Liz Talley - Under the Autumn Sky

She brushed his hand away. “Don’t worry. I won’t force you.”

And then she slid past him, feeling like crap. Feeling worse than crap. She’d let him in on her most embarrassing secret. He’d seen her desperation and longing, and though he hadn’t flung it in her face, he hadn’t done anything to help her with it.

“Louise,” he called after her. “Stop. I don’t want to leave it this way.”

She didn’t stop. Kept going. She couldn’t have stopped if she tried. The liquor she’d gulped down to give her boldness, churned in her stomach along with what was left of her pride. She reached the end of the pier and grabbed her shoes, not bothering to put them on even though the damp grass made her toes numb with cold.

She would get someone to give her a ride.

If she had to, she’d call Waylon and have him come get her.

She stomped up the hill, hearing Abram coming behind her. But she didn’t turn around. Kept moving toward the light of Rendezvous, toward the merriment. The loud music. The normalcy of the real world.

Abram grabbed her elbow. “Hey, wait a minute.”

She turned. “Look. I want to forget about this. Okay?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know you. You don’t know me. We were two strangers who became nothing more to each other than…strangers.”

“I hurt you.”

“You don’t have enough power to hurt me because you don’t mean anything to me. All you are is a missed opportunity to get this monkey off my back.”

“Damn,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You don’t hold back.”

“I’m being truthful. You’re a nice guy, doing a nice thing for a desperate chick. Saving me from myself and all that. Don’t feel guilty and don’t lose sleep over me.”

He shook his head again. “Come on, Louise, I didn’t want things to end like this. Tonight was good. I enjoyed meeting you.”

She inclined her head and gave him a sad smile. “I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad being your honky-tonk Cinderella if I hadn’t gone and made a fool of myself.”

He lightly touched her cheek. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself. Let me take you home.”

“No, I can get a ride. I’m sort of embarrassed and feeling emotional right now. It would be too uncomfortable for us both. Enjoy your stay in Ville Platte. It was nice meeting you.”

She didn’t wait any longer.

She turned and walked out of his life, thinking she was doubly glad he was a stranger. After all, what girl would want to live out the embarrassment of seeing a guy who didn’t want to sleep with her, or rather couldn’t, around town all the time?

It would be brutal.

She climbed the porch swinging her shoes and trying to come up with a plan for getting home. Her pride hurt too much to slip the vampy come-hither shoes on, so she set them near the railing and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She’d call Waylon. He was likely up playing war games on the computer anyway.

“Louise, stop being stubborn and let me drive you home.”

She looked at the time on her phone. 12:00 a.m. “Too late. The fairy tale is over.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ABRAM HAD WOKEN with a headache that had nothing to do with the 1.5 beers he’d drunk last night, and everything to do with the mildew present in the damp carpet around the air conditioner in the motel room.

The motel hadn’t been the worst he’d stayed in, but it wasn’t a night at the Four Seasons. Not that he frequented the Four Seasons often. Holiday Inns and Courtyard Marriotts were his home away from home when out on the road.

This one had no continental breakfast. He wasn’t a fan of rubber eggs anyhow, so he’d found a Waffle House with a smart-aleck waitress, decent coffee and a small-town crowd, then tried not to think about the woman he’d hurt the night before.

He hadn’t been wrong in redirecting Louise’s intent on shedding her virginity, but it still felt like a bad deal. He’d dinged her pride and there was no telling the ramifications of his nonaction.

But he couldn’t dwell on it. Louise would be a faded memory in little over a week, even if her innocence and beauty had struck a chord in him. She’d fall in love someday and find the right guy to hold her and love her.

Something jerked in his gut at the thought of her in another man’s arms, but he ignored it. It was like missing the numbers on the lottery by two numbers. Regret. But what could a guy do?

Move on.

Today he started his recruitment of the top prospect on the athletic department’s tight end list. The Panthers needed Waylon Boyd, and Abram aimed to land the boy—starting with his high school coach.

The diner moved around him, blue-collar sorts with white utility trucks parked outside along with older women and men reading the newspaper. Clinking forks, clattering dishes, and the low hum of conversation. This place suited him fine. Real people. Real jobs.

He caught an older gentleman reading the sports section of the Opelousas paper glancing at him. Finally, on the fourth or fifth glance, Abram nodded.

The man narrowed his eyes. “You by any chance with the ULBR program?”

Abram wore an ULBR windbreaker, but that meant little. Almost everyone in Louisiana had something ULBR in his or her closet. “Yep, I’m with the program.”

The man cracked a smile, stood and offered a hand. “I’m Tom Forcet. Forcet Construction. I’m godfather to one of your prospects—Waylon Boyd.”

Abram stood and took the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Forcet.”

“Tom, please.”

“I’m actually here to meet with Coach Landry about Waylon. Always good to run into a friend of his.”

“Good kid. That’s the most important thing. Raised right. His late father was my college roommate. Wish he could have seen what Waylon’s become. Of course, Lou’s done a fine job with him.”

Abram hadn’t had much time to look over Sam Moreland’s notes on Waylon. He knew the kid’s parents had been killed in a plane crash about nine years ago. Rather than place the kids in foster care, an older sibling had stepped up to care for them. “Character counts. His talent is evident on the field, but we pay close attention to kids with good values who will reflect well on our program.”

“Dang right,” the man said, wiping his mouth with a napkin from an adjoining table. “Waylon’s the complete package. Does odd jobs around the construction site for me from time to time. Course Lou works for me so makes it easy to keep an eye on the boy. I’ll let you get back to your breakfast. Eggs aren’t good cold. Good to meet you.”

Abram nodded and reciprocated the acknowledgment. Then he sat down to his breakfast, pulling the folder on Waylon Jennings Boyd and spreading it in front of him. Most of the information had been purchased from a reputable recruiting service but also contained comments from the Bonnet Creek coach—height, weight, times in the 40, bench weight, etc. There was a small section noting his personal information—basically address, contact information and name of guardian.

Louise Boyd.

Huh.

Surely, it wasn’t the same person he’d danced with last night? The same woman he’d kissed and held in his arms. And nearly had sex with.

The disturbing feeling sliding into the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with the eggs and waffle he’d gulped down. Louise. Not a common name, was it?

He thought hard. She’d said she’d remained a virgin because of circumstances. Or something like that. Raising a younger brother and sister would definitely squash dating. Not to mention working full-time to support a family.

He glanced back at the file. No age given for the guardian.

Tom Forcet had told him Lou worked at the construction company, but he couldn’t imagine the beautiful woman he’d met the night before working something as difficult as construction. And being called Lou. Maybe she did the books or something?