CHAPTER THREE

      SHE ALWAYS HAD the most voracious appetite when she was nervous, Pam acknowledged as she poured melted butter over a huge bowl of popcorn. She also had a craving for sweets, so she popped the lid on a can of cola and took both into the living room.

      Tomorrow night at this time her team would be playing its first preseason game. Miss Mackie had happily reported that it would be in front of a sellout crowd. Everyone in town, it seemed, was curious as to what the new woman coach had done with their high school football team. Pam closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t bomb the first time out.

      Grabbing a handful of popcorn, she dug in. No negative thinking, she ordered herself. The boys had come a long way, their spirits were high and, blessedly, there’d been no serious injuries so far. They were revved up and ready to go. Winning this one was important to their self-esteem. And maybe to hers.

      Samson loped over and laid his big chin on her knee, his eyes begging to share in her treat. “Did I forget about you, Sam?” Quickly she got his bowl, tossed in several generous handfuls and placed it on the floor alongside the couch. “Go to it.” He wasted no time in doing so.

      The two of them were home alone tonight, Rosemary having gone backpacking for several days with a couple of friends. The weather was definitely cooling, the very first leaves starting to change color. Soon she wouldn’t be able to camp out, Rosemary had explained.

      Pam took a long drink of her cold soda. She felt restless and a bit jumpy. Too fidgety to read, and she’d never been one to watch much television. Maybe what she needed was a boost to her own morale. Rising, she went to her room, found the right cassette and returned to shove it into the VCR.

      Watching herself on tape—the pageantry of the Olympics, the winning run itself and the moment of glory as she’d stood in the winner’s circle—smacked of living in the past, of wishing for things that were no longer possible. Pam had rarely done so before MS had struck. Yet occasionally now, it seemed necessary for her to remind herself that she’d excelled once, and could do so again, albeit in another capacity.

      Almost forgetting to eat, Pam watched the grandeur of the torch-lighting ceremony, remembering what it had felt like to stand among her fellow Americans, proudly wearing the red, white and blue. She remembered the lump in her throat as the final runner had stretched to ignite the flame. Her father and brothers had been in the audience, and it had been such a glorious time. Dad had asked a friend and neighbor to tape the event both years, and then he’d had copies made for all of them.

      The next scene showed an interviewer asking her questions about her training, her motivation, her expectations. The time had flashed by in the wink of an eye, it had seemed back then. She remembered now only the excitement, the anticipation, the anxiety of wanting so badly to win.

      Samson had finished his bowl and cocked his head, then ambled toward the door. Sniffing first, he soon gave a short series of barks. The knock that followed didn’t surprise Pam, since Sam had keen hearing. She pushed the hold button on the cassette and went to answer.

      * * *

      PATRICK HADN’T INTENDED to drop by. He stood in the hallway, a thoughtful frown on his face. Pam Casals was, after all, one of his fellow faculty members. It would be only polite to wish her well on the eve of the first football game. And Patrick had been brought up with the burden of good manners.

      He’d stopped by to watch the boys practice even after he and Pam had had those rather heated words. But he hadn’t lingered, and he hadn’t walked over to talk with Pam again. He also hadn’t sought out any of the boys to ask how things were going. She’d made him feel small about that, despite his good intentions in doing it in the first place.

      Basically, he wanted to be friends with Pam. They would be brushing shoulders at Tyler High and around town for months, perhaps years, to come. He was a friendly kind of guy; everyone said so. There was no reason for him to keep chipping away at her or vice versa. So he’d decided to come over, to mend this particular fence, to offer a truce.

      Shuffling his feet, he swore under his breath. That wasn’t exactly it. The honesty his mother had instilled in him years ago had him facing an uncomfortable truth. He wanted to see Pam Casals, to be with her, to get to know her.

      What was so terribly wrong with that? Patrick asked himself. She was attractive, personable, interesting. And like it or not, she seemed to invade his thoughts with increasing frequency. It was time to see if there was something between them. He raised his hand to knock again.

      The door swung open and the smile slid from his face. How could a woman wear such ordinary clothes—faded jeans that hugged her slender legs and a short-sleeved blue sweatshirt—and still be extraordinarily feminine down to the pink-painted toes of her bare feet? Her hair wasn’t tied back, either, but rather hung to her shoulders, softly framing her face. And she wore lipstick, also pale pink. Patrick felt like a high school freshman calling on his first girl.

      Clearing his throat, he met her wary eyes and found a smile. “Hi. I was...in the neighborhood, taking a walk. Just thought I’d stop in and wish you good luck for tomorrow’s game.”

      Nervous. He was actually nervous. Pam couldn’t imagine why. However, she’d never been one to hold a grudge. But she would still proceed with caution. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

      Samson shoved past her and came out to sniff at their visitor.

      “That’s a big dog,” Patrick commented unnecessarily. “What’s his name?”

      “Samson.”

      Leaning down, he patted the dog’s shaggy head. “He needs a haircut.”

      “Can’t cut Samson’s hair. It’ll remove all his strength, remember?” She smiled at his questioning look. “Like in the Bible.”

      Patrick grinned. “Right. We wouldn’t want that.” He straightened. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

      Pam debated for a heartbeat, then stepped back. “No, you’re not. Would you like to come in?”

      “Thanks.” Samson at his heels, he strolled in, his gaze taking in the attractive room. “I haven’t been inside since they redid this place. Very nice.”

      “I think so.” Closing the door, she moved back to the couch. “Samson and I were just sharing a snack. Would you like some popcorn?”

      He took a handful from the bowl she held out and sat down at the opposite end of the couch. The television, caught in a freeze-frame, captured his eye. “Were you watching something?”

      “Nothing important.” Pam popped a few kernels of corn into her mouth.

      “What was it?”

      He was persistent. But she already knew that about him. She let