She got lost straight off the bat and wound up in the sporting-equipment storage area. It was as good a place to kill ten minutes as any, so she found herself a comfortable spot sitting on a pile of gym mats in the far corner. She was gazing off into space, composing a mental letter to her cousins back home, when the door opened and a group of laughing boys entered. She shrank back into the shadows, not wanting to get busted for hiding in here on her own—there’d be teasing and talk and questions if she was. She already had enough strikes against her with her height and her accent and her too-shy demeanor.
“Here, pass it over,” one of the boys said.
She heard the snick of a lighter and smelled smoke.
They were sneaking a cigarette. Probably drinking, too. Sure enough, she heard the slosh of something liquid against glass.
“Don’t be a hog,” someone else said.
“What time is Sharon getting here, Leo?” the first guy asked.
Rachel realized who the guys were then: Leo Bennett and his faithful followers, Tim Young and Shane Waugh. They were all football players, and every girl in school followed them with hungry eyes. Especially Leo, with his dark hair and unusual blue-brown eyes and broad shoulders. Rachel might have been on the outer edge of the high school social scene, but even she knew Leo and Sharon Taylor had been circling each other for the past few weeks. Rumor had it that they would soon be a couple.
“Don’t know. She’ll find me when she gets here.”
The guys thought that was pretty funny and the snick of the lighter sounded again as they started another cigarette.
“What about that Tina chick?” Tim asked next.
“What about her?” Leo said.
“She’s hot for it.”
“Then you give it to her,” Leo said. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
More laughter, then they launched into a casually efficient assessment of a number of other girls from Rachel’s year level. Girls were dismissed for being too fat, having big noses, for not having any breasts. Other girls were lauded for being “hot” or “up for it.” Hiding in the shadows, Rachel was both fascinated and repelled. So this was what boys talked about when there were no girls around.
Then she heard her name and forgot to breathe.
“What about that new chick? The Yank. Rachel or whatever,” Shane said.
“Which one is she?” Leo asked.
“The tall one. Legs up to her armpits.”
“The plank? Give us a break,” Leo scoffed.
“She’s not that bad,” Shane said. “She’s got a cool accent.”
“Mate, if I woke up and found that lying next to me, I’d chew my own arm off to get away. That’s how bad she is,” Leo had said. “I’d rather cut it off than stick it in her. Next, please.”
Rachel held her hand over mouth to stop herself from reacting out loud and giving herself away. She sat like that for another ten minutes, waiting until they finished assassinating the rest of the female population of the school. Then she wiped away her tears and slunk out of the room and back to the gym. Her friends had arrived by then, but she’d lost any desire to dance or have fun. Instead, she sat alone on the sidelines and watched Leo and his gang of jerks own the world.
She stared across the gym at them, miserable and filled with rage and hurt. She wanted to storm across the room and punch Leo in the face or scream that he didn’t know her, knew nothing about her.
She didn’t, of course, just went home and cried herself to sleep. Over the next couple of days and for the rest of her high school years, in fact, she’d avoided Leo as much as possible, knowing him for what he was—a stupid, arrogant, egotistical meathead. She told herself his opinion shouldn’t and didn’t matter. And yet her avoidance of the most popular kid in school had kept her in the outer circle.
Then they’d graduated and he’d left town, and she’d released all of her anger and hurt like a balloon into the sky.
Until this afternoon, when she’d turned and found him standing there so unexpectedly, and she realized that some of that anger and hurt had stayed with her.
She let her breath out on a sigh and pushed her hair off her forehead. Such silly old stuff, it should have no power whatsoever over her now. But there was something about teenage hurts that made them resonate, even years later.
Still, once this quilt was done and Leo left his mother’s place, he would go back to wherever it was he lived. She wouldn’t let him dictate her life again.
In the meantime, she had work tomorrow. Silent as a ghost, she walked through the darkened house to her bedroom.
CHAPTER THREE
LEO HEARD THE voices the moment he let himself into the house. His mother’s voice, full of amusement, and Rachel Macintosh’s, her tone droll and dry as she finished a story that made his mother burst into laughter.
“You think that’s funny, but believe me, I was not laughing at the time,” Rachel said.
She was laughing now, though, a low, slightly husky sound that made him frown. She didn’t look like the sort of woman who was capable of a laugh like that. She came across as uptight and pent up; that laugh was easy and relaxed and maybe even a bit sexy.
“You are so funny, Rachel. I think you missed your calling. You should be a stand-up comedian,” his mother said.
“Hey, I’m not making this stuff up. We are surrounded by a bunch of very strange people in this town. Which is just as well, because it would be pretty boring—”
Rachel broke off the second he appeared in the kitchen doorway, the smile freezing on her face. His mother swiveled in her chair to look at him.
“That was a long walk. Where did you go?”
“Up to the point and back.”
“I saved you some pasta salad. Rachel brought it.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Do you want me to get some for you?” his mother asked.
“I’ll get it. Thanks. I don’t want to interrupt.”
Rachel still hadn’t raised her eyes to him, he couldn’t help but notice. Instead, she’d taken hold of some kind of small sewing tool and was picking away at a seam.
“We’re going great guns here. Rachel’s a quick study,” his mother said.
“So this is just a dry run, not the real thing?” he said to Rachel.
He figured he should make an effort to sound interested in their project since he hadn’t exactly put his best foot forward last time.
Rachel didn’t respond immediately, only lifting her gaze when the silence stretched to awkwardness.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were talking to me.” Her smile was stiff, her eyes sliding away from him as though she had to force herself to look at him. “Yes, it’s a practice run.”
She returned to her sewing. The first time he’d met her, he’d figured she was shy, but there was something about the way she couldn’t meet his eyes and the flat note to her voice that made him wonder if something else was going on.
“How long before you attempt the real thing?” he asked.
“Not for a while,” she said.
Again, her gaze was focused on something over his shoulder, not quite connecting with him. And, again, he found himself staring at her downturned head when she resumed her sewing.
Okay, fine. He’d made an effort. If she didn’t want to make conversation, he wasn’t going to shove it down her throat.
Taking his bowl of salad, he went out into the garden. The salad was good, full of smoky chunks of chorizo sausage and kernels of barbecued corn. The guys at the station would love it.
His fork fell into his almost empty bowl as the now-familiar thud of grief kicked him in the chest. He couldn’t think about work without thinking of Cameron. From the moment they’d met during recruit training, Cameron had been by his
side, through thick and thin. Leo couldn’t imagine charging into a burning building without his buddy at his back.
Didn’t want to, more to the point.
Which left a pretty large question mark hanging over his future. If he didn’t have the stomach to go back to the station, where did that leave him?
He stared across the lawn, lost in his own messed-up thoughts. Gradually he became aware of laughter filtering through from the kitchen. He could hear the rise and fall of his mother’s voice and Rachel responding. In sentences that consisted of more than a handful of words, too. He sat listening to Rachel talk and laugh and enjoy herself, shamelessly eavesdropping, both annoyed and intrigued by the contrast in her behavior when he was in the room.
She was telling his mother about her cousins in America, reminiscing about the summers they used to spend together. She was a good storyteller, her descriptions of their antics bringing a smile to his face as she described nighttime raids on the male members of the family, the frogs they found in their beds in retaliation and sewing sessions with her grandma Mags.
“The best thing about doing this quilt is that Jo and Ella and I are writing to each other again. I’m not sure why we stopped, really, but it’s so good to know that they are still there and that we still have this connection between us,” Rachel said. “I missed them so much when we first moved here when I was a kid. It was like losing half of myself.”
His mother said something that he couldn’t quite catch and he found himself straining to hear Rachel’s response.
Okay, buddy, might want to reel it in.
There was something uniquely pathetic about a guy with a busted shoulder and messed-up life hanging on to every word of two women bonding over a sewing project. Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed his bowl and headed back inside.
The moment he opened the door, Rachel broke off what she was saying and refocused on her sewing, just the way she had when he’d returned from his walk. He stared at the nape of her neck as he strode past, wondering what was going on inside her head. Remembering the way she’d stared at him the last time she’d visited—as though she wouldn’t stoop to scrape him off her shoe.
Maybe he was wiggy from being on his own too much, but he was getting the definite impression Rachel was not his number-one fan. An impression that was reinforced when his mother threw him a searching look after seeing her guest out.
“Did something happen between you and Rachel in high school?” she asked as she returned to the kitchen.
“No. Why? Did she say something?” The moment the words were out of his mouth he chided himself for sounding like a thirteen-year-old girl.
“No. But she doesn’t seem very comfortable around you. And I don’t think it’s just because she’s a little on the shy side. Are you sure you didn’t break her heart?”
She said it lightly, but he could tell she wasn’t entirely joking.
“I think I’d remember if I broke someone’s heart.”
“I’m not so sure. I seem to remember a lot of girls hanging around you when you were a teenager.”
“We’re probably safe to say Rachel wasn’t one of them.”
For starters, his arrogant teenage self wouldn’t have taken the time to look past her carefully composed demeanor to notice the small things that made her beautiful. Like the fact that her mouth turned up at the corners even when she wasn’t smiling, and the neat perfection of her small, ski-jump nose. He definitely wouldn’t have noticed her laugh, or the way her hips swayed when she walked, or the long elegance of her fingers and hands.
In those days, he’d been more interested in breasts—the bigger the better—and stealing beer from his father’s stash and impressing his mates. Football, girls and fun had been his three gods.
It wasn’t until he’d left home and started training for the fire department that he’d understood there was more to life. He’d fallen in love, and had his heart broken. He’d learned that being sober and sharp and ready to go at the drop of a hat could mean the difference between life and death, and was more important than any boozy night out with his mates. These days, he was more interested in acing his exams so he could make senior station officer and renovating his apartment than he was in partying or cruising for women.
At least, he had been. Until the accident.
“What a shame. Just think, you and Rachel could have been teen sweethearts and be married with a houseful of kids by now.”
His mum was teasing him, trying to make him squirm, but he simply cocked an eyebrow at her. “Calm your farm, Mum. You’ll do yourself an injury.”
She laughed and swatted his arm with a tea towel. “You should have seen your face. You’ll get married one day, even if you don’t believe it now.”
“Sure I will. And you’ll never forget to change the batteries in your smoke alarms again.”
But the next Tuesday when he walked into the cool quiet of the Sorrento Public Library, Leo couldn’t help remembering his mother’s words. Not the part about him getting married, the part about him possibly having hurt Rachel.
His mother had charged him with returning a couple of books when she’d learned he was walking into town, and now he paused inside the doorway of the library to get the lay of the land—also unfortunately giving Rachel the opportunity to spot him before he spotted her. He knew she’d spied him because when he finally located the service desk, Rachel was leaning toward her colleague, talking quietly, her gaze fixed on Leo. The moment he made eye contact with her, Rachel swiveled on her heel and disappeared through the doorway behind the desk.
Avoiding him. He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t enjoy feeling like the stinky kid. He definitely didn’t enjoy the idea that someone he barely knew disliked him so much that she refused to even exchange a few civil words with him while checking in some library books. And he had no idea why.
He was aware of the other librarian giving him a curious head to toe as he slid the books into the return chute. He offered her a friendly smile. Then, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he wandered over to the nonfiction section. He watched through a gap in the shelves, keeping an eye on the door behind the counter. Rachel gave him a good couple of minutes to clear the building before she left her bolt-hole. He waited until her colleague was busy helping an elderly patron before making his move.
A couple of random books in hand, he made his way to the desk. Rachel’s welcoming smile became stiffly polite when she realized who her next customer was.
“Good morning. How can I help you?” she asked, the consummate professional.
“I’d like to get a library card,” he said.
“Oh. Okay. There are a couple of forms you need to fill out. Do you have any photo ID on you? If not, you can always come back another time...”
He pulled out his wallet and the hopeful light died in her eyes.
Wow. She really didn’t want to spend a second longer with him than she had to, did she?
“Let’s go over here to do the paperwork,” she said, indicating a small desk set to one side of the counter.
He skirted the counter and sat in the guest chair. She slid into the chair behind the desk. She was wearing a dark red T-shirt with a scarf tied in a jaunty knot at her neck. Her hair was down, too, the first time he’d seen it that way. It was longer than he’d thought it would be. If she was naked, it would almost cover her breasts.
Okay. Where had that come from?
“I’ll get you to fill your name and address details in here, and here. And we’ll need that photo ID, preferably something with your address on it.” Rachel slid a form across the desk toward him and indicated a pen that had been fixed to the desk via a chain. Even though they were separated by the width of the desk, it was the closest he’d ever been to her. He could smell something light and sweet—her perfume? Or maybe it was simply her shampoo.
He picked up the pen and started filling out the form. She clasped her hands on the desk, her fingers gripping each other tightly. He could see them in his peripheral vision, a tight little ball of reproach.
He set the pen down. “Do we have a problem?” he asked boldly.
She blinked, sliding her hands off the desk and into her lap. “Why on earth would we have a problem?”
“You tell me. Every time I walk into a room you act like you want to be somewhere else. And just now you disappeared so you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”
She stared at him, her expression utterly unreadable. He had the feeling she was sorting through possible excuses, trying to decide which lie he’d believe. Then she took a deep breath.
“Okay. Fine. You want the truth? I don’t like the way you speak to your mother. I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, but Gabby is a really nice person and the way you spoke to her the other day... I wouldn’t speak to a dog that way.”
Whoa.
He sat back in his seat. Well, he’d asked for it, hadn’t he?
His first impulse was to defend himself, to tell her his relationship with his mother was none of her business. But he was embarrassed about the way he’d overreacted to the slice of banana cake. He’d been a dick, and even though he’d made his peace with his mother, he deserved to be called on it.
“You’re right. I was out of line. And I apologized to my mum after you’d gone.” He forced the words out of his mouth. He wasn’t used to accounting for his behavior to anyone except his commander.
“Well. Good.”
She pursed her lips, clearly surprised by his response. He’d never noticed before how full her mouth was, the lower lip verging on voluptuous. For a moment he was so fascinated by its plumpness that he almost allowed her to get away with fobbing him off.
The Christmas Wedding Quilt: Let It SnowYou Better Watch OutNine Ladies Dancing Page 21
