At that time, Logan Carleton was simply an angry young man, two grades above her, who would lurk in the doorway of the gymnasium watching her practice, watching her play, his dark eyes enigmatic.
He had started calling Sarah Kitten, as well. Only his voice hadn’t held the gentle endearment that Uncle Morris’s had. His contained the faintest sneer of contempt.
This had gone on for an entire year.
He finished high school and Sarah thought she was free of him. Then he started attending her games and hanging around afterward. Though Sarah was afraid of him, she was curiously drawn, as well.
And then, one day he caught some boys teasing her unmercifully. She was crying and he came to her rescue.
Had put his hand on her shoulder. Had turned her around to face him. Had told her of all those years he’d secretly admired her, secretly wondered if he’d be able to bridge the social gap between them...and bent over and kissed her. Everything between them changed.
Even after all these years Sarah could feel the touch of those memories and a little jump in her heart.
Every young girl falls in love with at least one bad boy, she thought, yanking on the gym door.
The door was locked.
So much for a dramatic exit. Without sparing him another glance, she turned on her heel and strode toward the back door and Logan had no choice but to follow.
The sound of his booted feet on the wooden floor echoed eerily in the silence of the gym, and Sarah was glad when she finally reached the opposite door. She reached to open it, but Logan’s hand landed there first, pushing it open, letting in a cloud of cold air from outside. “Ladies first,” he said with an edge of irony in his voice.
She moved past him into the dark night, catching again the scent of dirt and diesel—smells she had always associated with her father and uncle’s construction company. Smells of her childhood.
Her step faltered as memories flooded into her mind—stealing illegal rides with her cousin Doug on a dirt mover, riding along with her uncle when he would go the job site to check on the operations. An entire web of happy memories woven from those scents.
Logan caught her by the arm, steadying her. She wrenched her arm out of his grip.
“Sorry,” he said, “I thought you were going to fall.”
Against her will, her gaze found his.
And there it came again. A frisson of awareness overlaid with danger and anticipation that surrounded Logan every time they were together. In the thin glow cast by the streetlights, his face lay in shadow, but Sarah caught the glint of his dark eyes and she couldn’t look away.
“That’s okay. I’m just tired,” she said softly, disappointed at how easily he had unearthed the old feelings.
She’d dated other men since Logan. She’d been away for six years now. A grown-up girl.
So why did one look from those dark eyes still create a tug of attraction?
“What do you actually want, Logan?” she asked, fighting the memories with the only weapon she had available: anger.
“I’m just waiting for Billy.” He pushed his hands into his pockets.
“And I hear you’ve followed through on your threats and have been talking to my uncle. About my suitability as a coach.”
“Yeah. No surprises there. He said he was willing to give you a chance. Nice that the Westervelds take care of their own.”
“Nice that someone is willing to give me a chance.” She gave him a level glance, as if to remind him that she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Like you gave me a chance?”
Sarah knew he alluded to the phone call she had made in the presence of her father, breaking up with Logan.
The heavy tone in Logan’s voice surprised her as if, in spite of all these years, that still mattered to him. His reference to the past tugged out older emotions and regrets. Was this going to happen every time she saw him?
“What were you talking to my father about?” Her question was a direct attack, a way of pushing those emotions to the past where they belonged.
Logan pulled back and it wasn’t just the winter air that made Sarah shiver. “When I caused his stroke?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You don’t need to. You made it pretty clear that I was the cause of that in church the other day.”
“Well, you made him so upset. And shortly after that he collapsed. What else was I supposed to think?” She stopped there, immediately regretting her outburst. She wanted to lay blame somewhere, but she had no right to lay that on Logan’s shoulders.
“That your father has a lousy temper. That your father is carrying a burden of guilt.”
Sarah had her own experiences with her father’s temper. As for his guilt, Logan’s enigmatic comment raised more questions.
“If you must know,” Logan continued, “I was telling your father that I’m buying out the contract he took from my father eight years ago.”
“And you’ve been planning this for all those years?”
Logan’s eyes zeroed in on hers. “No. Just the past few months.”
Sarah felt a shiver at the emotions roiling around them. Old emotions. Old anger. Logan was no different than her father after all.
“Okay, I get that you don’t care for my father. I get that maybe he might have done something that you perceive as wrong. But really, isn’t that making my father more of an enemy than he actually is?”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “You have no idea what kind of enemy your father really is.” He spoke quietly, but with an edge of anger sharper than a yell. He lifted one clenched hand toward himself as if trying to hold back anything else he might divulge. Then he shook his head and gave her another mocking smile. “No idea at all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a man who hated my father for his own twisted reasons.” Logan locked eyes with her a moment longer, then spun around and strode across the parking lot, his tall figure dark against the snow, his shadow pushing ahead of him, anger and mysteries trailing in his wake.
Chapter Six
“Don’t tell me you can’t find someone else to coach these boys, Morris,” Logan barked into the phone as he shoved his office chair ahead. The chair hit his father’s old oak desk and bounced back toward him as if mocking his anger. “Well, my own brother is on that team and it’s not working for him.” He ran his hand through his hair and tried not to yank. His misgivings about Sarah’s effectiveness had only increased after this past game. “I don’t care how many awards she’s won. The guys don’t respect her.” Logan clenched the phone’s handset as he turned around and looked out the window at the spruce trees surrounding the house, their branches heavy with snow. When his father built this house, he had wanted it secluded. Too bad their lives weren’t offered the same protection as this house.
“I’ve spoken to Billy about it, Morris,” he continued, resuming the agitated pacing of his small office. “But the reality is Sarah has to create respect for herself and if she can’t, then I go back to my original complaint. Those boys need a firm hand. You know what this can mean to a lot of them.”
He heard a light knock on the door and his mother put her head into the office. “Supper time,” she whispered.
He held up a hand to ask for five more minutes then turned away hoping she would get the hint and leave. But she came in and sat down in the easy chair in one corner of the office. Her chair. Whenever his father had worked in this office, she would sit here and knit or drink her tea, content to simply be with her husband.
“The boys lost their game last night against a team they should have easily beat, Morris. They respect the junior coach, Ronnie. Why not put him in charge and let Sarah be the assistant? Well, that’s my solution...okay...let me know.” He lowered the phone, then hit the
End button, breaking the connection.
“He still won’t listen to you?”
Logan shook his head and dropped the phone onto the desk.
“That family takes care of each other, you know that.” Donna’s voice held the same anger his had, but hers was overlaid with bitterness.
Logan wondered if she knew what he did about Frank Westerveld. Wondered if he should tell her.
And what would it do? Just create more problems.
“They sure seem to.” Logan sighed and picked up one of the papers the bank had sent him to sign for the loan he needed to take out. If he signed, he would extend himself into the danger zone of financing, all to secure a contract that had made Frank Westerveld so infuriatingly angry.
Could that have caused his stroke?
Don’t go there, he reminded himself. Frank Westerveld had a lot of things to answer for.
But he needed that contract if his business was going to survive. And his business had to survive so he could continue to support his mother and his brother.
He had too many things on his mind right now. Too many people depending on him.
“You’re a hard worker, Logan,” his mother said quietly. “And I appreciate all you do for us. I don’t think I tell you that enough.” She smiled at him. “I just wish you would take some time for yourself. I do eventually hope to have grandchildren, you know.”
And why did his mind immediately jump to Sarah? Sarah with her soft blue eyes that had at one time looked at him with longing—something that had created an answering lifting of his heart—instead of the cool contempt she had shown this afternoon.
Now she was back and, in spite of his campaign against her, she still evoked those reluctant feelings of surprising joy and anger. Joy at the sight of her beauty, and anger that he felt this way about Frank Westerveld’s daughter, a girl who had chosen her daddy over him.
“I’ve got a lot of years ahead of me for that, Mom.”
“But you’ve also spent a lot of years trying to be more than you should. A father to Billy, a support for me. You’ve hardly had a chance to be carefree and in love.” Donna lowered her hands to his and caught them between hers. “You’re a good man, Logan Carleton. I know you’ll find someone special someday. I just don’t think you should wait too long.”
“I’ll pencil that in my Day-Timer.” He glanced over at the agenda on his desk, lying open to this week’s tasks, then winked at his mother. “I think I’ll have an hour next Friday.”
“No you won’t. Billy has a tournament.” Donna laughed lightly, then left the room.
He pushed his hand through his hair. He had to focus. For now his priority was Billy. And if Morris wouldn’t listen to him, he would take it to the school superintendent. Logan intended to do whatever he possibly could for his younger brother. And if Sarah Westerveld became a casualty, so be it.
* * *
More than a couple of times during the game, she had to remind herself to focus on the team. If Logan’s intention was to get rid of her by intimidation, it wasn’t going to work.
Well, at least not right away.
“Billy, watch your man. Move with him,” she called out, fighting down her usual frustration with her supposedly star player. He’d been dragging his feet all game. If he was trying to prove something, it wasn’t working. She’d bench him for the next game if she had to.
A quick glance at the clock gave her hope. At least the Voyageurs were ahead. They were only in the first minutes of the last quarter, but if the boys did what she told them to, they could win.
Billy caught the ball on the rebound and charged down the lane. Sarah watched him, willing him to do what they had covered again and again in practice. But he didn’t see his open man, was blocked and threw his arms up in frustration at the referee. Sarah benched him, ignoring his fuming, ignoring Logan’s dark look. She stopped biting her nails when the final whistle blew and the Voyageurs won.
The boys celebrated, Billy sulked and, as the fans stormed the court, Sarah saw Logan walking directly toward them.
She ignored Billy’s cryptic comment as he went to join his friends but she couldn’t ignore Logan as he loomed beside her. She caught the whiff of soap and the faintest hint of aftershave. Logan had never been a cologne kind of guy.
“I’m guessing you’ve come to ask me why I benched your brother,” she said, focusing on the papers with the plays they had run, wishing her hands wouldn’t tremble.
“Yeah. Did sort of make me wonder, considering he made about a third of the points tonight.”
“He could have made more.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Logan’s deep voice held a mocking note of skepticism, which immediately got Sarah’s back up.
“We should have dominated this team, not just beat them by a handy score. We could have wiped the gym floor with this team if your brother would listen to me and follow the plays I laid out. Plays we practiced and went over until he should be able to do them blindfolded and in his sleep.” She took a breath, controlling her frustration.
The past three weeks had been spent visiting her father, whose recovery seemed to inch along, reconnecting with her extended family, trying to settle back into a community she had left so long ago. On top of that she had spent a lot of time setting up the basketball roster, organizing practices and trying to pull together a cohesive team of boys who didn’t seem to want her as a coach. Then yesterday she had gotten a phone call from her friends. They had called to say goodbye from the airport.
She was supposed to be on that plane, winging her way to fun and sun and a break after years of hard work and studying and pushing herself again and again, trying to prove to herself that she was good. That she was worthy.
Instead, she stood on the sidelines of a high school gym getting hassled by the brother of a surly player who seemed to deliberately be ruining his own game, before checking in on her sick father, who was finally acknowledging her presence but couldn’t actually say the words she knew he strove so hard to articulate, all while trying to ignore a
man who was far too attractive a mystery for his
own good.
To say she was feeling frustrated was vastly understating her emotional state.
“Your precious little brother is not playing to his potential. You may think he’s the greatest thing since carbonated beverages, but right now he’s a royal pain and he’s holding this team back.”
Sarah glared up at Logan and to her dismay she felt the faint prick of tears. No. Not now. Not in front of this man.
“He complains that you ride him a lot. He thinks you have it in for him. I hope that the old Westerveld/Carleton issues aren’t clouding your judgment.”
Sarah just stared. “You honestly think I’m so petty as to let old personal feelings interfere with how I coach this team?”
“What old personal feelings, Sarah?” His question was short, but it carried a longer world of history.
Sarah chose to ignore the underlying comment. “Billy is an exceptional player and I’m doing what any coach would do when confronted with someone who isn’t using their natural talent.” She was determined not to let him see how he affected her. “If you think someone needs to be confronted, then I would suggest you talk to your little brother and ask what he’s trying to prove. Because I can tell you right now, I’m not going anywhere.”
Sarah’s heart kicked up a notch when Logan took a step closer but she held her ground, determined not to allow Logan Carleton to bully her. He may have held her heart in the past, but she wasn’t going to let him affect the present. She had come to Riverbend to dump some old emotional baggage. He had featured too long in her dreams and been too long a part of her emotions. Time to cut that off.
Logan sucked in a long, slow breath, the emotion in his deep brown eyes shifting. Changing. R
elief slipped through her when he looked away.
“I just might do that,” he said quietly.
Sarah was saved from a scathing rejoinder when the boys surged back to the bench, coming between her and Logan.
She got a few halfhearted slaps on the back, a couple of quick smiles. She took what she got, thankful for the small acknowledgment.
Billy didn’t even glance at her as he swung his bag over his shoulder and joined his brother.
When Logan looked directly at Sarah, she managed to give him a curt nod of her head, dismissing him, wishing she could get him out of her mind as easily as it was to get him out of her gym.
* * *
“Sarah Westerveld?” The woman’s voice broke in over the sound of the piped-in Christmas carols in Janie’s coffee shop.
Sarah looked up from her tea into the bright eyes of an older woman.
“Hello. How are you?” Sarah’s mind raced as she tried to place the woman. She looked familiar. Did she know her?
“I’m Trix Setterfeld. My son plays basketball.”
“Yes. Derek’s mother.” Sarah gestured to the empty chair across the table. “Please. Sit down.”
Trix sat, or rather perched on the edge of her seat. Her fight-or-flight stance made Sarah uneasy.
“I just want to tell you how glad I am you’re willing to step up for now. The boys need to have some kind of guidance.” Trix gave Sarah a tight smile. “So do you know when they’re going to get a coach?”
Sarah’s smile tightened. “I am their coach.”
Trix’s nervous laugh made Sarah uptight. “Well, yes. For now, but really. The boys need a male... well...role model. You know...they listen better...” She stopped, flipping her hand to one side as if dismissing Sarah, her MVP awards, her five years of college basketball, six years of junior and senior high school basketball, summer camps, training sessions and coaching clinics with one wave of her manicured fingers. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t.” Sarah kept her smile pasted on her face and her eyes fixed on Trix.
A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming Page 23