forth between the two women, who were practically nose to nose with him. Cameron coughed into his juice, and Brandon, from across the room, gave him a crooked grin and mock salute. And Annabelle…

Shit, why was he thinking about her again? They hadn't bumped into each other yet this morning, even though they'd committed plenty of mental undressing from across the room.

When was the last time he'd mentally undressed a woman before?

“You should talk to Cameron, here. He handles the…rallying of people,” Blake blurted, using Dawn's words.

Cam jerked him a look, then coughed and said “asshole” into his fist. Neither woman seemed to notice.

Rhonda, who was always looking for a man to keep her company while her husband all but ignored her, pulled a pen out of her pocket.

Who in the hell kept a pen in their pocket? Especially with pants tight enough that they probably ripped when she sat down?

“Well, then,” Rhonda said with a devouring grin. She took it upon herself to take a hold of Cameron's hand and jotted her number on his palm. “Here's my number in case you want to get together and bang it out.”

Blake choked on his pancakes and Cameron sent him a death-upon-you look that had Blake chuckling after forcing his food down.

Rhonda finished with Cam's hand and he had to pull it from her grasp because the woman wasn't about to let go. He glanced at the number, which had little hearts drawn around it. Blake was surprised she didn't write
Mrs. Rhonda Shaw
with a little bubble around it.

Dawn hooked her arm through her friend's. “Rhonda, come on. There's donuts.”

The two women strolled off, swaying their slim hips like the seasoned professionals they were. “Don't forget to call me,” Rhonda said over her shoulder with a little finger wave.

Cam downed the last of his juice and pinned Blake with a stare. “Do you want to get your ass beat now or later?”

Blake bit back a chuckle, knowing it would get him an uppercut to the jaw. “You've got to admit, the woman's good.”

Cameron's dark blue eyes narrowed. “She's a viper.”

“Maybe it's because she knows your history with married women,” Brandon said as he approached them. “She figures she's fair game.”

“You're both douchebags.”

“I'm just glad someone else is being stalked for a change.” Brandon slanted Cam a look. “Do you know what it's like to go jogging and have seventy-four-year-old women chase you down with their camera phones? Man can't even run in peace.”

“That's why I go shooting in the woods. No one to bother you out there. You should give it a try sometime.”