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and we know what it takes to be the best.” Logan spaced the words, giving them weight. The boys listened; he had their attention again.
    “We’re going to be competitive, gentleman. We’re going to be fierce. We’ll play smart. And we will be successful.” The last part had the players cheering and his coaches nodding approvingly. The man, who Logan assumed was the AD’s cousin, hooked his pinkies in the corners of his beefy mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Several players ducked.
    Logan shook his head and sighed. Then he said, “Let’s get started.” The assistant coaches separated and began calling out names, having the boys separate into defensive and offensive teams. The boys would get a lot of playing time and most would play both offense and defense. His special team, the kicker, separated from the group to the far end zone, a football in one hand, a tee in the other.
    The whistler remained in his spot, shifting from foot to foot. Logan took a few steps until he stood before him. He brought his hands to his hips and forced his temper under control. Losing it on the field in front of his players wouldn’t do anybody any good.
    “I’m Tom. Tom Carlson. I’m sorry I was late.” Tom Carlson thrust his hand out to Logan.
    Logan kept his hands fisted at his hips. “You’re Ritter’s cousin?”
    The man nodded. He was a puppy, eager to please and droopy.
    Logan turned away. His players were scattered all over the field, running drills, throwing footballs, catching them. Logan exhaled and returned his attention to Tom. “Rule #1, Tom. Never be late. Ever. Got that?”
    Tom nodded, his big head bouncing up and down.
    “Okay, what do you know about football?”
    “Everything. I love it. During football season, I’m glued to the TV all day Saturday and all day Sunday. Then of course there’s Monday night, and sometimes Wednesday night, occasionally Thursday nights—”
    “Aside from watching football, do you have any experience coaching football?”
    Tom screwed up his mouth. “How do you mean?”
    Logan sighed. “How about you go over and watch Charlie. He’s the big guy working with the defense.”
    “Sounds good, Coach. No problem.”
    Logan watched him jog over to Charlie, shaking his head.

Chapter 5
    There were only a few cars in the parking lot of Wing’s Bar and Grill, but it was early and it was Friday. The sun wasn’t burning down like it had been, but it was still completely light outside.
    Rachel pulled open the heavy wooden door. It was like stepping back in time. The famous Redemption bar hadn’t changed a bit. Wings was an institution in this eastern Colorado town and had been since the fifties. John Wing III ran the operation and, as far as Rachel knew, it was nearly identical to how it had been when the doors had first opened. It had always been a joke that there were no actual pilots in the Wing family, but the bar’s interior was flanked floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall, in pictures of things that fly: airplanes, helicopters, jets, turbo props, air carriers, military and civilian aircraft. If it left the ground, there was a picture of it somewhere on one of the walls.
    Country music from the jukebox played in the background, but Rachel could see, as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, the band setting up on stage. In a couple of hours, this place would be hopping. She’d be gone well before they started.
    Rachel was here to set Logan straight. What was the big deal anyways? It was one game. And, it wasn’t like the game wasn’t going to happen. Her event was after the game.
    This was her tribute to the woman who’d raised her, who’d put her through medical school, who’d shaped her into the person she was today. And, who’d died alone because Rachel hadn’t been able to get back to Redemption in time.
    Rachel sighed as she went up to the four-sided, highly polished cherry wood bar in the center of the room, passing the old airplane turbo prop that was mounted to the