Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (37 page)

Boone had never been so proud to be a coach. He crossed the field, shook the hand of the other coach, and reveled in Kettle Knob Academy’s victory as his players gathered around him on the field.

“We did it for you, Coach!” the team captain said, his words echoed from player to player. There were no defiant glares. No drawn expressions.

Only exhilaration.

Back at the sidelines, a defensive lineman threw a big cooler of Gatorade over Boone’s head—just what he needed on that super cold day. But he didn’t care.

He was one wet, happy coach when he arrived at the portable stage, which had been pushed out onto the field at the fifty-yard line.

Cissie was already in her chair. “Congratulations, Coach Braddock,” she said warmly but with all her professional boundaries in place.

“Why, thank you, Mayor Rogers.” He held her gaze maybe a second too long than was warranted between a coach and a mayor at a town event. But he couldn’t resist.

The mayors started out by commending both teams. Cissie was engaging and funny as she spoke of the old rivalry, and Boone was totally impressed by her polished yet warm delivery. Then the Black Mountain coach said a few words, after which Boone found himself accepting the winning team’s trophy on behalf of the Kettle Knob Knights from Cissie. When their fingers touched, he wanted to stay there—in that moment—their eyes meeting over the trophy, her expression filled with something that made him hope that she was proud of him. He wanted to please her more than anything he’d ever done.

But he still had something to do on the field, another part of his Big Plan.

“I promised my athletes,” he said into the mike, “boys who have inspired me with their courage to face the hard things, to share a story with you.”

He felt Cissie’s supportive presence behind him, but he faced the crowd in the stands, determined to set things right with the rest of Kettle Knob. “The truth is,” he said, “I can’t read very well. I have dyslexia. Last time I was tested, back in high school, I read at a fourth grade level.”

A half beat of silence went by. But teens loved drama, so he wasn’t surprised when some benign hoots and hollers erupted from the stands. Maybe even some adults joined in—he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He was standing firm in his truth, no matter what.

He told them about Ella being his tutor, and her mother before her. “I thought that if people knew,” he said, “I wouldn’t belong anymore. But I see now how wrong that thinking was. I put limits on myself. And by hiding my dyslexia, I turned my back on a community that I believe would have supported me if I’d asked for more help.”

Hell, he’d nearly turned his back on
love.
…

While the crowd clapped wildly for a good ten seconds, everything finally clicked into place. That was what he had with Cissie.

True love.

He wasn’t merely grateful to her because she accepted him. Look at all these people … accepting him, too!

No. Love was what had given him the courage to confide in her. Love was why he was standing out here in front of hundreds of people baring his soul.

Love had made him a better, braver man.

He needed to get his adorable, exasperating, wonderful librarian out of circulation once and for all.

Impatiently, he waited for the clapping to stop. He told everyone that he wanted to go to college so he could come back to Kettle Knob Academy as a political science teacher. He praised Wendy, the school principal, and the faculty at Appalachian State for all their encouragement and practical support.

“I’ll drop in as a volunteer assistant football coach starting this spring,” he said, “but with hard work”—he paused, gripped by how huge his commitment would have to be—“hard work that my students have shown me by example that I can handle if I commit myself heart and soul to it, I’ll be back full-time someday. Meanwhile, I hope Kettle Knob Academy and Black Mountain students, staff, and faculty will help me pass the word that dyslexia doesn’t have to be a barrier between you and your dreams. Thanks for listening. And to the boys on both teams, thanks for giving us a great game tonight.”

It was done.

There was a second or two of silence, but like a growing storm, the enthusiastic clapping was joined by foot stomping, beating snare drums, and people shouting, “Go, Coach! We’re proud of you!” and “We love you, Coach Braddock!”

“Thanks,” he said over and over, hoarsely. “I love y’all, too!”

Both bands were playing the same song now, a recent pop radio hit that got your blood moving.

He’d not linger on regrets. He had a great future to think about. As a matter of fact—

He had to get to Cissie.

And then he saw her out of the corner of his eye, her expression tense as she raced away without trying to speak to him. Not that she could. He was being mobbed by well-wishers, but still—

She hadn’t looked happy.

For a second, he had the old, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach: he didn’t belong. Cissie had had a chance to think things over and changed her mind about him.

And if she had, it would be his fault—not because of his dyslexia but because he’d held back from her at the cabin. He should have told her he loved her.

Some five minutes later, he broke away from his friends and colleagues. They’d been hammering him with questions, hugging him, advising him, and one even cried on his shoulder (a former Kettle Knob Academy classmate who’d hidden her dyslexia all these years, too).

As he headed to the parking lot, he realized that his parents hadn’t come anywhere near him. But that was their problem.

Cissie hadn’t left him a text, but he decided not to text her—not when she’d looked so distraught. His plan was to drive straight to her house instead and speak to her in person.

But a siren sounded in the distance. Then two.

He went on instant alert. Something in his gut told him that whatever the emergency was, Cissie knew about it, too.

Janelle was waiting for him by his truck, dressed to kill in a maroon catsuit with a black necklace—Kettle Knob Academy’s school colors.

“Congratulations,” she said around a wad of bright pink gum in her mouth. “Great speech.”

“Thanks. I gotta go. I want to follow those sirens.” He jumped in his truck and turned on the ignition.

She tapped on the window.

Reluctantly, he rolled it down.

“I have to admit,” she said, “I’m shocked you can’t read.”

“You and everyone else.” His impatience was building. “And I can read. Just not that well.
Yet
.”

“You haven’t been at the country club lately.”

“I don’t need to anymore,” he said. “I’m not the face of Kettle Knob. Cissie Rogers is. Have you asked her to join?”

“No.” She tossed her hair artfully over her shoulder. “Out of respect to the Braddocks.”

He was mad at himself for getting sucked in, but he couldn’t leave that comment unchallenged. “That’s an old story that’s run out of steam, that Braddocks and Rogerses don’t get along. And you trying to stigmatize the Rogers clan is immature, Janelle. I remember the days when you were better than that.”

She stood there with her hands on her hips, glowering, then released a big sigh and smiled. “Let’s start this conversation over, shall we? I care too much about you
and
your parents—”

“No, you don’t. See you later.” He was about to drive off, but a sedan pulled into the space opposite him, its front bumper nearly touching his, and blocked his forward path.

Janelle stalked off in her high heels toward her car.

He put the truck into reverse. And that’s when he saw a glow of orange and embers floating skyward in the distance behind her.

She whirled back around to face him, her eyebrows high. “Oh, my God. What’s burning?”

“I have no idea.” His phone buzzed, and when he looked down, there was a message from Scotty:
Library on fire
.

His heart sank. Poor Cissie. So that was where she’d gone. As librarian and mayor, she’d rated first notice from Scotty.

“It’s the library.” Boone was reluctant to tell Janelle.

She stuck a hand on her hip. “The lease on the space at the shopping center has been taken by a dance studio,” she said with some satisfaction. “If Cissie needs an alternative space, I don’t know where she’s gonna find one.”

Boone wasn’t surprised by her smug reaction. “Let’s think positive, shall we? Maybe it’s under control already.”

But as he steered the truck out of the parking lot, the orange glow became a tongue of flame rising high into the night sky.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Cissie hadn’t wanted to leave the postgame celebration—as mayor, she needed to be there for the school and town. She’d especially craved being there for Boone. What he was saying was so damned
important
. But when Scotty had texted her, she’d had no choice but to go.

She couldn’t believe her beloved library was burning—

And it was all her fault.

“I was worried about the electrical system,” she babbled to her friends and family as they gathered as close as they could to the scene. Two fire trucks and a police car blocked their access. “The lights would flicker on and off. I should have done something sooner. Borrowed the money.”

Now all the Rogers family documents were up in flames, and Kettle Knob’s precious library, with its aging selection of reading materials—and its long, proud history—were no more.

She cried. Everyone cried. It was so sad.

The worst part was when Sally tried to explain to Hank Davis that all his favorite
Where’s Waldo?
books could be repurchased. He didn’t get it and was inconsolable.

“I hate you, fire!” Sally cried. “Look what you’ve done to our library. And to Hank Davis. But I’m not gonna throw myself on the ground.” She paced a few steps, then pointed at the inferno. “I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction!”

She was wearing a new orange hat and coat. Her Asheville art patron had given her all kinds of art supplies and had already sold her first painting—by “outside artist Sally Morgan”—for fifteen hundred dollars.

“There’s nothing we can do about it but go home and collect ourselves,” Nana said firmly. “Why don’t we all gather at our house? Hank Davis, I have a
Where’s Waldo?
book there that I know you’ll love.”

Maxwell came over and linked his arm through Cissie’s. She’d known him a little over twenty-four hours, but he had an offbeat sense of humor she enjoyed. Laurie had, too. They’d talked a lot at the game, which Laurie had explained to him play-by-play. “It’s a crying shame,” he said now. “I’m so very sorry, Cissie.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. There were no droll English jokes to be had today.

Laurie hugged her. So did Mrs. Hattlebury. The colonel pulled out his flask and passed it around. Even Cissie’s mother had some, and she wasn’t a drinker.

Her father put his arm around Cissie’s waist. “It had a terrific run,” he said quietly. “And it won’t be the first long-standing building that has burned down. Why, it happened all the time in the old days. All those candles and open fires.”

“But it shouldn’t happen now, Daddy.”

“We simply have different hazards, honey. We have wires instead of lanterns. And people rebuild. Just like we did with our house, and it’s come back better than ever.”

“That’s true. But there’s no money to rebuild.”

Her mother came over and slipped her hand around Cissie’s waist from the other side. “It’s always about money, isn’t it?”

Cissie sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish we’d moved the library to the strip mall.”

“It’s too late for regrets,” Mother said.

Chief Scotty came over. “Mayor Rogers, a word?”

She nodded, her heart sore, and followed him down the sidewalk to his squad car.

Scotty’s jowly face was grim. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Thanks, Scotty.” They’d gotten to be good friends since she’d been elected. He’d forgiven her that wild behavior at The Log Cabin.

“It’s a huge loss for Kettle Knob,” he said. “But there’s something more to think about: We don’t know yet that it was a bad wire in the electrical system that started this.”

“But what else could it have been? The furnace wasn’t on.”

“We’re calling in someone to see if this was set intentionally.”

A jolt of shock made Cissie stand up straighter. “But we don’t have people like that in Kettle Knob.”

“We might,” he said. “We should know more by tomorrow.”

“I don’t believe it. No one here hates the library.”

“I’m wondering if someone hates
you
,” Scotty said. “You’ve been so gung ho about keeping it in town. Someone with a chip on his or her shoulder might want to take the wind out of your sails.”

“I still don’t believe it.” Not even Janelle, whom Cissie had seen at the football game that night, would do such a malicious thing. Campbell’s mayor had been dressed to the nines and had pretended not to see when Cissie, her fellow mayor, waved at her.

“Let’s wait for some preliminary findings before we start making guesses,” said Scotty. “And please keep this information to yourself. We don’t want anyone hampering our efforts.”

“Of course.” Cissie was dying to text Boone, but she was surrounded by so many people trying to make her feel better that she couldn’t break away. And no doubt he was still dealing with the reaction to his big revelation at the football field.

He’d find her eventually.

As she walked to her dad’s car, she thought how just a short while ago, she’d imagined that moving the library would be the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

But no. Nearly losing Boone had been far worse.

The library—tragic as its burning was—was replaceable.

People were not.

So this is love
, she thought from the back seat, her hand wrapped around Nana’s. Life hadn’t become all unicorns and flowers. It was still unpredictable, scary, and hard sometimes. But she also knew more about what mattered.

But did Boone love her back? He hadn’t said. She hadn’t told him, either, for that matter, and yesterday, on the mountaintop, she wished she had.