“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said and stalked away.
Laughter trailed him to his office. He kicked the door shut. His diploma from Vanderbilt rattled on the wall and skewed off-center. He straightened the frame and used his shirt to dust the glass. He wasn’t big on posting his accomplishments, but that diploma represented more than a degree earned. The piece of paper was part penance for his past mistakes and part warning to never repeat them. Because of a few minutes of lost control, he’d come within a knife’s edge of screwing up his entire life.
But his diploma also reminded him anything was possible with enough hard work. He was using the same mentality to turn the football team around. You didn’t win games through luck and fairy dust. You put the time in—lifting weights, running drills, watching film. Slowly, he could see the kids buying into his program of hard work and preparation.
His pool of players was midrange talented. He had a handful of Division II prospects and one or two that might be recruited to major programs. But, only if they won. Most would never see a collegiate field unless they were cheering from the stands.
Football was their life now, but Robbie could see past that, even if they saw only next Friday night’s game with their youth-supplied blinders. Part of his job was to get them ready for life after high school football. He took it seriously. School started in two weeks, and their first game loomed soon after. He buried himself in the logic and comfort of calculus for the next hour.
Sick of frozen pizza, he stopped in town to pick up Chinese takeout. Across the street, Tyler staggered out of the local pizzeria under a ridiculous number of boxes. Robbie tossed the takeout bag onto the seat next to Avery and jogged across.
“Feeding an army?” Robbie opened Tyler’s door and grabbed the top boxes.
His center flashed a smile and loaded half the boxes into his truck. “Just all the seniors of the team. We decided to cover the next couple of chapters. Want to join us? I’m sure Miss Darcy and Miss Ada won’t mind.”
Robbie wasn’t too sure of that. “You boys roped Miss Ada in on this? She’s still recuperating, you know.”
“Yep, but while Miss Darcy finished up the pies, Miss Ada took over the discussion. She can quote whole sections of the book.”
“Pies?”
“Blackberry, I think. That reminds me, I need to grab some ice cream.”
They stacked the rest of the pizza on the floorboard.
“I’ll bring the ice cream.” Robbie chewed the inside of his mouth.
Tyler climbed in and tapped the steering wheel with balled-up hands. “Coach, can I tell you something?
“Of course. Something up with the team?”
Tyler’s silence drew Robbie out of his self-centered funk. Robbie tried to catch his eye, but Tyler concentrated on fitting the key in the ignition. “Miss Darcy insisted I get vanilla bean. That’s all.”
An echo of the boy’s uncomfortable rambling in his office popped back into Robbie’s head. “You okay, son?”
“Depends on who you ask, I suppose,” Tyler said with a wry, humorless laugh. He cut the conversation by revving the truck. “See you in a few. We’ll try to save you a piece.”
Four tubs of vanilla bean in hand, Robbie rolled to a stop in front of Darcy’s house. Lightning bugs flickered in the gloom, and the loud call of bullfrogs for mates sounded from the river. Raucous laughter carried out of windows open to the cooling night air. He approached as if he were in Afghanistan and mines littered the dirt path.
He’d grown accustomed to letting himself into the kitchen, and his feet carried him there automatically. Miss Ada sat at the table and patted Miles on the arm with a smile. Darcy doled out pizza on paper plates. Barefoot and wearing white shorts, she didn’t look a day older than the boys dwarfing her in a toadying circle.
The bang of the screen door announced his presence, and male calls went up all around. Without saying a word but with their gazes glued to one another, he walked past Darcy and shoved his offering into the freezer.
Avery trotted to Ada. He settled on his haunches at her knee with a begging whine and flattened ears. Ada slipped him a pepperoni. His tongue lolled, eager for more. The semicircle opened to admit Robbie, and Darcy offered him a plate with three slices piled on top of one another. He took it and retreated to stand to the side of the door.
Empty boxes grew proportionally to the number of hungry boys. Soon enough, she pulled the pies from the oven and cut pieces, topping them with ice cream. Her gaze lifted to his in an unasked question, and he nodded curtly.
With hesitation in her step, she brought him the dessert. He took it in one hand and caught her wrist in the other. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s been awhile since I made a crust from scratch. It might not be my best.” Nervous energy drove her words.
“I’m not talking about the pie. I’m talking about them.” He dropped her wrist and jerked his chin toward the players who were fist-bumping and showing out. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”
She wiped her hands down the back of her shorts. “I know you didn’t. Don’t underestimate me, Robbie Dalton.” She turned away from him. In an authoritative voice at odds with her appearance, she said, “All right boys. Break’s over. Let’s take our pie back into the den. Can you help Ada, Miles?”
“Sure thing, Miss Darcy.” With the utmost care, Miles helped Ada to her feet and offered a burly arm for her to take. Tucking her hand into his elbow, she shuffled next to him.
Standing on the edge and looking in was a familiar, comfortable place for Robbie. Darcy obviously enjoyed the give and take of the discussion, as did his boys. She didn’t belittle any question or theory. Her love for the book seemed to infect everyone in the room.
An hour passed. Robbie hadn’t moved nor contributed a word even though he’d read the chapters they discussed the night before. Avery’s soft whine peeled his gaze off Darcy. The dog squirmed, desperate for a bush, and Robbie slipped away. Her voice stuttered but picked up again.
As Avery hopped into the truck, a soft voice called, “Robbie, wait up.”
He stood in the open driver’s door and watched her approach.
“Hey,” she said, a little breathless.
“Hey.”
An awkward silence descended, but damned if he would be the one to break it. She shifted closer and reached out to pat Avery. The dog bared his teeth, flattened his ears, and growled. She snatched her hand to her chest.
“Your dog seriously dislikes me. I swear I’ve never kicked him behind your back or anything. He loves Ada. Can’t he smell that we’re related or something?”
“Doesn’t work that way.” Robbie had a feeling he knew why Avery’s hackles rose every time Darcy was close. The tension and turmoil she engendered in Robbie transmitted to Avery. His dog was either trying to protect him from a perceived danger or reflecting Robbie’s confusion about her.
“Don’t you need to lead the discussion?” He pointed toward the house.
“Ada took over. Trust me, the boys are in good hands. She knows the book better than I do.”
“You sure this isn’t too much of a strain on her? I’ll admit when I thought of ”—he winced—“using your talents, I didn’t consider whether Miss Ada would mind a dozen boys descending on the house.”
“She lights up when the boys come over. She’s spent nearly sixty years at the library. I can tell she misses the people and the books.” Her forehead crunched, and she looked out over the dark field, her worry palpable.
“She’s walking better every day. I’ll bet she’ll be back to work before football season is over.”
“I don’t know,” she said with a vagueness that worried Robbie.
“Miss Ada will be fine,” he said as much to reassure himself as her.
“Weren’t you the one warning me about her next fatal tumble?”
He scratched his neck and dropped his gaze to their feet. Her pink painted toes wiggled in the grass. “I really do appreciate
what you’re doing. I dropped this book thing on you without asking.”
“Your goal was to piss me off.”
He looked up, expecting her anger to blister him. Instead, her blue eyes twinkled, and her lips curled up. His heart slipped a little further out of its protective shell and basked in the warmth.
“Maybe,” he whispered.
“After growing up with Logan tormenting me … let’s just say, strong-arming me into a book club is more reward than punishment. Anyway, those are good boys in there.”
“They are.” He stared toward the house. The murmur of male voices carried outside. “Have you noticed anything unusual going on with Tyler?”
Her head cocked. “Like what?”
The niggling uneasiness was so hazy and unfixed he didn’t know how to articulate it.
“Miss Darcy, we’re wrapping up.” Framed by the front door, Tyler smiled and pushed floppy blond hair off his forehead, erasing Robbie’s worry. The boy’s behavior was probably due to run-of-the-mill teenage hormones.
“I’ll be right there,” she hollered before turning back to him. “I really admire the fact you require your players to make good grades. And I heard you were reading along. You can join us anytime. Maybe even say something.” She backed away and shoved her hands in her pockets.
“Maybe I won’t have anything insightful to add.”
“Somehow I think you would. Still waters and all that.” She turned her face in profile, the rising moon highlighting her cheekbone and the tiniest of smiles. “See you tomorrow night, Robbie.”
She scampered back into the house, and he stared at the door long after she’d disappeared. Goddammit. He started the truck and gripped the steering wheel. Why couldn’t she have acted bitchy about tutoring his players? Why couldn’t she have told Logan to go to hell when he suggested they fake date?
Darcy made him feel all messed up. If the women he dated in the past had noticed his walls, then Darcy would call him on his bullshit in about two seconds. But she had a way of making him feel not so lonely that drew him like a dog begging for a pat.
She had no clue of the kind of shit that battered around in his head when he allowed himself to enter his memories. If he felt disgust, shame, disappointment … how would she look at him if she knew his secrets?
No, he was methodical, logical. He could predict with utmost certainty how a real relationship would progress between them. Yes, the sex would be mind-blowing. Her fire mixed with her sweetness would crack his heart open. The blackness she found would convince her that he was unlovable, and they would flame out with the same intensity. She would hate him. And, as a final indignity, she would move back to Atlanta and leave him in the rubble.
He was happier than he’d ever been in Falcon. The last thing he needed was a sweet little wildcat ripping through the uncomplicated life he was building. He was a fucking expert at keeping people at arm’s length. How hard could it be to take her out twice and play a part, keep things superficial and light?
A stew of dread and anticipation swirled. He had a feeling keeping his distance from her might be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.
Chapter 8
Darcy had changed clothes a half-dozen times. Never had she been so nervous about a date that wasn’t even a date. What did one wear on a fake date? Did Emily Post cover such topics?
A modest A-line skirt that hit above her knees and a light summer sweater was her current choice. She slipped on a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals and examined herself in the mirror. A string of pearls and she’d be ready for the Junior League ice-cream social. If Robbie showed up in jeans and a baseball cap, she was going to feel like an idiot.
Before she could change again, the doorbell rang, and Kat’s voice echoed upstairs. “Darcy! You about ready?”
Kat examined Darcy head to toe on her plodding descent to the foyer.
“Wow-wee. You look nice. Are you sure this is a fake date?”
“It totally is.” On his part. Darcy’s stomach bottomed out. The anticipation of spending the evening in his company was frighteningly real for her.
“You’re nervous. Look, it’s dinner. He’s not going to dump you in the middle of the bottoms to find your way home.”
“I’m not scared of him. It’s everyone else. All those eyes.”
“All those eyes and flapping lips are kind of the point, aren’t they? Let me get Ada her food before it gets cold, and then I’ve got something that might help.”
After settling Ada in the kitchen with take-out lo mein, Kat steered Darcy outside with a comforting arm around her shoulders. Retrieving a label-less Mason jar from her car, Kat led the way around the back of the shed. Darcy kept her gaze fixed on the lane from Robbie’s house.
Kat wore a pair of frayed khaki shorts and a red concert tee Darcy remembered from high school. After a struggle, the lid released with a pop. A distinctive sweet pungency filled the air.
“Kat Renshaw. Is that homemade moonshine?” Darcy whispered, looking to either side as if the police might stage a sting at any second. “What if we get arrested? You’re the best lawyer in town. Who will post bail and defend us?”
“One shot apiece. I’m grandmother-sitting, and you don’t want to end up so blitzed you throw yourself at Coach Dalton. Right?”
Darcy stared down the deserted lane.
“Right?” Kat asked again with emphasis and elbowed Darcy in the arm.
“Geez. Of course not.” Darcy took the jar and tipped it up. The moonshine burned a path down her throat followed by a sweet-tart aftertaste of blackberries.
Kat took her turn. Her face initially screwed into a grimace but relaxed into a grin. “That is good stuff.”
The maelstrom in Darcy’s stomach settled into a mere nuisance under the heat of the alcohol. “Where’d you get it?”
“Laurence Malone. You would not believe what he said when he dropped it off.” Kat chuffed, but a nervous pat of her hair and girlish squirm tempered the outrage. “I quote ‘The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’ Can you imagine?” Her voice rose an octave at the question.
“Sounds to me like he meant it as a compliment, and you didn’t throw it in his face.” Darcy pointed to the jar. “What did you say?”
“I got all hot and stammered a bunch of crap about equality and human rights. I am such an idiot.” Kat knocked the back of her head onto the tin side of the shed a few times.
“Why don’t you ask him out?”
“I can spout about equality all I want, but the truth is—I want a man to be a man. He needs to make the first move.” Kat screwed the top on the jar.
Still no movement from Robbie’s house. Darcy said, “This is pathetically close to a Disney movie. The studly jock forced to date the mousy nerd. The football god squiring around the bookish librarian to repair his reputation.”
Kat hip-bumped her. “First of all, you are not mousy in the least. Secondly, there is nothing wrong with being intelligent. And, thirdly, I’m sorry to inform you, but you are a decade too old to star in a Disney movie.”
“That’s depressing. What would we qualify for? A Lifetime special?”
“Too young. That’s for the fortysomething set. You two are the prime age for a porno though.”
“A porno.” The laughter bubbling through Darcy’s body erased a good portion of her nerves. “Lord help us. What would we call it? The Coach’s Concubine?”
“The Lusty Librarian,” Kat said. More teenaged giggling ensued.
“Sacking the Coach.”
“Fourth and Extra Long.”
“Unsportsmanlike Conduct.”
“First … Down on the Coach.”
“Indecent Interference.”
“Freaking in the Fourth Quarter.”
“Foot Balls and Dicks.” Darcy’s voice barely squeaked past laughter.
“You about ready to go?” A deep voice rumbled.
They both screamed. Kat tossed the Mason jar over her shoulder. It shattered against
the tin wall, and rivulets of moonshine trailed squiggly lines through dirt and pollen.
In dark brown pants and a green checked button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, Robbie stood propped against the corner of the shed. His hands were tucked into his front pockets, and one foot was crossed over the other. No hat. A comb had tamed his hair, and he’d shaved recently. He looked ridiculously handsome.
Had he heard? Of course, he had. “I didn’t see you pull up.” Darcy gestured vaguely toward the road to his house. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure if she looked down she’d see it trying to claw out her thin sweater to commit a kamikaze-style suicide at their feet.
“Nope. Came from town.”
“Well”—the word drew out as Kat backed away—“I’ll be getting something to clean up my little mess. You two have fun.” She waggled farewell fingers at Darcy and mouthed I’m sorry before scampering inside.
Robbie ushered her to his black truck and opened her door as if it was a real date. He’d washed it and cleaned out the football paraphernalia. His hand circled her forearm, steadying her as she stepped onto the running board to climb in. He slid behind the wheel and threw the truck in reverse so suddenly it jerked her into the window.
Not even the radio broke the thick silence. His gaze on the road, adeptly dodging holes, he said, “For the record, I prefer The Lusty Librarian.”
Heat burned up her cheeks. “It was a joke. I’m not suggesting we make a porno together. Not that you wouldn’t be great in one. I’m sure you’d make an excellent porno. I mean, look at you.”
Dear Lord, she needed an industrial-sized filter from her brain to her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she stared out the windshield and pressed her lips together. If she didn’t speak, nothing embarrassing could come out.
“Malone’s moonshine is pretty good, isn’t it?” His gaze flicked to her face before dropping to her legs and then back to the road. “What’s the matter? You nervous?”
“Of course I am.” She tucked her hands under her thighs. “Everyone will be staring at us, whispering.”
“You don’t have to do this. I won’t force you to go on a date with me, not when there’s plenty that would go willingly. I’ll turn around and take you home.”
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