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alternate kicker managed to miss his first attempt at a field goal, Hank stood by his decision not to let Stevens participate. He hoped keeping the bench warm would help him remember to take his medication as prescribed.
    “Well, well. Such conscientiousness.”
    Hank wheeled to face the sound that had him cringing as if somebody had scrapped their nails across the blackboard. The wicked witch of the west stood in his doorway. A shudder of revulsion churned the three cups of coffee he’d downed this morning. What did she want?
    Cynthia Masters crossed her arms under her skillfully displayed boobs and moved stealthily toward him like a cat cornering her prey. “If it were anyone but you, Coach, I would be impressed.”
    He bristled as she neared him. “What can I do for you, Ms. Masters?”
    Hungry eyes moved from his worn jeans to the ragged gray tee-shirt he should have thrown away years ago. Every aching muscle in his body braced for fight or flight.
    “Tell me about the incident on the ball field Thursday afternoon.” Like a buzzard, she circled once before stopping directly in front of him.
    Damn. He’d hoped she wouldn’t hear about Stevens’ seizure, at least not this soon, anyway. “It was nothing serious. Stevens forgot to take his medication. He’s fine.”
    “Nothing serious you say?” A scathing green gaze fixed on his. “So much nothing that you had to call the new doctor.”
    God, she made him crazy. When he could stomach it no longer, he turned and strode over to the waiting paint. He picked up a can and set it on the work table. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away. He’d never hated anyone in his life, but he hated her. She rode him constantly. Nothing he did was right. If this had happened to any of the other coaches, she wouldn’t even have noticed.
    “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to tell me the rest of the story?” Annoyance flared in her superior tone as she glided across the room and planted herself right next to him. Cynthia Masters did not like to be ignored.
    “Yes.” He dropped the paint lid he’d pried off onto the table and turned to look her square in the eyes. “I called the doctor. I thought it best to be certain the boy was okay.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets. Wringing her neck was too tempting to leave his hands free.
    “Why would you let a kid like that on the team?” Her hands on her hips now, she had gone into her I’m-the-boss mode. “He’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
    Hank tamped down his immediate reaction. She wasn’t going to get to him today. It was Saturday. “I’ve already made Stevens sit out a game for his carelessness. There’s no need to take any further action. Stevens is at no more risk than any other player on the team.”
    “And when did you become a specialist on the subject, Coach?”
    “I did my research, Ms. Masters,” Hank snapped, before he could catch himself. “I spoke with his parents and his personal physician, all of whom approved his placement on the team.” Dread joined the anger mounting inside him. This was not good. He didn’t want to hear what he knew was coming next.
    “I want that kid off the team as of this moment.”
    “There’s no need to do that. Stevens is as fit—”
    “End of discussion.” She squared her shoulders and tossed him a look that dared him to challenge her supremacy.
    And he did. “I won’t take him off the team.”
    “Yes, Mr. Bradley, you will do exactly that,” she returned with a defiant smile.
    Hank faced her, his hands digging into his own hips now. “I’m the coach, and I have the final say as to who plays.”
    Masters snorted a laugh. “Do you really believe that?”
    Barely restraining his anger, he tried one last time to reason with her. “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t know why he tried appealing to a sense of decency he knew didn’t exist. “You’d punish that kid just to get back at me?”
    “You had your chance to be a