Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  A modest A-line skirt that hit above her knees and a light summer sweater was her current choice. She slipped on a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals and examined herself in the mirror. A string of pearls and she’d be ready for the Junior League ice-cream social. If Robbie showed up in jeans and a baseball cap, she was going to feel like an idiot.

  Before she could change again, the doorbell rang, and Kat’s voice echoed upstairs. “Darcy! You about ready?”

  Kat examined Darcy head to toe on her plodding descent to the foyer.

  “Wow-wee. You look nice. Are you sure this is a fake date?”

  “It totally is.” On his part. Darcy’s stomach bottomed out. The anticipation of spending the evening in his company was frighteningly real for her.

  “You’re nervous. Look, it’s dinner. He’s not going to dump you in the middle of the bottoms to find your way home.”

  Darcy stared at Kat for a long moment, then shook her head. Robbie had hauled her drunk butt home and deposited her in bed with nary a come-on. He might not want to be out with her, but he was honorable. “I’m not scared of him. It’s everyone else. All those eyes.”

  “All those eyes and flapping lips are kind of the point, aren’t they? Let me get Ada her food before it gets cold, and then I’ve got something that might help.”

  After settling Ada in the kitchen with take-out lo mein, Kat steered Darcy outside with a comforting arm around her shoulders. Retrieving a labelless Mason jar from her car, Kat led the way around the back of the shed.

  Kat wore a pair of frayed khaki shorts and a red concert tee Darcy remembered from high school. After a struggle, Kat broke the seal with a pop. A distinctive sweet pungency filled the air.

  “Katherine Renshaw. Is that homemade moonshine?” Darcy checked over her shoulder even though law enforcement wouldn’t care if two almost-thirty something women were tippling. “You’re the best lawyer in town. Who will post bail and defend us?”

  “One shot apiece. I’m Ada-sitting, and you don’t want to end up so blitzed you throw yourself at Dalt. Right?”

  Darcy stared down the deserted lane toward Robbie’s house. No movement yet. God, what if he stood her up?

  “Right?” Kat elbowed Darcy.

  “Geez. Of course not.” Darcy took the jar and tipped it up. The moonshine burned a path down her throat followed by a sweet-tart aftertaste of blackberries.

  Kat took her turn. Her face initially screwed into a grimace but relaxed into a grin. “That is good stuff.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “The running back coach, Laurence Malone. You would not believe what he said when he dropped it off.” Kat chuffed, but a nervous pat of her hair and girlish squirm tempered the outrage. “I quote ‘The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’ Can you imagine?” Her voice rose an octave at the question.

  “Sounds to me like he meant it as a compliment, and you didn’t throw it in his face.” Darcy pointed to the jar. “What did you say?”

  “I got all hot and stammered a bunch of crap about equality and human rights. I am such an idiot.” Kat knocked the back of her head onto the tin side of the shed a few times.

  “More like hot and bothered. Why don’t you ask him out?”

  “I can spout about equality all I want, but the truth is—I want a man to be a man. He needs to make the first move.” Kat screwed the top on the jar.

  Still no movement from Robbie’s house. “This is pathetically close to a Disney movie. The studly jock forced to date the mousy nerd. The football god squiring around the bookish librarian to repair his reputation.”

  Kat hip-bumped her. “First of all, you are not mousy in the least. Secondly, there is nothing wrong with being intelligent. And, thirdly, I’m sorry to inform you, but you are a decade too old to star in a Disney movie.”

  “That’s depressing. What would we qualify for? A Lifetime special?”

  “Too young. That’s for the fortysomething set. You and Dalt are the prime age for a porno though.”

  “A porno.” The laughter bubbling through Darcy’s body erased a good portion of her nerves. “Lord help us. What would we call it? The Coach’s Concubine?”

  “The Lusty Librarian,” Kat said. More teenaged giggling ensued.

  “Sacking the Coach.”

  “Fourth and Extra Long.”

  “Unsportsmanlike Conduct.”

  “First . . . Down on the Coach.”

  “Indecent Interference.”

  “Freaking in the Fourth Quarter.”

  “Foot Balls and Dicks.” Darcy’s voice barely squeaked past laughter.

  “You ready to go?” A deep voice rumbled.

  Darcy wasn’t sure who screamed the loudest. Kat tossed the Mason jar over her shoulder. It shattered against the tin wall, and rivulets of moonshine trailed squiggly lines through dirt and pollen.

  In dark brown pants and a green checked button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, Robbie had propped his shoulder against the corner of the shed. His hands were tucked into his front pockets, and one foot was crossed over the other. No hat. A comb had tamed his hair, and he’d shaved recently. He looked ridiculously handsome.

  Had he heard? She sent a quick prayer to whatever deity had the best sense of humor. “I didn’t see you pull up.”

  Darcy gestured vaguely toward the road to his house. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure if she looked down she’d see it trying to claw out her thin sweater to commit a kamikaze-style suicide at their feet.

  “Came from town.”

  “Well”—Kat drew the word out and backed away—“I’ll be getting something to clean up my little mess. You two have fun.” She waggled farewell fingers at Darcy and mouthed I’m sorry before scampering inside.

  Robbie ushered her to his black truck and opened her door as if it was a real date. He’d washed it and cleaned out the football paraphernalia. He took her forearm, his hand big and warm, steadying her as she stepped onto the running board to climb in. He slid behind the wheel and threw the truck in reverse so suddenly it jerked her into the window.

  Not even the radio broke the thick silence. His gaze on the road, adeptly dodging holes, he said, “For the record, I prefer The Lusty Librarian.”

  “I’m not suggesting we make a porno together. Not that you wouldn’t be great in one. I can imagine you’d perform magnificently in a porno.” And now all she could think about was Robbie naked and performing magnificently. She squirmed as heat burned up her cheeks and her mouth kept moving. “You’d probably win an award. Like an Oscar. Except for pornos.”

  She couldn’t stop saying the word “porno,” and every time she did he changed positions in her imagination. Taking a deep breath, she stared out the windshield and pressed her lips together. If she didn’t speak, nothing embarrassing could come out.

  “Malone’s moonshine is pretty good, isn’t it?”

  Grateful for the subject change, she said, “Amazing. Sweet. I could have killed that entire jar.”

  His gaze flicked to her face before dropping to her legs and then back to the road. “What’s the matter? You seem nervous?”

  “Do I?” What have given her away? Her chatter about pornos or moonshine? She tucked her hands under her thighs. “Everyone will be staring at us and whispering.”

  “You don’t have to do this. I won’t force you to go on a date with me, not when there’s plenty that would go willingly. I’ll turn around and take you home.”

  Was that hurt or anger she heard? “You’re not forcing me. This situation is mostly my fault.”

  “Mostly?” he said dryly.

  “All right, completely and totally my fault. Although, not on purpose. I don’t want you to lose your job, and I want the team to win.”

  He shifted, and a portion of the tension in his body ebbed. “For a while, I thought maybe you wanted me run out of town.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You pretty much accused me of buttering up Miss Ada to
get her land.”

  She waved her hand between them. “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I saw how much you care about the boys on your team. Before I realized how much you’ve helped Ada the past couple of months.”

  He glanced from the road to her face and back again but didn’t respond. The silence was unnerving, but she didn’t have to endure it for long. Their destination was an Italian-style bistro that sat between the doctor’s office and the bank on Main Street. At least the high-backed booths offered an illusion of privacy.

  The burn of eyes following their short walk across the restaurant was worse than she expected. She slipped into the booth, but instead of sitting across from her, he scrunched her down the seat to settle next to her. They both looked to the back wall.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered with a fake smile for their audience.

  “This makes it look more authentic. Plus, everyone staring will give me indigestion.”

  Tyler Buchanan hustled over with two menus. A white apron with an order pad stuck in the pocket covered his polo and jeans.

  Glad to see a familiar face, Darcy took a menu and smiled. “I didn’t know you worked here, Tyler. How do you find the time?”

  “Got to pay my car insurance somehow. I take weekend shifts usually, but I’ll pick up some hours during the week once football starts next weekend.” She’d never seen Tyler look anything but carefree. Tonight though, red stained his cheeks, and he chewed on his lip as his gaze darted between her and Robbie.

  “How about some wine?” Robbie asked.

  She nodded. Liquid courage wouldn’t be amiss. Robbie ordered a bottle of house Chianti, and they watched Tyler pour two glasses. The silence grew to squirm worthy proportions. She sipped slowly, not wanting to speed past courage to recklessness. Her wits woul remain present and accounted for tonight, thank you very much. Tyler stared at them as if he were trying to fit together the pieces of a puzzle.

  “Could you give us a minute to look over the menu?” Her smile veered strained, the boy’s intense scrutiny making her uncomfortable. He nodded and left to watch them from the server’s station.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned and studied the menu. Robbie followed her lead. He made no effort to keep to his side, or maybe his bulk made the task impossible. His legs splayed wide, and her calf was plastered against the soft twill of his pants.

  Tyler returned to take their orders. He was all business and unusually quiet. Without the menu to occupy her, she didn’t know where to look or what to say. She twirled her wine glass, and Robbie tapped a forefinger on the plastic red-checked tablecloth. Whispers bearing their names drifted.

  “So,” she drew out, “I saw the diploma in your office. Where’d you go to school?”

  “Vandy,” he said.

  “Vanderbilt? Really?”

  “On a football scholarship.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Her initial astonishment and subsequent understanding apparently didn’t sit well. He shifted to face her. The crinkles on his forehead and between his eyes broadcasted displeasure.

  “Why, ‘of course’? I had the grades to get in even without the football angle, but they offered a full ride. Why wouldn’t I take it?”

  “I didn’t mean . . .” Her foot stalked her mouth whenever they were together. “What was your major?”

  “Mathematics.”

  Another astonished “Really?” popped out before she could stop it.

  “What did you expect? Sports Management? Basket-weaving?”

  She powered past the much-deserved sarcasm. “I loved math.”

  “But you majored in English, right?”

  “My guidance counselor pushed me to go into something technical like engineering. In the end, my heart was in books. My focus is research-oriented though. I work mainly with doctoral candidates at Emory University.”

  “You really hate reading to the kids?”

  “Totally not my thing.” Her gaze coasted to the ceiling. No way was she going to admit she thoroughly enjoyed story time and had already planned the next one, which included a costume change.

  Tyler returned with their food. The massive pile of lasagna on her plate looked as unapproachable as Everest. She powered a forkful past her nonexistent appetite and into her mouth.

  “What position did you play at Vandy? Wait.” She held up a hand. “Let me guess. Not offense, something on defense, am I right?”

  A half-smile and raised eyebrows accompanied his nod.

  “Obviously not defensive line.” She flicked a finger up and down his frame. “Cornerback?”

  “Outside linebacker. I started my last two years, but I was undersized.”

  Incredulity crept back in her voice. “Undersized? Seriously? You’re huge.”

  “Not for the South Eastern Conference.”

  “You didn’t want to go pro?”

  “No chance of that. After I graduated, I considered coaching, but . . . I don’t know. I bounced around awhile, did some bartending, worked for the Tennessee state park system, then enlisted.”

  “You could have gotten a high-paying desk job with a math degree from Vandy. Why the army?”

  He delved a hand through his hair, undoing the comb’s work. “Duty to country, protecting freedoms.”

  The evasive, trite answer was a red flag. She’d gotten the same sort of treatment from Logan enough to recognize it. “Where’d they send you first?”

  “All my tours were in Afghanistan. Sniper. Avery had my back so I could concentrate on my targets.”

  “I’m surprised the army didn’t want to keep you once you were stateside.”

  “They made an offer.” He speared a bite of chicken parmesan into his mouth, his profile carved in ice.

  She studied him, taking absent sips of wine. “Yet, you chose to come to a small town in Alabama to teach math and coach high school football.”

  “So?” The sharpness of the single word threw up spikes on the wall between them. He took another bite and swiveled his head away, apparently preferring the curious patrons to her.

  Silence piled up, but she was undeterred. “It has to be hard being away from your family—where are you from?”

  “Tennessee.”

  “But, whereabouts?”

  “Here and there. I moved around.”

  “Is your family still there?”

  “Drop it.” He said it like he was giving Avery a command and expected it to be followed. She was no dog.

  “Will they come to your first game?”

  “What’s the story with your mother?” He fired back.

  Her forced laugh masked an old pain, and she hid bitterness underneath her lightly said words. “How can I put it politely? Mama got around. I don’t even know who my daddy is. I doubt Mama even knows.”

  He brushed the back of her hand with a finger. It was only then she realized she had fisted the fork like a weapon.

  “That must have been a tough burden in a small town in Falcon.” His understanding rumble wiped away her false lightness, leaving in its wake a raw wound no amount of stitches could heal.

  It had been fifth grade when boys took outright jabs and girls whispered about her parents. None of them had been brave enough with Logan around, but after he’d moved on to middle school, she was an unprotected gazelle on the playground.

  She’d bled from their lewd suggestions about her mama and teasing guesses about her daddy. Kat had developed her cutting courtroom technique defending her, while Darcy had retreated further into her books.

  The clog in her throat dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. “It wasn’t great. I planned my escape from Falcon from a young age.”

  “Where’d you want to run away to?”

  “Narnia?” Darcy tried a weak laugh, but it felt out of place. He covered the back of her hand on the table with his, but she flipped it so their fingers knitted together. She stared at their joined hands. He rubbed across t
he sensitive skin of her wrist with his thumb.

  “Your mama still alive?” he asked.

  “Haven’t heard otherwise.” She took a too large gulp of her wine. The strong tannic acid made her stomach lurch. “I couldn’t understand at six years old that she was too young and flighty to take care of me. I wanted her to be like the other moms. Baking cookies, coming to PTA meetings, helping with my homework. I love Ada, but I wanted normal.”

  Her gaze travelled from her wine to his face. He had swallowed the space between them. His every movement flexed a muscle against her. He smelled of pine, clean and outdoorsy. Even more appealing was the comfort in his eyes as if he felt her childhood pain poignantly.

  “Do you think I’m a terrible person?” The pressure in her chest grew.

  “Of course not. The things you’ve done for Ada, for Logan . . . the three of you were lucky to have each other to hang onto.”

  The childhood pain she’d carried around, nurtured even, withered under the intensity surrounding them. Unspoken words made their way from his eyes to her heart. I understand because I hurt too.

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him and squeeze the radiating pain out of him. Could he see that in her eyes?

  He pulled his hand from hers and fiddled with his fork. “What do you think of the team so far?”

  She took a deep breath. Football was safe, and they needed safe. The tension ebbed as the talk moved to quarterbacks and play calling. She even managed a few bites of food before pushing her plate away.

  Tyler cleared the table, as impersonal as if they were strangers, and left the check. She pulled her wallet out of her purse. “Let me pay since this debacle is my fault.”

  “No. It’s a date. I’ll pay.”

  “But, it’s not a real date, is it? Let’s at least go halfsies.”

  “I’m paying.” He slapped down some bills and slid out of the booth.

  Her anemic smile was for the spectators. He opened the restaurant door and gestured her through. With her eyes on the ground, she took two steps and bumped into a warm body.

  “So sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she said as the man gripped her upper arms until he regained his balance.