Susan Connell - Rebel's Spirit

“You’re married?” he asked, feeling strangely disappointed and relieved in the same moment.

“No,” she said. “I just don’t see the need, after all this time, for us to be so formal.” She glanced down at her scanty attire. “Especially now.”

He didn’t even try to stop his smile. “You want me to call you Rebecca? Is that it?”

She thought for a moment. “No. Call me Reb.”

“Reb? Why that old nickname? Why not Becky?”

Her gaze wandered over his face. “I just want to hear you call me Reb.”

He nodded. “Short for rebel, wasn’t it?”

Her shivers had stopped and her lips were curving into a quirky, lopsided smile that made his heart thump. “I think there’ll always be a part of me that is,” she said, hitching up her towel. “But just a little part…Raleigh.”

“Raleigh?” He nodded as he spotted her gate key sitting on top of a security lamp. Handing it to her, he began working his own key out of the gate lock. “I’d prefer that over my old nickname.”

“Old nickname?” she asked.

“You know, Reb, the one you stuck me with.”

Her brows shot up in feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Show-No-Mercy Hanlon. You painted it on the wall in the teachers’ lounge. In big green letters, as I recall.”

“It wasn’t in green, it was in red.” A second later she was slapping a hand over her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut.

When more of his own memories about that incident began rushing in, he headed out of the gate and across the crushed stone drive.

“Mr. Han—I mean, Raleigh. Ouch! Wait!” she called as she hurried after him.

Turning to face her, he cleared his throat at the improbable sight before him. She was holding the jacket closed with one hand and gesturing with the other as she made her way across the stones. Her torturous progress resembled a sexy new dance step. The faster she moved the higher the hem of the jacket rose, exposing a widening line of terry cloth.

“I’m listening.” And looking. Lord, how I’m looking.

Stopping abruptly, she attempted a wobbly balance as she jammed her free hand to her hip. Any hair that wasn’t clinging to her head was framing her wincing expression in peaked, curvy locks.

“What made you think it was me who painted thatthat name on the wall?” she asked, her tone both disbelieving and demanding. “We all wore ski masks that morning.”

“You mean other than that you just confirmed it?” he asked, as he watched her towel begin sliding from beneath his jacket.

“Yes, of course, other than that,” she said, gesturing emphatically, then frantically grabbing for the red terry cloth.

Too late, Raleigh thought, as the towel slid to her ankles over the most beautiful legs and backside he’d ever seen. “You mooned me then, too.”

Twenty minutes later Rebecca Barnett pushed open the door to the Chocolate Chip Café. Her gaze swept the interior of Follett River’s favorite college coffee house, before zeroing in on the busy blonde behind the counter. Just the person she came to see, Reb thought as she made her way through the sea of tables to the counter. Moving one of the tall chairs aside, she pressed her hands on the faux marble surface and leaned toward her friend on the other side.

“Raleigh Hanlon’s back in town.”

Megan Sloan scooped a dollop of frosting from the bowl next to the three-layer cake on the counter. As the pretty young widow carefully spread the liqueur-scented mixture over the top, she raised her brows.

“Surprised you, did he?”

“You could say that,” Rebecca said, sliding onto a cane-back chair as she shoved both sets of fingers through her damp hair.

“Reb, I tried calling you earlier to tell you, but I guess you haven’t hooked up your answering machine yet. Aren’t you concerned you’ll miss your business calls?” Megan asked as she swirled the spatula through the frosting.

“New Horizon Tours’ Miami office is more than capable of taking care of itself. That’s why I’m thinking about opening a branch up here.”

Megan Sloan checked the depth of frosting on the sides of the cake before finally looking up at her friend. Her green eyes widened. “Reb! Your hair!” she said, dropping the spatula into the bowl, then reaching for her friend’s hands. “What have you been up to?”

“Do you want the whole story or just the good parts?”

“The whole story, of course,” she said glancing at her watch. “And I bet it’s a Barnett classic, but unfortunately I barely have time for the good parts. Piece Of Cake got a last-minute catering job that I couldn’t pass up. So…?”

Nodding, Rebecca looked around to make certain no one was within earshot. No use blowing her new-andimproved image in front of a roomful of strangers, too. “I went skinny-dipping in Raleigh Hanlon’s pool…and he caught me.”

Megan choked back a scream. “Oh, Reb,” she said, pulling napkins from a dispenser then shoving them against her mouth. When her fit of laughter slowed, she dabbed at her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so glad you came back to Follett River. Things have been darn dull since you left.”

“Dull?” she asked, coming off the chair. “How could they possibly be dull with Raleigh Hanlon around?”

“Come on, it’s been ten years since you two bad those go-arounds. He’s not so bad. Maybe a tad grumpy at times for someone in his thirties, but honestly—”

“I’m not talking about his grumpy side. I’m talking about his, well…” Her words trailed off as she pictured the way he looked at her as he wrapped her in his jacket. When he pulled the wool tweed collar against her cheek the sensation was surprisingly pleasant. A slow smile lifted one side of her mouth. And for a moment, there, so were you, Raleigh Hanlon.

“Yes? His…?” Megan urged as she began sprinkling chopped hazelnuts over the cake.

“Never mind,” she said, easing her rear onto the seat again. The very rear she’d exposed to him on at least two different occasions. She took a deep breath then slowly exhaled at that last thought. “What’s he been doing for the past ten years?”

Megan kinked a brow. “Why this interest in your least favorite teacher all of a sudden?”

Rebecca picked up a few pieces of chopped hazelnuts with the pads of her fingers. “No reason,” she said before licking her fingertips and shrugging. “He’s my landlord. That’s all.”

“You never could lie to me,” her friend said in a singsong fashion.

“Meggie, give me a break here,” she said, dropping her shoulders. “For old times’ sake, just answer the question.”

“I’ve already told you. He’s a history professor at Follett College now. He’s working on his second book about ancient civilizations. I think this one’s about the Incas.”

“Megan Sloan,” Reb said in a tone reserved for misbehaving pets, bad drivers and best friends who weren’t getting the message. “I meant his private life.”

Megan reached for a container of chocolate-dipped hazelnuts and began circling the top of the cake with them. “You know he’s from over in Daleville. Well, about nineteen years ago his brother got a girl pregnant, then died before he could marry her. Mr. Hanlon’s been helping them out over the years. This niece, her name’s Penny, is all he has left since both his parents are dead. Lately Penny has been giving her mother fits.”

Rebecca tapped her nails on the faux marble as her friend went on about the girl’s troublesome adolescence.

“Megan, I know all about how difficult teenagers can be. I believe I was the poster child for that particular condition five years in a row. What I want to know about is his private private life.”