Robbie bought some time. “Is the talk really getting to the boys?”
“They’re still loyal to you, but they’re kids.” Logan shrugged.
Robbie looked to Darcy. “Are you willing? If you aren’t, I’ll ride this out.”
Her head tilted as she considered him. “I want to state for the record, I thought Kat and I were alone when I spilled the wrong beans. Still, it’s the least I can do. Anyway, a few dates with you won’t kill me.”
“Try to control your enthusiasm,” Robbie said with a sighing dry laugh.
“Great. It’s a done deal.” Logan thumped the desk. “How about you two have dinner Friday night and hit The Tavern the following weekend. It’ll be packed. Be at Ada’s at six on Friday to pick her up, Dalt.”
“Fine. Six,” he said.
Darcy’s eyes flared with emotion—anger, humor—impossible for Robbie to read. “Where are we going? I need to know what to wear.”
Logan pointed at Robbie. “Take her to the new Italian place on Main. And, you,” he swung his finger to Darcy, “for the love of God, wear something besides shorts and a T-shirt. That dress from the other night would be good.”
“I swear Logan, if you weren’t blood-kin—” If looks could kill, Darcy’s glare would have left Logan a smoldering puddle of goo on the floor.
“If everything’s settled, I have work to finish up.” Robbie stared down at the papers. Words and numbers swam in his vision.
“Robbie?” Her voice came from the doorway. She’d stopped to look over her shoulder. “Are you really fine with this?”
“It’s only a couple of dates. It might be a waste of time, but like you said, it won’t kill me.”
“I’ll see you Friday night then.”
“Yep.” The gust from the closing door ruffled the papers on his desk. He propped his feet on the corner and examined the white-pocked tiles of the ceiling.
A combination of anticipation and dread coursed through his body. She was too dangerous for his peace of mind. He should’ve told Logan this little drama was unnecessary, the rumors would die eventually, but now the opportunity had presented itself, he couldn’t stop the possibilities from scrolling through his head.
Two nights in her company. Which Darcy would he get? The charming woman who made him laugh or the fiery one who made him burn. He wanted both.
He tried to concentrate on his lesson plans, but the memory of her standing hip deep in the river, arms curved to the sky, water trailing down her body distracted him. When his thoughts naturally veered to the memory of her nails digging through his shirt and her legs around his hips in Miss Ada’s kitchen, he threw down his pencil, changed into running gear, and whistled for Avery.
The rhythm of his feet pounding the track around the football field ordered the chaos in his head. Avery joined him in spurts, but mostly he sat in the middle of the field, still and watchful. A storm brewed in the west. The air thickened and grew electric. Onward, he ran. Dark clouds swallowed the sun and threw the town into a premature dusk. The wildness spurred Robbie into a sprint.
Lightning cracked the sky, and rain poured out. This was no pitter-patter of droplets, but a stinging deluge. Robbie surrendered, and he and Avery bolted to the truck. He lifted Avery inside and received a peppering of more water as Avery shook himself dry. Robbie wiped the water off his face and climbed behind the wheel.
The rain pelting the metal cab was musical in quality. Robbie closed his eyes, and as if the run never happened, he saw her passion-washed blue eyes after their kiss. He banged his head against the headrest, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy to banish her from his thoughts.
* * *
After Thursday afternoon’s practice, he slumped at his desk and rubbed itchy eyes. Was it his late-night reading or the noxious cloud of male body spray diffusing into his office like tear-gas making his eyes water? He meandered into the locker room and came face-to-face with a mass of primping teenage boys.
“You know Atticus is getting nailed by some white supremacist. No way a white man gonna defend a black man and get away with it. Not in 1950s Alabama.” His offensive lineman’s intimidating bass voice echoed off the tiled walls.
“I think old Boo is a serial killer or something. They’re going to search his refrigerator and find body parts,” said a voice muffled by clothing.
“You’re an idiot, Jamal. ’Course he ain’t. You think they’d assign us a horror book? This is about something bigger. It’s about a little girl growing up and realizing her daddy can’t solve all the problems of the world. You heard Miss Darcy.”
Robbie propped a shoulder in the doorway, astounded the insightful words came out of Miles, his usually silent linebacker.
“Where’re you boys headed?” Robbie asked.
A dozen heads swiveled his direction.
“Miss Darcy’s house. We’re discussing chapters three and four,” said Tyler.
“Why are y’all getting dressed up?”
“Miss Darcy told us that she wouldn’t let us in if we came stinking like we did last time,” Tyler said with a shake of his head and a half-grin. “She also made us promise to sand and paint her porch.”
“You didn’t tell us she was such a dime piece,” Jamal said with a sly smile, smoothing the thin mustache he’d been working at growing all summer.
Robbie was immediately on guard. “She’s at least ten years older than you boys. Don’t be getting any ideas. For one thing it’d be illegal.”
“I turn eighteen in two weeks,” said Miles.
“I’m already eighteen,” said Jamal. Everyone looked in his direction. “Got held back in elementary school. Now I’m glad I had a hard time remembering my letters.” He sauntered past Robbie with a pronounced, limping strut.
“You’re going to pull a muscle if you keep walking like that and jeopardize your starting position.” Robbie grabbed the young man’s collar. “Let me make something perfectly clear . . . boys.” He made eye contact with every one of them. “Miss Wilde is doing all of us a favor here. I don’t want to throw anyone off the team for poor grades or ill-advised conduct. Keep your hands to yourselves, is that clear?”
His collar still in Robbie’s fist, Jamal mock saluted. “Yes, sir. But, what if she can’t keep her hands off all this?” He gestured down the hundred and fifty pounds of his lean body.
“Somehow I think she’ll be able to control herself.” Robbie had a hard time keeping a smile off his face.
“You staking a claim, Coach?” Miles asked.
A wave of annoyance washed away his amusement.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said and stalked away.
Laughter trailed him to his office. He kicked the door shut. His diploma from Vanderbilt rattled on the wall and skewed off-center. He straightened the frame and used his shirt to dust the glass. He wasn’t big on posting his accomplishments, but that diploma represented more than a degree earned. The piece of paper was part penance for his past mistakes and part warning to never repeat them. Because of a few minutes of lost control, he’d come within a knife’s edge of screwing up his entire life.
His diploma was also a reminder anything was possible with enough hard work. He was using the same mentality to turn the football team around. You didn’t win games through luck and fairy dust. You put the time in—lifting weights, running drills, watching film. Slowly, he could see the kids buying into his program of hard work and preparation.
His pool of players was midrange talented. He had a handful of Division II prospects and one or two that might be recruited to major programs. But, only if they won. Most would never see a collegiate field unless they were cheering from the stands.
Football was their life now, but Robbie could see past that, even if they saw only next Friday night’s game with their youth-supplied blinders. Part of his job was to get them ready for life after high school football. He took it seriously. School started in two weeks, and their first game loomed soon after. He buried himself in the logic and c
omfort of calculus for the next hour.
Sick of frozen pizza, he stopped in town to pick up Chinese takeout. Across the street, Tyler staggered out of the local pizzeria under a ridiculous number of boxes. Robbie tossed the takeout bag onto the seat next to Avery and jogged across.
“Feeding an army?” Robbie opened Tyler’s door and grabbed the top boxes.
His center flashed a smile and loaded half the boxes into his truck. “We decided to cover the next couple of chapters. Want to join us? I’m sure Miss Darcy and Miss Ada won’t mind.”
Robbie wasn’t too sure of that. “You boys roped Miss Ada in on this? She’s still recuperating, you know.”
“Yep, but while Miss Darcy finished up the pies, Miss Ada took over the discussion. She can quote whole sections of the book.”
“Pies?”
“Blackberry, I think. That reminds me, I need to grab some ice cream.”
They stacked the rest of the pizza on the floorboard.
“I’ll bring the ice cream.” Robbie chewed the inside of his mouth.
Tyler climbed in and tapped the steering wheel with balled-up hands. “Coach, can I tell you something?
“Of course. Something up with the team?”
Tyler’s silence drew Robbie out of his self-centered funk. Robbie tried to catch his eye, but Tyler concentrated on fitting the key in the ignition. “Miss Darcy insisted I get vanilla bean. That’s all.”
An echo of the boy’s uncomfortable rambling in his office popped back into Robbie’s head. “You okay, son?”
“Depends on who you ask, I suppose,” Tyler said with a wry, humorless laugh. He cut the conversation by revving the truck. “See you in a few. We’ll try to save you a piece.”
Four tubs of vanilla bean in hand, Robbie rolled to a stop in front of Darcy’s house. Lightning bugs flickered in the gloaming, and the raucous call of bullfrogs for mates sounded from the river. Laughter carried out of windows open to the cooling night air. He approached as if he were in Afghanistan and mines littered the dirt path.
He’d grown accustomed to letting himself into the kitchen, and his feet carried him there automatically. Miss Ada sat at the table and patted Miles on the arm with a smile. Darcy doled out pizza on paper plates. Barefoot and wearing white shorts, she didn’t look a day older than the boys dwarfing her in a toadying circle.
The bang of the screen door announced his presence, and male calls went up all around. Without saying a word but with their gazes glued to one another, he walked past Darcy and shoved his offering into the freezer.
Avery trotted to Ada. He settled on his haunches at her knee with a begging whine and flattened ears. Ada slipped him a pepperoni. His tongue lolled, eager for more. The semicircle opened to admit Robbie, and Darcy offered him a plate with three slices piled on top of one another. He took it and retreated to stand to the side of the door.
Empty boxes grew proportionally to the number of hungry boys. Soon enough, she pulled the pies from the oven and cut pieces, topping them with ice cream. Her gaze lifted to his in an unasked question, and he nodded curtly.
With hesitation in her step, she brought him the dessert. He took it in one hand and caught her wrist in the other. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s been awhile since I made a crust from scratch. It might not be my best.” Nervous energy drove her words.
“I’m not talking about the pie. I’m talking about them.” He dropped her wrist and jerked his chin toward the players who were fist-bumping and showing out. “I put you on the spot. You didn’t have to help, but I’m grateful.”
She wiped her hands down the back of her shorts. “You did put me on the spot, and don’t think I’ve forgotten it. But I suppose I deserved it considering the spot I put you in.” She turned away from him. In an authoritative voice at odds with her appearance, she said, “All right boys. Break’s over. Let’s take our pie back into the den. Can you help Ada, Miles?”
“Sure thing, Miss Darcy.” With the utmost care, Miles helped Ada to her feet and offered a burly arm for her to take. Tucking her hand into his elbow, she shuffled next to him.
Standing on the edge and looking in was a familiar, comfortable place for Robbie. Darcy obviously enjoyed the give and take of the discussion, as did his boys. She didn’t belittle any question or theory. Her love for the book infected everyone in the room.
An hour passed. Robbie hadn’t moved nor contributed a word even though he’d read the chapters they discussed the night before. Avery’s soft whine peeled his gaze off Darcy. The dog squirmed, desperate for a bush, and Robbie slipped away. Her voice stuttered but picked up again.
As Avery hopped into the truck, a soft voice called, “Robbie, wait up.”
He stood in the open driver’s door and watched her approach.
“Hey,” she said, a little breathless.
“Hey.”
An awkward silence descended, but damned if he would be the one to break it. She shifted closer and reached out to pat Avery. The dog bared his teeth, flattened his ears, and growled. She snatched her hand to her chest.
“Your dog seriously dislikes me. I swear I’ve never kicked him behind your back or anything. He loves Ada. Can’t he smell that we’re related or something?”
“Doesn’t work that way.” Robbie had a feeling he knew why Avery’s hackles rose every time Darcy was close. The tension and turmoil she engendered in Robbie transmitted to Avery. His dog was either trying to protect him from a perceived danger or reflected Robbie’s confusion about her.
“Don’t you need to lead the discussion?” He pointed toward the house.
“Ada took over. Trust me, the boys are in good hands. She knows the book better than I do.”
“You sure this isn’t too much of a strain on her? I’ll admit when I thought of ”—he winced—“using your talents, I didn’t consider whether Miss Ada would mind a dozen boys descending on the house.”
“She lights up when the boys come over. She’s spent nearly sixty years at the library. I can tell she misses the people and the books.” Her forehead crunched, and she looked out over the dark field, her worry palpable.
“She’s walking better every day. I’ll bet she’ll be back to work before football season is over.”
“I don’t know,” she said with a vagueness that worried Robbie.
“Miss Ada will be fine,” he said as much to reassure himself as her.
“Weren’t you the one warning me about her next fatal tumble?”
He scratched his neck and dropped his gaze to their feet. Her pink painted toes wiggled in the grass. “I really do appreciate what you’re doing. I dropped this book thing on you without asking.”
“Your goal was to piss me off.”
He looked up, expecting her anger to blister him. Instead, her blue eyes twinkled, and her lips curled up. His heart slipped a little further out of its protective shell and basked in the warmth.
“Maybe,” he whispered.
“I’m a librarian. Strong-arming me into a book club is more reward than punishment. Anyway, those are good boys in there.”
“They are.” He stared toward the house. The murmur of male voices carried outside. “Have you noticed anything unusual going on with Tyler?”
Her head cocked. “Like what?”
The niggling uneasiness was so hazy and unfixed he didn’t know how to articulate it.
“Miss Darcy, we’re wrapping up.” Framed by the front door, Tyler smiled and pushed floppy blond hair off his forehead, erasing Robbie’s worry. The boy’s behavior was probably due to run-of-the-mill teenage hormones.
“I’ll be right there,” she hollered before turning back to him. “I really admire the fact you require your players to make good grades. They told me you were reading along. You can join us anytime. Maybe even contribute to the discussion.” She backed away and shoved her hands in her pockets.
“I wouldn’t have anything insightful to add.”
“Somehow I think you w
ould. Still waters and all that.” She turned her face in profile, the rising moon highlighting her cheekbone and the tiniest of smiles. “See you tomorrow night, Robbie.”
She scampered back into the house, and he stared at the door long after she’d disappeared. Goddammit. He started the truck and gripped the steering wheel. Why couldn’t she have acted bitchy about tutoring his players? Why couldn’t she have told Logan to go to hell when he suggested they fake date?
Darcy made him feel all messed up inside. The women he dated in the past had noticed his walls and given up. Darcy was more likely to come in like a wrecking ball. She had a way of making him feel not so lonely that drew him like a dog begging for a pat.
She had no clue of the kind of shit that battered around in his head when he allowed himself to enter his memories. If he felt disgust, shame, disappointment, how would she look at him if she knew his secrets?
No, he was methodical, logical. He could predict with utmost certainty how a real relationship would progress between them. Yes, the sex would be mind-blowing. Her fire mixed with her sweetness would crack his heart open. The blackness she found would cause her to turn away like so many others had. They would flame out with the same intensity. She would hate him. Or even worse, maybe she wouldn’t feel anything at all for him. As a final indignity, she would move back to Atlanta and leave him in the rubble.
He was happier than he’d ever been in Falcon. The last thing he needed was a sweet little wildcat ripping through the uncomplicated life he was building. He was a fucking expert at keeping people at arm’s length. How hard could it be to take her out twice and play a part, keeping things superficial and light?
He had a feeling keeping his distance from her might be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.
8
Darcy had changed clothes a half-dozen times. Never had she been so nervous about a date that wasn’t even a date. What did one wear on a fake date? Did Emily Post cover the topic?
Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama Page 9
