Page 7 of A Scoring Chance

“Man, just thinking about your momma’s cooking is making my mouth water.” He chuckles softly. “I won’t keep you much longer. Your team is having their first practice tonight, and I was hoping you could drop by to meet them.”

My team.I know that the entire point of me being back in town is to coach one of the club teams, but my own team seems a little far-fetched, even for Scott. I don’t know the first thing about coaching hockey. Yes, I’ve been playing practically since I was old enough to walk, but players don’t always makegood coaches. Besides, me and kids don’t mix well. I don’t hate children or anything. I don’t have any experience with them other than helping Momma out with my brother, Kyle, when I was a kid. Not something I want to repeat if I can help it. Kyle was always crying about something stupid and covered in goo, not something I wanted to deal with. I wouldn’t know the first thing about coaching a team of kids that age, but I wouldn’t put anything past Scott. This is all just a money grab, and we both know it.

“I’m not the best with kids,” I reply cautiously. “Are you sure having my own team is what’s best?”

“Of course, it is! Who better to coach future hockey stars than you?” I open my mouth to respond, but Scott just keeps talking.“You’ll have the 12U team this season. Their coach from last season took a job out-of-state over the summer.”

Thank fuck. I will at least have a team of kids who at least know how to skate. Maybe this whole head coach thing won’t be so bad after all. If they are anything like I was at that age, I’m going to have my work cut out for me. Teenagers think they know everything about everything when, in reality, they don’t know a damn thing. I foresee a lot of laps and sprints in their futures.

“What time is practice?”

I hear papers shuffling through the line before Scotts responds, “Practice begins at 6:30 and runs until eight tonight, but you can set your own schedule. They’ll be practicing with Coach James’s team. He coaches the age group above theirs and offered to hold practices until you set a schedule.”

“Coach James. You mean Noah James?”

“One and the same.”

This banishment back to Redwood Falls just got a lot better. Noah James is one of the best hockey players of all time. He transformed the Timberwolves NHL team into one of the mostdominating teams, solidifying Portland as a hockey town. He was my hero growing up, and then he became my coach in high school. I worked hard playing club and in high school, but Coach James pushed me in a way no one had before. It’s because of him that I got drafted right out of high school.

“I’ll be there.” I quickly glance at my watch, checking the time. “I have dinner plans with my mom, but I’ll be there as soon as we are done. Can you let Coach James know I’m coming?”

“Already taken care of,” Scott answers smugly. “I’ll have everything you need waiting for you at the office. We’re excited to have you on our team.”

“Thanks.” I end the call and make my way toward the front of the store and pay for the groceries with no further run-ins with Annamarie.

As I load my bags into the truck, I notice the bushel of apples peeking out from the top of one bag. Thoughts of the beauty from earlier once again fill my mind, but I shake them free. I’m here to do one thing: coach the team and figure out how to get team management to give me one more year on the ice. There’s no way a beautiful rancher is going to wrangle my attention. No way. No how. Maybe if I repeat that to myself enough, I’ll believe it.

Chapter Three

Ramona

“This right here is the best place in the world,” I mumble to myself before patting Bluebell softly on her shoulder.

The sun is descending toward the horizon, painting the sky in orange, pink, and purple hues. The once lush green grass, filled with colorful flowers, has turned a dull shade of brown. The world is preparing for a winter full of cloudy skies and large amounts of rain. We rarely get snow, but with how temperamental the weather is in the area, who knows what the winter holds for us? I usually make sure the fold heads back toward the farm by this time, but who knows how much longer they’ll be able to graze on the fresh grass with winter coming. I glance at my watch and sigh. If we don’t get a move on, it will be well past dark when I finally get the cattle back to the farm and settled for the night, but I’m not in as much of a rush as usual.

“How about we get these cows headed home? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Bluebell neighs softly as I kick my heel, moving toward the cattle grazing a few yards away. It’s not long before Bluebell and I have the fold heading back toward the farm. They already knowwhere they are going. My job is just to make sure they all get there in one piece.

If anyone had told me when I was younger that I’d end up being a ranch hand, I’d have laughed in their face. Growing up, I planned to go to culinary school and become a world-renowned chef. My parents wanted me to do something more practical like them. Become a scientist or a lawyer, but that wasn’t my passion. I wanted to warm people's hearts with my food, just like my dad did with his for me. No matter what ailed me, he had a special dish he just knew would make me feel better. I used to think it was magic, but as I grew up, I learned he put a piece of himself into every dish, and I wanted to do that for others at some point, but that wasn’t in the cards for me. Life doesn’t always go as planned, but we have two choices. We can either cry about it or make the best of the hand we were dealt. I chose the latter and haven’t looked back once.

The shrill ring of my cell phone pierces the silence, and I pull it from my back pocket. This better be an emergency if someone is calling my phone while I’m out with the cattle. Any self-respecting person would’ve sent a text otherwise. Phone calls are reserved for emergencies only.

“Your butt better be on your way to The Chill Zone with Darius and not still sitting on the back of Bluebell,” Alise, resident pain in my ass, deadpans through the phone.

“No, it’s exactly where you think it is because someone said they’d take him to practice for me today so I could let the fold graze a little later than usual.”

Darius has been looking forward to the first day of hockey practice for months. He started middle school this year, and it’s been an adventure, to say the least. He has had a hard time finding his place at school since he moved to Redwood Falls from Portland a few years ago. I wish there was a way for us to have kept his life exactly how it was, but it just wasn’t possible.We had to adjust, and we have… mostly. We’ve had some bumps along the way, but he’s a great kid. Although I know nothing about hockey, or any sport, for that matter, he was adamant about joining the team. Who was I to say no? As long as he keeps his grades up and gets his chores done, he can do anything he wants. Well, within reason. He is only a twelve-year-old boy, after all.

“Mona, I love you with all of my cold, dead heart, but if you don’t get your ass to the rink immediately, I’m going to kick it.”

“What’s so important that I have to be there right this moment? It’s the first practice; nothing major should be happening yet, right? Just equipment and stuff.”

I might need to rethink coming out here without a coat. It was in the mid-seventies when I left the farm with the cattle this afternoon, but I forgot to account for the temperature drop the minute the sun went down. It’s mid-October, my favorite time of year, but it’s been unseasonably hot this year. Instead of my usual heavy coat and sweater, I only have on a flannel shirt, rolled to the elbows, a dark pair of jeans, and my riding boots. I didn’t even put my hat on today, choosing to let my locks hang loosely around my shoulder.

“And the coaches' meeting.” I can hear Alise rolling her eyes at me all the way over here.

Between my mom’s doctors and therapy appointments, my therapy appointment, my shifts at my two different jobs, Darius’s school activities, and now adding sports to the mix, there’s always the potential that I’ll miss something. “But I thought the meeting was near the end of practice, which hasn’t even started yet.”

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