Bright Hopes. Pat Warren
don’t imagine she’ll shower with the boys, do you?”
Patrick reached for patience, never his strong suit. “How about the game itself? I never heard of a woman who knows football inside and out.”
“Really? Ever hear of Phyllis George, to name one? I thought she did a highly commendable job, and on national television at that. And now there’s Pam Casals. Have you read her credentials?”
Patrick felt his irritation grow as he paced her small office. “I know she was a runner in the Olympics.”
“A little more than a mere runner. She won a silver medal when she was seventeen, then returned and won a gold medal at twenty-one.”
“Okay, so she can run. But does she know football?”
Disappointed in his reaction, Miss Mackie nevertheless continued unruffled. “She went on to become an exhibition performer, earned a degree in phys ed, was head coach at a college in the east and an Olympic coach for a year in Seoul. For a young woman who’s just turned thirty, I would call that an impressive list of accomplishments.”
Stopping in front of her desk, Patrick braced his hands on the edge and leaned forward. “I repeat, does she know football?”
“I would think so, having coached football at the college level. Surely she can manage high school boys.” Josephine Mackie felt her gaze soften as she studied Patrick’s stubborn features. She thought she knew exactly why he was so upset, and chose her words carefully.
“I realize that when I asked you to join our coaching staff ten years ago, Patrick, your dream was to one day be football coach here at your alma mater. I believe you took on coaching basketball temporarily, thinking that when Dale McCormick retired, you’d shift over to football. But you’ve done such a tremendous job—guiding the basketball team from class B to class A status and giving us a championship season for the past two years. We don’t want to lose you in that capacity.”
Patrick’s blue eyes were serious as he straightened. He’d figured that was what she’d thought, and the rest of the town, too. But they were wrong.
He’d been a star quarterback during his years at Tyler, and at the small Midwestern college he’d attended while earning his teaching degree. Then there’d been problems—serious problems—and he’d had to rearrange his dreams. When he returned to his hometown, he’d been pleased to be asked to coach basketball and assist Coach McCormick occasionally in football. Even now, what he really wanted was what was best for the Tyler High boys. But he knew that changing the thinking of a whole group of people who had their minds made up wasn’t something he could do without revealing more than he felt comfortable doing.
“Miss Mackie, I’m perfectly happy coaching basketball. You’re aware, I’m sure, that many of the boys on the football team also play basketball. I know these guys, and they aren’t going to accept a woman coach.”
She narrowed her pale gray eyes and zeroed in. “They will if you encourage them to accept her.”
Settling into the old wooden chair facing her desk, Patrick scowled. “I don’t know if I can do that, in good conscience.”
Propping her elbows on her desk, Miss Mackie leaned forward. “Patrick, I don’t have to tell you that this town gets greatly involved in our school athletics. And the football team’s been on a long losing streak. Dale McCormick was a good coach once, back when you were playing for him. But for some time now, he’s been merely coasting along, counting the days to retirement.”
“I agree,” Patrick admitted.
“The school board felt we needed new blood, someone to get the boys all stirred up. Of our six applicants, Pam Casals is by far the most qualified. I’ve talked with her on the phone and she’s personable and intelligent. I’ve hired her on a one-season trial basis and she’s arriving next week. Won’t you open your mind and give her a chance?”
Miss Mackie was a good administrator, her judgment usually on target, Patrick felt. This time, though, she was wrong. “I have nothing against this particular woman, you understand. I just don’t feel any woman can coach football. It’s too rugged a game, too physical.” He picked up Pam Casals’ file and flipped it open, to where her picture was clipped to the inside front cover. “See how small she looks? She could get hurt out there.”
Josephine Mackie sighed. Patrick Kelsey was an instructor who seldom gave her problems. He was making up for lost time today. Glancing at her watch, she stood, realizing she could debate this issue with Patrick all day and neither would bend. “It’s only the first of August. We have several weeks before classes start. During that time, we’ll be observing Pam and her training and practice methods closely.”
Picking up her purse, she walked around the desk. The school was deserted; she’d come in to get a head start on some paperwork and had been somewhat surprised when Patrick cornered her. “Why don’t you study her file a bit more and then leave it on my desk? I have an appointment.”
The gentleman in him had Patrick rising and smiling at the slim principal. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time. But you know what these guys mean to me.”
She smiled back at him. “They mean a great deal to me, too.”
Patrick nodded. “You off to a board meeting?”
Josephine found herself blushing as she patted her sparse gray hair. “No, actually I have an appointment at the Hair Affair.”
He grinned at her. “Big date tonight, Miss Mackie?”
Girlishly, she pursed her lips, turned from him and opened the door, choosing to ignore his question. “Please lock up when you leave,” she said, then hurried down the hallway.
Chuckling, Patrick sat back down, wondering why Miss Mackie had never married. Too wrapped up in her job, he supposed. Few women could juggle work and children, and still maintain a happy marriage. His mother, Anna Kelsey, was about the only one he knew of. But she was one of a kind.
He opened the file again. Pam Casals did not look like his idea of a football coach. From the picture, she appeared to be of medium height and quite slender, with the muscular legs of a runner. Her shoulder-length brown hair, wind-tossed, framed an oval face, and her large brown eyes gazed directly into the camera. She didn’t appear aggressive or arrogant, but there was a hint of determination to the angle of her chin. Still, if this woman could handle that rowdy group of high school boys, then he was the Easter Bunny, Patrick thought with a frown.
Quickly he read through her file. Like millions of people, he was always drawn to watch the Olympics. He’d heard countless stories of the dedication, perseverance, sacrifices and sheer guts it took to win a medal. She was a winner, he’d give her that. But could she make the Tyler boys into winners?
Doubtful, he thought, closing the file. He knew these boys better than anyone, certainly better than an outsider. And a woman at that. He would give her a chance, but he would remain in the picture. He’d keep an eye on her, check out her methods, look out for his boys. He’d mention to a couple of the guys—Ricky and B.J. and Moose—that he’d be interested in knowing what Coach Casals did during their training sessions.
It wasn’t really spying, Patrick told himself as he placed Pam’s file on the principal’s desk. It was protecting.
Digging in the pocket of his jeans for his keys, Patrick left the office whistling.
* * *
A RAINBOW. Pam Casals glanced to the right as she drove along the country road, and smiled. Slowing, she pulled to a stop by a wooden fence bordering pastureland. Shifting into park, she slid out of her sporty white convertible and went to lean on the weathered fence.
It had been raining that morning when she set out from Chicago, a light drizzling summer rain. Wisconsin being north of Illinois, it wasn’t quite as warm here. Fall would be along all too soon.
The rainbow shimmered in the sky, where the last of the clouds were moving off