Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  That wasn’t the most unusual part of the evening, though. While she recognized a few faces, Tate seemed to know almost everyone in the place. She slapped a smile on her face, reminding herself that she wasn’t a kid anymore and didn’t care what these people thought of her. She also tried to ignore the sideways glances that came her way and the either overbright or overcautious greetings of those people who actually did speak to her.

  Tate, however, seemed universally loved. People spoke to him; they waved; women batted their eyelashes at him. It bordered on surreal.

  Finally, she leaned across the table. “Okay, I have to ask. How come I’m getting the stink eye for past sins, yet you seem to be forgiven and beloved?”

  Tate grinned at her. “Consensus may be that I was young and foolish and simply led astray by an older, wilder woman.”

  Helena felt her jaw drop.

  “Of course,” he continued with mock gravity, “once the bad influence was removed, I repented, reformed, and made quite a success of myself.”

  She’d often wondered if Tate might get beyond their past and get redemption without her around, but having it confirmed irritated her more than she wanted to admit. “That’s a load of horse shit. Like I could drag you up onto the school roof if you were kicking and screaming the whole way,” she added in a grumble.

  “Well, you weren’t here to offer an alternate theory.”

  There was something in Tate’s voice that panged her heart and her conscience, and the little voice that had been nagging her for two days had to be addressed. “Yeah. And I want to apologize for that.”

  “I’m sure the people of Magnolia Beach will be happy to hear it.”

  “Screw the ‘people of Magnolia Beach.’ I couldn’t care less either way what they think. I owe the apology to you.”

  Tate’s eyes widened.

  Direct and honest. She owed Tate that much. “I’m sorry I took off like that, with so little warning. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you or keep in touch.”

  He nodded, then asked, “Why didn’t you?”

  Tate was trying to keep it light, but she could hear the hurt in his voice and it made her feel worse. She knew him too well, knew he’d never tell her how deep the wound went. The guilt she’d held at bay by telling herself he was better off landed hard. She’d left him here with an abusive parent and their messed-up friends to pick up the debris of their adventures alone. He deserved an explanation. “At first . . .” She sighed. “Well, at first I was feeling like a big shot. I hated Magnolia Beach, and this was my chance to be freed from it. Then when things went to hell with Charlie, I didn’t want to admit to anyone I’d failed. That I’d hitched my star to a loser. I had no money, no job, no place to live. . . . I just couldn’t admit it to anyone. I didn’t want the pity or the ‘I told you so’s,’ so I handled it myself. By the time I started to get my act together, it felt like it was too late. That bridge had been burned already, and I figured people would be happier if I just stayed gone.” She looked him in the eye. “Some of that is true, I know—many people were probably happy that I just faded away. And I admit that all I wanted to do was forget everything about Magnolia Beach, so I intentionally shut out everything and everyone—including Grannie for a while. But I shouldn’t have lumped you in with the others around here. I should have called, worked harder to keep in touch.”

  “I missed you,” he said quietly.

  “I missed you, too. You don’t even know how much.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  He returned the squeeze. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now.”

  She was forgiven. Just like that. A huge weight lifted off her shoulders. She didn’t really deserve it, but it felt good all the same. “And you now have my cell number, my e-mail address, my Twitter handle. . . .”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean that when you leave this time, you’ll put Magnolia Beach back in the No-Go Zone.”

  “Let’s see how this trip works out first. I may still get run out of town on the rails.”

  He chuckled and everything was normal again. “Making new enemies already? That was fast.”

  “No, just the old ones.” She thought about Julie Lane, now Swenson. “Mainly because some folks just can’t grow up and let go. But I may have made a new friend.”

  He looked impressed. “That bodes well. Who?”

  “Molly from Latte Dah. Well, I wouldn’t say she’s a friend yet, but I’m hopeful.” Time to tactfully pry. “Do you know her?”

  He shook his head. “I know her, of course, but not well. She adopted a kitten that was abandoned at the clinic a few months ago and has spoiled it rotten on chicken and catnip. And she makes great coffee, too.”

  “Oh, that she definitely does.” Helena didn’t have to fake the enthusiasm behind that statement. “I’ll probably become one of her best customers. But she seems really sweet, too.”

  Tate merely nodded and signaled for the check.

  “And she’s as cute as a button. I’ve always wanted curly hair like hers.”

  “I like your hair the way it is.”

  But we’re not talking about me, doofus. “Thanks. But while I’d like to make at least one new friend, I wouldn’t want her reputation to suffer from hanging around me too much.”

  “I think Molly can handle it.” The check arrived, and Tate lost all interest in that topic of conversation.

  Well, my prying skills suck.

  He barely glanced at the check before he tucked bills inside. “My treat. Trust me,” he added when she protested. “I can afford it.”

  “Only if you let me get it next time.”

  “We’ll see. Want to walk down to the beach?”

  It was a gorgeous night, and the desire to feel sand between her toes nearly overwhelmed her. Yep, still a beach girl at heart. “Rain check? My trip to see Grannie today meant I got no work done, and I’ve got to get some stuff ready to send to my clients before they take their business elsewhere. How about dinner tomorrow night, though?”

  Tate shook his head. “Magnolia Beach plays Orange Beach tomorrow night. It’s a home game. Most every place worth eating at will be closing early.”

  “Seriously? They still do that?” Some people might think that was charming, but from a business point of view, it seemed stupid to close early on a Friday night. Then she remembered the average turnout for a home game. . . . The concession stand was probably the only food place in town doing any business anyway.

  “Of course.” He offered her a hand as she slid out of the booth, then used it to guide her toward the door. “Should I pick you up?”

  “For what?”

  “The game.”

  She snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t even like football.”

  “Still a rebel.”

  “Since when do you like football, anyway?” Tate had been slight and scrawny and not into sports at all as a teenager, and he’d hated the teasing from the jocks and coaches alike.

  “Since I became an adult and figured out that it’s not just a game, darlin’. It’s a social obligation, especially for those of us who are pillars of the community.”

  She nearly choked. “You’re a pillar? Since when?”

  “Since I became the town vet. It comes with the territory. Doc Masters sat me down when I took over the clinic to go over all my new civic responsibilities. I’m now an enthusiastic supporter of the Magnolia Beach school system’s athletic programs.”

  Helena tried to stifle a laugh and ended up making a strange snorting sound instead. “Wow. Your enthusiasm is nearly overwhelming.”

  “Hush.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side. As the engine roared to life, he looked at her. “So you’ll come to the game with me?”

  “Not on your life.” She forced her face into seriousness. “Af
ter all, a pillar like you shouldn’t be seen with a bad influence like me. Think of the impressionable children.”

  “Think of the impression you can make—as a responsible, adult woman, showing your support for kids and the community. It’s a scene right out of your redemption montage.”

  That sounded horrible, actually. “What makes you think I’m looking for redemption?”

  Tate grinned at her. “The fact you’re jealous of mine, of course.”

  “I am not.”

  He snorted. “It certainly seems like it.”

  She lifted her chin. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Weren’t you just telling me about Jesus forgiving, but no one forgetting?”

  He shrugged. “You can’t make people forget the past, but you can give them new ideas to replace the old ones.”

  When did Tate get so insightful? “I think I’d rather try to stay under the radar—at least for now. Let people ease into the idea, maybe.”

  Tate let the subject drop, making small talk on the short drive back to Grannie’s, but Helena had deeper thoughts pressing on her now. Seeing Ryan rip out rosebushes and stake out ramps made everything very real, and Tate was only driving it home—however unwittingly. Until now, she’d been working with an idea, a concept, but the reality was settling in. Grannie wasn’t getting any younger, and her health, while still good now, would become an issue sooner or later. Grannie’s ability to travel would be curtailed, and Helena wouldn’t be able to avoid Magnolia Beach forever. She was going to have to do something to make that easier for everyone to accept.

  She just wasn’t sure what.

  And it annoyed her to have to consider it. She’d made her stand, earned her reputation. She wasn’t proud of all she’d done, but she had too much pride to go begging for forgiveness now.

  She hugged Tate once he pulled into Grannie’s driveway. “G’night. Thanks for dinner.”

  “My pleasure. If you change your mind about the game, let me know.”

  “I won’t,” she assured him.

  Grannie’s house was dark and quiet. She should have left a light on or something, as it was weird to be here alone. Kicking off her shoes, she left them in the middle of the floor since Grannie wasn’t here to yell at her about it, grabbed a glass of wine, and padded barefoot up the stairs to change.

  She’d had a long day already, and the temptation to drink herself to sleep was fierce, but she had a long night of work ahead of her, too.

  Nobody ever said any of this was going to be easy.

  * * *

  Gunshots woke her up.

  Helena sat straight up in bed, wide awake but very confused with her heart lodged somewhere near her larynx.

  Five more pops quickly followed, almost directly under her window, sending her rolling to the floor before the details began to rush at her: She was in her childhood bedroom, not her first crappy apartment in that crack-addled neighborhood. There were no screams or cries or sirens blaring, just a low-pitched engine hum. . . .

  The next pop, pop, pop brought clarity. That was a nail gun, not an actual gun, and that hum was the air compressor driving it. Good Lord, it was seven freakin’ o’clock in the morning. Someone was about to die.

  Grabbing Grannie’s cotton robe off the back of the bathroom door, she wrapped it around herself and ran down the stairs, muttering threats the whole way. Sunlight blinded her as she jerked open the front door, only to be greeted by Ryan Tanner’s backside as he bent over to send five more nails into Grannie’s porch.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” she shouted.

  Ryan stood and had the audacity to grin at her. “Good morning, Helena. I’m building a ramp. What about you?”

  “It’s seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. I was trying to sleep.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re up now, then. The plumber is coming later today to run the pipes for the new tub, and I need to get in there to knock out that wall so he can.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, why?”

  “Did you not hear the part about it being seven o’clock and the whole ‘I’m sleeping’ thing?”

  “There’s a lot of work to be done. Are you really going to drag this out just so you can sleep late? Your neighbors aren’t complaining.”

  Because this is Magnolia Beach. They are probably all awake already, eating their perfectly balanced breakfasts after their brisk morning walk. She, though, was a night owl, often working until three or four o’clock in the morning, but she wasn’t going to defend her sleep habits, especially to him. But before she could answer, Ryan went back to work, attaching more boards to Grannie’s new ramp and whistling a jaunty tune while he worked.

  A quick survey told her Ryan had been here for a while. He was much further along than he’d been yesterday, when he’d been able to work for only a couple of hours before leaving for the football game. She guessed she should be glad he’d done quieter stuff first instead of greeting the dawn with that stupid nail gun.

  She slammed the front door behind her—not that it made any impact over the din Ryan was creating—and went to the kitchen to start coffee. Even if she had been able to convince Ryan to find something quieter to do, the early-morning adrenaline rush was not going to let her go back to bed now.

  Coffee on, she went to the little half bath under the stairs that Ryan was about to expand into the closet beyond to make room for Grannie’s walk-in tub. The sight that greeted her in the mirror wasn’t pretty. The mascara she’d forgotten to take off last night created dark smudges around her eyes, and half of her hair was sticking up as if she’d taken a WeedWacker to it. Even worse, her robe was gaping open at the front, exposing her chest, and the well-washed, oh so comfy tank she’d slept in was far more see-through than she thought, the darker circles of her areolas clearly visible.

  Lovely. Just lovely. She’d just accosted Ryan Tanner on her front porch looking like a crazy, half-naked, bed-headed raccoon.

  This day is off to a grand start.

  Coffee in hand, she went upstairs to get dressed. The shades were partly open, but her attempt to close them and protect what little dignity she had left as she dressed was halted by the sight of Ryan wiping his sweaty face with the hem of his T-shirt.

  Holy mercy, the boy had a nice set of abs. Toned and defined, with a little happy trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of khaki cargo shorts. The biceps she’d noticed the other day wielded the heavy nail gun with ease, and his shorts showcased his powerful quads and calves as he moved another set of boards into place on Grannie’s new ramp. And when he bent over to grab his water bottle . . . whew.

  That kind of physique wasn’t built in a gym. It came from good, old-fashioned hard work. Physical labor sculpted without adding bulk, creating musculature that was obviously for function, not decoration.

  She had a sudden urge to fan herself. Stepping sideways, she was able to keep him in sight while ensuring that he couldn’t see her if he happened to look up toward her window. She felt a tiny bit dirty, as if she were some kind of Peeping Tom, but the “hummina” factor was enough to easily trump that feeling.

  In public, she claimed an attraction to smart, sensitive men, with varied and cultured interests she could connect to on an intellectual level, but this curling heat was primal, visceral, awakening something long buried in her DNA and long denied. She lived in an eclectic neighborhood in Atlanta, surrounding herself with artists and activists and hipster types, and while she did feel an attraction, it seemed muted and underdeveloped compared to the rush that Ryan was sending through her veins.

  Which was completely insane.

  Intellectually, she could tell herself that, but her libido wasn’t listening. It was far too busy revving up at the sight of Ryan being all sweaty and manly with his power tools.

/>   Ryan chose that moment to look up at her window, as if he felt her watching him, and Helena stepped back so quickly that coffee sloshed out of her mug and onto her foot. “Ouch, ouch, damn, ouch!”

  She hobbled to her bed and sat down to inspect the damage. The top of her foot was red and sore to the touch. That’s what you get for spying, girlie. The burn wasn’t really bad enough to warrant rushing to the bathroom to soak in cold water, but it would serve as a painful enough reminder to keep her eyeballs off Ryan and his . . . assets.

  He hadn’t let himself go like so many former jocks tended to, and the intervening years had definitely been good to him. It would be crazy, though, to let her libido take over her higher thinking. This was Ryan Tanner. While he hadn’t actually been the true bane of her existence growing up, she didn’t exactly have fond memories of him, either. He and his crowd had been too “good” to associate with her and hers, making their interactions more like those of rival gang leaders than anything else.

  But even she had to admit that he hadn’t been too horrible these last few days. He hadn’t called her Hell-on-Wheels since that first day, and he’d been kinder than required the other day when she was reeling from Grannie’s new relationship. Sure, he still had some snark behind his words, but the snark had lacked teeth.

  Whoa. She needed to stop this line of thinking right now. What was she trying to talk herself into, anyway? Permission to continue admiring his physique? Or a reason to get along with him? She didn’t have to like him in order to appreciate his muscles, and maintaining a professional working relationship didn’t require anything at all beyond common civility.

  It was this town. It completely messed with her head. Made her crazy.

  She heard the front door open, and then her name floated up the stairs. “Helena? I’m coming in.”

  Either Ryan was terribly efficient or she’d stood staring out the window for far too long, but either way, she needed to get some clothes on before she offered Ryan another gander at her assets. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she called. “Help yourself to coffee.”