Too Hard to Forget (Romancing the Clarksons Book 3)

by Tessa Bailey

  “Can we get back to the matter at hand?” O’Leary demanded to know, looking more than a little annoyed that someone had hit the Pause button on his entrance. “This isn’t my only appointment today.”

  “Of course it’s not,” Peggy said breathily, stepping forward to touch the man’s forearm. “You are clearly in demand, so I’m going to make this really easy for you. Would you mind answering your cell phone for me? It’ll only take a second.”

  “My cell phone.” O’Leary patted his suit jacket, dislodging Peggy’s hand out of necessity and untying the knots in Elliott’s neck in the process. With an unimaginative curse, O’Leary trucked back toward the Buick and ducked into the driver’s side. From Elliott’s vantage point, he could see the banker digging in his glove compartment and finally answering his phone. After a mere hello, the banker jerked back out of the driver’s side opening, banging his head off the frame on the way out.

  “Aaron came through,” Peggy said, deflating against the side of the Suburban. “Let’s hope O’Leary is a member of the correct political party.”

  Elliott checked the urge to tug her closer, make her lean on him instead. “Who’s he speaking with?”

  Peggy blew out a breath. “Senator Glen Pendleton.”

  Kyler moved up behind Elliott and took a place on his right. “The Senator Pendleton that’s running for the presidency?”

  “The very one.” Peggy smiled in Kyler’s direction. “Hey. It’s the Rose man himself.”

  Chuckling, the receiver started to move in Peggy’s direction and Elliott sidestepped, blocking his progress. “You’re fine where you are.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  Elliott didn’t miss the wry smile exchanged between Kyler and Peggy, and even though it seemed to be pure friendly appreciation, it made his muscles stiffen.

  “Listen, Peggy,” Kyler said, shifting on the dirt driveway. “I heard what you did, organizing the fund-raiser. I’ve been getting calls all morning from my teammates and fellow students. And I…I just don’t know what to say.” He shook his head, his gaze so full of emotion, Elliott had to look away. “I didn’t tell my family about it. Didn’t want to get their hopes up, in case the money doesn’t come through in time. But no matter what happens, I thank you all for trying.”

  Peggy squared her shoulders. “It is going to come through. We didn’t come this far to be told no.” While Elliott struggled to catch his breath at the sight of a beautifully determined Peggy, she inclined her head to indicate Belmont and Sage. She managed to introduce her brother and best friend just in time for O’Leary to stride back into the scene. As if on cue, the Tate family converged, leaving everyone in a massive huddle around O’Leary and Peggy.

  The banker blotted his forehead with a hankie he produced from his sleeve. “That was a neat trick…”

  “Peggy Clarkson, at your service,” she chirped.

  “Ms. Clarkson.” His tone was grudging. “Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of speaking with a senator before, but as I informed him, he doesn’t have any say-so on this matter, and I have a job that needs to be completed to my employer’s satisfaction. Or I could find myself in the same situation as the Tates.”

  “Absolutely,” Peggy responded, seemingly undeterred. “No one disputes that you have a hard job. People probably try and stall constantly. But this is a special case, because by this time tomorrow, we’ll be able to satisfy the debt in full.”

  Gasps went up from Kyler’s family as Peggy reached for the laptop—but O’Leary halted her progress. “I’ve heard every story in the book, Ms. Clarkson, and I can’t take the chance. I’m sorry. The premises must be vacated immediately.”

  She gestured to the laptop. “But if you could just—”

  “I’m sorry, time has already run short.”

  All right. A motor roared to life inside Elliott, somewhat familiar but way more personal than the righteous anger he usually experienced after a bad call or a missed opportunity on the field. Enough was enough. Some little piss-ant wasn’t going to lose Kyler his family farm over a difference of mere hours. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to ruin Peggy’s hard work and make her sad.

  With the outward appearance of calm, Elliott handed the laptop to Kyler and heard his player give a slow whistle, followed by, “Everyone run for cover.”

  Elliott approached O’Leary, stopping close enough that the other man had to tilt his head back, just enough to be half resentful, half nervous. “Now you listen up and you listen good,” he said in a low growl. “I’m sure your mama is real proud of you for wearing a suit and a Boy Scout haircut to work every day, but she ain’t here. It’s just you and me. And my growing irritation. Which is something you really don’t want to provoke.” He moved closer, satisfied when the man fell back a step. “You’re not taking away this family’s livelihood, just so you have a good story to tell your same-haircut-wearing, jerk-off buddies tonight over mojitos or whatever the fuck the world’s biggest assholes are drinking nowadays.” Elliott leaned back to size him up. “So here’s what you’re going to do, unless you intend to go through me.” O’Leary pointed over at the cop, his mouth opening on what was sure to be a stammer. “He isn’t going to help you. Didn’t you hear he went to school with Mrs. Tate? There’s loyalty there you’ll never understand. But if you don’t get back in your pre-midlife crisis of a car and burn rubber back to Mama’s house, we’ll test that loyalty and see who comes out on top.” Elliott gave him a hard smile. “Or you can reschedule for tomorrow and avoid anything unpleasant. And it would get unpleasant. That’s the kind of man I am. What about you?”

  O’Leary had shrunk about three sizes during Elliott’s speech, his anger giving way to self-preservation. Muttering under his breath, the man checked his watch and glanced back at his car, as if weighing Elliott’s description of the vehicle. Finally, he turned back to the family with a sour expression. “Fine.” Everyone must have been holding their breath, because it was like a gale wind of relief rushing around Elliott. “You have one day.”

  A cheer went up, which couldn’t help but make Elliott smile, but that was before someone launched themselves onto his back, crying thank-yous into his ear. And then Kyler piled on, followed by half a dozen unknown relatives, until Elliott was at the center of a standing dog pile, being embraced from every side.

  “All right,” he muttered. “That’s enough.”

  Over everyone’s head, he caught sight of Peggy, who still stood by the Suburban, watching him with a stunned smile playing around her mouth. That little hint that she might be pleased with him made the whole damn trip worth it. But when she shook herself and turned around, Elliott reminded himself the battle was only beginning.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The problem with moving on from Elliott was this: She still wanted to climb him like a motherfucking tree. That incessant need had been there before arriving at the Tates’ farm, but after the way he’d cowed that pasty banker, backed him down and turned him into a kindergartner on his first day of school? Peggy’s underwear might as well have been through a monsoon. As they all piled into the Tates’ kitchen, she was grateful for the oversized island, because she was pretty sure the wet spot between her legs was visible, something that had never happened in her life.

  Lord. She’d seen Coach Elliott Brooks in action. Goodness knew she’d pined over him, pom-poms in hand, from the sidelines. He was scary as hell when he wanted to be. But she’d never seen it up close. Never watched his back muscles bunch up, heard his voice drop into a pitch so low and dirty, it had strummed cords in her stomach like she’d swallowed a guitar. When he’d been putting O’Leary in his place, he might as well have been thrusting inside her—no exaggeration.

  And it was his cause that had made the difference. He’d been fighting for something that mattered. To both of them. For those shining moments, they’d been on the same team…and she’d hated herself for loving it. For feeling proud of what they were accomplishing together.

 
Across the kitchen island, she watched Elliott accept his third round of smacking cheek kisses from Kyler’s grandmother with as much warmth as an ice sculpture, heard him make some modest reply…and dammit if she didn’t get wetter. It was a veritable deluge right where it counted, and here she was, hiding any signs of her arousal behind a marble kitchen fixture. Or maybe she wasn’t hiding it at all, because Elliott’s gaze meandered across the island and caressed her nipples. Of course they were in embarrassing little points. She was an indecent woman. They shouldn’t even have let her in the house.

  Peggy quickly crossed her arms and searched out Belmont where he hovered by the front door, Sage at his side, looking like she might be pondering the wisdom of holding his hand, but was too afraid to make her move. Something needed to be figured between those two and fast, because Peggy could still sense the nervous energy building in her best friend, and she couldn’t decide if it would be better or worse if that turmoil centered on Belmont.

  Nearby in the living room, Alice sat on the couch, staring down at her phone. At the opposite end, a girl her same age—probably Kyler’s sister—peered down at her own cell, but every once in a while, the girls would trade an interested glance.

  Peggy was distracted by Kyler’s mother pulling her into a hug, wedging Peggy’s crossed arms against her bosom. If she hugged the woman back, there was every chance she would stab the poor lady with her freak show nipples, so she feigned a shiver upon moving back. “Just a little chilly.”

  “Crank the heat, Lyle!” Kyler’s mother called out without interrupting her grin. “Let’s not freeze our saviors to death.”

  Rosy-cheeked Lyle, Kyler’s father, looked nothing like his strapping young son. Not classically handsome, he was adorably rotund and possessed the kind of demeanor that made you want to smile, especially now that they’d been issued a short reprieve from the bank. His step was springy as he did his wife’s bidding, then returned to the gathering around the island, propping himself on his elbows and nodding at Peggy. “Now, far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth, but if you wouldn’t mind explaining what you’ve got cooking on that laptop, I’d love to know what I can do to help.”

  “Sure,” Peggy breathed, nerves bundling up near her throat when she realized she’d have to uncross her arms. But before she could reveal nipples that could probably double as air traffic controller wands, something warm dropped onto her shoulders. Elliott’s jacket?

  When she turned to give him a grateful look, he passed on a slow wink…and more heat gathered between her legs. This was going to be a long afternoon.

  “Now before we go talking business,” Jess said, holding up both hands for silence. “Let’s get the sleeping and eating arrangements in order.”

  “Here we go,” Lyle said, pinching his wife’s waist and earning a yelp. “Now you leave the eating to me. I can throw some steaks on the grill out back and we’ve got enough corn and potatoes to sustain an army.”

  “Sleeping arrangements?” Peggy squeaked, noticing the conversation had turned Belmont’s wary expression into a dark frown. “I figured we’d just find the local motel—”

  “Won’t hear of it! Don’t even suggest it!” Jess exclaimed. “This lot will be headed home soon.” She gestured to the various family members of unknown origin, all of whom looked content just to watch the proceedings. “We have two guest rooms and a pull-out sofa. I figured we’d put the big feller on the pull-out, Sage and Alice in one room, Elliott and Peggy in the other, since they’re a couple—”

  “Oh. Whoa.” She gave her most sincere smile, noticing in her periphery that Elliott looked pleased beyond words. “We’re not a couple. I’ll stay with Sage and Alice.”

  “The car is fine for me,” Belmont rumbled.

  “And Alice can stay in my room,” the phone-obsessed teen said from the couch, before quickly ducking her head back down. “She seems chill or whatever.”

  Alice’s mouth dropped open, then slammed shut, a flush racing up her neck. “Thanks.”

  As if the teenage breakthrough hadn’t just taken place across the room, Jess propped both hands on her hips. “Kyler, you said Coach and Peggy were a couple.”

  “I also said not to say anything about it,” Kyler mumbled, his red face buried in his hands. “Just let them sleep where they want, Mom.”

  “Fine enough,” Jess said, splitting a speculative look between Peggy and Elliott. “They’re a mighty interesting pair, is all.”

  Elliott started to laugh. The sound was so rich and unexpected and made of manliness, the strong muscles of his throat flexing, that every female in the kitchen went visibly loopy-eyed, probably including Peggy. When the rich sound faded, his attention was trained on Peggy. “She’s the interesting one. I’m lucky she ever looked twice at me.” He turned serious. “Trying to figure out how to make her do it again.”

  “Stop, Elliott,” Peggy whispered, fury clogging her lungs. Who was this man who spoke so freely in front of strangers? She didn’t know him. He wasn’t her Elliott. He was…everything she’d ever fantasized he could be. Better, though. A million times better. And hope was a terrifying thing when she knew how it felt to have that feeling crushed under someone’s foot. The same man who’d inspired it too many times. Straightening her spine, Peggy turned the laptop so it faced the family, who now looked way more interested in her love life than any fund-raiser. “Actually, there is a way you can help…”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elliott paced back and forth on the Tates’ porch, nodding to no one in particular when he heard a cheer from inside, signaling one of two things. Either a new item had been donated for the auction or one of the offerings had been purchased. After freshening up, Sage had come downstairs twenty minutes ago with her computer and set up camp at the kitchen table—and every Tate relation within a hundred-mile radius had promptly crowded around her to watch the show. Jess had even unearthed a white board from the basement and propped it on the dining room windowsill so they could keep a live running tally. Around the third time the woman had burst into grateful tears, Elliott had made his escape to the porch.

  Drifting from the upstairs window, he could hear angst-ridden music and high-pitched teenage girl laughter, signaling Alice was getting on just fine with her new best friend. Belmont had gone off for a walk, appearing anxious over so many people huddled around Sage. Leaving Elliott to wait for Peggy to emerge from the bedroom she’d been assigned. After devising a plan to get the Tates’ local businesses involved in the auction, Peggy had politely excused herself, saying she would return to check the progress soon. Although his intuition told him she would stay in the bedroom as long as possible, hoping to avoid him.

  Well, screw that. He didn’t have much time to work with. While he fully understood that patience was required in this situation he’d created, waiting for her to come to him wasn’t going to cut the damn mustard.

  Elliott pulled open the screen door and strode past the dining room, no one seeming to notice him heading for the stairs, except for Sage and Kyler’s mother, who sent him a thumbs-up. Ridiculous that he should take heart from the simple gesture, wasn’t it? But hell, he needed every ally he could get. Before he even reached the door to Peggy’s bedroom, his senses picked up on her silent do not enter vibe. It was hanging in the air, clear as crystal.

  Hardening his jaw, Elliott pushed past the imaginary barrier and opened the bedroom door. In such an old house, he’d expected the door to creak and signal his entrance, but it didn’t make a sound, giving him valuable seconds of looking at an undisturbed Peggy.

  Invisible fingers dug into his stomach at the sight of her. There was no flirtatious set to her mouth, no artful posing of her curves. She was lying on her stomach on the bed, her chin propped on a fist, reading through what looked to be a journal. Her lips moved in time with whatever she was reading, and those fingers tightened their hold on his stomach when he realized he hadn’t been aware of that habit.

  “Peggy,” Elliott promp
ted, regret weighing on his shoulders when she reacted with a gasp, jerking back into a kneeling position. Almost as an afterthought, she reached forward and closed the journal with a decisive snap. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Do you need something?”

  He tried and failed not to notice how soft she looked, her shirt rumpled from being lain on, chin red from where she’d rested it on her hand. There was a far-off look in her eyes that was quickly receding—something was…off—and he wanted to grab that ebbing tide and bring it back to shore.

  This was it. His chance to be her friend. He felt it way down deep in his bones.

  Elliott entered the room and closed the door behind him, despite the tension that crept into the lines of her body. “What were you reading?”

  “Oh, that’s…” She scooped back a handful of blond curls away from her face. “That’s my mother’s journal. She left it behind for us.”

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking between the moleskin journal and Peggy. “Is there something inside it that’s bothering you?”

  “No. Why would you say that?” she asked too quickly, before deflating into a cross-legged position. “I don’t know. I haven’t read past the first entry.”

  Since coming upstairs, she’d changed into a loose skirt, and it took a major effort on Elliott’s part not to glance down at her exposed thighs, where the material climbed up toward her— “Why not?”

  She quirked a brow over the churned asphalt in his voice, but didn’t comment. “Would you want to know the secret thoughts your mother had about you? If you had the option?” Her fingers plucked at the faded yellow bedspread. “Because those thoughts, the way your mother sees you, are always accurate. Whether you like it or not. She knows you better than anyone else.”

  Elliott thought of his mother. The forced smiles she would send over her shoulder while making dinner, the way she sighed heavily before having to explain things. “That might be true. But don’t you think they’d be just as terrified, knowing how we saw them?” His shrug was jerky. These were unknown depths he was plumbing, but he forced himself to keep going. “Kids are perceptive. I’m only just beginning to realize how much. Your mother—our mothers—would probably think twice about reading a journal we’d written, too.”