When We Met

The smile returned. “Good. You have a unique background and an unusual skill set. I’ve given the matter a lot of thought and I think you’d be a perfect Grove Keeper.”

Grove what? “Ma’am?”

“Are you familiar with the history of the town?” she asked, then closed the folder. “This is California, so there was the expected exploration by the Spanish in the 1700s, but long before that, Fool’s Gold was settled by the Máa-zib Tribe.”

Angel had heard something about that. “A branch of Mayans,” he murmured. “Matriarchal.”

“Yes.” The smile returned. “I would guess you’d respect a group of women who only want to use a man for sex.”

Angel wasn’t sure if he should flinch or pat the old lady on the back. Instead he cleared his throat. “All right,” he said slowly. “Interesting.”

“It is. We have long celebrated our Máa-zib culture, and that includes a youth group. Future Warriors of the Máa-zib. Young people start with a two-month introduction to what it’s like to be in the FWM. That’s followed by four years of membership. We have Acorns, Sprouts, Saplings, Sky-Reachers and Mighty Oaks. Each group or troop is known as a grove, and the person in charge is a Grove Keeper.”

She put down her glasses. “We have a grove in need of a keeper, and I think they need you.”

Kids, he thought with surprise. He liked kids. His goal had been to get involved with Fool’s Gold because he’d decided to stay here and he’d been raised to give back to the community. He’d thought maybe he could volunteer on some advisory committee or teach a continuing ed class—although his skill set didn’t exactly fit in the regular world. Still...kids.

He hesitated only a second, then realized it had been long enough since he’d lost Marcus. The pain was still there—would always be a part of him, like a scar, or his heart—but it had become manageable. He thought by now he would be able to work with teenaged boys without wanting to argue with the heavens about how unfair it had all been.

“Sure,” he said easily. “I can run a grove.”

Amusement twinkled in Mayor Marsha’s blue eyes. “I’m glad to hear it. I think you’ll find the experience fulfilling on several levels. I’ll make sure you get your material in the next few days. Then you can meet with the Grove Council.”

He grinned. “Seriously? There’s a Grove Council?”

She laughed. “Of course. These are Future Warriors of the Máa-zib. What else would there be?”

She rose and he did, as well. “Thank you, Angel. Usually I have to go out and convince new residents to pitch in. I appreciate that you came to me.” She studied him. “I assume your interest in giving back is the result of your background. You grew up in a coal mining town, didn’t you? West Virginia?”

While the information wasn’t secret, it wasn’t something he shared very often. “You’re a spooky woman,” he told her. “You know that, right?”

The smile broadened. “Not many people have the courage to say it to my face, but I do hope that’s what they’re saying behind my back.”

“They are,” he assured her.

They shook hands and he left. Marjorie was still in tears, so he hustled out and hit the stairs at a jog. Maybe he would spend the afternoon looking for campsites, he thought cheerfully. He had plenty of survival skills he could pass on to his FWM grove. Ways to help them grow up to be confident men. Yeah—this was going to be good.

* * *

“JACK, STOP IT,” Taryn said without looking up from the papers in front of her.

The shifting sound stilled, only to start up again five seconds later. She drew in a breath and glanced across the small conference table.

“Seriously,” she told him. “You’re worse than a five-year-old.”

Jack McGarry, her business partner and ex-husband, rotated his shoulder. “When does Larissa get here?”

“I told you. She gets here tomorrow. In twenty-four hours you’ll have her back. Now can you please focus?”

Sam, the only calm, rational partner, leaned back in his chair. “You’re trying too hard. You know that never works.”

Because it was her job to try hard. She kept “the boys” on a tight leash because if she didn’t, they would run all over her.

She’d known Jack the longest. After their quickie marriage and equally speedy divorce, he’d set her up in business. He’d provided the money, she’d brought the PR know-how and Score had been an instant success—helped by Jack throwing a lot of business her way. It had been a great arrangement.

Unfortunately four years later, Kenny had blown out his knee and ended his career. Sam had been thinking of getting out of the NFL, and for reasons Taryn couldn’t figure out, Jack had joined them. Her ex had walked away from his starring role as a quarterback with the L.A. Stallions. He claimed he wanted to go out on top, but she suspected his departure had more to do with his friends than anything else. Not that Jack would admit it.

There they were—three ex-jocks—with plenty of cash and fame and no second act in the wings. Oh, wait. Jack was half owner of a PR firm. Before she’d known what was happening, he’d brought Kenny and Sam on board and all four of them were partners.

At first she’d been sure they would crash and burn, but more quickly than she would have guessed possible, they’d become a team and then a family. Jack and Kenny were the salesguys. They brought in the clients and were the public face of the firm. Sam handled the finances, both for the company and for each of them privately. Not only was he smart, but he’d actually gone to his classes in college.

Taryn handled everything else. She ran the business, bossed around the boys and created the campaigns that had continued to add to their net worth. Theirs was an unconventional arrangement, but it worked for them.

Jack shifted again, the muscle in his cheek tightening. She reminded herself he wasn’t trying to be difficult—he was in pain. No one could get through nearly a decade in the NFL and not have the battered body to prove it. Larissa, Jack’s personal assistant and the boys’ private masseuse, hadn’t been able to move to Fool’s Gold as quickly as the rest of them. After nearly a month without her healing touch, all three of the former players were suffering.

“Tomorrow,” she said again.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She paused. “You could take something.”

The statement was made in her most gentle voice, one her partners almost never heard. Because she knew that Jack was going to refuse. With permanent injuries and the discomfort that went with them, painkillers could be a slick road to hell. None of the guys wanted to go there.

“What’s next?” he asked, ignoring her words.

“We’re up,” Kenny told him, then opened the file in front of him. “Jack and I had a second meeting with the CEO and founder of Living Life at a Run.” He reached for the remote in the center of the table and hit a button. The screen at the far end of the room lit up and a logo came into focus.

Taryn studied the angular letters and the quirky acronym. LL@R. She wanted to point out that one of the a’s was missing, but she knew there wasn’t any point. The company’s CEO had a reputation for being eccentric and difficult. But he offered them a shot at traditional retail—one area of the PR market where Score had never had much luck finding clients.

“They’re growing fast,” Kenny said. “They’re trendy and a lot of celebrities are wearing their clothes.”

“The clothing is a secondary market for them,” Jack added. “Their main focus is sports gear. If we could get them, we could move toward bigger companies. Like REI.”

Taryn would love to get her hands on a premium company like REI but the old cliché was true. They would have to learn to walk before they could learn to run.

“What’s next?” she asked.

“I have another meeting in a few days,” Kenny said.

Taryn waited and sure enough, Jack stared at his friend. “I? I? Is that where we are? Each out for what we can get? What happened to the team? What happened to us being a family?”

Kenny, all six feet four inches of blond brawn, groaned. “Give me a break. You know what I meant.”

“Do I? Sounds to me like this is all about you.”

“You need to be specific,” Sam said mildly, obviously content to join the mock argument. Taryn knew that any second now he would turn on Jack, because that’s what always happened when they were like this.

They were each successful, good-looking and worth at least eight figures. Yet there were times when they were as unruly and mischievous as a litter of puppies. Sam and Jack were both dark-haired. Sam, the former kicker, was lean and just six feet tall. Jack had him by a couple of inches and at least thirty pounds of muscle. Jack’s classic quarterback physique—broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs—had served him well, both on and off the field. Then there was Kenny, the gentle giant of the group.