Free Agent-ARE-mobi Page 3

  Lela didn’t bother to return his cheery look. She was tired of playing this game. Instead, she stared at him, scowling, daring him to ask her what was wrong.

  He didn’t.

  Carl picked up his menu, once again oblivious to the fact she was troubled, and started musing aloud about his lunch choices, even though they both knew he was going to order the special.

  “I’m absolutely starving,” he said as he pondered breaking his usual routine by going with the cheeseburger or pork barbeque.

  Lela didn’t bother to offer her opinion or pick up the menu. “I’m just going to have the special.”

  Carl nodded, acknowledging that was the best choice, and put the menu down.

  Lela had just opened her mouth to speak when Sally came over to take their drink orders. Carl opted for his usual—sweet tea.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” Lela said. Then she added, “And if a splash or two of Jim Beam happens to fall in the glass, I won’t complain.”

  Sally laughed, declaring herself quite clumsy behind the bar, and left.

  Carl gave her a curious glance. “Liquor? At lunch?”

  “I’m on summer break. Why not?”

  “Aren’t you driving?”

  She shrugged off his concern. “I’m only having one and I was thinking of spending the afternoon doing some window shopping along Main.”

  Lela gritted her teeth when she realized the opening she’d created when Carl responded with his usual, “Must be nice to have summers off to do whatever you want.”

  “Listen, Carl,” she started, and then bit back a groan when Sally reappeared with their drinks.

  “Y’all ready to order?” Sally asked.

  “Two specials,” Carl replied as he handed her the menus.

  Lela picked up her glass and chugged half the drink. Carl lifted his eyebrow, but didn’t make a remark. For the first time since they’d sat down, she thought perhaps he was starting to realize something was wrong.

  However, rather than ask, he launched into a five-minute recitation about some computer issue they had at the bank that morning. She only half listened as she tried to find the words—and the courage—to say what needed to be said.

  When his story finally ended, she leaned her elbows on the table. “Carl. I was hoping we could talk about your suggestion that we move in together. I’ve been thinking about it a great deal and I…” Her words died away when she realized he wasn’t listening. “Carl?”

  He bent closer to her, his words an excited whisper. “Don’t turn around too suddenly, Lela, but I swear to you, Tucker Riley just walked into the diner.”

  Lela’s stomach lurched.

  No. It couldn’t be. Carl didn’t have to worry about her turning around. If Tucker really was here, the last thing she wanted was for him to spot her. She was wearing cut-off jeans, a tatty old t-shirt that said You Can’t Scare Me. I Teach Kindergarten and flip-flops. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she hadn’t bothered with makeup this morning.

  Figures she’d run into her first love looking like this.

  When she failed to react, Carl unnecessarily added, “Tucker Riley, the NFL quarterback.”

  “I know who he is.” Carl had only lived in Quinn a couple of years, but there was no way he wasn’t aware that this was Tucker’s hometown. Tucker Riley was touted as a hometown hero regularly.

  Carl chuckled. “Yeah. I guess you do. I mean, I knew he was from here, but he’s never come back, right?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not once in twelve years.” Her words were spoken quietly, painfully.

  Carl didn’t recognize the emotion.

  Lela heard several voices behind her calling out excited greetings as Quinn’s local superstar made his way into the diner. She prayed he would take a seat near the front, that he wouldn’t claim a table close to them. Perhaps if she stalled long enough, she could hide in this booth until Tucker finished his meal and left.

  That hope was dashed when Carl waved and called out to Joel, who walked up to their table.

  “Carl, Lela.” Joel shook Carl’s hand. “Look who’s back in town.”

  Joel took a step away as Tucker came into view. Lela sucked in a nervous, shallow breath, then had to make a conscious effort not to start shaking.

  “Hey, L.B.”

  His voice was deep, sexy, and just a touch uncertain. She liked knowing he was as nervous about this unexpected reunion as she was.

  “Tuck.”

  The nicknames, though unused in years, felt right. She hadn’t been L.B. since he’d driven away from her. That girl had vanished along with his taillights.

  He looked good. Damn him. His faded jeans hung low on his hips, his t-shirt—though not particularly tight—was straining against his massive muscles. His dark-blond hair was longer than he’d worn it in high school. She had no doubt it was cut professionally by someone who knew how to take a handsome man and make him stunning. A far cry from the buzz cut he used to give himself with an old pair of his father’s clippers.

  His face was older, more weathered, but it gave him the look of a dangerous, experienced man. Her sweet teenaged boyfriend had stolen her heart—and virginity—with his boyish good looks and charm. But this gorgeous, chiseled-in-stone, fucking hotter-than-hell man—God help her—was deadly to her libido.

  Carl cleared his throat in an obvious fashion, reminding Lela he was still there. Shit. She was all but drooling over Tucker in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Carl.” She offered him a placid smile, trying to hide her sudden blush. “Carl, this is Tucker Riley. Tucker, this is Carl Wilkins.”

  Carl stood and shook Tucker’s hand effusively. That’s when Lela realized Carl hadn’t even looked at her since Tucker’s arrival in the diner. He seemed to be a bit awestruck as he fumbled for words to tell Tucker how much he’d enjoyed watching his team kick the crap out of the New York Giants last year.

  Tucker was gracious, talking shop for a few minutes, but every time Lela got the nerve to look in his direction, she found his gaze on her. Carl might be oblivious to Lela’s current state, but Tucker clearly wasn’t. She could only imagine what he was thinking. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what her flushed cheeks, shallow breathing and—Lela glanced down to check, then tried not to wince—hard nipples meant.

  Finally, Carl ran out of gushing words and managed to regain some semblance of control.

  Tucker took advantage of the opportunity, turning to her. “Looks like you got your dream job, L.B.”

  She frowned until he pointed to her t-shirt. “Oh. Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” It was a stupid thing to say, but her brain synapses seemed to be short-circuiting. “You got your dream too. The NFL.”

  Carl decided to hop back into the conversation and Lela was grateful for the save. For about two seconds. “Lela and I never miss your games. Watch you every Sunday.”

  Tucker flashed her that crooked grin he used to give her in high school, the one that told her she was busted. “Really? I thought you didn’t like football, L.B.?”

  She narrowed her eyes, though she nearly laughed at his knowing smirk. “It’s okay.”

  “Okay?” Carl asked with a laugh. “I thought you were going to go through the TV during that last game of the season.” Carl turned to Tucker. “You remember, the one where you took a bad hit from that big-ass lineman, Rodney Jefferson, from the Chiefs? Knocked you out of the game.”

  From Tucker’s expression, it was clear he recalled. For a moment, Lela saw that same pain in his eyes that she’d seen the morning she had found him on the front porch after his mother’s death. However, he shuttered it away quickly, nodding. “I remember that.”

  Carl chuckled, oblivious to anything except the story he was telling. “Lela stood up and let out a stream of cuss words, and I swear to God, if she could have crawled through that television and beat the hell out of the guy, she would have.”

  Tucker smiled, clearly enjoying her embarrassment. “It’s a shame you weren’t t
here. I would have enjoyed seeing you take Jefferson down.”

  She didn’t even bother to pretend she didn’t care about the game. “It was a dirty hit.”

  Tucker lifted one shoulder, not commenting one way or the other.

  “You staying in Quinn long?” Carl asked.

  Though Carl had asked the question, Tucker looked at Lela as he replied. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town.”

  Something in Tucker’s voice made her think part of his decision whether to take off immediately or stay awhile would be based on her reaction to his return.

  Sally arrived with their food, so Joel and Tucker found a table nearby. Tucker made sure to claim the seat that faced her. Any hope she had of having a serious talk with Carl about their future—or lack thereof—was dashed.

  She was too aware of Tucker’s heated glances, the way he kept staring at her. She wished it made her uncomfortable because it was annoying, but the fact was, all his looks made her want to do was rip her clothes off and straddle him.

  “L.B.?” Carl asked.

  Lela forced herself to pay attention to her lunch date. “A nickname. Sort of a way to tease me about the fact my middle name is Beatrice.”

  Carl smiled. “I didn’t realize you two were friends in school. You never mentioned it.”

  Lela tried to decide if there was suspicion in Carl’s voice, but dismissed the thought. His tone was pure curiosity and maybe even a bit of jealousy. Not over her, but of her. Apparently Carl was envious of her past association with an NFL god. That idea would be funny if she were in a better mood.

  “Quinn High isn’t that big a school and we were in the same grade.” As far as non-answers went, that one definitely fit the bill. Carl was bound to find out she and Tucker had been an item. She suspected the only reason he hadn’t heard before now is because the locals who knew about her past relationship with Tucker never mentioned his name in front of her in order to spare her feelings. There wasn’t anyone who’d lived in Quinn all those years ago who didn’t know Tucker had broken her heart quite thoroughly, completely.

  Carl accepted her vague comment as enough and the conversation turned to mundane things.

  Lela chanced a glance at Tucker. Sure enough, he was looking directly at her. Cocky bastard even winked. She turned away from him, blew out an exasperated breath and ate her lunch without tasting a single bite. She was vaguely aware of Carl talking, but she had no clue what he was saying. Finally, the meal ended.

  She stood and threw Tucker what she hoped was a carefree, maybe-I’ll-see-you-around wave, then left. Carl gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as they parted at the door. He returned to his car and work, while she decided to walk. She needed time to clear her head.

  Within an hour, she’d decided to break up with her boyfriend and had been blindsided by the return of a man she thought she’d managed to get over.

  Ha ha. Yeah right.

  She was still in love with Tucker. Something told her she would be until the day she died.

  That thought gave her no comfort.

  Her life had just taken a hard left down a street she hadn’t even known was there. Now she had to decide if she wanted to turn around to seek the familiar path or keep driving down this route to check out the changing scenery.

  Chapter Two

  Tucker stood on the porch of Coach’s large ranch house. He’d started to knock on the door, but had felt compelled to turn around and study the view first. The large, sprawling landscape was a far cry from Turks and Caicos. Instead of the simplicity of white sand and sparkling blue water, Tucker found too many things for his gaze to land upon.

  He soaked it all in. Fields of green and brown dotted with outbuildings and cattle, trees and scrub brush lining the horizon, as well as mile after mile of picket fencing surrounded him.

  The only similarity between his hometown and the paradise island he’d just left was the sky. He’d spent weeks at the ocean watching fluffy white clouds riding the same endless sea of blue as he floated, letting the waves carry him along. He’d almost felt a kinship with the clouds, content to spend his days drifting without direction or purpose. A free agent. There was a freedom in letting go and letting nature take over.

  He’d been seeking peace for the better part of six months. When the beach had failed him, he’d latched on to home. He’d been back in Quinn for three days and apart from that lunch with Joel and his unexpected face-to-face with Lela, he hadn’t seen anyone else.

  He had been brought down by the worst migraine he’d suffered since April. For two days, he’d barricaded himself in his hotel room, keeping the thick curtains closed, welcoming the darkness and whatever rest he could find. He’d sort of anticipated the pain would come. Flying did not agree with him anymore. He hadn’t mentioned it to his doctors. Instead he’d credited the migraine to air pressure and accepted that if he wanted to travel these days, he’d have to suck up whatever came after.

  Today—mercifully—he’d awoken and realized his head didn’t hurt. After a quick shower and room service, Tucker had decided it was time to seek out Coach, who had been released from the hospital yesterday. Tucker was relieved to hold this reunion with Coach in his home. Joel had warned Tucker that the man had aged and the heart attack had definitely taken its toll on their strong-as-an-ox coach.

  “Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come over here and give me a damn hug?”

  Tucker grinned at Lorelie’s imperious tone. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He turned and just managed to get his arms up as she launched herself at him. He was blown away by the changes in her. Lorelie hadn’t aged in his mind. Whenever he’d heard her name, he had seen that same gangly sixteen-year-old girl she’d been when he left.

  But this Lorelie had grown up.

  When she pulled away, Tucker gave her a quizzical look. “I’m sorry,” he teased. “Do I know you?”

  She punched him on the arm and he fought not to wince. Lorelie packed a wallop. Growing up around ranchers and football players without a mother to lead her along the path of all things feminine had insured Lorelie was a rough-and-tumble tomboy. It appeared that part hadn’t changed, even if her looks had.

  She’d gotten her father’s height and, as a teenager, she’d sort of struggled with her long arms and legs. Somewhere along the line, she’d gotten used to her stature. She was much more at ease, graceful. Tucker suspected Coach found it harder to chase the men away these days. Lorelie was damn pretty.

  She gave him a smirk. “Smartass. It’s about time you got your butt over here. I was just on my way to the hotel to drag you out. Where have you been? Joel said you got back in town on Tuesday.”

  Tucker went with a lie. After so many months of pretending, it was getting far too easy to make up stories that wouldn’t lead to more questions. “I must have picked up a flu bug on the airplane. Just spent a couple days in bed. Didn’t want to see Coach until I was one hundred percent.”

  Lorelie bought the lie. “I’m sorry you were sick. And yeah, they wouldn’t have let you see him in the hospital if you’d come in with the flu. He’s sort of weak as a newborn kitten these days.”

  Though the words flowed steadily, Tucker could see the worry in Lorelie’s eyes. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving Lorelie alone with the loving man who had been a father and a mother to her. It was clear the fear of losing her dad hadn’t left Lorelie since the night he’d keeled over shortly after dinner a week ago.

  Joel had recounted the story of how Coach hadn’t been feeling well that day, complaining of heartburn. Coach and Lorelie had eaten early as Lorelie had plans to meet some girlfriends for a movie. Coach had remained at the table while Lorelie cleared the dishes then grabbed her purse. She’d just given him a quick kiss on the cheek to say goodbye when Coach slumped over. Lorelie had tried to catch him, but despite her height, her dad had at least six inches and a hundred pounds on her. As a result, he’d gotten a nasty cut on his head from his tumb
le to the floor. Lorelie had called 911 and the doctors had insisted it was lucky she’d still been home. If the heart attack had come a few minutes later—after Lorelie had gone out for the evening—Coach would have died.

  “How’s the old man doing?” Tucker asked.

  “Why don’t you get in here and ask him yourself?” Coach’s gruff reply came to them through an open window on the first floor.

  Lorelie pointed to it. “He’s in the living room. Been asking about you since Joel told us you came home.”

  Tucker started to enter the house, but Lorelie stopped him. “I’m going out to the barn to check on a few things. Give you two some time to catch up.” Then she reached out and gave him another hug, whispering in his ear to shield her words from her eavesdropping father. “Thank you so much for coming back.” Her voice broke as she spoke. Another hint of emotion. The poor woman was working overtime to put on a happy façade.

  Tucker patted her cheek affectionately when she released him, then watched her descend the porch stairs.

  “You still there, Tucker?” Coach called out.

  Tucker let himself in the front door, grinning widely as he took in the same familiar foyer. He’d worked on Coach’s ranch—along with several other guys on the team—for three summers. Coach claimed doing man’s work would make them stronger on the field. Tucker had to admit that workout plan had definitely been as effective, if not more so, than simply lifting weights in a gym.

  Tucker tried to keep his face impassive when he got his first glimpse of Coach, but he must have failed.

  Coach grimaced, then pointed to the bandage on his forehead. “I know. I look like hell.”

  While Coach’s hair had thinned and grayed over the past dozen years and his massive build appeared slighter in the aftermath of his heart attack and bypass surgery, his voice was as steady, deep and firm as ever.

  Tucker approached the couch where the man was reclining. He’d put out his hand, intent on offering Coach a handshake, but was surprised when the old guy used that grip to pull Tucker down. Coach wrapped one arm around Tucker and gave him a strong squeeze and a hard slap on the back that immediately set Tucker’s mind at ease. Coach might have been knocked down, but there was a lot of kick left in this old mule.