Hill Country Hero by Ann DeFee Page A

Everyone knew that debutantes didn’t hook up with guys from the projects unless they were out slumming. She didn’t seem like much of a party girl, but what did he know? And anyway, her daddy could get him banished to the last-place team in the league. That was his idea of football hell.
    Jake couldn’t figure out what made CiCi Hurst tick. Sometimes she acted as if she wasn’t sure what to think of him, but at other times he thought he saw her eyes light up when she looked at him.
    CiCi had produced a basket of T-shirts and hankies for the touch-football game. “Okay, kids, Jake’s team will be yellow and mine will be red. Tuck the hankie in your back pocket. Absolutely no tackling. Hear me? No tackling. When the opposing team gets your hankie, you’re down,” she instructed. The players nodded their understandings. “Good. I pick Jason.” CiCi pointed at one of the tall, well-built camp counselors.
    Jake was right. She’d scouted. He’d been planning to pick Jason first. The guy was big and buff, and obviously played ball at school.
    He studied the talent pool and made his choice. “Okay, Rondelle, you’re my man.” Even if they didn’t score a point, the kid’s ear-to-ear grin was enough to make Jake happy with his decision.
    The selection went back and forth. Both Jake and CiCi were careful to pick the kids who were probably used to being passed over.
    Jake was putting a great deal of thought into his next draft when a light tap on his arm drew his attention. He was still pondering whether he should grab Javier before CiCi realized his potential, or punch up his defensive line with a husky guy named Alvin.
    It took a few seconds for Jake’s brain to segue from beefy linebackers to golden-haired angels. And the young lady trying to get his attention could have posed for Botticelli. She had spun-gold curls, cornflower-blue eyes and was no bigger than a minute even though she had to be at least fifteen. Soaking wet, the girl couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.
    She got up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Coach, I want to play.”
    “Are you sure?” The last thing they needed was for someone to get hurt, especially one of their younger campers.
    “Positive. I’m the kicker on our varsity team. I’m an okaypunter, but I’m really accurate with field goals and points after touchdowns.”
    Jake couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d smacked him in the face with a wet fish. “You are?”
    “Sure, I’m also a cheerleader and I play soccer, but during the game when they need me, I whip on some pads and a helmet and go out and kick bootie.”
    Jake barely suppressed a grin. “How about that? Okay, what’s your name?” “Angel.”
    That figured.
    “Angel’s my next pick,” he announced loudly. He couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk off Ms. Hurst’s face. He’d be willing to bet a future Super Bowl ring that she didn’t have a kicker. Little Angel was going to be his ace in the hole.
    After they finished picking teams, Jake called his squad over to huddle. “Rondelle, have you ever thrown a football?” With Rondelle’s height and athleticism, he was a natural for quarterback. Plus, he was a born leader.
    “Sure. I played on the middle-school team.”
    Jake didn’t miss the use of the past tense. He wondered why Rondelle wasn’t currently playing. For a project rat, sports could be a godsend. And if ever someone needed a miracle, Rondelle qualified. But first things first—right now they had a football game to win.
    Jake checked out the talent. One of his girls was built like an offensive tackle. If she could block, that would be a bonus. About half his team had played ball at some point in their lives. For the neophytes, Jake explained snap counts, simple plays and the importance of getting the ball over the chalk line.
    “Rondelle, throw the pigskin over everyone’s head and I’ll catch it. And keep it away from Sugar Plum. I think she’s onthe other team.” Jake