by Laura Scott
Georgia’s specific trigger, unfortunately, wasn’t about her feelings of safety or not being safe. It was him. Or anyone she loved and cared for. Yeah, she was tempted to untie the bow to the romance box and jump all in, but she’d been there before—with Colt. It ended with fighting, her making herself sick with worry and Colt’s frustration. Even now that he knew that her fretting was more than that and tried to understand—she’d end up dragging him down and being a huge burden to him. He’d resent her and regret loving her.
“I feel the safest with you,” she whispered. But her feelings didn’t change the fear she felt concerning him or losing him if she let herself love him again.
He held her hand, caressed her skin with his thumb. “I don’t want you to feel too afraid to experience life, Georgia. I don’t want to be the cause of any of your fear.”
She swallowed hard and fought back tears. To tell him in a roundabout way he was the cause would crush him. And she’d done enough hurting him.
“I guess we’re both dealing with our insecurities.” He let go of her hand.
“I guess so.” While she ached for his touch, letting it grow cold was the smartest course.
As they headed for the orchard, she noticed his posture changed and he kept glancing in his rearview.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Her stomach knotted, and she balled her hands in her lap.
Something was wrong.
SEVEN
The afternoon sun chased away the fall nip, but the chill that came from Colt’s feeling of being watched hadn’t let up. He’d been careful and hadn’t seen a suspicious tail, but that meant nothing when his gut kept warning him. The last thing he wanted was for Georgia to worry. It was his job to protect her, help her feel secure and keep on alert.
If that meant apple picking, so be it. Even if he had to do it in a pair of khakis and a dress shirt. He’d suffer through, especially since he wasn’t the cause of Georgia’s anxiety.
Georgia had put that one fear of his to bed. When Jared had died, she’d retreated into herself, leaving Colt feeling cold, helpless and rejected. All he’d wanted was to be her safe place to fall, be her protector. After Jared died and it was ruled a homicide, Georgia had grown distant and become quiet. She didn’t want to go out, didn’t want Colt to go out or train in the athletic room. It had taken him weeks to convince her to go to the homecoming dance. He’d known he was losing her with no way to hold on.
Now, he realized it was the anxiety driving her away from him. Another person in her life that she had cared about had died, adding on to the fears she carried about the world being unsafe. Here she was, though, braving the dangerous world to fight for truth and justice. She refused to cower and cave. But something nagged him—something she held back but he couldn’t pinpoint.
He parked in a spot closest to the store entrance. For a Monday afternoon, the place was hopping. Several school buses were here on field trips, and moms were toting children across the grounds to the numerous children’s activities, like pumpkin picking, hayrides, corn mazes and fun fall photo booths.
“Remember the year we came for the nighttime hayride and corn maze? That was so much fun,” Georgia said, but her voice was shaky as they entered the barn-turned-store. The smells of apples, cinnamon and hay hit his senses and brought back the nostalgia of more innocent times.
“I definitely do.” Mostly he remembered Georgia snuggling up against him, the feel of her warm breath on his neck as they huddled under a quilt while made-up monsters popped out and scared them during the ride.
Protecting her—even from people in costumes—had filled him with confidence and a strong dose of male pride. In that moment, with her in his arms, he’d felt like a man and not a boy. He wasn’t the good-for-nothing his father claimed. He wasn’t weak or afraid. Colt could have conquered anything that night. After the hayride, they’d climbed into his first Ford truck and he’d most definitely kissed her like a man and not a boy. That was a night seared into his soul.
Was she thinking of those same moments, too? He stole a peek. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she wore a sheepish grin that gave her thoughts away. What would kissing Georgia Jane Maxwell be like now that he was a man and she was all woman? His blood heated, and he wished for a glass of water to hydrate his parched throat. Instead, he cleared it and pointed to baskets of apples available for purchase. Apple butter. Pies. Jams. Pecans. Candied apples. “We could skip picking and go straight to buying. We’re technically here to talk to Alma Thompson anyway.”
“No. I mean, yeah, I’d much rather buy apples and text Alma Thompson instead of being here. But I need to push through. Keep taking one step then another. So let’s pick apples. Be...be in the world.”
Georgia had been through the wringer. Facing the world—the place she feared most—was amazing to him. She was a fighter, not taking the easy way out. He’d keep his eyes peeled and make sure no harm came to her.
The manager led them to the employee lounge, where Alma Thompson sat picking at a salad. With hair grayer than he expected for her forty-two years and eyes revealing even more layers of exhaustion, she laid down her fork.
He made introductions. She tensed and followed up with the need for her lawyer.
That didn’t surprise him. “No problem. But if you’re afraid of getting in trouble for accepting gifts and a proposal to see your boy go to college for free, don’t be. You can’t get in trouble for that.”
Georgia sat down, straightened her purse that was hanging across her middle and scooted her chair closer to Miss Thompson. “My friend Jared played ball like your Moore. He had a family. A mom who doted on him and bragged about his athletic ability. She would love to know who stole him away before his time. Wouldn’t you want to know if the tables were turned? By talking to us, you could help us find out.”
Miss Thompson shed a tear. “I have to live in this county. Work here. I can’t...I can’t help you.”
“But someone did approach you about using the Pine Road address so Moore could play at Courage High. Maybe even helped you out a little financially?” Colt asked.
She gave one almost invisible nod.
“How did you get away with the proof of residence?” Georgia asked.
She ran her hands through her hair. “I was told it would all be taken care of. Moore would be in a state championship district and molded into a player who would get a full ride, barring injury that would keep him from playing.”
“Please give us a name. Please,” Georgia begged. “One name and we’ll leave.”
She chewed her lip, clearly torn about doing the right thing. Finally she spoke. “It was Coach Benard. He came to my house two months before Moore’s freshman year. He offered me four thousand dollars and a promise he could go to college for free, and six months of my mortgage was paid. He’ll graduate next year, and he’s going to Ole Magnolia. First in my family to ever go to college.”
Harry Benard. He wouldn’t be telling them anything. “Did he come to you in the last week or two about anything?”
“Yes. He stopped by Sunday night. Told me if anyone came calling to say I wanted a lawyer. I told him I couldn’t pay for a lawyer, but he said not to worry. One would be provided for free. Then he gave me a card.” She reached into her purse and handed Colt the business card.
Reggie Leeway.
Chance Leeway’s dad. Well, that was interesting.
“Is my boy going to have to return to Southern High? Will he lose his free ride? That was the deal. He had to play for the Cougars—even when Coach Benard transferred. I asked...but the deal was the deal.”
Again. Interesting.
“I don’t know about college.” Colt stood. “But my guess is he’ll have to transfer back to Southern High. They have a good program. He still might be able to get an athletic scholarship.” But not gu
aranteed. He refrained from sharing that Coach Benard had been killed. He sympathized with the single mom, and she had enough to deal with at the moment. They left her and strode through the store into a designated kid area full of games and rides.
“Coach Flanigan had to know. Why else couldn’t Moore transfer with Benard?” Colt asked.
“Maybe the deal wasn’t with Flanigan but Coach Jackson and Benard, or a booster and Benard. He might have known, though—or turned a blind eye. Flanigan was good at that.”
“True.” He surveyed their surroundings, an eerie feeling creeping into his chest. “And Reggie Leeway? Why would he be on retainer for an illegal recruiting ring that didn’t even help out his own son?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the money was worth it. His son didn’t need a scholarship like those other boys.” Georgia frowned. “Reggie Leeway might simply be an opportunist.”
Or the plot was thickening. There was entirely too much connection. Mae should know by now who that property belonged to on Pine Road. He whipped out his cell and called her. She answered on the third ring.
“Let me guess, you want to know who owns the property on Pine Road.”
“Mind reader.”
“It was purchased by a James Kreger, but here’s the dealio. I can’t find a legit James Kreger who owns the property. Nothing.”
Colt relayed their conversation with Miss Thompson, then he hung up. “This thing gets deeper every second.”
“I feel like we’re already drowning in it.” Georgia inhaled and closed her eyes. “I love fall, and all this is ruining it.”
“I know,” he murmured.
She opened her eyes and held his gaze. Man, she was beautiful. He searched her eyes, almost as blue as the Los Angeles Chargers’ new jerseys. What thoughts was she holding behind them? Were they anywhere near on the level of his?
All he wanted to do was lean down and kiss her, taste those soft lips and melt into her, but that would be detrimental. Instead, he tousled the sloppy bun on her head. Strands of blond hair spilled out, and little pieces framed her face and brushed her neck. Way more appealing than she probably intended it to be. He could envision her in one of his flannels—all oversize with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of worn jeans that fit in all the perfect places, helping him rake leaves. He could imagine them falling into those piles of leaves... He shook out of the thought and mentally rapped himself upside the head.
She didn’t want you. Didn’t want anyone, and she clearly doesn’t want anyone now or she’d be with someone, and it wouldn’t be you.
The tractor to take them to the apple-picking spot rumbled to a stop, but they remained locked in on one another, the air thickening between them and longing nipping at their heels. It was all there in the connection.
Someone cleared their throat, forcing him to avert his attention and let the moment go.
“It’s a kid-friendly atmosphere, y’all.” The redhead snickered and recognition dawned.
“Daisy Miller?”
“It’s March now. I married Joey March.”
Joey March was one of Chance Leeway’s alibis for the night Jared died.
“Hey, Georgia,” Daisy drawled as they scrambled into the trailer and chose two hay bales near the tailgate. Daisy, her two friends and their cluster of kids were closer to the tractor.
Georgia exchanged pleasantries with their old classmate. Daisy hadn’t dated Joey in high school—that would have been social suicide, being from a rival team.
“I saw Chance earlier today. Joey and him still run around?” Colt asked.
“Some. Joey stays busy at the lumberyard, but we don’t miss a game.”
“Rootin’ for Tigers or Cougars? Traitor,” he joked.
“Well, Tigers, of course. Unless we play the Cougars, and then I secretly root for them. But don’t go tellin’ anyone I said that.” The ladies with her giggled, and one of them reprimanded her youngest from hanging over the wagon.
“Go to my grave.”
“Joey said you was looking into Jared’s death. One of your people called him about an interview, and he talked to Chance earlier today.” She glanced at Georgia. “Rumor has it you’re Christi Cold—lady doin’ those cold case podcasts. Is it true the killer heard about what happened and tried to kill you?”
Georgia’s body tensed, and she rubbed her lips together. “It’s true.”
Daisy pointed to Colt. “So you came to her rescue,” she said with a sugary smile and innuendo in her eye.
“I’m here to do my job, Daisy. That’s all.” The last thing he needed was to leave Magnolia with rumors afloat about some nonexistent love affair between him and Georgia. Small towns talked. Didn’t have to be true.
Georgia bristled.
Daisy smirked and wrangled one of her kiddos from climbing on the remaining hay bales. As they approached the orchard, Daisy leaned in, all teasing gone. “Chance would never have hurt Jared. He was mouthy and you know that. Don’t let old rival feelings sway your good common sense, Colt.” The wagon came to a stop, and she ushered her two kids into the orchard.
Was that what the town thought? That Colt was leading the investigation with hard feelings over facts and evidence? “I would never do that,” he insisted and helped Georgia off the wagon. The driver handed out lightweight wooden buckets with handles for apple picking.
Georgia took two and handed one to Colt. “Daisy’s always been a fan of the rumor mill. Don’t let her get to you. No one with any sense believes you’re using the case to settle an old football score.” She reached up and lightly touched his cheek. “Let’s pick apples and pretend we didn’t see her. Or we could look at the insight she gave us.”
“I like all the above aversions.” And the way she touched him. But he could do without the way it shifted and moved him inside.
Georgia suddenly removed her hand and balled it by her side. “Daisy tipped us off by telling us that Chance immediately called Joey after the interview. Probably to remind him of his alibi and to talk about the case. Now, all of a sudden, they turn it on you and not them. You’ve come to throw around your professional weight and settle an old score. Innocent, sane people do not start rumors like that. Disgruntled people, or people with secrets, make up trash.” She gave him a knowing look and plucked an apple.
“Georgia, you really did miss your calling.” He picked an apple and bit into it. The fresh, sweet taste covered his tongue, and the day started to look up. “Let’s ferret this secret out and put an end to rumors.”
“McCoy, I like that idea.”
And put an end to the attacks on her life. That went without saying.
Colt turned as the wind blew a chill across his neck. Or was it the sensation in his gut that warned him they weren’t alone?
* * *
Georgia had filled a bucket’s worth of apples. She’d be making pies, plural, along with every other apple recipe known to man, but what tasted the sweetest was the feeling of freedom in today. She strolled through the trees, smelling the fruity scent of apples and fall with Colt a foot away. In the last hour, he’d become distracted and received several phone calls, but when Georgia had asked him if he was ready to go back, he’d declined.
Guess he needed the fresh air and change of scenery as much as she did. Sometimes a new atmosphere gave a new perspective. For this moment, life felt safe and enjoyable.
Colt’s presence beside her gave her a boost of confidence and a flutter in her belly—which didn’t belong—but the flutter in itself felt good. She glanced up at him as he plucked an apple. Even his pleasing scent was more masculine than she remembered. About an hour ago, he’d almost kissed her. His eyes had revealed his intent.
And even knowing it would be disastrous, she would have let him.
It wasn’t his rugged appeal or masculine physique. It wasn’t the fact she’d been lonely for years and had
resigned herself to it. It wasn’t even the hyperawareness of a man she was attracted to bringing out some kind of hormone. No, these stupid, useless feelings had cropped up in the way Colt confidently and quietly led her to safe places, the way he shielded her from Chance’s ugly words like he was a solid wall that had to be pierced before an attempt could be made on her, and it was in the strength he showed as a team leader, displaying wisdom to protect her and his people.
It wasn’t that his smile was amazing but the way it reassured her that things would turn out for the good. These crazy feelings weren’t born from his gorgeous blue eyes, but from the way they held tenderness and fierceness at once and his hopeful attitude and his thirst for justice. In a horrible situation where she ought to be cowering, he could make her laugh. And yes, she yearned for his touch, not because of the physical pull it brought but the ember of hope that maybe love was worth the worry and the risk.
She was taking it one day at a time. It might be worth the roller coaster of emotions.
“Georgia,” Colt called.
She blinked out of the thoughts that had her easing from her fortress of solitude and opening up to the idea of falling in love—not with just anyone but with Colt.
“It’s time to go. As much as I’d love to stay.” Pain colored his voice, and she wondered if he meant this moment or when the case closed and he had to leave for Atlanta. Which brought on another heap of anxiety. If she opened up to the possibility of a relationship with him—if he even wanted one—then that would mean uprooting everything she loved and that was familiar to her, and giving up the editor in chief position, which she’d wanted for years, all to go somewhere unknown, unfamiliar and fast-paced.
She wanted to prolong their time. Their reality was threats and mayhem. “How about we walk back instead of taking the hayride?”
He paused and searched her eyes. “Yeah. Let’s walk. I’m over bumpy rides.”