Back To Us (Shore Secrets 3)

by Christi Barth

  “You and Piper are volatile. Like rocket fuel and a blowtorch. Thought maybe things heated up last night.”

  “No comment on that angle. It was a double date. We bowled. We went out for chili cheese fries and burgers after. Zero pressure.” Now that he thought about it, it had kind of been a throwback to the double dates they did in high school. “It was a by-the-book night. I followed your suggestions to the letter.”

  Another smirk from Gray. “How’d that work out? Using Zane as a dating coach?”

  “Zane only coached on the date activity. The rest was all me. Flying by the seat of my pants.”

  “Did they stay on?”

  Another five minutes in the pinsetting room and something would’ve come off, that was for damn sure. “I said, no comment.”

  “That’s a no to any action, then. So if your double date was all wholesome good times, why’d Joel need a redo so fast?” Zane’s joking tone dropped away. “There isn’t a new problem with the missing money, is there? Did the police call with news?”

  Back in the spring, the city manager and treasurer had emptied the town bank account and disappeared. It took the police a few months, but they’d cleared Dawn completely of any possible charges. Three different law enforcement groups were on their trail, and had been getting closer the past few weeks. The whole town wanted the money found, but Ward and his friends especially wanted this Chapter closed, for Dawn’s sake. “You and Casey would hear before the rest of us, if that was the case.”

  Gray rolled his eyes. “You guys are overlooking the obvious. Joel waited years to ask out the woman of his dreams. Guess they both want to make up for lost time.”

  A knock sounded on the door right as Gray jerked it open to go retrieve the food. Hand still upraised, a tall man about ten years too old to be wearing the Seneca Lake High letterman jacket smiled at them. “Hi. I’m looking for Ward Cantrell?”

  So this guy had either missed or already checked at both the distillery and the house. Either way, Ward didn’t want to talk to him. “Not a good time. You can make an appointment for later this week at the long white building, about two hundred feet up the driveway.”

  “This can’t wait.”

  “Neither can this bachelor party we’re planning.” Zane was pleasant to everyone. Not just because he was a nice guy, but more so because he was so flipping curious about every last person and thing that crossed his path. So his brushoff of the stranger was a surprise. Totally warranted. They’d all agreed to hunker down tonight to the all-important business of deciding how to help Gray kick the single life in style. Still, surprising.

  After a squinty-eyed pan of the room, the man settled his gaze on Ward. “You’re him, aren’t you? I recognize you from the pictures in the trophy case at school.”

  Great. Another stuck-in-the-good-old-glory-days freak. “Yeah. I’m Cantrell. Come back tomorrow. Or not. Your choice.”

  “Sorry. I jumped ahead and didn’t even introduce myself.”

  Of course not. Because he was still standing outside, clearly not invited in or to swap names.

  “I’m Sebastian Fowler. Athletic director over at Seneca Lake High.”

  Ward still didn’t care what he had to say. But anyone who devoted their life to dealing with ungrateful kids for low pay deserved at least his respect. With a sigh, he crooked his arm in welcome. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks. It’s great to meet a living legend.”

  Good thing they hadn’t gotten to drinking yet, or Ward would’ve done a spit take. “Is that what they’re calling me now?”

  “The school’s stat books say it all. You did it all.” Starting with his thumb, Coach Fowler ticked them off on his hand. “Football, basketball, track, and lettered in all three.”

  Those letters and a fiver still wouldn’t be enough to buy him a cup of coffee in Manhattan. “Yeah, well, I learned to put on mascara all by myself for the school musicals, too. Just call me a jack-of-all-trades.”

  “Ha. Good sense of humor to top off a well-rounded student who built a successful business from the ground up. You’re everything I hoped for, Ward.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high. He’s already taken.” Gray hooted and elbowed Zane in the ribs to laugh with him.

  “Oh. Well. No, I didn’t mean...” His voice trailed off in confusion.

  Ward jerked a thumb at his friends and frowned. “Ignore those idiots. What brings you nosing around at six thirty on a Monday night?”

  “Am I barging in too late? We just finished practice. I rushed right over.”

  How was this soft-spoken man the coach of the football team? “Not late. But we’re about to get deep into debating strippers and Atlantic City versus cigar bars and Manhattan. Unless you’ve got something to sway the decision, you’d better hurry this up.”

  “I want you to come to Homecoming.”

  Zane patted him on the shoulder with a shit-eating grin. “Aww, and you thought no one would ask you to the dance this decade.”

  “Idiots.” Ward shrugged him off with a roll of his eyes.

  Sebastian thrust his hands into the pockets of the blue-and-white letterman jacket. “It’s the ten-year anniversary of your record-breaking streak of wins. Our team hasn’t been, well, performing up to the same standards.”

  “Your team’s been in last place for two seasons. It’s why they sacked Coach Mackelroy and brought you on board last month,” Ward said bluntly.

  “The boys are beaten down. They don’t believe in themselves anymore. I want to have a pep rally ceremony to remind them that it is possible for SLHS to win. To not just win, but dominate.”

  “And you think bringing me back will do that? You’re off your rocker, Coach Fowler.” It wouldn’t be a ceremony. It would probably turn out a lot more like a public stoning. Because the small-minded people who still lived and died by their four years of high school glory? Those were just about the only people in town who still hated Ward. And they were the first ones who’d fill the bleachers at Homecoming.

  With a determined smile on his All-American face, Sebastian said, “I think you’re exactly the type of small-town-boy-makes-good story they need to see.”

  Fat freaking chance. “You’re new to town, right? So you don’t know that there’s just as many folks here who want to scratch my name off every trophy in that case of yours as would clap for me. A couple significant ones who’d want to yank their booster dollars clean out of your program if you did anything close to honoring me.”

  It didn’t hurt Ward to lay it out the way it was. Not much, anyway. He lived the facts. Whenever he sat in the barber chair and ignored the muttered comments. Every time—seven in all—his application to join the chamber of commerce was denied.

  What helped balance those stings were counterpoint gestures from decent people. The ones who let him sponsor the flag football team. All the local restaurants that stocked his product. And yes, the ones who helped him keep his business afloat with their volunteer labor. He knew the tide of public approval had shifted more in his favor over the past three years. Still, when the movers and shakers in town looked at you like the stuff they scraped off the bottoms of their shoes, it was just common sense not to go seeking attention from them.

  “You won’t be standing up there alone. I’m bringing in other school heroes.”

  “I’d be the last person to label myself a hero.”

  “You are to these kids. I’m telling you, Ward, they look up to you. Stories of what you did in our program still run through all the teams. You were great. And you used that greatness to get out, which is what a lot of my kids want to do.”

  “And then I blew it.” Might as well hammer that home to the coach. Since that was the only thing that mattered to those thickheads who still held a grudge against him.

  “You sure did. Blew it a
ll to hell and back,” Sebastian agreed with that same good-natured grin still stapled to his face. “But you didn’t give up. Even with your scholarship yanked, you found a way to stay in school and make something of yourself.”

  Maybe he could see Fowler as the football coach after all. The man had a persistent streak longer than Seneca Lake. “You really did your homework on me.”

  “All it took was keeping my ears open while I got a haircut.” Fowler ran a hand over his head. “Simon raved about you.”

  Simon was...enthusiastic, to say the least. Flamingly enthusiastic. And a huge fan of Lakeside’s cherry liqueur. “Simon raves about everything and everyone.”

  Gray chuckled. “Last week it was the new gel insoles he was rocking. Specifically, that they now come in neon orange. It made his day.”

  “So I’m at least as awesome as insoles.” Ward pumped his fist in the air. Sarcastically, of course. “High praise. Clearly I deserve a statue.”

  Sebastian planted his feet wide, as if bracing for more of Ward’s rejection. “You’re an inspiration. You may not see it, but I do. Others do.”

  “And some others don’t,” Ward said flatly.

  “It’ll be fun. Simon told me that your three best friends were cheerleaders? I thought I’d ask them to put on their old uniforms and back you up.”

  Huh. The thought of seeing Piper in that sweater and short skirt again was almost enough to convince him.

  “Casey, Ella and Piper dressed up as cheerleaders? Oh, that changes everything.” Zane dropped to his knees and begged like a puppy dog. “Come on, Ward, you have to do this. For us.”

  “Live out your sexual fantasies with your girl in the bedroom, Professor. You don’t need my help.”

  Gray crossed from the door to get right in Ward’s face. “Why let the haters win?”

  “You sound like the latest pop chart-topper. All you’re missing are jeans halfway down your ass and half a bottle of mousse in your hair.”

  Hand raised, Gray continued, “I’m serious. Everything Coach Fowler said is true. Why not let the people who see you as awesome—present company included—stand up and give you a round of applause? Sure, there are closed-minded jackasses who still look down on you. But why let them keep you from the accolades you deserve?”

  “Unless you don’t think you deserve them?” Zane asked quietly.

  Damn the professor and his insightfulness. Ward paced from the breakfast bar down to the potbellied stove he’d manhandled in. “I made the best of a bad situation. A couple of times over. So do lots of people. I’m nothing special.”

  “Don’t you see?” Coach Fowler clapped him on the shoulder. “That attitude is exactly what makes you special. I don’t care if you do it because it’s a metaphorical pie in the face to your detractors, or because your being there might actually help us win Homecoming for the first time in four years. Just say you’ll come. For the kids. For revenge. Just come.”

  With all three of them ganging up on him, Ward couldn’t figure out a way to say no. Although he’d probably come up with one at two in the morning. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if things go badly.”

  Sebastian grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch with details. Oh, and now that you’ve said yes, I’ll tell you that my brother manages one of the top steak houses in Manhattan. I’d be happy to hook you guys up. He’d pull out all the stops.”

  “See? Worst-case scenario, you’re taking one for the sake of my bachelor party. This’ll totally be worth it.” Gray shook Fowler’s hand. “Thanks, man. You just made our planning a whole lot easier. I’ll walk you out.”

  Zane moved his laptop off the red microsuede couch as they left. “I like a good steak. Have crazy love for the scalloped potatoes that they always do with them. But I still say just seeing our women in cheerleader outfits is worth it.”

  “Glad to know my inevitable humiliation is for a worthy cause.” Ward still didn’t think this was a good idea. But he did whip out his phone. If nothing else, it gave him a reason to text Piper, something he’d been itching to do all afternoon. Something that wasn’t as lame as I had a great time with you last night or how long until I can kiss you again. The two of them going back to high school? Now that was a good excuse.

  Chapter Eight

  Piper checked her watch as she finished lighting the last cluster of fat white candles on the mantel. She’d already done the trio in hurricane globes on the squat grey box that served as a coffee table, the tall tapers on both end tables, and the sconces on the hallway. She’d nearly burned her fingers twice as she went through half a book of matches. Totally worth it, as they gave the room a warm glow. Didn’t matter if it was just Ella and Casey coming over for a wedding planning summit or the entire Seneca Lake Winery Association—her house always had to be magazine-spread perfect. Impressions mattered. Standards had to be upheld. Most of all, Piper needed it to look right for her own peace of mind.

  Just as she’d planned, the knock sounded on her front door a moment later. Without waiting for her, Ella and Casey tumbled through the doorway. “I have news,” Ella squealed as she kicked the door shut behind her.

  “I have news,” Piper countered. And she stood, with arms crossed and a pointed glare, until Casey unlaced her hiking boots and left them in the tiled foyer.

  In sock feet, Casey padded across the thin strips of white oak on the floor. She threw herself onto the pale grey chaise with a dramatic flail of her arm. “I have nothing more than a growling stomach. Actual hunger pangs. When’s the food getting here?”

  “Soon.” Piper watched Ella dump a bag full of bridal magazines on the floor, then a three-ring binder, her purse, two long boxes tied with white ribbon, and her coat. “Moving in?” she teased.

  Her friend shook back her long brown hair and shot her an unabashedly shameless grin. “Planning a wedding requires lots of reference material. I’ve got another bag of magazines out in the car.”

  “You know, May is a long way away still. You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

  “I know, but we can at least talk about everything, right?”

  Ella looked so hopeful and excited that Piper couldn’t help but laugh. “Absolutely.” Arm in arm, they walked into the living room. “Do you want to wait for the Chinese delivery to come, or start with wine now?”

  They both stared at her as if she’d asked them to choose between getting a root canal or having an orgasm. “You own a winery,” Casey said in a pointed and pained tone. “Ella owns a winery. Wine is like water in this neck of the woods. Why on earth would we want to wait for the food?”

  “So it’s been that much of a Monday for you, has it?” Piper plucked the silver ice bucket and three glasses off the sideboard.

  “I had to work—and Mondays are usually my day off. So I was in a foul mood from the get-go. Then everything went wrong. The copier jammed, I had to change the printer toner, I sat through an online training that had my eyes crossing...”

  Before Casey could launch into part two of her crappy-day complaints, Piper jammed a glass of Riesling in her hand. “Oh, I see. You were stuck in the office and couldn’t go out in the forest at all. That’s why you’re cranky.”

  “Yes, damn it. I’m a forest ranger, not a desk ranger.”

  Perfect segue straight into the good news Piper was bursting to tell. “Since we’re talking about our jobs, I’m saying again, louder and with more fanfare—” she twirled her hands in the air like a magician’s assistant revealing a rabbit to the audience “—I have news!”

  “Oh, but—” Ella bit her lip and looked back and forth between them “—so do I.”

  “Ella, we’re going to stay up till midnight talking about every single aspect of your wedding, right? From the place cards to the playlist to what your something borrowed will be?�
��

  “Yes,” she said on a blissful sigh.

  “If you get the whole rest of the night, Piper gets to go first.” Casey pointed at Piper with her glass. “Take the spotlight and run with it.”

  “Okay.” She sat on the sofa next to Ella. “Here goes.” Too excited to sit, Piper popped back up like a cork out of Morrissey Vineyards’ finest sparkling wine. “WWLL magazine is coming here. This week. To do a spotlight on me.”

  Casey held up her hands in a time-out gesture. “Congrats. Obviously. But...I’m going to need a little more detail, so I know just how hard to clap and how high to jump. What’s WWLL?”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Piper took a sip of her wine.

  Ella took over the explanation as she stood to enthusiastically throw both arms around Piper’s waist. “Everyone uses the acronym because the name is, well, long and pretentious. It stands for Winning Wines and Laudable Liquors.”

  “Pretentious, indeed. But since you work at a winery, I’m guessing this is a super-big score for you?”

  “Yes.” Piper flung her arms wide. Carefully, though, so as not to risk spilling her wine. “Huge. They only do a spotlight once a quarter. The reporter said that she was taken by my not just resting on the family name, but really striving—and succeeding!—to make our tasting room stand out in the crowded field of Finger Lakes wineries.” Pleasure flushed through her. “National recognition like this is all kinds of validation. Plus, it gives me the chance to tease my port line.”

  With hands still upraised and ready to clap, Casey jolted upright. “You mean the one that doesn’t exist yet? And won’t for, um, how many years?”

  Piper had already worked it out down to the day. “Ward’s timing couldn’t have worked out better. I’ll have access to plant on his land in late fall, which is perfect. Two years before the grapevines are ready for harvest. Then another two after that to age into ruby port, just to get started, while I keep aging the tawny.”