The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(46)

From the corner of her eye, she saw a woman run onto the track from the far end of the football field. A jogger, she was long and lean with a glorious copper-colored mane, a full bosom, a tight fanny and...and she wasn’t wearing much. Devon coughed suddenly, nearly choking. The runner was wearing a sports bra and tight briefs, almost bikini style, more what you would see on a beach volleyball court than here at a high school football field.

Maybe she was in training, Devon thought. It wasn’t track-and-field season but that didn’t mean a person couldn’t train year-round. She could be training for a marathon.

She ran past the bleachers and all the way to the far end of the football field, where she ended her run and began to walk around in a circle, hands on hips, cooling down. After a couple of minutes of that, she began stretching out, touching toes, sitting on the ground, one leg outstretched, reaching for her foot. Then with legs spread wide, she stretched, touching first her left foot, then right.

Devon stole a glance at Spencer, but he wasn’t watching the runner. He was watching his team. One young man was gaping openmouthed at the woman. Behind him Spencer pulled the towel from around his neck, wound it up real tight and snapped his player in the butt, getting a yelp out of him. The player whirled around, rubbing his backside.

Devon laughed in spite of herself.

Spencer blew his whistle twice and shouted. “Mile and a half, then hit the gym for weights!”

The team converged on the assistant coach and equipment manager, returning balls and other training aids, grabbing water then running around the track as a unit. Spencer noticed Devon sitting in the bleachers and he lifted a hand in a brief salute, which she returned. Then he went about the business of gathering up gear with the assistant coach and equipment manager. There was a utility vehicle nearby, a modified golf cart, and all the gear was loaded onto it. Meanwhile the team rounded the curve once, twice, three times...

This would be a good time to take off, Devon thought. She’d only taken a little over a half hour for her lunch break, but she didn’t want to be a distraction. Like some people did, for example.

* * *

Back in the gym Spencer worked the team hard, supervising their weight training, then he loaded them up on protein drinks and water and sent them to the showers. He needed an athletic trainer pronto—someone who could wrap strains and weak spots while he concentrated on the team. Coach Rayburough said he had always trained a student to do this work. At Spencer’s last high school, they’d had a certified professional with student assistants. Most college teams had physical therapists, trainers and orthopedists. But Thunder Point was operating on a shoestring. This town had a lot to recommend it, but it was not a rich town.

Spencer decided to ask Scott Grant about doing a little volunteer time with the team. Spencer could cope with practice injuries, but game night was another story. He couldn’t stop the game and couldn’t turn a wounded young athlete over to distressed parents. He would need medical assistance to help with those issues.

Then there was that woman—Miss Benjamin—whom he had recently learned was a high school history teacher. “What the hell is she doing on my practice field every day?” he asked Rayburough.

“She better be trying to get your attention,” the older man said. “If she’s not, I think she’s close to committing a felony.”

“Can’t we get her to stop that? To say that football is not on the team’s collective mind when she shows up would be an understatement.”

“Why don’t you ask her? In fact, why don’t you take her out for a drink and ask her—that might be all she needs.”

“Ah, no.” He shook his head. “No, she’s not my type at all. She’s a little too out there for me. She couldn’t be more obvious if she was sending me private pictures on the internet.”

Rayburough looked him up and down then shook his head. “You’re a strange man, Coach. I’m older than dirt and I don’t mind looking at her.”

“I know pole dancers who are more discreet. She could wear some f**king shorts around those seventeen-year-old boys. What’s she like in the classroom?”

“How would I know?”

“I’m going to find a way to get her to stop, without ruffling her feathers or getting her in trouble.” She pissed Spencer off but—even he almost had a woody, so those boys must be a hot mess right now.

“Now, I gotta have a trainer—where can I get one right away?”

“Put the boys on the job,” he said. “They’ll bring you one or recommend someone they know. There are plenty of boys who couldn’t make the team but love to be part of the action. And if you need me, I’ll train him.”

Spencer handed Rayburough a notebook. “I put together a weight training supplement that I think these kids should be on. How’s the overall nutrition on this team? They typically get enough protein? They have to force carbs, but they need protein to build muscle. You have any way of watching that? Because we need a little more muscle on that field and I want them well fed and hydrated.”

“I print out a workout diet guide every year—I think you’ll find most of these boys get great support from their families. They’ll provide what you ask for—they need the scholarships.”

Spencer decided right then he was going to do a little investigating. He could probably ask Landon for input. There was no way a player would come to him and confess he wasn’t getting enough food. But if there was anyone from a family who couldn’t afford the five eggs or broiled beef or steamed legumes or cheese and cracked wheat, Spencer knew ways to supplement that would get a player strong and healthy. He wasn’t going to have anyone collapse out there.