Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  The man’s laugh was mocking. “Please, Mr. Wilde, she has no opportunity to shine in Falcon. Her instincts for business are brilliant. She’ll be unstoppable in a few years.” Over the phone, it was difficult to discern whether the admiration in Reginald Montgomery’s voice was real or feigned.

  Logan remained silent.

  Montgomery continued. “I heard about your spate of trouble, Mr. Wilde.”

  “How in the world—” He bit the defensive question off.

  “My offer still stands if you want to leave all that behind you. Start fresh in a bustling city. More opportunities in Atlanta for you . . . and for my daughter.”

  Logan looked around him. In that moment, the anonymity of Atlanta was disturbingly appealing. What did Jessica want?

  “Can I think on it?” The question fell from his numb lips.

  “Of course. I’ll await your decision.” The man’s voice lilted with poorly suppressed triumph. “Tell Jessica to get in touch. Her mother worries.” The call disconnected.

  One of the city council members came out of the bank, glanced in Logan’s direction, and crossed the street. Jaywalked no less. Sides were being chosen, his guilt or innocence debated over coffee and cobbler at The Diner.

  When he was a teenager, every disapproving, tsking look from the town elders was a satisfying jab at his father. If he could time-travel back fifteen years, what would he say to his former self? The way he felt right now, he was more apt to punch himself in the face than dispense wisdom.

  Cursing under his breath, he took the steps to the research room in the Falcon library two at a time. He knocked on the doorjamb and pushed the partially cracked door open with his foot. “Hey, ladies.”

  Miss Jane and Darcy looked up from the local newspaper.

  “Speak of the devil,” Miss Jane said.

  Logan looked over his shoulder before turning back with a forced, teasing grin. It’s what they expected of him. “I know you can’t be referring to me.” He took one of Miss Jane’s hands and bussed her cheek.

  “Darcy and I were just discussing your little problem.”

  A headache throbbed at the base of his skull. “Lord, don’t tell me I’ve made the paper. What’s the headline? Local Man Fulfills His Youthful Lack of Promise?”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “Ben Larkin pushed for a special closed-door school board meeting and got Scott reinstated to the team. Robbie was furious.”

  “Damn, that was quick.”

  Miss Jane’s voice was full of warnings. “Don’t underestimate Larkin’s reach. Besides being CEO of the bank, he garners favors from men who remember his college playing days.”

  “Miss Jane and I were speculating on whether Ben might be the one providing Scott with the PEDs.”

  “I sure hope that isn’t the case.” Logan scrubbed a hand over his face, worried and weary. He was well aware shitty parents existed and even thrived.

  Propping his shoulder against the window sash, he slouched and took a bird’s-eye view of Main Street. From here, it looked like a picture-perfect slice of Americana. No sign of the roots buckling the concrete or the weeds growing out of cracking foundations. A pervading sadness leaked from his heart.

  Jessica walked into the picture, moving down the sidewalk with purpose, sun glinting off her fiery hair. He stood up straighter and laid his hand on the thick pane as if he could catch her attention. Her vibrancy filled him with warmth and sent his sadness into retreat. She disappeared from view. He’d promised her time. He hoped she’d put the last four hours to good use.

  “I’ll catch you later, Darcy, Miss Jane.” He left Darcy sputtering and hit the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  The door at the bottom of the stairwell opened, and he and Jessica collided on first landing. Breathlessly, she said, “I was coming to find you.”

  Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was artfully messy. While he loved her pencil skirts and heels, she looked just as sexy in short-shorts and flip-flops. But if he was really comparing, her best look was definitely naked in his bed.

  A quickie in the library stairwell wouldn’t go over well with her or the librarians. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, attempting nonchalance. “What’s up?”

  “I ran into Stephanie Larkin at the boutique down the street. She has a serious shopping addiction.”

  “I know.”

  Some of her excitement morphed into surprise. “You do?”

  “Everyone knows, but no one talks about it. Well, they talk, but not openly. Ben’s priorities are the bank, his son, and football. Not necessarily in that order. Not sure if she’s trying to get back at him or is just bored.”

  “You don’t think her shopping has anything to do with Scott?”

  “Directly? Nah. It’s been going on for too many years now.

  “Indirectly?”

  He shrugged, not the best judge on how badly a parent’s failing could screw up their kid. “I really need to talk to Scott. And Hunter. Might as well try tonight.”

  “What about Adaline’s?”

  “Brian’s going to cover for me until things die down. Last night proved I’m too much of a distraction. Closing his eyes, he ran a hand over his jaw. The urge to drop everything and head into the woods was strong.

  The first press of her curves against him distracted him from his worries. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, sliding fingers into his hair. At the touch of her lips on his cheek, he banded his arms around her and nuzzled her temple.

  Breathing deeply, a sense of peace surrounded him. Maybe he didn’t need to run away to find the peace he craved. “I don’t want to push you. Have you had enough time?” Even as he asked, he squeezed her tighter, not sure he could let her go if she said “No.”

  “I’m a confused mess, Logan.” Even as she warned him, one of her hands fisted his hair.

  “So am I,” he whispered. “How about after I deal with part of my current mess, we can discuss yours?”

  They disentangled. “Sounds scary, Mountain Man, but I’ll be waiting.”

  Her promise settled deep inside of him, a well of strength to draw on later. It was all he could do not to pull her along with him, but he needed to handle this alone.

  18

  Logan shifted on his feet in the deep shadows of a tree at the end of the street. He hated skulking like he was the guilty one. The happy bark of a dog carried on the slight breeze, and he pushed off the trunk. Scott shuffled down the sidewalk, looking at his phone and kicking pebbles to skitter onto the street. A small brown border collie tugged the leash, wanting to go faster.

  Logan pulled his brim lower and stepped into the dusky evening. The streetlights were buzzing in their preamble before turning on. “Scott, I need to talk to you.”

  Scott froze. The dog whined at the jerk on its neck. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Logan held up both hands as if surrendering. “I’m not here in retaliation. I’m here because I’m worried about you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Scott muttered with maximum teenage sarcasm. “You want your job back.”

  Logan took a breath to deny it but couldn’t. “Of course, I do. I love the game. I love coaching, but football is not my life. I’m more worried about you than I am about me.”

  Scott looked over his shoulder as if measuring the distance back to his front door. “I’m fine. I’m back on the team.”

  “For now.”

  Scott pulled the leash, and his dog yipped. “Are you threatening me? I’ll have Dad—”

  “I’m not threatening you.” Logan ran a hand down his face, cocking his hat back on his head. “Dammit, Scott, those drugs are banned for a reason. You could be doing serious, lasting damage to your body. And for what, a scholarship? Your parents can afford to send you anywhere you want to go.”

  “But, Dad won a championship at Alabama, and I want to play there too.” The little-boy desperate quality in Scott’s voice tugged painfully at Logan’s memories. H
e knew all about going to extremes to get a father’s attention.

  “Look, if your dad is forcing you to—”

  “He’s not! Don’t drag him into this.”

  Logan’s intuition blared like a tornado siren. “We both know that I didn’t give you those drugs, so who did?”

  Scott whipped around and left at a jog, the dog bounding ahead, thinking it was a game and not a retreat. Logan stood long after he heard the front door slam. Streetlights flickered on, and he returned to his truck under a purpling sky.

  Logan considered his next move. Rick had questioned Hunter Galloway and had gotten nowhere. Although Logan suspected Rick hadn’t earned a smidgen of trust from the kid over the years.

  Logan might have better luck getting Hunter to confide in him. He steered his truck across the proverbial tracks and into a section of town starkly opposite Scott’s neighborhood of manicured lawns and three-car garages.

  Hunter lived in one of a collection of mill houses, built in the 1950s when textiles were the South’s bread and butter. The mills had closed or moved overseas a decade or more ago, and the neighborhoods descended further into poverty every year.

  He slowed his truck while a group of kids playing basketball moved out of the street to let him pass. Older people sat on porch chairs and swings enjoying the cooler night. Although some houses had shingles hanging loose and sagging porches, most people tried their best to maintain their homes. Just because they were poor, didn’t mean they didn’t take pride in the little they owned. Still, crime rates were higher in this part of town, and rumors of gang-related violence circulated.

  Full darkness had fallen by the time Logan turned on the dead-end street where Hunter lived. Logan parked on the grassy edge, next to the root-buckled sidewalk. A group of young black men loitered across the street under a tree.

  No one answered the door at Hunter’s house even though Logan could see the flash of a TV from the front window. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he crossed the street to the gathering of boys.

  “Hey, Coach. Looking for a job?” A short, squat boy in the front piped up when Logan got within six feet, inciting snickers.

  “What’s up, Tater Tot? You offering?” Logan shot back.

  Laughter erupted along with some high-fives from the boys in the back. Tater Tot did not look amused, so Logan directed his next question to a tall boy with a grin squinting his eyes. “You seen Hunter Galloway tonight?”

  “He’s working a night shift at Huck’s.”

  Logan dipped his chin but didn’t turn away. “You know his brother?”

  The group collectively took a step backward, leaving Tater Tot out front as their spokesman. “Everybody knows Will Galloway these days.” Fear edged into the automatic defensiveness in the boy’s voice.

  “You running for him? That why you’re out here?”

  Tater Tot adjusted his pants, covering the few inches of plaid boxer showing, and looked over his shoulder, but his buddies had stepped even farther away. “Nah.”

  The boy was lying.

  “All of you get on home. Right now.” He used his most intimidating coach’s voice, and they sang out a chorus of “yes, sirs” before scattering into the shadows. Logan couldn’t save them all, but he would do what he could—which would never be enough.

  He pulled into Huck’s gas station and convenience store less than five minutes later. Hunter was stocking chips, alone in a middle aisle.

  “We need to talk.”

  The boy startled, dropping a bag of chips. His dead-eyed boredom flashed into wide-eyed worry. “Don’t got anything to say.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Logan kept any sort of anger or recrimination out of his voice.

  Hunter swallowed, retrieved the bag, and acted like stocking chips required all his mental facilities.

  Logan didn’t want to be an intimidating jerk. He had a feeling Hunter took enough crap without him piling on more. “Look, we both know you lied, but if you’ll tell the truth, I’ll do my best to protect you from the fallout.”

  Hunter hesitated, his hand crinkling the cellophane on a bag in a too-tight grip. He was waffling, and Logan pressed further. “You’ve managed to keep your nose clean and have a chance at a college scholarship if you keep improving. Don’t screw that up to protect Scott.”

  Hunter bit his lip and cast his gaze all around their feet as if searching for an excuse. He deflated, his knobby shoulders drooping. “It’s my brother.”

  The whisper sent a surge of adrenaline through Logan, but he kept his voice bland. “Is he in trouble?”

  “Will be if Scott rats him out.” The door jingled, and two teenagers strutted through the door, one white, one black. Hunter grabbed the crate of chips and shifted down the aisle, ignoring Logan.

  Pretending to read the nutritional label off a bag of Cheetos, Logan whispered, “Take a break. I’ll wait out back.”

  Logan nodded to the middle-aged lady smacking gum behind the register on his way to the door. He circled around the building and propped his shoulder against the redbrick wall. The smell of rotting food and skunked beer wafted from a Dumpster.

  A long-slung car with a booming bass beat drove down a side street. Hunter rounded the corner not two minutes later, thumbing over his shoulder. “Sorry. Friends of my brother.”

  “I heard-tell that your brother is dealing. True?”

  Hunter paced and pulled at one of his already sparse eyebrows. Finally, he stopped and faced Logan. “I can’t rat him out, Coach. He’s my twin brother.”

  Hunter’s desperation sprung the promise out of Logan. “I won’t turn your brother in. Look, I’m not out for vengeance. PEDs can screw you up for life. Liver problems, diabetes.”

  “I’ve never touched the stuff. I swear I’m clean.” Hunter’s voice broke, and his gangly earnestness made Logan want to give the kid a hug.

  “I believe you.”

  “My brother started dabbling in weed last year. Word got around. Scott told me to get him some HgH, or he was going to the police about Will. I told him to fuck off. But he came to the house and cut a deal with Will. I stayed out of it. When you found the syringe . . .” He shrugged and pulled at the other eyebrow. “Will was worried you’d go all CSI and get the prints lifted. Scott and Will told me what to say. I’m really sorry you lost your job.”

  Logan looked up, the stars barely visible. “What about your mother? She know what’s going on?”

  Hunter ran hands down the front of his jeans, bitterness flavoring his voice. “Hardly ever see her these days. She’s works a twelve-hour night shift.”

  “She works to make things better for you and your brother. You know that, don’t you?”

  Hunter looked to the brick wall, grime blackening the mortar. “I know she’s not around to make dinner or when gangbangers come by or when my brother gets so fucked up he can’t walk straight.”

  Logan swallowed. Had he been so different from Hunter’s brother? Not dealing drugs at sixteen, but buying and using. The euphoria of those first highs had been a siren’s call, a salve for the hormonally amplified pain of adolescence.

  “I promise I won’t say anything, but this stuff has a way of coming out. Go to your mother. Go to Coach Dalton. Tell them what you know. Protecting your brother is not the same thing as helping him.”

  All he got was another weak shrug. He left Hunter and slid behind the wheel of his old truck. The inertia of a lie was difficult to break. Logan didn’t see a path to clear his name that didn’t involve collateral damage to Scott’s and Hunter’s families.

  He would suck it up and accept his position of town pariah. Or he could call Reginald Montgomery and take the job in Atlanta. He’d make more money than he’d ever dreamed of.

  Mistakes and decisions he’d made in his past seemed closer than they had in years. The past is never dead; it is not even past. The quote haunted him. Logan rested his forehead on the steering wheel and started the truck.

  He drove aimlessly through the
town he’d been born and raised in, the town he’d longed for while choking on the dust of Afghanistan, the town he loved. But a darkness hid behind the cheery yellow bricks, the manicured lawns, and the flowering magnolia trees—the secrets, struggles, and desperation of ordinary people living ordinary lives.

  Even though Darcy understood him bone-deep, he found himself in front of Hancock House. He wanted Jessie. Complicated, strong, vulnerable Jessie.

  She was half-reclined on the swaying front porch swing as if she’d been waiting for him.

  “Will you come with me?” He climbed the steps.

  “Where to?”

  “Trust me?” Although, he asked the question lightly, he meant the words in the most serious way possible. He held out a hand, everything in his body turning static.

  Slowly, as if she sensed the momentous shift this would mean, she took his hand. His lungs expanded, heaving oxygen into his starved body. He wanted to tuck her against him but settled for linking their fingers together.

  She tucked her short hair behind her ear, having not lost the self-conscious gesture with her haircut. “Do I need to change?”

  She wore a simple blue tank top, dark wash jeans, and flip-flops. Certainly not something she’d brought with her from Richmond. The simple outfit suited her, made her look younger and softer, and the cool blue highlighted the red glints in her hair.

  “You look perfect.”

  Her cheeks flushed and a pleased but embarrassed smile tipped her lips.

  He escorted her to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door. Without her heels, he topped her by several inches. While he could admit fucking her on his porch with her sexy high heels on had been amazing, there was something about looming over her that was a turn-on too. Hell, who was he kidding, everything about Jessica Montgomery—inside and out—did it for him.

  On his walk around to his side, he looked to his crotch and whispered, “Down, boy.”