Bright Hopes

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_333b8ca8-54a2-5583-9c25-ef78413c5292)

“A WOMAN FOOTBALL COACH?” Patrick Kelsey laughed out loud. “Come on, Miss Mackie. You’ve got to be kidding!”

Josephine Mackie sat back in her desk chair, adjusted her round, rimless glasses on her long, thin nose and looked up at the tall gym teacher. “Why, Patrick, don’t tell me you’re a chauvinist. Not with that superachiever mother of yours and three charming sisters.”

Patrick ran a hand through his short, dark hair. That was the one drawback to growing up and living in a small town like Tyler, Wisconsin. Everyone knew you, your family and most of your business. Miss Mackie had been principal of Tyler High School when he was a freshman twenty years ago. She wasn’t meddlesome so much as knowledgeable—about everyone. He flashed her what he hoped was a disarming smile.

“Not me. It’s just that...well, these are guys, Miss Mackie. Young men, really. There’ll be problems, like the locker room, for instance. They’re going to hate having a female around when they’re changing.”

“I don’t imagine she’ll shower with the boys, do you?”

Patrick reached for patience, never his strong suit. “How about the game itself? I never heard of a woman who knows football inside and out.”

“Really? Ever hear of Phyllis George, to name one? I thought she did a highly commendable job, and on national television at that. And now there’s Pam Casals. Have you read her credentials?”

Patrick felt his irritation grow as he paced her small office. “I know she was a runner in the Olympics.”

“A little more than a mere runner. She won a silver medal when she was seventeen, then returned and won a gold medal at twenty-one.”

“Okay, so she can run. But does she know football?”

Disappointed in his reaction, Miss Mackie nevertheless continued unruffled. “She went on to become an exhibition performer, earned a degree in phys ed, was head coach at a college in the east and an Olympic coach for a year in Seoul. For a young woman who’s just turned thirty, I would call that an impressive list of accomplishments.”

Stopping in front of her desk, Patrick braced his hands on the edge and leaned forward. “I repeat, does she know football?”

“I would think so, having coached football at the college level. Surely she can manage high school boys.” Josephine Mackie felt her gaze soften as she studied Patrick’s stubborn features. She thought she knew exactly why he was so upset, and chose her words carefully.

“I realize that when I asked you to join our coaching staff ten years ago, Patrick, your dream was to one day be football coach here at your alma mater. I believe you took on coaching basketball temporarily, thinking that when Dale McCormick retired, you’d shift over to football. But you’ve done such a tremendous job—guiding the basketball team from class B to class A status and giving us a championship season for the past two years. We don’t want to lose you in that capacity.”

Patrick’s blue eyes were serious as he straightened. He’d figured that was what she’d thought, and the rest of the town, too. But they were wrong.

He’d been a star quarterback during his years at Tyler, and at the small Midwestern college he’d attended while earning his teaching degree. Then there’d been problems—serious problems—and he’d had to rearrange his dreams. When he returned to his hometown, he’d been pleased to be asked to coach basketball and assist Coach McCormick occasionally in football. Even now, what he really wanted was what was best for the Tyler High boys. But he knew that changing the thinking of a whole group of people who had their minds made up wasn’t something he could do without revealing more than he felt comfortable doing.

“Miss Mackie, I’m perfectly happy coaching basketball. You’re aware, I’m sure, that many of the boys on the football team also play basketball. I know these guys, and they aren’t going to accept a woman coach.”

She narrowed her pale gray eyes and zeroed in. “They will if you encourage them to accept her.”

Settling into the old wooden chair facing her desk, Patrick scowled. “I don’t know if I can do that, in good conscience.”

Propping her elbows on her desk, Miss Mackie leaned forward. “Patrick, I don’t have to tell you that this town gets greatly involved in our school athletics. And the football team’s been on a long losing streak. Dale McCormick was a good coach once, back when you were playing for him. But for some time now, he’s been merely coasting along, counting the days to retirement.”

“I agree,” Patrick admitted.

“The school board felt we needed new blood, someone to get the boys all stirred up. Of our six applicants, Pam Casals is by far the most qualified. I’ve talked with her on the phone and she’s personable and intelligent. I’ve hired her on a one-season trial basis and she’s arriving next week. Won’t you open your mind and give her a chance?”

Miss Mackie was a good administrator, her judgment usually on target, Patrick felt. This time, though, she was wrong. “I have nothing against this particular woman, you understand. I just don’t feel any woman can coach football. It’s too rugged a game, too physical.” He picked up Pam Casals’ file and flipped it open, to where her picture was clipped to the inside front cover. “See how small she looks? She could get hurt out there.”

Josephine Mackie sighed. Patrick Kelsey was an instructor who seldom gave her problems. He was making up for lost time today. Glancing at her watch, she stood, realizing she could debate this issue with Patrick all day and neither would bend. “It’s only the first of August. We have several weeks before classes start. During that time, we’ll be observing Pam and her training and practice methods closely.”

Picking up her purse, she walked around the desk. The school was deserted; she’d come in to get a head start on some paperwork and had been somewhat surprised when Patrick cornered her. “Why don’t you study her file a bit more and then leave it on my desk? I have an appointment.”

The gentleman in him had Patrick rising and smiling at the slim principal. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time. But you know what these guys mean to me.”

She smiled back at him. “They mean a great deal to me, too.”

Patrick nodded. “You off to a board meeting?”

Josephine found herself blushing as she patted her sparse gray hair. “No, actually I have an appointment at the Hair Affair.”

He grinned at her. “Big date tonight, Miss Mackie?”

Girlishly, she pursed her lips, turned from him and opened the door, choosing to ignore his question. “Please lock up when you leave,” she said, then hurried down the hallway.

Chuckling, Patrick sat back down, wondering why Miss Mackie had never married. Too wrapped up in her job, he supposed. Few women could juggle work and children, and still maintain a happy marriage. His mother, Anna Kelsey, was about the only one he knew of. But she was one of a kind.

He opened the file again. Pam Casals did not look like his idea of a football coach. From the picture, she appeared to be of medium height and quite slender, with the muscular legs of a runner. Her shoulder-length brown hair, wind-tossed, framed an oval face, and her large brown eyes gazed directly into the camera. She didn’t appear aggressive or arrogant, but there was a hint of determination to the angle of her chin. Still, if this woman could handle that rowdy group of high school boys, then he was the Easter Bunny, Patrick thought with a frown.

Quickly he read through her file. Like millions of people, he was always drawn to watch the Olympics. He’d heard countless stories of the dedication, perseverance, sacrifices and sheer guts it took to win a medal. She was a winner, he’d give her that. But could she make the Tyler boys into winners?

Doubtful, he thought, closing the file. He knew these boys better than anyone, certainly better than an outsider. And a woman at that. He would give her a chance, but he would remain in the picture. He’d keep an eye on her, check out her methods, look out for his boys. He’d mention to a couple of the guys—Ricky and B.J. and Moose—that he’d be interested in knowing what Coach Casals did during their training sessions.

It wasn’t really spying, Patrick told himself as he placed Pam’s file on the principal’s desk. It was protecting.

Digging in the pocket of his jeans for his keys, Patrick left the office whistling.

* * *

A RAINBOW. Pam Casals glanced to the right as she drove along the country road, and smiled. Slowing, she pulled to a stop by a wooden fence bordering pastureland. Shifting into park, she slid out of her sporty white convertible and went to lean on the weathered fence.

It had been raining that morning when she set out from Chicago, a light drizzling summer rain. Wisconsin being north of Illinois, it wasn’t quite as warm here. Fall would be along all too soon.

The rainbow shimmered in the sky, where the last of the clouds were moving off to the east. Rainbows were a sign of good luck—Pam remembered reading that somewhere. She certainly hoped so. It was time for a bit of luck.

On an impulse, she made a wish. “I wish that I might find happiness in Tyler,” she said aloud.

A small herd of cows grazing nearby, brown shapes on a field of still-damp green grass, didn’t even glance her way. She breathed in deeply, air so fresh it almost hurt to inhale. No automobile fumes, no pollution or even smoke. On the drive she’d passed dairy farms, many with large wooden barns, as well as cornfields, orchards and several horse farms. She’d taken the scenic route instead of the highway, enjoying the twisting rural roads and the lakes tucked in among rolling green hills. The clean country atmosphere was a welcome change from the city she’d left behind.

She’d left a lot of things behind, or so she hoped. Pain and confusion and doubt. Frustration and anger and broken dreams. And a shattered love affair. A few good things, too, like her father, Julian Casals, still living in the family home in a suburb of Chicago. And her two married brothers, Don and Ramon, who’d taught her so much more than football.

Pam swung around, leaning her elbows on the fence. She was only a short distance from Tyler, and she hoped there were more two-lane roads like this one around. It was a perfect place to run—smooth blacktop, very little traffic. And run she must, while she could. For her health and her mental well-being and the sheer, physical pleasure of it.

A low-throated bark drew her attention to her car, and she grinned. Her old, white, long-haired English sheepdog sat in the back seat, his head cocked in her direction, his pink tongue hanging low. “All right, Samson,” she said, slipping behind the wheel again. “I know you’re impatient to get going.” With another glance at the rainbow, Pam shifted into drive. “I’m anxious to check out our new home, too.”

Flipping on the radio as she pulled away, she heard Willie Nelson’s unmistakable voice ring out. “On the road again...”

Pam glanced back at Samson, whose ears were blowing in the breeze. “That’s us, pal. On the road again.” Laughing for no apparent reason except a sudden happy sense of anticipation, she headed for Tyler.

* * *