Rachel's Redemption

by Jennifer Maitlen

  She opened the cab door and hopped out. Before she shut the door, he said, “Thanks for having breakfast with me.”

  She nodded. Not sure she was grateful for that, but she said, “Yeah, maybe next time I’ll have the pancakes.”

  Although Logan had apologized to Rachel, he didn’t regret his actions.

  He really was sorry for hurting her, and maybe he shouldn’t have blindsided her. He’d simply seen an opportunity and taken it. Logan had done what he had to do and he wasn’t finished yet.

  Contrary to what Rachel thought, he did have a heart and he wasn’t an angry man. Not in the way she meant, anyways.

  He sprinted around the high school track, refusing to admit he was trying to outrun her admonishment.

  Calling him angry and mean had been a sucker punch to the solar plexus. It’d been what they’d called his dad, but with him there’d been good reason. When his dad had been buried in a bottle he’d been anything but sweet. Ugly, foul, abusive. Sweat dripped down Logan’s face and his shirt clung to his skin, but he pushed on.

  He wasn’t going to let her deter him. He would be giving his players their best chance at snagging the eye of a college scout. There was nothing wrong with that. In fact, most people would call that decent, honorable, upstanding. Most people except Rachel. Always except Rachel.

  Logan made another loop around the track. He checked his watch. He’d been at it for nearly an hour. He pumped his legs faster as he came around the corner. He wasn’t going to allow the look on her face—no matter how formidable or hurt—to stop him. He needed the success of his program more than she thought she needed this event. He slowed to a stop, his chest heaving, and mouth open, sucking air.

  Logan let his head fall back on his shoulders. He so didn’t need this—working with Rachel, arguing with Rachel, worrying about Rachel.

  And, he sure as hell wished he’d never touched her. Even if it had been as non-sexual as his hand on hers. Yeah, right. With Rachel, there wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t sexual. He’d felt the heat of her skin, noticed the way her pulse leaped when he’d touched her, and he’d seen the anger in her eyes. Before she’d masked it with her no-nonsense, all-business look. He so preferred that look over her “I-hate-you” look.

  He’d take no-nonsense over that any day.

  He shook his head in disgust.

  His attempts at pushing her out of his life and his business were landing her front and center in both.

  He needed a cold shower. Then he wasn’t going to think about her anymore.

  An image of her nearly naked body, the parts of her he desperately wanted to see and touch and taste, covered by the sexiest purple lace he’d ever seen, filled his mind. He needed that shower, now.

  His cell phone buzzed as he pulled his sweaty shirt over his head. He checked the caller ID and suppressed a groan. He let it ring twice more while he put on another shirt. Then he answered the call from his boss. As usual, there was no hello just down to business. Logan sincerely hoped the athletic director didn’t have any other relatives come “coaches” to pawn off on him.

  “Logan, I just took a call from Rachel Delaney-Tolbert. Do you remember her? Gloria Delaney-Tolbert’s granddaughter?” Logan’s hand froze as he was about to put the key in the ignition. Yeah, he knew her.

  The athletic director continued. “Seems she needs the gymnasium for some fancy event.”

  “Yeah, I heard something about that.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. The sexy image of Rachel in her underwear morphed into a picture of him with his hands around her neck.

  “Great, good to hear it. So this is the deal, the way Ms. Delaney-Tolbert spelled it out, the town council authorized the use of the gym for this thing. Logan, I don’t give two shits about this event. What I do care about is the football team winning games—”

  On that, he and the athletic director agreed.

  “—and keeping the council happy. A happy council is more likely to approve funding for the athletic program.”

  Two for two.

  “And I don’t need to point out how important football is to this town and the players.”

  Logan gritted his teeth. No, the AD didn’t need to point any of this out. He knew it better than anyone.

  “You bring a lot to the program with your NFL experience and the fact that you’re a former alum . . . ”

  Nice of you to remember, boss. So why did Logan sense a “but” in there somewhere.

  “. . . all the same, it’s still a business.”

  And there it was. Thinly veiled, but still there.

  Damn it, he was an adult, he had a healthy bank account and a Super Bowl ring, but suddenly he was twelve years old. The back of his neck itched as if the AD were his father sinking his beefy fingers into it, squeezing, the way he had right before he laid into him.

  Logan gripped the phone until it was sure to crack. The silence drew out.

  Finally the AD cleared his throat and said, “Okay, I think we know where we stand. Good luck Friday, Coach.” And the line disconnected.

  Logan exhaled slowly. Anger coursed through him. Rachel had crossed the line. Not only was she seriously screwing with his football program and but now she’d made it personal and involved his boss. He’d set her straight before this thing went any further and before she decided to make any more phone calls.

  Chapter 11

  The following Thursday, Rachel was back in Redemption, pacing in the same motel room she’d had the week before. She’d finished work for the week and, after a lot of begging and promising to take call for the rest of the month, was able to switch tomorrow’s shift. She’d done as much as she could from her phone and laptop in Denver, but so much required face-to-face meetings, that she needed an extra day in Redemption.

  Rachel listened to her voice messages. Alexander left an enthusiastic and long message about the “perfect florals” he was creating for the event. Rachel grinned. Nana and Alexander never met, but she had no doubt they would have loved each other. Their love of gardening alone would have kept them in conversation for hours. She jotted down that a writer for the paper could meet with her later today. That had her pumping a fist in the air. The writer had volunteered to write a column commemorating the event. She’d meet with the writer then head to the food tasting at The Spoon, which, thanks to Logan was sure to be . . . different.

  Despite performing several dozen sports physicals for kiddos returning to school, administering at least that many immunization shots, and generally having overly full days, that man had remained front and center in her mind. She wished she could say every image was bad to further support some sort of extreme dislike of the man, but she couldn’t really get behind it.

  Yeah, he was pushing her, and not in a good way. He was fighting her, and in some things, she had to admit he was winning. But, he was really, really nice to look at. Plus, when he wasn’t being a jerk, she thought she might kind of sort of like talking to him. Of course, the jerk part showed up too often for her to really know. The rest of the town seemed to genuinely like him, so he must have a decent side, somewhere.

  Regardless, whichever image of the coach that popped into her head it stayed and made her hot all over. Since she was a bit young for hot flashes, she’d chalked it up to a glitch in the clinic’s ventilation system. Anything but an attraction to a man that had become the biggest pain in the rear she’d ever encountered.

  She saved the last message and then clicked redial to return the call. She smiled. This event was starting to come together.

  Of course, the one sure fire way to ensure everything happened would be for her to stay in Redemption, full time, until after the event. But, that would mean taking a leave of absence from her fellowship, a definite black mark on her record, and would jeopardize her chances of getting hired by the practice and possibly other practices, when they checked references.

  Since that wasn’t an option, Rachel was grateful her remote planning was working. Plus, she had a susp
icion her call to the athletic director was partially responsible for her bump free path this past week. And, yeah, it’d been sneaky and wasn’t the usual way she operated, but after the stunt Mr. Jerky-Pants had pulled at The Spoon, he’d all but declared war.

  Logan was still simmering about Rachel calling the AD. She’d called his boss and basically tattled on him. What was this? Third grade? Or maybe that’s how it worked when money was no option. If you weren’t getting what you wanted one way, you just went to the top, over the head of the person who was in your way. Spoiled brat. That’s what Rachel Delaney-Tolbert was proving to be. He’d always had a suspicion and now with each passing day bringing this ridiculous event closer to D-Day he was feeling more and more justified in his assessment.

  Of course, he hadn’t met very many spoiled brat pediatricians. Not like medical school was easy. Plus taking care of sick kids. He shook his head. Not just anybody could do that or would choose to do that. Especially if they didn’t have to work in the first place.

  Well, whatever. He had money now and he chose to work. And, not technically because he had to, but because he wanted to. He wanted to stay in football and he wanted to be back in Redemption. It made sense.

  And, it was working really well. Until Ms. Rich-Butt—Nice-Butt, really, really nice butt—got in his way.

  Come to think of it, she hadn’t been in his way all week. Not physically anyway. Of course, he’d seen very clearly that her work on this project continued. Representatives from the party rental store had been measuring space in his gym. Measuring! Somehow, some way, she was working it from wherever she’d wandered off to.

  She had a few surprises waiting for her, too. Logan had made some planning calls of his own. Since this event would be taking place, or he’d be finding another job—and he really didn’t want another job—he figured he could help out a bit. His lips curled up. Just a little fun for Ms. Delaney-Tolbert. All of which she’d find out about later.

  Logan passed Main Street on his way to football practice and decided to loop around to the motel parking lot. It wasn’t technically out of his way. It was just another way of getting to the school. Which is what he’d been telling himself every day this week when he made the same turn.

  Her Volvo hadn’t been there any of the other days; he wasn’t expecting it today. But, hell, there it was. He slowed, and turned into the parking lot. He left his truck running and just sat. The thrill of energy fueling his veins was just pre-practice stuff. Nothing at all to do with the fact that Rachel was back and he was about to pay her a visit.

  Chapter 12

  “This is great news! Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking, too. White linens for the table and lavender squares in the center. Gorgeous. It’ll really compliment the flowers. Yes, she would have loved it.” Rachel smiled, in spite of the burn deep behind her sternum. Nana would have loved all of this.

  There was a knock at her door. With the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder she crossed the small room, listening to the vendor explain the pros and cons of folding chairs versus ladder-back chairs. Rachel opened the door.

  And nearly dropped her phone.

  Her gaze met Logan’s. He was smiling that completely territorial smile of his that made her feel like a bunny about to be swallowed by a big, bad wolf.

  For a moment, she stood frozen, mentally kicking herself for not checking to see who was at the door before she opened it. She could just shut the door. Maybe he had the wrong room. But, by the look on his face, a look that said “bull’s-eye,” he had the right room.

  In a low voice he said, “Let me in, Rachel.”

  Compelled by some mind-trick force he was using, she slowly stepped back making room for his tall, broad-shouldered form. Her motel room grew smaller by the moment.

  Logan was dressed for football practice, long practice shorts, and a Warriors tee shirt. She was still in her standard road trip garb—black yoga pants, a black, zippered hoody, CU T-shirt, and no bra.

  An urgent voice was calling her name, repeating it over and over. She turned to Logan. He wasn’t saying her name, but he was watching her funny.

  Logan reached down and moved her hand to her ear. “Talk,” he said.

  Rachel’s skin simmered where he’d touched her. She adjusted the phone to her ear. “Yes, sorry, yes, I’m listening. Uh-huh . . . I think the ladder-back chairs sound best. Yep, I’m with you, keep going.”

  Rachel crossed to the other side of the bed, putting much-needed space between her and the football coach. She twirled a piece of hair that had escaped her braid and pretended that Logan Hastings was not standing just a few feet away, his arms crossed over his strong chest, his biceps straining the short sleeved shirt. Nope, she wasn’t seeing any of that. Especially not the narrowed eyes, the thin line of his lips, or the definite raised angle of his jaw.

  “Yes, that sounds great,” she continued. “I think that will be enough. I anticipate a very full gym with all the people who are planning to attend”

  The phone was gently, but firmly pulled from her grasp.

  Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but Logan held up a hand and began speaking into the phone. “Mrs. Gillings? Hi, this is Logan Hastings. How are you, ma’am? Good to hear. Yes, ma’am, we’re ready. It’s going to be a great match up. You and Mr. Gillings will be there? Good, good. So say, about the supplies for this event. . . Oh, yes, it’s going to be something else for sure . . .” He shot a look to Rachel.

  She wasn’t sure if she should yank the phone back or not. Maybe the call to the AD had changed Logan’s tune.

  “—so, yeah, not sure if Rachel has had a chance to mention this part of the plan yet . . . yes, I know she’s a very busy doctor, yep super busy, but . . . and I know she’ll be just as excited about this part as I am—”

  Logan paused and Rachel thought for sure she heard a warning bell ring somewhere in the distance. Or in her head. Didn’t matter. Her spidey sense was sending up a red flag.

  “—We’re going to need to rent a stage. Yep, a stage for the entertainment. Oh, no.” He chuckled, all good nature and country boy. “. . . now I can’t tell you what entertainment, Mrs. Gillings, that would spoil the surprise.” Logan winked at Rachel.

  Rachel glared at him. Her hands curled into fists and she seriously wanted to stomp her feet.

  “Oh, and before I let you go, one other thing. There’s going to be a vodka luge . . . so we’ll need a set up for that . . . oomph—” Logan ducked and dodged Rachel’s attempts to capture her hijacked phone. But, he had her by several inches and several pounds and, well, he’d evaded tackles for years in the NFL. Didn’t matter. She was going to get that phone, disconnect the call, or shut Logan up. Any and all would accomplish the goal. She pivoted and shoved up with her shoulder. He easily rendered her helpless by capturing her with the arm that wasn’t holding the phone and tucked her safely—for him—in the crook of his arm. The phone was protected against his ear and out of her reach.

  “Okay, thanks again. Look forward to working with you, too. And thanks for supporting the team. Bye.”

  Logan kept the phone, but turned so Rachel was more securely against his front, even though she didn’t have a chance she still raised an arm to capture her phone. He twisted and took her with him, holding her back to his front, securing her arms at her side.

  She was breathing heavy and fast and adrenaline was making her contemplate any number of violent acts against this man.

  “What. Are. You. Doing?” She heaved.

  “Helping. That’s what I was told to do. Help plan the event of the millennium I believe they are calling it now. That’s what the town council said. And, that’s what my boss said.”

  Rachel stopped struggling. His body was hard against her back. Heat from his T-shirt seeped through her hoody. And her very free breasts stood at attention.

  She hadn’t been raised to be a coward or violent. She’d been raised to face obstacles and difficulties head on, proudly, with strength, deter
mination, and grace.

  Rachel took a deep fortifying breath and made a show of relaxing her body against his. Big mistake. Could the man be any more muscular? Didn’t most men let themselves go after college? Evidently no, because she felt every inch of Logan’s pectoralis major, minor and a few others she couldn’t immediately name because her brain synapses had short-circuited.

  “You can let me go now.”

  “You’ll behave yourself and act like a lady?”

  Inside her head, she growled a very un-lady-like growl and mentally kicked him in the shins. Hard. Twice. But, instead, she nodded.

  Logan released her, setting her away from him. She took a giant step back. She needed space and she took what she could, despite the limitations of the motel room. “Look Logan—”

  “—No Rachel,” he interrupted. He didn’t raise his voice and he didn’t move. If anything his voice dipped lower, silkier, and she was reminded of the heat of his skin against her back. “I think it’s time you looked. Let’s get two things straight. One”—he said, pointing his index finger at her—“you don’t live here anymore. I do. This is my home. Not yours. And, two, if you ever pull a stunt like you did by calling the AD again . . . you’ll not want to know what I’ll do.” He took a step forward, effectively eliminating the meager space she’d put between them. “It won’t be pretty.”

  Rachel swallowed.

  She owed him an apology. And, she’d give him one just as soon as she found her voice. She closed her eyes, licked her lips and drew in another slow deep breath—

  “Lady, you have got to stop doing that,” Logan growled.

  Rachel’s eyes flew open, all thoughts of an apology gone. She fisted a hand on her hip and said, “Doing what?”

  “Breathing!’

  “You want me to stop breathing?” He was off his rocker.

  Logan leaned forward, the air from his breath fanning her face. She didn’t move. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, but. . . Did he really want her to stop breathing?