Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (36 page)

He took her by the hand. Led her inside.

“Open,” he said.

She blinked several times.

They were inside a one-room family cabin with a double bed and a wall with three stacked bunks. That morning, he’d lit the wood stove and set up a small table with white fairy lights all around. It was only four o’clock, but fairy lights were never wrong, and the stove made everything cozy. Two unlit candles, a bottle of champagne, and two glasses sat in the middle of the table. “Mom and Dad never use this place anymore. But I come up here every once in a while.”

He hung his coat on a hook by the door.

“I love it.” She untied her coat but kept it on.

He pulled out a box of matches, lit the candles, and drew back a chair for her. “Here. Please sit.”

Her face registered reluctance.

“Come on,” he urged her.

“Okay.” She tossed her hat on a couch, then came and sat in the chair, the hem of her coat touching the floor.

He uncorked the champagne. Poured two glasses and handed her one. “There’s something I have to tell you here. Anything that matters to me—well, I come to the cabin to think about it.” He sat down in the other chair.

“Go ahead.” Her voice sounded small, thin.

He tipped his glass to hers. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Her eyes were huge above the rim of the glass when she took a tentative sip.

It was good champagne. He wished he could savor it, but he could take pleasure in nothing until he talked to her.

“Have you ever wondered why I never come to the library?” he began.

She paused. “Yes, actually, I have.”

“I’ll bet you disapprove that I haven’t.”

She shook her head. “I can’t judge people by whether or not they come to the library.”

“Be honest, Cissie. It’s a mark against me, isn’t it? When you think about guys who are right for you, you don’t imagine guys who never come to the library.”

She mulled it over, took another sip of champagne. “Okay. That’s fair. I do see myself with a scholarly guy. We’d talk a lot about books. It’s hard for me to picture myself with a … a football coach.” She winced. “I don’t mean to sound like a snob. And I actually
like
football now. I’m pretty good at it.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” He shot her a mock dubious look that made her chuckle. “At any rate, we’re all allowed to have our preferences. It would be ridiculous, otherwise. That would mean everyone’s right for everyone, and that’s plain dumb.” He reached out, laid his hand over her free one. “Here’s the thing.” He tried to speak. But he couldn’t go on.

Not yet.

The deep-seated need to protect himself flared high. He had to let go of that hand, stand, and look away—to the tall pines, the woodpile, the patch of gray cotton sky—to gear himself up.

“Boone?”

He willed himself to turn and look at her. “Reading is a challenge for me.”

Her beautiful mouth fell open.

“Being around books,” he plowed on before she could speak, “well, it’s rough. It reminds me of what I can’t do well, what I’m missing out on. It’s like I’m in Disney World. And I’m not allowed to go on the rides.”

There. It was the hardest thing he’d ever have to say.

She put her fingertips on either side of her lower jaw. “Are you … dyslexic?”

“Very much so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your reading level?” she asked gently but firmly, on librarian ground again.

“Around fourth grade.”

“Oh. Okay.” She wasn’t quite pale. But she was close.

“I had an excellent after-school tutor starting in the sixth grade—Mrs. Kerrison. She stayed with me—and agreed to my parents’ demand to keep it all a secret, even from the other teachers—until she died early our senior year.”

“Wow.” Cissie swallowed more champagne.

“I’m sure some teachers figured something was going on with me, but Mrs. Kerrison made it possible for me to participate at school without a lot of red flags. I don’t know how I got through senior year without her, but I did. Apart from you, very few people know. There’s my parents and Ella. She’s been helping me out with reading lately.”

“That’s why you were at Ella’s?”

“Yes. At that point, I was ready to let you go rather than tell you the truth. I’m sorry. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I was afraid
you
might be, the way my parents were when I was a kid—and still are. I couldn’t bear that.” He paused. “Ella was only trying to protect me.”

Cissie went to him. “I wish I could be mad at you. It’s been horrible not talking.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s why I came today. I had to see you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Her eyes were curious. Sympathetic.

“I hope you don’t feel sorry for me.”

“No, I don’t.” She searched his face. “Your parents meant well, I’m sure, but they handled this all wrong.”

He gave a short laugh. “There’s a stigma attached.”

She took his hands in hers. Her eyes shimmered with intense feeling. “Well, there shouldn’t be. And I certainly don’t care.”

“Oh, yeah?” He squeezed back.

“Yeah. You don’t have to feel on the outside anymore. I’m with you. I can help you with reading, too, if you want.”

“I’d love that.” He felt free. Wide open. There was nothing for it but to kiss her—a glorious kiss that filled the empty place that had been knocking around in him so long.

Finally, they pulled apart.

She smiled up at him. “I’m happy.”

His heart expanded even further. “I am, too.”

She burrowed into him. They kissed again, lush kisses—the cake of their celebration.

“It’s cold, but there’s a great make-out spot here,” he said. “Come and see.”

Who doesn’t want more cake?

He put on his coat and picked up a folded blanket from the couch. She wrapped up again and took his hand readily. He led her to a small, hidden copse that opened out onto miles and miles of mountains. The whole town of Kettle Knob lay spread below them. In the distance, they could see the smudge of brown, gray, and black that was Asheville.

He put the blanket out. They settled onto it together, his arm around her, their knees up.

“I want to come here every day,” Cissie said, “to see this view in winter, spring, summer, and fall.” She leaned on his shoulder. “I feel like one of the heroines in my favorite books. I’m Jane Eyre on the Yorkshire moors. Laura Ingalls on the prairie. Elizabeth Bennet in a garden at Pemberley.”

“Pemberley?”

She laughed. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, but you’re in for a treat. We’ll take it slowly, but we can read those books together.”

“They sound like chick books.”

She laughed. “I don’t care what anyone says—those are classics, and you’ll love them, too. I haven’t even mentioned the heroes. They’re wonderful. And I promise we’ll get to more modern authors like Dick Frances. Murder, mayhem, mystery, et cetera.”

“I can see you’re going to throw me headfirst into this reading business.”

“Why not?” She lay back on the blanket, and he followed suit. An hour before sunset, the blue sky was deepening to an almost violet color above their heads. “You practically pushed me into that hot tub, remember?”

“Yeah, I do.”

They both laughed.

He settled himself over her. Smoothed her hair back with his free hand.

“I can’t believe I’m with a librarian,” he murmured, “and the sexiest librarian of all time at that.”

She smiled. “You’re a lucky guy.”

“I know. And not just because you’ll give me my own custom reading list, either.”

“Which is actually a great perk. But you’re lucky because I
care
about you. A lot.” She looked up at him, her eyes pools of acceptance, desire. He also saw peace, and in their deepest depths, war. This girl was a fighter when she needed to be.

He could tell she was ready to fight for him.

To help him.

To make love with him.

Boone decided then and there that he never wanted to be with anyone else. But he wasn’t sure how to tell her that. He should be able to. He really should. He’d revealed a big-ass secret, and she hadn’t kicked him to the curb.

If only he’d practiced telling girls about his dyslexia a long time ago.

He wished he could see—really see—what was happening with Cissie, so he could untangle all the emotions coursing through him. He was crazy about her, of course, but what if that feeling was tied into being extremely grateful to her for accepting him for who he was?

Yes, Ella had known, but she’d been almost required to like him because she was her mother’s daughter.

Love was a big concept. A huge concept. And an honest romance like this—which he’d never experienced before—was complicated, especially when you were with a girl who daydreamed about the heroes in her favorite books and you were just an average guy.

He’d think about it later. Meanwhile, there were Cissie’s breasts, which needed attention. “It’s nippy,” he said, and unbuttoned her shirt.

She chuckled. “We need to have a name for this kind of fooling around. The outdoor kind with clothes on when it’s cold.”

She gasped. Maybe because he was teasing her puckered nipple, smoothing it out with the heat of his mouth and tongue.

“How about we call it polar-bear sex?” He caressed her other breast with the flat of his hand. “But you have to take everything off.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” he said. “One, two, three, go!”

They sat up. Ripped their own clothes off.

Hollered.

Laughed.

Lay back down and got each other warm real fast, except the parts of them that weren’t. The contrast made the hot spots that much sweeter.

They made out like kids, his erection pressed hard against her belly one minute, then her inner thighs. The kissing, the caressing suddenly wasn’t enough.

“I want all of you,” Cissie breathed.

He lifted his mouth from the sweet indentation above her collarbone and kissed her deeply.

She clasped her legs around his hips, her shins attempting to cover his freezing cold rear end.

“Cissie,” he said against her mouth, then dove into her, deep, filling her, feeling like he was at the center of the earth, its very core, where heat ruled and energy expanded—

And knew he’d arrived home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Attending high school football games was the social thing to do in western North Carolina—the place to see and be seen, and this year’s final game of the season was extra special.

For four decades the rivalry had stood between Kettle Knob Academy and Black Mountain Prep. They were celebrating the cherished tradition with the usual trophy presentation after the game for the winner and speeches from the coaches, but they also had a dais covered in bunting representing both schools and chairs for both mayors and various VIPs from Buncombe County.

Boone’s parents were there, along with a lot of their wealthy business contacts and country club friends, including Janelle. At 5:30, the winter sun had already set, but in the stands the shiny new tubas and trombones the elder Braddocks had bought for the school gleamed in the lights from the field, making Kettle Knob Academy look good.

Boone wanted to be proud of his parents’ financial contributions to bettering the town. But he was too embarrassed by the lopsided nature of their donations. They’d never given a dime to the library, for example, which he hadn’t noticed until Cissie brought up that point. They’d also never donated to the theater. Sure, they had a right to pick and choose what organizations they wanted to support—and they supported many. But it was painfully obvious that anything involving a Rogers got overlooked.

He was on the sidelines talking to an assistant coach when he saw Cissie out of the corner of his eye, sitting with her family, Laurie, the Hattleburys, and that British guy she’d told him about.

Boone’s heart rate kicked up just seeing Cissie’s face.

But he had a game to help these boys win, and he needed to focus. Black Mountain had had a very good season. Kettle Knob couldn’t afford to slack off in any way. Boone’s boys had worked their butts off, and the cheerleaders had gone the extra mile with banners and fun activities to get the school ready to support their football team.

At half-time they were down ten points when the Kettle Knob football players came off the field, looking dazed and distraught while the two school bands showed off, the cheerleaders did complicated routines, and the kids in the stands went crazy with spirit.

“No blame, guys.” Boone’s tone was firm. “We need to focus on turning this game around. Now huddle up.”

He wasn’t the popular guy he used to be. Not by a long shot. But all of them did as he asked. A few players wore guilty expressions. Others looked away, anywhere but at him. And then there were the defiant ones who stared right at him, their brows lowered.

“I’ve got a story to tell you,” he said. “And if this story doesn’t make you want to go out and kick some major Black Mountain butt in the second half, then nothing will.”

A few minutes later, the whistle blew on his last word. Perfect timing. Almost celestial. Maybe the brother he never knew was looking out for him. Or Grandpa Faber. Or maybe the universe was giving an honest man a lucky break.

But the boys didn’t move. No doubt they were in a little bit of shock. But there were grins, too, grins Boone hadn’t seen in a long time.

The team captain clapped hard, three times. “Come on, guys. Let’s get ’em!”

And then it was like a nuclear bomb went off. The team sprang into action.

Boone paced the sidelines, his throat tight with emotion. These were good boys on the verge of manhood dealing with certain harsh realities of life, like other teams that might be better no matter how well they played, and coaches who’d made mistakes. Yet right before his eyes they were proving that they weren’t succumbing to fear or disappointment.

The remaining two quarters were intense. Brutal, in fact. But those boys fought like they never had before. And they won. They came back with a touchdown and two field goals and made sure Black Mountain didn’t score, hard as they tried to.