Slow and Steady Rush (14 page)
“You better put those boys to work before you finish up the book.”
“Did our date help? Are the rumors about Robbie dying yet?” Darcy asked.
Kat shook her head. “If anything, they’ve gotten more outrageous. Someone swears they saw him go into a gay bar in Birmingham. This town hasn’t hit such a dry spell in gossip in a decade. You’d think some good unmarried Christian woman would’ve gotten herself knocked up by now.”
Sputtery laughter bubbled out of the guilt that simmered in Darcy’s stomach. “Kat, you are so bad. I can’t believe lightning doesn’t strike you down as soon as you set foot on holy ground.”
“The only reason I go to church is to keep
Mama’s
wrath from raining down. And to network. That’s where I negotiate most of my wills.” Kat winked.
“Who’s spreading the worst of the rumors?
“Don’t know, but Dalt’s a big boy. I doubt he’s crying into his pillow at night about it. I know you feel bad, but try not to beat yourself up.” Kat squeezed her arm. “I’ll call you later.”
Darcy had learned long ago that dwelling on something as ephemeral as a rumor was a useless enterprise. Instead, she crossed the street to the library, issued a slew of new library cards, and shelved books.
She stopped by the grocery on her way home. The sight of a broad male back filling out yet another nondescript cotton T-shirt had her screeching the wheels of her buggy in the opposite direction. She pretended to read the nutritional label of a can of beets and watched him compare two cantaloupes, juggling one in each hand. Her face prickled as she imagined inserting herself into the equation.
A young boy hurtled into her legs and brought her mind back to the vinyl floor of the Piggly Wiggly. After assuring him he would love the book she had picked for their next story time, she passed a few minutes with his mother and moved down the aisle.
A bag of flour followed two bags of sugar into her buggy. She rounded the corner, her eyes on her list. Metal crashed on metal. Of course, she had plowed into Robbie. Her gaze fell to his broad, strong hands. Partly because they’d starred in her mini-fantasy and partly to avoid his icy-blue eyes.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, backing up and letting him pass. Fresh fruits and vegetables were piled incongruously next to a tall stack of ready-to-eat frozen foods. “Good Lord, Robbie. Did your mama not teach you cook anything?”
A skip of silence. “No,” he said shortly.
The wheels of his buggy rattled as he walked stiffly toward the checkout.
#
While Darcy unloaded the groceries at home, Ada shuffled in using the walker. She had achieved relative autonomy on the first floor.
“The boys coming over?” Ada lowered herself into a chair.
“Not tonight. They’ll be back on Sunday to start on the porch. They promised.”
A comfortable silence gathered around them. Chicken broth heated while Darcy rolled out dumplings.
“I ran into Robbie at the Pig. The man looks like he’s living on frozen pizza and pot pies.” Darcy cut dough and dropped it piece by piece into the broth.
“I’m sure he’s been missing my dinners,” Ada said.
“What do you mean?”
“He would check on me conveniently right around supper time. I got into the habit of inviting him in. He turned me down the first few times, but I told him if he was going to keep taking out my trash and mowing the grass, he’d better accept food as payment.”
Darcy stirred the dumplings and half-turned to see her grandmother. “Did he talk much about himself? About family?”
Ada barked a laugh. “He didn’t talk much at all.” She paused. “He hasn’t had a lick of family visit.”
Logan’s comments about Robbie’s lack of mail in Afghanistan added to the resonating sadness she sensed behind his gruff exterior, and an ache that had nothing to do with hunger gnawed at her stomach.
After finishing the pot of chicken and dumplings, she spooned a large serving into a bowl. Pulling out the last slice of pie, she slipped on tennis shoes and started down the lane to his house.
His truck was there, and she almost turned around. No, she could do this. She knocked on the front door. Nothing moved. Relief punched the disappointment to the pit of her stomach. Indecision had her wandering the length of his porch and peeking in the windows. If she left the food outside, varmints would be on it in no time.
She jiggled the knob, and the door swung open. Calling his name, she stepped over the threshold, tensed for an attack. The house felt empty. She continued into the kitchen and set the food on his stove. Since she was here, a peek into the den wouldn’t hurt, would it?
A few magazines covered a scuffed coffee table.
To Kill a Mockingbird
was splayed open on an ottoman. Everything was surprisingly neat and clean for bachelor quarters. A single picture was propped on the mantle in a cheap-looking plastic frame.
With a glance toward the front door, she moved farther into his domain and took down the picture. It was a young Robbie in a gold-and-purple football uniform. A middle-aged man stood at his side wearing khakis, a whistle hanging around his neck. The man had an encompassing smile and kind eyes. His hand lay on Robbie’s shoulder pads. The teenaged Robbie already wore a protective, hard look on his face. Unsmiling, he stood apart and alone.
#
Robbie finished his run on the side of the washed out lane. The setting sun forced him to slow, the footing precarious. He walked on autopilot toward his house. Darcy Wilde had worked her way under his skin like a mess of annoying chiggers. Not only did she hover in his consciousness during the day, but she invaded his dreams. And in a town the size of Falcon, there was no escape.
With his foot on the bottom step of his front porch, Avery’s menacing growl sent him into a crouch. Movement shadowed behind his curtains. Backtracking to his truck, he pulled the handgun out of his glove box and clicked the safety off.
After giving Avery the hand command to guard the perimeter, he opened the front door and eased inside. If his trespasser tried to run out the back, Avery would have him on the ground in a heartbeat.
Something smelled different, not threatening, but mouth-watering. Rustling drew him into the den. Long dark hair, a tempting ass, and long bare legs stood at his mantle. He reset the safety on the gun.
“What are you doing? Planting porn in my DVD player?”
Her scream ripped through the silence. The picture she’d been holding fell to the brick fireplace. She leaned over and rested her hands on her knees.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Her face swiveled toward him. “I’m glad you decided not to shoot first.”
“I thought some redneck had snuck in to finish me off.” He put the gun on top of the mantle and crouched to retrieve the picture. The plastic frame had snapped and a crack zigged over his old coach’s face. Carefully, he extracted the picture and laid it on the mantle next to his gun.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another frame first thing tomorrow. I didn’t mean to snoop.” Her voice trembled.
“Yes, you did,” he said dryly.
Her words tumbled out. “We had some leftovers, and Ada thought you might enjoy them. I couldn’t leave the bowl outside, and your door was unlocked.” She shrugged with a nervous smile.
Once she reminded him about the smell, he made straight for the kitchen. She trailed after him. After lifting the cover off the dish as if it might be booby-trapped, he stared at the heaping bowl.
“Your buggy was pretty pathetic,” she said.
He didn’t answer. His focus was on getting the contents of the bowl into his stomach. He grabbed a spoon and moved everything to the kitchen table. The first bite was warm, soothing, and delicious. He stifled a moan.
“Is it okay?” She leaned against the sink and chewed on a fingernail.
He swallowed. “Not bad.” Christ, it might be the best thing he’d ever eaten. Only after his initial hunger had been appeased did the fervent barking register.
“Would you let Avery in?” He gestured to the door with his spoon between bites.
She practically tiptoed to the door. Avery burst into the kitchen and came to him for reassuring pats. Then, the begging commenced. Usually, Robbie didn’t mind sharing, but his dog wasn’t laying his one good front paw on Robbie’s dumplings.
“Your food is over there.” He pointed, and Avery retreated to his kibble with a whine.
He finished the bowl in record time and attacked the piece of pie. It was demolished in less than a dozen bites. He stood, stacked the two dishes, and held them out to her.
She took them with a bemused smile. “Alrighty, then. I guess I’ll be on my way.”
“Avery and I will walk you back. It’s gotten dark.” He retrieved his gun, tucked it into his waistband, and herded her out the door. With the problems they’d been having with wild pigs, he couldn’t risk sending her home without protection.
“You don’t need to. I love to be outside on a clear night. The stars make me feel safe.”
They walked side by side on the gravel lane. He looked up at the stars, distant and cold. They had only ever made him feel lonely.
She didn’t seem bothered by his silence. Juggling the dishes, she pointed to the sky. “There’s the Big Dipper, the Great Bear. I asked Logan if he could see it in Afghanistan, but he never told me.”
He remembered the letter. And he remembered volunteering for the next night patrol so he could study the sky for her. “You told Logan the Great Bear would protect him as long as you both could see it.”
She didn’t stop walking, but her steps slowed. “I’d forgotten that. It was foolish, I suppose, but Logan and I used to lay in the field at night and stare up at the stars for hours. After he deployed, I made sure to send a prayer to the Great Bear every night.”
She shuffled to a stop with Miss Ada’s house in sight and laid a hand on his arm. Her touch sent a tingle to his hand, and he curled it into a fist.
“Don’t tell Preacher Higgs. He’d corner me Sunday morning on the whole false idol thing.” Her husky laugh made him happy and sad at the same time.
“I won’t tattle, I promise.” He paused and looked to the sky, waving vaguely toward the horizon. “I could see the Big Dipper in Afghanistan, but it was more in that direction.”
Her long, slow exhale had him turning toward her. “Isn’t it amazing to think of people long gone or halfway around the world staring up at the same stars? Maybe someone stood on your porch a hundred years ago and studied the stars. It connects you to the past somehow, don’t you think?”
Maybe it did. Maybe that’s why the pull to this place was so strong. He dropped his gaze from the sky. Her face was tipped up, and the darkness lent her a mysterious air. He wanted to kiss her again—desperately—but he didn’t have the vague excuse of a few people watching tonight. Tonight they were all alone, and a kiss would mean something different. Dangerous.
“You can make it from here.” His voice caught on the bullfrog in his throat.
“I could have made it fine from your house,” she said tartly, but he heard a smile. She squeezed his arm before tucking the empty dishes to her chest. “Thanks for the walk.”
“Thanks for dinner.”
He stood there until she disappeared through the front door.
Darcy paced the kitchen. It was lunchtime, but her stomach whirled so violently, she couldn’t imagine eating anything. Their second date was mere hours away. Evelyn and Ada were doing PT, and they waved her off when she popped her head in to let them know she was taking a walk.
Following the bank of the river downstream, past Robbie’s house, she came to the old bridge. The metal was red with rust. At one time, horse-drawn wagons and cars crossed over, but now wire mesh that gave with her every step covered the bed.
Holding onto one side of the truss, she shuffled along, her gaze on the rain-swollen river rushing under her feet. Her hands slipped along the oxidized metal. The water was only a few feet deep, and she wasn’t terribly high, but still, she welcomed the hard-packed dirt on the other side.
A trail of sorts led into the woods. All this land used to belong to the Wildes¸ but Ada had sold it two decades earlier to the state and applied the money toward college for her and Logan. The occasional hunter blundered across the river but better that than cleared trees and a hundred characterless houses.
Heat hovered close, but a cool breeze hinted at fall. The rustling leaves provided a backdrop to the call of birds. The red epaulets of a blackbird’s wing flashed, and the hammering of a woodpecker echoed through the treetops.
The night’s rain had washed the pollen-thickened air, leaving everything fresh and sweet-smelling, a balm to her nerves. Old pine needles, fallen branches, and the occasional dead tree littered the path. Each breath she took organized the clutter of her mind.
The report of four quick rifle shots echoed. Birds scattered out of the trees, and she dropped to a crouch. The pounding of her heart trampled the peace of a moment ago. The shots had sounded close, but nothing was in season. She was afraid to move in case the errant hunter mistook her for prey.
Twenty feet down the path, the brush rustled. She took a shallow breath, tension keeping her heart at a gallop. She dug her fingers into the closest pine, the tang of sap sharp in the air.
A man stepped from the dense undergrowth onto the path, a long-barreled gun hanging over his arm, aimed to the ground. He wore green cargo pants with a black T-shirt and ball cap turned backward. Dark face paint smudged under his eyes and trailed down his cheeks like a clown’s evil twin.
Robbie. She huffed and stood up, crackling leaves under her feet. His head whipped toward her. Before either of them spoke, another man materialized out of a bank of brush, wearing the olive green uniform of a Wildlife and Fisheries agent.
Robbie ignored him and walked in her direction. “What are you doing out here? It’s not safe.”
“I’m talking a walk. Nothing’s in season so what are
you
doing out here?” She pointed toward his gun.
“Wild pigs are always in season. We took out a sounder before they could do any more damage.”