“Is he a stud, then?”
“No,” she said a sigh of exasperation. Her voice lowered to confessional levels. “You won’t understand. My father … well, Atticus was everything I imagined a father should be. Kind, understanding, loving, honorable. I wished every day for an Atticus. It’s silly but …” She finished with a shrug.
“I do understand.” His voice frayed, revealing a usually hidden vulnerability.
Her mouth parted, and her gaze searched his face. He pulled his defenses around him like a cloak, took the book out of her hands, and walked away. Surprisingly, she kept pace with him on the way to the door.
“Would you mind stopping by Ada’s house on your way home? I have a few things to finish up here. Evelyn says I can leave her for short periods of time, but I worry.”
“Are you taking over at the library for Miss Ada?” The kernel of hope in his chest disturbed him.
“Lord no. In fact, Ada is in for it when I get back. She told the ladies I was on board with handling story time and might even stock shelves.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
“I work with doctoral candidates in Atlanta. I am not interested in toddler story time.”
Her snobby attitude threw a match on his banked anger.
“Anyway, I won’t be here long enough to need a job,” she added.
His heart skipped a beat. “For the love of God, at least pretend like you want to be here for your grandmother.”
Her head shot back, and her voice lowered in pitch. “I love Ada. I’m going to get her back on her feet, but then I’m going back to my life.”
“She didn’t have to take care of you and Logan. You know that, right? She could have shipped you off to foster care. Shit like that happens all the time. You’re being selfish.” He clamped his mouth shut, even though he could go on.
“You’re being a judgmental asshole.” Outrage sailed her voice high, and the words reverberated off the stone and around the room. More fodder for the town’s gossips.
He pulled his ball cap on, hauled the door open, and walked outside into a wall of heat. She darted in front of him and fisted the front of his shirt much like he’d done to the punk last night. “You expect me to give up everything … my job, my apartment, my …”
“Boyfriend?” he supplied.
“No.” Her hand dropped with her lashes.
Satisfaction shot through him.
She said, “Maybe I don’t want to move back to this close-minded, football-obsessed town.”
Equal amounts of sarcasm and hurt roughened her voice, but Robbie knew the Darcy Wilde from her letters wouldn’t run away.
“That’s crap. You know what’s right and wrong.” At her silence, he muttered another curse. “Understand once Miss Ada is gone, the only thing you’ll have left is the guilt.”
He slapped the book against his thigh and walked away, Avery at his heels. This time she didn’t follow.
He tossed the book on the seat, too agitated to start the truck. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed she’d gone back inside the library. He’d guess the homemade pie was off the table.
Restitution would have to take a different form then. His gaze travelled back to the cover of the book, and an altogether devious plan presented itself.
Chapter 7
The next afternoon while Ada napped, Darcy surveyed the dismal state of the porch. Once she started peeling off huge chunks of paint, she couldn’t stop. She rummaged in the hotbox of a storage shed for her grandfather’s ancient sander. Unbelievably the thing still worked. All she needed was paper, but until she had the chance to get to the hardware store, she could scrape.
Her mind drifted to Robbie as it did every unoccupied moment. After a good night’s sleep, she’d concluded her annoyance with him was more a reflection of the constant guilt dogging her. But, he’d still been a judgmental asshole—a smoking-hot judgmental asshole.
A noise like a herd of stampeding cattle grew closer. She shaded her eyes and scanned the tree line. A white, rust-pocked truck broke from the shadows. At least seven more trucks and SUVs followed. The mishmash of stereos blaring country, hip-hop, and rock startled a covey of birds from the tall grass.
She expected them to drive by to Robbie’s, but they parked haphazardly around the front of the house. A flood of at least a dozen boys poured out. Sweaty and wearing shorts and T-shirts, they pushed and shoved each other, goofy laughter covering a vague nervousness. She recognized a couple of the bigger boys from practice.
She retreated to the middle porch step to equal their heights and called out, “I think you boys stopped too soon. The coach lives a little farther down.”
A big white boy she’d seen playing center stepped forward. “Yes, ma’am, we know. He sent us here. Said you’d help us.”
“I’m not sure I can help with your tackling techniques.”
A few of them laughed.
“No, but Coach said you can help with this.” The man-boy held up a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.
Darcy had a bad feeling. “How exactly am I supposed to help you?”
“We have to write a report on it before school starts. We don’t get it.” The rest of the boys nodded and shuffled on huge feet. “If we don’t do well, we might be off the team. Coach requires us to maintain at least a C average.”
She wanted to pace and rail against Robbie for putting her on the spot. But she didn’t. Instead, her fingers peeled another patch of paint off the handrail. In truth, she owed Robbie, and helping the team would settle the debt.
A dozen expectant faces waited for her verdict. It was one of her favorite books after all. Maybe she could get some of these boys to appreciate it. The jagged segment of paint in her hand made her smile. This could be win-win.
“I’ll help you boys out.” She tossed the flaked paint at their feet. “But I want something in return.”
The boys exchanged glances.
“I need my porch sanded and painted. If I provide the supplies, will you boys provide the labor in return for my help?”
The leader looked over his shoulder and assessed the willingness in the number of casually shrugged shoulders. He turned back with a grin. “You’ve got a deal.”
Darcy returned the smile and ushered them all into the house. “Let me go get everyone some iced tea, and we’ll get started on the first chapter.”
#
Robbie slammed on the brakes halfway out of the heavy line of trees. Trucks littered Miss Ada’s front yard. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The boys had left practice a good two hours earlier. He’d expected Darcy to stalk into the pavilion to flay his hide. Honestly, he’d anticipated the fiery confrontation with no small amount of lust.
Curiosity urged him to stop. Pride sent him bumping past, but he checked his rearview mirror until the trucks were out of sight. He would hear all about it tomorrow.
After a shower, he devoured a frozen pizza that filled his stomach but tasted like cardboard. He stepped onto the porch and propped a hip on the banister. The night air had cooled enough to be pleasant. Crickets and katydids were in the throes of their night songs.
The faint glow of Miss Ada’s front porch light shone through the trees. Walking barefoot to his truck, he retrieved his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. He settled into his armchair, muted ESPN, and smoothed the pages to chapter one.
#
Work the next day started well enough but careened downhill fast. Hal Perkins walked into the video room on his bowed-out legs, his bottom lip pooched out with tobacco. Robbie continued putting DVDs back into their cases but turned so he could keep the corner of his eye on the man. He was surprised it had taken Perkins this long for a confrontation. The kicker was that the man was an excellent offensive coach.
“Dalt.” Perkins spit into a Styrofoam cup that seemed his constant companion.
“Perkins. The offensive line is coming along well.”
“Not bad.” The man wandered farther into the room, picki
ng up and putting down a few cases. “You got yourself into some trouble, I hear.”
“Not really.”
Perkins shook his head and spit. “Not what I heard. I predict you’ll have to deal with more of the same. You might want to opt for better insurance. Now, listen, I don’t give a shit whether the rumors are true or not. I want to win. If you can’t make it happen, I can.”
“If the school thought you could make it happen, they wouldn’t have hired me.” Robbie kept his voice low and his anger out.
Perkins bared tobacco infused teeth. “I have a feeling the school will regret hiring an outsider. The head job will be mine eventually.”
“Don’t count on it. You’re a good coach, but if you aren’t doing the job as I see fit, I’ll go the school board and request a change. Is that understood?” Robbie stepped forward and faced the older man like two alpha dogs vying for leadership.
Perkins couldn’t maintain eye contact and stomped away without another word.
Robbie settled behind his desk and turned his attention to lesson plans, rubbing his temples. An unusual cacophony of voices in the hall popped his head up. Jesus, what now?
He’d risen halfway behind his desk when the door swung open. Logan and Darcy argued their way into his office. Darcy plopped in a chair and crossed her arms and legs, a corner of her mouth pulled back. Logan paced behind her. A frenetic energy pulsed around the room.
Logan said, “We need to resolve this whole misunderstanding pronto. Not that it should matter, but it’s distracting the kids and the town. We want everyone’s focus to be on our opening game, not tittering about your sexual preferences. Sheila’s mouth keeps running at The Tavern to anyone who’ll listen. Obviously, if you don’t want her, you’re gay. And don’t get me started on Perkins. He’d love to get rid of all of us and take a grab at the head job.”
“If we win, it won’t matter.” Robbie repeated Tyler’s wisdom.
“Maybe we won’t win. What then?” Logan asked. “Perkins will only get louder and more aggressive. There’s some that wanted him hired to begin with. We can’t let the SOB gain any traction.”
Robbie shuffled his hands through his hair and laced his fingers behind his neck. After his confrontation with Perkins, Robbie feared Logan was right. Why couldn’t football stay about the art of the game instead of turning into a political chess match?
“What are you thinking?” Robbie asked Logan.
“He’s suggesting that we date.” Darcy bracketed the last word in air quotes.
Robbie’s heart picked up speed, and he wiped his palms down the legs of his jeans. “That’s … that’s …”
“Crazy, right?” Darcy asked.
He stared into her eyes and whispered, “Insane.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “All I’m suggesting is a couple of very public outings. Dinner, maybe dancing at The Tavern. You don’t have to get all gropey or make out. A little handholding might be nice. Darcy can come cheer on her man—Dalt,” he added as if it needed clarification, “for the first few games. Once we’re winning and the rumors have been squashed, everyone can move on.”
Robbie said, “I’m not going to force Darcy to go eat dinner with me.”
One side of Logan’s mouth rose, and he poked her in the shoulder. “It’s the least she can do, right cuz?”
“I’ll go, but only if Robbie wants to.” She cast him an inscrutable look under her lashes.
What did that mean? Did she want to go out with him? Their confrontation at the library was still fresh on his mind. Not to mention his underhanded method of getting her to tutor his team. She had every right to tell him to go to hell.
Robbie bought some time. “Is the talk really getting to the boys?”
Logan said, “They’re still loyal to you, but they’re kids.”
Robbie looked to Darcy. “Are you willing? If you aren’t, I’ll ride this out.”
Her head tilted as she considered him. “It really is the least I can do. Even though, I want to state for the record, I thought Kat and I were alone when I spilled the wrong beans. Anyway, a few dates with you won’t kill me.”
“Try to control your enthusiasm,” Robbie said with a sighing dry laugh.
“Great. It’s a done deal.” Logan thumped the desk. “How about you two have dinner Friday night and hit The Tavern the following weekend. It’ll be packed. Be at Ada’s at six on Friday to pick her up, Dalt.”
“Fine. Six,” he said.
Darcy’s eyes flared with emotion—anger, humor—impossible for Robbie to read. “Where are we going? I need to know what to wear.”
Logan pointed at Robbie. “Take her to the new Italian place on Main. And, you,” he swung his finger to Darcy, “for the love of God, wear something besides shorts and a T-shirt.”
If looks could kill, Darcy’s glare would have left Logan a smoldering puddle of goo on the floor. “I swear Logan, if you weren’t blood-kin—”
“If everything’s settled, I have work to finish up.” Robbie stared down at the papers. Words and numbers swam in his vision.
“Robbie?” Her voice came from the doorway. She’d stopped to look over her shoulder. “Are you fine with this?”
“Sure. It’s only a couple of dates.”
Her laugh landed unmistakably between anger and humor. “I guess I’ll see you Friday night then.”
“Yep.” The gust from the closing door ruffled the papers on his desk. He propped his feet on the corner and examined the white-pocked tiles of the ceiling.
A combination of anticipation and dread coursed through his body. She was too dangerous for his peace of mind. He should’ve told Logan this little drama was unnecessary, the rumors would die eventually, but damn if he could let the opportunity pass.
Two nights in her company. Which Darcy would he get? The charming woman who made him laugh or the fiery one who made him burn. He wanted both.
He tried to concentrate on his lesson plans, but the memory of her standing hip deep in the river, arms curved to the sky, water trailing down her body distracted him. When his thoughts naturally veered to the memory of her nails digging through his shirt and her legs around his hips in Miss Ada’s kitchen, he threw down his pencil, changed into running gear, and whistled for Avery. The rhythm of his feet pounding the track around the football field ordered the chaos in his head.
A storm brewed in the west. The air thickened and grew electric. Dark clouds swallowed the sun and threw the town into a premature dusk. Still, he ran. Avery joined him in spurts. The wildness spurred Robbie into a sprint.
Lightning cracked the sky, and rain poured out. This was no pitter-patter of droplets, but a stinging deluge. Robbie surrendered, and he and Avery bolted to the truck. He lifted Avery inside and received a peppering of more water as Avery shook himself dry. Robbie wiped the water off his face and climbed behind the wheel.
The rain pelting the metal cab was musical in quality. Robbie closed his eyes, and as if the run never happened, he saw her passion-washed blue eyes after their kiss. He banged his head against the headrest, even knowing it wouldn’t be that easy to banish her from his thoughts.
#
After Thursday afternoon’s practice, he slumped at his desk and rubbed itchy eyes. Was it his late-night reading or the noxious cloud of male body spray diffusing into his office like tear-gas making his eyes water? He meandered into the locker room and came face-to-face with a mass of primping teenage boys.
“You know Atticus is getting nailed by some white supremacist. No way a white man gonna defend a black man and get away with it. Not in 1950s Alabama.” His offensive lineman’s intimidating bass voice echoed off the tiled walls.
“I think old Boo is a serial killer or something. They’re going to search his refrigerator and find body parts,” said a voice muffled by clothing.
“You’re an idiot, Jamal. ’Course he ain’t. You think they’d assign us a horror book? This is about something bigger. It’s about a little girl growing up and realizin
g her daddy can’t solve all the problems of the world. You heard Miss Darcy.”
Robbie propped a shoulder in the doorway, astounded by the insightful words came out of Miles, his usually silent linebacker.
“Where’re you boys headed?” Robbie asked.
A dozen heads swiveled his direction.
“Miss Darcy’s house. We’re discussing chapters three and four,” said Tyler.
“Why are y’all getting dressed up?”
“Miss Darcy told us that she wouldn’t let us in if we came stinking like we did last time,” Tyler said with a shake of his head and a half-grin. “She also made us promise to sand and paint her porch.”
“You didn’t tell us she was such a dime piece,” Jamal said with a sly smile, smoothing the thin mustache he’d been working at growing all summer.
Robbie was immediately on guard. “She’s nearly ten years older than you boys. Don’t be getting any ideas. For one thing it’d be illegal.”
“I turn eighteen in two weeks,” said Miles.
“I’m already eighteen,” said Jamal. Everyone looked in his direction. “Got held back in elementary school. Now I’m glad I had a hard time remembering my letters.” He sauntered past Robbie with a pronounced, limping strut.
“You’re going to pull a muscle if you keep walking like that,” Robbie said in a disgusted voice, grabbing the young man’s collar. “Let me make something perfectly clear … boys.” He made eye contact with every one of them. “Miss Wilde is doing all of us a favor here. I don’t want to throw anyone off the team for poor grades or ill-advised conduct. Keep your hands to yourselves, is that clear?”
His collar still in Robbie’s fist, Jamal mock saluted. “Yes, sir. But, what if she can’t keep her hands off all this?” He gestured down the hundred and fifty pounds of his lean body.
“Somehow I think she’ll be able to control herself.” Robbie had a hard time keeping a smile off his face.
“You staking a claim, Coach?” Miles asked.
A wave of annoyance washed away his amusement.
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