nothing to do with football then,” he said.
“Yeah, nothing to do with football,” she said.
He couldn’t understand her attitude toward the sport. He’d always thought it would be great to grow up with a coach as a father. His own dad really only cared about the cattle, the land...their family legacy. But Hunter had never understood it.
“Why don’t you like football?” he asked.
She took a sip of her wine and glanced out toward the setting sun. He noticed the burnished copper in her dark hair and for the first time realized it was layered with different colors. The wind blew, stirring the strands against her face, and she put her glass down and looked over at him. Her blue eyes were serious and almost sad.
“I could never compete with football or the players in my dad’s eyes. So I didn’t even try. It’s not that I don’t like football it’s just—”
“You hate it,” he said.
“Hate is really a strong word.”
“Not for a passionate woman,” he said. “I get it. I feel that way about cattle. My family has a big spread in the Hill Country and my brothers all love the land. Or most of them do—one of my brothers is a surgeon. But damned if I didn’t hate ranching from...well, from birth, I imagine.”
“So you played football?”
“Well, ma’am, I am from Texas.”
“I could tell,” she said.
“What about you? I’m pretty sure I heard a bit of twang when you talk.”
“I teach at UT Austin.”
“Let me guess. Literature,” he said.
“Wrong. I’m a psychology lecturer.”
“Wrong? Good thing we didn’t wager on it,” he said.
She laughed. “Good thing. I bet you’re not used to losing.”
The mantle of the past fell heavy on his shoulders. He had only really lost once and he’d done it bigger than life when Stacia had been killed and he’d been blamed for her murder.
“No one gets used to losing,” he said.
She put her hand on his where it lay on the table and squeezed. She was very different from the coach, who’d always told them to shake it off. She was empathetic, and a part of him knew he could play on that. Get her to give him what he wanted. Another part wanted not to have to play games with her. But he was a player. He always had been.
“I’m sorry, Hunter. Tell me again why you need to see my father’s papers and effects.”
He turned his hand over in hers, rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles while he thought about it. If he went for the hard sell now she’d pull back. He needed...he needed her to feel important. As if he was here for her.
And he was, as long as she had access to the information he needed to clear up the past. But something didn’t feel right about that. Maybe this date was a mistake because getting to know Ferrin was making him feel as if using her was wrong.
“I’m here to finally solve the Frat House Murder case. And clear my name once and for all.”
* * *
She put her hands in her lap and linked them together tightly. A chill spread down her spine as she stared at the man whom she’d been dining with. Murderer. The word echoed in her head but a part of her had a hard time reconciling that with the man she’d come to know throughout the evening.
Her throat was dry and she knew she had to say something. He watched her carefully but she had no idea how to respond to what he’d just said.
“Um...”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a mood breaker,” he said. “At first I’d thought you might have recognized my name but then it became clear you didn’t.”
“No. I really don’t follow sports or my dad’s teams that closely,” she said. “So tell me what happened.”
“Okay, I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning is probably a good idea,” she said. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he’d been accused of murder. He didn’t feel threatening to her at all. “Were you arrested?”
“Yes. But we were released on bond and charges were never brought,” he said. “That’s why it’s so important that I get a look at your dad’s files.”
“Do you think Coach had something to do with the murders?” she asked.
He shrugged. “No, I don’t. But we are missing the videotapes from the gym and that’s where the attack on Stacia took place. I think they might be in your dad’s files. He kept everything.”
“Yes, he did. He reviewed those tapes every night when I was with him. What makes you think he has tapes from the gym? I remember seeing practice footage,” she said. She was trying to understand what Hunter thought he’d find.
“And he gave me and the other players notes the next day. He’d tell me if I was slacking off on the middle reps on a specific weight machine. I know he reviewed the gym tapes too.”
“It’s a lot to think about,” she said at last. She wanted to help Hunter but if her father said no, she wasn’t going to rock the boat with him by going behind his back. That wasn’t her way.
“Want to take a walk?” Hunter asked. “Unless you don’t feel safe with me.”
She looked over at him, saw the uncertainty in his gaze and felt a tug at her heart. She’d been accused in middle school of cheating on a test; she hadn’t cheated and her mom had gotten the teacher to change her grade but the other students all believed she had cheated. Though it wasn’t the same as Hunter’s situation, she remembered what it had been like when she’d gone to the honor society meetings and people would stare at her as if she didn’t belong there.
“I feel safe with you,” she admitted.
Hunter paid the bill and led the way down to the beach. For a man who had once been accused of murder, Hunter was charming in a self-deprecating way, Ferrin noted as they walked along the beach. The breeze blew her hair and the only sound that accompanied them was the waves crashing on the shore. He wanted her dad’s information, and given how little she cared about it, she was tempted to just give it to him. But this was the Gainer legacy. It was all that her father had left—and there was something in those boxes of practice tapes, game-day films and old files that her father was afraid of.
She doubted there was anything in the files that would help Hunter. What could her father have possibly known about a coed’s death and not shared with the cops? But at the same time...she liked Hunter. There was something about him that was different from all the other men she’d met.
He was a jock but not like the others. He was one of her father’s favored honorary sons but he didn’t look through her. Didn’t make her feel as if she was too bookish to warrant his attention. And maybe it was just that he was good-looking and paying attention to her. That couldn’t be ruled out. She might be serious and pretend to be sophisticated but she wasn’t dead.
“What are you thinking? You’ve been glancing at me from the corner of your eye for the last few minutes,” Hunter said, drawing her to a stop near a rocky outcropping.
“Nothing,” she said. Right! As if she was going to tell him that she was contemplating his attractiveness.
“Sweetheart, I know you think I’m a dumb jock—”
“Never. There is nothing dumb about you, Hunter,” she said, glancing out at the endless cycling of the waves and realizing that was the problem. If he’d been like every other player on her dad’s team, then she’d have said thanks for