others faced. Just different.
His expression was so implacable that she suspected he was waiting for that moment he’d undoubtedly had with others. The outpouring of heartfelt sympathy and the “I’m so sorry.” She was, but telling him so would only make him feel pitied. He didn’t need that, surely didn’t want that.
“The first step is filling out an application, then getting you scheduled for a class—”
“You mean after my sight is totally gone?” He shook his head. “Listen, I know others are ahead of me in that whole process to get a dog. I’ve done my homework, and I know about the two-year training stint. And I know about the preparation and class work that I need to do ahead of time. The thing is, I’m in a unique situation here—”
“Privileged?” She hadn’t intended to interrupt, but the idea that he might think he could circumvent the system simply because he had money made her suddenly, unreasonably annoyed. With that, she became aware of the vehicle’s leather interior and the latest in gadgets on the dashboard. With his wealth, why was he seeking her help?
“Fortunately, yes,” he said simply. “But that’s not what I mean. To me, having this warning that I’m losing my vision is like training camp. You’ve got a set of things you need to do to get ready for the season—get in shape, learn the new playbook, do the work to build a team out of a bunch of individuals. What I’m going through is the same thing.” His expression lightened. “A Braille playbook isn’t going to be easy to learn.”
Surprised at his ready agreement to being privileged and intrigued by his comparison to training season, Angela saw the passion in him that had undoubtedly driven him to become an athlete good enough to be a professional.
“Exactly what do you want from Guardian Paws?” she asked, her annoyance diffused by his explanation.
“To participate in picking out and training my guide dog.”
Like his statement about going blind, this one was equally forthright, as though he had given the idea a lot of thought.
“Why Guardian Paws?” she asked. “There are other organizations, more experienced trainers—”
“Who could help me?”
His gaze searched her face, making her wonder just how much of his sight was left and what was causing his loss of vision. Diabetes? Macular degeneration? Glaucoma? Some irreversible injury?
“First, you’re local, so it seems reasonable that the logistics would be easier. Second, because your organization is small, I’m hoping you’ll be able—willing—to take a chance on this.”
“So you’ve already asked one of the other schools.”
“Several.” He nodded. “They have a set protocol that works, and I understand that.”
Sam turned the SUV onto her street.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she said to Brian. “I’ve got to talk with my partner.”
“Is this the right house?” Sam asked from the driver’s seat.
Angela looked out at the small ranch-style home where she lived. Her twelve-year-old Honda Civic was in the driveway. “Yes.”
He pulled into the driveway, then got out of the car to open the door for her. She unbuttoned Brian’s overcoat and left it on the seat as she got out of the car. A gust of wind hit her, and she shivered.
On the other side Brian was getting out, as well. Like the well-trained dog she was, Polly waited for her command before hopping out of the back of the SUV and immediately coming to stand next to Angela.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said as Brian walked her to the door.
“I should be thanking you for listening,” he said. “Anything you need from me to help you make a decision—” He laughed suddenly. “Well, make a decision that I like.”
“I’ll call you.” She smiled at him, liking the way he turned his humor and his expectations back on himself.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, heading back down the walk, this time getting into the passenger seat of the SUV.
Another car came slowly down the street, the driver looking in their direction. Angela watched, hoping it wasn’t Tommy Manderoll.
It wasn’t, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the car drove past her house. Sam backed into the street while Brian gave her a brief salute from the passenger seat as they drove away.
After she let herself into the house, she remembered there had been a newspaper article about him recently. Something non-sports related. Looking through the stack of newspapers she had set aside for recycling, she found the article on the front page of the Family Living section of last Saturday’s paper—a huge piece about his foundation and the work he did with inner-city teens. With the loss of public money to fund after-school programs, the foundation had quietly and effectively filled in the gap. Sports was the cornerstone, but there were also activities for kids interested in other things, all designed to build teamwork and burn energy.
“The programs of the Beanstalk Gang are built around traditional activities, like sports. But we do more than that. Imagine field trips that take these kids behind the scenes where they can see people doing jobs they might aspire to. These outings are styled after reality shows and are fun and require skill,” the article quoted Brian. “It’s all about being somewhere safe and being where kids know somebody cares about them. You can’t let them know that in a sentimental way, of course, so it’s all in the guise of competition and learning life skills—teamwork, decision making, sportsmanship. It’s about basic tutoring when it’s required—you’d be surprised how many of these kids can’t read. Compared to the cost of doing nothing, these programs take an insanely small amount of money.”
The article concluded saying that he was proof that one person could make a difference.
Indeed. The man was attractive inside and out, a man she could seriously like. And like is the furthest it could go, she firmly told herself, imagining the field day a reporter would have if either of them acted on the attraction. Assuming, that is, that her awareness of him hadn’t been one-sided.
The convict and the blind quarterback. That was a headline she never wanted to see.
She had been the object of a reporter’s insatiable curiosity once before and the means to a front-page story. No way did she want that again.
Despite the warning she had given him that she needed to talk to her partner, Angela expected Maisey Erdmann to go along with the idea of involving Brian in the training of his own dog.
He couldn’t know how tempting his offer was. They had narrowed the focus of their training to working with dogs for the blind and the deaf. And they knew they could have the most impact by remaining a small local organization. Angela dreamed of one day having access to dogs specifically bred to be guide dogs, but she’d also had good luck so far with the carefully chosen dogs they had found from the pound and through various rescue organizations. And because they worked with local clients, they could get them involved in the training for six to eight weeks instead of the typical four.
Brian had said he wanted to pick out his own dog, and she had one that she hoped he’d want. She suspected he would hate Jasper on sight, but they would be perfect for each other—two athletes in the midst of a transition.
Just after sunrise the following morning, Angela arrived with Polly at the farm where Guardian Paws did business. Their training facility occupied one small corner of land and included a tiny farmhouse used for the office and a six-stall barn they had converted to a kennel. The barn was new, but its old-fashioned gambrel roof and deliberately faded red paint made it look as though it had been on the property for years.
Tim Warren had donated this part of his farm for them to use, a generous gift that he said was his way of giving back to the community. He farmed the rest of the