In Wilde Country Read Free Book Online Page A

say, and on his way there or on his way back, he’d take a detour that led him
     past the high school to the football field, where he’d park whatever ranch or rig
     pickup he was using and watch as the Cats went through drills and plays.
    After a while he stepped from the truck, jogged through the gates, climbed high into
     the stands where he figured nobody would notice him.
    But people did notice.
    TJ. Tim Stantos. A couple of other guys. They came into the stands, sat down next
     to him and said Hey,man. How you been? How’s it hangin’? When you comin’ back? and he’d smile and give them five and avoid answering the question.
    Then, one day, the kid trying out for tight end screwed up. Totally. It was just a
     practice game, but he made such a piss-poor play that Coach marched up to him, his
     fleshy face scarlet, and chewed him out so badly that Johnny could hear each word
     even where he sat, almost at the top of the stands.
    The kid’s shoulders slumped. He hung his head like a whipped dog.
    Coach yelled some more. Then he looked into the stands, pointed his finger at Johnny
     and bellowed, “Wilde! Come down here and show this asshole how it’s supposed to be
     done.”
    Johnny didn’t move.
    The team did.
    They bunched together, all of them, and stared up at Johnny.
    Don’t, he told himself. Hell, don’t…
    He got to his feet. Trotted down to the field. No uniform. No equipment. Santos didn’t
     bother with a huddle. He waved them all into formation, rattled off an audible, and
     Johnny fell back five steps, spun past the defender, ran toward the end zone and leaped
     high, high, high in the air…
    The ball fell into his hands as if it had been waiting to welcome him home.
    The guys cheered and crowded around him, and Johnny...
    Johnny was glad he was sweating, because maybe then nobody would notice that he was
     crying.
    * * * *
    He drove home forty minutes later, downed half a gallon of OJ, showered, changed into
     clean jeans and a white T-shirt, phoned Connie and drove to her house.
    It was time to break things off.
    She was waiting for him on her porch. And, man, she really was mousy-looking. Why
     had Alden chosen her when he could have had any girl he wanted?
    Well, no.
    Alden wasn’t the Wilde brother who could have any girl he wanted.
    Johnny was.
    And despite what Amos had said, he was willing to bet that Alden had never been with
     a girl. Not with this one or any other.
    Johnny felt a stirring in his loins.
    The Wilde brothers. One who’d never have a girl, one who hadn’t had one in almost
     a year.
    He rolled down his window.
    “Hey,” he said, and motioned her over.
    She looked a little surprised. He hadn’t done that before. Until now, he’d done what
     he figured Alden had done, gone to the porch or the door, then escorted her to his
     truck.
    Yeah, well, things were about to change.
    He leaned over and flung the door open. Connie reached for his hand and he drew her
     onto the seat beside him.
    “Hi.”
    “Hi,” he said, his truck tires spitting gravel as he peeled down the driveway.
    “I didn’t expect you to see you tonight.”
    “Change of plans.”
    He made a left, not towards town but towards a lake that was the kind of hangout he
     never took her to.
    “Where are we going?”
    “To the lake.”
    She looked at him. “I thought maybe we could see that new Goldie Hawn movie.”
    “I’m not in the mood for a movie tonight.”
    He drove fast. It felt good; he hadn’t gone over the speed limit since the accident.
     When they reached the lake, he drove straight through the parking lot to a place where
     the branches of magnolia trees, heavy with blooms, formed a natural screen. He pulled
     in, turned off the engine and looked at Connie.
    Her hair was loose. He reached out, tugged at a frizzy curl.
    “So,” he said, “you ever come here with my brother?”
    She blushed. She knew what he meant.
    “No.”
    “Never?”
    “Never.”
    He smiled, ran a finger down