Page 23 of Time For You
“Yes, Coach,” they said collectively, then skated off to continue their drills.
“They’re good kids. You can join them or just watch. I think a couple has what it takes to go pro or play in college, which is my recommendation to them.”
“I agree. A degree always gives them something to fall back on. Any of them play for juniors?”
“Naw,” he said as he turned to face me. “It’s expensive and most of these kids work their farms with their parents. It’s hard enough to get them here to play at the high school level. I’ve watched most of them in our rec teams since they were little, but it was never certain who would be showing up during harvest times.”
What the hell was harvest time?
“You’ll. . .ugh. . .have to tell me more about this harvest stuff later. I met the guy my house is next to and he was talking about the harvest.”
“Oh, you met Nash Easterly?”
“Yeah,” I said as I sat on the bench and tugged my skates free from the duffle bag, followed by some thicker socks. “What do you know about him and his family?” I worded the question in a way that wasn’t suspect because I really wanted to know more about one particular daughter.
Brett let out a deep-bellied laugh as he tossed his head back. “Man, in small towns, you only know what people want you to know. They used to tell me that everyone knew everything, but that’s not always the case. The Easterlys are as much a mystery as they are a staple in the town. But from what I know, the Easterly name has been part of that land since before the town existed. The majority of the land belonged to them at one point. Apparently, one of the relatives was a gambler and liked to toss around acreage like they were pennies.
“It’s probably why they were at the auction today, or so I’ve heard. The house you bought used to belong to them.”
“Yeah, Nash said as much.”
Brett nodded as he called out one of the kids’ names and told him to watch his footwork. “As for the wife and the kids, not much to say there. Marisol was married before, lost her husband in Desert Storm. Andrew, the oldest Easterly, is from her first marriage, but Nash has raised that boy like his own son. The girls came a few years later from what I remember.
“When we moved here, Nash and Marisol were some of the first people to visit and welcome us to the town. They’re good people.”
I stared at the man, trying to figure out a way to broach the topic of the daughters as I finished tying my skates blindly.
“And those girls are like the town treasure. So don’t poke around,” he said sternly.
“Poke?” I joked as I stood and towered over him. I was tall on a good day, but with the blades, I was inching toward seven feet.
“Yeah. Poke. And you’re too old for them anyway. But I’m certain some of these boys’ moms will be more than happy to take their place. A few are divorced if I recall.”
“You and I both know that it wouldn’t matter to them if they weren’t.”
“True.”
I skated around the rink in giant circles as I watched Brett work with his team. He was always a great coach and those kids were going to learn from the best. He still never gave me any information about the Easterly sisters and there was no way I would ask him. He was right, though; the girls were young. Early twenties at best. But the one Nash called Autumn was stuck in my mind and I couldn’t shake her free, even while skating. She suited her name with her dark blonde hair and tanned skin. I wasn’t sure if it was residual from the summer or if her skin was olive-toned year-round. Nash had darker skin, but he worked outside regularly while her mother and sisters were more fair-skinned.
It didn’t matter though. I was thirty-five. At least a decade older than I presumed Autumn to be.
My cock didn’t seem to care, though. He definitely wanted to poke her.
Chapter Eight – Autumn
It had been a week since I’d embarrassed myselfagainin front of the mystery man. The man who was named Colton Crawford and he was a forward and captain of the New York Renegades. Or he was. Dad told us that he’d recently announced his retirement after his ex-girlfriend tore his reputation to shreds. That was all after sustaining an injury two years prior.
The man had been at the forefront of my mind all week. His name suited him. So did his occupation. We’d also learned that he was the one here visiting Coach Chisolm. That explained why he was here in Ashfield but not why he’d bought fifty acres of land with a dilapidated house on the top of a hill.
Alex argued that maybe he was bored and was looking for something to invest in. I kept countering that he could invest in a school program or a charity.
Unfortunately, though, Dad seemed to like him and had spilled the beans about my desire to take the home back to its historical roots. I had a sneaking suspicion that my dad was hoping to get me to help our new neighbor. Well, he had another thing coming. My eyes were now set on the venue space and the time I needed to turn it into something.
Sitting at the dining table with my laptop in front of me, I stared over the screen into the backyard. It was peaceful outside with the leaves changing colors. Fall had always been my favorite season. I supposed the naming gods had smiled down on me at birth.
“Whatcha doing?” Aspen asked as she slid into the seat beside me, a strudel in her hand. I quickly pressed the enter key on the laptop’s keyboard before slamming the screen shut.
“Sending out my resume,” I told her, shame blossoming in my chest.
