“I’m sorry about the game. I thought you had it.” Her voice fell tentatively into the void between them. She stepped forward, chafing her arms, but the movement seemed born out of nervousness. “Robbie, there something I need to tell you.”
“No. Me first. I’ve been an idiot. Don’t move back to Atlanta. Please stay in Falcon. I . . .” He swallowed. He needed to say the words, and she needed to hear them. “I love you, Darcy. More than anything. I was a complete asshole. There’s no good excuse, but I was scared. Scared you’d find out what I did and turn away. If you still care about me, would you consider giving me another shot?”
She popped a hip out and crossed her arms. “You’ve upset me.”
His heart was going to explode. He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest. “I know. I was a terrible person then and I guess not much has changed. You deserve—”
“Hush your mouth!
His teeth snapped together.
“If your foster father was standing right here, I would kick his butt for what he’s made you believe about yourself. You did a terrible thing, yet, but you are not a terrible person and you never were. You paid for your mistake. Now, you have to let it go or you’ll never be happy. Look at the positive impact you’ve had on your kids, the town, me. If I ever hear you say you don’t deserve something, I’ll—” She looked to the sky, searching for the proper punishment.
The most brutal one popped out of his mouth. “Leave me?”
The stadium lights powered off, throwing them into a sudden darkness. Meager light from the parking lot turned her expression into a mystery. He dropped his duffle and rubbed damp palms over his pants. His numb lips were incapable of producing intelligible speech.
“Are you asking me to stay? With you, I mean?” Her voice was soft but strong enough for him to hold on to like a thrown rope to a drowning man.
“Yes. Please, stay with me. I thought after everything came out, I would lose my job and Falcon would turn their backs on me, but that didn’t happen. They gave me the grace I couldn’t muster for myself.” Sweat broke over his forehead, but the darkness aided his confession. “I was a coward for not putting my trust in you. Never doubt that I love you. More than I thought possible.”
“Robbie Dalton, I will never leave you. I love you. I’ll love you forever. I already took the job at the Falcon library. I’m coming home.”
Love. Forever. Home. He had never had any of them, and now all three were within his grasp. Did he deserve them? He shoved the thought away. Darcy believed in him and that was enough.
He closed the distance between them and caught her close, banding his arms so tightly around her a crowbar couldn’t pry him away. His lips searched and discovered cold skin and warm, salty tears.
With his mouth against the pulse of her temple, he asked, “Where are you staying?”
“With Logan, unless . . . Are you offering up your place?”
“Damn straight.” He pulled back and tilted her face to his, their lips inches apart. “The truth is I’m never going to be the kind of man who writes sonnets to your beauty, but I can be the man in your bed every night. The man always there when you reach for him, always there when you call. The man who shares all his secrets and can take care of your needs. Even the ones you try to deny. This isn’t the proposal you deserve”—he gestured around the parking lot—“but I want to marry you, Darcy Wilde.”
* * *
Shock and happiness coursed through Darcy. Yes, she had hoped for a happy ending, but not a fairytale one. She hugged him tighter and buried her face in his neck. “I would be honored to marry you, Robert Dalton.”
“You sure you’ll be happy in Falcon?” Old insecurities screamed through his words.
“I was coming back with or without you. But with you is a helluva lot better.” She found his lips with hers, nipping his bottom one. “It took me awhile to see Falcon through adult eyes and realize how much I missed the connections. Atlanta was a really long vacation. Falcon is home. Wherever you are is home.”
Like the sun banishing the dark of night, he smiled.
The drive back to Falcon took nearly two hours. Darcy followed his black truck. Her car was packed to the soft top with her things. They pulled onto the narrow lane between the trees. Bumping past Ada’s house was bittersweet, but excitement trumped the nostalgia. She pulled in next to his truck, but before she could take a step, he lifted her into a cradle hold.
“What are you doing?” she asked through laughter.
“Carrying you over the threshold of our home.” His seriousness stifled her suddenly inappropriate-feeling giggles.
“We’re not married yet.”
Love burned in his blue eyes, his walls demolished. “I committed myself to you tonight—forever. A ring and certificate only mean it’s legal.”
And he didn’t think he was romantic? All she could do was press her lips against his and wind her arms around his neck. Somehow, with her scattering kisses over his face and neck, he unlocked the door. Avery shot out to enjoy freedom after his hours of captivity.
Robbie didn’t put her down until he reached his bed—their bed. Reverentially, he undressed her, and she did the same for him. Naked they came together. Passion flavored his kisses, and his muscles shook with restraint, but he was serious, too serious.
“Are you fixing to close the deal, Coach?” she whispered, unable to stop a smile.
He lifted away. She tilted her hips up until the head of his erection brushed her entrance. He accepted the invitation and slid inside, swallowing her moan with a kiss.
“Consider the deal closed.”
Epilogue
Six months later . . .
Darcy lounged on their front porch and soaked in the warmth of the presummer sun. Soon it would be too hot to do anything but sit under a ceiling fan and read—which wouldn’t be so bad either.
It was Robbie’s last day of the school year. He wouldn’t have all summer off like most teachers. Practices would resume in July, and the frenzy of another season would overtake their lives. Darcy didn’t mind. She loved the ebb and flow of the town around football—the lazy spring, the ratcheting speculation over the summer, the peaking tension in the minutes before kickoff of the first game.
Dust framed the big, black truck as it made the turn around the field. Robbie had scheduled to have the long lane paved. The sound of scrunching gravel would be missed, but not the potholes.
The noise woke Avery, and both of them moved toward the truck to greet their man. Avery got a good rub behind the ears, Darcy got a kiss and a squeeze of her bottom.
“How did things go?” he asked.
“Great. We finished scanning the records, and I heard from Jackson County. They have an entire basement full of boxes. No one has touched them in years. They’re giving them to us. Can you believe it?” Her voice pitched high with her excitement.
“They’re probably jumping for joy someone’s willing to take the rampant mold problem off their hands,” he said dryly.
Just because one set of records they’d opened in April looked like a penicillin experiment—she still scanned them—Robbie incessantly teased her.
“You need to go change.” She checked her watch. “Logan’s expecting us soon. He wants to show Adaline’s off before all the customers rush in.”
She followed him inside and watched him pull off his customary T-shirt. His bare torso never failed to make her catch her breath. The pull was too strong to ignore, and she circled a hand to his chest while brushing her lips over his scarred shoulder.
He took her hand and kissed the simple band circling her finger. “We don’t have time for your funny business, Mrs. Dalton.”
“It won’t take long,” she predicted.
“I’m not sure how insulted I should be,” he said with a chuckle.
“No insult intended. I like quickies.” Her hands went to his belt buckle.
“Anxious much?” His hand circled her nape and pulled her close for a
panty-dissolving kiss. His breath whispered across her ear, and he pulled at her lobe with his teeth. Shivers cascaded through her body and centered between her legs. She fumbled again with his pants, but he pulled her hands away.
“Not happening, darlin’. But you’d best prepare yourself, because tonight you’re not going to sleep.”
“You don’t play fair.” She flopped back on their bed, frustrated and aroused.
“Nope.” He pulled on a button-down and tucked it in his pants. “Let’s go.”
Walking into Adaline’s filled Darcy with pride. Logan had transformed the local watering hole into an eclectic mix of southern comfort and high-end décor. He’d gutted the inside. New plank-wood floors complemented the dark-stained oak tables he’d commissioned from Jon Wolfenbarger. A dance floor abutted an area with leather couches and chairs for those that wanted to mingle and drink. He’d banned smoking.
The football coaches, minus Perkins, helped upgrade the kitchen. He revamped the menu with a selection of nouveau Southern cuisine—comfort food with a twist. Pictures and quotes from great Southern writers filled the walls. Ada would have loved it.
Several members of the football team worked behind the scenes as busboys or in the kitchen. She and Robbie passed Jeremy Whitehead wiping down tables. He smiled and nodded as Robbie patted his shoulder. The boy was also working for Henry at the Antique store. He had managed to stay out of trouble and pay back a chunk of Avery’s vet bill.
Logan was in the kitchens giving last-minute instructions to his staff. Once he was done, Darcy hugged him hard. “Ada would be so proud. I love it.”
“I can’t believe I pulled it off.”
“You didn’t just pull it off, you threw the winning touchdown. Do you need me to help with anything?”
“I got this, cuz.” His grin was lopsided with excitement and nerves. After drifting for so long, Logan had finally found what made him happy.
She and Robbie enjoyed an outstanding dinner of basil-bacon macaroni and cheese and baked green tomatoes with a spicy remoulade sauce. People poured in, and they gave up their table to accommodate the crowd. It appeared Adaline’s was a success.
Soft music filtered through the room. It was the first song they danced to so many months ago. Robbie grabbed her hands and walked her to the middle of the dance floor. Several other couples joined them.
She leaned into his body and nuzzled his neck. Her banked arousal flared with his body pressed so close, and her hands roamed. Nothing could stop them.
“I’m ready to get our own party started,” she whispered.
Logan was hobnobbing with his customers. He didn’t need them and wouldn’t miss them. She pulled Robbie outside, not allowing him to be drawn into any football discussions.
The night retained the warmth from the day, and after Robbie helped her into his truck, she grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him in for a kiss. “You up for a little fun out in the woods?”
“I like the way you think, my lusty librarian.”
Are you ready for more fun in Sweet Home Alabama?
Check out CAUGHT UP IN THE TOUCH…
Warning: Contains explosive chemistry, lots of laughs, and a leap into the crazy unknown.
On the surface Logan Wilde is all good-old-boy charm and humor. Even though he’s cleaned up his act and turned into an upstanding business owner, he can't seem to outrun his hell-raising reputation. When a straightlaced executive with long legs and high heels rolls into town to lure him to the big city, he’s tempted to get a little wild—and bring her along on the ride.
Three rules govern Jessica Montgomery’s life—stay calm, stay professional, stay in control. Her dream job of CFO of the family business is within reach—if she can convince one sexy, stubborn Alabama restaurateur that his dream job is managing their flagship restaurant in Atlanta.
Desperate to convince Logan to sign on the dotted line, Jessica is forced out of her comfort zone and into Logan’s world of serene forests, high school football, and a close-knit small town. While she can’t quite close the deal, a new offer is on the table that includes steamy nights in Logan’s bed (and other places) and the possibility of a lasting love—if Jessica is brave enough to chase a new dream.
Opposites attract when a former bad boy with a heart of gold meets a straightlaced woman with passion to spare in this sexy addition to the small town Sweet Home Alabama series.
How about a little taste? Read on for an excerpt from CAUGHT UP IN THE TOUCH…
Jessica reversed out of the parking spot, but before she could shift into drive, the temperature gauge blinked red and the car sputtered off. She turned the key over and back, pumping the gas pedal a few times. Nothing. An unwelcome helplessness set her knees into a tremble. She tried again. The battery clicked, but the engine didn’t crank.
Her mind swirled until the tsking, logical side of her brain gained control. With the advent of smartphones, help was only a few taps away. She would call AAA. They would send a truck and tow her car to the nearest garage. Then she could call a taxi. Simple. She sighed. As long as she had a plan, she could control the panic tramping around her belly.
The car turned suffocating, the hot air constricting her lungs. She cracked the driver’s door, but the slight breeze coming off the tarry parking lot didn’t provide much relief. She riffled through her bag and came up with her phone. A tiny message in the corner of her screen sent ripples of unease through her stomach. No Service.
Were these people Quakers or something? No cell phone service? How did they communicate? Smoke signals? Her mouth was as dry as a cottonball. Next logical step would be to head back inside and plead for help. A shadow crossed her body the same time a hard rap on the car roof made her bobble the phone to the floorboard.
“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you having car problems?” Mountain Man rested his forearms over the top of her door. His wrists were thick, his hands huge. The black under his fingernails was a workingman’s polish, and fresh red scratches zagged over the back of his hands. As he repositioned the frayed blue and white baseball cap shadowing his eyes, the muscles along his forearm jumped. Dark brown hair flipped into almost curls around the edges.
The sunlight emphasized the thinness of his cotton shirt, one shoulder seam pulling apart across the broad expanse of his torso. His masculinity wove around her, at once disconcerting, yet easing her illogical, escalating panic.
“My car won’t start.” God, she hated the little-girl, tinny sound of her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again, forcing a practiced steel into her words. “It’s been acting funny since I hit Birmingham.”
Mountain Man assessed the parking space she’d pulled out of and pushed the brim of his hat up a couple of inches with his forefinger. He squatted, and she slid out of the car to watch. He swiped his fingers through a puddle on the blacktop and rubbed. Then he smelled his fingers. He turned toward her, still in a squat. “Looks like a coolant leak. Your AC been working?”
“Not well. And, my temperature gauge flashed red just before the engine died.”
“Pop the hood, and let me take a gander.”
She pulled the lever on the dashboard and joined him at the front of the car “Are you a mechanic?”
“I’m a handyman, remember?” Again, he graced her with a panty-melting grin before leaning over the engine compartment to jiggle hoses.
His scent filtered through the humidity to her. Not the stench of unwashed male she expected. Underlying the clean sweat and grease was a mystery that hooked her closer, until she was leaning over the hood too, close to his shoulder. The one with the ripping seam. She swallowed, her throat tight as if a noose was drawing closed. Usually, panic accompanied the feeling, but not this time. This time a covey of birds beat their wings in her stomach in a bid for freedom.
He turned toward her, one hand on the edge of her raised hood. His eyes were brown, but not a plain brown or even a deep, intensive one, but an electric brown with sparks of gold. Th
ey danced over her face. His voice came out gruff, almost a whisper. “I understand your problem.”
She massaged the taut cords of her neck. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he referred to her or her car. Hope lilted her question. “You do?”
“Yep. One of your hoses cracked. Probably due to the heat.”
She swayed on her heels and dropped her face, pretending to study the hulk of metal and plastic under her hood. No matter her degrees and successes, sometimes she was a complete and total idiot. Like now. This redneck mountain man could never understand her. Her hair swished forward, strands sticking to her cheeks, hiding her face. “Can you fix it?”
He left her standing over the puzzle of her engine. He hadn’t even offered to call a tow truck. She felt oddly abandoned.
He stopped at an old blue and white Ford pickup parked in the shadow of a huge oak tree. Instead of climbing in and driving off with a grin and a wave, he flipped open a white, metal utility box in the truck bed. Clanging metal accompanied his search. He made a satisfied exclamation before trotting back toward her. “Duct tape. I always keep a roll handy. You mind hanging on to my hat?”
Without giving her a chance to answer, he pushed the ball cap into her hands, dropped to lay on the ground, and scooched under her car. With his knees bent, his legs stuck out from under the bumper.
An embroidered flying falcon on the side of his cap had lost half of its thread, and she picked at the fraying brim. She shuffled her feet apart and flapped her blouse to catch the slight breeze ruffling her hair. The occasional rip of tape punctuated the unidentifiable song he hummed.
His shimmy reversed itself, and he emerged with new brown stains on the front of his shirt and a glossy smear along his cheekbone. He rubbed his fingers along the edge of his shirt dirtying it further, and ran the back of his wrist over his forehead, wiping away a rivulet of sweat.
Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama Page 27