False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 3

  “Sorry, we ran over. You can leave if it’s too late,” Connor said, turning his back and packing up his school bag.

  How dare he excuse her after she had been waiting for him for—she looked up at the clock in his room—twenty minutes!

  “Excuse me, but Emma deserves to hear what the coaches have to say about her progress so far. If she has made such little impact on you and your athletes, and you have absolutely nothing constructive to say about her, I’ll be sure to pass the information along.” Meg turned on her three-inch designer black boots and took a step toward the door.

  “Whatever, leave…wait…come back. Sit down.” He sighed and sat on top of a desk in the front row.

  Meg turned around and crossed her arms, using the clipboard as a shield, thankful he hadn’t called her bluff. Emma really needed his recommendation. “Gee, Mr. McKay, I’m not seeing the laid back, funny guy Emma has been telling me about. You sound like a complete jackass.” The words came rolling out of her mouth so fast she had no time to take them back.

  Connor smirked. “I had that coming. I can see where Emma gets her mouth.”

  “She’s called you a jackass too?”

  Connor tipped his head back and laughed. “No, but she definitely says what she thinks. No holds barred for that one.”

  Meg tentatively sat at the edge of one of the student desks, leaving an empty row between her and Connor. “She doesn’t…she doesn’t cross the line, does she?”

  “Emma? No. She’s great with the kids. Really sensitive to their aches and pains. She listens but doesn’t coddle them. Loves to debate with the coaches on how far to push the kids. She may be totally wrong or have a completely off-base opinion, but she’s not afraid to say it. I like that about her.”

  “And she’s doing her job well?”

  He nodded. “The best. You’d never know she had less than a year’s experience under her belt. She’s a good athlete too. She practices right along with the kids, watching their form and coaching them on how to support their ankle, knee, or whatever body part needs protection. I do have one problem with her though.”

  Meg stopped writing on her clipboard and contemplated telling him off. “Yes?”

  “She’s young. Attractive. My boys get pretty distracted when she’s around.” He smirked.

  “So you’re discriminating against my…Emma because of her appearance?” Meg raised an eyebrow and pretended to scribble notes on her pad.

  “Easy. That’s not what I meant. She does her job well. I have no problem recommending her as a fill-in while Shawn is out. But maybe she could cover up a little more. You know, longer shorts, looser shirt? It’s a matter of dress code, that’s all.”

  “I do believe that’s a very sexist comment,” she growled under her breath. And completely off base. If there was anyone who could care less what she wore, it was Emma. Her outfit of choice consisted of a pair of warm-up pants and sweatshirt in the winter and shorts and grubby T-shirts in the summer.

  “No. It’s practical. She’s working with teenagers who drip more hormones than our leaky faucet in the faculty lounge. Maybe she could borrow something out of your closet. You two look to be about the same size and shape. You’re always buttoned up.” He turned to his desk and picked up his keys.

  “Mr. McKay you’re digging your hole deeper and deeper. You continue these sexist remarks about Emma and myself and I will write you up. Your feelings toward me will have no bearing on—”

  “You asked for my opinion and I gave it. I thought you figured that out about me.” He walked toward the door and gestured for her to leave the classroom.

  “You’re a—”

  “Easy now.” He held up a finger to quiet her. “Don’t start making false accusations. I may be stubborn, but I’m honest. I didn’t realize she was your daughter until recently. We’re on a first-name basis.”

  “And had you known earlier, you would have fed her to the wolves?”

  “I think I would have hit the ground running.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You scare the hell out of me, Ms. Fulton.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  Was he teasing her? Complimenting her? Insulting her?

  “I can say likewise, Mr. McKay.”

  He laughed again. Twice in one night. She’d known him for three months, and it took a five-minute conversation to finally see the human side of Connor McKay.

  “You and I definitely have our differences, but I’m not too stubborn to admit when someone else is right.”

  “And you’re wrong?”

  “No,” he laughed. “I’m not admitting I’m wrong. But can admit when I’m beat. Your daughter is a strong, amazing young woman. I can see where she inherited her strength. You and I may not coach the same way, but we play for the same team. Emma Fulton will be a valuable asset to our team as well.”

  The flood of compliments and change in attitude confused Meg. Was he playing her for a fool, or did he really respect her?

  The little dimple in his chin and laugh lines around his eyes softened his rough exterior. His blue eyes lit up when he laughed.

  “Not a trusting kind, are you?”

  Damn. Emma’s description had been spot on. He was hot. Not that she cared. His smile brought chills down her arms and little flutters to her stomach. A sensation she never experienced before. He was the type of man who flashed a smile, flexed his arms, and got away with whatever he wanted.

  The kind of man who could hurt her.

  Meg quickly stood and said, “Well then, if you have any concerns regarding Emma’s work, you know how to contact me.”

  She stormed out of his classroom and did not turn back. Once upon a time his type played her, but she had since prepared herself and would not fall ignorant to an athlete’s alluring eyes and sexy laugh.

  No. Never, ever again.

  Chapter 4

  Other than the usual disgruntled parent, the handful of frequent school skippers and the occasional cigarette smoked in the boy’s bathroom, Meg’s professional life ran rather smoothly. Since Connor’s glowing recommendation for Emma, they’d had few encounters but smiled politely at each other when passing in the hall. Her personal life, not that she’d consider Connor a part of it, remained dormant but for the first time, Meg allowed her mind to wander to the opposite sex.

  Or rather, to Connor McKay. She couldn’t deny her physical attraction to him, but she’d be damned before she ever did anything about it. Juggling her laptop and a hot cup of Dunkin Donuts pumpkin coffee in her right hand and moving a stack of file folders and binders under her left arm, Meg shimmied the keys to her office door and let herself in without missing a beat. She dropped the files on her desk and took a rewarding sip from the warm Styrofoam cup.

  “Heaven,” she murmured into the steam.

  She opened up her laptop and scrolled through her e-mails, deleting Spam mail, forwarding messages to the appropriate people, and marking others as “urgent.” Expecting to forward the e-mail from the football commission to Emma, the interim Athletic Director, Meg quickly scanned through the message and froze.

  The New Hampshire Athlete Association is happy to announce Connor McKay’s nomination as this year’s Football Coach of the Year. As his principal, you are cordially invited…Meg raced through the e-mail. As his principal, Meg had to inform him of the honor and attend the banquet with him in a few weeks. She gazed out her window at the fall landscape. New England’s chilly nights turned the leaves bright orange, red, and yellow, while the windy days continued to strip the glorious statues of their natural beauty, littering the ground with piles of tricolored leaves, dry and crisp from the cool air.

  Funny how her mood mirrored the seasons. In September she had been bright, cheerful, and optimistic. Now the near-barren November trees, dead earth, and chilly days reflected how empty and alone she felt. Emma had no trouble at all fitting in and making new friends. Her most recent inseparable pal was Paige Thorne. Fitting that Annie Thorne, Paige’
s mother and English teacher at the high school, and Meg formed a friendship as well. Her family owned a horse farm and Emma had taken up riding. She was a natural. It could often be a challenge squeezing in lessons between her morning hours as a physical therapist and afternoons as a substitute athletic director, but if anyone could do it, Emma could.

  It pleased Meg that, like a chameleon, her daughter could adapt to almost any culture, any situation, and had a plethora of friendships. Emma had the kind of life Meg had always dreamed about: fun and carefree. For the past twenty-two years, she focused first on being a young—very young—mother, and as her daughter grew and matured, Meg worked on establishing her career. Now she had both—career and grown daughter. It was time to make a life for herself.

  Slowly, very slowly, Meg started forming friendships. Annie Thorne had proven herself to be an excellent teacher and a caring woman. Quite regularly, she invited Meg to Martha’s, where most teachers hung out on Friday afternoons, but just as regularly Meg declined. They talked a lot at school and ate lunch together, but she had yet to take Annie up on an offer to go out. It was her fault for feeling so alone. She needed to find a life outside her daughter and her job. But living in small town America made it nearly impossible.

  Annie was great, but Meg didn’t feel comfortable calling her up out of the blue and asking her to hang out. And her past still loomed over her. Not a bombshell she wanted to dump on a newfound friendship. When she felt really alone or needed someone to talk to, she could always pick up the phone and call Tracy, but she needed someone here, not in New York.

  Reading the invitation to the banquet, Meg groaned. Social settings were not her forte`. She had no practice. And alone with Connor? And in Manchester? No way. She would find an excuse to bail out of it. Maybe ask another teacher to go in her place. Maybe Jim, the assistant principal, would go. That could work.

  Meg left her office and walked the five steps to Jim’s office and knocked lightly on his door. “Have a minute?”

  “Sure, come in.” His yellow shirt had a coffee stain by his pocket, which overflowed with various pens and pencils. He pushed his oversized glasses up his nose and gestured toward one of the chairs next to his cluttered desk. “This doesn’t look to good. What’s wrong?”

  Always perceptive, except when it came to his own appearance.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really.” She tucked her skirt under her legs as she sat at the edge of the chair. “I just received an e-mail about Coach McKay.” She summarized the e-mail for him. “And since you have known Connor a lot longer than I have, well, I figured you might like to go.”

  Jim scratched his balding head and looked down at his desk calendar. “Darn, I’d love to go, but it’s our twenty-fifth anniversary. Carol would skin me alive if I stood her up.” He leaned back in his worn desk chair and toyed with a pen in his pocket. “You’ll have a good time. Never met a girl who didn’t have a good time with Connor McKay.”

  Meg took a sharp breath and stared wide-eyed at her usual docile assistant principal.

  Catching on to what he said, he leaned forward and stuttered. “Oh, darn, Meg. I didn’t mean it like that. Oh shoot.” Jim stood and paced, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry. Darn-it-all. I just meant…uh, well, everyone loves Connor. Guys too.” He blushed. “I mean, well, I didn’t mean. I meant—”

  “It’s okay, Jim. I get it. Connor’s a great guy. Funny. Everyone wants to be his friend.” She said it all mockingly, but Jim, caught up in his own embarrassment, didn’t pick up on her sarcasm. “I’ll have a grand ol’ time.”

  Leaving his office, she felt worse than she did five minutes ago. Cloudy images of That Night twenty-three years ago played like a horror flick through her mind. Her body shook as she made a failing attempt to warm herself by hugging her shaking hands around her middle. Fear took over her body as she made her way back to her office. Closing the door behind her, Meg slowed her rapid breathing and practiced her meditation routine. Eyes closed, shoulders relaxed, breathe in…one…two…three, breathe out…one…two…three. Concentrating on clearing her mind—she gave up trying to understand the oxymoron years ago—Meg imagined a slowly running stream flowing through her limbs and releasing all her stress and tension out of her hands and feet.

  The fear would not enter her body. She wouldn’t allow it. She was strong, capable, and no one’s fool. A stupid awards banquet filled with idiotic jocks wouldn’t knock her down.

  Reluctantly, Meg opened her eyes, powered up her laptop, and added one more item to tomorrow’s faculty meeting agenda.

  Chapter 5

  “You really don’t have to drive me. I can meet you there.” Meg straightened her blouse and stood ramrod straight in the doorway of Connor’s classroom, not wanting to completely enter his territory the same way he evaded being fully in her office. He spent a lot of time in the main office, flirting with Barbara, talking with other teachers, picking up his mail, and avoiding Meg. As head of the history department, he had to meet with her monthly, but there was safety in numbers there. She followed his cue and kept her distance as well, but there would be no more avoiding tonight.

  “Manchester is a two hour drive. No sense in us both driving. I’ll pick you up a little before five.”

  “Since you’re the ‘Man of the Hour,’” she quoted with her fingers, “shouldn’t I be driving you?” In her car, she could be in control. In his car…no, she would not think about that.

  “Call me sexist if you must, but I’ll drive.”

  Yeah, she’d call him sexist. Taking a cleansing breath and willing herself to be strong, Meg rolled her eyes and gave him directions to her house. He didn’t write them down and told her he’d pick her up her in two hours. Yikes. Two hours. She quickly left his room and returned to her office. The invitation said semiformal. Thank God she had Tracy’s endless supply of cocktail dresses filling her closet, still with their tags on.

  The pile of paperwork on her desk made a nice distraction. No need to rush home. It wasn’t a date, far from it. She didn’t care what she looked like. Connor represented the enemy to whom she must be civil, but definitely not worth spending two hours in front of the mirror for. She would be in control. Or at least she hoped.

  *

  Emma had different plans than her laid-back mother. Giddy over the idea of her mother going out with the hottest teacher, hell the hottest man she ever met, Emma brainstormed ways to make the night unforgettable. Never in her twenty-two years had she ever recalled her mother being out on a date. And while this wasn’t a date date, it was a date for her mom. Coach McKay, single and hunkalicious; Meg Fulton single and beautiful. Why not work on her matchmaking skills?

  A little past three, her mom finally made it back to the office. Emma paced impatiently. “Mom! I almost had Barbara page you on your walkie-talkie.”

  Meg rushed over and placed her hands on Emma’s face. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  She pushed her mother’s hands away. “I’m fine, Mom, but you need to hurry home and get ready for tonight.”

  “Oh, tonight is the big awards banquet!” Barbara chimed in. “I hope our Connor receives the recognition he deserves. He’s done so much for our community since he returned.”

  Meg started to ask her secretary a question, but Emma interrupted, “Come on Mom, I’ve got your keys. Let’s go.” She had hair and makeup, and a lot of convincing to do. She saw the simple short-sleeved, floor-length gown her mother picked out for tonight. Emma knew her mother would be elegant, but it wasn’t the image she needed to wow McKay.

  Thankfully, her mother had agreed to carpool today and Emma could usher her out of school at a decent hour. They drove in silence. Not wanting to push her mother too much, Emma actually stayed quiet while delicious plans of sexing her mother up ran circles in her head.

  Emma put the car in Park and turned off the ignition. “You hit the shower, and I’ll make us a snack and help you pick out your clothes.”

  “I already have my outfit,�
� Meg said as she got out of the car and walked toward the front door.

  “Uh-huh.” Emma nodded, followed her mother inside the house, and then shooed her mother into the shower. When she entered her mother’s room, she went to the closet and pulled out two dresses. A decoy and the winner. Looking around the bedroom, she frowned at the plain and boring white on white decor. If it weren’t for Tracy, her mother’s wardrobe would be the same monochromatic scheme.

  Minutes later her mother stepped out of the shower, wrapped in her favorite emerald green silk robe—compliments of Tracy and Saks—hair bundled in a towel on top of her head. She stopped abruptly when she saw the dresses Emma laid out for her.

  “Honey, I told you I already picked out my dress.” She went to the closet and pulled out the long, black, old lady dress.

  “Yeah, Mom, about that. I don’t think it’s the dress for tonight. It’s more…I dunno, like an old bridesmaid dress.”

  “Em, it’s Donna Karan.”

  “Yeah, whatever. It still isn’t right for tonight.”

  “It’s a football awards banquet. What do you expect me to wear? A cheerleading outfit?”

  Emma smiled. “No, not exactly, but something more fun. I say the red.” She held up the decoy, a short, tight fitted red dress that revealed too much cleavage, not that her mom had much to show.

  “There’s a reason the tag is still on that one. Just because Tracy sends me the dress, doesn’t mean I have to wear it. Like you said before, we’re in New Hampshire, not Boston. Or New York.”

  “Okay, then how about the sage?” Emma held her real pick against her body, which was only two inches shorter than her mother’s five eight frame, and wiggled her eyebrows. “It says fun, hip, sexy yet conservative.”

  The Badgley Mischka one-shoulder dress gathered on the right and had a flutter sleeve, giving her right arm a little coverage. The skirt, skimming slightly above the knee, would show off her mother’s thin and toned legs.