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Maggie shrugged out of Nanna’s firm grasp. “I’m fine, thanks.” She tugged the edge of the shirt, wishing she could erase the disgust on Lucas’s face and the shame flooding her system. Nanna rubbed Maggie’s back, like she’d done when she was a little girl. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a grown-ass woman, and she didn’t need to stand around and let Lucas Rodriguez ridicule her.
“Everything’s packed up. I’ll take these boxes to the truck.” Maggie said.
“No, let me,” Lucas rushed to her side and their fingers brushed as he took the boxes from her. Her temperature spiked, but he looked cool as a cucumber.
“Thanks. The truck is in the second row. You can’t miss the ranch logo on the back.”
Lucas nodded, calling, “I’ll be right back,” over his shoulder. Maggie watched until he’d turned the corner, but only so she’d know it was safe to escape. She certainly wasn’t watching the way his shirt strained across his upper back or the perfect fit of his shorts. Or that the powerful legs above his mismatched shortie socks weren’t hairy. They were almost bare, which made her wonder about his chest and if he had a treasure—Stop! she screamed to herself before she finished her thoughts.
“I’ve got to get back and get ready for work. I’ll see you both later.” Maggie hugged each grandparent before rounding the table and blending in with the remaining crowd. Hopefully, she’d be out of the market before Lucas returned from the truck.
She’d never left them without helping take down the tent and tables before, and Maggie felt awful about it. Knowing Lucas would stay and help didn’t comfort her, but the knowledge slowed her down so she could walk at a normal pace. What did it say about her that she’d bailed on her grandparents, leaving them with a menace, a menace who’d made an impression? Nanna had even given him an open invitation to visit the ranch. Maggie had nowhere to hide. Lucas was like a horrid game of whack-a-mole. She didn’t know where he’d pop up to torture her next—at work, at the ranch, or at the farmers’ market.
She needed to be prepared and be indifferent. At some point, he’d get bored and leave her alone, right?
Chapter 4
“One more thing before I let you go.” Coach Mack smacked his clipboard against his thigh, waiting for the room to quiet. “There’s a big festival in a few weeks, and community relations wants us to get involved.” He paused and waited out the groans. “I know you’ve all signed up for volunteer work, but, well, with the continuing bad press in the paper, we need to do more.”
Lucas saw Cal slouch down in his seat, not an easy feat even with the extra-large seats and legroom provided in the team meeting conference room. Cal’s oldest sister, Harper, was a reporter for the Cascade City Chronicle. They regularly featured her on the front page or editorial section. Harper had nothing positive to say about the Tetons or their owner, and had blamed most of Cascade City’s problems on the young football franchise.
“What do they want us to do?” someone behind Lucas asked.
“I’m not sure,” Coach admitted, propping his hip on the table. “Pete in community relations said they’d consider almost anything as long as it’s family oriented and reflects well on us.”
“What about the game?”
“Game’s on Sunday and the festival runs most of Saturday. You’ll be done by late afternoon, so you’ll be on time for hotel check-in.” There was a collective groan at the NFL mandated rule, requiring teams to stay in a hotel the night before a game, including the host team. “It’ll be tight that week, but we can make it work. Start tossing out ideas and Coach Shockley will write them on the whiteboard.” He tossed a marker to Sam Shockley, and it bounced off his chest, causing the defensive line to laugh. The offense knew better.
Shockley’s wife was very pregnant with their third child, and Sam was anxious. He’d missed the pregnancy, birth and the first eleven years of their twins’ lives—a complicated, heart-wrenching story—and he was making up for lost time with this pregnancy. Sam picked up the marker and looked at the room expectantly.
“Are you thinking one big thing, like a booth where we can sign autographs?”
“I’m not sure, but Sam, write that down,” Coach Mack said. “Let’s just brainstorm a list, give it to community relations, and let them decide.”
“What about face painting? Kids love that,” someone suggested.
“If any of you can draw something other than a dick, I’ll write it down,” Shockley said. A few men snickered. Anyone who didn’t have a freshly washed car usually found a dick drawn on it when they left practice. Sometimes on all four doors, hood, and back windshield, thanks to the dusty area surrounding the stadium.
“I can do a palm tree and a dolphin,” the punter said. Sam nodded his head as if their resident Picasso had impressed him and he wrote it on the board.
“There’s always a pie-eating contest at a fair.”
“Not gonna help our reputation if we win anything,” Coach said. “Next.”
“There’s a 5k fun run and a one-mile event that people can do with their dogs and kids. The money goes to the animal shelter. We could do that and chat with people along the way. Encourage them,” Cal said, breaking the silence.
“Cal, is this the Tumble Falls Festival?” Lucas asked. He’d gone several times as a child with his family and then again as a teen, traveling as a pack with his friends.
“That’s the one. All the events are on the website.”
Coach sighed heavily, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. Pull out your phones, find this site, and see if anything comes to mind.” Coach was a card-carrying troglodyte and hated almost everything about technology, especially when the instant replay and touchdown review didn’t go in their favor.
Lucas quickly found the website and scrolled through the activities. There were the usual festival-type activities they’d already mentioned, as well as a petting zoo, some kid-friendly carnival games, and the judged contests. Blue-ribbon type stuff for quilts, preserves, biggest zucchini, oddest-shaped vegetable, and a few others.
Lucas didn’t think any of them qualified to judge a quilt. As far as he was concerned, if it was in one piece, it was already a winner. He couldn’t imagine the time to cut the fabric, sew the different colors back together again in a pattern, and then do the tiny, fancy stitching on top. Especially when it was a perfectly usable solid piece of cloth to begin with.
His fingers scrolled down the list. And then he backed up. Baking contest. Didn’t Maggie’s grandparents mention something about that? If Maggie was in the baking contest and he was in the baking contest, then she couldn’t avoid him like she had been.
