Table of Contents
RACHEL’S REDEMPTION
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
RACHEL’S REDEMPTION
JENNIFER MAITLEN
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
RACHEL’S REDEMPTION
Copyright©2013
JENNIFER MAITLEN
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-301-5
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
This book is dedicated to my mom
from whom I got ‘the bug’’,
that insatiable need to read a good story.
And who believed in me always.
And, of course, to my husband.
For everything.
Lu, babe. Lu.
Acknowledgements
Yes, writing is indeed a solitary experience, but a good story cannot be told—at least by me—without a little (sometimes a lot) of help. I wish to thank Lori Wilde for her incredible insight, knowledge, and wisdom. She is a dedicated teacher, true professional, and writing talent.
I want to thank Anabet Soehner who in 1994 took me to visit her hometown—one of America’s Greatest Little City’s, and on which Redemption is loosely based. Although Redemption is completely fictitious, I hope I have captured some of the beauty, camaraderie, and uniqueness of small town life.
I want to thank Gary Klatt, who invited me to the sidelines of a high school football game, answering my questions about the sport at that level and providing me with insight to the important role a high school football coach plays in the lives of his players. Any mistakes related to the nuances of the sport and play calling are mine and mine alone.
And finally I want to thank all of my friends and family who supported me through this awesome ride. Most especially, Larie Brannick, a talented writer and dear friend. You are the best!
Chapter 1
Rachel Elizabeth Delany-Tolbert was late for the most important meeting of her life. Ten minutes more to get there, less if she could shave off some time with her speed, and then she’d need to park. Another two minutes. Then find the meeting room, take a seat, not make a disturbance with her entrance. Add another three minutes . . . and hope that her turn before the town council wasn’t first on the agenda.
If fate—and the clock—was conspiring against her and her name had already been called, then she could kiss her opportunity good-bye.
She’d have to wait until next month.
Waiting wasn’t an option. Nana’s will had been very specific. Rachel had listened skeptically to the reading, sitting in disbelief while the lawyer spelled out the details. Of course, after carefully packing away each of Nana’s Homecoming Queen crowns, it all made crazy, perfect sense.
Now with Nana’s estate sold and gone, Rachel knew what she had to do.
She couldn’t turn back time. She couldn’t bring back her Nana. And not for all the money in the world could she change the fact that she hadn’t been by her Nana’s side in the end.
But she could give her Nana a tribute befitting a queen.
She just needed the town council to agree to her plan.
Rachel pushed harder on the gas pedal.
Fields of wheat and barley lined the country road but were nothing more than yellow and orange blurs as she flew down the two-lane road.
Redemption came into view, and Rachel slowed her speed. Marginally.
She circled around to the side streets, avoiding Main.
Less traffic there, but that didn’t slow the clock. Twenty past. Her stomach dived. If they’d called her name and she wasn’t there . . .
Rachel slid into a parking spot at the rear of the county building and reached for her bag, sparing a quick peek at her makeup. Her face was fine. Plain, but fine. Her choice of clothing, however, had been a bad one. Shit. No, sugar. Sugar, sugar, sugar.
Between working at the clinic and picking up rotations at the hospital she’d been focused on completing her pediatric fellowship, not doing laundry. And, thus, this morning she’d grabbed the only clean suit in her closet. A white, sleeveless, linen pants suit. It tied flatteringly in the center and if she stood, all the time, it was decent enough. However, the drive east to Redemption, topping out at almost three hours, wasn’t doing her any favors. Plus, she really shouldn’t have taken the extra shift last night. She wouldn’t have slept through her alarm clock and now be running so late.
Racing up the shrub-lined sidewalk, she fished in her bag for her water bottle. She reached for the door as she brought the bottle to her lips just in time for the only other human she’d seen in twenty miles to push against the door from the inside.
Rachel plowed into the thick glass, sending a wash of ice-cold water over her mouth and chin and down the front of her suit. Double sugar!
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” asked an older, slightly hunched man.
The lady behind him rushed to Rachel’s side. “Oh dear,” she tisked, shaking her head, “You’re all wet.”
She sure was. The heat had started the wrinkles, driving in her car had perfected them, and, with her top wet, they now seemed to be a permanent part of her outfit. She looked like a wet accordion.
Rachel swiped the back of her hand against her dripping jaw and peered at the couple fussing over her. Their faces so sincerely apologetic that she forgot about her suit and said, “It was my fault. Honest. I wasn’t paying attention. It’s okay. I’m fine. It’ll dry.” Not before the meeting, but it would, eventually.
They fussed over her some more, but she needed to get her butt in gear. She’d made it to the building and, wet suit or not, she needed to get to the meeting room. Pronto.
Rachel assured the couple she really was fine and scooted past them to the information desk. Her eyes were drawn to the iron script letters hanging on the stone-covered wall, high ab
ove the semi-circular desk. Delany-Tolbert Municipal Complex. A soft nostalgic smile pulled at her lips.
The attendant looked up from her book, frowned at Rachel’s appearance, then directed Rachel down the hall to the meeting room.
The hallway was empty and her low heels clicked loudly against the tile. Rachel prayed they hadn’t already called her name.
She stopped just outside the door. Her body hummed with adrenaline, her nerves pulsed. She felt like she had before her medical school interviews. This meeting was just as important, if not more. She owed Nana everything.
Rachel took a deep, fortifying breath and ignored her suit. The damage had been done. It was what it was. Then she entered the meeting.
A handful of people sat in the wooden chairs, their backs to her as they faced the seven town council members. There were three ladies and four men. They appeared to be anywhere from mid-forties to early-seventies. She suppressed a groan as she surveyed the board. Each member was impeccably dressed—pressed suits, ties, sport coats, blouses, and dresses. Sugar. She rolled her shoulders back and inhaled deeply, drawing out every inch of her 5-foot 8-inch frame. Perhaps if she elongated herself it would flatten out some of the wrinkles.
A leathery man, probably in his late fifties, sat in the middle of the council holding a gavel. The president of the board, she presumed. He had silver hair and silver eyebrows that grew over his glasses. He tapped the gavel then said, “Okay, then, if there isn’t anything else I believe we’re done here.”
No! She had something else. Something very important.
This was it. Time to put up or shut up. She had never backed down to a challenge in her life and she wasn’t about to start now. Almost as if Nana was behind her, guiding her, Rachel stepped forward.
“I have something to bring before the council.”
With his gavel hovering above the desk the council president peered at her over glasses that had slipped to the tip of his nose. He took in her wet shirt and disheveled appearance. His bushy brows bunched over disapproving eyes. “Yes?”
She cleared her throat. “My name is Rachel Delany-Tolbert.” She paused. Rarely did she use her name to get anything. She preferred to stand on her own two feet, behind hard work, with money she’d earned, but drastic times called for drastic measures. She figured just this once she could use her name and hope it garnered the attention she needed. All seven members focused interested, curious gazes at her. They might not all have known Nana personally, but you couldn’t really go around town without running into her family’s name.
She continued. “I know that I am late and I apologize. But I have a very important matter to bring before the council.”
“Ms. Delaney-Tolbert—”
“—Rachel.”
“Rachel, we already called your name. You weren’t here.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry—”
“—but I’m here now.”
“This is against procedure,” he said to her. “You were on the agenda, you missed your appointment. You’ll have to come back next month.”
“But this can’t wait until next month,” she pleaded. Her palms were sweating.
The committee members, obviously in agreement with Mr. Bushy Brows, began filing papers into cases, pushing back their seats.
Oh no! They were leaving. Her heart raced as another jolt of adrenaline flooded her system. They weren’t going to let her speak, and she couldn’t let that happen.
“Wait, please,” Rachel begged, swallowing. “I know this is against policy, but I’m here now. And . . .” She paused, drawing in a breath. “This is about my grandmother.”
The council president sat back, his grip on the gavel loosening. He stared at her.
“Please,” Rachel said. “Just give me five minutes.”
The council president cleared his throat, and then cast a glance at the other members. Some nodded, others shrugged, but each slowly resumed their seats and directed their attention at Rachel.
The president narrowed his eyes and said, “You have five minutes.”
Relieved but knowing this was just the beginning, Rachel smiled and said, “Thank you, Sir. Council members.” With renewed spirit, she reached into her bag and removed seven sets of documents. She stepped up to the long desk and handed one to each member. Now that she had their attention she was that much closer. At least she was getting to plead her case. She just needed to keep talking, get them excited, because once they read over her proposal they were probably going to laugh her out of the chamber.
“My purpose for meeting with you today is simple. I’m requesting to hold a tribute event in honor of my late grandmother.” Rachel returned to her position in the center of the meeting hall. “As you know, she was a big part of this town.” Rachel looked pointedly around the room. “And, in honor of her philanthropy to Redemption”—and because Rachel needed to do this for her grandmother, more than she’d ever needed anything—”I hope you will see the magnitude and importance of agreeing to my proposal.”
The president sat up straighter and the other members darted glances between each other and her. “This is an unusual request, Rachel.”
Rachel nodded. Tell her about it. But, now she had their attention. Floating her last name in this region had that effect. They’d only seen the tip of the iceberg but her confidence was growing.
“A tribute event?” one of the council members asked as he read from the report in his hand. “What exactly did you have in mind? You don’t need our approval to hold a dinner?”
He didn’t beat around the bush; she had to give him credit for that. But she’d anticipated this. She nodded and said, “Because it needs to take place on town property. That was Nana’s wish.”
“Where?”
“That’s the interesting part. It’s unusual and fun. Different. I think each of you will see that it makes perfect sense, once you’ve read the full proposal—”
The president tapped his watch.
“Right. Yes.” She paused, wetting her lips. “The high school. It must take place at the high school.”
The president’s brows climbed his forehead. He chuckled. “Your Nana had some outrageous ideas, but, Rachel, this—”
“I know it’s . . . different. But you can’t deny the cause isn’t worthy.”
“The high school? Well, that’s a first. Where exactly?”
“And when?” This from the younger of the female members.
“The gymnasium. The room needs to be large enough to hold all of the guests. That eliminates all of the other buildings.” Then she paused and said, “As to when. That’s the best part. It needs to happen at Homecoming.”
“Come again?” a deep masculine voice said from behind her.
A shiver danced along her spine and it had nothing to do with the coolness of the air conditioning permeating her damp blouse. It had everything to do with the voice she hadn’t heard in a dozen years. It was roughened by time, but it was his all the same.
Logan Hastings.
Slowly she turned her head. Just a few feet behind her stood the ex-pro-football player who’d haunted her dreams all through high school. His dark hair was shorter then she remembered, cut close to his head. In high school, it’d been longer, hanging over his collar and falling into his eyes. Now those intense eyes were clearly visible, spaced proportionately over a straight nose and thin lips. From where she stood, she could clearly see the muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.
Her stomach took another plunge and her heart beat steadily against her ribs. She’d been three years behind him in high school, but that had never stopped the awareness she had of him. If anything, it made him that much bigger to her. He was the star football player and completely unavailable to her.
His gaze traveled over her rumpled clothes. Then back to her eyes, staying there a beat. His face gave no indication of remembering her or that he even knew her at all.
Rachel drew in a sharp breath and prayed the heat in her cheeks wasn’t visible to t
he rest of the room.
The truth was that Logan Hastings stole all the air from the room. She didn’t have to turn around to know that every female eye in the room was trained on him. The boy had held the hearts of most girls in Redemption.
Tall, dark, and handsome. In spades. His short-sleeve polo shirt stretched taut over his broad chest and biceps, revealing sun-kissed forearms and hands. Big hands with long fingers. She tore her stare from his fingers and, with great difficulty, met his eyes.
Still blue. Still mesmerizing.
Logan tucked his arms across his chest and steadily held her gaze.
Heat crept up her neck and she swallowed convulsively, wetting her dry mouth. “That’s right. Nana was a homecoming queen and that honor meant a great deal to her.” Rachel could have cared less about that stuff. But Nana loved it. “That’s why we need the high school.”
Logan shook his head. “Sorry. It’s off limits.”
Rachel expected to defend her request to the town council, but not to Logan Hastings. She’d never expected to see him again. She wasn’t going to let her dream for Nana be snuffed out. By anyone. No matter how big, or intimidating, or ungodly good looking.
Rachel turned to face Logan fully, fisting her hands on her hips. “It’s not up to you.”
One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Yes. It is.”
“Last I checked the field was named ‘Delaney Field’. After Gloria Rose Delaney-Tolbert.”
Logan’s lips twitched at the corners.
She didn’t see anything remotely funny about the conversation. This tribute was only a fraction of what she owed her Nana. It most certainly was not some kind of joke—inside, outside, or otherwise.
The gavel tapped behind them.
Rachel reluctantly drew her how-dare-you face away from Logan and, softening a little, directed it at the president of the council.
“Rachel, we don’t authorize the use of town property for just anything.”
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