Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (10 page)

“So you’re guaranteed this bonus?”

The skepticism in Lucy’s voice miffed Bertie. “Okay, here’s the thing…it’s not guaranteed, but I know I’m going to finish the job, and therefore, I’ll get the money.”

“You can’t pledge this much right now. What if you don’t finish? DP is likely to start two houses with this pledge, and then what will you do if your bonus doesn’t come through?” Lucy’s growing alarm started to send a slight chill up Bertie’s spine.

Bertie fluttered her hand, waving off Lucy’s objections and her own unease. “Stop worrying. I may have to work with the devil, and no one said it was going to be easy.” A scowl marred Lucy’s serious face. “Besides Lulu, I can’t let those kids down. I’ve met little Jessica Alvarez and her family. She’s only four years old—”

“Bertie, your dedication is admirable. But don’t you think you’re putting the cart before the horse? Don’t you want to keep some of this money for yourself? You do so much for everyone else and never think of yourself. You should set the money aside for your retirement or whatever.”

“No worries. I’m giving a hundred to DP and splitting the remaining fifty with Gary. I’ll still have an extra twenty-five thousand to save or put to good use.”

“I’m back. What’d I miss?” Liza slid into the booth next to Lucy.

Bertie bit down on her bottom lip, trying to rein in her anger at Liza’s annoying presence.

“Not much. Bertie was telling me”—Bertie kicked Lucy under the table—“Ow! Uh, about her new job with Keith Morgan.”

“Mmm, mmm, he is
sooo
fine. I’ve got plans for that lean, mean tennis machine…and they don’t include tennis lessons.” Liza licked her lips in a seductive way. She jabbed Lucy with her elbow. “He’s got the dreamiest dark eyes, and I’m sure he knows what to do in the bedroom.” Liza waggled her eyebrows in Lucy’s direction, ignoring Bertie altogether.

Bertie squelched the urge to grab the maple syrup pitcher and pour it over Liza’s head. She had no claim on Keith, but that didn’t mean she wanted Liza playing hide-the-salami with the stud so she could brag about it all over town.

“Keith Morgan? Isn’t he the famous tennis player?” Lucy asked to defuse the situation, recognizing the murderous gleam in Bertie’s eye.

“The one and only. Didn’t Bertie tell you?”

“She knows I’m working for him. What are you getting at, Liza?” Bertie said with undisguised irritation.

“He’s wife hunting. And Bertie here is apparently off the list because she’s been banned from his house and—”

“That’s a lie. I have not been banned.” Bertie fingered the maple syrup pitcher.

Liza chuckled. “I think it has something to do with her not being able to keep her lips to herself.”

“Oh, boy. You are working for the devil.” Worry crept into Lucy’s voice as she pushed the folder back to Bertie. “You need to rethink this, for sure.”

Bertie snatched the folder and shoved it back in her bag. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m still on the job. Don’t believe Ms. Buttinsky here. She’s full of crap.”

“Whoa. I can name three witnesses who saw you latched on to Keith Morgan’s lips in Francesca’s driveway just the other week,” Liza said.

“First of all, I did not latch on to him; he latched on to me.” Sort of. Bertie jabbed her index finger at Liza. “Secondly, I don’t have to sit in
my
restaurant and listen to you spread useless gossip. As a matter of fact, I don’t have to listen to you at all. You’re fired!”

Liza drew back. “Cal hired me—”

“And I’m firing you.” Bertie crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Fine. Then you’re up for Roller Derby tomorrow night. I can’t skate anyhow.”

Fudge. Bertie hated waitressing at roller derby night because she couldn’t skate worth a damn either. But she’d fall flat on her ass ten times before she’d ask Liza, the town bitch, back to the Dog.

Liza had stood to leave when Bertie blurted, “And don’t forget to turn in your T-shirt,” making sure she had the last word.

Liza pivoted slowly. “You want my shirt?” Alarm bells should’ve gone off in Bertie’s head as Liza’s lips curled into a reptilian smile. “You can have it.” Before anyone could blink, Liza whipped her T-shirt over her head, tossed it at Bertie’s face, and then sauntered toward the back of the restaurant with her head held high.

Holy goose feathers. What had Bertie done? Heads swiveled to watch Liza modeling a lacy blue push-up bra, and then everyone turned to watch Bertie with opened mouths and alarmed expressions.

Lucy, who sat frozen like a block of ice through the entire ugly exchange, started to giggle. “Oh, Bertie.” She gave in to a hoot of laughter. “Liza looked pretty good, but if that had been you…it would’ve caused a riot. You definitely have her beat in the boob department.”

Yeah, she was one big boob. Bertie slunk lower into the booth, hoping everyone would go back to eating and coffee drinking and not google-eyeing her. “Show’s over, folks. You can finish your breakfasts now,” Bertie called out with a dismissive wave.

Dread settled in her stomach, curdling her breakfast. Now she needed to break the news to Cal.

“
Bertie!
” Cal bellowed from across the bar in an I’m-gonna-kill-you way.

Uh-oh. For the first time, Bertie wished she drank before noon.

Keith drove the tennis ball down the line with a hard forehand and moved toward the net. With a split step, he angled off a backhand volley, putting the ball away. He’d been playing since ten that morning at the Raleigh Tennis Club, and it felt good to hit the ball. A crowd began to fill the stands since word spread that he was on center court, but he’d been oblivious—exorcising his demons took all his concentration.

At the changeover, he looked up over his water bottle and gave a nod to Nick Frasier, the NFL coach of the Carolina Cherokees, standing on the veranda outside the club house. Keith had known Nick when he played quarterback for the NFL and trained in Miami before he retired from the game. He’d been invited to Nick’s wedding a year ago in Raleigh, but hadn’t made it because he’d had a prior engagement…with self-pity and the bottom of a bottle of Mount Gay.

Keith finished the match, winning 6–3, 6–2. Not bad for a top ten, ex-tennis pro. Fuck. This used to be his life, and somehow he needed to find his way back. Tennis needed to be part of him again, even if he didn’t compete on a professional level. There had to be another way.

Keith shoved his rackets in his black-and-yellow Babolat bag and scheduled several more matches with the club pro for the following weeks. He slung the tennis bag over his shoulder and headed for the veranda. He stopped to sign autographs and have his picture taken and noted Nick engaged in the same activity. When the excitement died down and the fans started to disperse, he and Nick shook hands.

“It’s good to see you hitting the ball,” Nick said. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

Keith grunted. “Tell that to my aching legs and burning lungs.”

“I know the feeling.” Nick chuckled and then glanced to his side at someone who caught his attention. “Marabelle, stop hiding and come over here.” He motioned with his hand to someone peering behind one of the columns.

A petite, curly headed gal scowled at Nick and then stomped toward them. “You don’t have to embarrass me in front of him,” she said, poking Nick in the chest with her finger.

“Tinker Bell, you embarrass yourself enough for the both of us. You don’t need any help from me.” Nick pulled Marabelle into his side and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Keith, this is my wife, Marabelle, your biggest and most adoring fan.” Marabelle dug her elbow into Nick’s gut, but he didn’t even flinch. Keith observed the couple’s exchange. Even though they were jabbing at each other, it was clear as glass that they loved each other.

Keith flashed his famous Morgan smile. “Nice to meet you, Marabelle. Or is it Tinker Bell? I’m confused.” He held her tiny hand in his.

“I don’t care if you call me Jezebel. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Morgan. I have followed your career since the very beginning, and I mourned the day you retired,” Marabelle gushed as she pumped his hand.

“Thank you,” Keith smiled down into her eager face. Marabelle’s big, brown eyes shone with pure admiration.

“Marabelle, honey, why don’t you give Keith his hand back and let him hit the showers and then we’ll grab some lunch. How does that sound, Morgan?” Nick asked.

Keith squeezed Marabelle’s hand and gave her a wink. “That sounds great.” Marabelle appeared almost forlorn as she released his palm. “Give me about fif—”

“Hold it,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. She twisted her hands as her gaze darted from Nick to Keith. “Mr. Morgan, would you mind having another picture taken with me? While you’re still wearing tennis clothes? I know it’s silly, but…”

“No problem. And please, call me Keith.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, gathering her close.

“Nick, take one with my phone and your phone. Take two. Make sure I have two pictures on my phone.”

“Be still, honey, and smile,” Nick said. “How’s that?” He handed Marabelle’s phone to her.

Keith peered over her shoulder. Marabelle looked like a doll standing under his arm, reminding Keith of Bertie and how perfectly she felt tucked into him.

“Great.” She beamed up at Keith. “Thank you so much, Mr.…uh, Keith.”

***

The sun’s fractured rays shone through the green oak leaves, giving off enough warmth that Keith and the Frasiers decided to dine outside at a small Italian restaurant in a trendy shopping area in Raleigh. Keith couldn’t keep from smiling as he enjoyed the banter between the couple. It appeared as if Nick had his hands full with his pint-sized wife. Marabelle had a quick wit and relished giving her famous husband a hard time. But Keith had no doubt they loved each other. He recognized the signs—the Frasiers had trouble keeping their hands to themselves.

Keith had no recollection of sharing laughs and silly stories with Adriana. His stormy marriage seemed so long ago. Six years had passed since Adriana died a useless death, alone in her car, after a long night of partying. The official cause of her fiery car accident was too much alcohol coupled with passing out behind the wheel. They’d been married three years and never managed to create lasting, pleasant memories…and yet it had felt like an eternity in hell.

Keith reached for his water, tamping down the twisted knot that swelled his stomach. Marabelle scowled over a comment Nick made about her not having enough time to cook for him as he pulled on one of her curls. And then she laughed, giving him a quick kiss and promising to cook for him tonight. Keith pictured vanilla-looking Gail acting the same way toward him, but it didn’t quite gel. She was too sweet. Not sassy enough to talk back or tease.

“Marabelle has been so busy with her tennis that she barely finds time to cook anymore. Unless it’s for Beau Quinton, then she rivals the Barefoot Contessa in the kitchen,” Nick said.

“Well, Beau does inspire me like no one else,” Marabelle responded in a thick Southern drawl, batting her eyelashes with dramatic flair.

Bertie’s big, green eyes and mulish tilt to her chin popped into Keith’s head. He could definitely picture her making the same comment.
Don’t go there.
Back to Gail and her sensible Keds and durable khaki pants.

Nick laughed, clearly enjoying Marabelle’s teasing. “Besides all her obligations to tennis, Marabelle is a personal chef. Several players are paying customers, including Beau Quinton. But Beau’s a smart quarterback. He has no desire to warm the bench. He only has an interest in Marabelle’s food,” Nick explained to Keith.

“Tell me about your tennis,” Keith said to Marabelle.

Marabelle dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “First of all, let me clarify. Beau
begs
me on a regular basis to run away with him, but I don’t have the time or the energy,” she said with a straight face. Nick hooked his arm around Marabelle’s neck, pulling her under his chin.

“That’s because I make sure you don’t have the time or the energy,” he growled into her hair.

Marabelle laughed. “That’s true.”

“Now, stop being a smart aleck and tell Keith about your tennis.” Nick planted a loving kiss on her temple.

“I help with the clinics at the tennis club and give some private lessons.” Marabelle shrugged as she reached for her chicken salad sandwich.

“Tell him about the after-school program you started,” Nick urged, allowing his pride to show.

Keith finished chewing a bite of his spicy grilled tuna. “Yeah, I’m interested in how you went about it. I’m toying with an idea of my own.”

Surprise followed by hope skittered across Marabelle’s face. “If you were to start something, it would really make a difference. With your name, you could draw all kinds of kids to the game.”

“Watch out. Before you know it, Marabelle will have you selling yourself off to the highest bidder in some sort of bachelor auction like she did to me,” Nick said with a chuckle.

Keith’s eyebrows rose as Marabelle grinned, nodding her head. “He’s right. And we made tons of money. You should consider having an auct—”

“
Marabelle
, don’t even think about it.” Nick’s warning rang loud and clear.

Keith pulled the pamphlet on rejuvenating the Jaycee that Dottie Duncan had shoved at him earlier out of his back pocket and handed it to Marabelle. “I was thinking about working on this facility right outside of Harmony. It’s really run-down, but I think it can be fixed up and even expanded and—”

“And you could start an academy. The Keith Morgan Tennis Academy. That would be so awesome.” Marabelle examined the pamphlet while Nick read over her shoulder.

“She’s right. This area could use a great professional tennis facility. And with your name, it could really take off,” Nick added.

Keith squirmed in his seat as he fiddled with his glass of iced tea. He didn’t picture himself as head of any academy. He knew how to
play
tennis. He didn’t know if he had the ability to teach it or even to be an administrator. “I was thinking more along the lines of having a facility for underprivileged kids or even kids that have the desire to play but whose parents can’t afford a country club.” Keith tugged on the collar of his blue Nike pullover. “An academy would costs kids thousands of dollars to attend.”

“Not your academy,” Marabelle said. “Your academy would be special because it’d be for kids who can’t afford anything else. Start a foundation. Raise money for kids who can’t afford lessons, much less the training that an academy provides. The foundation pays for their tuition.”

Window shoppers strolled by their table and did double-takes, checking him and Nick out. Keith leaned forward in his seat, pushing his plate away. “What about kids who
can
afford the tuition? Do we accept them?” he asked.

“Yes. If they can afford it, great. But you have to make sure there are enough teaching pros and training to accommodate everyone. And there should be no special treatment for anybody.”

Keith nodded. “Looks like I’ve got some research to do and some money to raise.”

Marabelle bounced in her seat. “There’re all kinds of ways to raise money, and with your high profile and good looks—”

Nick gave a bark of laughter. “Here we go again. Keith, your biggest fan has turned into your campaign director in charge of fund-raising. Be careful, or she’ll plaster your face on billboards all over town.” Marabelle nodded her head so hard that her curls danced around her shoulders.

She turned to Nick. “You’d help, wouldn’t you, hon?”

“Of course, babe. Anything for you.”

“And we’ll get Beau and Ty and a bunch of the other Cherokee players too.” The excitement in her voice escalated.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe he’d discovered a way to get back into the world of tennis, to give something back to a sport that had been good to him on so many levels. “Well, it looks like I’ve got me a director. What do you say, Marabelle?”

“Woo-hoo! I’m on it.” Marabelle raised her right hand for a high five. Keith laughed, grabbed her hand, and kissed the back. Marabelle’s cheeks flamed red.

Keith winked at Nick. “I’m gathering there’s never a dull moment in your house.”

“You have no idea,” Nick said, hugging Marabelle to his side. “Damn, Morgan. Now I’m never going to get a home-cooked meal. That’s the only reason I married her.” Nick let out an “oomph” as Marabelle’s elbow connected with one of his ribs. This time, Keith had no doubt Nick felt it.

***

An hour later, Keith found himself parked in front of Barnes & Noble. His sharp mind ran through numerous scenarios. To start an academy would be a huge step for him. It would take a great deal of research and planning. But the timing couldn’t be worse. Right now, he had to give Francesca what she demanded and Maddie what she needed. He had more important issues to deal with. Ulcer-causing issues like: 1) convincing sweet, unsuspecting Gail that she should fall in love with and marry him; and 2) convincing sweet, cookie-baking Gail that she’d love to become an instant mother; and 3) convincing himself that he should want sweet, turtleneck-wearing Gail and not sassy, stiletto-wearing Bertie.

Keith checked his watch. He had half an hour before he needed to hit the road to pick up Maddie from school. His cell chirped and he read a text message with an attached selfie of Maddie mugging for the camera with her tongue hanging out:
Hurry! Can’t wait for no school.
He chuckled as he texted:
Behave. Be there soon. Luv u!
He shoved a piece of gum in his mouth, brushed his fingers through his hair, and jumped out of his car. Two minutes later, he stood by the register where Gail was stationed. She looked clean and competent, wearing a green polo shirt and a blue-and-green plaid headband in her hair. She gave Keith a shy smile as she finished ringing up her last customer.

“Can you take a break and grab some coffee?” He leaned against the counter and noticed the soft nude polish on her oval-shaped nails.

“Sure. Let me close this register and I’ll meet you over there,” she said.

Keith ordered two cappuccinos and found an empty table. Gail approached, wearing sensible khakis and brown loafers. He stood and pulled out her chair.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “What brings you back to Raleigh?”

Desperation. Fear. Marriage. “I’m on my way to pick up Maddie at school. This is her spring break.” He toyed with the lid to his coffee cup. “And I wanted to see you.” He slanted a glance at Gail, hoping he hadn’t scared her away with his role as a single dad.

A faint blush settled on her cheeks. “Oh. I’m glad you did. I’ve done some research on you since I saw you last.”

Christ. Just what he needed, Gail reading about his wild partying days in Miami…and all over. How could he convince her that those days were behind him now? He had turned over a new leaf. He had a new lease on life. Fuck. How could he convince her when he still needed to convince himself?

Keith yanked on his collar, rolling his neck as fear gripped the inside of his throat. Concern filled Gail’s cornflower-blue eyes. “A little stuffy in here,” he said on a short laugh. “Did you…uh, read anything interesting?”

She nodded. “Tons and tons.”

Shit. Keith fought not to grimace as he gave his collar one last tug. “I wouldn’t believe everything you read. You can’t trust anything on the Inter—”