Mistletoe Match-Up (Romancing Wisconsin #3) (6 page)

No, honestly, she hadn’t really cared about the first two—until they were added to the third.

How the heck did Derek Walsh make better apple pies than she did?

Well, she knew, but she didn’t believe it. Cream cheese and caramel. Sounded gross, but baked with the apples and topped with sweet, crunchy crumbles, the combination made her taste buds dance in ecstasy.

Like his kiss last night.

Dishes clattered onto the countertop to her right. Lisa jumped when Derek leaned a hip against the counter and flashed a self-satisfied smile. “That’s the last of the dessert plates. My grandpa and your dad both had seconds of my pie.”

Rub it in, Jinx
. Her mom and Judy had taken pity and eaten her pie, but everyone else had no problem vocalizing their preference for Derek’s efforts. She attacked the sweet potato dish again. “Don’t just stand there, grab a towel.”

He followed her order with a chuckle. “Losing makes you crabby.”

“As if you’d know.”

“You never acted like this when you
won
back in high school.”

“All I did was ask you to dry the dishes.”

He shook his head with another laugh. “Okay.”

She scrubbed; he dried. She gave it about five minutes before admitting toward the sink, “Your pie was awesome.”

“Thank you.” After another moment of silence, he added, “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

The impact of that soft-voiced fact stilled her busy hands. The sad story of Derek and Janelle’s parents’ plane crash was common knowledge in Pulaski. She remembered feeling sorry for the sullen, gangly newcomer and his quiet cousin all those years ago.

Until they’d met face to face. He’d rejected her sympathy with a flat out challenge that’d set the tone for the remainder of their teen years.

She turned to him now, but he kept his gaze averted, intent on swiping the flour sack towel over the pan in his hands. Not sure what to say after he’d revealed he baked pies to remember his dead mother, she simply washed the rest of the dishes and enjoyed his quiet company amidst the chaos of the rest of the house.

It was the best Christmas day she’d had in years.

****

She was late, darn it. Lisa smoothed the sides of her slim skirt, her boot heels clicking along the school hallway. It wasn’t her first interview this week, but she’d coveted
this
job since seeing the ad in the paper this morning. Though only a temporary assistant coaching position for the girls JV basketball team, she’d be doing something she loved, and she was confidant she had an ‘in’ with the man in charge.

A quick stop at her dad’s law office to fax her resume netted her a call on her cell right after her second interview in the Green Bay area. When they asked if she could make it by four, Lisa snapped up the appointment and suffered through three additional inquisitions the rest of the afternoon. A City Hall position really piqued her interest, but she wanted the coaching job more.

Her gaze swept the high school entrance with interest. With the student body out on Christmas break, she could easily see the changes that’d occurred since her last visit. There hadn’t been many—visits or changes. Same inspirational mural, same commons area, same plain offices to the left—but the faces inside were new. To her at least. Nostalgia swept over her. Mrs. Hutchinson’s kind smile would’ve been so wonderful right now.

Two of the three women looked up when she entered, but the middle-aged brunette behind the front desk was the only one who paused in her work. “May I help you?”

“I have an interview with the athletic director.” A glance at the clock on the far wall showed the time at four minutes after four. Not good, but not awful. With their history, Coach Crandall wouldn’t hold it against her.

“Lisa Walsh?”

She nodded. The woman showed no sign of recognizing her name.
How quickly the glory fades
, Lisa thought with self-deprecation.

“He’s expecting you. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll take you to his office in a moment.”

“Actually, I know where I’m going…if that’s okay?”

“Of course. I’ll let him know you’re on the way.”

Lisa removed her coat on her trip down the hall, anticipating her old coach’s smiling welcome. Past successes filtered through her memories, and despite the reality check in the office, they blocked out the last three bleak years.

It felt good to be back on her old stomping grounds. She smiled with hope and anticipation that life would finally swing in her favor again.

Chapter Five

Derek didn’t bother to look up until his next interview candidate entered the office and came to an abrupt halt. “Hello, Lisa.” He tossed some paperwork onto his unusually clean desk and sat forward with a pointed glance at his watch. “You’re late. Again.”

Her panicked gaze swept around the room, as if she’d find someone else hiding behind one of the file cabinets. “Where’s Coach Crandall?”

“Last I heard, Arizona. He retired last year.”

“So, you are…?” Her gaze locked on his desk nameplate.

“The new athletic director.”

“I didn’t even know you worked here at the school.”

“Never bothered to ask, did you?” He cringed at his defensive tone, unaware her disinterest bothered him until just now. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice. She appeared nervous—and with good reason. Once again, he held the cards.

“What do you coach?” she asked.

“Boys basketball and track.”

Derek picked up the red file on the right side of his desk and placed it front and center. He removed the resume he’d practically memorized over the last few hours and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Shall we get started?”

“Um…sure.”

She took a seat and crossed her legs, coat and hands folded in her lap. Leather boots clung to the long curve of her calves, ending just below her knees. Black tights and a skirt picked up where the boots left off. A black sweater and filmy charcoal gray scarf completed the outfit. With her midnight hair and those gray eyes, she looked as good in black as in burgundy satin. And red cashmere. Hell, she’d probably look good in a white flour sack—

Or nothing at all.

Derek’s back stiffened. He gave an abrupt, internal admonishment to his libido. Not only did he need to be professional but he had some serious questions for her to answer. First the interview.

She breezed through the formal, job-related questions without hesitation, her answers full of confidence. That didn’t surprise him. Having been a star athlete, she knew sports, basketball in particular.

In direct contradiction to her poised answers, her unease grew by the minute. Anxiety radiated off her in waves. One thumbnail picked at the cuticles of her other hand, and every couple minutes her foot bobbed a few times, then halted.

Finally, he picked up her resume. Her foot twitched again. He read through it as if this were the first time seeing the damning evidence. Anger and disappointment fought for equal footing, but disappointment won. He didn’t really have a right to the anger anyway—she’d done nothing to him.

Except make you like her.

No.
That
was his own fault for opening up at Christmas and letting her see a part of him not even Janelle knew about. Lisa had simply offered soothing, silent understanding that crept into his conscious and refused to leave him alone.

He listened to the muted tick of his watch for one minute more. When he looked up, she stared at him, an expression of calm smoothed across her face, her foot still once more. “I can explain.”

He flipped to the last page of her resume and sat back in his chair. Unjustified though it may be, his anger rose again. “I think this does a pretty good job of that already.”

Her lips thinned at his sarcasm.

“What happened to all that stuff you talked about at the wedding?” he demanded. “Was it all lies?”

“No.” She shifted in her chair. “I did most of it. Just not recently, and…I exaggerated my job descriptions a little.”

He tossed her resume back on his desk. “Why? What the hell happened after you graduated college—with honors, if I remember the buzz correctly.”

“Nothing happened.”

He waited.

Her gaze slid to his but didn’t hold. She sighed. “Everything was going as planned, I worked my way up the political ladder, until…ah, until the candidate on my last campaign insisted we redefine my job using the Monica Lewinsky definition of intern.”

Derek’s entire body tensed at the scenario
insisted
implied. “Did he hurt you?”

She laughed, a brittle sound with no humor. “No. I broke his nose and then I quit.”

His brows rose in disbelief, but she kept talking.

“Only problem is, politics is a small world. Word got around—my word against his. Since I couldn’t prove anything, no one would hire me after that, so I was kinda stuck with whatever job I could find. And then, I wasn’t so sure I wanted back in anyway.” She glanced at her resume and attempted a grin that ended up crooked. “I’m still looking for something else I like.”

“I see that.” She’d held seven less than impressive jobs in the past three years. “Why didn’t you come home?”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “
Me
, living and working in Pulaski. How would that have looked?”

There’s the Lisa he remembered from high school. Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, Lisa. Tell me, how does it look?”

The foot in her mouth didn’t appear to taste very good. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s fine for you, but—”

Her abrupt silence only magnified the unspoken words in the air between them. Derek sat forward again. “Go ahead. Keep digging.”

Lisa stood. “You know what, forget it. Obviously, I’m not going to get the job, so I won’t waste any more of your time.” She turned for the door.

“Running away works for you, doesn’t it?”

A quick spin brought her back around. When she slammed a hand on his desk, Derek flinched before he could control the reaction. Lisa fisted her resume in her hand, straightened, and swept from the room.

He caught up to her by the administrative offices. One glance at the interested gazes trained on them through the glass windows, and he silently accompanied her outside into a gentle snowfall. The cold air wove through the fabric of his dress shirt as Lisa kept walking.

“Wait.”

She lifted her chin and ignored him. Derek moved in front of her and scooted backwards, hands held out in front of him. “Come on, Lisa, please. I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”

Finally she slowed, then stopped. Her gray eyes locked on his. “You pushed me all through high school. That first time I beat you and brought home an A, my parents were thrilled.”

Derek frowned, not sure where this was going.

“Not because of you—they didn’t know about any of that, but they were happy because I’d actually taken an interest in my grades. Do you know I almost had to repeat eighth grade?”

“You?”

“The only class I wasn’t failing was gym. My parents got me a tutor for the summer and I barely squeaked by.”

She was serious. “Wow,” Derek said. “I never would’ve guessed that in a million years.”

“Anyway, that one taste of success became addictive. The more you tried to shove past me, the harder I worked to stay ahead, and the happier my parents became. They were so proud. Before I knew it, I’d created a monster, and I couldn’t fail.”

“You were pretty intense back then.”

“No, I mean failure was not an option, and then add the pressure of not disappointing them. In college, I didn’t have you, but I’d conditioned myself enough that it didn’t matter. I graduated fully prepared to take on the world.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, partly to ward of the winter chill and partly because something still didn’t add up. “So why come back now?” Her gaze slipped again. He dipped his chin, willing her to look him in the eye. “What’s different now compared to three years ago when that slime bag blackballed you?”

Her jaw tightened and her eyes grew bright. “I have nothing left—no job, no money—nothing. Are you happy now? I had to quit my last damn job just to come home for Mark and Janelle’s wedding.” She reached up a hand to swipe at one cheek. “The real world is not quite so enamored with has-been high school superstars.”

That last defeated sentence triggered a flood of understanding. He shifted and stuffed his hands in his pockets. She felt she’d failed.

Fire flared in her eyes, magnified by the moisture still pooled along her bottom lashes. She stepped forward and hit him in the chest. “Don’t.”

“Ow. What?”

“You know what,” she growled and stalked past him. Over her shoulder, she warned, “And if you even think about giving me the job because you feel sorry for me, I’ll hurt you.”

He rubbed his chest. Some disappointment lingered, but more
for
her than
in
her. Now he understood her reasons for the half-truths. She could’ve fudged her resume, padded it like her stories, instead she’d been brutally honest to her own detriment. Amazing how he’d learned more about her in one day than in all four years they’d been rivals.