Free Justified by Varina Denman Page B

stood with his feet planted shoulder width apart, fists on his hips, but instead of being turned toward the other end of the field, he looked straight at Tyler and me.
    He jerked his head away quickly, and I told myself it probably hadn’t been what it seemed.
    But when he glanced back a second time, I knew it wasn’t my imagination.

Chapter Fourteen
    They say boredom can drive a person insane, and I seemed to be testing the theory. Saturday afternoon, I lay on the loveseat, twirling a ruffled throw pillow above my head and wishing for something to do other than homework.
    I had worked at the feed store a few hours that morning, and every man who entered the place speculated to the owner about Friday’s game. They all had an opinion about what went wrong. Of course, the Panthers won the game by a margin of thirty-five points, but the fact we hadn’t routed the opposing team bothered the locals.
    And it bothered me, too. But I chose not to think about it, and by the time I got home, I had pushed the game and the coach far into the back of my mind.
    Rolling to my side, I sipped iced coffee through a straw, swishing the sweet mocha across my tongue while I wondered, yet again, what my life would be like if I hadn’t gotten pregnant. Tyler and I had so much in common. Wealth, religion, status. The similarities in our families had brought us together, and high expectations had kept us that way. Now we had the baby, and being with Tyler seemed the only justification.
    When I heard the rumble of a car approaching, I rose on one elbow and saw Coach Pickett’s green step-side pickup rounding the bend in the road where it curved near the drop-off.
    I met him on the front porch. “What brings you all the way up here?”
    JohnScott lifted his ball cap and swiped his arm across his forehead, revealing a serious case of hat hair. “Dad wants you to have his old recliner.”
    My gaze slid past him, and I noticed Ansel’s brown La-Z-Boy wedged in the bed of the truck. “Doesn’t he need it?”
    â€œMom talked him into getting a new one. Been after him for years.”
    I hesitated, wondering if I had room for the huge chair, almost large enough for two people.
    JohnScott’s eyebrows shrugged. “It’s a rocker.”
    I nodded, suddenly excited about the worn piece of furniture and the possibility of rocking my baby. “Awesome, JohnScott. Tell your parents thanks.”
    He frowned at a distant point to the side of the house. “While I’m here, I thought I’d clear some of this …” A sweep of his hand indicated my front yard.
    â€œYou mean the piles of brush?”
    â€œAnd the lumber.” He nodded toward the far corner.
    My face warmed. “It’s practically a junkyard.”
    â€œNot for long.” One side of his mouth lifted in an easy grin.
    â€œJohnScott, you fixed the steps just last week. You don’t need to spend another day working here.”
    â€œI don’t have practice on Saturdays.” He rubbed his flattened palm against his shoulder. “If I don’t find something to do, I’ll likely die of boredom.”
    â€œOkay, but I’m helping you. Let me put on some boots.”
    I stepped into the bedroom and tugged on my worn ropers. I knew exactly what the coach meant about boredom. Even though the idea of JohnScott cleaning up my yard humiliated me, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to busy myself.
    Five minutes later, I came out of the bedroom to find the recliner neatly positioned in front of the window with the loveseat pushed along the side wall. I ran my hand across the velour and inhaled the comforting scent of Ansel and Velma Pickett’s farmhouse. More than once I had seen the two of them sitting in the recliner together, Velma’s legs draped over Ansel’s knees as they watched television.
    I had never seen married people act like that until I lived with the Picketts. They