Rachel's Redemption (6 page)

Chapter 8

There was only one flower shop in Redemption and Rachel was their first customer Saturday morning. After reading as much as she could on the Internet about throwing the perfect dinner, treating your guests to a special night, and how to make sure your event was memorable, she felt armed with enough knowledge to get started.

First on her list were flowers. The tables, according to all she read, needed a centerpiece, something classy and elegant and not so big that guests couldn’t see each other across the table. She thought of Logan and hiding him behind a big Fica tree.

Like she’d even need to do that. He wouldn’t come, unless it was to picket the whole affair. Of course, that might land him in hot water with the town council. Molly had given it up that he had probably been at the council meeting to make a request for money for the football program. Rachel didn’t know if they’d said yes or not, but either way, he’d do best to keep on the good side of Redemption’s town council.

Which meant: he would have to let her put this dinner together. Briefly she wondered if she should have invited him to choose flowers, but she quickly dismissed that ridiculous thought. A) He was a guy. What did he know about flowers? Okay, so maybe she was generalizing, but still, he didn’t seem the type. And B) She really didn’t need his help. She just needed him to let her do her thing and she’d let him do his and all would work out just fine.

She opened the door to the shop and was enveloped in the smell of fresh flowers. It immediately reminded her of Nana and she felt a pang of sorrow. Rachel drew in a deep breath and stepped farther into the store.

On the Internet, Rachel had found pictures of table décor ranging from jars and bowls filled with anything and everything, and every floral arrangement imaginable. The sky was the limit. But, knowing how Nana had loved her garden, Rachel knew floral centerpieces were the way to go.

“May I help you?”

Rachel smiled at the middle-aged man who was walking to her. He was trim and dressed very nicely in a fitted, button-down shirt and crisp black pants. His dark hair was pulled back into a smooth tail at his nape and he had a short grayish goatee. A delicate silver hoop hung from one ear.

“I hope so.” Rachel smiled and introduced herself.

“Well, hello. It’s a pleasure to meet a famous Redemption resident. I’ve only been here a few years, but I’ve seen your name around town.”

Rachel nodded uncomfortably and cast a glance at the floral arrangements crowding the small store.

He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Alexander. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rachel, what can I do for you?”

She shook his hand and said, “I hope you can help me. I need table decorations. For the event.”

Alexander clasped his hands together under his chin and smiled. “Well, of course you do! You came to the right place. Come, come. Let’s sit. I want you to tell me all about your grandmother.” He led her toward the back counter and patted her shoulder when he mentioned Nana. “We want to get it just right. Flowers speak to people, and, sometimes, they speak
for
them.”

Rachel relaxed. For the first time since the council had said yes, Rachel felt she was with someone, other than Molly, that understood why she needed to do this. Alexander was her people.

“Something warm to drink?” He gestured to a carafe.

“Yes, please.”

He turned and poured steaming water from the carafe and floated a tea bag on top. Then he passed the cup to her and took the seat next to her. “Tell me, Rachel, what were her favorite flowers?”

Rachel accepted the teacup and began to tell Alexander about Nana’s garden, her love for lilacs, peonies, and roses. That, unlike her, Nana had had quite the green thumb. She talked, and he listened, nodding and encouraging, to her for nearly an hour.

“Okay, I think I have the perfect idea!” He clasped his hands together, his eyes beaming.

They both glanced up when someone entered the store.

Rachel inhaled sharply as the new customer drew closer. Not just
someone.
And, he wasn’t alone. There was no way for her to hide, nor should she, but she really didn’t want to have it out with Logan. She turned her full attention on the photo albums Alexander had brought out for her. Maybe Logan wouldn’t notice her. She’d just mind her own business, and he could mind his.

“Hey, Alexander. How’s life treating you?”

Alexander chuckled and put a fist on one hip. “Oh you know. Nothing to complain about here in Redemption. Hi, Cole.” Alexander nodded a greeting to the teenage boy standing next to Logan.

Rachel cast a sideways glance. A teenage boy, she presumed to be Cole, bobbed his head at Alexander and stuffed his hands deep into his jeans pockets. “Hi.”

Alexander snapped his fingers. “I’m glad you stopped in. Michael was showing me some of the designs you picked out for your remodel. Woo, that is going to be some show place when Michael finishes. Just that kitchen alone.” Alexander inhaled and clasped a hand over his mouth shaking his head. “I mean all Sub-Zero appliances and that floor . . . Macassar Ebony. Do they even make that in the States?”

Rachel slowly flipped pages in the album not really seeing anything on the page as she listened to the conversation behind her.
Hah!
And he had the nerve to accuse her of having expensive tastes. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. She cast sideways glances at the three of them as she sat hunched over the album, drawing her braid over her shoulder. She turned a page.

“Cole’s accumulating practice hours for Drivers Ed. He and I were just out . . . driving around.”

Rachel caught the pause and shot him another glance only to meet the bluest blue, directly. Oh, sugar.

“Cole needed to work on parallel parking and, well, I noticed that Volvo out there, and, Rachel? Is that you?”

Rachel grimaced and scrunched her eyes closed. Double sugar.

Nobody spoke. She couldn’t pretend any longer. The gig was up. She turned on the stool to fully face Logan. “Oh, Logan. Hi. I didn’t see you there.”

Alexander’s brows climbed his forehead. Logan grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. Cole looked bored.

“Uh-huh. Alexander stocks some pretty high-end items you should be right at home in here.” Logan adjusted his gaze to the shop owner. “Her bank account knows no end. You know who her family is, right?”

Rachel fisted her hands and shook her head. “Alexander and I are acquainted.”

Alexander’s gaze darted between them.

Then Logan said to her, “What are you doing here?”

Rachel tilted her head and crossed her arms, mirroring his position. “Hmm?”

“I said, ‘What are you doing here?’”

Alexander’s brows had lowered as he bobbled his head back and forth between them.

“Oh,
here.
Well, I was just, you know, checking out”—she motioned with her hand at the potted plants and brightly colored, fragrant arrangements throughout the store—“flowers and stuff.”

“For?”

Alexander’s eyes twinkled.

“For?”

“Yourself?”

“Well . . . sort of . . . ”

Logan turned to Alexander. “What’s the story?”

The smaller man didn’t appear the least bit intimidated by the much taller, broader man asking the question. In fact, he looked thoroughly entertained. “Cup of tea?”

“No, thanks.” He leveled his gaze at Rachel. She felt a shiver of awareness run over her skin, but she held his glare. Then he turned back to Alexander. “Her grandmother preferred poison ivy. And, no matter what she buys”—he thrust his chin at Rachel and said—“make sure that none of it winds up at the high school.”

Alexander watched Rachel who was scowling at Logan and shaking her head.

“Alexander,” Rachel said, “Logan may have taken one too many hits on the field because his mind seems incapable of comprehending the fact that this event
is
happening
at
the high school.”

Logan saluted Rachel and nodded at Alexander, then he steered Cole toward the exit.

“And, Nana did not love poison ivy!” Rachel called after him.

Chapter 9

Logan didn’t see Rachel the rest of Saturday, which was fine by him. His Saturday had been a full day of Drivers Ed, a gig he’d taken up when the previous instructor had been called up to active duty. Logan didn’t mind it, either, but he could sure go for a massage. An hour and a half working out the kinks and near whiplash he’d sustained while Cole had attempted to crack the mysteries of a manual transmission sounded very tempting. Although, a good massage wouldn’t even come close to getting rid of the stress knots Rachel Delaney-Tolbert gave him.

Sunday morning, Logan set out ready to put an end to this fiasco.

He’d played out potential scenarios in his head. So far, coming right out and saying the event wasn’t happening at the school hadn’t worked. Rachel didn’t go for direct. He needed a better plan. Maybe the event
could
happen, just not at his high school. If all went according to his new plan, she’d have a new venue, preferably in a different town. Sure, it wasn’t what Rachel had envisioned, but since nobody seemed to care about the impact a bunch of people traipsing through his gym or the inevitable distraction to his team, he needed to champion the cause.

Logan pulled into the motel parking lot where she was staying. For a moment, Logan stared at the empty rockers sitting on the front office’s covered porch. They begged to be used on a lazy afternoon, sipping an icy Arnold Palmer and nothing but the summer breeze to keep you company. After the season ended, he was going to have Michael get started on a porch just like that. He should have had the old dilapidated mess he’d grown up in demolished along with the painful memories that still clung to the walls like moldy wallpaper. But, Michael had said it had bones and the plans he’d drawn up ensured the place wouldn’t bare any resemblance to the original.

Logan shut off the engine and reached for his cell phone.

It barely rang before she answered. Did she walk around with it in her hand?

“Have you eaten?” There was a pause and he was sure she was deciding whether or not to hang up the phone.

“Yes,” she said finally. “Do you ever think of anything else?”

He ignored the last part and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m busy.”

“Have breakfast with me and tell me about it.”

He waited, listening to silence, while she decided if breakfast with him was a good idea. If he were her, he’d say no. He’d been an ass at their last meal, acting like a jerk when she’d tried to pay. It had struck a nerve, one that he didn’t want to examine too closely. But this morning, he hoped she’d say yes. She didn’t know it yet, but this was her lucky day. Not only was he going to stop fighting her, but
he was even going to help out with the planning.

“Oh joy,” she said. “Another fun-filled meeting where you shoot snide remarks about my snobby-ness and outlandish bank account. Where do I sign up?”

Logan winced. She was feisty in the mornings. Evenings, too.

“Come on. Let’s go eat. I promise to behave.”

“No, thanks. I just woke up.”

That’s exactly how she sounded, too. Bleary eyed and mussed. “Come on. Throw on some clothes—”
or don’t
“—and get your butt out here. I’m starving.”

Logan watched the motel room doors. Mentally he ticked off the steps she’d take from the small half bath, past the bed, to the window at the front of the room. A curtain pulled aside and he saw long, blond hair. He gave her a slow wave and the curtain fell back into place.

“You’re here.”

“Well, yeah. I’m hungry. And I need to talk to you.”

There was another extended pause.

“I’ve been doing some thinking. Let me take you to breakfast and I’ll tell you all about it. And, I may even let you pay.”

Her exhale was audible. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Make it five. The Spoon fills up fast Sunday mornings and I want blueberry pancakes.” He clicked off his phone and smiled to himself. He was actually looking forward to setting Rachel straight. It wasn’t like he wanted to spend time with her. No way. He wanted this whole nightmare to go away. And, he was getting very close to having his wish come true. Fifteen minutes later, they were headed to The Spoon.

She’d taken more than five minutes and he couldn’t exactly tell why. She’d pulled her thick hair into a tail at the back of her head, using the same white-flowered clip. She’d slipped on a curve-hugging green tank top that he couldn’t help but notice matched her eyes and showcased her chest and those toned arms. She’d paired the top with plain khaki shorts that were about a foot too long. Rachel had the longest, sexiest legs of any woman he’d ever seen and she sat next to him in shorts that nearly covered her knees. Was this part of being a pediatrician? Ultimate conservatism?

And, she’d brought along a canvas bag bulging with . . . stuff.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Party planning stuff.”

“Huh? Like what streamers and balloons?”

“No,” she said patiently. “Like a notebook with checklists and notes. Zippered pockets for receipts and business cards. Color-coded folders for each vendor. Books I might need.”

He was sorry he asked.

“This is actually perfect we’re going to The Spoon. They’re at the top of my list of caterers for the event.”

Logan shot her a look. Oh
that
conversation wasn’t going to take place on his watch. He was feeling better and better about keeping her under his eye. “What makes you think they’ll do it?”

She turned her green eyes on him. “Why wouldn’t they?”

He shrugged as he slowed for a stop sign. He raised his hand to another driver in the intersection. “Well, it’s a lot of people, short notice.”

“Which is exactly why I need to talk to them now. You’re right. The clock is ticking. Homecoming’s going to be here before we know it and it’s what Nana would have wanted.” Rachel’s voice drifted off and she watched out the window.

Logan slid a glance to her. He didn’t need to be reminded that the Homecoming game was only weeks away. They were playing the Dixon Bears, a two-time state championship team. It was a big-freakin’ game. Try telling that to Rachel, though. To her it wouldn’t matter if the Super Bowl were being played at the stadium that night. Nana was getting a tribute.

Well, he’d see about that. His attention drifted over her as she stared out the window, chewing on a finger nail. A nervous habit for someone that has it all. He remembered her doing that in high school, too, and vaguely wondering the same thing. He’d done a lot of Rachel-watching in high school. All of it from afar, because no way was the son of the disreputable Mean Gene Hastings going to get anywhere near the most popular girl in town.

Popular wasn’t the right word to describe her. It wasn’t big enough. Notorious, maybe, but not in the way he’d been notorious. Famous. That’s what she’d been. Famous for her heritage, her crazy grandmother, the family fortune, the future that lay ahead of her. She was Redemption Royalty.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

Rachel said, “You hated her.”

“I did not.”

Rachel gave him a “give me a break” look.

“She hated
me!”

“She didn’t. She was just . . . she was protective.”

Logan grunted. “That’s an understatement. At any rate, I’m sorry.”

Rachel smiled and it reached her eyes making them bigger, greener. Beautiful. Her whole face lit up.

He was so busy noticing her eyes he almost missed the only parking space in front of The Spoon. He cranked the wheel and narrowly fit his truck into the front row parking space.

They climbed out of the car. There were several patrons standing in and around the restaurant. “Damn, I hate to wait.”

She stepped toward the entrance and said over her shoulder, “It builds character. I’ll put our name in and see if the owners can meet with me today.” She disappeared into the mass of people, probably all of whom had happily satisfied stomachs, before he could dissuade her from bothering the owners. He seriously doubted they’d accept the offer. Come on, it was too close, and they wouldn’t want to miss the game.

He stood alone on the sidewalk, lost in his thoughts.

“Hey, Coach.”

Logan turned to see one of his players and his parents walking up the sidewalk. “Hey, Josh.” He shook the hand extended by Josh’s dad and offered Josh’s mom a warm smile. Just like every time he drove into the high school parking lot, having respectable citizens come up to him, shaking his hand, and calling him “Coach” was a near creepy case of mistaken identity.

But this
was
his identity. He was the coach and the people of Redemption embraced him. Redemption was his home.

Logan chatted with them a moment, talking about how prepared the players were—leaving out how prepared they weren’t—for the season opener. Josh’s parents wanted to know what he thought the opponent’s weaknesses were. He answered in that completely noncommittal way of coaches from Pop Warner to the NFL, saying mostly nothing, while throwing out buzz words like “great players executing”, “strong secondary”, “commitment to winning”, “playing smart”, “playing competitive.”

The attention of Josh’s parents slid away from him and over Logan’s shoulder. He knew what had captured their attention even without looking. He turned to see Rachel standing next to him, a happy smile on her face. She must have got an in with the owners to talk catering. It certainly had nothing to do with him.

She slid her eyes to the folks he’d been talking to, then back to him expectantly. He recovered quickly, introducing her. Then Logan stood back while they exchanged pleasantries. It wasn’t every day the average Joe-resident got an opportunity to meet the granddaughter of the woman whose family name was plastered on most of the buildings in Redemption.

His gaze followed Rachel as she graciously accepted their condolences. Was he the only one that noticed the tension around her eyes when she talked about her grandma? Losing her hadn’t been easy, which made planning this thing all the more important to Rachel.

A slight attack of conscience drilled him in the chest. He steadily ignored it. He wasn’t going to eliminate the
whole
event, just move it. His plan was solid and with strong execution he’d prevail.

God, now he sounded like he was talking to the media.

The parents made their exit and Rachel turned to him. “They love football here.”

Logan nodded.

“I think they’re happy you came back and are coaching.”

He wasn’t sure what part of the conversation he’d zoned out for, but he sure hadn’t heard anything that would give anyone that impression. The people loved football and it didn’t matter who coached. As long as the team was winning.

“Don’t look like that.”

“Like what?” He pointed to a bench that had just been vacated.

“Like it’s so shocking.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stared at him, searching, but didn’t say anymore. He changed the subject. “How long’s the wait?” Talking about food was a lot more comfortable and didn’t make him feel like she was peering into his soul.

A short time later the hostess poked her head out and said, “Rachel, your table is ready.”

Rachel thanked her by name. Logan looked at her quizzically. Rachel shrugged. “We went to high school together. Don’t you remember her?”

He nodded. “Sure.” He knew most of the people in Redemption, but he lived here.

They were ushered through the crowded restaurant to an empty booth. When they were seated, Rachel reached for one of the menus tucked behind the napkin dispenser. Ads for local Redemption merchants covered the back page.

She reached for her notebook.

Logan gawked at her, puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“Making a note.”

“About breakfast?”

“About possible advertising.”

Logan slipped the menu out of her hand. “You know, you really don’t need this anyway. The blueberry pancakes are the only way to go. No need to even check the menu.” He smoothly replaced the menu behind the napkins, ad-side away. There was nothing he could do to keep Rachel from “making a note.” But he frowned the whole time.

“Blueberry pancakes, huh?” she said, while she tucked the notebook back into her fat tote.

“Yeah. They’re awesome.”

The waitress appeared, sitting down two coffee cups.

While she poured, she said, “Morning. What can I bring you?”

She had that harried appearance of waitresses that worked the morning shift—she’d probably been up since four, her hair was held back with half a dozen pins and a fine glow covered her skin. He appreciated waitresses and the work they did. They knew how to hustle, remember about a million things at once, and get them all done.

“Good morning,” Logan said, offering her a smile.

“We’ll both have a plate of the blueberry pancakes.” He shot a look to Rachel. “Bacon or sausage?”

“Neither. And, I’ll actually just have a bowl of fruit.”

Logan gaped at her. “You’re kidding.”

Rachel turned to the waitress. “And a glass of orange juice.”

Boring.

Logan shrugged. “Make mine a double order, sausage and I’ll have juice, too.”

The waitress jotted it all down and disappeared into the crowd.

“We came here for pancakes.”

“You came here for pancakes. I can’t eat like you.”

“Why the hell not?” There was no heat behind his words, but he was damn curious.

She flipped through her notebook, steadily
not
meeting his eyes.

Finally she said, “Oh, fine. If you must know, I have to wear—”

“Go on . . .”

Rachel rolled her hand in the air, as if the motion answered his question.

He waited.

“—a dress,” she said.

“What do blueberry pancakes have to do with a dress?”