Hawk's Way: Rebels by Joan Johnston

Author:Joan Johnston [Joan Johnston]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HQN
Published: 2011-11-22T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

“WOW! MAC MACREADY IN THE FLESH!”

Mac felt embarrassed and humbled at the look of admiration—almost adulation—in Colt Whitelaw’s eyes. Mac had just shoved open the kitchen screen door to admire the sunrise on his third day at Hawk’s Pride when he encountered Jewel’s fourteen-year-old brother on the back steps. He had known the boy since Colt came to the Whitelaw house hold as an infant, the only one of the eight Whitelaw kids who had known no other parents than Zach and Rebecca. “Hi there, kid.”

Colt was wearing a white T-shirt cut off at the waist to expose his concave belly and ribs and with the arms ripped out to reveal sinewy biceps. Levi’s covered his long, lanky legs. He was tossing a football from hand to hand as he shifted from foot to booted foot. With the soft black down of adolescence growing on his upper lip, he looked every bit the eager and excited teenager he was.

“Mom said you were coming, but I didn’t really believe her. I mean, now that you’re famous and all, I didn’t think you’d ever come back here. I wanted to come over as soon as you got here, but Mom said you needed time to settle in without all of us bothering you, so I stayed away a whole extra day. I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Mac resisted the urge to ruffle Colt’s shaggy, shoulder-length black hair. The kid wouldn’t appreciate it. Mac knew from his own experience that a boy of fourteen considered himself pretty much grown up. Colt was six feet tall, but his shoulders were still almost as narrow as his hips. His blue eyes were filled with wonder and hope, without the cynicism and disappointment that appeared as you grew older and learned that life threw a lot of uncatchable balls your way.

“Sit down and tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself,” Mac invited. He eased himself into one of the two slatted white wooden chairs situated on the flagstone patio at the back of the cottage. Colt perched on the wide arm of the other chair.

The patio was arbored, and purple bougainvillea woven within a white lattice frame work provided shade to keep the early morning sun off their heads and a pleasant floral fragrance.

Mac was aware of Colt’s scrutiny as he gently picked up his wounded leg and set the ankle on the opposite knee. When he was done, he laid his cane down on the flag stone and leaned back com fort ably in the chair.

“I was watching the game on TV when your leg got busted,” Colt said. “It looked pretty bad.”

“It was,” Mac agreed.

“I heard them say you’d never walk again,” Colt blurted.

Mac managed a smile. “Looks like they were wrong.”

“When you didn’t come back after a whole year, they said you’d never play football again.”

“It’s taken me a while to get back on my feet, but I expect to be back on the football field in the fall as good as new and better than ever.

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