âNo one has seen her for hours?â
Trey looked at the sky with a rancherâs eye. The storm, as bad as it was, looked like it was just getting started. âYouâre sure she didnât leave for a hotel in town? Maybe hitch a ride with some other guest?â
âThis is hers.â Emily held up a ladyâs purse. Even Trey knew a woman wouldnât leave without her purse. Emily handed him a Massachusetts driverâs license. âHereâs what she looks like.â
Her signature was precise and legible. Rebecca Cargill. A pretty woman. Brown hair, with thick, straight bangs. As Trey took a moment to let the image settle into his brain, something about the expression on her face resonated with him. There was strain beneath that smile, a brave smile for the camera. I know how you felt, darlinâ. I was afraid I wouldnât pass the damned exam, either.
* * *
Texas Rescue: Rescuing hearts ⦠one Texan at a time!
Chapter One
James Waterson III left his familyâs ranch at the glorious age of eighteen, ready to exceed the already high expectations of his friends and family, teachers and coaches. James the third, better known as Trey among the ranch hands and football fans, the recruiters and reporters, was going to conquer college football as the star of Oklahoma Tech University. Heâd so easily conquered high school football, the NFL was already aware of his name.
At the age of twenty, Trey was washed up.
Whatâs wrong with that boy? He blew his big chance.
Whatâs wrong with him? He was so bright when I had him in class.
Whatâs wrong with the Waterson kid? He mustâve gotten into drugs.
What a waste, what a shame, why, why, why?
His parents, of course, had left the family ranch in Texas to visit him in Oklahoma numerous times. Theyâd consulted with his coaches and met with his professors, and no one could understand why Trey Waterson, the promising freshman recruit, could no longer remember the play calls and passing routes now that he was a sophomore.
Well, Mr. Waterson, Iâm not saying your son canât handle stress, but weâve seen kids freeze up when they get in a big stadium. Weâre talking about a crowd of one hundred thousand.
No one could deny that Treyâs test grades were no longer easy As, but struggling Ds and failing Fs.
To be honest, Mrs. Waterson, he was supposed to come to my office for tutoring directly after class, but he never showed. As I told the athletic director, I canât help a kid who refuses to be helped.
Treyâs parents had believed him. He wasnât trying to skip class. He was not experimenting with drugs. They remembered the hit heâd taken in the last quarter of a home game, and worried that he was somehow suffering, months later.
We take good care of our players. Your son had a CT scan and passed a neurological exam that very week. Everything looks completely normal. No damage from that game, and no brain tumors or anything else that would explain the changes in his behavior.
That had been the most disheartening news of all. Trey was healthy, according to the doctors. An MRI was ordered, anyway; Trey was told it was âunremarkable.â He could balance on each foot. He could touch his nose with his index finger and stick out his tongue straight and name the current President of the United States.
When he finally found his professorâs office and correctly described how to calculate the area within the shape created by rotating a parabola around the z-axis, Trey believed the doctors, too. There was nothing wrong with him. He was just having a hard time, somehow. Not sleeping well, for some reason.
After their conversation, the professor gave him the exam, letting him make up the missed test just because Trey was the future of the Oklahoma Tech football program.
Trey failed the math test.
He understood the mathematical theory, but he couldnât calculate three times six. Five plus twelve. He sat in the professorâs office and sweated clean through his shirt. He thought he was going to vomit from the fear, the sheer terror, of not being certain if he was counting on his fingers correctly. Seventeen times four? Not enough fingers, he knew that much.