before he disappointed Ken the way he’d let his dad down. Travis needed to work harder if he didn’t want to end up unemployed again. Everyone at the station had welcomed him with open arms. Well, almost everyone. Summer Raines wasn’t impressed. She didn’t know who he was or what he had accomplished in his life. She didn’t seem to know or care much about football at all. The weather girl was dedicated to her craft—period.
Travis sped up, sweat dripping down his forehead. He wiped it out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He was in the zone now, his body working like a well-oiled machine. No one who saw him running would suspect he was damaged beyond repair. Of course, out here there was no one trying to throw him down on the ground, looking to completely destroy his weakened shoulder. He was in great physical shape, just not for the one thing he thought he was born to do.
He pushed himself harder than usual. Rachel would likely give him some on-air pointers. She came off as more than willing to mentor the newcomer. So unlike the weather girl, who was excellent at her job but didn’t seem to be much of a team player. Both women were experienced reporters. He also couldn’t deny they were attractive. Rachel had a face that was made for television—a friendly smile, high cheekbones and porcelain skin. Summer had long blond hair with a little curl and the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.
As he sprinted back toward his house, he thought about how the last thing he needed was to give someone else a chance to break what was left of his heart. Rachel had been incredibly kind to him on his first day, but her intentions were familiarly questionable. She was too impressed with who Travis had been. Summer didn’t like him. She had made that clear, and maybe that was what made her a safe mentor. He’d never get caught in the rain unprepared, and there was no chance they’d ever fall in love. It was a win-win for him, and it’d been a long time since Travis had won at anything.
* * *
“YOU REMEMBER PLAYING Wylie your senior year? My son was tight end. Maybe you remember him— Sean Harper? Number 80. He was a junior. Made all-conference his senior year.”
Travis had played in thousands of football games. He remembered lots of opponents. He knew all the quarterbacks, several linemen, a handful of linebackers. Tight ends? Not so many. But the portly man with the bright green tie sitting beside him looked so desperate for Travis to recall his son, he lied.
“Sean Harper from Wylie.” He paused as though he was trying to place him. “Oh yeah, tight end. He was a helluva player. Where’d he go after high school?”
Mr. Harper was beaming. “He went to A&M. Didn’t play ball. Graduates this spring with a degree in accounting.”
“You must be very proud.”
“He’s got a bright future ahead of him. His mom and I couldn’t be prouder.” Mr. Harper smiled and went back to his lunch. Bright future. Travis remembered what it felt like to have one of those. Suddenly, his shoulder ached and his stomach hurt. He tried to get in a couple bites before someone else asked him a football-related question, reminding him once again that his future wasn’t looking nearly as good as Sean Harper’s.
Making an appearance for the station at the Abilene Rotary Club luncheon sounded like a dream until Travis realized how little eating would actually be involved. After helping to present a service award to a gangly, pimply-faced teenager, he’d been bombarded with a million questions. The small banquet hall was filled with many of Abilene’s finest, people who cared enough to give back to their community. Businessmen and businesswomen, local leaders, regular citizens who found purpose in promoting goodwill through their fellowship. Travis was surrounded by very nice people. Very nice people who wanted to talk to the fallen hero of West Central Texas. Each time he lifted his fork to his mouth, he was thwarted by another question.
“What channel do you work for again?” a woman with silver hair asked from across the table.
“He’s over at Channel 6 with Rachel Crow and that weather girl who always knows when it’s going to rain,” Mr. Harper replied, allowing Travis to indulge in his first bite of the chicken that had been cooling on his plate.
“Oh, Summer Raines.” The woman smiled. “I love her.”
“You have to tell us,” another gentleman in a dark blue blazer said, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Is it true she has magic powers? Can she really predict when it’s going to rain, or is it a gimmick?”
Travis’s mouth was full of some of the best mashed potatoes he’d had in a long time. He swallowed them quickly as all eyes turned on him. It was strange to talk about something other than his football past—or lack of a football future. Summer Raines had offered him a reprieve, and she wasn’t even here. “Well, I haven’t been working there long enough to be sure, but I don’t think it’s magic. She’s just real good at her job.”
“Rumor is she’s a witch,” one of the younger women at the table whispered. “That’s why she’s so connected with nature. Wicca, they call it.”
Travis snorted. Were these people serious? Travis didn’t know the woman well, but she sure wasn’t a witch. “I don’t think she’s a witch. She takes the weather seriously. Spends a lot of time looking at things online. Maps and radars, you know. Weather stuff.” He had no idea what he was talking about. The other diners stared as though they could tell.
“She’s the only one I trust. She’s always right,” the gray-haired woman said, breaking the silence.
The man beside her agreed. “Never been wrong in all the time I’ve watched.”
Travis was impressed. He drank some iced tea and finished his lunch while the table continued to discuss the storms Summer had predicted. The weather girl was quite the legend in her own right. If he could learn from her, Travis might be able to pull this sportscasting thing off.
* * *
THE NEWSROOM WAS quieter today. Yesterday everyone had bombarded Travis with their memories of games they had watched him play over the years. One of the producers had been following Travis’s career since he was in Pee Wee. Today, people were still friendly, but not as in-his-face. There was only one face he wanted to get in front of, and she was already at her desk, on her computer.
“Good afternoon, Weather Girl.”
Her annoyance at that nickname was obvious. Her naturally pink cheeks flushed red and made him smile. She hated him and he loved it.
“Mr. Lockwood, good to see you were able to dry off after last night,” she quipped.
Travis’s laugh was deep. How he’d missed laughing for real and not for show. “I plan on telling Ken it’s entirely your fault if I catch a cold.”
“I don’t control the weather, I just predict it.” She turned her attention back to her monitor. Her soft-looking curls fell down like a curtain, shielding her face from him. He wanted to reach out and push them behind her ear so he could see those cheeks, those eyes. Her eyes really were amazing. They were big and blue like the Texas sky.
He sat on the edge of her desk. She flipped her hair off her shoulder and side-eyed him, saying nothing. He picked up the framed photo of a young couple and a curly-haired, little girl in front of something that looked like a souped-up tank. She snatched it out of his hands and set it back in its place. “Is there something you need? Maybe you’re looking to unload thirty seconds from your segment? Or are you just here to bother me?”
“I was the special guest at the Abilene Rotary Club’s luncheon today. They think you have magic powers. Said you’ve never been wrong about when it’s going to rain.” He left out the part where they wondered if she was a witch.
“No magic powers,” she said, trying to look disinterested.
“That’s what I said. I told them it was nothing but luck, and odds were you’d get it wrong one of these days.”
Summer stopped what she was doing and turned her whole body in his direction. “Did you, now?”
Finally, he had her full