Slow and Steady Rush (9 page)

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The next morning, with an undisguisable shiner, Robbie dropped into the chair behind his desk and vowed to ignore the situation. Eventually, someone else would do something stupid to draw the town’s attention.

A productive morning ensued. Not only did he draw out some new, inventive plays, he worked on his lesson plan for the advanced calculus class he would teach in the fall. Two of his squad would be in there, but the rest would be unknowns, mostly honors kids. A knock on the door interrupted a plan on derivatives and integrals.

“Coach Dalton, you busy?” Tyler Buchanan, his burly center, stood in the doorway, shifting on size-fifteen feet. Sweat crept down his face to wet the collar of his frayed, loose T-shirt. Strawberry red burst on his ruddy cheeks.

A glance at the schedule told him Tyler should be in the weight room with Logan. Tyler had a shot for a college scholarship, but only if scouts came to watch, and scouts only watched winning teams.

“Not too busy for you. What’s up?” Robbie prepared himself for anything. He hadn’t planned to address the rumors with the team, but they’d surely heard.

“Well … I …” Tyler gnawed a lip and eased into a chair. His fingers played with each other in his lap. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Shoot.” Steel tensed Robbie’s back, and his shoulders hunched in a defensive posture he couldn’t seem to stop.

Tyler popped out of the chair, ambled round the office, and palmed one of the many footballs lying around. Smacking it against his opposite hand, he said, “A few of us seniors are having problems with a book.” The boy’s gaze stayed on the ball. Tyler shook his head, and his mouth pulled into a frown.

The statement took Robbie aback. Maybe the team hadn’t caught wind after all. Maybe the rumors would die a quick death. “Okay. Which one?”

Tyler regained the chair, the legs creaking under his bulk. “
To Kill a Mockingbird
. It’s required reading this summer, but most of us don’t get it. We have to hand in a report the first day of school. I can’t afford to start off with an F.”

“I haven’t read it either, but I can grab a copy from the library and help you boys out.”

“That’d be awesome. I’ll tell the others.” Tyler got up to leave but stopped in the doorway. “Don’t worry about what everyone’s saying, Coach. It’ll all be good once we win, right?”

“Right,” Robbie said with a small laugh. So much for a quick death. “Get on back to the weight room.”

Practice went better than expected. A few snickers resulted in extra laps and pushups, and that’s where it ended. The benefit to the gossip was less bleacher babes in attendance to distract the players and coaches. Sheila was there, but no sign of Darcy.

After a shower and a change of clothes, he stopped at the library. Cars packed the lot. The citizens were invested in the football team, and Robbie was its CEO. They expected him to be friendly and available, even if it didn’t come naturally.

He debated whether to leave the errand for another day. A beer and his armchair called. The minivan parked next to him backed up to reveal a tiny blue convertible with Georgia plates. On the other hand, he really did need to get that book.

Chaos reigned inside. Little bodies ran in every direction, forcing a soft warning woof from Avery. A body slammed into his legs and a sticky hand grabbed his for balance before running off again. Two old ladies tottered after the flailing bodies, one of them brandishing a cane.

Darcy, in a flirty knee-length skirt and prim white blouse, was in heated conversation with a third lady who was around the same age as the other two. Throwing her hands up in the air, Darcy twirled away, clapped her hands, and in a singsong voice, herded the children into a side room like the pied piper.

The cacophony of noise decreased. The three old ladies gathered together around a bin of books and whispered. He and Avery approached, the dog’s nails clacking on the marbled floor.

“Ladies, I’m looking for a book, but I need to apply for a card first,” he said.

A wizened face surrounded by artificial, orange-red hair tilted back to examine him. “You came to the right place. Take your hat off inside, boy.”

Robbie whipped his ball cap off and ran fingers through his hair. He followed the orange halo toward the circulation desk, having to adjust his steps to pace her slow, mincing walk. He stood a good foot taller than the woman, but her spine was as straight as an iron pipe, her posture better than the teenagers who slouched their way around town. Handing over a printout of his electric bill and his license, he waited for her judgment.

“You’re the new coach. Robert Dalton.” She delved into her orangey hair and emerged with a pair of reading glasses. Perching them on the tip of her nose, she squinted at the license. “From Tennessee?”

“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t had the chance to hit the DMV. I hope you’ll accept it.” Robbie glanced over his shoulder, but Darcy wasn’t visible through the side window of the reading room.

“I’m Miss Esmeralda Hancock.” Pride drove her shoulders back even farther and her chin up.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

His polite greeting was obviously not what she expected or wanted. “Have you never heard of the Hancocks of Hancock County?”

“I can’t say as I have, ma’am.” At her look of horror, he added, “But, it’s only because I’m new to town, I’m sure.”

The woman laced her fingers, several rings twinkling below knuckles swollen with arthritis, and set them on the counter. “My family founded the county in eighteen aught one. The Hancocks travelled from Scotland looking for rich farmland and plentiful water, but there were Indians here, Mr. Dalton. Creek to be exact, and they murdered Jube Hancock in cold blood in front of his family.” The practiced cadence of her story echoed dramatically against the marble.

The tapping of a cane on marble drew closer. “This young man doesn’t give a flying flip about old Jube.”

The woman circled around the desk and sent Robbie an eye roll and a sassy smirk. She was as old as Miss Esmeralda, but instead of the stoic seriousness of the former, the second lady seemed poised to break into laughter at any moment. Robbie found himself smiling as if he’d known her for years.

“I’m Miss Constance Eubanks. The relatively normal one of the bunch.” She poked her cane toward the other two librarians.

Her teasing insult drew the third lady to the other side of the desk. “Normal? Constance, you wouldn’t know normal if it bit you on the—”

“Arm?” Miss Constance interjected with a tittering laugh.

“Jane! Constance! You two aren’t any better than Ada. You’re giving this young man a terrible impression.” Miss Esmeralda sniffed, but Robbie detected the hint of a smile.

Their banter flowed around him, at once amusing and comforting, the lifelong ease between the three ladies apparent.

Miss Esmeralda said, “Jube Hancock was a hero, Constance. Why, I have letters—”

Miss Constance winked at Robbie. “I have a journal from my great-great-great-great-grandmother that said old Jube was on a bender and taunted the Creeks to do their worst. In fact, it’s rumored the arrow pierced his bare”—Miss Constance looked around before whispering—“buttocks.”

A righteous gusty breath inflated Miss Esmeralda, and her papery cheeks flushed. Robbie had a feeling the baiting of Miss Esmeralda by Miss Constance was a long-played game.

“Constance, you know that journal has been discounted. Why must you always bring it up?”

Miss Constance banged her cane on the floor, threw her head back, and laughed. “Because I do so love to rile you up.”

Miss Jane shook her head and thumbed at the other two. “Ignore them. We’ve been in each other’s pockets for too many years. Ada told me you’re renting the old Wilson place. Surprised you didn’t prefer one of those new white-washed houses over by the Walmart.”

Three sets of curious eyes bored into him, the long-standing debate over Jube Hancock forgotten. He shifted on his feet and turned the ball cap in his hands. “I prefer the woods and the privacy.”

The three ladies nodded in unison, their eyes understanding. He had a feeling Miss Ada had told them all about him.

The wrinkles on Miss Constance’s brow deepened and her mouth turned down. She folded her hands over the top of her cane and leaned forward. “Let’s get down to what really matters. Whom are you starting at quarterback, Mr. Dalton? McGee or Hill?”

The unexpected question left him foundering for words. Not that it seemed to matter, because Miss Esmeralda piped up almost immediately. “He’d be fool not to start McGee. The boy’s got legs to go with that arm.”

Miss Jane harrumphed. “But, Hill’s more accurate and consistent. More oft than not McGee’s passes went into the stands last season. I’m not sure he could hit the broadside of a barn five times out of ten. Bless his heart.”

Robbie cleared his throat. “Both boys are working with Alec Grayson and improving every practice. I’ll decide who’ll start the week before the first game, but both boys will likely play.”

Miss Esmeralda tapped her cheek with a forefinger. “Mr. Grayson … yes, he prefers Clancy and Crichton. Comes in most weeks for a new batch of thrillers. Must be lonely.”

The three ladies exchanged glances and nodded in unison once more. Robbie had no idea if Alec was lonely or not. Socializing didn’t come naturally to Robbie, but both of them were new to town. Maybe he should ask Alec out for a beer. “Ladies, if everything is in order, I need to checkout
To Kill a Mockingbird
.”

“Fine choice.” Miss Constance rapped her cane on the marble, signaling her approval. “Right this way.”

At the pace of a snail, they headed toward the stacks. He stole a glance into the child-filled room. The flash of Darcy hopping around to the children’s laughter had his brows hitting his hairline and stopping before he lost sight of her.

Miss Constance shuffled backward to join him. “Darcy’s going to give Miss Ada an earful later.” She didn’t bother to hide her snickers.

“Why is that?”

“She sent Darcy down with no clue twenty-some-odd children were waiting to hear a stack of books. I told Ada she should at least warn the poor girl. Staring down that many sticky little creatures is like going to war.”

More high-pitched children’s laughter erupted. “She seems to be doing okay.”

“Of course she is,” Miss Constance said as if he’d insulted Darcy. “She practically grew up here.”

“Practically? I thought she grew up in Falcon?”

“Well, yes, but I meant here … literally … as in the library. Logan was too rambunctious for words. He wasn’t allowed to come to work with Ada, but Darcy would get lost for hours. She’s probably read every book in here.”

Miss Constance slipped between the stacks. With one last look at Darcy holding up a picture book, he followed Miss Constance about halfway down the tall row.

“Here it is.” Miss Constance pulled a hardback book from the top shelf. She riffled the pages and hummed. “You’ll enjoy Scout, I think.”

“Scout?”

“The main character. I assume this has something to do with the fact your rising seniors have to read it?” She handed him the book, and he hefted it in his hands.

“Yes, ma’am. I know everyone wants the team to win, as do I, but grades are important too.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile, the crinkles around her eyes deepening. “That’s very noble, Mr. Dalton. Unfortunately, nobility doesn’t seem to have a place in Alabama football these days.” She scooted around him and made her way back to the desk.

He lingered in the stacks and perused the titles, but his gaze kept returning to the closed door. A few minutes later, children poured out. Every one of them stopped to hug Darcy around the knees. Her hair was mussed, and her white shirt half-untucked.

The mass of energy drew Avery out of hiding, and he woofed softly at the departing children. Darcy joined the three women around a bin of books. She shook her head and propped her hands on her hips, but her laughter snaked to him. Miss Esmeralda patted her arm, and Miss Jane gave her a hug around her waist. Miss Constance leaned into her cane and whispered in her ear. All four women turned his direction, and he stepped back into the shadows.

Pretending to examine the row of books in front of him, he watched Darcy approach from the corner of his eye, the tap of her heels on the marble uneven and hesitant. Her skirt swished, highlighting her spectacular legs. A flash of those legs locked around his hips settled a burn of lust in his gut.

Her gaze on Avery, she approached within six feet and tucked her shirt into the waistband of her skirt. “Afternoon, Mr. Dalton.”

As if they hadn’t shared a soul-shattering kiss? He stepped out and propped a shoulder against the metal bookcase, his arms crossed over the book. “Miss Wilde.”

“Robbie—” she exclaimed and then looked around. A handful of parents milled around the circulation desk, checking out books for their children. She grabbed his forearm and tugged him back into the relative privacy of the stacks. The narrow space forced them close.

She grazed his sore cheek with fingertips. The distress on her face was a fire extinguisher to the explosive mix of emotions brewing. The black underlining his eye made it look worse than it actually felt. Not that she had to know that.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Three rednecks jumped me. For being gay.” A slight exaggeration? Yes, but maybe he could finagle another banana pudding out of her guilt. Maybe even negotiate for another kiss.

“I’m so terribly sorry. If there was some way I could fix this mess or take back what I said …” Her voice trembled, and she drew her full upper lip between her teeth. “How can I make it up to you?” Both of her hands circled his bare forearm, and she caressed him with her thumbs.

The blue eyes staring into his and the tongue running over her upper lip gave him a few ideas. All of them involved one or both of them naked.

“The banana pudding was decent.” He cut his gaze down to Avery, who seemed to nod approvingly at his underhanded tactics.

“I’m baking pies tonight. Maybe one of those?”

“Maybe.” Hell yes, if they were as good as the pudding.