Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  “Fine choice.” Miss Constance rapped her cane twice on the marble, signaling her approval. “Right this way.”

  At the pace of a snail, they headed toward the stacks. He stole a glance into the child-filled room. The flash of Darcy hopping around to gales of laughter had his brows hitting his hairline and stopping before he lost sight of her.

  Miss Constance shuffled backward to join him. “Darcy’s going to give Miss Ada an earful later.” She didn’t bother to hide her snickers.

  “Why is that?”

  “She sent Darcy down with no clue twenty-some-odd children were waiting to hear a stack of books. I told Ada she should at least warn the poor girl. Staring down that many sticky little creatures is like going to war.”

  More high-pitched children’s laughter erupted. “She seems to be doing okay.”

  “Of course she is,” Miss Constance said as if he’d insulted Darcy. “She practically grew up here.”

  “Practically? I thought she grew up in Falcon?”

  “Well, yes, but I meant here . . . literally . . . as in the library. Logan was too rambunctious for words. He wasn’t allowed to come to work with Ada, but Darcy would get lost for hours. She’s probably read every book in here twice.”

  Miss Constance slipped between the stacks. With one last look at Darcy holding up a picture book, he followed Miss Constance about halfway down the tall row.

  “Here it is.” Miss Constance pulled a hardback book from the top shelf. She riffled the pages and hummed. “You’ll enjoy Scout, I think.”

  “Scout?”

  “The main character. I assume this has something to do with the fact your rising seniors have to read it?” She handed him the book, and he hefted it in his hands.

  “Yes, ma’am. I know everyone wants the team to win, as do I, but grades are important too.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile, the crinkles around her eyes deepening. “That’s very noble, Mr. Dalton. Unfortunately, nobility doesn’t seem to have a place in Alabama football these days.” She scooted around him and made her way back to the desk.

  He lingered in the stacks and perused the titles, but his gaze kept returning to the closed door. Ten minutes later, children poured out. Every one of them stopped to hug Darcy around the knees. Her hair was mussed, and her white shirt half-untucked.

  The mass of energy drew Avery out of hiding, and he woofed softly at the departing children. Darcy joined the three women around the bin of books they were sorting. She shook her head and propped her hands on her hips, but her laughter snaked to him. Miss Esmeralda patted her arm, and Miss Jane gave her a hug around her waist. Miss Constance leaned into her cane and whispered in her ear. All four women swiveled his direction, and he stepped back into the shadows even though he knew he’d been spotted.

  Pretending to examine the row of books in front of him, he watched Darcy approach from the corner of his eye, the tap of her low heels on the marble uneven and hesitant. Her skirt swished, highlighting her spectacular legs. A flash of those legs locked around his hips settled a burn of want in his gut.

  Her gaze on Avery, she approached within six feet and tucked her shirt into the waistband of her skirt. “Afternoon, Mr. Dalton.”

  As if they hadn’t shared a soul-shattering kiss? He propped a shoulder against the metal bookcase, his arms crossed over the book. “Miss Wilde.”

  “Robbie!” His name popped out in an overly loud voice that made him feel chastised for some reason. What had he done now?

  A handful of parents milled around the circulation desk and cast looks in their direction as they checked out books for their children. She grabbed his forearm and tugged him back into the relative privacy of the stacks. The narrow space forced them close.

  She grazed his sore cheek with fingertips. The distress on her face was a fire extinguisher to the explosive mix of emotions brewing. The black underlining his eye made it look worse than it actually felt. Not that she had to know that.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Three rednecks jumped me. For being gay.” A slight exaggeration? Yes, but maybe he could finagle another banana pudding out of her guilt. It might even open negotiations for another kiss.

  “I’m so sorry. If there was some way I could fix this mess or take back what I said . . . How I can make it up to you?” Both of her hands circled his bare forearm, and she caressed him with her thumbs.

  The blue eyes staring into his and the tongue running over her upper lip gave him a few ideas. All of them involved one or both of them naked.

  “The banana pudding was decent.” He cut his gaze down to Avery, who seemed to nod approvingly at his underhanded tactics.

  “I’m baking pies tonight. Would you like one?”

  “Maybe.” Hell yes, if they were as good as the pudding.

  “What did you check out?” she asked. “I thought you only read magazines.”

  He held it up for her see. “Have you read it?”

  “Mrs. Bryson requires every rising senior in Falcon to read it and write a report. Of course, I’d already read it several times by my senior year.”

  “Of course,” he said dryly.

  Darcy looked over her shoulder at the librarians huddled around the books. The three of them were trying, and failing, not to be obvious about their interest. Affection warmed her voice. “They’re like the three Weird Sisters in MacBeth standing around their cauldron, aren’t they?”

  He’d never read MacBeth either, but he caught her gist with amusement. “They’re characters, that’s for sure.” He held up the book. “What makes this such a classic?”

  She took it out of his hands and ran her fingers over the cover reverentially. “It’s a coming-of-age story of a girl named Scout Finch. Set in Alabama in the 1950s, so race plays a huge role. For me though, the draw was her father, Atticus.”

  “Is he a stud, then?”

  “No,” she said a sigh of exasperation. Her voice lowered to confessional levels. “You won’t understand. My father . . . Atticus was everything I imagined a father should be. Kind, understanding, loving, honorable. I wished every day for an Atticus. I know it’s silly.” She finished with a shrug.

  “I do understand.” His voice frayed, revealing a usually hidden vulnerability.

  She searched his face, but he pulled his defenses around him like a cloak, took the book out of her hands, and walked away. Surprisingly, she kept pace with him on the way to the door.

  “Would you mind stopping by Ada’s house on your way home? I have a few things to finish up here. Evelyn says I can leave her for short periods of time, but I worry.”

  “Are you taking over at the library for Miss Ada?” The kernel of hope in his chest disturbed him.

  “Lord no. In fact, Ada is in for it when I get back. She told the ladies I was on board with handling story time and might even help stock shelves.”

  “It sure looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

  “I work with doctoral candidates in Atlanta. I am not interested in toddler story time.”

  Her snobby attitude threw a match on his banked anger.

  “Anyway, I won’t be here long enough to need a job,” she added.

  His heart skipped a beat. “For the love of God, at least pretend like you want to be here for your grandmother.”

  Her head shot back, and her voice lowered in pitch. “I love Ada. I’m going to get her back on her feet, but then I’m going back to my life.”

  “She didn’t have to take care of you and Logan. You know that, right? She could have shipped you off to foster care. Shit like that happens all the time. You’re being selfish.” He clamped his mouth shut, even though he could go on.

  “You’re being a judgmental jerk.” Outrage sailed her voice high, and the words reverberated off the stone and around the room. More fodder for the town’s gossips.

  He pulled his ball cap on, hauled the door open, and walked outside into a wall of heat. She darted in front of him an
d fisted the front of his shirt much like he’d done to the punk last night. “You expect me to give up everything—my job, my apartment, my—”

  “Boyfriend?” he supplied.

  “No.” Her hand dropped with her lashes.

  Satisfaction he had no right to shot through him.

  “I don’t want to move back to this close-minded, football-obsessed town.” Equal amounts of sarcasm and hurt roughened her voice, but the Darcy Wilde from the letters he read wouldn’t run away.

  “That’s crap. You know what’s right and wrong.” At her silence, he muttered another curse. “Understand once Miss Ada is gone, the only thing you’ll have left is the guilt.”

  He slapped the book against his thigh and walked away, Avery at his heels. This time she didn’t follow.

  He tossed the book on the seat, too agitated to start the truck. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed she’d gone back inside the library. He’d guess the homemade pie was off the table.

  Restitution would have to take a different form then. His gaze travelled back to the cover of the book, and an altogether devious plan presented itself.

  7

  The next afternoon while Ada napped, Darcy surveyed the dismal state of the porch. Once she started peeling off huge chunks of paint, she couldn’t stop. She rummaged in the hotbox of a storage shed for her grandfather’s ancient sander. Unbelievably the thing still worked. All she needed was paper, but until she had the chance to get to the hardware store, she could scrape.

  Her mind drifted to Robbie as it did every unoccupied moment. After a good night’s sleep, she’d concluded her annoyance with him was more a reflection of the constant guilt dogging her. Although, he’d still been a judgmental jerk—a smoking-hot judgmental jerk.

  A noise like a herd of stampeding cattle grew closer. She shaded her eyes and scanned the tree line. A white, rust-pocked truck broke from the shadows. At least seven more trucks and SUVs followed. The mishmash of stereos blaring country, hip-hop, and rock startled a covey of birds from the tall grass.

  She expected them to drive by to Robbie’s, but they parked haphazardly around the front of the house. A dozen boys poured out. Sweaty and wearing shorts and T-shirts, they pushed and shoved each other, goofy laughter covering a vague nervousness. She recognized a couple of the bigger boys from practice.

  She retreated to the middle porch step to equal their heights. “You boys stopped too soon. The coach lives a little farther down.”

  A big white boy she’d seen playing center stepped forward. “Yes, ma’am, we know. He sent us here. Said you’d help us.”

  “I’m not sure I can help with your tackling techniques.”

  A few of them laughed.

  “No, but Coach said you can help with this.” The man-boy held up a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

  Darcy had a bad feeling. “How exactly am I supposed to help you?”

  “We have to write a report on it before school starts. We don’t get it.” The rest of the boys nodded and shuffled on huge feet. “If we don’t do well, we could be off the team. Coach requires us to maintain at least a C average.”

  She wanted to pace and rail against Robbie for putting her on the spot. But she didn’t. She peeled another patch of paint off the handrail and considered. In truth, she owed Robbie, and helping the team would settle the debt.

  A dozen expectant faces waited for her verdict. It was one of her favorite books. She had an opportunity to foster the same appreciation in these boys. The jagged segment of paint in her hand made her smile. This could be win-win.

  “I’ll help you boys out.” She tossed the flaked paint at their feet. “But I want something in return.”

  The boys exchanged glances.

  “I need my porch sanded and painted. If I provide the supplies, will you boys provide the labor? In return, I promise every single one of you will get at least a B on your papers.”

  “You gonna write it for us?” A boy from the back asked hopefully.

  “There’s no cheating in football or book reports. Once we’ve finished discussing the book, you will understand the themes well enough to write an outstanding paper yourselves. I will, however, read through each one and offer corrections and critiques for you to fix.”

  The leader looked over his shoulder and assessed the willingness in the number of casually shrugged shoulders. He turned back with a grin. “You’ve got a deal.”

  Darcy returned the smile and ushered them all into the house. “Let me go get everyone some iced tea, and we’ll get started on the first chapter.”

  * * *

  Robbie slammed on the brakes halfway out of the heavy line of trees. Trucks littered Miss Ada’s front yard. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The boys had left practice a good two hours earlier. He’d expected Darcy to stalk into the pavilion to flay his hide. Honestly, he’d anticipated the fiery confrontation with no small amount of arousal.

  Curiosity urged him to stop. Pride sent him bumping past, but he checked his rearview mirror until the trucks were out of sight. He would hear all about it tomorrow.

  After a shower, he devoured a frozen pizza that filled his stomach but tasted like cardboard. He stepped onto the porch and propped a hip on the banister. The night air had cooled enough to be pleasant. Crickets and katydids were in the throes of their night songs.

  The faint glow of Miss Ada’s front porch light shone through the trees. He stepped off his porch toward the light. He was a dozen feet into the field when the tickling of grass on his bare toes stopped him. What was he doing?

  He stood in the field until full darkness was upon him, and then retreated. Hesitating only a moment, he retrieved his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from the front seat of his truck, settled into his armchair, and smoothed the pages to chapter one. He got to chapter five before falling asleep in his recliner.

  Work the next day started well enough but careened downhill fast. Hal Perkins walked into the video room on his bowed-out legs, his bottom lip pooched out with tobacco. Robbie continued putting DVDs back into their cases but turned so he could keep the corner of his eye on the man. He was surprised it had taken Perkins this long for a confrontation. The kicker was that the man was an excellent offensive coach.

  “Dalt.” Perkins spit into a Styrofoam cup that seemed his constant companion.

  “Perkins. The offensive line is coming along well.”

  “Not bad.” The man wandered farther into the room, picking up and putting down a few cases. “You got yourself into some trouble, I hear.”

  “Not really.”

  Perkins shook his head and spit. “Not what I heard. I predict you’ll have to deal with more of the same. You might want to opt for better insurance. Now, listen, I don’t give a shit whether the rumors are true or not. I want to win. If you can’t make it happen, I can.”

  “If the school thought you could make it happen, they wouldn’t have hired me.” Robbie kept his voice low and calm.

  Perkins bared tobacco infused teeth. “I have a feeling the school will regret hiring an outsider. The head job will be mine eventually. I give you two seasons tops.”

  “Don’t count on it. You’re a good coach, but if you aren’t doing the job as I see fit, I’ll go the school board and request a change. Is that understood?” Robbie stepped forward and faced the older man like two alpha dogs vying for leadership.

  Perkins couldn’t maintain eye contact and stomped away without another word.

  Robbie settled behind his desk and turned his attention to lesson plans, rubbing his temples. An unusual cacophony of voices in the hall popped his head up. Jesus, what now?

  He’d risen halfway behind his desk when the door swung open. Logan and Darcy argued their way into his office. Darcy plopped in a chair and crossed her arms and legs, a corner of her mouth pulled back. Logan paced behind her. A frenetic energy pulsed around the room.

  “We need to resolve this whole misunderstanding pronto,” Logan said. “Not that it should
matter, but it’s distracting the kids and the town. We want everyone’s focus to be on our opening game, not tittering about your sexual preferences. Sheila’s mouth keeps running at The Tavern to anyone who’ll listen. Obviously, if you don’t want her, you’re gay. And don’t get me started on Perkins. He’d love to get rid of all of us and take a grab at the head job.”

  “If we win, it won’t matter.” Robbie repeated Tyler’s wisdom.

  “Maybe we won’t win. Rebuilding a program takes time. What then?” Logan asked. “Perkins will only get louder and more aggressive. There’s some that wanted him hired to begin with. The SOB will gain traction through fair means or foul.”

  Robbie shuffled his hands through his hair and laced his fingers behind his neck. After his confrontation with Perkins, Robbie feared Logan was right. Why couldn’t football stay about the art of the game instead of turning into a political chess match?

  “What are you thinking?” Robbie asked Logan.

  “He’s suggesting that we date.” Darcy’s snort made clear her opinion on the idea.

  Robbie’s heart picked up speed, and he wiped his palms down the legs of his jeans. “That’s . . . that’s . . .”

  “Crazy, right?” Darcy asked.

  He stared into her eyes and whispered, “Insane.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. “All I’m suggesting is a couple of very public outings. Dinner, maybe dancing at The Tavern. You don’t have to get all gropey or make out. A little handholding might be nice. Darcy can come cheer on her man—Dalt,” he added as if it needed clarification, “for the first few games. Once we’re winning and the rumors have been eradicated, everyone can move on.”

  “I’m not going to force Darcy to go eat dinner with me,” Robbie said.

  One side of Logan’s mouth rose, and he poked her in the shoulder. “It’s the least she can do, right cuz?”

  “I’ll do it, but only if Robbie wants to.” She cast him an inscrutable look under her lashes.

  What did that mean? Did she want to go out with him? Their confrontation at the library was still fresh on his mind. Not to mention his underhanded method of getting her to tutor his team. She had every right to tell him to go to hell.