by Jen Doyle
It took almost half an hour for him to walk from the front door to Jules, thanks to all the well-wishers. Which was...good. Not unexpected. He’d always had unequivocal support from the people in town and, it appeared, that hadn’t changed even with the whole NateGate thing. At the same time, it was exhausting. If he had to shake one more hand as he confirmed to yet another acquaintance that, yes, it sucked to have this going on, and, no, he wasn’t worried about his knee...
Inspiration was hands down a better place for him to be than Chicago was right now, but it still wasn’t quite the escape he’d been seeking. Except when he was with Dorie. Her apartment, the library...Inspiration felt pretty good then.
When Nate finally got to the counter, Jules brightened her smile. “Nate, hi. Do you remember Barb O’Reilly? Her husband coaches the boys’ basketball team.”
He turned to the woman standing across from his sister. “Coach is doing a great job this year. They might actually take it all the way.”
Barb’s face froze. Then she broke into a huge grin. “You follow the team? Oh, my God.”
Laughing, Jules reached out and touched Barb’s arm. “Didn’t we tell you he did?” She rolled her eyes. “Why doesn’t anyone ever believe us when we say that?”
Clutching Jules’s hand, Barb turned to Nate and said, “Will you come to their game today? They’re playing at 3:30 in the gym. You know—the gym that, um, you guys built for them.”
Nate started to open his mouth and give the same nonanswer he’d given to Tuck a few nights before—but then he suddenly realized that thinking of Dorie had put him in a much better mood and he kind of actually wanted to go. With a genuine smile, he answered, “I think I could swing that. But you should probably let it be a surprise.” That way he could just sneak in the back, hang out with the coaches and not have to talk to anyone except the kids playing.
After Barb left, Nate ordered a coffee for himself and then decided that it couldn’t hurt to bring some over to his aunt and uncle. And, yes, Dorie. If she ran away again? He’d deal with that if he needed to. “I’ll take some muffins, too.”
A few minutes later he found himself in front of the library, pastry box in one hand, tray full of coffees in the other. He had no idea whether Aunt Laura and Uncle A would be working this morning—wasn’t entirely sure he wanted them to be. But he was one hundred percent working under the pretense that he was here for them.
It did bother him that he wasn’t sure of the reaction he’d get from Dorie—that he was actually manufacturing reasons to see her. Heading up the walkway he decided it didn’t matter. Right now he just wanted to see that smile again. To feel the weight lift off his chest when she looked his way. If his motives weren’t pure, so be it. It wasn’t like he’d made her any promises he couldn’t keep. He wasn’t even sure he’d see her again after this week. Except the second he walked in the door, he knew he was fooling himself. His blood ran cold at the sight of her sitting up on Wash’s shoulders, laughing as she almost lost her balance while reaching up to change a lightbulb. As she steadied herself by wrapping her arms around Wash’s head, clamping her thighs down on his shoulders.
“Need a little help?” Nate asked, the door snapping closed behind him.
The amusement in Wash’s eyes as he turned did nothing to settle Nate down.
“Oh, my gosh.” Dorie reached her arms out to Nate, completely unaware of any tension, sexual or otherwise. Nate, on the other hand, practically dropped the coffee and muffins on the floor in his rush to grab her. Luckily, there was a step stool nearby to catch them so he didn’t make a total fool of himself. Thank God he was used to moving on instinct rather than thought. Being an elite athlete had its perks.
She fell into him, gripping his shoulders as his hands went to her hips. His eyes locked on to hers and everything came to a thundering halt as the earth stopped spinning on its axis. The building could have fallen down around them and he wouldn’t have cared. He had to count to ten in Japanese, for fuck’s sake, in order not to dip his head down and kiss her. No, claim her.
Fuck.
Two days, he’d known her. Two days. He’d known Courtney for two years and he’d never felt like this.
He lowered Dorie to the floor and took a step back. “I, uh, brought coffee. For my, um, aunt and uncle. And you. Cream, light sugar, right?” He couldn’t stop his tongue from tangling itself up with words. Jesus.
“Thanks,” she said, not looking at him as she pulled away. She picked up the tray. “I’ll bring it to them.”
It wasn’t until she’d disappeared from sight that Nate noticed Wash staring at him. “Shit, boy,” Wash said, a smile erupting as he clapped Nate on the shoulder. “You have it bad.”
Even if he wanted to deny it, Nate wasn’t sure he could. His heart was racing so fast that he felt dizzy. A picket fence suddenly appeared in the corner of his mind, and it scared the hell out of him. He pushed it right back out.
“Just a momentary distraction,” he mumbled, trying more to convince himself than Wash.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I threw my hat into the ring?”
Nate only barely resisted throwing Wash up against the wall. Since they seemed to have overcome whatever tension had built up over the past two years—farm chores went a long way in rebuilding bonds—that would have been a seriously bad move. It also would have sent a message he wasn’t at all ready to send.
But Wash wasn’t fooled, even though he gave a deceptively easy smile. “I mean, you’re heading back to Chicago soon and you can be damn sure someone’s gonna be stepping in if there’s a void.” He bent down to pick up the box Jules had packed. Opened it up and lifted the tissue paper. “Hell, if she’s there tonight?” He shook his head. “Only reason she hasn’t been snatched up is because no one’s met her yet.”
Trivia night. Right. Nate had planned on making an appearance, but only briefly. Stopping in at the Bombers’s game this afternoon was already more than he’d planned. But Wash was right. From what Nate could tell, Dorie had been either at work or in the apartment pretty much since she’d arrived in Inspiration. It was a small enough town that anyone new stood out. If anyone else had even a fraction of the reaction to her that Nate was having...
Nate shook his head. “It won’t work.” He needed to hear the words in order to absorb them. There were snowballs in hell, and then another ten stops down that road was the chance of something happening between them.
But then Wash’s snapped, “Why?” got his attention. “Getting ready to cut and run again?”
Because, of course, all that talk had just been Wash goading him. Not to be an ass—Wash wasn’t like that and never had been. But he was one of the few people in the world who could get past Nate’s walls, could get him to admit something personal.
And, yes. Even though it had only been a matter of hours—at the farm that first day back, and then working at the library yesterday—Nate had his brother back. So for the first time in longer than he could remember, he spoke God’s honest truth. “I have no idea what in the fuck I’m doing.”
He truly didn’t. Because, yes, ‘cut and run’ had been his MO for a long time. Pretty much from his first days in college all the way up to when he’d met Courtney. And when it came down to it, his relationship with Courtney had been the exact same thing—yes, he’d been involved with only one woman. But that’s really all it had been. They’d been perfect on paper, both at the top of their fields, completely untouchable. But, Nate was beginning to realize, it had been a business relationship more than anything else. Business with benefits.
He’d played his part well, and so had she. But into each other the way two people about to be married should be? Not even close. It had been all body, no soul. And she hadn’t cared enough to chase him down; if anything, she’d deliberately pushed him away.
To actually be invested in someone? To
want to stick around merely because being in their presence made everything...better?
Nope. No fucking clue what to do with that.
The smile came back into Wash’s eyes. “You should probably figure that out.” Taking a muffin out of the box, he took a bite as he closed the lid.
“No shit,” Nate muttered. Sinking back against the wall, he watched Wash turn and walk off in the same direction as Dorie.
So what exactly could happen? He’d had no intention of staying in Inspiration longer than a week, two at the absolute outside. Even if it turned out his playing days were coming to an end sooner rather than later, he’d... Well, there had been some vague conversation when they’d been negotiating the new contract—coaching, maybe. Player development. Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely he’d be spending much time in Iowa.
So, yes. He’d damn well better figure out what he was doing. Because it wasn’t exactly a foregone conclusion that Dorie even wanted to stay in the picture. He’d never seen anyone run from hot to cold and back again as quickly as she did. If he wanted to be doing whatever-it-was with her? He had some major work to do.
* * *
What was that?
The fact that Dorie was able to carry the coffees to the back room was a miracle; she wasn’t sure how she was breathing, much less walking. She handed off the drinks, grabbed her own and then practically ran to her office and locked herself inside so that there was no chance she’d bump into Nate and Wash on the way.
Leaning back in her chair, she forced herself to do a few cleansing, count-to-ten breaths. Of course, she could only ever get to four and usually made herself cough her lungs out in the process, so she put an end to that quickly and grabbed her coffee instead. Yes. God, yes. It was as perfect as he was. Eyes closed, she let its warmth seep through her. Calm her. Bring some normalcy back into a life that suddenly had her sitting a few rooms over from one of the greatest athletes in the history of baseball.
Which was all well and good until she sat up, sputtering, as she realized that the coffee was indeed exactly as she liked it. And that freaked her out more than the time her brothers had made her sit through a Paranormal Activity marathon. In their grandparents’ freaky middle-of-the-woods-no-one-will-hear-you-scream house. On Friday the thirteenth.
She cleaned the coffee off her sweater as well as possible and stood up. She couldn’t hide in her office all day. And besides, he’d probably left ages ago. He’d found his aunt and uncle and then gone off on his merry way.
She stopped short when she came around the corner to see him sitting on the stairs leading up to the second floor. Although the grin he gave her acknowledged her presence, the phone call he was on seemed to be taking up enough of his attention that he didn’t notice her shock. Or at least he didn’t let on.
“Yes, I know,” he was saying, patience obviously being tested. “Saturday morning. Where we met the wedding planner.” The irritation broke free entirely when after a brief pause he snapped, “Are we bringing dates?”
Dorie tried to get past him before he hung up but she didn’t quite manage.
“Fine,” he said sharply. Then he muttered a few choice swear words and stood up, effectively blocking Dorie’s way.
Since it was impossible to pretend she hadn’t heard his end of the conversation, she said, “Your ex?”
“Yep,” he answered. “That would be her.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “So you’re seeing her this weekend?” To cover up the flash of jealousy that she had no right to feel, she quickly followed that up with, “Here in Inspiration?”
Falling into step with Dorie as she walked toward the reading room, he shook his head. “Chicago.”
She stopped short again. “You’re going back?”
Of course he was. He lived there. What, did she think he was going to stay around because he’d cooked for her? And yet she added, “So soon?”
And that right there was why this was a colossally bad idea. She’d never been desperate or whiny over any man.
Realizing she was no longer with him, Nate turned and looked down at her, a slow smile coming over his face. Then he softly asked, “Will you miss me?” He was close enough for his breath to sear her skin.
Chest tight, heart stuttering, she forced herself not to back away from him. “Why?” she asked, trying to inject a lightness she didn’t feel. “Because you’re...gorgeous?”
His hand went to her chin and he tipped her head up in order to meet his gaze. The smile turned to a full-out grin. “Is that all I am to you? Just another pretty face?”
She meant nothing more to him than a challenge, she reminded herself. It was all just a game and she had yet to be conquered. But that did nothing to stop her from wanting him; from wishing she had enough time to get him, foolish as that may be.
She stepped back. Pretending that his touch hadn’t affected her in the least, she said, “The face is fine, but what I really need is the brute strength.” She gave his arm the most sisterly punch she could manage—pausing only briefly to appreciate the rock-hard biceps—and then started walking again, not looking back to see if he’d follow. “There’s a lot more work to do. Is Wash still here?”
“Christ, woman,” he muttered, catching up to her with no problem thanks to his long stride. “You sure know how to wound a guy.”
As though he cared.
“Wash had to leave,” Nate continued, as unwounded as could be. “And anyway, it’s just for a couple of days. I’ll be back Sunday. Feel free to make a list.”
Relief washed over her even as she told herself that nothing was actually changing, she would just be that much more attached when he left. Then she almost laughed out loud. Several days ago, Nate Hawkins was just a guy on TV, and, um, maybe about twenty pictures that were plastered on the back of the door in her bedroom at her parents’ house. Now, here she was, shoulder to shoulder—okay, her shoulder to his chest—with him saying he’d be back and helping out again in a few days.
Despite her insisting that he didn’t need to stay, he spent the rest of the day with her in the library packing and moving the rest of the books; dismantling damaged shelves; cleaning, prepping and then helping her paint. By the middle of the afternoon, it was looking so beautiful that Dorie almost cried.
Her vision. Her library.
“You’re doing a great job here, you know,” Nate said from the other side of the room, where he was wrapping paintbrushes with plastic.
She smiled and ducked her head down, embarrassed that the compliment almost made her cry. More embarrassed that she’d let on how much it meant to her to make something of this little corner of the world. She’d told him all about growing up in the noisy, crowded house spilling over with sports gear and Hot Wheels and how hard it had been to get a word in edgewise, much less have someone actually pay attention to—or be able to afford—something she wanted. So when her brothers would go down to the local Y to play basketball, Dorie would go to the library instead. Every time she walked in the librarians had put aside a stack of books they thought she might like. Even now as a fully grown adult, the armchair in the corner of the teen room felt as much home to her as the house her parents still lived in.
“I’m going to have big, comfy chairs just like that one everywhere,” Dorie said, gathering the stray supplies from the corners of the room and bringing everything over to the pile Nate had made. “I’m going to make this a place where people can’t wait to be.”
“That’s what the basketball court was like for me,” Nate said, sitting back against one of the undamaged bookshelves and stretching his legs out.
Oh, no. It was one thing to work together all day; another entirely to settle in.
But as if he could sense her urge to bolt, he just reached up for her hand and tugged it so she had no choice but to sit down next to him as he went
on, “Ella and Jules had me playing Fairy Tale with them as far back as I can remember. I was so psyched when I got promoted from Coachman to Prince. I think I was eight or nine before I realized that they wanted nothing to do with sports and I could make my escape.”
“Escape?” she echoed faintly as she stared down at his hand still holding hers. As she held herself still when he gently caressed the skin at the base of her thumb. It was either that, or shudder herself into a pile of goo.
Sharing childhood memories wasn’t doing anything to help remind her that he was not her friend—that she did not want an actual relationship. That even if she did, it couldn’t be with him. But she probably shouldn’t have snatched her hand away and snippily said, “Playing Prince Charming is a lot better than being thrown around, I’m guessing.”
Nate laughed. He thought she was kidding. Or playing hard to get.
She carefully put her hands in her lap so that they were out of his reach. “No joke. They called it Toss the Toddler. They gave each other extra points when I was really squirmy. I got really good at the tuck and roll.”
“I don’t know,” he said, a twinkle in his eye although he managed to refrain from laughing again. “I think I’d rather be tossed around than have to ferry my sisters and their friends around in the wheelbarrow every day. Or kiss them.”
Oh, God, no, they couldn’t start talking about kissing.
Yet she went ahead and answered, “You can’t seriously think that having to kiss your sisters’ friends comes anywhere close to being used as a ball.”
“Uh, no. Not when you put it like that.” He was no longer able to stifle his grin. “Although I do stipulate that kissing girls when you’re eight is not the same as kissing them when you’re eighteen.”
Dorie should have responded with something clever and cute. Should have changed the subject already. But instead her gaze drifted down, her lips already tingling. And then she looked up to see him watching her closely. The tip of her tongue darted out—she honestly didn’t know if it was intentional. She couldn’t think past the part about how he might taste.
