Sugar Creek (8 page)

Oh Lord. Rachel hadn’t caught the “donkey” detail when they’d discussed this at the Dew Drop Inn. “People here still play donkey ball? Tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded, recalling the odd tradition from her youth: coaches, teachers, and other well-known people in the community played a game of basketball—while riding donkeys. Just one more reason why Destiny wasn’t her personal cup of tea.

“Of course it’s true. There’s a game every fall to benefit the athletics program.”

“And you have to do this
why
?” Rachel asked. She could only imagine the smells involved—even from outside the gym at the concession stand.

“Well, the fire department volunteered to take tickets and run concessions, and they ended up short a few people, so Logan asked me to help.”

Rachel nodded. She could relate to being called on for help these days—although she thought Amy sounded far too delighted about working in the vicinity of a herd of donkeys. “Doesn’t the gym floor get messed up? From hooves and…you know, droppings?”

“Nice topic while we’re eating, Rach,” Tessa scolded, reaching for a brownie.

“Well, I’m not the one who brought up donkeys and I always wondered about this.
I
got yelled at for walking on the gym floor in heels, but ten donkeys can go trotting around on it all night?”

Amy just laughed. “They put down a protective covering.”

“Okay, no more donkey talk,” Tessa insisted, and Rachel agreed.

“Tell us more about your boss,” Amy suggested, cutting a slice of Edna’s pie. “I mean, you never mentioned before about the flirtation, in all these years.”

Much better topic, Rachel thought cheerfully, happy to launch into it. “Well, it seemed completely unfeasible. But yeah, he’s extremely handsome, wears Armani, drives a Jag, and is to die for in every way.”

And he
was
, so she kept right on talking about Chase for a long while—even if, for some insane reason, she kept seeing Mike Romo’s belligerent face in her mind the whole time.

Rachel had come in from picking apples with sore shoulders and sore thighs, needing a hot shower—but at Edna’s, she had to settle for a hot bath in the old clawfoot tub. It was doing the trick, though—the steaming soak eased some of her aches, and she was starting to feel like her old self again.

As she drained the tub a few minutes later and slipped into a plush, hot pink robe, she heard the phone ring, just before Edna’s voice echoed through the bathroom door. “For you, darlin’. It’s Amy.”

Rachel opened the door to take the old corded receiver. “Hey,” she said easily.

But Amy sounded stressed. “I need a huge favor.”

Uh-oh. “What?”

“Can you fill in for me at the concession stand tonight? At the donkey ball game?”

Oh brother, that was tonight? And she was being asked to
go
there? “Why?”

“I hate to ask, Rachel, but it’s book club night.”

Book club and donkey ball, all on the same Wednesday
night—how would the people of Destiny choose? But she kept that thought to herself. “What about Tessa? I thought she was hosting the book club in your place.”

“That’s just it,” Amy said. “She’s not feeling well. I think it’s been coming on for days and finally hit her hard.”

And Rachel’s heart dropped. Despite all she knew about Tessa’s condition, she’d never been around during a flare-up, and she suddenly felt guilty for always being so far away when her friend was in need. “How bad
is
she? Should one of us go see her?”

“No. She doesn’t like company when she’s sick—and if she needs anyone, she calls her mom. Anyway, can you work the concession stand for me? You hung out with Logan the other night—he’s a nice guy, and he’ll really appreciate the help.”

Hell. How could she say no? Tessa was sick, for God’s sake. And her friends never asked her for anything. “Of course. I’ll be there.”
Donkeys be damned.
“What time?”

Rachel dressed quickly in dark jeans, a fitted white long-sleeved blouse, and her red Gucci peek-toe pumps. And after a quick chicken salad sandwich, courtesy of Edna, she was out the door and on her way to a place she’d never expected to see again: Destiny High School.

She actually had a lot of good memories there—she’d been a cheerleader, active in clubs, and she’d made good grades. But she’d also often been bored, already longing for a life someplace bigger and busier, and that had frequently led her into trouble, too. Nothing serious—just some class cutting, a bit of sneaking around, and she’d once been caught making out with Russell Jamison in the janitor’s closet.

Turning out onto the highway that led into town, she accelerated—yet then she slowed down. In case Officer
Romeo was lurking somewhere. Other than her brain, that is. She hadn’t seen him since that last ticket he’d bestowed on her, but she gave a little shiver, unable to believe how often the guy penetrated her thoughts.

Well, she was about to spend the evening with the hot cop’s best friend, so she hoped Romo’s name wouldn’t come up. She just wanted to do her duty behind the counter, try not to inhale too much
eau de donkey
, then head home and get a decent night’s sleep. To her surprise, she was slowly getting a little better at apple picking, and she and Edna had been up and out at the Gala trees just after sunrise the last few days. Soon all the Galas would be harvested and they’d move on to the ripening Honeycrisps and McIntoshes.

Parking in front of her old school felt downright weird, and the place seemed much smaller than she remembered. It was still light out, so she kept her head low while trudging toward the gym entrance, hoping no one recognized her. Despite herself, she did have fond memories of many people in Destiny, but she just wasn’t in the mood for reminiscing. She’d been on edge ever since getting to town—and between her career worries, the extended stay, and Mike Romo, her stress level had gone from bad to worse. She found a sense of calm in working with Edna up in the trees—but it seemed that whenever she was anywhere else, all she could do was fret and worry. So in that way, the long days in the orchard felt almost pleasant at times.

Reaching the line of doors stretching across the gym’s lobby, she explained to a guy in a black-and-yellow DFD T-shirt that she was here to work concessions and he ushered her in.

She remembered the snack stand from her years here—a small room with painted cinder block walls like the rest of the school, it was situated just outside the gym, with a large window on one side that opened into the lobby. A
metal partition was pulled down and shut with padlocks when the stand wasn’t in use.

Although the partition was already up and the lights on inside, she didn’t see anyone through the window as she approached and figured she must have beat Logan here. Walking around to the open door, she stepped inside and hung her red pashmina on a hook behind it. Then rounded a cinder block corner—to see Mike Romo standing in front of her.

She reacted the same as if she’d just discovered some grotesquely spoiled food in her refrigerator—she drew in her breath, crinkled her nose, and looked on him with pure horror. When their eyes met, she uttered the only word that came to mind. “Shit.” Then, “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

He appeared to be just as stunned and surly. “Is this some bad joke?”

“Amy couldn’t come,” she said curtly.

He replied in an equally irritated tone. “Neither could Logan.”

After which Rachel simply stood there for a moment, her mouth still gaping. Finally, she gave her head a short shake, concluding, “I don’t think I can do this—put up with you for two or three hours, or however long people plan to ride around on donkeys in there.” She pointed over her shoulder. The idea of grabbing her pashmina and getting the hell out of there was all too tempting.

“Nice attitude, Farris,” Romo snapped. “Because, believe me, I don’t want to work with you, either, but I’m not the kind of guy to leave a friend hanging.”

“Neither am I,” she bit off through clenched teeth. “I was leaving
you
hanging.”

“
Sounds
like something a Farris would do.”

Oooh, low blow.

And she really
couldn’t
walk out after that. She’d look like a bad person and prove him right.

So she took a deep breath and told herself to act like an adult here. “Fine, Romeo, I’ll stay if you want me so much. And don’t think I don’t get that you’re trying to use reverse psychology on me. I’ll just be damned before I give you one more bad thing to say about a Farris.”

“I wish to
hell
you’d quit calling me Romeo,” he grumbled.

“Good to know—Romeo.
I
wish to hell you’d quit giving me tickets, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?” Just as the Stones had reminded her on her way into town. And boy, was it ever turning out to be true.

At that moment, a woman with wildly out-of-date big hair came dashing into the concession stand wearing a red-and-white Destiny Bulldogs sweatshirt. “Hi, I’m Madge—do you two have everything you need?” Before either of them could utter a word, she answered her own question by looking around, pointing, and counting things off out loud. “Change drawer, candy bars, snack chips, drink cups—and if any of the fountain drink canisters run out, just come and find me at the athletic boosters table in the gym. Looks like you’re all set.”

She started to rush right back out, but Rachel stopped her with, “Wait!”

The big-haired woman looked up.

“Will you be back for the money after the game—or do we need to lock it up somewhere?”

The woman leaned her head back with an oh-silly-me smile and actually grabbed Rachel’s hand to give it a squeeze. “Glad you asked—I almost forgot.” Then she leaned forward, as if confiding in her. “It’s a little crazy trying to herd a dozen donkeys around the gym, let me tell ya.”

“Of course,” Rachel said in understanding, as if she’d done it many times herself.

“I’m gonna have my hands full of donkeys afterward, so if you two could just count up the proceeds less the
twenty dollars of change provided, write down the total, and leave it here, that would be just dandy. There’s a calculator, notepad, money drawer, and a little leather zipper bag with change right over there”—she pointed to some metal shelves in one corner—“and the door will lock automatically when you leave, so it’ll be perfectly safe.” Then her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, and that’s another thing!” She sounded almost alarmed.

“What?” Romo asked.

“You need to leave the door to this room standing open at all times until you leave, because it locks from both the inside and out.”

“
That’s
weird,” Rachel mused aloud.

“
That’s
a quirk of a fifty-year-old building with its original doors,” she informed them. “If it gets locked, you’d have to climb over the counter and track down Elmer, the custodian. So keep it open ’til you go. Now, is there anything else? ’Cause if not, I’ve got a dozen donkeys calling my name.”

“We’ve got it,” Romo assured her, and she was off, like a bolt of heavily hairsprayed lightning.

Forgetting for a moment how much she disliked Mike Romo, Rachel turned to him and said, “A dozen? Aren’t there only ten players in basketball?”

He looked at her and shrugged. “In case a couple of the donkeys foul out?”

But she refused to smile. Because it was just then that she got over the flurried visit from Big Hair and remembered very clearly who she was being forced to work with.

Just then, their first customer arrived, a little red-haired kid who wanted Skittles and a small Coke. Since Rachel was standing closest to the fountain drink machine and Romo was by the candy and chips, she said, “I can do drinks if you can do the rest.”

“That’ll work, Farris,” he said—and it was a good
thing they’d agreed so easily, since after that they doled out snacks and soft drinks nearly nonstop for the next fifteen minutes. Rachel couldn’t believe a donkey ball game drew such a big crowd—but then again, there wasn’t a lot of entertainment in Destiny.

At a break in the action, Rachel located the calculator and set it up where Mike could punch in numbers to add up larger orders. And when she stooped to plug it in under the counter, then turned to find herself face-to-face with the bulge behind his zipper—she nearly fainted. Holy God.

She should have been horrified by where she suddenly found herself, but instead she was instantly much more…fascinated. She hadn’t had much chance to notice that part of him before—and noticing it now made her start to sweat. His jeans fit nicely, not too snug, not too loose—but they were a little snug right
there
, which made her bite her lip with…oh hell,
longing
. She had to accept that once and for all, she supposed.
You have a weird animal attraction to him—get over it already.

“You all right down there?”

Crap. She glanced up to see him peering down at her, and the position she found herself in was…suggestive, to say the least. So she quickly darted her eyes away, then crawled back under the extended counter to say, “Just looking for a plug.” Even though she’d already found it. A good minute or so ago.

She stayed there long enough to let any telltale blush fade, thankful when some little girls came bounding up with an order just as she took her place next to him again. Remaining a little freaked out—by his bulge and her blatant desire for it—she resumed filling cups with ice and soda and wondered exactly how clear it was to Officer Romeo that she’d been checking out the goods. Sheesh.

Fortunately, however, the rush on snacks continued, so there was no time to chitchat. Of course, all the moving
around the window area meant they sometimes bumped. Or brushed. That their arms briefly connected and sometimes their hips. And one time, when they ran right smack into each other, Romo planted his palms at her waist and physically moved her to one side.

After which Rachel nearly swooned. Simply from having his hands on her. She’d felt the touch just a little lower than where it had actually been. And she’d tried like hell to hide the fact that she’d just suffered another one of those mini-orgasmic reactions. Yikes. This was bad. This physical attraction was getting…well, more and more physical by the moment.