Rachel's Redemption

by Jennifer Maitlen

  “The filet—medium rare, a baked potato—loaded, and”—he shot a look to Rachel—“salad.”

  “And for you?” The waitress turned to Rachel.

  “She’ll have the same. Thanks, Sandy.”

  The waitress nodded and scooted away, still writing on her pad.

  Rachel gaped at him. He offered her a guiltless shrug and said, “A salad deserves a steak.”

  “But I don’t want a steak.”

  “Sure you do. Who doesn’t want steak?”

  “Me!”

  He dismissed her concern and changed the subject. “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. I don’t care why it’s so important you have grandma’s tribute event at the high school, but it isn’t going to happen. Change venues.”

  Rachel took a sip of wine. His eyes fastened on her lips as they covered the rim of her glass. Focus, he told himself. Head in the game.

  She sat her glass down, splayed her hands on the table in front of her and met his gaze. “Yes. Logan. It. Is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, that’s what she would have wanted.” Rachel’s expression was fierce and uncompromising.

  He had to give her credit for tenacity. Ordinarily he liked that in a person. Logan decided to change tactics.

  “What else did you get at Molly’s? Buy anymore underwear?”

  Rachel shook her head. “That’s none of your business.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  She raised her brows and lowered her chin.

  “Well, it is. Since I saw you and all.”

  He grinned at the flush working its way up her long neck and darkening her pale skin. Rachel had beautiful skin, clear, clean, free of makeup, or if she wore any it was minimal. Not like the women that hung around him when he was playing pro.

  “I don’t think so, Logan. That was an accident.” She swallowed and, yes, he noticed. “I thought you were Molly.”

  He clasped his soda and said, “Lucky me.”

  She didn’t smile. But he did.

  Sandy appeared with their food, cutting off whatever retort was hiding behind her sexy mouth. The look on her face said it all: she loved steak. And, furthermore, she wanted steak. Score one for Logan.

  “Logan,” she said, as she stared at the food, scents of creamy butter and savory seasoned beef rose between them, “you are a mean, mean man.”

  He stabbed his fork at the air above her plate. “Eat.”

  She slowly picked up her fork and slid it into the potato, mixing it with butter and sour cream, then bringing it to her full lips. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he, at the moment, couldn’t formulate enough mental dexterity to close it. All of his thoughts were focused utterly and completely on her lips as they sucked the cream from the fork. Freaking lucky fork. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she let her head fall back and sighed.

  Sighed! God if she didn’t look like she’d just had an orgasm.

  He was powerless, his gaze focused on Rachel as she made love to her fork. What would she do when she tasted the steak? It was going to turn into a scene from When Harry Met Sally.

  He tore his eyes from her and sucked down his soda, the cool liquid doing very little to quell the heat coursing through his veins. He wasn’t even sure a cold shower would do the trick. And, all from watching her eat? No doubt about it it’d been too long for him.

  He busied himself with his own dinner. Okay, so she was pretty and definitely had sex appeal, but that didn’t change the fact that she, right now, was the enemy. He had a football program to protect. He couldn’t afford to let his libido allow him to lose sight of that.

  He cut, chewed and swallowed, cut, chewed and swallowed. He focused on getting the food down and staunchly ignored the blonde eating her own dinner. What? Had she never had a steak and baked potato before?

  “Hey, Coach. Oh, sorry.” Rachel and Logan both looked up from their plates. Charlie and his other coaches, including Tom, stood by their table. “Didn’t know you . . .” Charlie gave Rachel the once over, “. . . were still eating.”

  Logan had been so caught up in Rachel and her mouth on her fork, on her wine glass, her contented sighs, that he’d completely forgotten he’d asked his coaches to meet him later to go over the playbook. How he’d let a gaming session slip his mind was further testament to why this event and Rachel needed to go far away. They both were proving to be the distraction he knew they would be. Worse. Now thoughts of her soft sighs and closed eyes would haunt his days . . . and nights.

  Logan cleared his throat. “Hey, guys. We’re a . . .”

  He cast a glance to Rachel who was staring longingly at the remainder of her potato but regrettably—for both of them—put her fork down, and placed her napkin on the table. The sultry show was over. And, damn if a part of him, the southern part, wasn’t depressed. “. . . just finishing up.”

  Rachel studied the guys crowding around the table, expectantly. Logan did introductions. “Charlie, grab a table in the back and I’ll be right there.”

  Then Rachel said, “I better get going.” She slid from the booth and rifled through her bag. She pulled out two twenties, but before she could drop them on the table, Logan’s arm snaked out and grasped her wrist.

  Rachel looked at him, alarmed. He loosened his grip slightly.

  “What? Do you still take me for the poor kid? The one without a dime to his name?” He firmly rolled her fingers over the unwanted money. “This one’s on me.”

  Chapter 7

  Logan sat at the table across from Charlie. He listened as Charlie proposed a new running play. Developing plays, strategizing, formulating the game plan, were usually something Logan enjoyed. But, all he could think about was Rachel Delaney-Tolbert.

  He’d watched her stride out of the bar. Maybe he’d been too abrupt, too forceful about the money, but it’d struck a chord. All the time he’d grown up here, it’d been the Delaney’s or the Tolbert’s or the Delaney-Tolbert’s giving money for this, giving money for that. A new building named after one of them, a park named for another. You basically couldn’t piss in Redemption without hitting a monument to the noble family.

  And now that family—namely one very sexy granddaughter—had her sights on his territory for their latest Delaney-Tolbert proclamation.

  Well, over his dead body. And, after watching Rachel melt over her food tonight, he had no doubt he was very much alive, willing, and ready to go.

  “Logan?”

  He met four sets of expectant eyes. He blinked. “Yeah?”

  Charlie pointed at the laminated sheet on the table. “I think if we run with two backs in this scheme, we can use the safeties down field to draw the defense off the line.”

  Logan watched as Charlie’s index finger touched each ‘X’ and ‘O’ on the sheet. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, reads like a good play.”

  Charlie continued staring at the diagram, tapping the marker on the table. Larry licked his thumb and removed some of the dry-erase ‘X’s then he pulled the marker from Charlie’s fingers and started drawing.

  Logan watched the imaginary “players” disappear and reappear and soon they were a blur again as his thoughts went back to Rachel and why this event was such a big, hairy deal. There was the rec center, the library, the elementary school. Hell, she could have it in the mayor’s backyard, for all he cared. Just not his territory.

  Of course, he’d blown setting her straight on that count tonight. Nope, he’d been too busy gawking. And dreaming. Something, he had no doubt, would plague his thoughts tonight. And the next.

  “You know, maybe we should continue this another time.” Larry nodded to Charlie then waited to see what Logan had to say to his suggestion.

  Logan exhaled, then said, “Sorry, guys.” He didn’t want to admit to being distracted; he wasn’t allowed to be distracted. He scrubbed his hands over his jaw then said, “Yeah, let’s pick this up Monday before practice.” They agreed to meet in the coach’s office an hour before school let out and th
en they left the bar.

  Alone in his truck, Logan was still thinking about Rachel. He knew where she was staying. The Delaney-Tolbert estate had sold easily following the matriarch’s death, and while he thought she might be staying with Molly, it turned out she was at the motel on the south side of town. That information wouldn’t have been difficult to come by, but for him it had been particularly easy since Patti had volunteered it when he’d bought gas this afternoon at the EZ Mart.

  Logan pulled up in front of the motel and immediately spotted Rachel’s Volvo. Sensible car, not too showy, which shocked him. He’d pegged her for a red BMW or Audi. Something sporty, sleek, fast. Something that said she had money. Not reserved, quiet, safe.

  Which, he was coming to realize, was exactly who Rachel wasn’t. She was proving to be a formidable opponent—stubborn, strong, and determined. Not unlike himself. He needed to regroup and plan his next move. Dinner tonight, while highly entertaining, mesmerizing even, hadn’t gone according to plan. Even though he’d told her the gym was off limits, she’d dismissed him and told him that was exactly where the event was happening. Then he’d gotten distracted. By her mouth, her eyes . . .

  He gripped the steering wheel and scanned the dark windows. Which room was hers? It wouldn’t take anything to find out. He’d only need to pop into the office and ask. But, he wasn’t going to do that. Not yet. Not until he knew his next step. He shifted the truck into drive and headed home. To strategize.

  Logan Hastings was a big, fat, stubborn jerk. Okay, maybe he wasn’t fat. Lean, defined, chiseled . . .

  Jerk, definitely. What was the big deal if she wanted to pay for herself? There wasn’t a thing wrong with that. But to him it’d been a federal offense.

  Rachel wanted to scream. She climbed out of the motel room shower and bent over, fastening a towel around her head, then straightened. She rubbed away a circle of steam in the center of the mirror and scowled at her reflection. Stubborn, definitely. He hadn’t agreed to let her use the gym, not that it would have deterred her.

  She’d expected him to bust into the bar tell her to find another place and blaze out. Instead, he’d been unhurried. Looking back, that had probably been his plan, calculated to throw her off. Then he’d gone and ordered her dinner. Arrogant and . . . well, delicious. But that was beside the point. Who did he think he was? She wouldn’t have tolerated that from any of the guys she’d dated in college or after. Not that they were dating. But still, he hadn’t listened to her at all. She scrutinized her figure in the mirror, trying to tell if the potato and steak had already taken up residence on her hips.

  He hadn’t changed at all since high school except maybe he’d honed his powers of persuasion some. Back then the boy who’d been three years head of her had been popular, charismatic, a star athlete. People had gravitated to him, like a moth to a flame, lost in his charm. And he’d always been kind, interested in what was going with them. Just like tonight with the waitress and Eddie, and his coaches.

  Tonight he wasn’t exactly nice to her, more like bossy and authoritative. In high school, he’d treated her like something you’d find in the bottom of a trashcan.

  As far as she could tell, his opinion of her was completely unfounded. She’d been too shy to talk to him, too nervous to even smile at him when their eyes had met in the hallway or during any of the classes they’d shared. Instead, she’d hidden behind a book or in the girl’s bathroom or flat out ignored him. But she was always very aware of him. What girl hadn’t been?

  He was bigger than life. And, honestly, he scared the heck out of her. No matter who her family was.

  None of that had ever mattered to her. Or to Nana either. Her grandmother had given away more money than the average person made in a lifetime, not that it dented their bank account. Thanks to a little bit of oil and gas and well-placed investments, the Delaney-Tolbert family would never want for anything. Until now.

  Rachel vigorously towel dried her hair then French braided it. She pulled on a pair of drawstring pants and a tee shirt, then she grabbed her laptop and settled into the middle of the motel room bed. She was going to learn all she could about putting together an event of this caliber. It needed to be a fitting tribute to Nana. Rachel wouldn’t allow anything less.

  Nana would be honored. Rachel owed the woman her life and, when Nana’s had ended, Rachel hadn’t been by her side. The guilt over that ate at her, left her feeling empty and small, and sad.

  This event was the least she could do.

  No matter what Logan said or did or how he looked at her. Or how her body reacted when he looked at her.

  This event would be worthy of her Nana, and Coach Hastings would just have to deal with it.

  Chapter 8

  There was only one flower shop in Redemption and Rachel was their first customer Saturday morning. After reading as much as she could on the Internet about throwing the perfect dinner, treating your guests to a special night, and how to make sure your event was memorable, she felt armed with enough knowledge to get started.

  First on her list were flowers. The tables, according to all she read, needed a centerpiece, something classy and elegant and not so big that guests couldn’t see each other across the table. She thought of Logan and hiding him behind a big Fica tree.

  Like she’d even need to do that. He wouldn’t come, unless it was to picket the whole affair. Of course, that might land him in hot water with the town council. Molly had given it up that he had probably been at the council meeting to make a request for money for the football program. Rachel didn’t know if they’d said yes or not, but either way, he’d do best to keep on the good side of Redemption’s town council.

  Which meant: he would have to let her put this dinner together. Briefly she wondered if she should have invited him to choose flowers, but she quickly dismissed that ridiculous thought. A) He was a guy. What did he know about flowers? Okay, so maybe she was generalizing, but still, he didn’t seem the type. And B) She really didn’t need his help. She just needed him to let her do her thing and she’d let him do his and all would work out just fine.

  She opened the door to the shop and was enveloped in the smell of fresh flowers. It immediately reminded her of Nana and she felt a pang of sorrow. Rachel drew in a deep breath and stepped farther into the store.

  On the Internet, Rachel had found pictures of table décor ranging from jars and bowls filled with anything and everything, and every floral arrangement imaginable. The sky was the limit. But, knowing how Nana had loved her garden, Rachel knew floral centerpieces were the way to go.

  “May I help you?”

  Rachel smiled at the middle-aged man who was walking to her. He was trim and dressed very nicely in a fitted, button-down shirt and crisp black pants. His dark hair was pulled back into a smooth tail at his nape and he had a short grayish goatee. A delicate silver hoop hung from one ear.

  “I hope so.” Rachel smiled and introduced herself.

  “Well, hello. It’s a pleasure to meet a famous Redemption resident. I’ve only been here a few years, but I’ve seen your name around town.”

  Rachel nodded uncomfortably and cast a glance at the floral arrangements crowding the small store.

  He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Alexander. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rachel, what can I do for you?”

  She shook his hand and said, “I hope you can help me. I need table decorations. For the event.”

  Alexander clasped his hands together under his chin and smiled. “Well, of course you do! You came to the right place. Come, come. Let’s sit. I want you to tell me all about your grandmother.” He led her toward the back counter and patted her shoulder when he mentioned Nana. “We want to get it just right. Flowers speak to people, and, sometimes, they speak for them.”

  Rachel relaxed. For the first time since the council had said yes, Rachel felt she was with someone, other than Molly, that understood why she needed to do this. Alexander was her people.

  “Somethin
g warm to drink?” He gestured to a carafe.

  “Yes, please.”

  He turned and poured steaming water from the carafe and floated a tea bag on top. Then he passed the cup to her and took the seat next to her. “Tell me, Rachel, what were her favorite flowers?”

  Rachel accepted the teacup and began to tell Alexander about Nana’s garden, her love for lilacs, peonies, and roses. That, unlike her, Nana had had quite the green thumb. She talked, and he listened, nodding and encouraging, to her for nearly an hour.

  “Okay, I think I have the perfect idea!” He clasped his hands together, his eyes beaming.

  They both glanced up when someone entered the store.

  Rachel inhaled sharply as the new customer drew closer. Not just someone. And, he wasn’t alone. There was no way for her to hide, nor should she, but she really didn’t want to have it out with Logan. She turned her full attention on the photo albums Alexander had brought out for her. Maybe Logan wouldn’t notice her. She’d just mind her own business, and he could mind his.

  “Hey, Alexander. How’s life treating you?”

  Alexander chuckled and put a fist on one hip. “Oh you know. Nothing to complain about here in Redemption. Hi, Cole.” Alexander nodded a greeting to the teenage boy standing next to Logan.

  Rachel cast a sideways glance. A teenage boy, she presumed to be Cole, bobbed his head at Alexander and stuffed his hands deep into his jeans pockets. “Hi.”

  Alexander snapped his fingers. “I’m glad you stopped in. Michael was showing me some of the designs you picked out for your remodel. Woo, that is going to be some show place when Michael finishes. Just that kitchen alone.” Alexander inhaled and clasped a hand over his mouth shaking his head. “I mean all Sub-Zero appliances and that floor . . . Macassar Ebony. Do they even make that in the States?”

  Rachel slowly flipped pages in the album not really seeing anything on the page as she listened to the conversation behind her. Hah! And he had the nerve to accuse her of having expensive tastes. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. She cast sideways glances at the three of them as she sat hunched over the album, drawing her braid over her shoulder. She turned a page.