After The Rain (One Pass Away #1)

by Mary J. Williams

  “Stress test,” Logan sighed with resignation.

  “Stress test,” Claire said. She kissed his cheek. “Hey. We’ve done these from the very beginning and each time your knee is better. There’s no reason to think this time will be any different.

  Logan felt his gut clench. The stress test wasn’t only on his knee – it was on his nerves. It never got any better. The only difference was he now knew what was coming. Or so he thought.

  “Tomorrow, we’re going all out.”

  “All out?” he asked with trepidation. “What does that mean?”

  “You have to be able to make sudden sideways cuts.” Claire made a zigzag motion with her hand. “Sometimes on grass, sometimes on turf. The test I’ve devised will give us a good idea how the knee will respond in a game situation.”

  “I could blow it out.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Logan. There are no guarantees.” Claire placed her hand on the leg that had been injured. “Every day, this gets stronger. But…”

  “Athletes get injured. It happens.”

  There was a touch of resignation in his voice. Mostly, there was determination. It made Claire smile. Logan knew the odds were against him when they started this journey. Day by day. Month by month. The odds slowly began to tip in his favor.

  Even though the human body was an amazing machine that could take a brutal amount of punishment, at times it could be as fragile as spun glass. A seemingly innocuous hit could end a career in a flash. Each individual was different. That was why some athletes played into their forties while others went out during their first training camp. You couldn’t predict it. It wasn’t fair.

  No one knew that better than Logan.

  “It’s one day, Logan. One test.”

  “One foot in front of the other.”

  “One day at a time. Win one for the Gipper. Blah, blah, blah.” When Logan smiled, Claire punched him in the arm. “You’re going out there a nobody, but you’ve got to come back a star.”

  “Is that a sports cliché?” Logan asked with a frown.

  “Nope. Straight from 42nd Street.” Grinning, Claire shrugged. “It worked for Ruby Keeler.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind next time we’re putting on a show in someone’s barn.”

  “I’m so proud.” Claire wiped away an imaginary tear. “You’ve learned much from me, Grasshopper. You may be the only NFL player to ever reference a Mickey Rooney musical.”

  Lying in bed an hour later, Logan chuckled again. Claire knew how to lighten a situation better than anyone he knew. She understood his anxiety. Knowing it did absolutely no good to dwell on something that was strictly a wait and see situation, she turned the conversation around until he was laughing his ass off. Her mind worked like a slightly off-kilter computer. She was so fast with her references that trying to keep up was a challenge. She was always one or two steps ahead of him, but he was starting to figure out how her thought processes worked. As a result, his mind was much more nimble. Fluid. One more thing that would be to his advantage if he made it back to the NFL.

  Absently, Logan’s hand moved to the empty side of the bed. Claire rarely stayed with him. It was the one thing about her that drove him crazy. He didn’t ask – not anymore. It was always an awkward moment when she turned him down.

  I’ve gotten used to sleeping alone.

  My tossing and turning will keep you awake.

  At least she had stopped using his father’s delicate sensibilities as an excuse. That was lame from day one.

  Logan hit his pillow, burrowing down with his back to the empty side of the bed. If the point of her sleeping by herself was to get him as much rest as possible, it was starting to backfire. Right now, he would take Claire any way he could get her. If she became too restless, he would hold her until she fell asleep.

  Now didn’t that sound good? Logan sighed. If slow and steady won the race back to professional football, it might work the same way with Claire. She liked having him in her life – there was no doubt about that. Getting her into his bed – all night – would come.

  As his eyes grew heavy, his body relaxing into sleep, Logan wondered which was the bigger challenge. Getting his second chance? Or getting Claire?

  “SO FAR SO good. This is the last obstacle, Logan. Up the hill, cut right, through the trees then down the embankment and back up the other side. When you hit the flat, book it back here as fast as you can.”

  “You’re timing me?”

  Claire held up the stopwatch. “Time is important, but I want you to concentrate on using both knees equally. Especially through that stand of Black Cypress. Like I said last night. Zig and zag. Like your life depends on it.”

  “Or my career,” Logan said under his breath.

  “Right.” Claire was all business. The time for teasing was over. “You have to get used to going full-out, Logan. You aren’t a promising rookie being given every chance. You’re only getting this chance because Gaige used his influence.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Logan closed his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths.

  “Hey.” Claire waited until Logan looked at her. Gripping him just below the shoulders, she held his gaze “The coaching staff will be looking for any excuse to cut you. We’re going to make sure they can’t find one.” She gave his arms a reassuring squeeze. “Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Logan jumped up and down, shaking his arms. He was warmed up. They had been at this for over an hour.

  With his father’s help, Claire chose a spot for the tests well out of town, away from prying eyes. Normally, they would have started on the track at the high school. It would have been perfect for the stop and start drills. The hurdles, the practice dummies. All better suited than a rural field in the middle of nowhere.

  Claire had given him the choice. Stay on the down low or go public. In the end, Logan decided he wasn’t ready to face the inevitable questions. Soon, when the Knights released his name with a handful of other non-roster training camp invitees, he would have to deal with the media. That he could handle. Dealing with the residents of Denville was another matter.

  “Ready?”

  Logan stripped off his sweats. The late April sun was beating down like mid-July. Or maybe it was his imagination. Was his knee swelling? No. Claire would have noticed. It felt good. Strong.

  “Ready.”

  Claire clicked the stopwatch. “Go.”

  Logan was halfway up the hill before Claire remembered to breathe. She tried to remove all personal feelings. Observe, record, report. Be a professional. Think of him as flesh and bone statistics. When Logan’s foot slipped, his hand catching himself just before he tumbled to the ground, the air rushed out of her lungs in a rush. The second he reached the top, his healed knee pushing off toward the trees, Claire gave a silent cheer.

  God, she was an idiot. This had stopped being strictly professional long ago. Up until five minutes ago, she had been fine with that. Then she started telling herself that if she could pretend she didn’t have a personal stake in the outcome, she would be able to watch Logan run the course without stressing out.

  With a shake of her head, Claire gripped the stopwatch, tossed her clipboard on the ground, and became one of the things she derided most in high school. A cheerleader.

  “Go, Logan,” she cried out at the top of her voice. “You’re doing great. Hit the trees. That’s it. Back and forth. Back and forth.”

  Again, Logan took it as though he was used to doing it every day and twice on Sunday. The sight of his sweat-covered face had Claire jumping in the air. Closer, closer.

  When he crossed the finish, Claire did what any professional would do. She hit the stop button on the watch.

  When he kept coming toward her, she did what any woman with half a brain would do. She screamed with happiness and jumped into his arms.

  “How’s the knee?” Claire asked, peppering his sweaty face with kisses.

  “Good,” he laughed.

  Logan was physic
ally worn out. Emotionally spent. Done. Keeping one arm around Claire’s waist, he fell onto a patch of soft green grass. He made sure she landed on top of him. Then, switching positions, his mouth landed on hers.

  Claire kissed him back, her legs tangling with his.

  “I should check your knee.”

  “Feels as loose as I do.” Logan slid his hand under her t-shirt, humming with pleasure when he reached her breast.

  “Where are you finding the energy?”

  “Unknown reserves. Mmm.” His sigh told Claire how much he enjoyed her roving mouth.

  “You taste like a salt-lick. Drink some water, and then let me examine your knee.”

  When Claire tried to wiggle out from under him, Logan used his free hand to trap her wrists above her head.

  “Later.” He took her mouth again. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. “I’ve conquered my Mt. Everest, Claire. I choose to celebrate by enjoying your delectable body. Do you have a problem with that?”

  At that moment, Logan looked so happy; she wouldn’t have denied him a thing. Two hundred pounds of sweaty, sexy male. Yum. Blue eyes sparkling, Claire smiled.

  “Who am I to argue with Oklahoma’s answer to Edmund Hillary? Celebrate away.”

  Logan and Claire tore at each other’s clothes, blissfully unaware of the man who watched from a stand of trees less than thirty feet away. When he followed Price and his piece of ass out of town, Rafer Macafee had been certain it was a waste of time. He figured he would take a few pictures, show them to Linda Sue to prove he followed her instructions, and then receive his reward. The bitch had been teasing him since high school.

  Agreeing to spy on Price for a few hours was worth it if it meant finally dipping his dick into Linda Sue. She was so damn smug. Rafer wasn’t as stupid as people thought. He knew she planned to welch on her end of the bargain. She would bat her eyes like when they were teenagers. That used to dazzle him. He would give her whatever money he had without asking for anything in return. She was crazy enough to think she could still get away with that shit. Well, not this time.

  Bored out of his skull, Rafer watched, at first not understanding what he was seeing. However, after a while, a light clicked on.

  Son of a bitch. Those weren’t regular exercises. They were modified football drills. There was only one reason for Logan Price to be out here, away from prying eyes, doing that. He was going to try for a comeback.

  Rafer felt a familiar surge of envy. For as long as he could remember, he wanted Logan’s life. Logan was taller. Faster. Stronger. All the girls wanted Logan. While he got the homecoming queen, Rafer ended up with the head of the decorating committee. Price got a fancy scholarship while Rafer went to work at his father-in-law’s feed and seed.

  Rafer never saw the hard work Logan put in – the sacrifices. He knew one thing. Logan always got what he wanted.

  Now, the cocksucker was going for it again.

  Rafer watched, sneering as Logan made love to Claire. What a pussy. The bitch was obviously in heat, but instead of ramming his dick home, the asshole took it slow. Romantic shit.

  Not bothering to stay to the end, Rafer made his way back to where he had parked his truck. Inside the cab, he pounded his fists on the steering wheel. No! Not this time. He wasn’t going to stand by while Logan Price once again became Denville’s golden boy.

  Starting the engine, Rafer put the truck in gear, turning toward town. He had to think of a way to stop this. His brain searched for the answer. Wait. That was it. Grinning, he pulled out his phone.

  “Linda Sue? Have I got something to tell you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “COME ON, PUG. Admit it. Rhonda has you so far wrapped around her finger you’ll never get free.”

  “Why would I want to?”

  It was asked with such simple sincerity that none of the men at the table had the heart to continue teasing the big man. Though none would admit it, one or two of them envied having a woman to feel that way about.

  Stanley Pug Doughty was well liked in Denville. He was born there, grew up, and became Deputy Sheriff. He had traveled a bit. After high school, he spent two years seeing the United States. He worked on a fishing boat in Alaska. The oil fields in Texas. He even worked as a bodyguard in New York City.

  Pug wasn’t born with wanderlust. It was either get out of town or go crazy watching the only woman he had ever loved throw her life away on a no-good sack of shit. He couldn’t save a woman who didn’t know she needed saving. He had spent too long eating his heart out over Rhonda Sykes.

  So Pug got out of Denville. If asked, he would say the time away did him good – seasoned him. It turned out he was a simple Oklahoma boy. After a while, he knew it was time to come back home.

  Any hope that his time away had cured his love for Rhonda was shot down the second he saw her. Resigned, Pug knew he was going to spend his life alone. His heart belonged to a curvy brunette with a touch of the devil in her smile. He couldn’t marry another woman. It wouldn’t be fair. No matter how hard he tried, no one compared to Rhonda.

  Becoming a police officer had always been his dream. He studied hard. Worked his ass off. He decided to be the best damn cop Denville had ever known. Now, years later he was living the dream. He had the whole package. A job he loved in the town it was his honor to serve and protect.

  As for his personal life? Someone was watching out for Stanley Pug Dougherty because that was as close to perfect as it could get. Rhonda Sykes – the only woman he would ever love – was his. Heart, soul, and two great kids to boot. Let his friends rib him. That was fine with Pug. Rhonda did have him wrapped around her finger. And he loved every second of it.

  “Are the Neanderthals giving you a hard time, sweetheart?”

  Rhonda, tray at her side, put her arm around Pug’s shoulder. She squeezed him hard, loving the feel of him. Big, solid, dependable Pug. He might not be the first man she had loved, but he was by far the best. The best and the last.

  “Nothing I can’t handle, Rhonda.”

  Pug always called her Rhonda. Not baby. Not honey. Rhonda. He said it with love. With a touch of reverence tossed in. The way he said it made her feel warm all over. Protected.

  There was never any worry that Rhonda would take Pug for granted. After years of dealing with her ex-husband, she knew how lucky she was. Pug was hers and she was never letting go.

  “Well, they better watch it. I’m keeping my eyes on you guys.” Rhonda gave the table of policemen a wink. “Treat him right.”

  “Or?” Lyle Jaffe, Pug’s best friend, challenged her with a smile.

  Rhonda smiled back, but her eyes were deadly serious. “I’ll kick your ass.”

  The men whooped with laughter. Only Pug knew she was serious. Rhonda protected those she thought of as hers. His chest puffed up with happiness. Now, that small, exclusive group included him.

  “Another round of beer for Pug’s table,” Rhonda called out to Logan when she got back to the bar. “On me.”

  “That looks like the entire police department,” Logan observed, filling a frost-covered pitcher. “Who’s minding the town?”

  “A couple of them are from over in Masters.” Getting rid of the old ones, Rhonda added fresh glasses to her tray. “This is an unofficial pre-bachelor party.”

  “Is that even a thing?” Logan laughed. He handed her a bowl of peanuts.

  “It is now.”

  “What?” Logan asked. Rhonda stared at him with a slightly bemused expression.

  “You’re so damn good looking,” she exclaimed.

  “Rhonda.” Logan shook his head. “It’s been a few days since I lost the beard. Besides, you knew what I looked like before.”

  “I was used to seeing you one of two ways. The mountain man or the boy I knew in high school.” Rhonda turned her head back and forth, considering him from every angle. “Under all that hair was a new man. You were always pretty.”

  “Well, shit,” Logan muttered.

&
nbsp; Rhonda laughed. “Bear with me. You aren’t pretty anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re… seasoned.”

  “As in liberally doused with salt and pepper?”

  “Ha, ha,” Rhonda snickered. “You should consider taking that act on the road. I meant as you’ve gotten older, you’ve lost that soft look. Now, you’re yummy.”

  “Are you flirting with my girl?”

  “Other way around, deputy.” Logan held out his hand, gripping Pug’s. “She never could leave me alone.”

  “In your dreams.” Rhonda leaned into Pug, her dark head resting just below his chin.

  “Logan has his own dream girl, Rhonda. You’re all mine.”

  “Yes,” Rhonda sighed. “I am.”

  Logan smiled at the couple. The freckled good old boy and the ex-cheerleader. They were an unlikely couple who fit together perfectly.

  “She’s too good for you,” Logan said.

  “No.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Pug and Rhonda spoke the words simultaneously, causing everyone within earshot to laugh.

  “Take it from an old married couple. That attitude is going to take you a long way.”

  “Are you and Trina blessing our future union?”

  Ron Watkins and his wife Trina came into Lefty’s Pub once a week, every week. Thirty years and running. Like clockwork. They sat at the same table. Ordered the same drinks. Whiskey and soda for him. A screwdriver for her. They stayed for an hour. Sometimes two, if friends were around. Their one drink apiece lasted them until they left for home.

  In good weather, they walked from their home four blocks away, then back again. When it rained or snowed, Trina drove them the short distance in their old Buick.

  Their fifty-year marriage was the sturdiest thing in Denville. Solid. Bedrock. If Ron approved of Rhonda and Pug, the chances were good that they would last to their own golden anniversary.

  “Do you need my blessing?”

  “No,” Rhonda said. “But I would like it.”

  As he always did, Ron looked at Trina before he answered. An old habit that was another secret to their long, happy union. Never take the other person for granted.