False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 8

  But just like a typical man to totally and completely ruin the moment. She had the most romantic date of her life—okay, the only date of her life—and he wanted to maybe grab a burger or something. Not used to dining in fancy restaurants with men and letting them lick her tonsils afterward—no that’s unfair, no need to make the amazing kiss sound sleazy, it was a far cry from a cheap feel—but after three hours with Connor, she felt like their relationship had changed. He wasn’t the athletic enemy anymore, but a real honest to goodness nice guy. But doubtful thoughts ran rampantly through her mind. What if this had been part of a ruse? What if this had been part of his elaborate plan to set her up? All men were the same, weren’t they?

  And the worst of it all…she was his boss. There was absolutely no way she could have a romantic relationship with Connor McKay.

  Meg sat up and fluffed her pillows and leaned against the headboard. Five o’clock. No point in tossing and turning for another hour. She turned on her bedside lamp and took out her notepad and pen from her nightstand and started her grocery list.

  Somewhere after bread, cheese, and milk she must have dozed off. The mattress gave way and Emma hopped on the bed, making herself comfortable.

  “So tell me about Mack. How did it go? Did you have fun? It’s six-thirty and you’re awake so the date went down with a bust, or you tossed and turned all night dreaming about him. You promised. Spill.” Emma lay on her belly, a pillow tucked under her chest, her newly painted fingers crossed under her chin.

  Meg rubbed her eyes and laughed. “A lot of pre-dawn energy. I’m making a grocery list. What would you like me to make this week?”

  “Lasagna, and don’t change the subject.”

  She scribbled the ingredients on her notepad and asked, “Garlic bread and salad?”

  “Obviously. Now spill it. Quit the delay tactics.”

  “Brownie sundaes or banana cream pie?”

  Emma sat up, took the notepad and pen away from her mother, and glared. “Pie. Was it that bad? Or that good? You never go on dates. I’ve waited my whole life for you to start dating and now two in less than a month!”

  Meg sighed. “Slow down, Drama Queen. It was…not what I was expecting. I had a nice conversation with…Mack, but I think we’ll remain friends.”

  “That’s it? Why the holdup with the details? There’s obviously more to the story and I’m not leaving until I hear it.”

  “You’ll be late for your lesson.”

  Emma glanced at the clock, “I don’t have to leave for an hour. I have time.”

  She debated telling her daughter about Connor. Knowing Emma, she’d look too far into the situation and try to play matchmaker, just like Betsy. But if she didn’t reveal Mack’s identity, then when she did find out, which Emma surely would, she’d be even more suspicious as to the secret.

  “Mack is Connor’s nickname. His mother is the only one who calls him by his childhood nickname. Betsy tried setting us up, but we’re not interested in each other romantically. I respect him as a teacher, but that’s all.” Meg got up and walked to her bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Unfortunately Emma followed her, not letting her off the hook so easily, and sat on the edge of the tub. “I knew it! You had another date with McKay. This is so destiny!”

  The minty fresh toothpaste turned sour in her mouth, “No,” she said around her toothbrush and mouthful of bubbles. “It’s not.” Meg spit, rinsed, and wiped her mouth before facing her daughter. “And what do you mean by you knew it?”

  “Nothing. So did he kiss you?”

  “You’re withholding information Emma Elizabeth Fulton. Spill.”

  Emma appeared sheepish for a second but unable to fight her grin, she bit her lip and pulled her head into her shoulders as if to avoid the wrath of Mom. “I sort of remember hearing Mrs. Tucker refer to Mack as Connor. I didn’t put the pieces together until you mentioned the blind date last night.”

  “Well, gee, thanks for the heads up.”

  “About that kiss?” Emma got up and leaned in the doorjamb not giving up on prying for details.

  “We were both very uncomfortable being forced into an awkward situation. It won’t happen again.” Not exactly a lie, but she could evade like the best of them.

  “Hey, did you know he used to play football?”

  “I assumed since he is a coach.”

  “No, I mean in the NFL. He’s a local celebrity around here. Totally loaded too, I bet.”

  “No, I didn’t know. Now shoo. I need to take a shower.” She closed the bathroom door and rubbed her hands across her face. The mysterious man, who apparently was an open book to everyone but Meg, his fame and fortune and his evasiveness when she called him on his notoriety all started to make sense. She needed to stay as far away from Connor McKay the former NFL player as she possibly could.

  The hot water didn’t help her troubled mind and body. It only reminded her of the warmth and steam that radiated off of Connor when he held her tight after their passionate kiss.

  * * * *

  One down, two to go. Betsy was nowhere to be found. There were plenty of horses in the large barn, but no Betsy. Emma saddled up Lady and talked to her gently as she always did pre-lesson, while Meg looked around for Miss Matchmaker. She knew why Betsy was hiding, and Meg was not about to let her off the hook.

  “Morning, George,” she said to Cupid’s husband. “Is Betsy around?”

  He cringed and nervously scuffed the toe of his boot into the dirt. He obviously knew about the mischief his wife had caused.

  “She’ll be down soon. Baking up a batch of her famous apple bread. Believe one of ‘em belongs to you two ladies.”

  So bribery wasn’t beneath the sweet little old lady. “Thanks, George. I think I’ll go inside and see if she needs a hand.”

  “Go easy on her.” He winked.

  Meg found Betsy right where George said she’d be. The large farm style kitchen smelled like fall and family. People paid thirty dollars for an apple spice Yankee candle, while the Tucker kitchen smelled like the real deal for a fraction of the cost unless you counted the price of pride. Betsy wore a gingham-checked apron and bustled around the butcher block island, wiping up flour and then checking on the loaves of bread in the oven, looking like a genuine Betty Crocker. Meg stood in the doorway admiring her. She had a wonderful husband, four children—two of whom she knew quite well.

  They appeared to be the perfect family, but from what Connor told her last night, she knew it hadn’t always been easy. Randy died, which may not have been such a terrible thing, leaving Betsy a widow with two small children at a very young age. They’d had to move out of their home and into a tiny trailer while Betsy cooked and cleaned houses in the community. A battered housewife and stay-at-home mom in the seventies. When George Tucker had moved into the dilapidated Hanson farmhouse and began renovating it as well as the barn he hired Betsy to help clean, and when she’d proved herself valuable at painting, wallpapering and decorating, well, it was love at first sight. George and Betsy married a year after meeting and the rest is history.

  Meg explored the kitchen, noticing the primitive stars hanging on the walls, the rooster cookie jar and teapot and the rustic pine cabinets. She learned last night that George had built them himself, and Betsy had stained them. When Connor was young, George had given him odd jobs around the house and barn to make him feel like a man while Annie had helped Betsy sew curtains and slip covers for the old furniture. All lovely memories he had shared with her last night over tender salmon, sinfully rich chocolate, and seductive kisses.

  Lost in nostalgia, she didn’t hear Betsy call her name.

  “Oh, dear. Am I going to get the silent treatment? I can’t stand it if I do. I’m sorry, Meg.” Betsy dried off her hands on a kitchen towel decorated with cows and paced the kitchen. “I take it back. I’m not sorry. I think you and Connor have a liking for one another but are both too stubborn to notice it. You just needed a little nudging is all.”
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br />   But instead of anger, guilt set in. “You’ve talked about your family for the past four months but never mentioned Connor was your son? You let me rant and rave about him when all along I’ve been whining about your son! I’m sorry Betsy. I didn’t mean to insult your family. Had I known, I would have never—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, dear.” She took Meg’s hands in hers and walked over to the worn kitchen table. They sat in rickety mismatched chairs that had as much charm as the little boy who once sat at them. “I’m so sorry I deceived you. I didn’t do it to be cruel. I…” Betsy sighed. “Connor can be as stubborn as a mule. Don’t know where he gets it from.”

  Meg laughed. “I came in here to give you a piece of my mind, but I find myself apologizing to you. How’d you muster up that one?”

  “It’s the apple bread. Does it every time.”

  “And George was in on it, huh? Got me to step right into the trap.” She smiled at Betsy’s twinkling blue eyes and saw the obvious connection to Connor. Growing serious, she said, “I do appreciate you lending your ear, and I apologize for all those insulting comments I said about your son, but you’ll have to hang up your matchmaking hat. Connor and I had a pleasant evening.” Sensing Betsy’s interruption, she continued a bit louder. “However, we had some very uncomfortable moments.”

  “But it ended on a positive note?” Betsy asked hopefully.

  Weighing out just how much she wanted to reveal to the mother of the man whom her loins ached for, she said, “Yes and no. We’re not at war with one another, but we realized we are better off as friends.”

  “He said that?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “And you feel the same?”

  She felt her cheeks burn as she redirected her eyes and looked out the window. “Betsy, I recognize you mean well, but I’m his boss. A relationship between us would be highly inappropriate.”

  “Oh,” Betsy sighed. “I never thought of that. Is it in the rulebook somewhere? What about Mark and Linda Sandown? They’re married.”

  “Mark is head of the science department and Linda is an art teacher. There’s no conflict in their relationship.”

  “The previous principal’s daughter is a teacher at the elementary school.”

  Meg smiled and patted Betsy’s hand. “It’s not the same. I evaluate my staff on a regular basis. It would be a biased evaluation if I started dating Connor.” Meg rose and slipped on her coat. “Besides, I’m not interested in him that way. We’re just friends.” She hoped she convinced Betsy there was no chemistry between her and Connor.

  Now if she could just convince herself.

  Chapter 9

  Three weeks came and went and not a word about their date. Not that he expected her to come out and say, Hey Connor, great time the other night. And the kiss, wow! Was it as good for you as it was for me? He saw her five days a week at school, and again at Martha’s, but she didn’t make eye contact and had been enjoying herself with the teachers at her table so he let her be.

  Twice he thought about calling her. Shit, who was he kidding? He thought about calling her at least twice a minute. He actually opened up his cell a handful of times and started to dial but quickly closed it. He started over a dozen e-mails and imagined her reading them in her office all prim and proper in one of her suits and blushing and looking over her shoulder.

  No, he’d keep their work relationship appropriate, but he had no desire to keep their relationship outside of work appropriate. Again, not that there was a relationship. Hell! When did he start using that word? He didn’t want strings.

  He wanted Meg. On a platter wearing nothing but…well, maybe the dress she wore to his banquet. Or the red one she wore to dinner. He could only imagine what she wore underneath. Meg didn’t come across as a cotton girl. All satin and lace for her. Slowly, he imagined peeling off layer by silky layer, touching her soft skin, trailing kisses up her neck…

  “Get out of the shower ladies, ‘cause I gotta flush,” Cole dropped his cards on the table snagging Connor out of his fantasies.

  “Punk ass kid, who invited him anyway?” Kent, Connor’s assistant football coach, growled as Cole scooped up his winnings.

  “Ah, you’re a bunch of sorry old men,” Cole laughed.

  Their monthly poker game, held in Connor’s basement—better known as the Mancave—had all the comforts of home: Extreme Fighting played on the big screen, muted so they could listen to classic rock on the Bose system, a long bar, pool and air hockey tables, and the crowded poker table. And usually the poker chips piled high in front of Connor. Not tonight though.

  “I’ll take the blame on this one,” Rick said. “Annie made me bring him ‘cause she felt sorry for the poor kid. Ugly mutt like that can’t get a girl, so I told her we’d take him under our wings.” Rick stood up and ruffled Cole’s hair. “Anyone want a beer while I’m up?”

  A unanimous “yeah” filled the air. His brother-in-law was a good guy, for a shrink. After Connor’s divorce, Rick had tried to psychoanalyze him, mostly due to Annie’s pressuring. Mano-to-mano, Rick was an average poker playing, beer drinking, pool shooting kind of guy.

  Connor welcomed his twin brothers Mason and Cole into their man-circle when the boys hit twenty-one a few years ago. Their fourteen-year age difference kept their relationship more casual, but since the twins had grown up and started facing the real world, they found more in common.

  Mason continued to be an odd duck, preferring to study or tinker with computers rather than go out with the guys, but Connor didn’t meddle. Tonight, he really didn’t want much to do with anyone but couldn’t come up with a good reason to cancel the monthly poker game. He normally controlled the game, but tonight the cards didn’t fall in his favor. His head wasn’t in the game; it was with a tall broad who seemed immune to his charm.

  “Coach, you in?” Kent asked.

  Apparently Rick had handed out another round of beers and another hand had been dealt. Damn, Connor needed to man-up. “Yeah, I call.” He tossed his chips into the pot and took a sip of his beer and then checked out his cards. A seven and a two. Yeah, tonight sucked.

  “Great season J.T.’s having this year. Think he’ll make it to the Super Bowl?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’ll score us some tickets, right? I love watching the games here in your Mancave, don’t get me wrong, but watching J.T. live in the Super Bowl would be kick ass,” Cole grinned.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Connor mumbled, not in the mood to ruminate about his NFL buddy. Tonight was not the night to ruminate about the football career that ended too quickly.

  He folded on the next round and then went upstairs to let Rocky outside. He made a pit stop at the fridge and took out a beer before opening the door to the cold. Connor knew his brother-in-law had followed him, but he didn’t have the energy to tell Rick he wanted a few minutes alone.

  “Cold out.” Rick closed the front door behind him and leaned on the porch railing next to Connor.

  “Yup,” Connor replied, taking another pull on his beer and watched Rocky sniff the frozen ground for the perfect spot to make his mark.

  “You all right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, I don’t want to pry. Just checking.”

  Connor didn’t want to talk and never needed woman advice before, but he appreciated Rick’s concern. “Annie send you?” Connor asked before Rick made it to the door.

  “No, Annie isn’t here tonight and can’t see how out of it you are. According to her you’re a big dumb idiot who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow. Says you’re pretty quiet at school these days. Not yourself.”

  “Yup. That’s my loving sis.”

  “However, if she was here, she’d beg me to come out here and ask you what the hell has got you looking so aloof and cranky. But I couldn’t care less as long as you’re not taking all my money.” Rick sipped his beer and remained next to Connor, staring out into the black night, both men comfortable with the sile
nce.

  Connor nodded and finished his beer. Rocky made his way up the steps and circled in front of the door, but Connor made no move to return inside. The air was silent with the exception of the tap of Rocky’s claws on the frozen deck and Connor’s deep swallows of beer. The cold air whipped through his thin T-shirt, but he didn’t care. They remained standing in silence.

  “I think she’s afraid of me, but truthfully, she scares the hell out of me.” No need to say who, Rick had to realize it was a woman wreaking havoc with Connor’s game.

  “What’s her story?”

  “Hell if I know. She even likes me. She definitely doesn’t trust me.”

  “Not your usual type. Have you done anything to betray her trust?”

  “No. Seriously, I haven’t”

  “I believe you. You may be an ass at times, but you’re always honest. Follow your heart, Connor. You have a good one. You’ve changed a lot since your divorce, and if this woman is worth it, show her who you really are. You’ve got to earn her trust. Not something you’re used to working at.” Rick patted him on the back and turned to go inside.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  That’s what he’d do. Convince the woman to trust him. Yeah, sure, piece of cake. Hell, he didn’t even trust himself.

  * * * *

  Bright headlights brought Connor’s attention back to the road. Where it should be. The Nor’easter dumped over a foot of snow in the past twelve hours, and he had a crap load of clean up to do. Connor plowed out his long driveway, which took nearly two hours, and then made his way through the rental properties he and his family owned. Plowing the driveways sucked. They took turns plowing and shoveling, and this storm Connor drew the short straw. Lucky son of a bitch.