Page 18 of Hank

"You just missed getting to meet my mom," Collin said, while leaving his big backpack in the floor in front of him, then with, "She wanted to say thank you," as he buckled himself in.

Yeah, I bet.

She’d probably finish her thanks with,Dr.Lawton. But he wasn’t going to say anything like that to a grinning Collin.

"Sorry I missed her." That sounded sincere, right? "So, what does your mom do?" he asked as he looked over his shoulder before pulling away from the house.

"She’s a paralegal for a divorce attorney."

"I see." That could explain why she was so argumentative. "Does she like it?"

"Oh, yeah. Ms. Marotta’s a great boss, and just a really nice lady. You’ll see her at some of our home games with my mom."

Great.

Hank was an assistant coach for the team, and her attendance at games was something he’d tried not to dwell on too much. But, of course, she’d be there. Why wouldn’t she be? She was obviously a very loving, supportive parent, meaning she would be up front and center cheering her son on. Maybe she’d give the banner share of what he could only assume would be a loud, obnoxious woman complaining about all thebadcalls to Coach Bush.

"I’ll be happy to meet her then."

"Oh, you won’t have to wait for that." A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. "She’s president of the PTA and’ll be talking to the other parents during practice. You know, recruiting."

"Great."

Maybe Collin wouldn’t be able to tell his smile was anything but happy. On the bright side, he’d have the whole day to prepare himself. On the other, a jock cup might be necessary, just in case she might be in a ball-busting mood. He let out a low sigh. He supposed if he had to meet the woman, at least ripping the bandage off tonight would get it over with.

Damned splinter.

Familiar sounds greeted Hank before he made it to the open gymnasium’s double doors. Sneakers squeaking on the polished court. Basketballs bouncing and hitting the backboards. Malelaughter mixed in with grunts and shouts from the team and coaches already there. More than likely he was the last coach to arrive.

It had nothing to do with Mrs. Webster.

Right.

Maybe she’d be in a decent mood since Collin had made an A on his exam. The kid had to have been studying. Hank had thrown in some pretty difficult equations to work through, and the young man had done well on them. Maybe he shouldn’t dread...

A group of people gathered in a circle on the sideline drew his attention—especially some of the woman. Must be the parents for the PTA thing. So,shewas there somewhere.

Two of the ladies were kind of tall, although just because Collin was tall didn’t mean his mother would be too. And that one…

Hank grimaced at the sour expression on her face.

Was that her?

Just then the group parted, stopping him short.

"It can’t be," he whispered, as his hungry gaze traced over the back of a woman’s slight form in a figure hugging, black sweater and mid-calf, red and black floral skirt, with a big tote bag hanging from one shoulder. Even in heels, the others towered over her blond, curly head.

Maybe it’s not her.

Small town or not, there had to be more than one woman that looked like Jo. Of course therehadto be. But this one? This one’s head was one he’d recognize anywhere. He should. He’d spent enough time covertly staring at it Sunday night. Then later when he’d watched her walk away—willing her to turn around. Even once.

Of course, she hadn’t.

It had to be her, since he doubted the mere sight of one of those other women would have his ears buzzing and pulse hammering. Then, of course, was his need to keep other parts of his body under control. Loose, gray sweats weren’t very forgiving. And whether it was a good idea or not, he found his feet taking him across the court toward the woman whose laughter reached him, nearly choking him with emotion.

"Jo, you’re a hoot," one of the women said, laughing, while the sour-faced woman’s expression remained, well, sour.

"Jo."

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