After The Rain (One Pass Away #1) Page 2

  The scholarship to Alabama was a thing of the past – the school had moved on to the next big high school sensation. Undeterred, Logan tried out for every college that would agree to see him. In the end, he received three offers. Logan chose Ohio State. If a big national powerhouse like the Buckeyes wanted to take a chance on a man who would turn twenty during the season, Logan planned to take advantage of the opportunity.

  The team redshirted him that first season. The head coach saw his potential and decided a year of seasoning would be best for all involved. Logan didn’t argue. He considered whatever he received to be gravy. He would work his ass off for the man who believed enough to give him his second chance.

  Five years later, Logan went as the first pick in the second round of the NFL draft to the Seattle Knights. A tidy if not spectacular signing bonus that he promptly used to pay off his father’s old medical bills and the mortgage on his childhood home. What was left he directly gave to his father. A small thank you for all his support and encouragement.

  The injury in his third game as a pro halted his vision of a future filled with wealth and fame in its tracks. Logan Price wasn’t a has-been. He qualified as a lowly never was. No one shelled out money for endorsement deals to bartenders in Denville, Oklahoma.

  What little money he had made was gone. He lived over a garage with old plumbing and insulation that barely kept out the mid-December wind.

  Listening to the taunts from a bunch of drunks was the least of his problems.

  Not that it didn’t burn at first. His retirement had been recent enough that the words cut into his pride and ego. Now, over a year later, Logan no longer paid attention to Rafer and his cronies.

  Was it a sign his skin had thickened? Or that he was sinking further into his I no longer give a crap about anything existence? At four in the morning, Logan couldn’t have cared less.

  Someday he would find the balance between what might have been and the here and now. Knowing that day would come scared the shit out of him. Giving up had never been in his DNA, but it was creeping in – inch by depressing inch.

  When he felt his body reaching the end of its endurance, instead of heading home, Logan turned into the parking lot at Lefty’s Pub. There were always things to do. Floors to mop. Liquor to inventory. That top shelf of glasses hadn’t been taken down for a good cleaning in a while. Busy work.

  Logan fished out the keys from his pocket, letting himself into the darkened bar. Pitch black except for one beer sign from an old brand that wasn’t made anymore. His father never turned that one off.

  An old warhorse, Jonas Price called it. Just like him. On the day he took his last breath, the sign would come down. A little morbid? Maybe. Logan planned to do his damnedest to make sure they both kept shining for a long, long time.

  Logan flipped on the light over the bar. Checking the bottles, the decision was made for him. Time to restock. With the smell of stale beer filling his nose, he unlocked the door to the basement where the extra stock was stored.

  Logan sighed. A few more hours until dawn. And then…? Another day like all the rest. One foot in front of the other.

  “WHAT DO YOU think?”

  “Besides questioning why we’re sitting in a freezing car, in Nowhere, Oklahoma, watching a man jog through town?”

  “Ya. Besides that.”

  Claire Thornton rubbed her hands together, trying to generate a little heat. She had on thick gloves, thick socks, two sweaters, and a heavy coat. God, she hated the cold. Almost as much as she hated small towns like Denville. Her feelings weren’t random. She had grown up in place just like it.

  Iowa. Oklahoma. The only difference was the accents. The day they handed her that little high school diploma, she was on the first Greyhound out of town. She didn’t look at the destination or ask any questions. As long as it got her far away from where she was, she was willing to take her chances on what she found on the other end.

  Turned out what she found was damn good.

  “He doesn’t appear to be favoring his right leg.”

  Claire turned to her companion. Three things kept her from punching him in the jaw for dragging her here.

  First. She owed him. His faith and support helped her rise so far in a male-dominated business. Second. He had a jaw like granite. She was more likely to hurt herself than him. Third. Gaige Benson had a smile that could charm the angels from heaven. She couldn’t stay annoyed when he turned those pearly whites her way.

  “No,” Claire admitted. “I didn’t see a limp. From what you’ve told me, that’s new.”

  “Last year when Logan reported for training camp, he tried to hide it. It was clear after the first day that his leg was still too weak to hold up to any kind of prolonged physical activity. He ran around this town for over an hour. That has to be a good sign.”

  “His leg is better, Gaige.” Claire sipped her lukewarm coffee. Grimacing, she set the metal travel cup in the holder by her seat. Keeps things warm for eight hours, my ass. “We both know there’s a huge difference between a leisurely jog and wear and tear of an NFL game.”

  “We won’t know until we try.”

  Claire shook her head. You couldn’t argue with the man. He believed he was always right. The frustrating part? He almost always was. She looked out the window at Lefty’s Pub. The glow of a faint light shimmered through the tiny window on the door.

  Logan Price. Gaige believed there was still something there. It would be Claire’s job to find out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MERRY, FUCKING, CHRISTMAS.”

  It took all of Logan’s control not to spit his sip of coffee across his newly polished bar. He didn’t expect to be greeted with those words by the first person through the door. Coming from his favorite cocktail waitress, the crude sentiment was doubly surprising.

  “Which of Santa’s elves crawled up your ass?”

  “It certainly wasn’t Happy.”

  “Wasn’t he a dwarf?”

  “Dwarf. Elf. Who the hell cares? I sure as hell ain’t Snow White or Mrs. Claus.”

  The same age as Logan, Rhonda Sykes had been head cheerleader for the Denville Daredevils. Friday nights he ran from end zone to end zone while she cheered him on. They hadn’t dated. Partly because they were friends, mostly because Elmer had staked his claim around the seventh grade.

  For the next eight years, Rhonda thought that was just fine. The first time he hit her, she forgave him. The second time, she took their baby girl and moved back in with her mother.

  Mama convinced Rhonda that a woman’s place was with her husband. No matter what. She was five months pregnant with their son when Elmer knocked out Rhonda’s front tooth.

  Rhonda didn’t go to her mother that time. She moved out. For good. She had a high school education and no work experience, but with one child barely walking and another on the way, she needed to make a living. There was no way she could rely on Elmer to help. The courts could tell him he had to pay child support, actually seeing any of that money was another thing altogether.

  When Rhonda applied to be a waitress at Lefty’s Pub, Jonas Price took one look at her swollen belly and hired her on the spot. Not that he let her do much for the next three months. It wasn’t until six weeks after she had given birth that Jonas finally let her lift so much as a tray. He had paid her for doing nothing but sitting. He called it her training period. Rhonda called it the kindest thing any human being had ever done for her.

  Rummaging through the perpetual mess of half a dozen lipsticks, at least that many packages of chewing gum, a hairbrush, and who knew what else, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The handgun that slid across the bar made Logan grimace. He knew she had a permit. This was Denville. More residents than not packed some sort of firearm.

  The bar, though, was supposed to be a no-weapon zone. It said so clearly in big red letters as one entered Lefty’s Pub. The words were repeated on each wall. By the jukebox. Next to the pool table. In the bathroom – both men’s a
nd women’s.

  The gun his father kept stashed under the ice machine didn’t count. Owner’s prerogative. In all the years he had run the place, there had never been a reason to use it. Fingers crossed, he never would.

  “I’ve told you about this, Rhonda.” Logan picked up the gun. “For tonight, I’ll lock it in the office. Tomorrow, leave it home.”

  “I’m not going around unarmed when my ex-husband carries a freaking arsenal in his truck.”

  “Is Elmer giving you trouble again?”

  The whole town knew about Elmer Pressman’s temper. It was the main reason Rhonda walked out on him three years ago. The fact that they both still lived in Denville and shared two kids made it impossible to get away completely. Every now and then, Elmer made it clear he still thought of Rhonda as his. Usually around the time, she started seeing another man.

  “Look at this.” Rhonda shoved the paper at Logan. “He’s claiming the divorce wasn’t legal. Can you believe it? Two years I fought that asshole to sign the papers. Now he says he was coerced. Him. Can you believe it?”

  “Is that even a thing?”

  Logan read the paper. It was full of legal jargon used by lawyers to confuse the matter as much as possible. In college, he had taken a course in basic business law. It wasn’t a required subject for his business administration degree. However, it seemed prudent to at least have a working idea of what he was looking at when he was required to sign something official. At the time, Logan had sports contracts in mind. He hadn’t found a use for it – until now.

  The paper from Elmer’s lawyer was a convoluted piece of crap. Since anyone Rhonda hired would see through it in a second, the purpose was obvious. The asshole wanted to cause as much aggravation as possible. By the look of things, he got his wish.

  “This threat isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on, Rhonda.” Logan handed it back to her. “What did Pug say?”

  “Same as you,” she said with a shrug.

  Stashing her purse underneath the bar, she tied a red apron, Lefty’s Pub stenciled across the front, around her slender waist.

  For all her problems, Rhonda was still as pretty as when she shook her pom-poms around the football sidelines. A nice, shapely figure. Dark brown hair she wore pulled back in a long, sleek tail bounced when she hustled around on a busy Saturday night. Her equally dark eyes were usually filled with warmth and laughter. Especially when she looked at Deputy Stanley Doughtry. Pug to everyone who knew him.

  Pug had been in love with Rhonda for as long as he could remember. Hell, as long as anyone could remember. Not a man to keep his feelings to himself, he watched with a heavy heart as Rhonda dated, married, and then suffered for her bad judgment.

  Finally, after all these years, Rhonda opened her eyes to what had always been right in front of her. She and Pug planned a spring wedding.

  “Elmer can’t stop you from getting remarried, Rhonda,” Logan assured her. “He can be a pain in the ass. He can rant up and down the streets of Denville. Nobody is listening. Even the few friends he has left turn off that particular tune.”

  “I know.” Rhonda sighed. “It never seems to end, that’s all.”

  “It will. You have a good man. Pug is one of the best. Now,” Logan reached behind him, bringing back a box spilling over with large sparkly balls and shiny garlands. “Stop cursing Christmas. It’s December 3rd. Time to make this old place look the season.”

  “I really do love this time of year,” Rhonda admitted. She held up a silver star. “Especially now that Lacy and Jacob are old enough to really enjoy what’s going on.”

  “Then have at it. I’ll be in the office going over the books.”

  “You don’t want to help?”

  “I’m more of a look, don’t touch, kind of guy when it comes to decorations.”

  “It’s not just the decorations you aren’t touching,” Rhonda muttered as she started to untangle a string of lights.

  “Sorry,” Logan looked up from the receipts he had collected from the till. “What were you saying?”

  “You need to get laid,” Rhonda said frankly. “Don’t give me that look. You hurt your leg not your… you know.”

  “My…?” Logan prompted. “Go on. If you can say laid, you can say… you know.”

  “Fine.” Rhonda pulled her five foot three frame onto a barstool. “From all accounts, you’ve been living like a monk since you returned to Denville.”

  “From all accounts.” Logan shook his head in amazement. “How the hell does greater Denville know what I do in my own time? I might have a different woman up to my place every night.”

  “Who would make up this caravan of women?” Rhonda cocked her head to the side. “If you were taking any of the Denville women up on their offers, the whole town would know. The first one who gets you will shout it to the rafters.

  “Jesus.” Logan rolled his eyes.

  “And why not? Despite the mountain look you’re currently sporting, there’s a damn good-looking man under all that hair. Tall, trim body. All that running you do has kept the gut off. Most of the guys we went to school with can’t say that.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “You aren’t importing these phantom sex partners. That would definitely circulate through the morning coffee klatches.”

  “Okay, Rhonda. I get the point. Can we please drop the subject?”

  Rhonda ignored him. “You aren’t doing cyber-sex, are you?”

  “I give up.” Logan stalked toward the office. “Don’t bother me unless there’s an emergency.”

  Logan closed the office door.

  Christ. When had he become so pathetic that even his lack of a sex life was fodder for the town gossip mill? It was too late to simply pick an unattached woman and sleep with her. After so long, that would cause an even bigger stir.

  Logan sighed. It looked like it was either masturbation or nothing. More and more, he was fine with nothing.

  Lack of sex drive couldn’t be a good thing in an otherwise healthy twenty-seven-year-old male.

  Tossing the receipts on the desk, he collapsed onto the old leather chair. When he was a kid, he would roll it from one side of the room to the other, concocting elaborate adventures.

  Sometimes he was a pirate, his ship’s sails carrying him to exotic foreign shores. Other times, he was a racecar driver, spinning out, and then saving himself at the last minute as he crossed the finish line in victory.

  Today it was simply a chair. He wished he could recall even the tiniest bit of the magic and wonder he imbued into it. The days of wishing were over. His imagination was a vast wasteland. Logan Price was firmly grounded in reality. He had been for some time. The sooner he came to grips with that, the better off he would be.

  Logan opened the ledger. He was good at numbers. Always had been. One plus two equals three. Simple. Absolute.

  Torn-up knee equals the end of a football career. That one was harder to calculate. Unfortunately, for Logan Price, the answer was still set in stone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FOR THE FIRST time in weeks, Logan felt like sleep would welcome him instead of mock him.

  His eyes felt heavy. His body and mind longed to shut down for a solid eight hours. No tossing. No dreaming. Nothing but blissful, uneventful slumber.

  Now all he had to do was clear out the stragglers. Last call had been twenty minutes ago. Time to pack it in.

  Logan was just about to roust Rafer and his table when the bar door swung open.

  “Sorry,” he called out to the man and woman. “We’re about to close up.”

  “It’s a damn chilly night. Can’t you spare a cup of coffee?”

  Son of a bitch. Gaige Benson.

  Logan found himself doing something he didn’t do very often. Seeing his old QB standing in the middle of Lefty’s Pub, he grinned.

  “Take a seat,” Logan said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “Make sure the coffee is hot. Preferably scalding.”

  Lo
gan looked at Gaige. The other man shrugged.

  “Claire isn’t a big fan of cold weather.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Rafer called out, grabbing his crotch. “I’ve got a hot meat injection that will warm you right up.”

  Claire simply rolled her eyes and headed for a table on the other end of the bar.

  “Time to clear out.” Logan slapped his palm next to the head of Cyrus Lott. He had dozed off on the bar about an hour ago.

  “Fuck you, Price.” The man’s eyes focused for a second on Logan before his head dropped back down.

  “Hey,” Rafer called out. “Show some respect, Cy. Old Price almost used to be somebody.”

  Rafer’s pals burst out laughing. It was an old jab, but a favorite one.

  “You too.” Logan stared Rafer down. As usual, the other man blinked first. “Take it someplace else.”

  Grumbling, the men got to their feet. They took as much time as they could without pushing it. They knew from experience that Logan wasn’t adverse to literally kicking their asses out the door.

  “Hey,” Logan called out. He pointed to Cyrus. “Don’t forget this one.”

  With more grumbling, two of the men grabbed Cyrus under the arms, dragging him out the door.

  “Charming group.” Rather than wait, Gaige was behind the bar, pouring three cups of coffee. He grabbed a handful of creamers and a couple of spoons. “Are they always so complimentary?”

  Turning the closed sign, Logan locked the door. He hit the switch, shutting off the outdoor lights.

  “Keeps me humble.”

  Gaige snorted. “There’s humbling, then there’s self-flagellation. Going home is one thing, Logan.” Gaige looked around. “This is just plain depressing.”

  “Hey.” Logan shot Gaige a warning look. “My dad built this place from nothing. I won’t listen to you putting it down.”

  “I’m not talking about the bar, kid.”

  Logan winced at the use of his old nickname.

  “It’s a nice bar. As bars go.”

  Logan looked at the woman. Really looked. What he saw gave his libido a slight tug. Big blue eyes. Full lips. A few strands of blond hair peeked from under the heavy knit cap that she had pulled down over her ears. He couldn’t see much of a shape under her black pea coat.