Last Chance Knit & Stitch Read online

  Simon reached for his jeans and tugged them up. They didn’t slide so good over his wet skin, and he had to hop on one foot and then the other. The memories assailed Zeph.

  Simon finally took a few steps forward. “What is it?” he asked.

  Zeph looked toward the girl who was still treading water. “You and me should walk a little ways, so Coach’s daughter can get her clothes on.”

  Simon looked toward the water and gave a little shout. “I need to talk with Zeph, Molly. I’ll be right back.”

  Coach’s daughter didn’t say nothing back. Zeph and Simon took a little stroll down the path. The ghost was still agitated. “Uh, Simon, I know it’s none of my business, but do you know what you’re doing?”

  Simon snorted a laugh. “No, not exactly.”

  “I figured. Well, take it from me, you don’t want to be messing with Coach’s daughter. That’s just dumb. You’re too old for her. And I hear you’re just staying for a little while, and that girl has Last Chance stamped all over her, if you know what I mean.”

  “I guess I do,” Simon said, and Zeph believed him. There was a yearning in his voice for things he could never have. Zeph knew about that feeling. He knew it very well.

  “You need to take that girl home.”

  “I guess.” Simon let go of a long breath. “I forgot how beautiful it was out here.”

  Zeph didn’t like hearing that. He didn’t want Simon out here. It would upset the ghost. But if he told Simon the truth, they’d call him crazy. And then some do-gooder would try to get him locked up in some VA hospital.

  So he had to lie.

  “This place isn’t like it was when you were a boy,” Zeph finally said. “The Jonquil House is falling down; people don’t come here that often. And there are snakes in the river. You want to be careful.”

  “I’m not afraid of snakes. As I recall, Gabe was the one who was afraid of snakes.”

  “That’s right. But a man is just plumb stupid not to be afraid of some things, Simon. So I’d suggest that you keep your distance from that girl. And you keep your distance from this place. You hear me?”

  A frown folded down across Simon’s brow. “You told me that before. What’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing. Just you and the girl shouldn’t ought to be skinny-dipping like that in broad daylight. It’s just not right, and it’s not safe, and I doubt her daddy would be happy about it.”

  Simon’s shoulders stiffened. “All right. I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned and walked away.

  And that almost broke Zeph’s heart in two. But at least the ghost was satisfied.

  Molly’s hair dripped down the back of her neck, soaking her T-shirt. Without a towel, any hope of staying dry was impossible. She probably should have thought about this before shucking her clothes.

  As it was, she was trying to figure out her tumbling emotions right at the moment. If Zeph hadn’t shown up, Simon’s incredible kiss would have probably led her right to the Peach Blossom Motor Court or someplace equally skanky. That might have been fun. But of course, it would have gotten her into hot water with her father.

  She was lacing up her sneakers when Simon returned.

  Her heart thumped in her chest, and little explosions of heat blazed through her to see him walking on bare feet with his chest exposed. His long, elegant toes matched his beautiful hands. But his naked chest—well, there were no words that were up to the task of describing it, or the way just looking at him made her feel all hollow and melty inside.

  She wished he hadn’t put on his pants.

  “So,” Simon said, his voice low and gruff. He drew the one-syllable word out. It might have been a sigh, or a question, or a punctuation point. It was hard to tell.

  He stood on the other side of the clearing by their lawn chairs. She wanted him to come closer and kiss her again, but the moment had come and gone. She felt oddly bashful, even though she was completely covered up now.

  She shouldn’t mess with him. The logistics were bound to get very complicated. She was living at home now. When she’d been in college, sleeping with guys had been pretty easy to manage. But carrying on with someone you weren’t ever going to go steady with, much less marry, was difficult in Last Chance.

  Besides, she was Coach’s daughter. And he had rules. They were stupid rules, but he took them seriously, and besides, he was pretty depressed right at the moment. He’d been sitting at home with the television on, not moving and not speaking to anyone. Momma’s leaving had hit him pretty hard.

  It was a shame. Because Simon had a killer body, and he seemed to be laboring under the illusion that she was attractive. It was a deadly combination.

  “We better go,” she said.

  “I guess going to the Pig Place is out, huh?”

  She pulled her hair to one side and tried to wring a little more water out of it. “Maybe not such a good idea. I’m all wet, and we’d have a hard time explaining that. I swear, one of these days I’m going to whack all this hair off. It’s just a nuisance.”

  “Don’t.” It was a fierce whisper, if ever she heard one.

  “It’s okay. I’m always threatening to cut my hair, and I never have the courage to go through with it. I’m not sure why.” She picked up her tackle box and gear while he put on his shirt and folded the chairs.

  It was late in the day, but not quite dusk. Simon looked like a veritable god moving around in that golden afternoon light. Molly decided that she could spend the rest of her days watching Simon move. He was still an athlete.

  They headed down the narrow path that led to the parking area at the end of Bluff Road. “So,” she said, just to make conversation in the silence that had sprung up, “are you and Zeph special friends or something?”

  “We were, I guess, back when I was a boy and Luke Raintree was still alive.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You knew Luke?”

  “I was there the day he died.”

  “Oh, my God.” She stopped and turned. “When I was in high school, we used to come down here sometimes and hang out at the Jonquil House. It’s all abandoned now and really creepy at night. Perfect for scaring the bejesus out of little kids. Everyone used to say that Luke Raintree haunted the place.”

  Something flickered in Simon’s brown eyes and then disappeared behind his perfect, mild-mannered mask. He started walking again, but his whole body seemed to have gone stiff. Boy, she must have hit a nerve. Not to mention the fact that it was weird to be with someone who had actually known Luke Raintree. He’d died a long time ago.

  She followed after him. “Uh, I’m sorry, I guess. You knew him well?”

  “Luke Raintree was my best friend until the day his brother shot him dead.”

  Simon found it a little strange to be sitting in the passenger’s seat. But Molly clearly loved driving her vintage Charger, and there was something about the way she casually held the steering wheel with one hand. It was sexy as hell.

  Which was a thought he needed to ice right now.

  They said almost nothing as she drove him back to his mother’s house in town. Just before he got out of the car, he turned toward her and said, “I didn’t mean for that kiss to happen. You know it would be crazy, and probably dangerous, for the two of us to go down that road, don’t you?”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Yeah. I have no desire to get on Coach’s bad side.”

  “What does Coach have to do with it?”

  “He came by to see me the other day, specifically to tell me to stay clear of you. He thinks you’ve got a crush on me.”

  There was still enough light for him to see the blush that rose to her cheeks. “That’s silly,” she said emphatically.

  “Look, kiddo, you don’t want to have a crush on me. I’m hard on women. And I’m too old for you. And besides, I’d rather be your friend.”

  She looked up. Something strange burned in those changeable eyes of hers. “That’s good. Friends are good.”

  “So we und
erstand each other?”

  “Absolutely.” She looked away, and Simon had the terrible feeling that she was going to leave this encounter thinking she was unattractive or undesirable.

  But he’d given Coach his word. And when Coach and Zeph were in agreement, the moral path was clear. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said and got out of the car.

  He didn’t turn to look over his shoulder as she peeled out of the driveway with a little bit of wheel spin and flying gravel. Molly had a temper, and he’d just ignited it.

  Thank God Zeph had come along when he had. It wouldn’t be the first time Zeph had saved him.

  It was just a shame that Zeph hadn’t been there to save Luke.

  And that errant thought stopped him in his tracks. He stood there on the porch steps like a man who’d been struck by lightning. Memories he’d pushed under for so long suddenly swirled up, like mud from the river bottom.

  There had been another day, when he was thirteen, when Zeph had pulled him out of the abyss and sent him home. Simon had stood right here on the porch steps, his world shattered, his heart breaking. He’d needed someone that day.

  And there wasn’t anyone who cared.

  The sounds of his mother and father arguing reached him even through the front door. He’d stood there, tears running down his face, knowing that nothing good ever came from an argument. He’d bypassed the door and hid out in the shed, crying his eyes out until there wasn’t anything left to cry.

  By nightfall, all of Last Chance had heard the news that Governor Raintree’s grandson had been tragically killed in a hunting accident. But by then, the hot argument between Simon’s parents had run its course. And his parents had entered the chill phase. Each of them had gone off to their individual places upstairs. They’d put on their separate television sets, at the highest volume possible, so they didn’t have to hear each other moving around. They had staked out their territories. And the war was on.

  Mother and Daddy’s really big fights—the ones that had turned into pitched battles—may have started as screaming matches but they always ended in silence, punctuated every once in a while with hurtful verbal darts.

  The day Luke died, they’d been screaming. The day Luke was buried, they weren’t speaking. And both of them were so focused on their battle that neither of them had the time or inclination to think about Simon or the pain he felt.

  The heavy sigh caught him almost unawares, along with the telltale tension in his neck and shoulders. The memories of that horrible day seemed to haunt this place. Had haunted it for years. He hated coming in the front door.

  This time, the house was quiet. Daddy’s Taurus was in the driveway so he knew Mother had gotten back from her meeting. As usual, Angel had everything under control. Simon entered the big, formal foyer. It was dark in here, but a light gleamed from the kitchen. And the sound of laughter was coming from that general direction.

  Simon stood riveted to the wide, butternut plank flooring for the longest of moments, listening to his mother laughing. Out loud. With abandon.

  He had to investigate. Mother had never been a big fan of people who laughed out loud, not even in private. Mother always kept her emotions under wrap.

  The kitchen in the house bore little resemblance to the one Simon remembered. Mother had spared no expense redoing it. The place gleamed with stainless-steel appliances, granite countertops, slate flooring, and white farmhouse cabinets. Arlo Boyd had practically salivated over the kitchen. He’d said it made up for the pitiful laundry room, with its ancient washer and broken dryer. He said the house would bring good money when Simon was finally allowed to list the place for sale.

  Right now, Mother was sitting on a stool at the center island. She was sipping what appeared to be a strawberry milk shake through a straw. And in between sips, she was giggling—giggling!—at Angel, who was juggling three bananas.

  Simon had seen Angel’s juggling prowess before. It was impressive. His assistant had a dream of running away one day and joining Cirque du Soleil. Angel said the circus costumes were to die for.

  Mother startled the minute Simon walked into the room. Angel stopped juggling.

  “You’re early,” Angel said.

  “Who are you?” Mother said.

  And something snapped. “Mother, you know good and well who I am. It’s Simon, your son. Angel, here, is my assistant.”

  “You are not my son.”

  “I most certainly am. I’m sorry you don’t remember me. Probably because you never had much time for me after I reached the age of eight or so, unless it was to tell me what was expected of me. And when I failed to do the expected, you simply forgot I existed.” The last words came out hoarse and angry.

  He took a giant breath, turned, and walked out of the kitchen. The moment had come and gone. And he’d been the one to destroy it. This is what came from getting angry. But who the hell was he angry with? Mother? Luke? Coach?

  Or was it only himself?

  Molly slipped into the side door, intent on reaching her bedroom before running into Coach. Because if she ran into him she might just give him a piece of her mind. He seemed to think she was still a little girl or something. What gave him the right to warn Simon off? If she wanted to have a fling with a handsome, older, experienced man, it was her own damn business, not Coach’s.

  Of course, she’d be an idiot to have a fling with Simon, but lust was pretty toxic to brain cells. And there wasn’t any doubt that she had developed a first-class case of lust. And that meant it couldn’t possibly be anything so childish as a crush. Like that time in high school when she’d become infatuated with her English teacher.

  Crushes were not usually mutual. But Simon had enjoyed that kiss as much as she had. Not to mention the way he’d sweet-talked her out of her panties.

  And that just wasn’t fair—not if he had already been warned off by Coach. Heck, he was the one who started it by getting naked. Where did he think it would go?

  Damn. It was really a toss-up as to whom she was most annoyed with. Either way she just needed some alone time in her bedroom. Maybe she could sit quietly, like the book said, and empty her mind, while simultaneously achieving a transcendent moment of mindfulness. Or maybe she could find something unbreakable to throw.

  Her plans unraveled the moment she walked through the door. Coach was sitting at the kitchen table all alone. The kitchen was semi-dark, illuminated only by the small utility light above the stove. He had a shot glass in front of him, and he was drinking from a bottle of Woodford Reserve bourbon.

  Molly’s anger-filled balloon deflated.

  Coach drank an occasional beer or glass of wine, but Molly had never seen her father with a shot glass in his hand. This was shaping up like something from out of one of those sad country songs, about cheating women and drinking men.

  This was not supposed to be happening in her family. Her parents loved one another. They were good, churchgoing people. And Coach was a role model for just about every male in Allenberg County, even Simon who had just delivered a sermon to her on the wages of sinning with an older man. Coach preached personal responsibility and abstinence. And his players toed that line, to a man.

  He turned and looked up at her. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, like maybe he’d been crying, which was a really disturbing turn of events.

  “Why’s your hair wet?” he asked.

  Well, of course he noticed. Coach might be buzzed or drunk, but Molly’s wet hair was waist length and had pretty much soaked her T-shirt.

  “I went swimming,” she said, while simultaneously trying to decide just how honest she wanted to be. She had a bone to pick with him. But picking it while he was consuming bourbon was maybe not a smart idea. Not that Coach was likely to become violent or anything. It was just that he seemed so lost without Momma.

  “Who were you swimming with?” he asked. Coach was a mind reader. Everyone said so.

  She decided not to lie. Lying would just make a bad situation that much worse. So
she stared him right in his bloodshot baby blues and said, “I was swimming off the public pier with Simon Wolfe.”

  He looked up. “You went swimming with that old queer?”

  Rage tickled her backbone, and she could practically feel it snap upright. Any sympathy she’d been feeling for him evaporated. “Coach, you should know better than to use a word like that. It’s demeaning. Don’t they teach you sensitivity or something down at the high school? And besides, Simon is not gay.”

  “Ha! Shows how much you know. You’re infatuated with a queer, who isn’t really interested in you. You’re making a big mistake. Les is the guy for you.”

  Well, this was a fine kettle of stinky fish, wasn’t it? It was irritating as hell that everyone thought Simon and Angel were together. Not that Molly had any problems with guys being with guys. But Simon was clearly not gay. And more important, Coach was acting like a bigoted idiot and a bully.

  “Daddy, just use the word ‘gay’ or ‘homosexual,’ okay?”

  “Okay, why the hell were you swimming with a homosexual?”

  “Because he dared me to take my clothes off.” She put her fists on her hips. If Coach wanted to have this fight, well then, bring it on.

  “He what?” Coach looked up from his bourbon.

  “We went skinny-dipping in the river. And Simon is not gay. And I resent the fact that you warned him off. If you really thought he was gay, why’d you do that?”

  “Did you and he …”

  “That is none of your business.”

  He hit the table with the flat of his hand. “It damn well is my business if you’re living in this town and in my house. I’m not going to have a daughter of mine sleeping around or getting naked in public. Especially if she’s doing it with someone who is old enough to be her father.”

  “Simon isn’t old.” The words escaped Molly’s mouth before she really thought about them. But once said, their truth was self-evident. She didn’t think about Simon’s age. She’d completely forgotten about it. He was a guy she wanted to get to know better. He was interesting, but more important, he was kind. She’d seen that innate kindness in everything he did, from playing with Junior Griffin, to remembering sweets for the Purly Girls, to folding her laundry, to helping her liberate the Shelby.