Slow and Steady Rush (2 page)
Darcy chewed on her lip as she glanced from Ada to the tall pines in the backyard. She considered the land, Ada, and the town timeless. In her less charitable moods, she might say stagnant. But, always, undeniably, securely
there
.
Darcy’s voice dropped with disbelief and dread. “Tell me you’re not considering selling.”
“I am indeed. That house has sat empty for too long. Anyway, I like him, and it’s not as if you’ll move back and need a place to live, right?” Ada’s eyebrows arched.
Darcy couldn’t lie again. She stared out the window and shrugged.
Ada said, “Anyway, he may not be staying long. Depends on how the football season goes. Those old farts at the American Legion will run him out of town with pitchforks if he doesn’t turn the team around. The poor boy only got hired on after spring practices. They’re asking for a goddang miracle.”
“Have they offered up a sacrifice to Bear Bryant on the fifty-yard line yet?” Darcy asked dryly.
“Don’t let Preacher Higgs hear you talk such nonsense.” Ada wagged a finger in Darcy’s direction, but laughter lurked. “Could you brew some tea, darlin’? I’m parched.”
Darcy toed off her sneakers and padded into the kitchen, the wood planks cold on her bare feet. The house was old and smelled it. Not in a bad way, but in a lived-in, ingrained-in-the-walls kind of way.
As she waited for the water to boil, she worried over the new football coach. Considering Ada considered any male under fifty a ‘boy,’ Darcy pictured a fortysomething man with a comb over and spit cup wearing the standard coaching uniform—gray polyester shorts with lots of elastic.
Checking on Ada, mowing the yard, weeding the garden … what did he want? Certainly not a supply of summer squash. Wildes had owned the land on this side of the river since before the Civil War. Surely, Ada wouldn’t sell it to a stranger.
She plopped tea bags into the water to steep. The crunch of wheels on gravel drew her to the curtained window. A middle-aged woman in blue scrubs took several minutes to gather her gear and maneuver up the porch.
Backing an ample rear through the door without a knock, the woman said, “You must be Darcy. Ada told me you were coming home from the big city to help.”
“Yes, it’s—”
“I’m Evelyn, her nurse. I’ll be here quite a lot so you’d best get used to me.” The woman tittered a girlish laugh at odds with her moon-pie face.
“Nice to—”
“Your grandmother is quite the character around town. It’s a shame what happened, but I’ll get her back on her feet, never fear.” She hauled her equipment toward the den on squeaky white nursing clogs.
An oration on all of the metal parts holding her grandmother’s hips together, and the possible complications, had Darcy wiping damp palms down her shorts. “Infection,” “blood clot,” “stroke” … the words stamped on her consciousness. Evelyn’s voice buzzed like white noise. Unable to tolerate any more, Darcy backed toward the kitchen. “Is there anything you—”
“Not a thing. I’ll be awhile changing sheets and such, and we have our exercises, don’t we, Miss Ada? I’ll leave my schedule, but I’ll be available for extra afternoons and evenings if needed.”
“That’s great. I’ll finish up the tea—”
“I’d love some tea. Light on the sugar, if you don’t mind,” Evelyn said.
“And then I’m going for a walk to the river,” Darcy said in a rush of words. Ada’s puppyish pleading eyes only hastened her escape to the kitchen to ice the tea.
The approach of squeaky shoes was as telling as a cat’s bell, and Darcy darted outside as quick as a hunted sparrow. She didn’t want to hear about the difficulties Ada faced, didn’t want to work out a schedule, didn’t want to make polite conversation. She needed time to process the changes. Barefoot, she sprinted into the woods. The soft pine needles underfoot and leafy branches overhead worked their usual magic, soothing her unrest.
Robbie Dalton steered his black pick-up truck down the narrow washed-out lane. He’d have to talk Miss Ada into either laying more gravel or, better yet, paving the road. If he could convince her to sell him the farmhouse, he’d pay for it himself. A state forest, open fields, and the river enfolded the house. The absolute privacy appealed to him.
Honestly, he’d be doing the woman a favor. The house needed thousands of dollars in repairs and would require months of labor. But memories of past generations were steeped into the walls like a strong tea, flavoring the feel of the place. Robbie loved it. Miss Ada had told him to wait and see how the football season went, because if he couldn’t coach the team to a winning record, he might not be around long enough to unpack.
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. Human or animal? Maybe a hunter or maybe 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 seemed to prefer 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. 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 his fine, naked 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. “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 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.
Her words jumbled out. “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 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 the hell 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.
He needed to adjust himself but hardly wanted to call attention to the uncomfortable situation brewing below his belt buckle. It had been too long. Too damn long. Generally, none of his relationships lasted longer than a few weeks—not that any of his past hook-ups could be called relationships.
He attracted his fair share of women. They 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-set 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. From her letters, she’d seemed 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 wasn’t at Ada’s, 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? 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 suppose 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.
She said, “I need to be getting back to her. The nurse will be finished soon.”