Rachel's Redemption (8 page)

Chapter 11

The following Thursday, Rachel was back in Redemption, pacing in the same motel room she’d had the week before. She’d finished work for the week and, after a lot of begging and promising to take call for the rest of the month, was able to switch tomorrow’s shift. She’d done as much as she could from her phone and laptop in Denver, but so much required face-to-face meetings, that she needed an extra day in Redemption.

Rachel listened to her voice messages. Alexander left an enthusiastic and long message about the “perfect florals” he was creating for the event. Rachel grinned. Nana and Alexander never met, but she had no doubt they would have loved each other. Their love of gardening alone would have kept them in conversation for hours. She jotted down that a writer for the paper could meet with her later today. That had her pumping a fist in the air. The writer had volunteered to write a column commemorating the event. She’d meet with the writer then head to the food tasting at The Spoon, which, thanks to Logan was sure to be . . . different.

Despite performing several dozen sports physicals for kiddos returning to school, administering at least that many immunization shots, and generally having overly full days, that man had remained front and center in her mind. She wished she could say every image was bad to further support some sort of extreme dislike of the man, but she couldn’t really get behind it.

Yeah, he was pushing her, and not in a good way. He was fighting her, and in some things, she had to admit he was winning. But, he was really, really nice to look at. Plus, when he wasn’t being a jerk, she thought she might kind of sort of like talking to him. Of course, the jerk part showed up too often for her to really know. The rest of the town seemed to genuinely like him, so he must have a decent side, somewhere.

Regardless, whichever image of the coach that popped into her head it stayed and made her hot all over. Since she was a bit young for hot flashes, she’d chalked it up to a glitch in the clinic’s ventilation system. Anything but an attraction to a man that had become the biggest pain in the rear she’d ever encountered.

She saved the last message and then clicked redial to return the call. She smiled. This event was starting to come together.

Of course, the one sure fire way to ensure everything happened would be for her to stay in Redemption, full time, until after the event. But, that would mean taking a leave of absence from her fellowship, a definite black mark on her record, and would jeopardize her chances of getting hired by the practice and possibly other practices, when they checked references.

Since that wasn’t an option, Rachel was grateful her remote planning was working. Plus, she had a suspicion her call to the athletic director was partially responsible for her bump free path this past week. And, yeah, it’d been sneaky and wasn’t the usual way she operated, but after the stunt Mr. Jerky-Pants had pulled at The Spoon, he’d all but declared war.

Logan was still simmering about Rachel calling the AD. She’d called his boss and basically tattled on him. What was this? Third grade? Or maybe that’s how it worked when money was no option. If you weren’t getting what you wanted one way, you just went to the top, over the head of the person who was in your way. Spoiled brat. That’s what Rachel Delaney-Tolbert was proving to be. He’d always had a suspicion and now with each passing day bringing this ridiculous event closer to D-Day he was feeling more and more justified in his assessment.

Of course, he hadn’t met very many spoiled brat pediatricians. Not like medical school was easy. Plus taking care of sick kids. He shook his head. Not just anybody could do that or would choose to do that. Especially if they didn’t have to work in the first place.

Well, whatever. He had money now and he chose to work. And, not technically because he had to, but because he wanted to. He wanted to stay in football and he wanted to be back in Redemption. It made sense.

And, it was working really well. Until Ms. Rich-Butt—Nice-Butt, really, really nice butt—got in his way.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t been in his way all week. Not physically anyway. Of course, he’d seen very clearly that her work on this project continued. Representatives from the party rental store had been measuring space in his gym. Measuring! Somehow, some way, she was working it from wherever she’d wandered off to.

She had a few surprises waiting for her, too. Logan had made some planning calls of his own. Since this event would be taking place, or he’d be finding another job—and he really didn’t want another job—he figured he could
help
out a bit. His lips curled up. Just a little fun for Ms. Delaney-Tolbert. All of which she’d find out about later.

Logan passed Main Street on his way to football practice and decided to loop around to the motel parking lot. It wasn’t technically out of his way. It was just
another
way of getting to the school. Which is what he’d been telling himself every day this week when he made the same turn.

Her Volvo hadn’t been there any of the other days; he wasn’t expecting it today. But, hell, there it was. He slowed, and turned into the parking lot. He left his truck running and just sat. The thrill of energy fueling his veins was just pre-practice stuff. Nothing at all to do with the fact that Rachel was back and he was about to pay her a visit.

Chapter 12

“This is great news! Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking, too. White linens for the table and lavender squares in the center. Gorgeous. It’ll really compliment the flowers. Yes, she would have loved it.” Rachel smiled, in spite of the burn deep behind her sternum. Nana would have loved all of this.

There was a knock at her door. With the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder she crossed the small room, listening to the vendor explain the pros and cons of folding chairs versus ladder-back chairs. Rachel opened the door.

And nearly dropped her phone.

Her gaze met Logan’s. He was smiling that completely territorial smile of his that made her feel like a bunny about to be swallowed by a big, bad wolf.

For a moment, she stood frozen, mentally kicking herself for not checking to see who was at the door before she opened it. She could just shut the door. Maybe he had the wrong room. But, by the look on his face, a look that said “bull’s-eye,” he had the right room.

In a low voice he said, “Let me in, Rachel.”

Compelled by some mind-trick force he was using, she slowly stepped back making room for his tall, broad-shouldered form. Her motel room grew smaller by the moment.

Logan was dressed for football practice, long practice shorts, and a Warriors tee shirt. She was still in her standard road trip garb—black yoga pants, a black, zippered hoody, CU T-shirt, and no bra.

An urgent voice was calling her name, repeating it over and over. She turned to Logan. He wasn’t saying her name, but he was watching her funny.

Logan reached down and moved her hand to her ear.   “Talk,” he said.

Rachel’s skin simmered where he’d touched her. She adjusted the phone to her ear. “Yes, sorry, yes, I’m listening. Uh-huh . . . I think the ladder-back chairs sound best. Yep, I’m with you, keep going.”

Rachel crossed to the other side of the bed, putting much-needed space between her and the football coach. She twirled a piece of hair that had escaped her braid and pretended that Logan Hastings was not standing just a few feet away, his arms crossed over his strong chest, his biceps straining the short sleeved shirt. Nope, she wasn’t seeing any of that. Especially not the narrowed eyes, the thin line of his lips, or the definite raised angle of his jaw.

“Yes, that sounds great,” she continued. “I think that will be enough. I anticipate a very full gym with all the people who are planning to attend”

The phone was gently, but firmly pulled from her grasp.

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but Logan held up a hand and began speaking into the phone. “Mrs. Gillings? Hi, this is Logan Hastings. How are you, ma’am? Good to hear. Yes, ma’am, we’re ready. It’s going to be a great match up. You and Mr. Gillings will be there? Good, good. So say, about the supplies for this event. . . Oh, yes, it’s going to be something else for sure . . .” He shot a look to Rachel.

She wasn’t sure if she should yank the phone back or not. Maybe the call to the AD had changed Logan’s tune.

“—so, yeah, not sure if Rachel has had a chance to mention this part of the plan yet . . . yes, I know she’s a very busy doctor, yep super busy, but . . . and I know she’ll be just as excited about this part as I am—”

Logan paused and Rachel thought for sure she heard a warning bell ring somewhere in the distance. Or in her head. Didn’t matter. Her spidey sense was sending up a red flag.

“—We’re going to need to rent a stage. Yep, a stage for the entertainment. Oh, no.” He chuckled, all good nature and country boy. “. . . now I can’t tell you what entertainment, Mrs. Gillings, that would spoil the surprise.” Logan winked at Rachel.

Rachel glared at him. Her hands curled into fists and she seriously wanted to stomp her feet.

“Oh, and before I let you go, one other thing. There’s going to be a vodka luge . . . so we’ll need a set up for that . . . oomph—” Logan ducked and dodged Rachel’s attempts to capture her hijacked phone. But, he had her by several inches and several pounds and, well, he’d evaded tackles for years in the NFL. Didn’t matter. She was going to get that phone, disconnect the call, or shut Logan up. Any and all would accomplish the goal. She pivoted and shoved up with her shoulder. He easily rendered her helpless by capturing her with the arm that wasn’t holding the phone and tucked her safely—for him—in the crook of his arm. The phone was protected against his ear and out of her reach.

“Okay, thanks again. Look forward to working with you, too. And thanks for supporting the team. Bye.”

Logan kept the phone, but turned so Rachel was more securely against his front, even though she didn’t have a chance she still raised an arm to capture her phone. He twisted and took her with him, holding her back to his front, securing her arms at her side.

She was breathing heavy and fast and adrenaline was making her contemplate any number of violent acts against this man.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” She heaved.

“Helping. That’s what I was told to do. Help plan the event of the millennium I believe they are calling it now. That’s what the town council said. And, that’s what my boss said.”

Rachel stopped struggling. His body was hard against her back. Heat from his T-shirt seeped through her hoody. And her very free breasts stood at attention.

She hadn’t been raised to be a coward or violent. She’d been raised to face obstacles and difficulties head on, proudly, with strength, determination, and grace.

Rachel took a deep fortifying breath and made a show of relaxing her body against his. Big mistake. Could the man be any more muscular? Didn’t most men let themselves go after college? Evidently no, because she felt every inch of Logan’s pectoralis major, minor and a few others she couldn’t immediately name because her brain synapses had short-circuited.

“You can let me go now.”

“You’ll behave yourself and act like a lady?”

Inside her head, she growled a very un-lady-like growl and mentally kicked him in the shins. Hard. Twice. But, instead, she nodded.

Logan released her, setting her away from him. She took a giant step back. She needed space and she took what she could, despite the limitations of the motel room. “Look Logan—”

“—No Rachel,” he interrupted. He didn’t raise his voice and he didn’t move. If anything his voice dipped lower, silkier, and she was reminded of the heat of his skin against her back. “I think it’s time
you
looked. Let’s get two things straight. One”—he said, pointing his index finger at her—“you don’t live here anymore. I do. This is my home. Not yours. And, two, if you ever pull a stunt like you did by calling the AD again . . . you’ll not want to know what I’ll do.” He took a step forward, effectively eliminating the meager space she’d put between them. “It won’t be pretty.”

Rachel swallowed.

She owed him an apology. And, she’d give him one just as soon as she found her voice. She closed her eyes, licked her lips and drew in another slow deep breath—

“Lady, you have got to stop doing that,” Logan growled.

Rachel’s eyes flew open, all thoughts of an apology gone. She fisted a hand on her hip and said, “Doing what?”

“Breathing!’

“You want me to stop breathing?” He was off his rocker.

Logan leaned forward, the air from his breath fanning her face. She didn’t move. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, but. . . Did he really want her to stop breathing?

“No, damn it. You can breathe. But, God woman, do you have to do it like . . . like, you just had the best orgasm of your life?”

Rachel gaped at him.

Had she heard him right? “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. You do this little thing when you take a deep breath. You sort of tip your head back, then you close your eyes, and then you, you . . . you breathe. And, it’s . . . distracting! Everything about you is freakin’ distracting!”

She wasn’t sure she was hearing him right. She’d never been a distraction to anyone. She’d been Rachel Delaney-Tolbert. Gloria Delaney-Tolbert’s granddaughter. A good girl. A good student. Conservative. Kind. Boring, really. But, the way she took a deep breath was . . .
distracting
? It reminded him of, of . . . sex?

She wasn’t entirely sure how to take that, except, he was still entirely too close, the knowledge of what it felt like to be held by him entirely to fresh and his breath . . . on her neck . . . was . . . distracting.

Then she was leaning into him . . .

“Ah, the hell with it.” Logan snaked out both arms, clasped her shoulders and hauled her to him, molding his too-perfect-for-a-man lips to hers. And, she sighed. Probably the same post-orgasmic sigh he was giving her grief for, but she didn’t care.

All she could think of was hot, firm lips fitted over hers, moist, tender and oh so kissable. His tongue licked lightly at the seam of her lips then he nibbled there and she sighed again.

“Woman . . . ” he whispered. “Open your mouth.”

“You’re,” she opened, and he entered and she was lost, but not too lost to say, “bossy.”

He captured her upper lip, sucking and stroking with his lips and tongue and she forgot her name, until he said, “So . . . ” more kissing, more tongue. “ . . . are . . .” another soul touching lick, lips tangling. “. . . you.”

She was too light headed and lost to respond. His hand left her shoulder to cup the back of her head and knead the sensitive skin there. She gasped and turned her head, only to have him dance a line of kisses from her lips to her ear. His other hand moved from her shoulder to her hip, then those tricky fingers walked up her stomach, unzipped her hoody and palmed the space just below her breast.

“Logan . . .”

“Yeah . . .”

She tore away. “What is that?” 

“Huh? What?”

And, then he heard it too. Buzzing. Loud, cell phone—not hers—buzzing.

“Shit!” he muttered, glancing at the caller ID. “Hey, Charlie.” Then he flipped his wrist and read his clock. “Double shit! I’m on my way. Be there in 5.”

Rachel just watched and tingled and felt hot all over. Logan kissed like she’d dreamed he kissed, only better. Because it wasn’t a dream. And, she’d almost let him get to second base. Although, these days, second base could be way more than what they’d just done. But, whatever. If his phone hadn’t rang . . .

“I’m late for football practice. I’ve
never
been late for football practice.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and said, “This isn’t finished.”