“Darcy? I heard you were back.”
“Wolf?” The smile that came was easy.
Soft hazel eyes crinkled with his answering grin. His dark hair was longer than it had been in high school and curled over his forehead and at his nape. Throwing her arms around his neck, she squeezed him tight. “How’re you doing? Last I heard you moved out west somewhere.”
His eyes clouded, and his smile faltered. “I’m back. Got a job as an EMT, but I’m woodworking on the side.”
She stepped back and half-turned toward Robbie. His cutting gaze scissored her hands off Wolf’s arms, and she weaved her fingers together behind her back.
“Robbie, do you know Jon Wolfenbarger? We went to high school together. He was my prom date.” Why had she added that last factoid? Not that it should matter considering it was nearly a decade in the past, and she and Robbie were definitely not on a real date even though he paid.
The two men shook hands. Jon politely extricated himself, but not before raising an eyebrow and sending her a smirk on his way inside the restaurant.
Robbie opened the truck door and helped her in before sliding behind the wheel. He started the truck and revved the engine. Urgency made her stomach jump. In the near darkness, the seatbelt became a complex puzzle, one she couldn’t fit together with clumsy fingers.
He twisted in his seat and grabbed the buckle to click it home. His hair brushed her cheek, and he whispered close to her ear. “Was Jon your boyfriend or what?
“He wasn’t my boyfriend. He took me to prom because I helped him with an essay for English. He felt sorry for me.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t have any boyfriends in high school.”
His cheek coasted close enough to feel his warmth and for the spicy, clean scent of his shampoo to wrap around her. “Why not?”
She took a deep breath, barely stopping herself from pressing her face into his neck. “I was a nerd. A geek. Not athletic in a town that values sports above all else.”
He pulled back to look at her. Dim light from the street permeated the interior. Her confusion escalated when the mouth she stared at moved closer.
The tempest she’d seen behind his eyes earlier wasn’t reflected in his kiss. The kiss was gentle, sensual, and devastating. A flash of the one they’d shared in Ada’s kitchen. His tongue flicked at her lips, and she opened. Her hand crawled to his bicep, clutching and tugging him closer. He cupped her nape, his fingers massaging. The heat of his body ignited an answering flare.
His face lifted, and her eyes fluttered open. She wanted more—so much more. How long had it been since she’d felt this pull toward a man? Never. That’s how long. He was a planet and she was a tiny asteroid headed to a glorious destruction.
It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him to take her back to his place. “Robbie. . .?”
“There. That should satisfy the masses.” His words made zero sense until she looked out the windshield to see a half-dozen faces staring through the glass window of the restaurant. Tyler was center among them, his mouth agape.
Tears of humiliation stung her eyes. A deep breath kept them in check.
“Quit mauling me.” She shoved at the hand still caressing her jaw.
He retreated to his side of the truck and white-knuckled the steering wheel before getting them on the road. He didn’t say another word, and neither did she. He stopped in front of Ada’s and she hopped out before he could make a pseudo-gentlemanly move to open her door. It was clear he was no gentleman. And based on her body’s reaction to him, she was no lady.
Anger built, both the righteous variety and the self-inflicted kind. How had one kiss made her forget their “date” was merely a face-saving bargain? She slammed the door shut, rocking the truck. The care she had to take on the gravel in her heels muted her huffy stalk. His truck stood sentinel until she let herself in the front door. She twitched a drape to the side and watched his taillights disappear.
“How was your date?”
“For the love of—you scared me. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Darcy hung onto the drape, her heart pounding. Ada had crept up behind her, walker and all.
“I’m not a ten-year-old. I can party all night if I want. Anyway, it’s not even eight.”
Darcy glanced at the grandfather clock. The ebb and flow of tension during dinner and in the truck had left her exhausted. The soft hum of the radio and running water came from the kitchen. She kicked off her heels and led her grandmother back into the den, settling her into the hospital bed.
“How did your date go?” Ada asked again, seemingly casual, but her blue eyes pierced.
“It wasn’t a real date,” she said for the thousandth time. “We churned up new rumors. Next week, we’ll cement them.”
“Why do you sound so despondent?”
“Try mad as a hornet. That man is aggravating. I don’t understand him.”
“He’s probably telling Avery the same thing about you.” Ada chuckled.
“Did you know he went to Vandy?”
“Of course. He still holds the school record for tackles in a single season.”
“He didn’t mention that.” Any other man would have bragged about their accomplishments. She’d given him the perfect opportunity. Instead, he’d disparaged his collegiate experience.
“I find Dalt too self-effacing.” Ada opened her book, her concentration transferred to the page.
After kissing Ada on the cheek, Darcy headed to the kitchen. Kat washed plates at the sink in rhythm to the rock song that played.
“Ada give you any trouble?” Darcy asked.
“She schooled me playing gin and crazy eights.” Kat turned with a smile and dried her hands on a dishtowel. “You’re home earlier than I expected.”
Darcy collapsed in a kitchen chair and rested her arms and head on the table.
“Went that well, did it?”
“Like walking on broken glass or hot coals or a bed of nails—”
“I get the picture. It’s temporary. Suck it up.”
“I know. Only for a couple of weeks,” Darcy whispered. She traced fingers over lips still tingling from his kiss.
After seeing Kat off and tucking Ada in, she took the steps to her room slowly. Robbie had worn her out, and their next date would likely prove just as stressful. Yet under the anxiety and embarrassment, fake or not, she hoped he would kiss her again.
9
Darcy got tangled up in the goings-on around town like she was a fly in Falcon’s web. She still played nursemaid when needed, but her grandmother required less and less help. They rediscovered the joys of cooking and baking together. Darcy soaked up Ada’s stories like the moistest of rum cakes. Stories she had been unable to appreciate in her youth.
Ada guilted her into volunteering at the library, but the enjoyment of the people and books stifled any sense of obligation. Then, most evenings, she covered a chapter or two with the team. She cursed the flutter in her stomach as she checked out the window for Robbie’s truck, but he never made an appearance.
On her way to meet Kat for lunch early the next week, she spotted him in conversation in front of the bank and quickened her step toward him. They did have parts to play, after all, but the blasted man actually crossed the street to avoid her. His baseball cap obscured any hint as to his feelings while she’d felt like a fool with a smile plastered on her face and a hand raised in greeting.
She accompanied Kat to practice that afternoon anyway. It certainly wasn’t to see him but to check on her boys. They waved and catcalled to her in the bleachers. She called out taunts and encouragements but quieted down when she noticed Robbie frowning in her direction.
The man who’d been constantly on her mind taught his defense how to stop the run. His white T-shirt had seen better days. Rips gaped the shoulder seam and cut a small incision at his waist. Inconvenient fantasies of continuing the work until the cotton lay shredded on the ground scrolled like the beginnings of the porno Darcy and Kat had joked about. She crossed and re
crossed her legs.
A plump black woman clutching a patent leather red pocketbook sidled over. “Are you the lady Miles has been going on about? Miss Darcy?”
“That’s me. You can’t be Miles’s grandmother, you’re too young.” Darcy smiled, noting the woman’s unlined face.
The woman cackled good-naturedly, her yellowed teeth the only testament to her age. “Gemmalee’s my name. I surely do appreciate you tutoring the boys. It’s a shame, but several of them struggle with reading still, and Coach is a stickler for good grades.”
“That’s what the boys say,” Darcy said, her gaze drawn back to Robbie. He was in a three-point stance, demonstrating to his linebackers the meaning of explosive power.
“Now, listen here, young lady, you’re going to come over for dinner one night. It’s the least we can do to repay your kindness.”
Darcy dragged her attention away from Robbie. “It wasn’t completely selfless. Did Miles tell you I expect them to paint my porch?”
Another laugh accompanied the slap of her knee. “Good. Those boys have everything come too easy in Falcon, especially this season. Everyone has a lot of hope Coach Dalton can win.”
“What if he can’t? What then?”
“Don’t know. These folks aren’t too patient.” Gemmalee tipped her chin toward the contingent of mostly white men hanging over the fence. “And, they don’t have anything but football to occupy them. If that’s not bad enough, rumors have been circulating.”
Darcy bit the inside of her mouth. The pain didn’t offer a smidge of absolution. “They’re not true. Maybe you could spread the word.”
“Already been doing it. But the truth is less exciting. People like to be shocked.” Gemmalee shrugged a wise shoulder. “Someone should horsewhip whoever was mean enough to start it.”
“They certainly deserve it.” Darcy rubbed her nape.
A long whistle signaled the end of practice and her self-flagellation. The boys trotted off the field, and Darcy made her way to Kat who watched Laurence Malone, the handsome black assistant coach, jog toward the practice pavilion with a goofy grin on her face. They fell into step, heading toward Main Street.
“What are your plans?” Kat asked.
“Library then the grocery. I swear those boys are like a plague of locusts. This will be the third time in five days I’ve had to shop. And, my free labor hasn’t even materialized.”
“You better put those boys to work before you finish up the book.”
“Did our date help? Are the rumors about Robbie dying yet?” Darcy asked.
Kat shook her head. “If anything, they’ve gotten more outrageous. Someone swears they saw him go into a gay bar in Birmingham. This town hasn’t hit such a dry spell in gossip in a decade. You’d think some good unmarried Christian woman would’ve gotten herself knocked up by now.”
Sputtery laughter bubbled out of the guilt that simmered in Darcy’s stomach. “Kat, you are so bad. I can’t believe lightning doesn’t strike you down as soon as you set foot on holy ground.”
“The only reason I go to church is to keep Mama’s wrath from raining down. And to network. That’s where I negotiate most of my wills.” Kat winked.
“Who’s spreading the worst of the rumors?
“Don’t know, but Dalt’s a big boy. I doubt he’s crying into his pillow at night about it. I know you feel bad, but try not to beat yourself up. Once the season starts, everything will simmer down.” Kat squeezed her arm. “I’ll call you later.”
Darcy had learned long ago that dwelling on something as ephemeral as a rumor was a useless enterprise. Instead, she crossed the street to the library, issued new library cards, and shelved books.
She stopped by the grocery on her way home. The sight of a broad male back filling out yet another nondescript cotton T-shirt—this one with no rips in interesting places—had her screeching the wheels of her buggy in the opposite direction. She pretended to read the nutritional label of a can of beets and watched him compare two cantaloupes, juggling one in each hand. Her face prickled as she imagined inserting herself into the equation.
A young boy hurtled into her legs and brought her mind back to the vinyl floor of the Piggly Wiggly. After assuring him he would love the book she had picked for their next story time, she passed a few minutes with his mother and moved down the aisle.
A bag of flour followed two bags of sugar into her buggy. She rounded the corner, her eyes on her list. Metal crashed on metal. Of course, she had plowed into Robbie. Her gaze fell to his broad, strong hands. Partly because they’d starred in her mini-fantasy and partly to avoid his icy-blue eyes.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, backing up and letting him pass. Fresh fruits and vegetables were piled incongruously next to a tall stack of ready-to-eat frozen foods. “Good Lord, Robbie. Did your mama not teach you cook anything?”
A skip of silence. “No,” he said shortly.
The wheels of his buggy rattled as he walked stiffly toward the checkout.
She kept her head down and checked out. While Darcy unloaded the groceries at home, Ada shuffled in using the walker. She had achieved relative autonomy on the first floor.
“The boys coming over?” Ada lowered herself into a chair.
“Not tonight. They’ll be back on Sunday to start on the porch. They promised.”
A comfortable silence gathered around them. Chicken broth heated while Darcy rolled out dumplings.
“I ran into Robbie at the Pig. The man looks like he’s living on frozen pizza and pot pies.” Darcy cut dough and dropped it piece by piece into the broth.
“I’m sure he’s been missing my dinners,” Ada said.
“What do you mean?”
“He would check on me conveniently right around supper time. I got into the habit of inviting him in. He turned me down the first few times, but I told him if he was going to keep taking out my trash and mowing the grass, he’d better accept food as payment.”
Darcy stirred the dumplings and half-turned to see her grandmother. “Did he talk much about himself? About family?”
Ada barked a laugh. “He didn’t talk much at all.” She paused. “He hasn’t had a lick of family visit. Nor has he been to visit any as far as I can tell.”
Logan’s comments about Robbie’s lack of mail in Afghanistan added to the resonating sadness she sensed behind his gruff exterior, and an ache that had nothing to do with hunger gnawed at her stomach.
After finishing the pot of chicken and dumplings, she spooned a large serving into a bowl. Pulling out the last slice of pie, she slipped on tennis shoes and started down the lane to his house.
His truck was there, and she almost turned around. No, she could do this. She knocked on the front door. Nothing moved. Relief punched the disappointment to the pit of her stomach. Indecision had her wandering the length of his porch and peeking in the windows. If she left the food outside, varmints would be on it in no time.
She jiggled the knob, and the door swung open. Calling his name, she stepped over the threshold, tensed for an attack. The house felt empty. She continued into the kitchen and set the food on his stove. Since she was here, a peek into the den wouldn’t hurt, would it?
A few magazines covered a scuffed coffee table. To Kill a Mockingbird was splayed open on an ottoman. Everything was surprisingly neat and clean for bachelor quarters. A single picture was propped on the mantle in a cheap-looking plastic frame.
With a glance toward the front door, she moved farther into his domain and took down the picture. It was a young Robbie in a gold-and-purple football uniform. A middle-aged man stood at his side wearing khakis, a whistle hanging around his neck. The man had an encompassing smile and kind eyes. His hand lay on Robbie’s shoulder pads. The teenaged Robbie already wore a protective, hard look on his face.
Unsmiling, he stood apart and alone.
* * *
Robbie finished his run on the side of the washed out lane. The setting sun forced him to slow, the footing precarious. He
walked on autopilot toward his house. Darcy Wilde had worked her way under his skin like a mess of annoying chiggers. Not only did she hover in his consciousness during the day, but she invaded his dreams. And in a town the size of Falcon, there was no escape.
With his foot on the bottom step of his front porch, Avery’s menacing growl sent him into a crouch. Movement shadowed behind his curtains. Backtracking to his truck, he pulled the handgun out of his glove box and clicked the safety off.
After giving Avery the hand command to guard the perimeter, he opened the front door and eased inside. If his trespasser tried to run out the back, Avery would have him on the ground in a heartbeat.
Something smelled different, not threatening, but mouth-watering. Rustling drew him into the den. Long dark hair, a tempting ass, and long bare legs stood at his mantle. He reset the safety on the gun.
“What are you doing? Planting porn in my DVD player?”
Her scream ripped through the silence. The picture she’d been holding fell to the brick fireplace. She leaned over and rested her hands on her knees.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Her face swiveled toward him. “I’m glad you decided not to shoot first.”
“I thought some redneck had snuck in to finish me off.” He put the gun on top of the mantle and crouched to retrieve the picture. The plastic frame had snapped and a crack zigged over his old coach’s face. Carefully, he extracted the picture and laid it on the mantle next to his gun.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another frame first thing tomorrow. I didn’t mean to snoop.” Her voice trembled.
“Yes, you did,” he said dryly.
Her words tumbled out. “We had some leftovers, and Ada thought you might enjoy them. I couldn’t leave the bowl outside, and your door was unlocked.” She shrugged with a nervous smile.
Once she reminded him about the smell, he made straight for the kitchen. She trailed behind him. After lifting the cover off the dish as if it might be booby-trapped, he stared at the heaping bowl.
Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama Page 11