Page 26

MUD WRESTLING CHAMPIONS

TEMPEST

I didn’t register the cold until I was halfway to the Kingman house.

February in Colorado wasn’t known for its mercy, and I’d rushed out after my morning class without bothering to check the weather.

Now, power-walking from my car past frost-kissed lawns in Thornminster’s nicest neighborhood, I pulled my jacket tighter and wished I’d remembered gloves.

The Kingman house looked different in daylight, less imposing, more lived-in. A forgotten football rested by the front steps. Wind chimes tinkled from the porch. It looked like a home, not just a house, and something in my chest tightened at the thought.

Before I could knock, the front door swung open. Coach Kingman stood there in running clothes and a Denver Mustangs cap, a travel mug in his hand.

“Miss Navarro.” He checked his watch. “Nine o’clock exactly. Punctual.”

“Good morning, sir.” I tried not to shiver. “I hope the donkey didn’t cause too much trouble overnight. ”

A noise that might have been a laugh escaped him. “Less than any one of my children on a good day. Flynn’s out back already. Coffee?”

I blinked. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

He gestured me inside, and I followed him through a house that was simultaneously exactly what I’d expected and nothing like I’d imagined.

Sports trophies competed for space with framed family photos.

A massive bookshelf held everything from playbooks to Shakespeare to romance novels, the latter probably Flynn’s little sister’s influence.

The kitchen was enormous, clearly designed to feed a small army of athletic men.

Coach handed me a mug featuring a cartoon dragon wearing a football helmet. “Milk’s in the fridge if you need it. Flynn takes his mostly milk, two sugars.”

“I—” I started, but he was already heading toward the door.

“Early meeting at the university. Back by noon. Tell Flynn I expect those combine drills completed by three.”

And then he was gone, leaving me holding two mugs of coffee in a stranger’s kitchen, wondering how exactly my life had led to this moment.

I found my way to the back deck, where I discovered exactly why Flynn hadn’t answered the door.

He stood shirtless in the middle of the yard, attempting to coax our donkey away from what appeared to be a freshly planted section of garden.

Morning sunlight glinted off his shoulders, highlighting muscles that belonged on a Greek statue, not a college senior.

I nearly dropped both coffee mugs.

“Come on, buddy,” Flynn was saying, “those are not for you to eat. Dad will actually murder me if you eat his herbs.”

The donkey looked thoroughly unimpressed by this logic and continued munching on whatever poor plant had caught his interest.

I set the mugs down on the deck railing and cleared my throat. “Need some help?”

Flynn spun around, and the smile that spread across his face did dangerous things to my heart rate. “My queen arrives.” He gestured dramatically to the donkey. “Your subject is misbehaving.”

“And you’re...” I gestured vaguely at his lack of shirt, hoping the morning chill explained my flushed cheeks. “...cold?”

“Hay emergency.” He grabbed a towel draped over a nearby chair and wiped his hands. “Little guy knocked over his feeder and somehow managed to get hay everywhere. Including down my shirt.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “But if the view’s distracting you, I can put it back on.”

“I’m not distracted,” I lied, sounding unconvincing even to myself. I held out his coffee like a shield. “Your dad made this for you.”

“Ah, the Coach Kingman seal of approval—coffee delivery service.” He bounded up the steps to the deck, taking the mug with a grateful sigh. “You’re already doing better than most of my teammates. He usually makes them fetch their own.”

We stood side by side at the railing, watching the donkey happily destroy what I now recognized as a winter herb garden. Up close, I could smell Flynn’s soap and something warmer beneath it. It was unfairly distracting.

“Should we rescue those plants?” I asked, desperate for something to focus on besides the completely unnecessary dimple in his right cheek when he smiled.

“Probably.” He didn’t move. “But they’re just herbs. Dad loves to cook. We ate sooooo much spaghetti growing up.” He took a sip of coffee, his expression softening. “Besides, look how happy he is.”

The donkey did indeed look blissful, ears perked forward as he systematically eviscerated what might have been basil.

“Your dad’s going to kill us both,” I pointed out.

“Nah.” Flynn’s shoulder brushed mine as he leaned against the railing. “Dad’s got a soft spot for giant balls of fluff. We had so many dogs growing up. He thought if he called them all Bear, we wouldn’t notice it wasn’t the same dog for... twenty years,” he added with a grin.

“So that’s where we’re setting the bar? As long as your father likes me more than your childhood pets, we’re good?”

“Trust me, my queen, you’re leagues ahead of Bear the Third. That dog ate Dad’s championship ring.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “What?”

“Yep. Dad took it off to do dishes one night, Bear decided it looked tasty, and three extremely uncomfortable days later...”

“Okay, stop.” I laughed, holding up a hand. “Too much information before I finish my coffee.”

His smile turned softer, more genuine. “You have a great laugh, you know that? ”

The sudden shift caught me off guard. “I—thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell between us, broken only by the occasional happy snuffle from the donkey. Flynn still hadn’t put a shirt on, and I was running out of willpower to look elsewhere.

“So,” I said finally, “what’s the plan for today’s donkey care?”

“Well, we need to reinforce his pen, refresh his water, give him a good brushing, and figure out why he keeps escaping to eat Dad’s herbs when he has perfectly good hay.

” Flynn ticked each item off on his fingers.

“Also, Dad reminded me four hundred and forty-two times that this is only lasting a week, so we should definitely brainstorm exit strategies.”

“I have an idea about that. I’m really hoping my abuela might take him in when she gets back next week.

” I smiled at the thought. “She’s kind of a force of nature.

Former telenovela star, never met an animal she didn’t love.

Between her drama and your donkey’s escape artist tendencies, they’d make quite the pair. ”

“Telenovela star?” Flynn’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. No wonder you have such a flair for the dramatic.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully. “Says the man who creates campus-wide chaos on a weekly basis.”

“It’s a gift.” He winked, and my stomach did a completely unauthorized flip. “Come on, let’s save what’s left of Dad’s herbs before he revokes my key privileges.”

We made our way down to the yard, where the donkey greeted me with an enthusiastic bump of his head against my hip. Flynn disappeared into the shed and returned with brushes and a repaired hay feeder .

I brushed baby donkey and Flynn knelt to secure the feeder. The morning light caught in his hair, turning the edges golden. “This little guy has about ten times the personality per pound.”

As if to prove the point, the donkey stretched his neck out and gently tugged on Flynn’s hair.

“Hey,” Flynn laughed, gently extracting himself. “I’m trying to help you here, ingrate.”

I allowed myself a small smile at the sight of six-foot-something of college football star being bullied by a miniature donkey. “I think he likes you.”

“Story of my life. The ones I’m not trying to impress love me, and the ones I am...” He looked up at me, his expression suddenly serious. “Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

My heart stuttered. “Flynn?—”

Before I could finish whatever dangerous thing I was about to say, the donkey spotted something beyond the fence and took off at surprising speed, dragging his lead rope with him.

“No,” we both shouted, lunging after him.

What happened next was pure chaos. The donkey circled the yard, kicking up mud. Flynn slipped, grabbing for my arm to steady himself but succeeding only in pulling me down with him. We landed in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter, covered in Colorado’s finest February mud.

“Sorry,” Flynn gasped, still laughing. “I was trying to be heroic.”

“How’s that working out for you?” I couldn’t stop giggling, even as I felt mud seeping into my jeans .

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression that made my breath catch. “I think my heroism might need some work.”

“Just a bit,” I agreed, suddenly very aware of how close his face was to mine, how easy it would be to close that distance.

His eyes dropped to my lips. “Tempest?—”

“FLYNN!” A voice from inside the house shattered the moment. “HAVE YOU SEEN MY PURPLE CONVERSE?”

Flynn closed his eyes, looking pained. “And that would be my sister.”

“The infamous Jules?”

“The very same.” He stood, offering me a hand up.

As he pulled me to my feet, the donkey trotted back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Flynn sighed, tugging gently on the lead rope.

“Come on, troublemaker. Let’s get you sorted before you cause any more problems.” He glanced at me, mud-splattered and disheveled, and his smile returned. “Though I have to admit, chaos looks good on you, my queen.”

Despite the cold, the mud, and the runaway donkey, warmth spread through my chest. This boy was dangerous in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Jules bounded onto the deck, her purple-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun. She stopped short when she saw us mud-covered and standing awkwardly apart.

“Well, well,” she said, eyes darting between us with laser-like assessment. “I was looking for shoes, but it seems I found the entertainment instead. ”

Flynn gestured to the donkey. “This one’s fault. Don’t even start.”