Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama Read online

  Trees crowding over the narrow lane ended in a stark line, and the harsh Alabama sun blazed after the relatively cool shadows. Fields once farmed in cotton had been left fallow. Tall grasses, newly sprouted pines, and hardwoods encroached.

  He slowly bumped by the old woman’s house. The nurse’s huge SUV sat out front. A shudder passed through his body at the thought of getting trapped into a conversation with Ms. Evelyn. He’d stop by later.

  Avery barked softly, and Robbie put an arm around the dog, steadying him. For the most part, Avery had adapted to losing his front leg. He still loved to run and jump and play, but there were times he whined as if he missed it, licking and nipping at the stump.

  The rutted lane wove close to the river. The truck windows were down and the radio off. After four tours in Afghanistan, Robbie craved the silence, needed to know bone-deep that mortars, the beat of helicopter blades, or the zing of bullets wouldn’t break the serenity.

  A sound broke through the silence. He killed the truck’s engine, his senses heightened by a pulse of adrenaline. The noise cut to him again. Close to the river. Had a hunter wandered on Miss Ada’s land? Or could it be one of the wild pigs that had been wreaking havoc in the river bottoms?

  Grabbing his pistol from the glove box, he said, “You stay here, buddy.”

  Avery whined and hopped down the seat as if to follow.

  “No, the bank’s too steep. I’ll be fine. Stay.” He took the time to rub the Belgian Malinois behind the ears. Avery preferred Robbie never leave his line of sight.

  Ingrained training had him crouching low and moving across the short open field as if a sniper had him in his sights. He squatted at the edge of the bank and parted low-hanging willow branches. Leaning forward, he hung onto a ropey, pliable limb, his fisted hand stripping a row of leaves. His heart nearly stopped but then galloped out of his chest to match his bulging eyes.

  Holy shit. It was a naked woman. A fine, naked woman.

  She stood hip deep in a slow-moving eddy with her back to him. Her face tilted to the sky, she shook wet hair and squeezed out the water. The feminine, graceful movements dried his mouth. Rivulets raced from her shoulders to the hollow of her lower back. Water bobbed around her ass, framing perfection. The beauty of the scene went beyond the erotic.

  He was intruding on a private moment and needed to leave. He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing but the whisper of the wind in the trees and the flow of the river filled the quiet.

  He took a step back, cracking a dead branch under his boot, and froze. He’d be fired from the team if he were accused of voyeurism. Had she heard him? One eye opened and went straight to woman in the river. He tried his damnedest to look away, but hell, he was only human.

  Another intruder captured his attention. The water lapping the far bank rippled. Wide body, flat head, swimming on top of the water. He mouthed a curse. Cottonmouth. Big one, too. A bite might not kill her, but it would cause excruciating pain. The snake swam straight toward the naked, vulnerable woman.

  He stood, thumbed the safety, and cupped the gun in both hands. He had one shot to get the job done. Not the first time he’d been in that position. His finger caressed the trigger. The gun’s report and the woman’s scream trampled the seductive beauty of the scene.

  The woman fell and stirred up enough silt to darken the usually clear water. Bits of snake floated down the river. “Oh my God!” she repeated as a litany, giving the snake remnants wide berth.

  Shallow, fast-moving water eddied around her shoulders and concealed her curves as she scrambled backward on her hands and feet. Dark hair streamed into her face. She brushed it aside only to have the water push it back in front of her eyes.

  He couldn’t let her panic and drown. Pushing willow branches aside, he called out, “You’re welcome.” He’d aimed for nonthreatening, but had landed closer to surly. Wincing, he rubbed his nape. Jesus, he was an idiot.

  She startled and shielded her eyes against the sun. Her other arm curled over her breasts. “You could have shot me. What the hell are you doing out here?”

  Her voice shook, and he recognized the emotion. Fear. He followed her darting gaze to the near bank. Clothing hung from a low tree branch.

  More words jumbled out of her mouth. “The state forest starts on the other side. You’re on private land. Were you spying on me?”

  “Of course not.” Maybe he’d looked a little longer than necessary, but damn . . . what man with a beating heart and working dick wouldn’t? “That was a cottonmouth, by the way. You wouldn’t want to get hauled to the hospital like that, would you?” He tried a jokey smile and made vague gestures toward her nakedness. Her expression remained stony, turning his smile into a grimace.

  “It looked like an innocent little water snake to me. I was in more danger of getting shot than bit.” She crouched. Water cascaded over her shoulders. Her arm pressed her breasts together, only the top curves visible. The hand not covering her breasts shooed him away like a dog. “Hello? Would you mind giving me a little privacy?”

  What the fuck was the matter with him? He was acting like a perv.

  “Of course. I’ll be on my way and let you get decent, ma’am.” He inclined his head and touched the brim of his baseball cap with a forefinger, playing the gentleman even as base impulses urged him to watch her nude body rise out of the water.

  “Wait just a minute! We’re not done, mister.” Her voice, husky and melodious now that shrill fear no longer colored it, sent a tingle down his spine.

  Halfway across the field to his truck, he stopped and tugged his cap lower and thought about the firecracker scrambling up the bank. He hadn’t seen her around town. Who was she? A more important question forced itself into his consciousness. Was she still naked?

  He turned around. The throb of disappointment was real and surprising. She’d pulled on clothes. Navy T-shirt and cut-offs. But no bra and, if he were a betting man, he’d guess the bulge in her pocket was a pair of panties. Damp cotton outlined what promised to be a pair of stellar tits. Not huge, but roundly full on her small frame. Her nipples poked at the cloth.

  An uncomfortable situation was brewing below his belt buckle. It had been a long time. None of his relationships lasted longer than a few weeks which meant his hook-ups probably didn’t even qualify as relationships.

  Plus, he only attracted two types of women. One type who were only looking for a night of uncomplicated fun. The other saw him as a project. A man they could mold and transform into some magazine ideal. Not happening. Whether he broke things off or they did, he could count on accusations of coldness and hard-heartedness.

  Neither description applied at the moment. Heat followed the path of blood pounding through his body. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. Tingles of awareness shot from his brain and headed south, stoking an already volatile situation.

  This woman set off alarms like a nuclear bomb about to drop. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Wet dark hair that couldn’t decide whether to wave or curl hung past her shoulder blades. Soft, feminine curves led to tanned, lithe legs. A fiery spirit in a gorgeous package.

  Wide blue eyes contrasted attractively with her dark brows and hair, and barely there freckles sprinkled over a pert nose and high cheekbones. His attention gravitated toward and held on her mouth, the top lip slightly fuller than the bottom. He swallowed.

  “My family owns this land, and you’re trespassing.” Her gaze flicked up and down his body with burning intensity.

  Trespassing? Another shot of adrenalin hitched his breathing.

  No way was this Logan’s cousin. Not the girl who’d sent the letters to Logan in Afghanistan. Letters that made Robbie laugh and lightened his heart on the days he wasn’t sure he could carry it any longer.

  “You’re not Darcy Wilde. You can’t be.”

  “I can assure you I am.” Her hip popped out and a hand went there. He tried to maintain eye contact, but her shimmying tits pulled his
gaze lower.

  “But you’re . . .” He searched for a word that wouldn’t get him kneed in his already aching balls. Her letters had been funny. Sweet, even. Logan had never shared a picture, but Robbie had envisioned her more like a nerdy little sister, not a sexy river nymph with a sharp tongue. “. . . Logan’s cousin,” he finished weakly.

  “And who might you be? One of his hunting buddies?” A little wrinkle creased her nose. “If Logan’s truck isn’t at Ada’s, then he’s not around.”

  “We do hunt together, but I was headed home.” He pointed toward the Wilson homeplace.

  A reflection of the same shock rocking him widened her eyes. “You’re the new coach? Dalt, right? Ada’s been going on and on about you.”

  “I am.”

  “Most men your age don’t hang out with eighty-five-year-old women.” Unless they want something. The words hung unsaid but understood.

  “Miss Ada’s a nice lady who needed my help,” he said curtly. She acted as if he was scheming to steal her grandmother’s social security checks.

  The longer their eyes held, the more uncertain she looked. Her brow crunched, and she broke contact first, her gaze falling to their feet. “I should thank you for calling the ambulance.”

  “No need. I didn’t do it for you.”

  Her tongue skimmed over her full upper lip before she pulled it between her teeth. The action twitched his hands, and arousing images of claiming her mouth flashed.

  “I need to be getting back to her. The nurse will be finished soon.” She cast a look full of worry toward the house.

  She was here to take care of Miss Ada, that’s what mattered. “If you need help moving your stuff in, let me know.”

  “I can manage a couple of suitcases, but thanks.”

  He shifted his feet farther apart and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Hold up. You’re not moving home?”

  Wariness replaced her worry, her feet planting themselves farther apart, mirroring his. “I’m staying until Ada is back on her feet. My job—my life—is in Atlanta.”

  “Miss Ada needs family around her—permanently.”

  “She needs to cut back on some of her crazier notions, is all. She’ll be perfectly fine in a couple of months.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and her voice echoed his earlier defensiveness. “Anyway, Logan is five minutes away.”

  “Logan will help as much as he can, but you know as well as I do, he’s still getting his shit together. What are you going to do? Ship her off to an old folks home for strangers to take care of her?”

  The denim blue of her eyes flashed anger and something more—regret and maybe fear. “What is your problem?”

  It was an excellent question, and one he wasn’t sure how to answer. If he had family, he’d damn well take care of them, appreciate them, but Miss Ada’s situation was none of his business really, so he kept his mouth shut. While traversing the foster care system, he’d learned how useful silence could be. Their gazes warred.

  At his continued silence, she chuffed and whipped around, her hair peppering him with river water. She stalked across the field toward Miss Ada’s.

  “Watch where you put your feet,” he called when she was halfway across, unable to stop himself from goading her. Her glare singed him from over her shoulder, even from the distance.

  * * *

  Darcy rubbed her chest. Her heart hadn’t slowed since the gun’s report, and the snake carnage floating around her sure hadn’t helped matters. She had planned to wade in to her knees, but the water had been so cool and clear, before she knew it, her clothes were hanging from a branch. It had felt like the long-ago summers when the start of school seemed an eon away and all she had to worry over was whose house she and Kat would sleep over at next.

  How long had he been watching her? She rubbed at the ache in her chest. It was a knot of embarrassment, righteous anger, and something raw and less noble.

  Instead of stretchy shorts to accommodate the body of an athlete twenty years beyond his prime, the new coach’s jeans and T-shirt molded the defined muscles of a man ready to play. When she’d caught up with him halfway to his truck, his ball-cap shadowed blue eyes had locked on her in a suspicious squint.

  His reaction should have squashed her inappropriate shot of insta-lust, yet a buzz still had her nerves frazzled.

  “Geez, get it together,” she whispered to herself and pressed her hands against her flaming cheeks.

  She had assumed the high ground. Except, he’d neatly flipped their confrontation. His lips had thinned and tucked against straight, white teeth, and his accusations burned through her. Not completely true, but not false either.

  Her guilt popped up like the world’s worst Jack-in-the-box. After everything Ada had done for her, she vowed not to let her grandmother see a hint of the resentment she couldn’t quite wrestle into oblivion. She would stay as long as Ada needed her, but Ada wouldn’t need her forever. She was indomitable.

  Once-sparkling white paint flaked off the house, and the railings lining the wraparound front porch were loose. While she was back, she’d work on fixing the house up. Ada would like that. She eased into the kitchen and closed the screen door with a careful hand. Her cousin was inspecting the contents of the refrigerator.

  “’Bout time you showed up, cuz.” Logan fired the first salvo and popped the lid off a jar of homemade pickles, sticking one in his mouth like a cigar.

  So soon after Dalt’s accusations, his teasing jab stung, and she replied hotly, “I have a job. Responsibilities. Do you need a dictionary since the concepts might be unfamiliar?”

  Far from taking offense, he half-sat on the counter and crunched into his snack. “I see you’re still as tart as unsweetened lemonade. No wonder you’re still single.”

  Their familiar banter helped de-frazzle her nerves, and Darcy notched herself into his side to hug him around the waist before pulling back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. My replacement needed training. Did Ada give you hell?”

  A year older than Darcy, Logan had been a hard-partying high school football star, constantly in trouble but everyone’s best friend. She had been the hard-studying teacher’s pet, shy and awkward. On the surface, they had little in common but shared a bond that went beyond even being cousins.

  They’d both been abandoned with Ada, Darcy by her mother and Logan by his father. They had been playmates and confidants, and while their lives had gone in different directions, they understood each other in a way no one else could.

  “Ideally, she would have stayed in the hospital another day or two, but she insisted on leaving,” he said with a shade of Darcy’s earlier impatience with Ada’s stubbornness.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “How is she really? What did the doctors say?

  Everything on his face drooped, giving his usually carefree countenance a solemn cast. “She’s spunky and has a good chance to regain most of her mobility. But Darcy . . . the risk for complications is high, especially with fractures in both hips and considering her age.”

  She turned away, nodding, and opened the almost bare pantry. Things were changing too fast. “What have you been doing with yourself?” she asked, partly to change the subject and partly to ferret out his ability to help.

  “Looked up the word ‘job’ in the dictionary, discovered it involved money, and decided if one was good, two was better.”

  “Really, where are you working?”

  “Helping Dalt with the football team most afternoons. School cleaned house in May. Only coach they kept was Hal Perkins. He was mad as a wild hog that he didn’t get the top spot. Being an assistant pays next to nothing, but it keeps me in shape. I’m paying the bills by managing The Tavern for old Milt.”

  “Is that . . . wise?” Darcy asked. After leaving the army, Logan’s reacclimation to civilian life had involved copious alcohol.

  “I’m fine,” he said without rancor. He looked better than fine. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, his dark eyes clear, and
his body honed. Tilting the pickle jar toward her, his bicep looked ready to massacre the straining seam of his T-shirt. His gaze flicked to her bare feet. “Someone’s been to the swimming hole, I see. Better watch yourself. A passel of cottonmouths have nested in the bank.”

  Perfect, absolutely perfect. Maybe the coach had actually saved her a trip to the hospital. Taking a pickle, she leaned on the counter next to him. She looked from the peeling, fruit-bowled wallpaper to Logan and back again.

  “I ran across your buddy Dalt at the river.” No need to mention her state of undress or rudeness. “He was kind of a jerk. Seems to think I’m going to up and abandon Ada at the earliest opportunity, and he didn’t bother to sugarcoat his opinion.”

  “Don’t get your feelings hurt. Dalt’s not a suave charmer with the ladies. He’s more of a man’s man. If you know what I mean.”

  Lord have mercy, she knew. The testosterone had nearly bowled her over. The new coach made her ex-boyfriends look like weak-kneed, acne-covered, mama’s boys. She couldn’t imagine her reaction to his blatant physicality was unique. “I can’t believe one of the women around town hasn’t snapped him up.”

  “He doesn’t seem interested.”

  Something like relief stirred her insides as Logan continued. “I keep expecting to find one of the town hussies naked and spread-eagle on the practice field. He would probably step over her and start drills. The more he ignores them, the hotter for him they get. It’s been mighty entertaining.”

  Of course, women threw themselves at the man. If the situation at the river hadn’t been so unnerving and confrontational, she might have considered it herself. “Is he being nice to Ada to wheedle her out of the old Wilson place?”

  Logan’s gaze slashed in her direction. “The big city has turned you awfully suspicious. Can’t someone just be nice?”