Slow and Steady Rush (18 page)

They had to park a good half-mile from the stadium. Cars lined the grassy sides of the road, turning it into a one-lane highway. Excitement crackled the air, infecting Darcy and making her stomach jump. Supporters of both teams swelled the streets, but Falcon blue and white was everywhere. Cars with school flags waving out the windows were in a gridlock on Main Street. The crowd of people moved from the sidewalks to the street like a dam bursting. The toot of horns cut through the chatter and yells.

Someone started a Falcons cheer—“Let’s go Falcons”—followed by syncopated claps. Her friends in Atlanta would dismiss the spontaneous cheers as herd mentality, but Darcy threw her arms up and chanted with the crowd at the top of her lungs. She swelled with town pride. Damn, but she wanted the Falcons to win.

“Darcy!” Henry Wilson called, waving his arms high.

Darcy burst out laughing and grabbed Kat’s hand to pull her into the doorway of the antique store. It was a calm eddy in the river of people. From his white beard up, Henry’s face was blue. The paint sank into his creases and wrinkles, his white bushy eyebrows jutting in stark contrast.

“You look awesome, Henry. Since when did you become a face painter?” Darcy asked.

“This is the first time I’ve tried it.” He patted his cheeks. “Looks pretty good, right? I figured we need all the luck we can muster.”

“You don’t think we’ll win?”

“Don’t know, but any little bit of support can’t hurt. I have Falcon tattoos. Want one?”

Kat demurred, but Darcy willingly titled her face so Henry could apply the temporary tattoo of a talon-bared Falcon in flight to her cheekbone. She kissed Henry’s blue cheek, and his huge grin crackled the paint around his eyes.

“You’d better get on if you don’t want to be stuck with end zone seats,” he said.

They waved their good-byes and let the flow of people move them closer to the stadium.

As they stood in line to buy tickets, several people stopped to ask after Miss Ada. Several others asked when Darcy would be back at the library or thanked her for tutoring the boys.

The hum of voices and clanging bleachers filled the night. The stands were full, but as they walked past the 50-yard line, a metal clank caught Darcy’s attention—Miss Constance banging her cane against the railing.

“Darcy Wilde! You get your butt up here and sit with us.”

Darcy cuffed Kat’s wrist and led her up. Miss Constance somehow convinced people to scoot down for them, and Darcy squeezed between Miss Constance and Kat.

“Primo seats, ladies,” Darcy said.

“I had to threaten some teenagers with my cane,” Miss Constance answered with a twinkling flash of humor. “They think we’re witches; can you believe it?”

Darcy choked on a laugh. “Where in the world would they get such a notion?”

Miss Esmeralda leaned out. “Miss Renshaw. We haven’t seen you in the library recently. Does your law work leave you no time for reading?”

Kat shifted and seemed to find the chanting cheerleaders in front of them fascinating. “I actually … well, you know … I have an e-reader, and I download books mostly.”

Miss Esmeralda gasped. “But don’t you miss having a book in your hands?”

Kat swallowed and cast a wide-eyed panicked look toward Darcy.

“An e-reader’s convenient, Miss Esmeralda. Anyway, I thought the Falcon library was setting up a digital stock of books to lend.”

Miss Jane piped up from the end. “Ada had taken the reins of that. With her gone, I’m afraid we don’t have the expertise.”

“I could help.” The words were out of Darcy’s mouth before she realized the implications. “I mean, you know, if I can fit it in.”

Miss Constance laid a dry, cool hand on Darcy’s knee and squeezed. “You would be such a boon to us, dear.”

The band processed on the field, playing the Falcon fight song rambunctiously and mostly in tune. Over speaker static, a sonorous voice announced the teams. The cacophony saved Darcy from having to speak again.

The opposition ran to their sideline accompanied by a few good-natured boos from the Falcon faithful. The stands erupted when the Falcons ran through the band to the near sideline. Darcy stood and whooped with her hands in the air.

The coaches were dressed in khakis and navy golf shirts. Robbie paced up and down the sideline, a headset around his neck, giving last-minute instructions or maybe pep talks to the boys standing in clumps of palpable energy.

Once she retook her seat, Miss Constance leaned closer. “The team we’re playing thumped us 45–7 last year and made it to the playoffs.”

Darcy scanned the far sideline. The visiting players chest-bumped and slapped each other’s helmets in a primitive show of confidence and strength, but they didn’t look any bigger than the Falcon boys. Darcy’s stomach tied itself in a million little knots, and she fidgeted, a fist covering her mouth. She was nervous for Robbie and Logan, for the boys on the field she’d come to care about, for the entire town.

Falcon won the coin toss and opted to kick off. Tension escalated, building to a crescendo. The thud of the ball against the kicker’s foot popped the balloon, deflating the pressure.

The game, the season, was underway.

The teams exchanged touchdowns and field goals. Miss Constance pushed up and banged her cane on the rail at one blatant no-foul call on the visiting team, threatening to come after the referee. Darcy was half-amused and half-afraid the sassy old lady might leap onto the field and tackle the poor man. Miss Esmeralda offered her reading glasses as the referee passed close to their seats.

“You ladies are going to get us thrown out,” Darcy said, stifling giggles.

Miss Esmeralda sat tall and straight on the bench. “As if they’d dare. I’m a Hancock, don’t forget, Darcy Wilde. Why my family—”

The horn sounded halftime. The teams had battled to a tie, and Robbie led the Falcons into the locker room.

“Can I get drinks for anyone?” Kat asked.

“I wouldn’t turn down a Coke.” Darcy leaned against the rail to face the ladies and catch the slight breeze. She wasn’t sweating so much as sticky all over from the humid night air. The other ladies requested tea, and Kat went to stand in the snaking line.

Miss Jane nodded. “Coach Dalton made a good call with Hill.”

Miss Esmeralda sniffed and pursed her mouth. “Maybe we’d be winning if he’d started McGee.”

“Lord have mercy, will you let it go. Hill won the job. You read the paper.” Miss Jane rolled her eyes.

Darcy looked to the tower lights. Hundreds of bugs flew around the bright halos. Contentment spread through her, warming her in a different way than the humid night.

Kat returned with drinks and pom-poms before the second half got underway. The game was hard-fought, and the teams exchanged scores time and again. In the final thirty seconds, the visiting team kicked a forty-five-yard field goal to win by three. Even though the Falcons had lost, excitement buzzed around them. They had almost beaten a state powerhouse.

Miss Constance said, “Well, I’ll be a chicken’s mama. That was a fine game. Sports radio picked us to lose by four touchdowns, you know. Maybe Coach Dalton is the answer to our prayers.”

The Falcons celebrated their near victory by pouring a vat of ice water over Robbie. The boys rushed the field, holding their helmets in the air. The local station commandeered Robbie for a sideline interview. His shirt was plastered to his torso, and Darcy stared, her heart skipping and leaping.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

Kat poked her in the side. “Let’s go.”

“I’m going to wait for Logan. See how he’s doing, give him an update on Ada.” Darcy tried to keep her voice even and causal. “You mind seeing the ladies to their cars?”

“’Course not. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Kat gave her a quick hug and herded the ladies through the crowd.

Several women waited outside the locker room door. Most were mothers, who hugged their sons as they trickled out. Sheila and a couple of her friends stood to the side, reapplied lipstick, and primped. Was Sheila waiting on Robbie?

Old insecurities battled in Darcy’s chest, and instead of waiting with the other women, she retreated to the underside of the bleachers. She scuffed her sneakers together and flapped her damp T-shirt in an attempt to air it out.

The stadium lights powered down, leaving everything in deep shadows. Sheila’s two friends wandered off, but she waited with purpose. Were Sheila and Robbie hooking up? And why did the notion make her want to rip the woman’s bleached hair out of her head one handful at a time?

Robbie and Logan walked out together with their heads close. Avery trotted behind them. Robbie’s hair was damp, maybe from a shower, maybe from the dunk in water, but he’d changed into jeans and a fresh red polo.

Sheila butted between them, wrapped her hands around Robbie’s forearm, and pressed her gigantic boobs against his bicep. Darcy nearly gagged. Robbie stopped to listen and even leaned in a little closer as if Sheila was the most fascinating woman on the planet.

Tossing her silky blonde hair from side to side and arching, she stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He nodded once. With much hip swiveling, she walked toward the parking lot, her heated glances crackling the night like lightning. Robbie watched until she was out of sight. Darcy’s stomach felt electrocuted by nerves.

An engine revved, and the taillights of Logan’s truck made the turn onto Main Street. Dammit. How did Logan slip by her? Maybe because she couldn’t take her eyes off the train wreck that was Sheila and Robbie?

Her only way home was Robbie. Or she could walk, which seemed more and more appealing. Avery sensed her first, dropping his stance and growling. No use in hiding. She stepped out of the bleachers and held her hands up as if they had caught her stealing.

“Hey. It’s only me.”

“What in the world are you doing out here? Logan already left.” His voice was flat, unemotional.

“I didn’t see him until it was too late.”
Because I was staring at you and big-boobs
, she added in her head. “I don’t suppose you could give me a lift home. That is”—Darcy swept her gaze over the opposite parking area, but Sheila’s BMW was gone—“unless you had other plans. I can walk.”

“Walk back to Miss Ada’s with all the traffic out? Are you crazy?”

She shrugged and kicked at a clump of dandelions.

A small, exasperated laugh made her look up. His lips curled up in the slightest of smiles, but it warmed his expression. “Come on. I can drop you off.”

What did he mean? Drop her off before he went to go meet Sheila somewhere? He tossed his duffle in the back, opened the passenger door, and gestured her in.

She sat between Robbie and Avery, trying not to touch either one. He stopped on the lane in front of the house.

Darcy dug her fingernails into the thick leather of the seat. “It’s getting late, you know. You going to head home? Because there might be drunk drivers out and … they’re calling for thick fog tonight.”

“Are they?” He swiveled his head to hers, his wry amusement visible even in the dark.

“Yep.”

Neither of them said a word. The awkwardness grew, yet Darcy couldn’t seem to make a move out of the cab. She wanted to ask him inside, but he’d already turned her down once.

“Okay, well, I have stuff to do,” he said, kicking her out of the truck with his words. Did his ‘stuff’ include Sheila?

“Right. Of course.” Halfway past Avery, she took a deep, shuddery breath and laid a hand on his forearm. “Everyone is really excited about the rest of the season. Even though you lost, you played a hard game. All heart.”

His truck idled out front until she had let herself inside. She peeled back the curtain on the narrow slit of a side window and watched him drive on.

Her gusty sigh ruffled the thin fabric. She’d half-expected him to whip the truck around and head back out. With relief unknotting the tension across her shoulders, she trudged upstairs to shower.

What did she want?

She knew what she didn’t want. She sure as hell didn’t want Robbie sleeping with Sheila. Darcy wanted to be the one sharing Robbie’s bed. Her body thrummed from a combination of arousal and embarrassment.

The fact was she’d had a pathetically small number of boyfriends. Truthfully, the break-ups had offered more relief than angst. After a couple of months, sex was expected, and it had been mundane and unextraordinary. She’d never propositioned a man and had never had a one-night stand. The thought of doing either, or maybe even both, made her stomach churn and her face heat to a few degrees shy of the surface of the sun.

After drying her hair, she strapped herself into the sexiest underwear set she owned and covered them with a low-cut tank top and short-shorts. Slipping on flip-flops, she stood on Ada’s front porch and peered toward his house. A beacon or signal from the Fates would be appreciated.

A shooting star streaked across the sky.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

She wasn’t superstitious, but she’d read enough romances to recognize a portent. It seemed like an impossibly long trek down the lane. When Robbie’s farmhouse came into view, a dog barked, shortening her stride. Avery.

Robbie stood at the top of the porch stairs, a shoulder propped on the whitewashed column, his finger hooked around the neck of a beer. She blew out a long breath and rubbed the palms of her hands over the back of her shorts.

What if he didn’t want her? What if he laughed in her face? Then she’d walk straight into the woods in search of a wild pig to gobble her up.

#

Robbie’s gaze travelled down tanned legs in the shortest shorts he’d ever seen. Legs he constantly imagined wrapped around him. Her tank top revealed more of her breasts than it concealed. Black lace peeked over the top.

“What do you want?” His words were ill chosen, his tone contentious. He was locked in a dark battle with his own demons, craving something that was sure to destroy the barriers between his past and present.

“I-I think maybe I made a mistake.” She whirled and took two steps away.

He leapt down the porch steps, but she stopped and turned around before he got close enough to grab her hand. No way in hell was she going anywhere.