The Real Father. Kathleen O'Brien

just a volunteer coach, and he was doing the best he could. Jackson took a deep breath and waited. Tommy was a tough kid. He could handle it.

      Coach Riser squatted in front of the boy, and, though he lowered his voice diplomatically, everyone could tell that Tommy was getting a verbal lashing. Jackson reminded himself of the hundreds of times his own track coach had lectured him with that same exasperated look on his face. But Jackson had been in high school, for God’s sake, not in fourth grade. And he’d been a…well, he’d been what was politely known as “a discipline problem.” Tommy wasn’t.

      Besides, it was only a game. Ross Riser needed to lighten the hell up.

      Annie Cheatwood, Tommy’s mother, had just arrived at the soccer field, peeling off her orange Low Country Hardware Store apron and tossing it into the back of her beat-up green sedan. Glad of the distraction, Jackson watched her pick her way through the crowd of mothers in tennis togs and diamond earrings, fathers in khaki slacks and golf shirts. Most of them spoke courteously to her as she passed, but the reserve in their faces told a different story.

      Jackson knew that, if she hadn’t been a special friend of his, none of them would have offered her so much as a nod. A hardware store clerk who had the nerve to possess a large bustline and a small waist, and didn’t bother to hide either one, was ordinarily invisible to this crowd.

      As Annie reached his side, Jackson found himself chuckling out loud at the idea of his being anyone’s social sponsor. He was the ultimate black sheep. These same people wouldn’t have spoken to him, either, if he hadn’t inherited his daddy’s plantation.

      Annie looked puzzled, studying him as she folded a piece of Juicy Fruit into her mouth. “What’s so funny?”

      He held out his hand, asking for a stick of gum. He didn’t chew gum, didn’t even like it, but he knew that the diamond moms and khaki dads thought chewing gum was vulgar, and the idea suddenly appealed to him.

      “Life. People. Soccer. Chewing gum.” He shrugged. “Actually, just about everything seems pretty funny right now.”

      She handed the gum over with a sideways smile. “Oh,” she said. “You’re in one of those moods. Great.”

      As if he’d been pulled by a magnet, Coach Riser came striding over. His scowl had been replaced by a goofy grin, which Jackson realized was every bit as irritating. Riser had begun dating Annie recently, and he was clearly infatuated.

      “Hi, there, you two,” the coach said, directing that lovesick smile toward Annie, but sending a perfunctory smile toward Jackson as if the two of them were good friends. Jackson knew better. Ross Riser didn’t quite know what to make of Jackson’s friendship with Annie, but he definitely didn’t like it. And the whole issue of Tommy confused and alarmed him, though he wasn’t close enough yet to Annie to ask her to explain it.

      “Hi, Ross,” Jackson broke in before Annie could speak. “Tell me, coach, what’s your problem with Tommy? Didn’t you want him to score? Don’t you want us to win?”

      Riser’s pale skin flushed, and his brown eyes tightened. He eyed Jackson narrowly, as if he feared a subtle threat lurked beneath the innocent words. As if Jackson might be referring to Riser’s one shameful secret, which darkened the air between them like a shadow every time they met.

      But Jackson kept his expression bland, and Riser relaxed, obviously deciding that, this time at least, no deeper implications had been intended. “Not like that, I didn’t,” he said. “I’ve told Tommy not to go galloping down the field all alone. He’s a team player, and he needs to wait for his team.”

      “Even if they’re half an hour behind him?”

      Riser’s voice hardened. “That’s right, Forrest. Even then. You have a problem with that?”

      Annie groaned and swatted lightly at Jackson’s arm. “Knock it off, you two. If I’d wanted to get caught in a macho slime-fest, I would have stayed at the hardware store.”

      Jackson grinned. “Sorry,” he said, recognizing the truth of her comment. He wasn’t going to get into a wrestling match with Ross Riser over how to handle Tommy. Or over Annie, either, for that matter. Frankly, he didn’t have to.

      “Whatever you say, Ross,” he offered with an easy shrug. “You’re the coach.”

      Annie patted his cheek. “Good boy,” she said. Then she turned to Ross, whose handsome face had already begun to darken again. “Are we still on for Friday?”

      Ross nodded, glancing covertly at Jackson. “You bet we are. I’ll be there at six.” And then, with an awkward lurch of boyish defiance, he leaned over and pecked Annie on the lips before turning and hurrying back toward the field.

      Annie and Jackson watched the game in a pregnant silence for a couple of minutes. Finally Annie spoke.

      “I know you don’t think I should be seeing him.”

      Jackson kept his eyes on Tommy, who was reining himself in and staying with the pack. What a shame. “That’s right,” he said. “I don’t.”

      Annie made a small popping sound with her chewing gum, something she never did unless she was angry. “But, doggone it, Jackson, you haven’t got any right to tell me who I can and can’t see.”

      Jackson nodded. “That’s right,” he agreed equably. “I don’t.”

      Annie growled, obviously losing patience with him. “Listen here, Jackson Forrest. You’d better come on out and tell me what your problem is with Ross, or you’d just better hold your tongue and stay out of it.”

      He swiveled, slanting her a laughing glance. “Think back, Annie, darling. Did I say a word against Ross? I think this topic was your idea, not mine.”

      She narrowed her eyes, considering. He could tell when she realized he was right—her hazel eyes began to flash. Annie hated being wrong.

      “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to say anything, did you? You know I can read your mind. You don’t like Ross, Jack. I want to know why.”

      The chilly February wind had blown pieces of her hair up against her flushed cheeks. Jackson reached out and gently tucked the fine, light-brown strands back behind her ears. “Maybe I don’t think he’s good enough for you and Tommy. Maybe I think you deserve better.”

      She looked unconvinced. “Yeah? Why, do you see the King of Siam standing in line to date me?”

      “Annie—”

      “I’m serious, Jack. I’m not exactly the catch of the century, you know, a single working mom.” She cast a wry gaze over the crowd of upscale parents. “Can you imagine any of these guys inviting me to the country club for dinner?”

      “Annie—”

      She shook her head, rejecting his assurances of her worth. She’d always hated soft soap and platitudes. “Besides, Jack, I’m just dating him a little, that’s all. It’s not as if I’m going to marry the guy. You don’t have to worry that he’s going to try to step in and be Tommy’s dad or anything.”

      Jackson managed not to flinch, although she had hit a bull’s-eye with that one. Canny Annie. She always could cut right through to the truth of things. He turned toward the soccer field, as much to avoid letting her read his expression as to follow the progress of the game.

      Tommy was working his way downfield, threatening to score once again. Jackson’s gut twisted a little, watching those bony, knob-kneed legs churn with every ounce of energy in the boy’s body. The kid had so much heart, so much spunk. He needed a dad. He deserved one.

      “I’m sorry, Annie,” Jackson said. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

      A moment’s silence. And then, slowly, her hand slid up and rested against his forearm. When she spoke her voice was softer, less agitated. “Besides you’ve got other things to worry about right now. Isn’t your old girlfriend