It Started with a Crush.... Melissa McClone

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       “What do I get if I find your nephew’s team a coach?”

      Lucy wondered if Ryland was serious or teasing her. His smile suggested the latter. “My undying gratitude?”

      “That’s a good start.”

      “More cookies?”

      “Always appreciated—especially if they’re chocolate chip, which happen to be my favorite,” he said. “What else?”

      His lighthearted and flirty tone sounded warning bells in her head. Ryland was teasing her, but Lucy no longer wanted to play along. His charm, pretty much everything about him, left her … unsettled.

      “I’m not sure what else you might want.”

      He gave her the once-over, only this time his gaze lingered a second too long on her lips. “I can think of a couple things.”

      Dear Reader,

      For the past eight years my fall and spring Dedication weekends have been full of soccer games. All three of my children have played and my husband has coached recreational teams for years.

      Soccer isn’t something I grew up with. I attended my first game in 1984, but wasn’t really sure what was going on. Friends kept telling me how big soccer—they called it football—was outside the US, but I never realized how big until 26th June 1994, when I attended a match between Colombia and Switzerland at Stanford Stadium. Not even the two Super Bowls I’d gone to came close to matching the excitement and passion of these soccer fans.

      Ever since then I’ve wanted to write a romance with soccer as the background, but it wasn’t until my son started playing competitive soccer for an Oregon club in spring 2010 that the story ideas started flowing. After speaking with one of my son’s coaches, who also played for the Portland Timbers, a professional soccer player named Ryland James came to life.

      Having access to people who can help with research adds realism to a story. I was fortunate in the soccer assistance I received, but when it came to my heroine, Lucy, who’d had a liver transplant as a teen, I wasn’t sure where to turn for help.

      A friend had been a living donor for her daughter’s successful liver transplant in 2007, but I happened to mention my work-in-progress to another mom during our kids’ swimming practice. Turned out she was a two-time liver and kidney transplant recipient. Talking with her helped me understand and fill in Lucy’s backstory of her having liver failure. It also made me understand the importance of organ donation and the lives being saved by transplants.

      To all those who have signed up to be donors: thank you!

       Melissa

      About the Author

      With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONE ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her “happily-ever-afters.” When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two loveable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that decided to call the garage home.

      Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website, www.melissamcclone.com.

      It Started

       with a Crush…

      Melissa McClone

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For all the people who generously volunteer their time

       to coach kids—especially those who have made such a difference in my children’s lives. Thank you!

      Special thanks to Josh Cameron, Brian Verrinder, Ian

       Burgess, Bernice Conrad and Terri Reed.

      CHAPTER ONE

      EVERY day for the past four weeks, Connor’s school bus had arrived at the corner across the street no later than three-thirty Every day, except today. Lucy Martin glanced at the clock hanging on the living-room wall.

      3:47 p.m.

      Anxiety knotted her stomach making her feel jittery. Her nephew should be home by now.

      Was it time to call the school to find out where the bus might be or was she overreacting? This parenting—okay, surrogate parenting—thing was too new to know for certain.

      She stared out the window, hoping the bus would appear. The street corner remained empty. That wasn’t surprising. Only residents drove through this neighborhood on the outskirts of town.

      What to do? She tapped her foot.

      Most contingencies and emergencies had been listed in the three-ring binder Lucy called the survival guide. Her sister-in-law, Dana, had put it together before she left. But a late school bus hadn’t been one of the scenarios. Lucy had checked. Twice.

      No need to panic. Wicksburg was surrounded by farmland, a small town with a low crime rate and zero excitement except for harvests in the summer, Friday-night football games in the fall and basketball games in the winter. A number of things could have delayed the bus. A traffic jam due to slow-moving farm equipment, road construction, a car accident …

      A chill shivered down Lucy’s spine.

      Don’t freak out. Okay, she wasn’t used to taking care of anyone but herself. This overwhelming need to see her nephew right this moment was brand-new to her. But she’d better get used to it. For the next year she wasn’t only Connor’s aunt, she was also his guardian while his parents, both army reservists, were deployed overseas. Her older brother, Aaron, was counting on Lucy to take care of his only child. If something happened to Connor on her watch …

      Her muscles tensed.

      “Meow.”

      The family’s cat, an overweight Maine Coon with a tail that looked more like a raccoon’s than a feline’s, rubbed against the front door. His green-eyed gaze met Lucy’s.

      “I know, Manny.” The cat’s concern matched her own. “I want Connor home, too.”

      Something caught the corner of her eye. Something yellow. She stared out the window once again.

      The school bus idled at the corner. Red lights flashed.

      Relief flowed through her. “Thank goodness.”

      Lucy took a step toward the front door then stopped. Connor had asked her not to meet him at the bus stop. She understood the need to be independent and wanted to make him happy. But not even following his request these past two and a half weeks had erased the sadness from his eyes. She knew better than to take it personally. Smiles had become rare commodities around here since his parents deployed.

      Peering through the slit in the curtains gave her a clear view of the bus and the short walk to the house. Connor could assert his independence while she made sure he was safe.

      Lucy hated seeing him moping around like a lost puppy, but she understood. He missed his parents. She’d tried to make him feel better. Nothing, not even his favorite desserts, fast-food restaurants or video games, had made a difference. Now that his spring soccer team was without a coach, things had gone from bad to worse.

      The door of the bus opened. The Bowman twins exited. The seven-year-old girls wore matching pink polka-dot dresses,