His Forever Girl (New Orleans' Ladies #4) - Liz Talley Page 0,64
the door, her fanny swaying, her brownish-red hair bouncing at her shoulders. If he didn’t feel like barfing up the dry toast he’d struggled to get down earlier, he’d pull her into bed and remind her what she did to him every time she entered… and exited… a room.
Minutes later she returned with another steaming cup in hand. “I have mine, so let’s have tea, my fine gentleman.”
“Bah, you know I ain’t no gentleman. That’s why you married me.”
Maggie smiled as she lifted the tea to her lips. “So I’m not into stuffy old boring by-the-book guys. You got me pegged.”
And then she took a sip.
Before spitting it right back into her cup.
“Dear God, that’s terrible,” she said, coughing and setting the cup beside his on the bedside table.
Frank laughed and opened the drawer beneath the two cups. “In that case, can I interest you in a piece of chewing gum?”
Maggie laughed and that was all he needed to feel better. In fact, he should suggest it to the doc the next time he went in for the chemo—Maggie’s laughter in a bottle.
Cures whatever ails you.
Now if he could just get his daughter to talk to him… and get his mother to realize he wasn’t a liar.
TESS JOGGED TOWARD the sideline of the soccer field, the whistle from her refereeing days slapping a rhythm against her sternum. They’d wrapped up practice early… not because they’d accomplished much, but because the attention span of a seven-year-old resembled that of a dog. She might as well have yelled “Squirrel!” every five seconds.
“Okay, Ladybugs, huddle up,” she shouted, beckoning the frolicking seven-year-olds toward where she stood. They tumbled over one another, giant bows bobbing as they skidded to a halt around her.
“We’re so good we’re going to beat everyone,” one little girl said with a fist pump.
“Yeah, the other teams are gonna eat our dust,” another one said.
“Yay!” Emily squealed, hopping around, making all the other little girls do the same thing. They looked like popcorn on acid.
Tess blew the whistle. “Okay, settle down. We still have work to do before we can take on any challengers. And, first thing first, we have to work on a team cheer.”
Ten pair of blinking eyes met her gaze.
“We gotta have a cheer?” one asked.
“Well, sure. It’s how we show unity. The other teams will know exactly who they are playing when we do our Ladybug cheer. So I’m giving you a homework assignment,” Tess said with a smile.
“Awww,” several groaned.
“Well, this is a fun homework assignment,” Tess conceded, putting her arms around the nearest girls and drawing them into a huddle. “I want all of you to go home and work on a fun little chant. Something about being red, black, and not afraid of anyone.”
“Are ladybugs mean?” Emily asked, her expression growing concerned.
“Of course not, but they’re tough just like we are. Can everyone do that?”
Heads nodded, bows bobbed, and smiles met hers.
“You’re the best coach ever,” one girl said. Tess thought her name was Piper. She needed to go over the roster and put names with faces.
“And you’re the best team,” Tess said, deciding she’d missed her calling. Who cared about Mardi Gras floats when there was kids’ soccer to coach? “Now everyone put your hand in. I’m going to count to three, and then we’re all going to yell ‘ladybugs,’ okay?”
More head bobbing.
“1–2-3—”
“Ladybugs!” they all screamed.
The team broke and scampered toward their parents sitting in the collapsible stands, and Tess walked to where Graham stood cleaning up the paper cups around the cooler he’d brought.
“Good practice,” he said looking up. He wore athletic shorts and a T-shirt that skimmed his toned stomach. He was totally drool-worthy, but Tess pretended he had a wart on his nose and hair growing out of his ears. No noticing his thighs with the sprinkling of hair. No ogling the smooth tanned nape of his neck. No thinking about licking those abs.
Nope.
Not at all.
“Yes, they did better today.”
“You’re really good with them,” he said, squinting against the sun. “I’m glad you volunteered to help.”
A warmth blossomed inside her. She shrugged it off. “I’m not the best, but I’m better than poor Jim.”
The both turned and looked at Jim who waved at them from the top of the bleachers. He had his leg propped up and looked relaxed in his new job of team manager.