Rachel's Redemption

by Jennifer Maitlen

  And he should have his head examined.

  What did he care about her curves and whether or not she showed them off? She wasn’t sticking around and he wasn’t interested in . . . what? A relationship? Hell no. A roll in the hay? A one-night stand? Well . . .

  Now he really needed his head examined.

  Who was he kidding? Of course he’d go for a roll in the hay or a one-night stand. What guy wouldn’t go for a “no questions asked” night of bliss with the woman sitting across from him? The thing was, she wasn’t offering and he wasn’t asking. Sex would only muddy the waters between them. He was having a hard enough time derailing her. It’d be impossible with a night of steamy-hot sex between them.

  Plus, she wasn’t the type of woman that would go for a one-night stand. He bet she was one of those girls who needed a commitment to have sex. Plus, she was a focused, career-driven woman. She set goals and tenaciously pursued them to completion. She didn’t allow for distractions of any kind. That much was obvious just by the way she was tackling the planning of this event.

  He understood completely. He lived his life the exact same way. All except for the part about needing a commitment to have sex.

  Logan had no business thinking of her in any way other than enemy. She was a threat to the fledgling life he was building for himself.

  He took a swallow from his own coffee mug.

  A few moments of silence settled between them before a heaping plate of pancakes was placed in front of him and a colorful bowl of fruit placed in front of Rachel.

  He didn’t waste any time digging in nor did he miss the way Rachel’s lips settled around a hunk of cantaloupe. Watching her mouth work still gave him ideas. He kept his mouth full of pancake goodness so it wouldn’t be tempted to say anything else he’d regret or that she’d analyze later.

  It didn’t take long for Logan to polish off the pancakes or for Rachel to nibble down her boring bowl of fruit. The morning crowd was starting to thin. Their waitress cleared the table and topped off their coffee.

  Logan leaned back in the booth, his stomach satisfyingly full. He observed Rachel as he sipped his coffee. She’d retrieved her notebook and was chewing on a fingernail. It was time to talk about the elephant sitting between them.

  “This”—he rolled his hand in the air—“event is not taking place anywhere near my football program.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “That’s right. Wait. What did you say?”

  “You’re right. It isn’t, technically, happening near your football program.” Rachel stirred her coffee.

  “Where technically is it taking place?”

  Rachel swallowed. “The gymnasium.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean ‘no’?”

  He dropped his chin. “I know you know that no means no.”

  She met him stare for stare. “It’s not your decision.”

  He pushed his coffee cup to the side. “Yes. It is.”

  “The town council didn’t give you ultimate authority.”

  “The school hired me to coach the football team. This mess will interfere with that.”

  “It won’t. You’re precious game happens before.”

  Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Before what?”

  Rachel inhaled. “The event.”

  Logan leaned forward and bit out each word. “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

  “But the game will already have happened!”

  “Doesn’t matter. My team will be in the gym before the game, where your event will need to be set up. No way.”

  “Your team doesn’t practice in the gym.”

  “Their locker room is through the gym. And, they do practice before the game.” Not a full practice, but walk-throughs, and other . . . football stuff. “There has to be a compromise.” She tossed her napkin onto the table.

  “Pick another date.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Pick another gymnasium.” He was beginning to lose his temper. Not only was she not listening, she was countering him on every point, and her temper didn’t seem to be involved at all. She was like a cool-as-a-cucumber lawyer come pediatrician, or something.

  “Can’t do that either. The timing and the place are crucial to the event’s success.”

  The waitress appeared and poured more coffee. Neither of them said anything. Rachel held his eyes and he kept his locked with hers.

  Finally, he shook his head. Rachel sat back in the booth and folded her arms across her chest. The expression on her face was priceless, almost worth the headache this freaking fiasco was causing him. The town princess wasn’t happy. Maybe he was getting to her after all.

  Too bad. He wasn’t going away and he wasn’t going to step aside while she mowed over his team and his program. He resisted the urge to smile. Gloating wouldn’t do him any good here. But, damn if she wasn’t pretty when she was angry. The green in her irises intensified and the gold flecks sprinkled around her pupils sparkled. He couldn’t help noticing the rise and fall of her chest. She was sucking in air and the effect was . . . distracting.

  But he wouldn’t be deterred. This wasn’t a joke to him. He cared about his players and this season. It was football season, for crying out loud. This town bled Warrior red and white. He shouldn’t have to point that out. He wasn’t risking anything just so Nana Delaney-Tolbert could posthumously live out some teenage dream.

  Okay, so that sounded harsh. He supposed some credit was in order for her giving back to the community, but that woman had caused him no end of trouble growing up and it seemed she was extending her torture from the grave.

  “Hi, Rachel. Hey, Coach.” Lila Pitts, owner of The Spoon, stood at their table. “Rachel, you wanted to talk to me about something? I have time now.”

  “Yes, thanks for making time to meet with us.” Rachel shot an irritated look to Logan. He scowled into his coffee mug. She really hated having him involved in this. Too bad, hot pants. Too bad.

  Rachel continued. “Can you sit for a minute?” Rachel scooted over, sliding her notebook and coffee with her.

  Lila cast a proprietor’s glance around the restaurant. When she was content her staff had it under control, she joined Rachel on the bench seat. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  Rachel started, slow and confident, outlining the details of what she had in mind for the tribute event for her grandmother. He had to admit she was good. Lila listened intently, smiled at the right moments, appeared appropriately saddened at the others.

  When Rachel finished, Lila said, “I’m in. What do you need from The Spoon?”

  Logan nearly spewed coffee. Didn’t she hear the part about this business taking place at the gym? Homecoming weekend? The night of a big game? What was wrong with these people? Lila’s son played on his team. Didn’t she see the conflict of interest here? Didn’t anybody?

  Obviously the future of his program lay solely in his hands.

  But before he could interject, Rachel piped up.

  “That’s wonderful! Thank you, Lila. I knew you’d jump on board. We need catering for the dinner.” Rachel shot Logan a keep-your-mouth-shut look. “For after the game on Friday. We’re going to have a plated sit-down dinner.”

  While Rachel prattled on, Lila nodded, her face every bit the savvy business woman she was. Logan waited for his opportunity to redirect this screaming freight train.

  “As far as menu,” Lila began, “What were you thinking?”

  “Well—” Rachel started.

  “Lila, we thought you’d never ask.” Logan interjected, ignoring the shock on Rachel’s face. “Okay, this might be hard to believe, but”—he spread his hands wide—“it really is what Rachel has in mind, even if she’s a little embarrassed to tell you . . .” He risked looking at Rachel, whose expression, bless her heart, was a mix of disbelief and ill-concealed unease. Either way the color was high on her face and her eyes were flashing green. He wasn’t deterred. If he couldn’t get her to change venues, maybe he could manipula
te the event for the smallest turnout and, ultimately, the least impact to his players. “What she had in mind is something more continental, more cosmopolitan. More worldly.”

  Rachel continued to glare at him and Logan was glad the cutlery had been removed from the table.

  “Go on. I’m listening,” Lila said.

  “She wants a mixture of Indian and Moroccan cuisine. Some couscous and lamb. Definitely a few vegetarian dishes. Lots of curry. Isn’t that right, Rachel?”

  He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smirking. She would surely kill him when she had him alone, but no way was she going to contradict him in front of Lila. She’d want Lila to see one united, professional front. Lila was the only show in town when it came to big catering events. The Spoon did all the weddings, baptisms, funerals, graduations. Lila and her crew knew how to feed a crowd, formally and informally.

  Lila thought about it a minute then exhaled. “Wow. All right.” Her gaze shifted from Logan to Rachel. “We’ve never done anything quite like that before. Are you sure that’s the way you want to go? Wouldn’t you prefer a nice chicken dish? Or maybe beef?”

  “Nope. No, Rachel really wants something with a middle-eastern flare. Don’t you, Rach?” But before she could answer, he continued. “And we know Ms. Delaney-Tolbert would have loved it.”

  Both women gave him puzzled looks. He nodded gravely. “She was very cosmopolitan, that lady.” God rest her soul. He was surely going to hell for this, but first he was going to give his team a shot at a championship trophy. His seniors and the scouts that drove out to Redemption to see them deserved it.

  Lila chewed her lip, her brows together as she thought about the logistics of that sort of menu. Rachel and Logan waited in silence, although the message Rachel was sending him was loud and clear. She was going to kill him.

  And damn if the idea didn’t excite him in a very primal way.

  “All right. For Gloria Delaney-Tolbert we’ll do it.

  Rachel, you can count on The Spoon.” She pushed out of the booth. “I need to get back.” She laughed a little. “This menu is . . . different. But, if you’re sure it’s the way you want to go . . .”

  Rachel forced her lips into a smile. Logan didn’t miss the strain in the muscles of her neck. “Yes, definitely. It’ll be fun. Different. A big draw.”

  Lila’s face said otherwise but she just smiled and said, “I’ll be in touch.” Then she headed back to the kitchen.

  And, Logan was left sitting with a woman whose expression said he was a dead man.

  Chapter 10

  Rachel swallowed the fury that bubbled up inside her.

  So this was how Logan was going to play it, huh? She’d never pegged him for a saboteur, but when a person was backed against a wall, you just never knew.

  “Cute, Logan.”

  He had the good sense not to grin. Good. This wasn’t funny.

  “I think it will make the event more interesting.”

  “Uh-huh.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sure you do.” Interesting and odd. People usually signed up in droves for occasions that fit that bill.

  “Look,” she said, sliding from the booth, dragging her bag across the seat. “It’s been . . . real. I’ve got some stuff to do in town. Thanks for breakfast. I’ll catch a ride home from Molly.” Or walk. At the rate adrenaline was flooding her body she’d make the two mile walk back to the motel in no time. She moved away from the table, leaving him open-mouthed. Which was fine. She wasn’t interested in hearing anything more from the man whose heart was missing.

  No, she corrected, it wasn’t missing. It was just shaped like a football.

  She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and wished she’d left the Event Planning for Dummies book at home and the five magazines and maybe she didn’t need the large binder either. But, how was she to know she’d end up hoofing it back to the motel?

  She took off toward Molly’s. She needed to vent, gain a little perspective, and decide her next steps. Damage control.

  One thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to involve Logan in anymore planning. He’d just enjoyed making his last—and only—decision for this tribute. She didn’t care what the council members had said. If they knew he was bent on sabotaging the whole thing, they’d kick him out of the planning too.

  Rachel crossed the street and set out toward the motel. She changed her mind. She was too fired up to bother Molly with this. A walk would do her good. She cast a look to the sky. Clear blue and bright sun as far as the eye could see. She’d be a sweaty mess by the time she got back to the room. Which was just perfect. She’d take a quick shower and get on the road. She was on the clinic schedule first thing tomorrow morning and for the next five days, taking call two of the nights. Part of her training meant that she, along with the other residents, covered the call schedule.

  Leaving the clinic, which had been gracious enough to hire her in the first place, in a scheduling lurch could get her blackballed when she set out to start her own career. Those were bridges she wanted firmly and solidly intact. Not burned to a crisp because she failed to meet her obligation to cover a shift or call.

  She had to get back to Denver tonight. No way could she risk traffic or sleeping through her alarm and not make it to work tomorrow.

  This was just how it was going to be for the next month. Lots and lots of driving.

  The sound of a car—no a truck—filled the air. Her skin prickled. She knew without turning who was behind the wheel. She picked up her pace.

  “Thought you had errands.”

  “Thought I’d walk a little.”

  “Come on. Let me take you home.”

  Her sandals crunched on the small gravel littering the edge of the road. A car pulled around Logan and she caught the other driver’s wave as they passed. Whatever.

  One foot in front of the other.

  “Rachel. Get in.” Logan sounded tired and irritated, which had her grinding her teeth.

  She stopped and took a deep breath. Then she turned to face him and in a, mostly, even voice said, “Don’t you have a heart at all?”

  With a deliberate motion, he put the vehicle in park. “Why do you think I’m so opposed to this thing?” His tone matched hers even though she watched his knuckles flex on the wheel.

  “Because you hated my grandmother.” She pointed a trembling finger at him. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. And besides, it was just because she was so pissed off! “Because you’re unhappy. Angry at this town, angry about your dad, just plain angry.”

  He stared at her. At first the glint in his eyes made her think he was going to say something jerky and off-hand. But he didn’t. He sat there, one hand flexing on the steering wheel, his gaze alternating between her and the road.

  She shook her head. “I could use the fresh air.” And time to think.

  “Rachel?” His voice was soft. “Get in. Let me take you home.”

  She didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turned, then, uncertain she’d heard him, she asked, “Could you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard you.”

  He cleared his throat and said clearly, “I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t going to let him off that easy. His stunt may have cost her the event.

  “Climb in. Let me take you back. Please. Look, you can be pissed at me. Let me have it and keep from getting blisters on your feet.”

  She looked down at her sandals and chewed her lip, contemplating what she should do. She gazed down the road, the long, long road. She didn’t need blisters.

  “Promise me something first.”

  He didn’t say anything and she took that as prompting for her to continue. “Promise to remember that this is important to me.”

  His eyes softened and something in him shifted. At last, he nodded. “I promise.”

  She exhaled and climbed into the truck. Rachel fastened the seat belt and then hugged her bag close to her chest. She was still so angry she could b
arely see straight and she didn’t want her trembling fingers giving her away. Gripping the bag gave her hands something to do, and kept her secret.

  They drove to the motel in silence. Thick, angry, entitled silence. This was what it was like to be in an uncompromising situation. He wasn’t giving her an inch and she didn’t have an inch to give.

  They were at an impasse.

  He pulled in front of her room and put the truck in ‘park’.

  “So what’s next on your list?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Uh-huh. I’m not telling you anything.”

  He shook his head and chuckled softly. Mischief was back. He leaned toward her and said, “Rachel, you have to.”

  That was it. She’d had enough. She brought her face right in front of his and said, “Make me.”

  The air in the cab suddenly crackled with electricity.

  Logan’s eyes glittered and the creases at their corners deepened. He walked his fingers up her forearm arm, passing her elbow, palming it, searing it with heat, and finally cupping her shoulder.

  Sensations—heat and fire—raced through her system. Her skin blazed where his big hand burned her exposed skin. She held his gaze, mesmerized by the light and heat swirling in them. Her mouth parted and she thought for a moment he would kiss her.

  And she wanted him, too.

  She didn’t know where that thought had come from or why, just that it was there and couldn’t be denied. She wanted his firm lips on hers. She wondered if he’d taste like blueberry pancakes and syrup and coffee. And hot male. She swallowed convulsively as she watched his eyes dip and settle on her mouth. Her tongue darted out to her lips. She didn’t move and neither did he, but somehow they were moving closer. The space in the pickup was shrinking and she was helpless to it.

  Logan cleared his throat and withdrew his hand moving away. The space between them grew and the cab was suddenly much bigger than it had been a moment before, cooler, too.

  “All right. Don’t tell me. But it’s a small town.”

  Meaning, he wouldn’t have any trouble finding out what she was up to. All he had to do was ask around.