Chapter 11
T he next day Bailey returned from her mid-morning patrol and heard shouting. She hurried forward and saw a group of about fifteen boys standing in the yard with Cal, shouting at him in Spanish. Cal stood out like a maypole, several feet taller than all the boys. In his hands was a football.
Bailey set down her pack. “Room for one more?”
“What do you think, boys, should we let her play? Deberíamos dejarla jugar? ”
About half the boys shouted yes while the other half shouted no. “Looks like our teams just divided themselves,” Bailey said, holding her hands aloft. Cal threw her the ball, and she easily caught it, impressing the boys who had aligned themselves with her.
“I think you have a new fan club,” Cal said. “Let me know if you need me to translate.”
“I’ve got it, thanks,” she said, gathering the boys around her and making plans with them in fluent Spanish.
Cal rolled his eyes. Was there anything the woman couldn’t do? A new thought occurred to him, some way he thought he could outdo her. “Bailey, can you cook?”
“Wait until you try my paella,” she said, smiling, and he got caught up staring at her for a few seconds until the boys around him began to bump and jostle for his attention.
The game was intensely competitive. Cal started out as he always did, going soft in order to teach, to coach. But Bailey was having none of it. She was out for blood, and he soon caught her mania, playing rough and dirty and doing whatever it took to win, short of hurting anyone. There he had to be careful. The boys were rough and tumble but so much smaller than him he felt like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. But every time he took a dive in order not to jeopardize anyone’s safety, Bailey taunted him for it, as if it hadn’t been on purpose, as if he actually were getting too old and out of shape to play the game. Eventually his mood turned from amusement to irritation. He could only be pushed so far before he would retaliate, and she finally pushed the button enough times that he forgot himself completely and tackled her, burying her hard beneath him.
The air whooshed out of her in a rush and he had immediate regrets.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, easing slightly away from her to make sure she was still conscious and breathing.
She held up a hand and shook her head. “Fine,” she whispered. Her eyes were filled with tears of pain, and he felt like a total heel.
“No, I’m really sorry. Sometimes I get so competitive I forget my own strength.”
“My fault,” she said, taking a deeper breath.
“How is it your fault I tackled you?” he asked.
“I goaded you into it,” she said.
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have.”
“It was what I wanted. You fell into my trap,” she said.
“You’re smashed on the ground beneath me, and you think I’m the one in a trap?” he asked, clearly not buying what she was selling.
She grinned up at him, nodding. “While you were distracted clobbering me, we finished the play, made a touchdown and won the game.”
Finally he realized the boys behind him were not yelling because they were upset but because they were amused and delighted. It was exactly as she said—she tricked and manipulated him, distracting him so easily with taunts that he allowed them to walk away with a victory.
“You little minx,” he said, half irritated and half amused again.
“For the record, sir, I have no idea what that old timey word means. Also, you’re actually beginning to crush me and I can no longer breathe.”
“Give me a minute, I think I broke something when I fell,” he said.
“What?” she asked, her tone morphing to immediate concern.
“My resolve,” he said. His eyes fell to her lips. “Bailey, I want…”
“Don’t, Cal, don’t . They’re all watching us, and you’ll hate yourself after, you know you will.”
“What would I do without you here to save me from myself?” he asked.
“I think if I weren’t here you wouldn’t be having the problem in the first place,” she said. “Now get off me, you big galoot.”
“You think minx is archaic, and you say things like galoot?” he said. He rolled off her and put a hand down to pull her up.
A pickup truck pulled up in the yard, grabbing their attention.
“Here we go,” Cal said, dropping Bailey’s hand.
“Cal, Major Dunbar, boys,” Sully said, tipping his hat to them.
“Sully,” Cal returned while Bailey remained silent.
“ Hola , Ranger Langford,” the boys chorused.
“Looks like I missed the fun.” Sully’s eyes roamed the group, pausing on a disheveled, dirt-smeared Bailey. She steeled herself, waiting for his inevitable commentary or disbelief.
“Who won?” he said instead.
“We did,” Bailey replied.
“Because you cheated. Again,” Cal said.
“Bitterness is a bad color on you, sir,” Bailey replied, and he flicked her ponytail.
“I wanted to come by and check on y’all, see how it’s going,” Sully continued.
“It’s fine,” Bailey volunteered, letting Cal know she wouldn’t be volunteering information about her shootout with the smugglers.
“Very well, I also felt the need to pass something along. Seeing as how you no longer attend town dances, Cal, I thought you might not have mentioned the one this Friday to Bailey,” Sully said. His eyes landed on Bailey, raising slightly at the dirt smears on her face. “Though now that I’m taking a second look, I see that might be useless information for a woman who prefers football and shooting. You are clearly not a dancer. Sorry, disregard.”
“I enjoy dancing a lot, actually,” Bailey said, and now Sully’s eyes rose with surprise.
“You do?”
“Yes,” Bailey said.
“Would you like to prove it on Friday?” he asked.
“I…” she froze, realizing he’d bested and trapped her. She sighed, resigned. “Fine.”
“That’s the spirit, Major. I’ll pick you up at seven. You don’t have to wear a dress, but I’d clean the mud off your face a bit.”
“I’ll go do that now,” she said, escaping inside before he tricked her into dinner with him.
“Looks like you did your homework,” Cal commented.
“You gotta know your audience, Cal,” Sully agreed, tipping his hat. “That’s my new and improved A-game, by the way.”
“Best of luck to you and yours,” Cal said, tossing the football up in the air and catching it handily a few times.
“You worried?” Sully asked.
“Do I look it?” Cal asked. “Dances are a young man’s game.”
“What’s an old man’s game?”
“When I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” Cal promised.
“I used to watch you play ball when I was a kid, Cal. Some of my earliest memories are watching you tear it up on the field. You were something else.” He motioned to the group of boys standing behind him. “I gotta say, I like you better now.” He held his hands up for the ball.
“Me, too,” Cal agreed, lobbing him an easy pass.
“Are we okay?” Sully asked, tossing it back.
Cal caught the ball and turned his hand to show Sully his ring. “I’ve still got this, don’t I?” He tossed the ball back.
“And when you don’t, what happens then?” Sully asked, catching the ball and tossing it back.
“I can hardly imagine,” Cal said.
Sully caught the ball and held it, scanning the horizon before he spoke. “You be careful, Cal. Isabel is…things aren’t good.”
“I can handle Isabel. I’ve been doing it the last ten years,” Cal said.
“This time’s different. It’s a bad time to get a guard girl,” he said.
“Bailey can handle herself,” Cal assured him.
“Maybe she can handle herself in a war with a platoon of men backing her up, but this is Texas. She’s all alone and rules don’t apply,” Sully said, finally tossing the ball.
Cal handed it off to the group of boys behind him, indicating with a nod of his head for them to run off. Two of them were Estralita’s grandsons. The others he wasn’t exactly certain where they came from or how much English they understood. They were nice kids, but without knowing who their relatives were, he couldn’t trust them completely.
“I trust Bailey. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t keep her here.”
“You sure that’s why you’re keeping her here, Cal? Because of trust?” Sully pressed.
“Why else, Sullivan?”
“Can’t think of a reason, Calhoun. See y’all Friday.”
Cal crossed his arms over his chest and watched him drive away, a vague sense of foreboding filling his chest. He felt Sully had been trying to warn him about something, but what? Or, as with rams, had it been merely the jousting of two males over the attention of an eligible female? He’d been away from the game so long it was hard to tell.
He turned toward the house and felt the telltale pain of a strained muscle in his hip. Reluctantly he admitted he had put a bit too much of himself into the game, not only because he wanted to win but because he wanted to impress Bailey. And now he was paying the price, proving it was possible to be old in body and young in stupidity. On the other hand, it was good to know despite his age, some things remained the same. Once stupid for women, always stupid for women; the consistency was heartening.