A Stallion's Touch. Deborah Mello Fletcher

expression across his face spoke volumes, and the coach suddenly swallowed hard, shifting his gaze around the room to avoid looking directly at the man he was chastising. The tension was palpable, and one of the other players suddenly slammed his helmet against a metal locker.

      “Let’s do this!” another teammate screamed, all of them anxious to get out on the field and hit something.

      After another two minutes of a pep talk, the coach dismissed the team, and they headed in the direction of the field. He sauntered slowly to Nicholas, who still stood where he’d stopped. The two eyed each other warily.

      “Why do you have to bust my chops, Stallion?” Coach Brandt questioned. He stood with his hands on his hips, his eyebrows lifted in query. “You are taking us to the Big Game! The Big Game! You’re one of the best damn players in the league, and you need to be setting an example for all the others. Instead, you’re giving me a hard time!”

      Nicholas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He met the look Brandt was giving him with one of his own, wondering why the man felt the song and dance was necessary. Nicholas didn’t always do what was expected of him, but he had never once not done his job and done it well. And Brandt knew that. In the years he’d played for the team, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been late for anything and have more than half his fingers left over. To Nicholas’s chagrin, Brandt often played to the cameras and the other players, needing to laud his position whenever he had an audience.

      “You done?” Nicholas finally asked, clearly not impressed.

      Brandt lowered his voice. “Hey, you know everyone already thinks I give you too many passes. Just this morning someone was whining about you being the coach’s favorite.”

      “Just this morning?”

      “Well, maybe not this morning, but I heard it once this week already.”

      Nicholas chuckled softly. “I should be your favorite. Me scoring more points and gaining more yardage in a single game is what got you to the championship. Breaking the records I’ve already set is what’s going to win you that championship ring. I know it and so do you.”

      “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” The man grinned. “So, is everything okay? Nothing we need to worry about, I hope.”

      Nicholas shook his head. “Everything’s fine. It won’t happen again. At least, not this season. I can’t speak for next year, though.” He turned to hang the last of his street clothes in the locker, slamming the door closed after pulling a jersey over his head.

      Brandt nodded, extending his hand. The two bumped fists, and Nicholas turned in the other direction, following the other players to the football field.

       Chapter 4

      Tarah had been far from comfortable when she arrived for her dinner meeting with Dr. Harper. Kai, the five-star restaurant he’d selected, was located in the Sheraton Wild Horse Pass Resort and Spa in the Gila River Indian Community near Chandler. The award-winning eatery was renowned for its Native American cuisine, and with the diamond awards earned by their executive chef, it was a member of an elite group of dining establishments. Tarah wished she’d bothered to check the reviews before she’d left the hospital. She shut down the search page on her smart phone and gloomily exited her car.

      Walking up to the entrance of Kai, it was obvious she was underdressed. Unfortunately, going home to change wasn’t an option since she was past the point of arriving fashionably late. The black slacks and white button-down blouse she wore didn’t begin to compare to the designer wardrobes of the other women in the room. In fact, with her thick curls pulled into a high bun and no makeup adorning her fresh face, Tarah looked more like a member of the staff than a patron.

      Dr. Harper had already been seated when the hostess escorted her to his table. His stare had been critical, but as he’d risen from his seat to pull out her chair, he’d remained quiet. Admiring the gray silk suit he wore with a white dress shirt and red print necktie, Tarah felt overwhelmingly out of place. Her discomfort was painted across her face like a bad makeup job.

      There was a moment of comfort when he dove right into business, quizzing her on the day’s training. But by the time the waiter came bearing their appetizers, her discomfort returned with a vengeance. Their conversation had taken a personal turn. He was suddenly asking questions about her relationships and the men she’d dated in the past. When the entrée was set in front of her, she knew beyond any doubt that dinner had been a monumental mistake.