Under the Autumn Sky. Liz Talley

in the Sam Hill is going on?”

      For a moment she and Abram stared at one another. She didn’t know how to feel. Never thought she’d see him again. Never thought he could have been using her to get close to her brother. He caved first and turned his gaze on Coach Landry.

      “It’s not complicated. Last night I stopped at a local bar, mostly to use the john, but then I grabbed a beer. Ended up running into Waylon’s sister, but I had no idea Louise was even related to him. We danced and had a beer together. Nothing more.”

      She looked at the stapler sitting on David’s desk, avoiding Abram’s eyes. Refusing to show how much more their meeting could have meant.

      “It was an unintentional off-campus contact. I think Miss Boyd thinks it was intentional, but that’s as far from the truth as it gets. I didn’t even know his guardian’s name until this morning when I talked to her employer at the Waffle House.”

      David sank into his worn desk chair. “Ah, hell.”

      She licked her lips. “I don’t like to feel manipulated.”

      “How in the hell is this manipulation, Louise? What? You think I found out your schedule and stalked you? That’s really not how recruiting works regardless of what you may have heard.” Abram’s voice held anger. “This is my career, and I wouldn’t risk that for a random stranger. You think that’s the way we operate at ULBR?”

      She gave him a blank stare. She didn’t know what to believe but it all seemed too much of a fluke to sit right with her. The man she’d tried to give her virginity to the night before was the coach sent to recruit her brother. It seemed too pat. She knew the lengths schools went to in going after prospects. She read the papers. Watched ESPN. Those bastards manipulated everyone surrounding the prospect, using Facebook, Twitter, casual meet-ups as ways to sway a kid toward their school. So why not seduction? “I’m not sure what your intent was, but I’m going to report this incident to the NCAA.”

      Coach Landry held up a hand. “Now wait a minute, Lou. Take a few moments to calm down before you decide anything. This is very important. Division I schools are under a lot of scrutiny these days, and we don’t want to do anything to jeopardize Waylon. We also don’t want to falsely accuse Coach Dufrene of misconduct.”

      The anger rampaging inside her abated a bit. David was right. This incident could affect Waylon. Not her. No need to smudge anything. Yet. “Fine. I don’t have time for this today anyhow. I have a job to get back to, and I’m already late.”

      Abram stared at her. “Louise, I didn’t know you were Waylon’s guardian. If you think about it, you’ll see I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

      “Don’t tell me what to think.”

      Abram shrugged his big, delicious shoulders, and for a moment hot regret flooded her, a sort of longing for what might have been if it had been the right place and the right time.

      Waylon’s high school coach spread his hands. “We need to keep Waylon out in front of this. The incidental contact can be reported. It’s not something that needs to be swept under the rug. Hell, it’s a small state. I run into people unexpectedly all the time, so these things happen.”

      “It’s policy at ULBR not to sweep anything under the rug, Coach,” Abram said, propping his hands on his hips. With that simple action, Lou felt the balance shift in the room. “As soon as I leave, I’ll report the incident to Coach Holt and the compliance department. I don’t think anything further will be required, Miss Boyd. If compliance or the NCAA get in touch with you, tell the truth.”

      But not the whole truth, she thought. No way would she reveal how well they got to know each other. She didn’t think Abram would be willing to do so, either. They met, they danced once and they shared a drink. Period. End of story.

      “Fine,” she said, turning the doorknob. “I’ve got to go. That dirt won’t move itself.”

      “Later, Lou,” David said.

      “Louise?”

      She hesitated, the door only slightly ajar.

      “Had I known, I would never have continued the contact. I’ll likely be the coach recruiting Waylon, and I hope you won’t hold this incident against me. I truly have the best interests of your brother and the reputation of my institution in the forefront here. Don’t doubt that.”

      She nodded and walked out.

      What else could she do?

      Both she and the too-delicious-to-have-even-contemplated-in-the-first-place coach had screwed up—and the innocent might end up suffering because she wanted to play Cinderella.

      Something ached in her chest, a sort of regret for what would not be. Not that she’d entertained ideas about the man who’d made her feel enchanting as they danced beneath the moonlight. She’d known he was passing through, but the regret was for having the moment in the first place.

      Did she think anything could have been different?

      She was who she was, and she’d figured out many years ago her situation wouldn’t change until Waylon and Lori claimed lives of their own. Since their parents had died, she’d tried to keep Waylon and Lori’s interests above hers. Not because she was a crazed martyr, but because they were all she had left. All she had to ensure something good would result from her temporarily giving up her dreams. She needed them to be safe and happy. Needed them to succeed. Because if they could get out of Bonnet Creek and reach their goals, then so could she.

      Maybe it was selfish.

      But she needed Waylon to go to college, to get a full ride. She needed Lori to do well on her SAT, to get her own free ride. She needed to see her sacrifice pay off. Really needed to know all those nights she baked cookies for snack day, turned down dates to attend school plays and called out spelling words had been worthwhile.

      Okay, yeah. It was definitely selfish.

      But it didn’t change the fact her future lay in Lori and Waylon succeeding.

      And not in pursuing crazy romantic fantasies like a twelve-year-old, starstruck girl.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      PICOU DUFRENE BLEW out the candles and everyone seated around the gleaming dining room table gave an obligatory clap.

      “Happy 65th birthday, Mom,” Abram said from his place at the end of the table. He’d intentionally sat away from his sister because trying to carry on a conversation with Sally was more uncomfortable than hemorrhoids.

      Not that he’d ever had hemorrhoids. But he could imagine.

      Sally had come back into their lives only five months before and the transition hadn’t been easy. They all walked around each other like mines were planted beneath Beau Soleil’s polished floors and body parts might fly at any moment.

      “Thank you,” Picou said, plucking a candle from the cake Lucille had made from scratch and sucking the frosting off. “Delicious, Lucille, as always.”

      Lucille sat next to his mother, like a round, black cherub, smiling at the compliment. She’d been at Beau Soleil for as long as Abram could remember, and she was the best friend Picou had. Scratch that, Lucille was family.

      “I know what you like, Picou. Real buttercream frosting just like my Aunt Lula Mae used to make for the governor, and that man wasn’t half the person you are. You more deservin’ than that ol’ rat.”

      His mother laughed, and everyone else smiled. Abram’s brother Nate and his wife Annie took the cake to the antique sideboard and started slicing generous pieces onto Picou’s Royal Doulton wedding china, adding the sterling forks to each plate. The sterling had belonged to Picou’s mother. All things at Beau Soleil were useful and priceless—the Old South way.

      Sally sat quietly, her big eyes taking in the atypical family dinner. His younger sister wasn’t