Skin in the Game

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the

author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.

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Jackie Barbosa Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2013
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Chapter One

Cade Reynolds sat in the back corner of Cafe du Coeur, Harper Falls’s answer to Starbucks,

sipping a steaming cup of black coffee and watching the denizens of his home town come and go. So
far, he hadn’t seen anyone he recognized, which he supposed shouldn’t surprise him.

Harper Falls had changed a lot in the sixteen years he’d been gone, growing in that time from a

sleepy farming community to a decent-sized suburb of the nearby Twin Cities.

What did surprise him was that no one had recognized him. Not the slightly sullen teenage girl

behind the counter with the lip ring and bright orange hair. Not the elderly gentleman wearing the
Minnesota Vikings jersey who’d been standing behind him in line. Not even the middle-age woman
who now sat at the table across from his. Although she stole a glance at him every few minutes over
the top of the book she was reading, he had a pretty good idea it was because he bore a more-than-
passing resemblance to the shirtless hunk on the cover of her romance novel and not because she’d
realized she was sitting in a coffee shop in Harper Falls with its one and only bona fide homegrown
hero, Cade Reynolds. He was the quarterback who’d won the Harper Falls Eagles their first—and as
yet only—Minnesota State Championship in his senior year and had since gone on to a national title at
USC, a Heisman trophy nomination, and three Pro Bowls. And then there were the print endorsements
and television ad campaigns he’d done, not to mention his regular appearances in Sports Illustrated
and on the covers of any number of tabloids. The only way he could have made himself more famous
would be by dating a Kardashian.

But since he hadn’t taken a snap in the almost two years since the tackle that had shattered his

collarbone and throwing shoulder, he’d been mostly out of sight, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised
that his face and name had faded from the public consciousness. In a way, it was nice not to have to
duck the paparazzi for a moment of peace. Notwithstanding, one would think in Harper Falls,
Minnesota, of all places, he’d be as instantly recognizable as Jesse Ventura, and he wasn’t sure
whether to be relieved or insulted.

He was turning this over in his mind when she walked in.
Wow.
Every other thought drained from his brain along with about half his blood. All he could think

was that she was the most gloriously sexy woman he’d ever seen in his life.

Shoulder-length blond hair caressed the nape of her neck as she strolled up to the counter on legs

that, like the last two minutes of a close football game, seemed to go on forever. Cade guessed she
must be five-ten or five-eleven in bare feet, but unlike most exceptionally tall women he knew, she
didn’t try to disguise or underplay her impressive height by wearing flats.

Instead, her feet were encased in a pair of sandals with a good two inches of heel and one of

those straps that hooked around the ankle. In combination with her incredibly long, slender legs and
the close-fitting calf-length pants she wore, the effect of that strap was so sexy, his comfortable jeans
were getting decidedly uncomfortable. He imagined those trim ankles, encircled by that thread of
leather, wrapped around his waist, and got more uncomfortable still.

When she reached the counter, the teenage barista’s dour expression brightened, and the girl

spoke in animated tones. Straining to hear the conversation, Cade shifted in the unpadded wooden
chair that, like certain parts of his anatomy, seemed to have grown harder.

“Oh, Miss Peterson, you won’t believe it,” the barista said, excitement making her breathless. “I

got an A on my first college calculus test. I can’t thank you enough for the help.”

Miss Peterson, eh? That was a definite plus.

Although calculus wasn’t exactly the first thing that crossed his mind when he looked at her. No,

the kind of math she made him think about was a lot more basic—as in one and one makes two.

“Oh, Hannah, I’m so happy to hear that. But you did it all yourself, honestly. I just gave you a

little push in the right direction.”

A wide, genuine smile spread across Miss Peterson’s features as she spoke, making her look

less like a fashion model and more like the girl next door. A girl he’d like to get to know better. Too
bad he was only going to be in town for a few weeks, or a month at the most.

Certainly not long enough to delve into anything much deeper than basic arithmetic.
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you,” Hannah gushed on, “and your drink today is on the

house.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Miss Peterson demurred, reaching into the small handbag slung

over her shoulder to retrieve her wallet.

“Yeah, I do. You spent a lot of your own time helping me. It’s the least I can do.”
Hannah leaned forward and added conspiratorially, “Besides, I get the company discount.”
Miss Peterson laughed, a rich, full-throated sound that filled the shop. The woman reading the

romance novel turned around and glared, obviously not pleased to be interrupted from whatever the
shirtless guy on the cover was doing inside the pages; Cade suspected math of the one-plus-one-
equals-two variety and envied the character his good fortune.

“All right, but only this once. You need to save up your money for college tuition, not spend it on

me.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry. You want the usual, right?”
Miss Peterson nodded and stepped away from the counter, leaving Cade to wonder what “the

usual” was. He hoped it wasn’t one of those fancy sweet drinks women seemed so fond of that were
more like milkshakes than a good old cup of Joe. A person who drank coffee should actually enjoy
coffee, not cover it up so to make it taste like something else.

She turned away from him and bent over to rifle through the rack containing discarded sections

of the newspaper, treating him to a near-heart-attack-inducing view of her curvy backside. By the time
she straightened back up, he was lightheaded. Then he got downright dizzy, because she hadn’t
selected the Fashion or Arts section, or even the front page, but Sports.

“Here’s your nonfat latte with an extra shot,” Hannah called.
Holy hell, maybe he’d died and gone to heaven. A tall, beautiful blonde with a great figure who

liked sports and took her latte with an extra shot? She was almost too perfect to be real.

She deposited the Sports section back in the bin, retrieved her coffee from the counter, and

turned to leave the shop. He was prepared to run out after her if necessary, because there was no way
he was letting her get away without asking her out to dinner. Fortunately, he didn’t need to go to such
drastic lengths. Her gaze swung toward the corner he was sitting in and came to rest on him. And rest
it did, long and hard, her blue eyes narrowing for a second before widening again and flickering with
recognition.

Cade Reynolds was no longer incognito.

***

Angie clutched her coffee cup so hard, she nearly crushed it.
Cade Reynolds. Bigger than life and twice as natural. Okay, maybe three times as natural.
Because Cade Reynolds had never done anything by mere doubles in his life.
What on earth was he doing here? Not just here in Café du Coeur—which wasn’t even as

popular with the locals as the Starbucks ten miles away in Chisago City—but here in Harper Falls? A

place he’d left almost immediately after graduating high school, followed in short succession by both
his sisters and then his widowed mother, who had retired to Florida after raising three kids on her
own. What possible reason could he have for coming back after all these years?

As if his presence weren’t unsettling enough, his eyes met hers. They were just like she

remembered—thick-lashed, dark brown, and intelligent—but also blazed with a sentiment she’d
certainly never been the object of sixteen years ago: open, unapologetic lust. Her body reacted as if
she were still fourteen and in the throes of the crush she’d nurtured her entire freshman year.

Her stomach flip-flopped, and her heart twisted with nervous excitement.
He lifted his coffee cup in salute and gestured in silent invitation toward the chair from which

he’d just removed his booted feet. Jeans and cowboy boots. Angie mentally rolled her eyes. He’d
spent too much time in Texas, obviously.

But that didn’t make him any less hot. In fact, she doubted anything could make him less hot,

short of a restraining order from an ex-girlfriend.

Not that she’d harbored any illusions about his attractiveness in the years since he’d left Harper

Falls. She’d watched every televised game he’d played at USC and then subscribed to NFL Sunday
Ticket after he’d signed with the Texans, and that meant she’d been a party to his transformation from
drool-worthy boy to sex-on-legs man. As a teen, Cade had been almost pretty, his hair worn just long
enough to curl at the nape of his neck and around his smooth, boyishly handsome face. Girls had
swooned over him the way they swooned over members of the latest boy band. He’d been desirable
but safe somehow, his sensuality muted by youth. Over the years, however, everything about his
appearance had hardened and sharpened, from the planes of his cheeks and square jawline to the deep
cleft in his chin. He’d cropped his hair short, too, accentuating the stark male beauty of his features.
There was nothing remotely safe about him any longer, and Angie knew it as well as anyone who’d
ever watched him answer questions at a press conference. Still, there was a big difference between
admiring a gorgeous specimen of masculinity through the TV screen and being in the same room with
him, because she was pretty sure he was sucking up all the oxygen in the small café.

And he was looking at her as if she were having the same effect on him. Which absolutely blew

her mind.

One thing was clear, however. He had no idea who she was. He thought she had recognized him

because he was Cade Reynolds, NFL quarterback, not because a half a lifetime ago, they’d shared the
same high school and a few conversations about life, the universe, and football. Well, technically,
football was life, the universe, and everything.

With a concerted effort, she relaxed her grip on the coffee cup and walked toward his table. All

gentleman despite the fact that he’d spent the past several seconds undressing her with his eyes, he
stood as she approached. Even in her heels, she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, an unfamiliar
but not unpleasant sensation.

“Cade Reynolds,” he said in his deep baritone, stretching out his hand in greeting.
Her knees wobbled as she took his hand and shook it. It was warm and dry and positively

engulfed hers. He was even bigger and more masculine than she remembered he’d been or imagined
he might have become.

“But then, I think you already know that,” he added.
She was a little aggravated by his arrogance, but then she remembered the Sports page she’d

been perusing and decided there wasn’t much point in feigning ignorance.

“You’re right, I do.”
“I’m flattered,” he said, holding onto her hand a few seconds longer than could be considered

strictly polite. “I haven’t exactly been front and center lately. Out of sight, out of mind, you know.”

Okay, she liked him better already. Maybe fame and fortune hadn’t turned him into a self-

centered jerk after all.

“How’s your rehab coming?” Even as she asked the question, the awful image of the tackle that

had sidelined his career flashed through her brain.

The linebacker had jumped the snap count and shot straight through the line. The referee blew the

play  dead,  but  the  linebacker  either  didn’t  hear  the  whistle  or  flat-out  ignored  it.  Cade  had  been
completely  unprotected  when  the  other  player’s  helmet  collided  with  his  throwing  shoulder.  The
offending  linebacker  had  been  ejected,  suspended  for  six  games,  and  fined  a  hefty  sum  for  the
infraction,  but  it  wasn’t  enough  to  put  Cade’s  shoulder  back  together. Angie  didn’t  think  she  would
ever be able to wipe from her memory the image of Cade walking off the field, his lips twisted in a
grimace of silent agony, his right arm hanging limp and useless at his side.

As he released her hand, however, she noted that his right arm seemed far from limp or useless

now. In fact, based on the musculature rippling beneath his snug-fitting black T-shirt, there was
nothing wrong with the man. She swept him head to toe with her eyes. Nope. Nothing at all wrong.

Which did make her wonder whether the rumors of a dependence on prescription painkillers—

rumors she’d discounted—might be true, because she could see no visible reason he shouldn’t be
staging his comeback on the football field instead of killing time in the back corner of a rinky-dink
coffee shop in Harper Falls.

“Oh, slow but steady. These things sometimes take longer than we expect,” he said with a lazy

shrug of his broad shoulders.

“Well, you look fine to me,” she blurted, then felt herself turn ketchup-red as she realized how

that must sound. She hadn’t said it with the emphasis on fine, but she might as well have.

Because Cade Reynolds was fine in every way.
His brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’m glad you think so. Maybe you could get the

message to my physician?”

She breathed a small sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to make her feel like a stupid, tongue-tied

adolescent fan girl, even though he could have.

“I’m not sure he’d take my word for it.”
“He’s a she, but you’re probably right.” Cade gestured again toward the chair. “Sit down and

talk a while? I’d like to get to know you better.” The husky timbre of his voice said better meant
something a lot more intimate than talking.

Not that she was complaining about his intentions. She didn’t do one-night-stands or casual

flings and never had, even before she’d become a high school teacher in a small town where
everyone knew everyone else’s business and discretion was unheard of. But for Cade Reynolds, she
was willing to make an exception. She’d wanted him for almost half her life, mostly from afar. Now
that he was here in Harper Falls and, surreal as it seemed, might want her in return, she wasn’t about
to turn and walk away.

With a nod, she slid onto the straight-backed wooden chair. “I’d like that, too.”
He sank into his own seat and stretched his legs out in front of him. Angie resisted the urge to fan

herself as she involuntarily conjured the image of him doing the same thing…sans jeans.

Hot.
“So, you teach math?” he asked.
She stopped examining his thighs—okay, to be honest, his crotch—and looked at him in surprise.

“How’d you know that?”

“I overheard you talking with the barista.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Was I that loud?” Her voice had a tendency to carry,

which was useful in the classroom and during football practice but a nuisance pretty much
everywhere else.

“No, not at all. Actually, technically, I didn’t so much overhear as try really hard to eavesdrop.”
Her cheeks flushed, this time with pleasure. That should probably seem more stalkerish than

flattering, but it didn’t. At least not coming from him.

“So, Miss Peterson, do you have a first name? And can I use it?”
Oh, God. Her name.
He hadn’t recognized her yet, but once he heard her name, he might recall a clumsy, four-eyed

freshman girl named Angie Peterson. When he did, he’d react like all the other men she’d known in
high school did. Like Erik Larson, who remarked at their ten-year reunion—which Cade, blissfully,
had missed due to training camp—that, wow, she wasn’t coyote-ugly anymore and he’d do her in a
heartbeat. Yeah, that had been charming. Or like Matthew Thibodeaux, whom she’d dated for a few
months before he dropped his guard and admitted his friends couldn’t believe he was shagging the
girl they all used to joke about paper-bagging so they could stand to screw her.

Ugh. Her stomach churned at that memory.
Cade had seemed like a nice guy in high school, though, particularly considering he’d been not

only captain of the football team but also homecoming king. She really didn’t want her memories of
the few conversations they’d shared tarnished by the knowledge that he was just like the rest of them.
And she didn’t want him to think of her as the pathetic, lonely creature she’d been in high school.

But then the voice of reason—and good old-fashioned arithmetic—jumped in to save the day.

There must be a dozen Angela Petersons in the Twin Cities area alone, the voice argued.

Why would he jump to the conclusion that she was that Angela Peterson, especially when she

looked nothing like she had as a teenager?

All right, then. Tell the truth and take your chances.
“It’s Angela,” she said and took a sip of her latte to cover her nerves.
“Angela, huh?” His gaze swept over her, sharp and assessing. Her pulse stuttered to a virtual

halt. Just when she was sure he had recognized her and all was lost, he said, “I like it. It suits you.”

The breath she’d been holding shuddered out of her lungs. She only wished she knew whether

relief or disappointment had forced the air from her chest. Although she truly hadn’t wanted him to
realize who she was, a part of her wished their short-lived friendship had meant half as much to him
as it had to her.

But that was then. This was now, and she was going to enjoy the heck out of the fact that the

tables had turned—or at least equalized.

“I guess I won’t change it to Agatha, then,” she said lightly.
He coughed to avoid choking on his coffee. “God, no. Why, were you thinking of doing that?”
“Well, you have to admit, it would be a lot more memorable.”
“Any man who could forget you needs his eyes examined.”
She held back a gust of harsh laughter. He’d probably used that line—or variations of it—to

great effect on any number of women in the past. It wasn’t his fault that it was the worst possible thing
he could have said to her. And for that reason, she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me so I’ll go out with you.” Or sleep with you.
“You’re right. Is it working?” he asked, his eyes puppy-dog wide and hopeful. The effect was

hilarious…and irresistible.

“Maybe.”
“Good. Pick you up at your place at, say, six o’clock?”
Her place? Crap. That was an idea that had the words “epic” and “disaster” written all over it in

capital letters.

“No, I’d rather meet you,” she said hastily. “Where are you staying?”
He named a luxury resort hotel five miles down the river on the Wisconsin side and gave a room

number on the top floor. Probably an extravagant suite with a killer view of the falls. The kind of
place she couldn’t afford to stay for even one night if she saved up for a year.

“Six thirty, then?” His smoky-lashed eyes swept over her with possessive heat, lingering on her

mouth, her throat, the swell of her breasts. She wondered again what he’d think if he realized who she
was.

God, he was so out of her league. In every possible way. They might have grown up in the same

small town, but they had nothing in common anymore. Cade had become rich, famous, and worldly. In
addition to his Texas ranch, which was probably twice the size of downtown Harper Falls, he owned
a mansion in Houston as well as a chateau in the French Alps. Over the years since he’d hit the big
time, he had dated supermodels, actresses, and heiresses. Angie, by contrast, taught math to
wisecracking teenagers, still lived with her father in the modest three-bedroom house she’d grown up
in, and counted herself lucky if she could get a date at all.

She wouldn’t lie to herself. There was no future here. This could only turn out one way—badly.
And she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn.

Chapter Two

Fourteen, fifteen, sixt…
Cade’s arms trembled and strained. Gritting his teeth against the fiery pain in his shoulder, he

lowered the barbell back into place and let loose a string of vivid curse words.

Fortunately, he was alone in the gym at the Chateau Le Croix so there was no one to object to his

vain taking of the Lord’s name and any other violations of their virgin ears.

Disgusted, he sat up and wiped the towel around the back of his neck to soak up the sweat

trickling from his hair. Damn it! Six months of rehab and training, and he still couldn’t do more than
fifteen reps at two hundred pounds. He’d never get back into the NFL before the end of the season at
this rate. He could throw as far and accurately as ever, but no one would believe he was durable
enough to take a solid hit if he couldn’t bench at least his own body weight.

He rolled his shoulder and winced. He could almost hear the clanging of metal against metal;

with all the screws and plates holding his bones together in there, he had more hardware than a Home
Depot. Despite the surgeon’s assurance that the pain would fade and his full strength would return
with time and rigorous physical therapy, Cade was no longer certain he believed it. He was no longer
certain anyone believed it.

His cell phone jangled loudly from its position atop the rack of dumbbells on the other side of

the room. He grimaced. The ring tone—Pink Floyd’s “Money”—told him it was his agent. Perfect
timing.

He rose from the bench and reached the phone before the third ring. “Hey, Stu. What’s up?”
“Interest in you, that’s what.”
Cade pulled the towel from around his neck and stared blankly in the mirror. When he’d left

Houston yesterday, there hadn’t been a single team willing even to give him a look, much less talk
dollars and cents. “What happened?”

“Haven’t you seen any of the games today?”
“No.” He’d deliberately avoided it, in fact. Watching football when he couldn’t play—or at

least have a hand in the outcome—was a form of torture.

“Got a TV handy?”
Cade glanced up at the flat-screen mounted to the wall across from the treadmill and the

stationary bike. “Yeah, hang on.” He crossed the floor and retrieved the remote from the tray mounted
to the treadmill’s instrument panel. He hit the power button. “ESPN?” he guessed.

“Nah, just turn on the NFC game. Where you are, you’ll get the right one.”
The Vikings game, then. Cade flipped through the stations until he found it. The first thing he

noticed was the score. The Vikings, who’d looked invincible during the preseason and were
considered by the pundits to be a serious contender for the Super Bowl this year, were down by four
touchdowns in the third quarter to a team they should have been trouncing by the same margin. Then,
he noticed something even odder. Warren Harris, the Vikings’s star quarterback, his archrival, and—
not entirely paradoxically—his best friend, wasn’t taking the snaps. Instead, the second-string
quarterback, who didn’t even look old enough to drive, was running the offense. Badly.

A sick feeling came over him. The kind of sick feeling that was accompanied by a tinge of hope.

And he hated himself for it.

“Where’s Warren?”
“He was in a minor car accident on the way to the stadium this morning. Broken leg,

apparently.” Stu’s tone was a little too gleeful for Cade’s liking.

“What’s this got to do with me?”
“What hasn’t it got to do with you? You know as well as I do Harris is going to be out weeks—

if not for the rest of the season—and his backup is barely out of diapers. They need a solid,
experienced replacement…pronto.”

“And they want me?” Cade was dubious. There must be half a dozen quarterbacks warming the

benches of other teams who looked better on paper than he did.

“Well,” Stu hedged, “they want to take a look at you. And I told them they’re in luck…you’re

just up the road. Said you’d drive over there tomorrow and—”

“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. It’s a fabulous stroke of luck that you’re in Minnesota already. You’re first in line for the

job. Once they see you can still chuck a ball sixty yards and with accuracy, they won’t want anyone
else. Just be there at ten a.m. sharp and—”

“I can’t do it,” Cade said quietly.
“What do you mean you can’t do it? Of course you can. You’re dying to get back in the game,

and you’re more than ready. No more dilaudid, right?”

Cade grimaced at the reminder. He’d holed up in his Texas ranch last month to kick the

painkiller habit. There was no way he was going to check into one of those plush Betty Ford–style
facilities. He knew there were rumors—there always were in these kinds of situations—but he
refused to air his dirty laundry in public. It had been the most wretched week of his life, but despite
the fact that he now felt every twinge of pain like a knife wound, he wasn’t about to backslide.

“No more dilaudid, but that has nothing to do with it. I have plans.” Plans that he hoped would

include eating breakfast in bed with a certain gorgeous blonde after keeping her awake most of the
night. He shifted to find a more comfortable position as his cock gave a happy little jerk at the
thought. Although the delectable Angela Peterson was far from the only conflict on his schedule.

“Cancel them, postpone them, whatever. I told Grimshaw you’d be there, and you can’t make a

liar out of me.” When Stu didn’t get his way, his voice had a tendency to veer into petulance.

“Sorry, Stu, I really can’t do it. Not tomorrow. Not for at least the next three weeks.”
Cade thought he actually heard Stu’s jaw drop open. “You’re not serious. I can’t believe you’re

going to pass up a chance to get back in the league to coach your high school football team for three
weeks. Getting a favorable trade and the starter’s job somewhere is all you’ve talked about since
training camp opened. Now you’ve got the chance and you’re about to blow it to play with the pee-
wees? You’re out of your mind.”

And hurting your wallet.
Cade sighed. Maybe he was out of his mind, but it didn’t feel like it. He’d promised Coach Lund

that he’d see the team through the next few weeks, since the assistant coach quite literally didn’t have
the balls for the job. Cade still couldn’t imagine a woman coaching football, even as an assistant. It
had to be obvious to anyone that she’d never played the game, but Lund swore this woman was a flat-
out genius when it came to strategy and play calling. Still, a genius at strategy and play calling wasn’t
necessarily a genius at coaching, and Cade had to assume that this was what why Lund wanted his
help.

A vague memory tickled at the back of his brain of a girl he’d met in his senior year in high

school. One with a remarkable grasp of football. She’d been the one to tell him, after they lost the
first game of the season, that the team would never win a game so long as they only had twelve
offensive plays. He remembered staring at her in awe, because that was exactly how many plays they
had, but the only way she could have figured it out was to have counted them while they were playing.

And not even the most fanatical football fans did that.

He tried to conjure an image of her and got thick glasses, long hair of an uncertain shade, and

little else. Certainly not her name. He was sure he’d known it back then—something with a “j” sound
in it; Julie or Jenny, maybe? He’d never been good with names, though, and sixteen years was a long
time. Still, he felt a twinge of guilt that he couldn’t recall more about her. In a lot of ways, she’d been
as responsible for their winning the state championship that year as either he or Lund.

All right, maybe a woman as a football coach wasn’t completely insane.
“Well, what do you have to say?” Stu prodded.
“Nothing,” Cade answered firmly, although he felt a twinge of regret as he said it. He wanted to

play again. Badly. He just hadn’t expected an opportunity to come this soon…or in this way. “We’ll
just have to pass on this opportunity, Stu. It’s not like there won’t be others.

And besides, I don’t want to get a reputation as an itinerant ‘gun for hire’ who goes back to

being a benchwarmer the minute the anointed starter recovers.” I am the anointed starter. And at this
point in his life, he’d rather retire than settle for less. He didn’t need the money. Hell, Stu didn’t need
it, either; Cade’s success, both on the football field and through endorsement contracts, had lined his
agent’s pockets nearly as well as his own.

If this turned out to be his one and only opportunity to get back on the field, he would miss the

game like hell. But he couldn’t believe it would be his only chance, and he also wasn’t going to back
out on his promise to the man who’d practically raised him. This was just the first crumb being
thrown at his feet. The Vikings were a team on the rebound, and Cade wasn’t interested in being their
first date.

Stu sighed. “You couldn’t be there by noon?” His voice held a pleading note, and Cade knew

this was more about salvaging his credibility after making a promise than any hope that Cade would
actually take the job—if it were even offered.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Noon might actually be

doable. Coach Lund had asked him to come by between nine and ten in the morning to fill out the
necessary paperwork for the district’s mandatory background check and for a primer on the team’s
roster, strengths, and weaknesses. That would take an hour at most, but Cade wouldn’t be able to take
over coaching the team until the background checks were completed and the district signed off all the
approvals—apparently, it was harder to get approval to volunteer at a school these days than to get a
job at one—and that would take a day or two.

So, what harm could it do? None, really. Going to the try-out wasn’t a commitment from him any

more than asking him to come was a commitment of an offer from the team. Even if one was
forthcoming, he could say no. And in the long run, he had a better chance of getting the kind of offer he
was looking for if he could demonstrate other teams’ interest in him than if he had no nibbles at all.

Those were all the rational reasons to agree, but the real reason he did was the hollow feeling in

the center of his chest when he imagined a future without football.

***

Angie came home to find her father sitting in his favorite armchair, its tattered upholstery

protected by a quilt her mother had made years before, with the football game blaring from the TV.
This came as no surprise, of course. He’d never done anything else on Sunday afternoons from August
through February for as long as she could remember.

Of course, she had all those afternoons to thank for her encyclopedic knowledge of the game,

since she’d spent nearly every one of them either on her father’s lap or at his knee, listening in
fascination as he explained every formation, every play call, every stratagem. What had begun purely

as an attempt by the only girl in a houseful of boys to monopolize a small portion of her father’s
attention had grown into both a passion and a calling. Thanks to her father’s tutelage and her uncanny
ability to analyze spatial patterns and mathematical probabilities, she’d worked her way from the
strange girl who liked football way too much into a position as assistant coach—and for the next few
weeks, anyway, head coach.

She walked into the living room and greeted her dad with a peck on his stubbled cheek.
“Hey, chickadee,” he said. “How was Pirates today?”
Angie grinned at the joke. He knew perfectly well it was called Pilates, but he couldn’t resist

poking fun at the name. “Good. We said ‘Ar’ the whole time.”

“Then we have something in common, because I’ve been saying ‘Ar’—and worse—at this all

afternoon.” He nodded toward the TV.

A quick glance at the screen told her why he was annoyed: the Vikings were down by four

touchdowns in the fourth quarter. And their backup quarterback—who didn’t even look old enough to
shave, let alone play in the NFL—was taking the snaps.

Angie frowned. “Where’s Harris? Are they just protecting him since there was no chance of a

comeback or was he injured earlier in the game?”

Her father’s eyes flew wide open. “Neither. Didn’t you hear? He was in a car accident on the I-

35E this morning. Ten car pile-up.”

Angie’s stomach did a nosedive. “Oh God, he’s not—?”
“No, no, nothing that serious. But the news reports say he has a broken leg—or maybe an ankle

—although the team hasn’t confirmed anything yet. Anyway, he obviously couldn’t play today after
being banged up like that.”

Her insides relaxed a bit. “Well, that’s a relief. Still, they’ll have to get someone else to play

quarterback.”

Her dad snorted. “If they don’t, I’m going to become a Packers fan.”
Angie pressed her hand to her heart and pretended she was about to swoon. “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re right. I’ll become a Cowboys fan, instead.”
“Oh, now you’re hitting below the belt.” If there was one team that every member of the Peterson

family had agreed to hate, it was the Dallas Cowboys. With the Packers, it was rivalry, but the
Cowboys they all despised on principle alone.

Her dad chuckled. “So, what’s for dinner tonight?”
A pang of guilt stabbed her in the stomach. She rarely missed a Sunday dinner with her father,

and she never did so at the drop of a hat. Although her mother had died four years ago now, Angie
hadn’t quite shaken her fear of losing her father, too. Making sure he remained healthy and didn’t sink
into depression due to loneliness was the reason she continued to live in the “apartment” over the
garage instead of getting a place of her own.

So why hadn’t she thought of that before she’d accepted Cade’s invitation tonight? The truth was,

she hadn’t because the day of the week had completely slipped her mind. If she’d remembered it was
Sunday, she would have said no.

Maybe.
She swallowed her remorse and said, a little too quickly, “I have a date tonight.”
Her dad leaned forward, instantly intrigued. A little too intrigued. “A date? With whom?”
She knew his interest was neither prying nor jealous. He’d made it clear for some time now that

he thought she should date, that he wasn’t an invalid and could handle a few nights alone. Angie knew
this was true, but what was the point of dating when she couldn’t do anything more than that? She sure

as heck wasn’t going to move a boyfriend or husband into her father’s house, but she couldn’t move
out and leave him all alone, either.

The more immediate problem was that she couldn’t tell him who she was going out with tonight,

because her father would be absolutely giddy with excitement if he discovered she had a date with
Cade Reynolds. He’d be envisioning wedding bells and a passel of football-playing grandkids in two
seconds flat.

She swallowed her remorse and lied through her teeth. “It’s not a date date, just a get-together

with some friends, Dad.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed her father’s face, and for the life of her, she wasn’t sure if it

was because he was sorry she wasn’t going on a real date or because he knew she was lying to him.
He always could see right through her.

Fearing he’d call her on it, she rushed ahead. “There’s plenty of the stroganoff we had last night

still left in the fridge. I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up.”

Already feeling as if she was doing the walk of shame, she turned and headed upstairs to her

room to figure out what on earth to wear on her date with Cade Reynolds. She wasn’t sure she had a
single thing in her closet that would be appropriate for the occasion.

On the other hand, maybe she didn’t need to worry. Brutal honesty compelled her to admit that

they might never leave his hotel room. After all, he had given her the room number rather than asking
her to meet him in the lobby or the hotel bar. That pretty well indicated what he had in mind for their
“date.”

But since it was also what she had in mind, she couldn’t take offense. After all, she’d wanted to

get into Cade Reynolds’s pants since the first time she’d seen him take a snap. True, he probably
thought she was some easy groupie-type chick who was only interested in him because he was rich
and famous. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. He couldn’t know she’d lusted after him in high
school, and she honestly didn’t want him to. Not merely because she didn’t want to be remembered as
the pathetic, geeky girl with the head for math and football, but because she didn’t want him to think
she had aspirations of something more than a hot, sweaty roll in the sheets.

Because she didn’t. She couldn’t.
Unlike Cade Reynolds, she was tied to Harper Falls. Not just by her teaching and coaching jobs,

but by her father. It had been almost five years since her mother’s death—the cancer had moved
quickly and mercilessly, and Sharon Peterson was gone a mere six weeks after her diagnosis. Though
they’d all come home as soon as the prognosis was known—Angie and all four of her older brothers
—when it was over, they’d all had to go back to their lives.

All except for Angie, who had known that if she left her father alone in the house, he’d be dead

himself within six months. Daryl Peterson had never lived alone a day in his life. He’d gone from the
farm to the military to marriage. Without someone to keep him company, he would be utterly bereft,
but there was also no way they’d ever talk him into senior housing. He’d always said old folks’
homes were for people who were either sick or senile, and he was neither. Instinct told her that if she
left him alone, he’d be like the widowers she often heard about—dead within a year of their wives.

And so, Angie was still here, living at the age of twenty-nine in the house she’d grown up in. For

the first three months, she’d had to commute to her teaching job in St. Cloud. But somehow, fate had
smiled on her. The cantankerous old math teacher at Harper Falls High, Mr.

Lovgren, who’d taught every one of her classes from algebra through calculus, retired.
Miraculously, the principal offered Angie the job with little more than a glance at her resume. In

the four and a half years since, she’d not only increased the percentage of students passing the AP

calculus exam but had also managed to work her way into the position as Harvey Lund’s assistant
coach, with results anyone had to admit were impressive. For the first time since she’d been a
freshman in high school, the Eagles might get another shot at the state championship and no one could
deny that Angie’s creative play calling was the difference.

In short, she was happy with her life just the way it was—and was going to be. She needed a

man like Cade Reynolds to sweep her off her feet and carry her away like she needed an athletic
supporter.

One night with Cade Reynolds would have to be enough to last her the rest of her life.
Because that was all she had to spare.

###

Angie pulled one dress after another from the closet, examined it, then tossed it onto the bed in

disgust.

Too plain. Too busy. Too schoolmarmish. Too downright ugly. What had possessed her to buy

that hideous thing in the first place?

One thing was for certain. If you could judge a woman’s social life by her wardrobe, Angie’s

was pathetic.

She glanced at the clock beside her bed. Almost five. She’d never make it to the mall and back

before seven.

Despair seized her. Maybe this was the universe’s way of telling her she shouldn’t go out with

him. It was certainly one clearer bit of evidence that she didn’t fit in his world any more than he’d fit
in hers.

She was halfway to dragging her cell phone from her pocket to call Chateau Le Croix and leave

a message canceling the date when it chirped of its own volition. The display lit up with Rachel
Lindsey’s name. Angie clicked the answer button and held the handset up to her ear.

Her best friend, a nurse and physical therapist with a specialty in sports medicine, didn’t even

wait for a hello. “Oh my God, Angie, you’ll never guess who’s in town!”

Angie smirked to herself. “Cade Reynolds,” she said flatly.
“What? How did you know?”
“He was at Café du Coeur when I went in to get my latte.”
“Damn. I knew I should have gone with you! But why didn’t you call and tell me?”
“No caffeine for you after three p.m. or you don’t sleep, remember? And I didn’t call and tell

you because…” Here Angie faltered.

Why hadn’t she called Rachel? It should have been the first thing she’d done after she left the

coffee shop. She never kept secrets from her friend, yet for some reason, she’d really wanted to keep
Cade Reynolds all to herself.

Selfish.
“Because he asked me out on a date tonight and I wanted to wait until after it was over to tell

you what happened.” Although she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she would have told Rachel
about it tomorrow, either. Or ever.

“You’re going on a date with Cade Reynolds? Get out!”
Angie sighed. “I didn’t actually say I was going.”
“The hell you’re not going.” Rachel sounded downright offended. “Oh my God, Ange, he’s Cade

Reynolds. Any woman would give her eye teeth and her eyes to go out with him.”

I would, too. “I know, but I don’t have anything to wear. He’s staying at Chateau Le Croix; you

know what those places are like. I don’t own a single outfit that’s dressy enough for it.”

“Then have room service delivered,” Rachel said, and Angie could hear the sly wink in her

friend’s voice.

“Trust me, the only thing he’ll want to do when he sees me in any of these rags is nominate me

for What Not to Wear.”

“Pfft, it can’t be that bad. What about the dress you wore to Kate’s bachelorette party a few

years ago?”

“Are you kidding?” It was a beautiful dress—Angie would be the first to admit that—but it was

also closer to lingerie than black tie attire. She’d chosen it for her sister-in-law’s party because the
theme had required all the attendees to wear the most outrageously sexy thing they could find. The
plain black dress, with its figure-hugging design and daringly low-cut back, had definitely fit the bill.
But to wear it in public? She might as well go out naked.

“I’m not only not kidding, I’m dead serious. You look incredible in that dress. He’s is going to

take one look at you and forget Haley Burroughs’s name.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, thanks for reminding me that the last woman he dated was a

supermodel.”

“Stop it. You’re ten times prettier than that anorexic thing. And anyway, he asked you out at the

coffee shop. What were you wearing then?”

The same thing she was wearing now—capri pants and a tank top with scalloped edges.
Nothing special, that was for sure.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, I won’t cancel.”
“And you’ll wear the black dress?”
Angie pressed her lips together. “We’ll see.”
After a brief pause, Rachel asked, “So, do you know why he’s in town?”
That question had crossed Angie’s mind when she first saw him in the coffee shop, of course, but

she hadn’t bothered to ask. Now that she thought about it, though, the answer seemed pretty obvious.
“He must be here to see Harvey.”

“Did he say that?”
“No, but it makes sense. You know Cade’s father died a few years before the family moved to

Harper Falls. Harvey’s the closest thing to a father Cade’s got.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. How long will he be here?”
“I didn’t ask him that, either.”
“Good grief, girl, you’re useless! The guy asks you on a date, and you don’t even bother to ask

why he’s here or for how long?”

“Well, I’ll be sure to find out tonight, but I can’t believe it’d be for more than a few days.
The Texans are trying to trade him, and they have to do it soon. Plus, knowing how he felt about

football in high school, I bet he can’t wait to play again.”

As she said the last few words, everything suddenly fell into place. Cade wasn’t here just to

visit his old coach. He was here because he was looking for a job as a starting quarterback. If Warren
Harris had been injured badly enough that he couldn’t play for more than a few weeks, the team’s
management would be looking for a replacement, particularly given how poorly his backup had
performed today. Cade was an obvious choice to take Harris’s place.

If the accident had occurred early this morning, Cade could have flown up from Texas and been

here by mid-afternoon, giving him an opportunity to stop in for a visit with Coach Lund before
heading to the Cities tomorrow.

That meant Cade’s sojourn in Harper Falls might last longer than a few days. It could be weeks,

Chapter Three

Cade glanced at the clock above the fireplace mantel in the living room of his suite: 6:48 p.m.
Exactly three minutes later than it had been the last time he looked.
Where was she?
He knew he’d said seven o’clock. And he knew he’d given her the name of the hotel and the

room number. She could get in touch with him if she got lost or changed her mind.

What he hadn’t done was get her cell phone number. Or her address or any other way of finding

her. So now, he wasn’t sure if she was lost, fashionably late, or just plain standing him up. The
uncertainty—and the fact that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it—chafed.

Restless, he got up from the couch and strode over to the large plate-glass windows that lined

the room. From here, he could see clear up to the falls that had given his hometown its name. Water
careened over a wide, rocky ledge that straddled the river and crashed more than one hundred feet to
the bottom. Though neither as tall nor as wide as Niagara Falls, the sight was still dramatic enough to
make the towns on both sides of the river into minor tourist attractions.

He looked at the clock again: 6:50 p.m. His shoulder began to ache, as it always did when he

was tense.

Relax, man. She’s just a girl you met in a coffee shop. If she doesn’t show up, it’s no big deal.
But for some reason, it was a big deal. And it wasn’t just his ego. It wasn’t just that he wouldn’t

get laid, either, although that was definitely disappointing. He hadn’t been so intensely or instantly
attracted to a woman in a long time. Possibly never.

Sex wasn’t the only thing he’d been looking forward to, though. Angela Peterson was a knockout,

but she was also intelligent, kind, and utterly genuine, and as a bonus, seemed completely unaware of
just how gorgeous she was. The entire time he was talking with her in the coffee shop, he’d had the
sense she was mentally looking around, trying to figure out if it was really her he was flirting with.

He paced over to the coffee table and picked up the TV remote, pointed it at the flat screen

mounted beside the fireplace, and jammed his finger on the power button, by now resigned to the fact
that she wasn’t coming. Unlikely as it seemed, it appeared Cade Reynolds was about to be stood up.

Sound blared from the speakers—why were televisions in hotels always set to turn on at full

volume?—so loud that he didn’t realize the tap on the door was real until it reached an insistent
staccato.

He pressed the power button again and then tossed the remote onto the couch as he hurried to the

door. Taking a slow, calming breath, he turned the doorknob and pulled inward, half imagining he’d
find a maid on an errand to drop off pillows or towels and bath salts.

To his relief, Angela Peterson stood in the hallway, wearing an uncertain expression and the

sexiest little black dress he’d ever seen. Made of flimsy material, the dress hugged her curves from
breasts to waist to hips then flared out into a wide skirt that ended just below her knees. It was a
simple, elegant style he’d seen many women wear, but somehow on her, it took on near mystical
qualities, managing both to leave nothing to his imagination and to make him itch to remove it so he
could explore what was beneath for himself.

“Oh,” she breathed, her cheeks pinking. “I thought for a minute I had the wrong room.”
“No, you definitely have the right room. Come in.” He stepped to the side and allowed her to

enter.

As she walked past him, he got a gander of the back of the dress—or rather the lack of it—and

almost swallowed his tongue. A deep U cut from her shoulders to the small of her back, revealing not

merely the entire length of her spine, but the dimpled indentations on either side just above her ass.

And a fine ass it was, too, judging from the way the material clung to the rounded curves.
“Is it okay?” she asked, turning to face him.
He blinked, realizing he was staring. “Is what okay?”
“The dress,” she said. “I wore it to my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party a few years ago.
I was afraid it might be a bit much.”
Much? Hell, it was barely there. Cade found himself hoping that party had been a strictly female

affair, because he instantly hated the thought of her wearing this dress for any other man.

Or taking it off for anyone but him.
“It’s perfect,” he said, meaning it. “Did you have trouble finding the place?” he asked as he

closed the door behind her. It seemed more polite than to berate her for making him think she was
standing him up by arriving almost half an hour late.

She shook her head. “No, but I did have a little trouble finding a place to park.”
Cade’s brow furrowed. That didn’t make any sense. The hotel had valet parking. There was

always space available.

He was about to say as much when he noticed Angela gazing in wide-eyed appreciation at the

room’s lavish, though tasteful, furnishings. When she spotted the polished mahogany-and-brass wet
bar stocked with its full selection of high-end spirits, he could see her calculating in her
mathematically gifted head the expense of it all and coming up with an enormous figure that was still
probably an underestimate. She drifted toward the wall of windows, brushing the back of the couch’s
butter-soft leather with her fingertips as she passed. When she reached the windows and looked out
over the river, a soft sigh of amazement escaped her.

Damn. He was an insensitive asshole.
He was accustomed to this kind of luxury and utterly unaffected by its cost. He could spend

every night for a year in a hotel like this and barely make a dent in his bank account. Even if he never
worked in the NFL another day in his life…

But Angela was a schoolteacher. To her, thirty-five dollars plus tip to valet park her car for a

few hours—or overnight, if he was lucky—would seem like an exorbitant amount of money. How
could he have forgotten what it was like to think about prices and wonder whether he could afford
something or not?

He should have told her when he’d invited her here that she could charge the valet parking to his

room. Hell, most women he’d dated, given the same set of circumstances, would have done just that
without being told. Even the ones who made six or seven figures a year.

Money just didn’t register with them, one way or another. But he would bet that the idea simply

hadn’t occurred to Angela. She seemed too unspoiled to have even considered it.

As she peered out the window, her nose almost pressed against the glass in wonder at the

spectacle below, something in his chest caught and stuck. A tender, raw sensation.

His voice apparently caught and stuck, too. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Fortunately, she saved him the trouble.
“The view is stunning.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, though of course he wasn’t thinking of the view

out the window. He was thinking of her near-naked back and curvy bottom and forever-long legs,
which were about all he could see of her at the moment. And the combination was making it damned
difficult for him to think of anything else.

But he had to think about something else. Something other than peeling that barely there dress off

her, carrying her to the bedroom, and doing not just basic math, but long division. Very long.

“Are you ready to go downstairs for dinner?” he asked.
In profile, he could see her lips purse into a frown. The expression was both endearing and

strangely familiar.

Why did he have the feeling he should know her? Not just from their encounter at the coffee

shop, but from before. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a better memory for names and
faces.

But surely she would have said something if they’d known each other, if she’d grown up here in

Harper Falls and had known him when they were kids. It must be just his imagination or a trick of the
light or maybe even a case of déjà vu.

“Downstairs?” she repeated.
“That’s where the restaurant is, yes.”
“That’s too bad.” She turned around and flashed an apologetic smile. The sense of familiarity

dissipated.

“Oh?” he prompted when she didn’t say more.
She glanced back out the window, her features silhouetted in the golden glow of the sinking sun.

“It’s just that I’d really love to watch the sunset from up here.” She looked back at him. ”You know
you never quite see it in Harper Falls, since it’s on the down side of the hill and surrounded by trees.”

He nodded. He did know. And he suddenly had a powerful urge to see the sunset from this

perspective, too. If only to share it with her…

Alone.

***

Angie turned and looked out the window again, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush heating her

face.

God, what must he think of her?
First, she’d arrived wearing a dress that practically screamed “Fuck me” at the top of its lungs—

and if the smoldering once-over Cade had given her when she came in was any indication, he’d gotten
the message loud and clear. Then she’d all but begged to stay in his room instead of going out to a
safe, public place for dinner. She couldn’t have made her intentions plainer if she’d stripped, headed
for the bedroom, and asked where he kept the condoms.

Her stomach churned. She wasn’t a prude, but she didn’t want him to think she was some loose

groupie who got off on sleeping with famous men, either. Not that it mattered to him one way or
another as long as he got laid.

Unfortunately, she found it did matter to her.
“How about a glass of wine?” he asked from somewhere behind her.
Angie looked over her shoulder to find him standing behind the extravagant wet bar.
“Sure.”
“Red or white?”
“Red, please.”
He disappeared behind the granite counter before reappearing with a bottle in his hand.
“Good answer.”
“Why do you say that?”
He chuckled as he twisted a corkscrew into the obviously expensive wine bottle. “You like your

coffee without sugar and red wine? Definitely a woman after my own heart.”

Her stomach pitched and dove. How was she supposed to take that? He couldn’t possibly mean

for her to think he was serious. It was the kind of thing a man like him probably said to women all the
time, right along with, “Of course, I’ll still respect you in the morning,” and, “I’ll call you.” Glib
words that came easily and didn’t mean anything except, “I’m willing to pretend this is something
more than a one-night-stand if it makes you feel better about having sex with a virtual stranger.”

Once again, she was reminded of just how far she was stepping outside her comfort zone tonight,

while he was well within his. He certainly seemed completely at ease.

While she…she was a bundle of nerves.
Fortunately, the cork came out of the bottle with an audible pop at just that moment, negating the

need for a clever response. He poured two glasses and brought them out from behind the bar. She
couldn’t help but admire the confident ease of his stride as he closed the distance between them, the
cut of his dark blue dress slacks accentuating the defined musculature of his legs. Their fingers grazed
as he placed the stem of the wineglass into her hand, sending a prickle of heated awareness up her
arm to the back of her neck.

Without speaking, he smiled and faced the window. The sinking sun tinged the horizon just

above the tree line with a rich purplish-red and painted the undersides of the small clouds in shades
of gold, pink, and orange. He swirled the wine in his glass before raising it to his lips and taking a
swallow.

Angie followed his lead, sipping her wine and watching in silence as brilliant color splashed

across the sky. It was undoubtedly the most expensive and delicious wine she’d ever tasted, but the
delightfully complex flavor was little more than a footnote in comparison to Cade’s presence beside
her.

Nothing had changed in sixteen years. Cade Reynolds still had the power to turn her into a

trembling, tingling mass of hunger and need merely by being alive.

“This was a great idea,” he said near her ear when the sky began to darken and the color to fade,

bringing his free hand to rest at the small of her back, just below the low-cut opening of her dress.
The warmth of his large, long-fingered palm radiated through the thin silk fabric, and the muscles in
her belly and between her thighs tightened in response.

The pressure of his hand carried a subtle yet unmistakable request. Turn toward me. Let me kiss

you, touch you, have you.

She wanted this…wanted him. Badly. And yet, she couldn’t stand for him to think she was into

the whole casual sex thing. Somehow, that would cheapen the experience for her, even if it wouldn’t
make the slightest difference to him.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said, not turning to face him.
“I know.”
He did? How?
“Like you said,” he continued, “you can’t see a proper sunset in Harper Falls.”
Oh. She swallowed hard and looked down into her now nearly empty wineglass. Had she really

downed it that fast? No wonder she was a little lightheaded. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Mm,” he murmured, sliding his hand up to her waist. “What did you mean?”
“Are you really going to make me spell it out?”
He pressed his lips to her hair, just above her ear. Sweet and gentle and so good. “I think it’s

best to start a relationship with complete honesty, don’t you?”

Oh God. Angie closed her eyes and ignored the twinge of guilt that assaulted her.
Sometimes, honesty was the best policy. Sometimes, it most definitely was not.
Anyway, it wasn’t as though he was being completely honest, either. They both knew this was a

hook-up, not a relationship.

She took a steadying breath, looked up into Cade’s ridiculously handsome face, and spilled it. “I

don’t normally sleep with men I just met.”

Or even with men she’d known a long time, when it came right down to it. Angie Peterson’s sex

life was decidedly unadventurous as a rule.

A sexy little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Who said anything about sleeping?” He

leaned in toward her, lowering his head, and—

“I’m serious,” she protested, flattening her palm against his chest to stop his forward progress.

“I know you do this all the time, but I—”

“Wait a minute.” He pulled back, looking downright offended. “You think I sleep with women I

just met on a regular basis?”

“I just assumed—”
Cade pressed a finger to her lips. “You know what they say about assuming. Just because I’m a

guy and I travel a lot doesn’t mean my life is a string of one-night stands. I prefer to take my time and
get to know a woman first.”

“Oh.” She felt oddly deflated by this revelation. “Then I don’t understand…why did you invite

me here tonight?”

He moved his hand to cradle her jaw, his expression softening. “Because you’re smart, you’re

beautiful, and for some weird reason, I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”

Angie’s stomach twisted even as her blood heated at his touch. He didn’t remember her, not

consciously, but on some level, he did know who she was. She ought to tell him the truth.

Maybe he wouldn’t laugh and push her away when he realized she was klutzy, klunky Angie

Petersen, the formerly four-eyed brain he and his friends had probably made fun of in the locker
room.

But he might.
And if he did…then this would all be over, and he’d just called her smart and beautiful, and

apparently she wasn’t just an easy lay to him.

So she said, “It’s probably because I sound like home, what with my long Os and my Ya, sures.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, brushing his thumb across her mouth, “but it feels like more than that.

Besides, I don’t even think you’ve said ‘ya, sure’ to me yet.”

Her heart beat erratically, and her knees felt soft and wobbly. She was really going to do this.

Was really going to have sex with Cade Reynolds and, instinctively, she knew it was going to be the
best sex of her life.

It was now or never. Fish or cut bait.
She turned and set her wineglass on the end table next to the sofa behind her. “We could change

that,” she said.

“Oh, really? What do you suggest?”
“Ask if you can kiss me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hm, all right.” After setting his glass next to hers, he turned back to

her and asked, with a very straight face, “Can I kiss you?”

“Ya, sure,” she drawled in her deepest, darkest Minnesota accent.
He chuckled, a low, deep rumble of appreciation. “You’re right. You do sound like home.”
Angie held her breath, waiting, but he didn’t immediately follow through. Instead, he traced his

thumb up her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear and cupped the side of her face with his large
palm. Tension built and sizzled under her skin as his hand found its way to the back of her head and

his fingers threaded through her hair.

She let out a thready little moan of pleasure as his fingers began to knead her scalp.
Surely he would kiss her now. The anticipation was killing her. But no. His other hand slid

around her waist and pressed into the small of her back, molding their bodies together. They fit like
puzzle pieces, planes to angles, convex to concave. The stark evidence of his arousal, thick and long,
rested against her belly.

He wanted her. A lot.
But still, he didn’t kiss her.
Maddening.
“Are you ever going to kiss me, then?” she asked, exasperated.
His blue eyes glittered with mirth. “Oh, ya, sure,” he drawled.
Her laugh was smothered by his mouth covering hers.
It was the kiss she’d waited for all her life—an exquisite blend of give and take, of hard and

soft, of sweet and dirty. Everything she’d ever dreamed a kiss could be, and yet nothing she’d ever
imagined in her wildest fantasies.

Lips meshed and mingled. Tongues stroked and tangled. Breath hitched and blended.
Somehow, his hands found her bottom, cupping her buttocks through the thin fabric of her dress.
He was fire and she was a forest, longing for the conflagration to sweep through her.
His mouth left her lips, traveled to her throat. Her head dropped back, the muscles too weak to

support its weight as Cade’s lips traced a path down her neck to her collarbone. She was vaguely
aware of one sleeve of the dress peeling away, exposing the overheated skin of her shoulder to the
cool air of the room.

A sudden gust of air escaped her as Cade’s mouth closed over one bare nipple—how and when

had that happened?—and suckled. Her sex grew damp and heavy with need as he teased the areola
with his tongue, and she had to cling to his broad, muscled shoulders for support.

“I knew it,” he muttered thickly against her breast.
“Knew what?” Her voice was shaky, barely recognizable as her own.
He glanced up at her through those insanely thick lashes, and she saw the intensity of her own

desire reflected in his eyes, the dark blue of his irises nearly engulfed by the black of his dilated
pupils. “That you’d have perfect breasts.”

A thrill twirled through her midsection. No one had ever called her breasts perfect before.
“How did you know?”
He ran his hand over her naked shoulder. “No bra. Knew you weren’t wearing one when I first

saw you.”

She flushed. “I can’t with this dress.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” He straightened and brushed his lips against her forehead.
“Maybe we could slip into something a little more comfortable? Like the bed.”
Her stomach pinched with nervous anticipation, but she nodded. She was about to turn and walk

toward the bedroom when he swept her, literally, off her feet and into his arms.

“Oh,” she said on a surprised whoosh.
The muscles in his arms and chest corded as he held her, but he seemed to support her weight—

which was hardly insubstantial—without effort. He felt warm and solid and deliciously male. Even
better, he made her feel utterly female, almost small and delicate. She couldn’t help smiling to herself
as she buried her face against his shoulder and inhaled his spicy, masculine scent. How often did a
woman who was almost six feet tall and loved football as much as she did get to feel like…well, like

a woman?

When they reached the bedroom, he deposited her on the edge of the king-sized bed and kicked

off his loafers. Her stomach did another nosedive when he knelt in front of her and slid his hands
around her ankles and then up her calves.

“The first thing I noticed about you was your legs, you know. Those pants you were wearing…”

He let out a low, appreciative growl.

Her thoughts were dangerously fragmented by the sensation of his palms against her bare skin,

but she tried to recall what she’d been wearing. Just a T-shirt and her khaki capris. Knock-arounds,
really.

“They weren’t anything special,” she protested weakly as he reached her knees, spreading her

legs further apart and hiking up the fabric of her dress.

“Maybe not. But what was in them sure is.”
His fingers trailed up to her inner thighs, making her gasp and raising goose bumps all the way to

her panty line. He bent his head and kissed the dimpled flesh inside her knees. Every muscle in her
lower abdomen clenched in response, though whether to intensify or alleviate the rising ache, she
wasn’t sure.

“You have great breasts,” he said, “but you have amazing legs.”
How could he keep up such a conversational tone? With his hot breath caressing her as his

mouth and hands continued their lazy trek up toward her pulsing, greedy core, she could scarcely
string two words together in her head, much less utter them.

“I’m really more of a leg man than a breast man,” he went on, “although there is one part of a

woman I like even more.” His finger slid beneath the elastic band of her panties, just brushing her
labia.

“Oh, God.” All right, maybe she could string two words together after all. But only two.
He nuzzled her clitoris through the thin fabric of her panties, inhaling deeply as if she smelled

better than a gourmet meal. As if he wanted to savor her like one.

And he was going to, she realized, her heart pounding furiously. He slipped his finger all the

way  inside  her  panties,  drew  aside  the  panel  covering  the  soft  flesh.  Her  limbs  went  warm  and
buttery  at  the  knowledge  that  he  was  really  going  to  do  it—lick  her  there—and  she  scrabbled  for
purchase  on  the  slippery  bedspread,  desperate  to  keep  herself  upright  even  as  every  muscle  in  her
body demanded she collapse back onto the bed.

“Mmmm,” he rumbled, a sound of exquisite pleasure, and then she felt the warmth of his tongue

against her folds, delving into her slit in teasing little jabs that made her want to squirm.

Not that she could. He had shifted his hands to grab her hips, holding her steady beneath the

advancing onslaught of his tongue. Heat curled in her belly as he drew closer and closer to her
clitoris but never quite touched it, the throbbing anticipation so intense, it bordered on pain.

“Please,” she whispered when she was sure she would explode if she had to wait one second

longer to feel him there.

“Easy. Just have to taste you a little more and then I’ll give you what you want, love.”
Love. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart soaring at the word. Of course he didn’t mean it, not

really, but her body didn’t care. Whether it was true or not, she felt adored—even worshipped. Never
had a lover take such time, such care, such joy in her pleasure.

He swiped his tongue more deeply between her folds now—in and out, up and down—until, at

last, he reached the swollen, molten center of her need. The pressure inside her built and built as he
concentrated his attentions on that one exquisitely sensitive and needy bit of flesh.

Chapter Four

Cade got to his feet and stood there a while, admiring his handiwork. Angela Petersen lay flat on

her back, her incredible legs hanging over the side, her dress hiked up around her waist and one
perfect breast exposed to his view. With her cheeks flushed and loose tendrils of blond hair clinging
to her temples, she was simply the sexiest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Every red-blooded
guy’s wet dream.

And she was in his bed.
Damn, he was one lucky bastard. If he’d left the coffee shop instead of sitting in the back corner,

if he’d decided to read the paper or a book instead of people-watching, he would have missed her.
Missed this.

Her respiration began to ease from the short, shallow pants of a sprinter after a race to longer,

more measured inhalations. He loved the way her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, one pebble-
hard nipple bared to his view, the other clearly outlined by the thin knit fabric of her dress. The
crotch of her panties was invitingly askew, revealing a light dusting of curls, their color a few shades
darker than the hair on her head.

As much as he wanted to take up that invitation, he wanted to savor imagining the moment when

he slid inside her. She would be tight but yielding, slick with desire, pliant with the satisfaction he’d
already given her. Her long legs would wrap around his hips, her taut nipples would brush against his
chest, and she would make those erotic, throaty moans as he thrust inside her and made her come
again.

His cock throbbed at the picture he was conjuring, but still Cade didn’t move. There could be

only one first time, and he wanted to make it last.

Just in case it was the last.
Angela cracked an eyelid and let out a little puff of exasperated laughter. “You weren’t kidding,

were you?”

“Kidding? About what?”
“Preferring to take your time.”
“Ah, that.” He gave her a lascivious grin and waggled his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking so much

about taking my time as enjoying the view. However,” he went on, popping open the first button of the
ruby red silk dress shirt he’d donned in anticipation of their dinner date, “you know what they say.”

Her gaze fastened on his chest as he continued unbuttoning. “Um, no. What do they say?”
Cade undid the last button and shrugged his shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the floor.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
He was about to prove it by climbing onto the bed with her, but she levered herself up and

pulled her legs in. As he put one knee on the bed, she reached up and traced the scar that ran along his
collarbone and across to his right shoulder.

“Did it hurt very much?” she asked, wincing a little.
As much as he hated to be reminded of his injury, he was touched by her compassion. He took

her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the fingertip that had touched the scar.
“Getting the scar didn’t hurt at all,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “The surgeon had the good sense to
knock me out before he cut into me.”

“You know that’s not what I was asking.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I do, but the last thing I want when I have a beautiful, half-undressed

woman in my bed is to talk about my shoulder. I’d much rather do this.”

She squeaked with surprise as he grabbed her by the upper arms, twisted, and fell onto his back

with her draped across his chest.

“Mm, much better,” he murmured, sliding his hands down her waist toward her hips.
“Hey, what happened to the value of waiting?” she teased.
“Oh, I think I’ve been very patient.” His fingers found the hem of her dress near her thighs. “For

example, I’ve let you keep this on far too long.” He started tugging upward.

She looked down at him, a sultry pout on her lips. “I thought you said you liked this dress.”
“Oh, I don’t just like it. I love it. But I especially love it when it’s off.”
He dragged the fabric upward, skimming the velvety skin of her thighs, hips, waist with his

knuckles. As he reached her rib cage, she let out a gasp and squirmed, and he realized she was
ticklish there. Something to explore further later. Right now, he just wanted her naked, and so he kept
moving before she could think too much about the fact that he was going to have her in nothing but her
skimpy lace panties—and soon, in nothing at all.

To his delight, she sat up to help him, straddling his hips in the process, bringing her heated,

damp core in contact with the aching ridge of his erection. He groaned, nearly overcome with the urge
to flip open his fly, rip off her panties, and sink into her without further preliminaries. She wouldn’t
resist, he was sure, but if he gave in to temptation, it would all be over that much sooner, and that
wasn’t in his game plan. No, this was more like a two-minute drill, where he had to take his
opportunity to milk the clock for every extra second to pull out the win.

Apparently unaware of his internal debate, Angela lifted her arms and pulled the dress off over

her head.

God, she was gorgeous. His cock swelled with appreciation at the full splendor of her firm but

generous breasts and the lush, feminine curve of her hips. She might be tall and slender like the
models he’d dated in the past, but unlike most of them, she was soft and round in all the right places
with none of the sharp edges—either of form or, as far as he could tell, of character.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, not intending to speak aloud but unable to keep the sentiment to

himself.

“I quite agree,” she said, smiling down at him with a ruthless little glint in her eyes.
He didn’t know what to make of that until she scooted a little farther down his legs and reached

for the waistband of his slacks. Before he could stop her—or maybe he didn’t actually want to stop
her—she had unbuttoned and unzipped him and was freeing him from his boxers.

Her hair formed an incongruously angelic halo around her head as her hand closed on his shaft

and an expression of pure, carnal satisfaction crossed her features. She slid down his legs, farther,
farther, until she was straddling his knees, but it wasn’t until her head dipped and her tongue flicked
across the head of his penis that he realized—holy crap, she really was the perfect woman.

Real coffee, red wine, and head… Oh yes!
Her tongue was magic, and his balls tightened with anticipation as each swipe became slightly

fuller, more aggressive. And then—oh, God, yes—he was in her mouth, dark and wet and sweet, with
her hand gliding up and down his length as she licked and sucked and…

Hell. In some thick but still active corner of his brain, he knew he was about to come, and he had

to stop it. Had to stop this, no matter how good it felt.

“Uh uh, love, not happening,” he admonished, levering himself up so he could escape the

seductive suction of her mouth.

“You don’t like it?” she asked.
For just a second, he read the question as a coy, female attempt to fish for a compliment, but then

he saw from her concerned expression that she was actually afraid he didn’t like it.

As if.
He sat up and pulled her toward him until her nipples grazed his chest. “I love it,” he assured

her, “but the place I want to be when I come is not your mouth.”

“That seems rather sexist,” she pointed out. “You thought it was good enough for me.”
“Oh, baby,” he said on a chuckle, “as long as you’re with me, whenever and wherever you come

is just fine. In fact, the more places, the better.”

There was no more talk after that.
He managed somehow—he couldn’t quite say how—to divest her of her delicate underwear

without shredding them, but he never did make it out of his own pants. Flipping her beneath him, he
settled between her thighs, the swollen head of his cock resting against her hot, slick entrance.
Something made him remember the condom he’d slipped into his pocket on the off chance they ever
made it to the bedroom. Resting his weight on one hand—his good shoulder—he retrieved it with the
other and opened the packet with his teeth.

He rolled it on with surprisingly steady fingers and then, gazing into her blue eyes, he eased into

her channel. His own eyes damned near rolled back into his head at the exquisite heat and tightness of
her. He was almost grateful for the barrier of the condom, because he was sure if he actually felt her,
skin to skin, the game would be over then and there.

When at last he could trust himself, he leaned down and kissed her. Gently at first, almost

chastely,  he  feathered  his  lips  across  hers  as  he  thrust  in  a  slow,  lazy  rhythm.  Her  legs  clasped  his
waist—just  as  he’d  envisioned  they  would—and  he  picked  up  the  pace  in  response,  their  kisses
becoming deeper, fiercer. Still, he fought for a thread of control until he heard the telltale whimper of
her  impending  orgasm.  Only  this  time,  it  was  ten  times  better  than  last  because  he  could  feel  her
muscles constricting, gathering around him.

He pounded into her now, all finesse and restraint gone as she cried out and shuddered,

squeezing him, pulling him onward and inward. His own orgasm started at the base of his skull,
traveling down his spine to his balls and then, finally, to his cock, the jolts of pleasure so thick and
raw, he felt almost disembodied.

Whoa. If it was this good the first time, he wasn’t sure he could survive the second, let alone the

third or the fourth…or the hundredth.

Too bad he’d never get the chance to find out, because he’d sure as hell like to try.

###

They ordered room service and ate dinner in bed, transferring the plates and silverware from the

table they were rolled in on to the laptop trays in the bedroom. Angela sat with her back propped
against a bunch of overstuffed pillows, wrapped in the silk shirt he’d discarded earlier. She looked
even sexier in his too-large shirt than in that second-skin, barely there black dress she had been
wearing when she arrived, which was hard to believe. What was it about a woman in a man’s shirt—
especially a man’s own shirt—that was so hot?

Cade didn’t have the brainpower to analyze the question at the moment, but he did know

everything about Angela Petersen was hot, in or out of his shirt. And right now, with his appetite for
food satisfied, out of it sounded pretty appealing.

“You finished?” he asked, pointing to her plate.
Placing her hand over her abdomen, she gave a little groan and nodded. “It was delicious, but I

couldn’t eat another bite.”

Given that she’d practically cleared her plate of an eight-ounce steak, baked potato, and an

assortment of vegetables, that was probably true. It was also another thing he liked about her.

None of that “Oh, I’m not very hungry; I’ll just have a salad” crap so many women pulled, as if

he’d think they were less attractive somehow if they ate like real human beings. Nothing could be
further from the truth. After all, what was the point in taking a woman out for dinner if she didn’t even
like food?

But Angela Petersen liked food. And coffee. And sex. What could be more attractive than that?
Lifting the tray from her lap, he set it on the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed facing her.

“You sure you don’t want dessert?”

Her eyes rounded. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not kidding at all,” he answered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But then, the

dessert I have in mind doesn’t have any calories.”

“Oh,” she breathed, half laughing, the vowel so perfectly Minnesotan in its length and cadence

that he went hard at the sound, “that kind of dessert.”

“Oh, ya.” He grinned as he spoke, and she laughed aloud.
Pushing her back onto the bed, he stopped her laughter with his kiss and then proceeded to treat

her to what he hoped was the best “dessert” of her life.

This time, he even managed to get out of his pants.
Two condoms and a half a dozen or so orgasms later, they fell into a companionable silence, her

head resting on his shoulder, his fingers lazily combing through her satiny hair. It was only when she
made a small, snorting sound that he realized she’d fallen asleep.

Pulling the blankets up over their shoulders, he spooned his body around hers. A perfect fit. Like

two halves of a whole.

Where had that thought come from? That was getting kind of sappy, considering he was only

going to be here for three weeks—although it occurred to him now that he hadn’t ever gotten around
to telling her why he was in Harper Falls or for how long. Oh well, there’d be plenty of time in the
morning. His wake-up call was set for five a.m.; he’d always been an early riser. That would give
him plenty of time to explain, not to mention plan another date—for tomorrow night, he hoped—and
make love before she had to leave for work.

And maybe, in those three weeks, he thought as he drifted into sleep, he and his sexy math

teacher could graduate from basic math to fractions.

***

Angie woke with a jolt and an alarming sense of disorientation. The particulars of where she

was—and with whom—came to her in pieces as she registered the masculine arm thrown over her
waist, the silky-smooth sheets against her naked skin, and the faint, lingering scent of sex.

Oh God! She was in Cade Reynolds’s hotel room and it was—she lifted her head and sought the

clock on the bedside table—past three o’clock in the morning.

She closed her eyes for a second, trying to conquer her rising panic. Okay, she was late, but she

was an adult. Her father wouldn’t be overly concerned that she wasn’t home yet—although he’d
probably ask questions in the morning she’d be hard-pressed to answer honestly—and anyway, if he
were really worried, he would have called her cell phone.

But she did need to get home. Now. And avoid waking up her sleeping partner in the process.

That way, there’d be no stilted farewells, no need for him to make promises about calling her that he
wouldn’t keep. The sex had been amazing…no, absolutely mind-blowing, a term she’d never even
understood before now, but that was all it was—sex. She’d had the time of her life, and she didn’t
want to spoil the high by giving him the opportunity to let her down, gently or otherwise.

Biting her lip, she lifted his arm cautiously, pausing when he shifted positions and mumbled

something, then sliding out from underneath when he stilled again. Thanks to a nightlight on the
opposite wall, she managed to locate her discarded dress and panties on the floor at the foot of the
bed. As she dressed, she looked around the room for her shoes, which she didn’t even recall having
taken off, eventually finding them in the hall between the suite’s bedroom and the living room. They
must have fallen off when he’d carried her to bed.

A little smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She had to admit, that had been downright

romantic. And when he’d kneeled at her feet and kissed the insides of her knees…wow. When sports
commentators said Cade had “the magic touch,” they had no idea how magical it truly was.

She’d wanted one night with him to last the rest of her life. She’d definitely gotten what she

came for.

Suppressing a giggle at the double entendre, she picked up her shoes and padded softly into the

living room. A light—dim, but enough to illuminate the space without blinding her—switched on as
she entered the room, and she started, fearing Cade had woken and turned it on.

But when she looked back toward the bedroom, she could see he was still in bed, and she

realized the room must have motion-sensing lights.

A great convenience for women doing the walk of shame.
Except she was anything but ashamed. For once, she’d done something impulsive solely to

please herself, and she felt not one iota of regret or embarrassment about that. If anything, she was
proud of herself for tossing caution to the wind and finally having the one thing she’d always wanted.

And she had to admit, the very idea that Cade wanted her, too, had already gone to her head. She

was going to be on an emotional high for days.

The only problem with what had happened tonight was that it could go from her head to her

heart. Which was why, after retrieving her handbag from the couch and slinging it over her shoulder,
she tiptoed out into the hallway without even leaving a note. Because if he hated her for sneaking out
without saying good-bye, he’d never have a chance to break her heart.

Chapter Five

By the time Cade pulled his rental car into the driveway of Harvey Lund’s red-and-white brick

house, he’d managed to talk himself down from stone-cold anger to cool irritation. Or so he thought,
until he looked at his hands gripping the steering wheel and realized his knuckles were white.

He let go and flexed his hands, trying to get the blood back into his fingers. If he held onto a

football like that this afternoon, his audition for the Vikings would be a complete disaster.

They’d think Cade Reynolds had lost his touch and word would get around. Fast.
Let it go. She was just a woman. So what if, despite her claims that she didn’t have one-night

stands, he’d really been just another notch on her belt? So what if she’d left without so much as a
“Good-bye and thanks for all the sex”? It was his own stupid fault for imagining she might actually be
interested in more than that. There was just something about her… Damn it, but he’d really bought her
Minnesota-girl-next-door act. Maybe that was why he was so pissed off. He knew he’d been had.

He took a deep breath and got out of the car. When he reached the front porch, the door opened

before he had time to knock.

“Heard you pull in,” his former coach explained from behind the screen door.
Cade tried to conceal his shock at the older man’s appearance as he followed him into the house.

Although they’d kept in touch by phone and later e-mail, it had been more than a decade and a half
since  they’d  laid  eyes  on  each  other.  Cade  had  expected  the  other  man  to  age,  of  course,  but  this
version  of  Harvey  Lund  barely  resembled  the  hale,  hearty  man  of  Cade’s  memories.  Dressed  in
pajama  pants  and  a  shabby  bathrobe,  Lund  was  still  tall  and  stocky,  but  between  the  stoop  of  his
shoulders and the tubes in his nose, he seemed pale and shrunken somehow. As he showed Cade into
the house, he moved across the floor with a shuffling gait, dragging an oxygen tank behind him.

As if sensing Cade’s discomfort, Lund said, “Besides the damn ticker, I came down with

pneumonia. Have to be on the oxygen for another week or two, just to be safe.” He plopped down on
a tan leather La-Z-Boy directly across from the TV. On the end table beside it was an assortment of
pill bottles, a half-empty glass of water, a box of tissues, and one of those home blood pressure
monitors.

A sudden, crushing sense of guilt punched Cade in the gut as, for the first time, the seriousness of

the situation hit him. Harvey had come damned close to dying. How had Cade managed to let fifteen
years pass without even once coming to visit this man who’d been coach, mentor, and father figure to
him all through high school? Would it have been that hard to make the time?

No, it wouldn’t have been hard at all. So why hadn’t he?
But he knew why. He hadn’t because he’d been too busy living the high life and enjoying his

fame and fortune to give any thought to the possibility that the man to whom he owed a lot of his
success was getting older and, yes, would one day no longer be around.

Lund gestured toward the couch. “Have a seat, son.”
Despite a recent upholstery job, the sofa was clearly the same one he’d sat on numerous times as

a teenager. The cushions hadn’t improved with age. “Thanks.”

He swallowed, wondering how to broach the question that was foremost in his mind.
Lund had said it would be a few weeks until he’d be ready to return to coaching. Seeing him

now, Cade wasn’t so sure that was either possible or prudent.

“You thirsty? I can get you a glass of water. Or coffee.” Lund started to stand, but Cade quickly

shook his head.

“No, no, don’t get up. I’m fine. And if I need anything, I can get it for myself.”

“Ah, I see,” Lund said with a chuckle. “Afraid I’m about to keel over, eh?”
“Well, to be honest, Coach, you’re not exactly the picture of health.”
Lund waved a hand. “I’m nowhere near death’s door. The heart attack was mild. If it weren’t for

the damned pneumonia I picked up in the hospital, I’d have been back to work in a few days.” He
covered his mouth and coughed wetly.

Cade wasn’t sure his friend’s doctor would have approved of that plan, but he was slightly

reassured. If it was pneumonia and not the heart attack that made him look so frail, Lund would
probably recover relatively quickly.

“So, three weeks is going to be enough?”
“My doctor says I should be fit as a fiddle by early October. Just have to keep on the beta

blockers and cut down on the salt and cholesterol. And finish the antibiotics, of course.”

Cade nodded. “All right, then. I’m yours for the next three weeks. But you have to fill me in on

why you need me. Don’t you trust your assistant coach run the team in your absence?”

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t trust Angie! She’s a genius when it comes to drawing up plays, and the

kids worship the ground she walks on.” Lund let out a wheezy laugh. “And what teenage boy in his
right mind wouldn’t? She looks more like a supermodel than a math teacher, let alone a football
coach. In fact, I think every boy in school is taking calculus now, just to spend his senior year
mooning over her.”

As Lund rambled through his explanation, Cade felt everything in his brain shifting and snapping

together like the parts of Tony Stark’s Iron Man suit. Angie. Click. Supermodel. Click.

Math teacher. Click. Calculus. Click.
He closed his eyes and flopped back against the couch, stunned and a little amused.
Angela Petersen—the woman who’d rocked his world last night and then given him the coyote

ugly treatment—was the assistant coach of the football team. And Harvey Lund wanted Cade to take
over the team and be her boss.

Irony was a beautiful thing. He’d been ready to let the whole incident go, even though he’d

known it would be easy enough to find her. He just hadn’t seen the point in pursuing her when it was
obvious she didn’t want to be pursued.

But now…now he was looking forward to just a little taste of revenge. Not that he’d abuse his

position of authority, of course. He had no intention of treating her badly or sabotaging her with the
team. He just couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realized she hadn’t gotten rid of him
so easily.

“It’s not her I have the problem with,” Lund finished.
Cade dragged his attention back to his old friend. “Then I don’t understand why you want me to

fill in for you as head coach. If you have so much faith in her…”

The older man heaved a breath and shook his head. “It’s Chuck Donnelly, the other assistant

coach. He may be twenty years younger than me, but he’s still old school. When I passed him over
and put her in charge of running practices and calling plays, he was furious.

Told me I was an idiot to put a woman in that position and insinuated I must be—how’d he put

it?—‘banging’ her.” He looked down at himself pointedly and gave a derisive chuckle. “As if, right?”

“If he doesn’t agree with your decisions as head coach, why don’t you fire him?”
“It’s not as easy in high school football as it is in the NFL. Donnelly isn’t my employee; he’s an

employee of the school district. I can’t fire him any more than he can fire me. All I can do is assign
my staff the roles I think they’re best suited to. Angie was best suited to the lead assistant position,
hands-down. But that’s the reason I need someone like you to fill in as head coach.” Lund gave Cade

an imploring look. “We have our first real shot at winning the state championship since your senior
year, Cade, and it’s mostly because of Angie’s brilliant play-making and play-calling. I can’t take the
chance that Donnelly will ruin that because he thinks he should have her job.”

Cade was beginning to appreciate the older man’s dilemma. “So, how do I come into this? What

can I do to help?”

“Just be a figurehead. To be honest, I’m not much more than that these days, anyway. Let Angie

run practice and call plays like she normally does and make sure Donnelly doesn’t constantly
interfere or try to sabotage her.”

“Okay. I do have a question, though.”
“Shoot.”
“Why isn’t she here? Shouldn’t she know what you’re doing?”
“That’s two questions, son,” Lund pointed out.
“Related, though.”
“True.” At that moment, his coach was overtaken by a coughing fit. Lund reached for his glass of

water, but his arm was so unsteady that he only managed to knock it over.

Cade leaped to his feet to help, taking the glass to the kitchen to refill it while simultaneously

grabbing a towel from the rack to dry up the spill. Once there, he couldn’t help noticing the sink piled
high with dirty dishes and the filthy counters and stovetop. Not to mention the empty pizza and
Chinese take-out boxes.

Damn it, had no one in Harper Falls realized that Harvey needed help? The man might have been

divorced for more than twenty years, but he’d just had a heart attack complicated by pneumonia. He
couldn’t take care of himself, for God’s sake.

Before returning to the living room, Cade resolved to hire someone to cook and clean for Lund,

at least until he was back on his feet. The pneumonia might not kill him, but his coronary problems
weren’t going to get any better if he ate nothing but pizza and Chinese takeout.

After he’d taken a few sips of water, Lund’s coughing eased, and Cade returned to his position

on the couch.

“Angie’s not here because if she knew what I was doing, she’d refuse to let me do it.
First, she’d be determined to handle it by herself. Second, she’d be angry with me for not

trusting her to be able to. And third, even if she would allow this, if she isn’t hostile toward you,
Donnelly will be onto you in a minute. He’ll only believe you’re really in charge if Angie believes
you’re really in charge.” He covered his mouth as he coughed again, this time more gently. “Well, if
you knew her, you’d understand.”

Cade smiled to himself. He did know her. Intimately.
“Come to think of it, though,” Lund continued, scratching his stubbly chin, “maybe you do know

her. If I remember right, she was a freshman when you were a senior.”

The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. The sensation that he knew her from somewhere—it

hadn’t been his imagination. He did know her. Angie Petersen was the name of the tall, gawky girl
with the thick glasses and long hair who’d told him they’d never win with only twelve plays. The girl
who, over a few simple conversations that year, had been as responsible for making his career as
anyone.

And she hadn’t told him who she was. Had actually, now that he thought of it, flat-out lied when

he’d asked.

Why hadn’t she told him? Was she insulted because he hadn’t remembered on his own?
It was the sort of pettiness he could imagine a lot of beautiful women engaging in, given past

experience, but it didn’t seem to fit in Angela’s case. Partly because she didn’t seem aware of just
how beautiful she was, and that made sense now, too. She hadn’t been beautiful at fourteen, and she
hadn’t adjusted yet to the fact that she was nothing short of a knockout now.

He shook his head. Women! They made no sense at all. He didn’t understand why she’d

pretended they didn’t know each other, and he didn’t understand why she’d left without a word.

But now, at least, he was damned sure he was going to find out.

###

Whether it was because his shoulder was healing better than he thought or because he was

looking forward to getting to the bottom of the mystery of Angie Peterson—and maybe even to the
bottom of her again—Cade’s “audition” with the Vikings that afternoon went exceptionally well. The
GM gushed with enthusiasm over the fact that Cade hadn’t lost his touch despite the long recovery,
and the head coach had been impressed with his range and accuracy as well as his ability to read
defenses and fit into their existing offensive system without advance preparation.

When the interview was over, Cade was fairly confident that they’d offer him the position, and

with trade conditions favorable enough that the Texans might want to do the deal.

Cade could refuse to accept the trade, of course, but getting back on the field today had been

such a rush, he was rethinking his opposition to the whole “hired gun” thing. But before he could even
consider accepting an offer, there was someone he had to talk to first.

He stopped at a liquor store for a six-pack of beer and then headed to Regions Hospital in St.

Paul. Getting to Warren’s room took a little doing, since the hospital had him parked in a private
room in a private wing with access only granted to family and the close personal friends on the list
Warren had provided. Cade’s name was not, as it happened, on the list, but the security guard
immediately recognized him and let him in without question. Giving the guy his autograph probably
hadn’t hurt, either.

Warren was in Room 426, an IV line poking out of his arm and one leg in a cast all the way up to

his hip and suspended from one of those slings hanging from the ceiling. Cade winced at the sight of
that immobilized leg as well as the stitched and butterflied cut above Warren’s right eye. His accident
and injuries were obviously a lot worse than the Vikings’ publicists had let on.

“Hey,” he said from the doorway, holding up the six-pack of Warren’s favorite Minnesota

microbrew, “you allowed to have a drink or are you getting it all intravenously?”

Warren cracked a grin. “Nah, this is just blood-thinners, not painkillers,” he said, tugging on the

IV line for emphasis. “They’re afraid I might throw a clot. I seem to recall I’m not supposed to drink
alcohol while I’m on them, but I’m sure I can get the nurse to approve one bottle of beer.”

“I’m sure you can.” In fact, Cade would bet the nurses would let Warren Harris get away with

just about anything, not only because he was rich and famous, but because he was both charismatic
and good-looking. He and Cade had spent enough of their off-seasons together for Cade to know that
when it came down to it, more women were interested in getting into Warren’s pants than his.

Warren pushed a button on the remote attached to the bed railing and pointed to the chair beside

him. “Have a seat. One of the advantages to the hospital VIP treatment is that it won’t take long for
one of the nurses to come running.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, a petite middle-aged woman in pale blue scrubs appeared in

the doorway. “What can I do for you, Mr. Harris?” Even though she was obviously almost old enough
to be Warren’s mother, her tone held the brightness of a teenage girl with a crush.

“My friend here brought a six-pack of beer instead of flowers. I know I’m not supposed to drink

on this medication, but I wondered…”

The nurse seemed to notice Cade sitting in the visitor’s chair for the first time, and her eyes

widened a notch. “Aren’t you…?”

Cade stood up and extended his hand. “Cade Reynolds. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms.—” He

quickly read the name badge slung around her neck. “Wallem.”

She clasped his hand, her cheeks pink with pleasure that he’d bothered to discover her name.

“No, the pleasure’s all mine. My husband isn’t going to believe it when I tell him I’m nursing Warren
Harris and I met Cade Reynolds. Only the two greatest football players in Minnesota history.”

Cade laughed. “I’m pretty sure Fran Tarkenton and Alan Page would disagree with that, but I’m

flattered you think so.”

“So, I can have that beer, then?” Warren interjected.
Nurse Wallem smiled. “I’ll just notify the doctor, and he’ll order your IV drip turned down a bit.

But only one,” she cautioned, wagging a warning finger before ducking out the door and leaving the
two of them alone.

Cade fished the bottle opener he’d purchased for the occasion from his pocket and cracked the

caps from two of the longnecks.

Warren took his and raised it for a toast. “To not being dead.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Cade declared, clicking his bottle against his friend’s. After several healthy

swallows, he decided it was time to broach the subject. “This looks like more than six weeks on
injured reserve to me.”

“Uh, yeah, no shit.” Warren gave an exasperated snort. “But you know how it is. They want to

appease the fans. Don’t want to tell them the season’s flushed down the toilet until the water’s
actually swirling in the bowl.”

Cade nodded. It had been the same when he’d been injured. The Texans’ spokesman had made

early  predictions  of  Cade’s  swift  return  to  the  field,  hoping  to  assuage  the  public’s  anxiety  over
losing  their  star  quarterback  midway  through  a  winning  season.  Of  course,  the  need  for  such
comforting assurances had quickly evaporated when Cade’s neophyte replacement, unlike Warren’s,
had  not  only  stepped  into  Cade’s  shoes  but  filled  them  so  well,  they’d  become  his  own.  The
knowledge that he’d been so easily replaced still chafed.

Which brought him back to the reason he was here.
After taking another long pull from the sweating bottle, Cade asked, “What the hell happened,

anyway?”

“Some idiot in a motorcycle was weaving through traffic on the 35E. He cut off the woman in the

lane next to me, and she swerved to avoid him, but she caught the rear corner of the Maser. Next thing
I know, I’m spun around backward and the guy behind me is plowing into me head-on at fifty-plus.”

Cade let out a low whistle. “That sounds bad.”
“I tell you, when I saw that SUV coming for me, I thought for sure I was a goner.
Considering it took them half an hour to cut me out of the Maser—and let me tell you, I tried like

hell to convince them to save the car, not me—I’m one lucky SOB. Although now I’ve got a leg full of
pins and plates to match your shoulder.”

“Maybe when we retire from football, we can open a chain of hardware stores,” Cade joked.

“Harris and Reynolds’s Patch ’Em Up Parts.”

Warren smiled, but the expression was grim. “I may need that backup plan sooner than later.”
“Whoa, you’re not saying this is going to end your career, are you?”
His friend shrugged. “Hard to tell. My ankle was crushed between the clutch and the

floorboards. The doctors promise I’ll be able to walk again, but they’re not giving me a whole lot of

hope for anything more than that. Of course, until the break heals and we find out how the rehab goes,
I guess I have to believe there’s a chance.”

Cade was silent as he digested this information. If Warren couldn’t come back, then Cade

wouldn’t  be  stealing  his  job  if  he  accepted  the  Vikings’  offer,  which  he  had  no  doubt  would  be
forthcoming.  Moreover,  if  Warren  was  forced  into  retirement  by  his  injury,  the  position  with  the
Vikings  could  be  what  Cade  wanted—an  opportunity  for  a  long-term  contract  and  maybe  even  a
Super Bowl ring.

The problem was, it was too damn soon to know. And there’d be no knowing for weeks, if not

months. Certainly not before the trade deadline in November.

“I met with the team today,” he said at last. He knew he didn’t need to elaborate as to which

team or why.

Warren nodded. “I figured.”
“I think they’re going to offer me the job.”
“You should take it. You’ll slide right into the offensive scheme.” There was no hint of

bitterness or envy in Warren’s voice.

And that lack of emotion was what made up Cade’s mind. His friend was still in shock.
“We’ll see.” Cade nodded and the two of them lapsed into silence as they finished their beers.
When Cade left twenty minutes later, he was sure of two things. First, Warren had a long road

back to the NFL, if he made it back at all. Second, Cade was not going to be the man who stood in
Warren’s way if he did.

***

Angie resolutely ignored the vibrating cell phone in her pocket as she grabbed her clipboard and

whistle from her desk and headed out of the coaches’ office.

It was not him. It couldn’t be him. She’d made sure of that. And that was the way she wanted it.

No sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, no angsting over whether a man meant what he said
when he promised to call.

So why did she jump a little every time the phone jingled? Intellectually, she knew it could not—

and would not—be Cade Reynolds. Even if he wanted to be bothered to try to find her, which was
doubtful to begin with, both her cell phone and her home phone number were unlisted. Besides, he
was probably already back in Texas by now. Why would he hang around Harper Falls any longer than
necessary? He hadn’t been back in sixteen years, so it didn’t seem likely he had any sentimental
attachment to the place.

But none of that logic had stopped her heart from fluttering every time a phone rang—or vibrated

—for the past two days.

The vibrations stopped…then started up again.
Angie took a deep breath, fished the phone from her pocket, and glanced at the display.
Rachel. Not Cade. Of course not.
Although she was already running late to practice, Angie knew if she didn’t answer the phone,

her friend would keep calling until she did.

A few students still wandered the halls, their voices echoing in the corridors, so Angie hurried

through the double doors that led out to the ramp up to the field before pushing the talk button.

“Hey, Rach,” she said quickly, “what’s up? I’m late for practice.”
“What’s up?” Rachel demanded. “Didn’t you get my messages?”
“What messages?” Angie’s stomach pinched with instant anxiety. Was something wrong with her

father? Had Harvey taken a turn for the worse? Damn it, she shouldn’t have ignored the phone all day.

She should have checked her messages at lunch, at least. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“The three I left since this morning. But never mind. I just thought you’d like to know that I got a

phone call from Cade Reynolds this morning.”

“What?” Angie stopped halfway up the ramp, her mind racing. It was a coincidence. It had to be.

There was no way Cade could possibly know that she and Rachel were friends. In fact, there was no
way Cade could know Rachel at all. “What about?”

“He said he was worried about Harvey. Asked if I could arrange for an in-home caregiver for

him. Apparently, Harvey’s been eating nothing but take-out and hasn’t cleaned the kitchen since he got
home from the hospital. I guess Cade got my phone number from Harvey’s fridge and figured I’d
know who to call.”

Angie breathed a slow, deep sigh of relief and started walking again. She could hear the excited

voices of her players as she neared the top of the ramp and wondered what the ruckus was about.
Probably Donnelly dissing her for being late.

“And this was critical for me to know because…?”
“Because I sent Donna Halstedt over to Harvey’s about an hour later and guess who was there?”
Of course, Angie didn’t have to guess. She knew. “Cade.”
So he was still here in town. So what? It didn’t mean anything. He’d stayed to visit Harvey, not

because he was trying to track her down like some latter-day Cinderella.

“Uh huh,” Rachel confirmed. “But that’s not all.”
Angie had just reached the top of the ramp and could now see the members of her team clustered

in a large semi-circle on the opposite side of the playing field, their backs to her. They had quieted,
and their attention was fixed on someone or something she couldn’t see from her vantage point. It was
not, however, her assistant coach, Chuck Donnelly, because he stood off to one side, arms crossed
over his chest, watching whoever or whatever was monopolizing her players.

What the hell?
“Did you hear me, Ange? There’s more.”
“Yeah,” Angie answered absentmindedly as she broke into a jog.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to peer through the mass of padded and uniformed bodies to see

what the boys were focused on.

“Angie, where are you now?”
“On the field. And something weird’s going on. I’m going to have to call you back later.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear, ready to hang up, but Rachel’s urgent voice stopped

her.

“No, wait! I know what’s going on. It’s why I called. I wanted you to be prepared.”
Angie came to a halt in the middle of the grassy field, about twenty feet from the crowd.
“Prepared for what?”
At that precise moment, the source of the team’s excitement stood up. Every ounce of blood left

her brain as her gaze met Cade’s over the heads of her players and Rachel said, “Cade’s taking over
the head coaching position until Harvey gets well.”

Angie stopped dead in her tracks, aghast and furious.
To think that she’d been worried he might steal her heart when, unfathomable as it seemed, he’d

apparently come to Harper Falls to steal her job.

No, not just her job. Her life.

Chapter Six

The last person Cade expected to find waiting for him in the high school’s parking lot when

practice was over was Angie Peterson. But as he approached his rented Cadillac CTS, he had no
doubt whatsoever that the tall, curvy blonde resting her hip against the hood was none other. She
could have passed for a car show model if she hadn’t looked angrier than a wet cat.

Which made her even sexier somehow.
One would think from the way she glowered at him that he’d given her the coyote ugly treatment

the other night, not the other way around.

After her hasty retreat from the field after practice, he’d figured he wasn’t going to get either an

apology  or  an  explanation  for  at  least  another  few  days.  She’d  barely  acknowledged  his  existence
throughout the two-hour-long practice, not that he’d been inclined to push the issue in front of forty-
four  teenage  boys  who  all  plainly  worshipped  the  ground  she  walked  on.  Despite  their  obvious
excitement  at  meeting—and  being  coached  by—a  real,  live  NFL  star,  Cade  wasn’t  one  hundred
percent sure they wouldn’t all try to beat the living crap out of him if they thought he’d done anything
to hurt their beloved Coach Pete, as they called her.

In any event, the parking lot was deserted but for the two of them and a few cars, and he wanted

answers. Perhaps a little contrition. And most of all, another night with her naked and moaning in his
bed.

Actually, the last would almost make up for everything else. Even now, with her eyes spitting

angry fire at him, he was mentally undressing her, peeling off her jeans, sliding his hands up her
forever-long legs, and bending her over the polished hood of the car.

“I’m glad you waited,” he said when he knew he was in earshot. “I figured you were going to run

out on me again.” Surprisingly, the words held no real sting. His brief, lurid fantasy had taken the
edge off his outrage.

Hers, on the other hand, hadn’t dissipated. She pushed away from the car, stood up straight, and

crossed her arms. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I didn’t know there was a subject.”
“Then I’ll make it simple for you. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. I’m perfectly

capable of coaching this team by myself.”

Ah, there it was. At least they had that out in the open. Too bad he couldn’t explain that the team

wasn’t the problem, but he respected Lund’s intuition enough to keep his counsel.

“I know you are,” he said.
She let out a frustrated breath. “Then why are you doing it?”
“Because Coach Lund asked me to.”
“And if I ask you not to?”
A part of him—especially the part below his belt—would have liked nothing better than to do

whatever she wanted, particularly when she was standing right there and he could have her in his
arms inside of two seconds. He could be kissing her, tasting her delectable lips, cupping the round
curve of her buttocks, coaxing her back into his bed this very second if he just said yes.

But another part of him was still angry. She hadn’t even acknowledged what she’d done the other

night, let alone apologized for it, and he’d be damned if he was letting her get away without doing
both.

And right now, the only way he could think of to get them was to be in her life, whether she liked

it or not.

“Sorry. I gave my word to Coach. I won’t go back on it now.”
For several seconds, she didn’t say anything, and he could swear he caught a glimmer of tears in

her eyes. He really didn’t get it. She still had her job, and she’d have it when Harvey got back. What
possible difference could it make if he was acting head coach for three weeks?

“Fine,” she said at last. Her hands fisted at her sides, she turned to leave. She took two steps,

then stopped and whirled to face him, her expression fierce with anger and…was it hurt?

“Just tell me, before I go. Was it worth it?”
Now he was really at a loss. “Was what worth what?”
“Getting me into bed the other night so you could have a good laugh at my expense today?”
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
“Oh, come on. You can’t expect me to believe you didn’t know exactly who I was when we ran

into each other in that coffee shop. It must have been very amusing, pretending you didn’t know me,
pretending to find me attractive…” Her voice hitched, and she trailed off. “Oh, just forget it.” She
started away from him again.

Cade felt as if he’d been standing in a pitch-black room and someone had just switched on the

light. Blinded. Or maybe more accurately, blindsided. That was the last accusation he’d expected.

He grabbed her wrist to prevent her from getting away. She glared over her shoulder at him and

yanked, but he made up the space between them in three easy strides. There were times when being
six foot five was a definite advantage. Especially now, when she was wearing a sensible pair of flats
and he had a good six inches on her.

“I had no idea who you were until I talked to Coach this morning and put it together. And if you

think I was pretending last night, you must also think I’m one hell of an actor,” he ground out.

She opened her mouth, no doubt to shoot off some blistering retort, but he didn’t give her the

chance. Instead, he bent his head and slanted his lips across hers, plundering her mouth with all the
pent-up hunger and frustration of the last couple of days. First, she sneaked out on him in the dead of
night, and now she accused him of faking it! How could she even imagine that was possible?

As his mouth captured hers, she stiffened with surprise or indignation, maybe both. It didn’t

matter. He deepened his onslaught, not sure if he was trying to punish her or subdue her and not really
caring which it was. She tasted even better than he remembered, which hardly seemed possible, since
his memory assured him she tasted like fresh, ripe peaches and sunshine, but the reality was better—
sweeter, hotter, richer. When she melted against him with a groan of surrender and met the stroke of
his tongue with her own, he wanted to pump his fist at the sky and shout with triumph.

Yes, this…this was the truth. He cupped her ass in his palms and rolled her hips against the

solid weight of his growing erection.

You see? See what you do to me?
She could walk out on him, she could hate his interference in her life, but she couldn’t deny that

this was real. And very mutual.

When Cade broke the kiss, it wasn’t because he remembered that they were still in the high

school parking lot, which might not be exactly the best place for a teacher to be caught making out
with anyone, but especially not him.

It was because they were caught. By the worst person possible.
The whistling catcall was nothing short of deafening.
“Damn,” Cade muttered when he turned and saw Chuck Donnelly bearing down on them from the

other side of the parking lot.

Angie murmured something a little more colorful.

Instinctively, Cade moved to shield her, standing between her and her adversary.
“You shoulda told me you were hot for teacher, Reynolds,” Donnelly shouted. “I could’ve

warned you she sucks up to all the head coaches.”

“I do not,” Angie said, her voice low and fierce.
Hell. Lund had asked him to take over the team to act as a buffer between Angie and Donnelly,

but Cade doubted this was what his former coach had had in mind. If Donnelly thought he and Angie
were in bed together—figuratively as well as literally—he’d never see Cade as a neutral party with
only the good of the team at heart.

Thinking fast wasn’t easy under the circumstances, but Cade did the best he could to salvage the

situation.

He laughed hollowly. “Nah, you’ve got it all wrong. She was waiting here to give me a piece of

her mind. I decided to show her a better way to use her mouth.”

“What!”
Cade ignored Angie’s outraged gasp and focused on the man bearing down on them.
“Good job, man,” Donnelly said, close enough now to clap Cade on the shoulder.
“Maybe you can keep her in her place better than Lund. You know, show her who’s boss.”
Donnelly was grinning like a madman.
Asshole.
Angie gave Cade a violent shove from behind. “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe you. Either of

you.”

Don’t believe me. It’s not true.
But he couldn’t implore her to understand what he was up to, so instead, he let her give him a

withering look before stalking off to her car. Cade watched her go, her spine ramrod straight, her
head held high.

Damn. He’d been so close to having her back in his bed. Now, thanks to this Neanderthal and

Harvey Lund, he was back to square one.

Her car door slammed so violently, the asphalt beneath his feet seemed to shake.
Make that square negative one.

***

One would think this was the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first.
Not that Angie was surprised by Donnelly’s attitude. She knew he was a dinosaur who, despite

being in his forties, still clung to the past in the vain hope it would save him from his own ineptitude.
But she hadn’t expected it from Cade, who was her age and certainly not inept.

Especially not in bed.
God, she had to stop that. Right now, before her stupid, chemical attraction to Cade Reynolds

led her to do something really dimwitted.

Like sleep with him again.
He was as big a jerk as Donnelly. Bigger, even. Because he’d pretended to be different, and he

wasn’t.

Unfortunately, that knowledge didn’t stop her body from tingling with expectation at the thought

of seeing him at practice this afternoon. And the next. And the next. And the next.

How on earth was she going to get through three weeks of having him constantly in her orbit? It

was bad enough that Harvey had decided she wasn’t capable of running the team herself. To have it
be Cade, of all people, was injury on top of insult. Temptation on top of torment.

She turned the corner that led from the teacher’s lounge to her classroom and drew up short.

Donnelly leaned against her classroom’s door, arms crossed over his muscular chest. She reflected,
not for the first time, that if he weren’t such an unmitigated asshole, Donnelly might actually be
attractive. He was in excellent physical shape for a man approaching forty-five, with solid biceps and
a great set of pecs he displayed by wearing snugly fitted T-shirts at every possible opportunity.
Combine his physique with his square jaw, slightly hooked nose, and military-cropped hair, and she
could almost understand how he’d been able to get married.

The mystery was how he stayed that way. And how he had managed to raise three really great

kids, including a daughter who was one of Angie’s star pupils.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Waiting for you.”
She rolled her eyes. How stupid did he think she was? Wait, never mind. She knew the answer

to that.

“Why?”
“Reynolds wants to talk to you before practice starts.”
Angie’s heartbeat accelerated at the mention of Cade’s name. Damn him, it was bad enough that

she had barely been able to concentrate at yesterday afternoon’s practice because she’d known he
was there…watching her, judging her, undressing her in his mind.

Okay, so maybe that last bit was her projecting. She was sure as heck undressing him in her

mind, and it was distracting as hell.

“Then maybe he should actually come and talk to me himself, instead of sending his errand boy.”

She reached for the door handle, hoping Donnelly would move aside if she didn’t appear intimidated.

He didn’t budge. “Reynolds didn’t send me. I came to tell you to stop being such a tight-assed

bitch and come to the coach’s office instead of hiding in your classroom.”

“I’m not hiding.” Liar. She was hiding.
Although whether she was hiding from Cade or from herself, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was

that he was a threat to her future—if Harvey didn’t think she was competent to take over the head
coaching position for a few weeks, why on earth would anyone believe she was capable of doing it
after he retired?—not to her peace of mind and to her willpower. Even knowing he was a lying, job-
stealing male chauvinist couldn’t keep the erotic details of their night together from replaying
themselves in her mind…or prevent her body from longing to repeat them.

“Oh, come on, you were always the first one there when Harvey was head coach. You had him

pussy-whipped into letting you do whatever you wanted, so why wouldn’t you be in a hurry to get
started? But now that you know you have to deal with a real man, you’re too chicken. Just like a
woman,” he added with a dismissive snort. “You can’t take the heat.”

Angie’s hands curled into fists. Oh, how she would dearly love to punch him in his smug face

and make that nose of his hook just a little more.

Ignoring the flutters in her stomach at the thought of talking to Cade, she gave Donnelly a

saccharine sweet smile and said, “Not only can I take the heat, I’m more than happy to start the fire.
I’ll go and find Reynolds myself. Right now.”

As she started in the direction of the coaches’ office, Donnelly emitted a surprised grunt.
Angie turned in time to see the door give way behind him, causing him to jump away to avoid

falling.

“That won’t be necessary,” Cade said, poking his head out of the partially open doorway.
“You’ve already found me.”

***

Cade hadn’t planned on waiting for her. As soon as he opened the door to Angie’s classroom,

however, he’d felt compelled to explore. It bore absolutely no resemblance to the drab, regimented
ones of his high school days.

The walls had been repainted from their institutional greenish-white to a warm, lively shade of

yellow. Posters hung around the room: Da Vinci’s Renaissance Man, the Parthenon, the dome of the
Pantheon, the periodic table, and so on. Several counters lined the walls. An assortment of abacuses
in different styles was piled on one counter while the others were covered with wooden building
blocks, tinker toys, and dominos. Finally, in the far corner of the room was a large table with a half-
finished jigsaw puzzle on it.

And then there were the chairs and desks. Gone were the orderly rows of his youth.
Instead, the chairs were arranged—or rather disarranged—in haphazard groupings of two or

three or sometimes four, the desks pointed toward the center.

All in all, it looked more like a kindergarten playroom than a high school math classroom.
And yet, it was clearly not just a playroom. Formulas and proofs were scrawled on the

whiteboard in a feminine hand. He could tell from what she’d written that the last class of the day had
been calculus, not because he could understand it, but because he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
He remembered what Coach Lund had said about the school having to add another section of calculus
due to Miss Peterson’s popularity among the boys. Cade had a feeling now it wasn’t just the boys.
Everything about this room said that her classes would never be boring.

He’d been pondering whether he’d have done better or worse in math if he’d had a teacher as

hot as Miss Peterson—cheerleaders and several members of the girls’ volleyball team had been more
than sufficient to stoke his overactive teenage libido—when he’d heard muffled voices from the other
side of the door.

And that was how he came to witness one of the most flagrant examples of verbal sexual

harassment of his life. All right, maybe it was the only one he’d ever witnessed personally. But he
sure as hell recognized it when he heard it.

Donnelly was nothing short of a pig. The man had no business teaching high school with that

attitude. If he treated a coworker that way, how did he treat his female students, for God’s sake? The
situation was far worse—and far more clear-cut—than Lund had led Cade to believe, and he was
angry with his mentor for tolerating such clearly intolerable behavior.

Even more, he was baffled and frustrated by Angie’s response…or lack of one. From everything

he’d seen, she was a smart, capable, confident woman. Why hadn’t she brought the jerk up on
charges? It was an open and shut case.

Cade’s conscience had gotten the better of him in the course of the last day and he’d decided he

needed to come clean, no matter what he’d promised Coach Lund. But now his offenses seemed
trivial compared to what she clearly allowed Donnelly to get away with on a regular basis. By the
time he heard her announce she was going to find him, he no longer felt like apologizing for his
relatively minor transgressions.

He pulled the door open and announced himself. Angie’s expressive blue eyes widened as the

color drained from her face. Cade wasn’t sure if she was more angry or surprised to discover he was
in her classroom.

Donnelly, who almost lost his balance when the support he’d been leaning against gave way,

jumped from the door and then looked from Cade to Angie with a smirk. “Well, looks like my work
here is done.”

Cade was mortally tempted to tell Donnelly to meet him out in the schoolyard for a good, old-

fashioned brawl, but instead he let the man saunter away with a false sense of security. Until Cade
figured out why both Coach Lund and Angie were protecting Donnelly, he didn’t want to blow his
cover.

Angie marched through the classroom door and shut it behind her. Given the rapid rise and fall

of her breasts, Cade guessed she was more angry than surprised.

“Well, what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, brushing past him and heading for her

desk, which occupied the far corner of the room.

He followed her. “Why do you let Donnelly talk to you like that?”
“That’s an odd question, coming from you.”
Cade decided to let that pass. “You must know you have a clear case against him for sexual

harassment. Why haven’t you complained?”

She whirled to face him, her eyes glittering like shards of blue glass. “And what do you think

would come of that?”

“He’d get fired, I presume.”
Her laugh was hollow and bitter. “You celebrity types really don’t live in the real world, do

you?” She folded her arms under her breasts and Cade’s mouth watered as he involuntarily recalled
touching  them,  licking  them,  nibbling  at  her  nipples.  “I’ll  tell  you  exactly  what  would  happen  if  I
complained.  Donnelly  would  be  called  before  a  disciplinary  hearing,  but  he’s  a  tenured  teacher
protected  by  something  called  a  contract  and  a  union—you  might  know  a  little  about  those,  since  I
think  NFL  players  have  them,  too. And  if  you  know  anything  about  unions,  then  you  know  what’ll
happen is he’ll get a slap on the wrist and a warning to never do it again.

Which, I’m sure, would be very effective.
“Meanwhile, I would get a reputation as a whiner who can’t get along with male coworkers.

Because, after all, boys will be boys, and we can’t really hold a little good-natured teasing against a
guy, can we?”

“Donnelly wasn’t teasing you, and we both know it.”
Angie let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, I want to be head coach of this team when Harvey

retires. I’m sure you think that’s crazy—most everyone else seems to—but I love working with these
kids and I know I can do the job. But I won’t be able to do the job if the men I have to supervise think
I’ll go running to the disciplinary committee every time one of them looks at me sideways. And
believe me, that’s exactly what they’ll think. So even if my complaint did get Donnelly fired, I
wouldn’t be any better off because there’d just be more where that came from. Eventually, the school
board would decide I can’t be head coach of the Eagles, not because I don’t know how to handle the
team, but because I can’t handle the staff.”

Damn. Cade had to admit that her analysis was probably rock-solid. Still… “So why doesn’t

Harvey report the harassment? You can’t tell me he hasn’t seen it.” It’s the whole reason he wanted
me here.

“If he reports it, then it looks like he’s playing favorites and trying to get Donnelly in trouble

because I’m his wunderkind…or worse.” She twisted her mouth in disgust, and Cade knew she was
thinking about the insinuation that she’d slept her way into her current position.

“Besides, I’d still have to testify against them before the disciplinary committee, so one way or

another, I’m still the crybaby who can dish it out but can’t take it. I need to prove I can handle this—
them—and win football games without running to Mommy whenever things don’t go my way.”

Cade nodded. He was beginning to see the picture a whole lot more clearly. He was also

beginning to understand why she resented his presence so much. It didn’t matter why Harvey had

asked Cade to take over as acting head coach; whatever the reason, it represented a vote of no-
confidence in her ability to handle the job. Cade could tell her the truth, but it wouldn’t make things
better. She wouldn’t be any more amenable to letting him help her deal with the problem than before
because she didn’t want help. She didn’t think she needed help.

But she did. Not because she was incompetent or weak, but because neither she nor Harvey

could confront the problem of Donnelly without consequences.

The only person who could was…him.
“So,” she said, turning her back to him and shuffling through the items piled up on her desk,

“what did you want to talk to me about?”

Cade closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pulsating lust in his loins at the sight of her

curvaceous  backside  and  long  legs  as  she  leaned  over.  He  couldn’t  remember  the  last  time  he’d
wanted  a  woman  this  badly,  and  he  was  simultaneously  furious  with  Coach  for  putting  him  in  the
middle  of  this  train  wreck  and  grateful  that  he  had  something  worthwhile  to  do  with  his  time.  It
dawned  on  him  that  what  had  been  missing  these  past  months  he’d  been  out  of  commission  was  a
sense of purpose, and he had Harvey to thank for giving him one.

Gritting his teeth, Cade lied through them. “I want to review the playbook. See what adjustments

need to be made.”

She straightened and spun back around. “What? No adjustments need to be made. Harvey okayed

the playbook weeks ago.”

“I’m not Harvey. Just because he was satisfied doesn’t mean I will be.”
Angie stared at him for several seconds, and he could see she was trying to decide whether she

could reasonably refuse. He wished he had another option, but he had to let her believe he wanted to
wrest control of the team from her hands. The angrier she was with him, the more likely Donnelly was
to believe he had a sympathetic ear in Cade. And the more sympathetic he believed Cade to be, the
likelier he would be to say or do something publicly that would be impossible to deny or dismiss.

“Are you sure Harvey wants you messing with the playbook?” she asked at last. “You’re only

going to be here a few weeks.”

“If I can make it better, does it matter how long I’m here?”
Her jaw set. “You can’t make it better.”
He arched an eyebrow. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“Maybe it is.” Her chin jutted out a little farther, and her eyes sparked hot blue.
Cade wanted to push her back against the desk and kiss her. Instead, he said, “Then I’ll take it.

Give me the playbook to review this weekend. If I can’t find a way to make at least one play better,
I’ll hand in my resignation.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean, better?”
Well, she had him there. Better was a subjective term but in football, there were so many

variables that nailing down an objective measurement for improvement on a single play was virtually
impossible.

“How about we ask the players? Do they think the play worked better before or after my

changes?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. How do I know they won’t pick you just because they idolize you?”
Cade shrugged. “How do I know they won’t pick you just because they all have a raging crush on

you?”

“They do not.”
At that rapid and vehement denial, he had to chuckle. He took two steps, easily closing the five

foot gap between them. She gasped and scrambled backward, but bumped immediately into the desk.

“Baby,” he murmured, leaning in closer, “every one of those boys would stick a knife in my back

in a heartbeat to protect you from me. Especially if they knew I’ve had you naked and sweet and
moaning with pleasure.” He could see her pulse racing in her throat and hear the faint hitch in her
breath. She might be angry with him, but she still wanted him as much as he wanted her. Which was a
hell of a lot.

Her head shook in denial. “That’s not true.”
“What’s not true?” He couldn’t resist leaning just a little closer, his mouth almost grazing her

ear. The scent of her hair—clean and lemony—was enough to make him dizzy with lust.

“That you were naked and sweet and moaning with pleasure?”
“Yes. I mean no.” She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him away. “You’re

confusing me on purpose. They don’t think of me that way. I’m a teacher and a coach.”

“And gorgeous,” Cade said evenly. “They’d have to be either dead or blind, and I’ve yet to meet

a dead or blind football player. But then, they can’t help it. They’re teenage boys. I was one once, too,
and I can guarantee if I’d had a teacher or coach who looked like you, I’d have wanted to be her
knight in shining armor and slay every dragon in the world for her.”

Her cheeks were a hot shade of pink, although whether from embarrassment or desire or a little

bit of both he couldn’t be sure. She pressed her hands over her ears. “Stop it. Even if it’s true, it’s not
something I need—or want—to know.”

“Fair enough. But you have to agree, those boys have as much reason to back you as they do to

back me. Which means that it’s fair to put the question to them and let them decide. If you really
believe nothing can be done to improve your playbook, you have nothing to worry about.”

She studied him for several long seconds before nodding slowly. “All right, I agree. But if you

win, you have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”
“That you’ll never, ever remind me about the inner workings of teenage boys’ brains.
Because frankly, that’s just T-M-I.”
Cade laughed out loud and prayed that he could find something to improve at least one of the

plays in her playbook. Because if she was really that good, his plan to get Donnelly to reveal his true
colors was in a world of hurt.

Chapter Seven

Angie closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cool metal panel of the school bus,

waiting for the boys to finish changing before the ride back to Harper Falls. The Eagles had won the
game and that was all that really mattered, right? Never mind that Cade had been the center of
attention from the moment he strolled onto the field until the moment he left it—if he’d left it yet. For
all she knew, he was still up there signing autographs, getting his picture taken with the legions of
fans, doing interviews with the local TV station.

Taking the credit for tonight’s win, no doubt.
Angie grimaced. She’d never seen so many people at a high school football game in her life. The

stands on both sides of the field had been crammed with bodies, most of them dressed not in the
colors of the Eagles or of the opposing team, but in Houston Texans jerseys, a sizable proportion of
which were emblazoned with Cade’s name and number. They’d all come to see him, to bask in his
glow.

Maybe it wasn’t logical and maybe it wasn’t charitable, but she hated his celebrity and the ease

with which he wielded it even more than she hated him for anything he’d actually done.

She and her players had worked their asses off to get ready for this game—and every one they’d

won since the season began three weeks ago—but no one seemed to notice their efforts. By contrast,
all Cade had to do to be a hero was stand on the sidelines and look important.

And hot.
Angie rolled her eyes mentally, wishing her subconscious would shut the hell up. Ever since

he’d cornered her against the desk in her office yesterday and almost kissed her, she’d felt edgy and
unsatisfied. She’d wanted him to kiss her. Wanted him to do a lot more than kiss her, really, with a
fierceness that frightened her. And she hated herself for that even more than she hated him.

“Penny for your thoughts.”
Angie’s stomach collided with her heart at the sound of Cade’s husky voice near her ear.
She opened her eyes and turned her head to find him leaning against the yellow school bus

beside her, his right arm mere inches from her left.

How had he managed to sneak up on her like that? Her body seemed to have radar when it came

to him—she could normally sense his presence when he was within a football field’s distance, let
alone a matter of inches. Why had that sixth sense chosen this particular moment to desert her?

Her pulse beat thick and heavy in her throat and between her thighs, but she somehow managed

to keep her wits—and her resentments—about her. “I’m sure you can afford to pay more than that.
And shouldn’t you still be up there on the field, attending to your adoring public?”

He grinned and shook his head. “Not when I have a shot at being adored in private.”
Angie’s midsection went molten and dangerous with temptation. Maybe she should stop resisting

the attraction between them. Maybe if she had sex with him a few more times, she could work him out
of her system.

Except she knew the only thing that came from feeding an addiction was an even deeper

addiction.

“If that’s what you wanted, you should be with that reporter from WSNP,” she said caustically.

“She looked like she’d have been more than happy to do some in-depth research on you.”

The busty, saucer-eyed brunette from Channel 12 News had always struck Angie as a bit of a

bimbo, and the way the woman had slavered over Cade both before and after the game had only
added to Angie’s disaffection.

“Too bad she’s not my type.”
Angie arched an eyebrow. She’d seen the tabloid photos. His only requirements appeared to be

female and beautiful. “Since when do you have a type?”

“Since you,” he said softly.
Oh, he was smooth. She had to give him that. But she wasn’t falling for it. Not this time.
Although knowing it was just a line didn’t keep her knees from wobbling or her stomach from

fluttering.

“Nice try, but it won’t work.”
“What won’t work?” he asked, all innocence.
Angie rolled her eyes for real now. “Trying to flatter me into letting you out of our bargain.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“What else could you be doing? You must know you’re going to lose.”
He pushed away from the side of the bus and turned to face her, trapping her between his long,

muscular frame and the unyielding metal object behind her. He rested his palms on either side of her
shoulders, his body mere inches from hers.

“Maybe I’m just being honest. You might consider doing the same.”
“You want honesty?”
He nodded, his face dark and unreadable in the faint yellow glow of the light from the lamppost

behind him.

“Fine. I hate you. How’s that?”
He shrugged. “They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, so I’ll take it.” He leaned in a

little closer, his heat and spicy masculine scent invading her senses. “Here’s some more honesty for
you. I want you so much, I ache with it. I’ve jacked off every night for the last week remembering how
it felt to be inside you. I’m hard right now, just standing here with you.”

Oh God. Angie was glad to have the solid mass of the school bus behind her to keep her upright

because his words were more painfully erotic than any touch could have been. Her mouth went dry,
her sex damp, and her nipples taut as lurid images crashed through her mind, but most especially and
explicitly one of him lying naked in the center of his bed, his palm fisting his incredibly thick,
gorgeous cock. Despite her best intentions, she glanced down at his crotch. The unmistakable ridge
beneath the fly of his jeans said he wasn’t exaggerating; he really was hard.

For me.
“And if I thought it would mean I could make love to you again,” he went on, his voice low and

ragged, “I’d drive over to Harvey’s right now and hand in my resignation.”

“You would?” she choked out.
“Hell, yes. I’ll do it right now.” He lowered his head a fraction, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

“Just say the word.”

She stared at him. Was he actually trying to bribe her into having sex with him? And if he was,

should she be flattered that he wanted her so badly or insulted that he thought it might work?

Oh, why kid herself? It was working. Her skin prickled in anticipation—of his touch, his kiss,

and most of all, his big, delicious body braced over hers, moving inside hers. His offer to give up the
head coaching position only gave her an excuse to let herself have what she truly wanted—another
night with him.

But then she would want another. And another.
“I can’t,” she said.
To her amazement, he bent his head and brushed his lips softly, sweetly against her forehead. “I

know.”

She blinked, confused by his compassion. “You do?” In her experience—which, admittedly,

wasn’t huge—men tended not to handle rejection well, especially not when they were hot and
bothered.

“I know you don’t trust me yet. And maybe you shouldn’t because if you’d accepted, I would

have had to break my promise to Coach, and that’s something I’d hate to do. Although, I’ll admit,” he
added with a rueful glance at his nether regions, “parts of me sure as hell hoped you’d say yes.”

“I don’t understand you. Why do you even care? It’s not like you have any skin in the game. It

doesn’t matter to you what happens. You should be getting ready for your big comeback, not coaching
high school football.”

“My agent agrees with you,” Cade said with a chuckle, “but the fact is, I care because it’s

something to care about. Maybe I’ll get to make that big comeback and maybe I won’t, but in the
meantime, this job gives me a purpose. And until I’m not needed anymore—”

“I—that is, we don’t need you now. We were doing just fine without you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He pushed away from the bus, his biceps flexing impressively as

he did, and straightened. “You do need me, Angie Peterson. More than you know.”

Before she could respond or object to this pronouncement, he turned and strode in the direction

of his rented Cadillac, leaving her hot, bothered, and more bewildered than ever.

And the worst of it was, he was probably right. She did need him—desperately, painfully.
But only sexually.
She hoped.

###

It was half past nine when Angie finally shambled downstairs, bleary-eyed and groggy after a

night of tossing and turning with unsatisfied lust. She’d tried everything to ease the ache between her
legs—up to and including the use of her trusty vibrator—but if anything, the orgasm only made things
worse because it was so plainly inferior to the ones she’d experienced with Cade.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she heard her father’s voice. He must be talking to

someone on the phone, she thought, until she rounded the corner and saw he was sitting at the dining
room table, drinking coffee with none other than Cade Reynolds.

Her knees threatened to buckle. She was instantly aware of how awful she must look—wrapped

in a shabby knee-length robe, her hair frizzy and uncombed, her eyes undoubtedly graced with bags
the size of Paris Hilton’s luggage for a week-long trip to the Hamptons.

What was he doing here? How dare he come to her home, invade her privacy, make friends with

her father?

Because the latter was clearly what he was doing. They were both drinking coffee, carrying on

an obviously amiable conversation. Her father looked as happy as a pig in slop.

Angie paused at the foot of the stairs. If she turned around now, they might not even notice her.

She could go back to her room and at least make herself presentable before coming down to confront
Cade. On the other hand, if she did, she’d be giving him time to ingratiate himself to her father, which
would make getting Cade out of the house that much harder.

The choice was taken out of her hands. Her father caught sight of her. “Ah, here she is now,” he

said. “Look who’s here, Angie.”

“I see,” she said drily, her heart thumping hard against her ribs as Cade turned to look at her.
And look at her he did. Slowly and appraisingly, from mussed head to slippered toe. Self-

consciousness heated her cheeks. On the plus side, at least now he’d probably stop trying to seduce

her in deserted classrooms and parking lots.

Except when he met her eyes again, the look in his was every bit as smoky as when she’d been

wearing that little black dress. Her knees wobbled, and she shivered despite the fact that her
midsection had just turned as molten as Cade’s gaze.

She blushed harder as she recalled that her father was sitting right there. Fortunately, he seemed

oblivious to the heated glance that passed between them.

“Cade and I were just sitting here talking shop,” he said with a pleased-as-punch grin.
“You look like you could use some coffee.”
Uh, thanks, Dad.
“Don’t worry; I’ll get myself a cup. As soon as Cade explains what he’s doing here at nine thirty

on a Saturday morning.”

Cade feigned surprise. It had to be feigned because there was no way he could find it surprising

that she hadn’t been expecting him. “I told you I was going to look at the playbook over the weekend
and get back to you.”

“‘Over the weekend.’ Not ‘by tomorrow morning.’”
“I’m a quick study. Besides, I needed something productive to do with myself last night.”
The glint in his dark eyes said she should take that exactly the way she did.
Her father, apparently sensing the undercurrent for the first time, rose from his seat. “I’ll get your

coffee for you, chickadee, and leave you two to discuss business. I’ve got some tinkering to do in the
garage, anyway.”

Angie shook her head. Didn’t he see anything wrong with his freshly-out-of-bed, not-fully-

dressed daughter doing “business” at the kitchen table with a fully clothed—and ridiculously
handsome—man who also happened, however temporarily, to be her boss?

“That’s okay, Dad,” she said to her father’s retreating back. “Mr. Reynolds should come back

later. Or we can go over this on Monday. I don’t see what the rush is.”

“Mr. Reynolds?” Cade mouthed, his eyebrows raised.
She gave him what she hoped was a scathing glare.
“Oh, no,” her dad said above the clink of ceramic, “you can’t do that. Not when he went to all

the trouble of coming over here this morning. I think you should talk.”

“I agree with your father. There’s no harm in talking, right?”
The way he talked, there most certainly was harm in it. Harm to her resolve not to get into a

relationship with a man who would absolutely, positively break her heart. That was why she’d never
planned on anything beyond a one-night stand.

“That’s not the problem, and you know it.”
Her father came out of the kitchen with a steaming mug. “What is the problem, then?”
Angie wanted to throttle both of them—her father for not seeing the obvious and Cade for the

smug expression that said he knew he’d won. Instead, she took the cup from her father.

“I’d just like to shower and get dressed, that’s all.”
Her dad gave her an appraising stare and shrugged. “You look fine to me. And, like I said,

Cade’s already here. You can’t very well expect him to leave without getting what he came for.”

“You look fine to me, too,” Cade put in. To his credit, there wasn’t a hint of lasciviousness in

his tone, but she knew it was there, lurking under the surface. As annoyed as she was with his blatant
ruse to worm his way into not just her work life, but her personal life as well, the fact that he found
her attractive in her current state made her breathless and a little lightheaded.

Which was all the more reason she ought to throw him out on his ass. He knew what he was

doing, even if her father didn’t.

But for some reason, she nodded and slid into the seat her father had just vacated across from

Cade’s. “All right.” She sighed. “We might as well get it over with, I guess.”

Her playbook—a dog-eared notebook roughly half an inch thick and filled with sketches and a

thousand barely legible notations—lay on the table in front of Cade with half a dozen or so Post-It
notes affixed to its pages.

“Good,” her father pronounced triumphantly. “I’ll get out of your hair now.” He went back into

the kitchen and then out into the garage through the adjoining door.

Angie doubted there was anything he really planned to work on out there and wondered why he

was so willing and eager to leave the two of them alone in such clearly inappropriate circumstances.
Cade was technically her boss, however much she might wish he wasn’t. He had no business here at
her kitchen table while she was still in her pajamas and her dad should know that. Had Cade said
something to her father to make him believe that this was an opportunity at matchmaking?

“So, at least I finally get to see what I missed the other morning,” Cade murmured.
Angie eyed him balefully over the rim of her coffee cup as she took a fortifying swallow.
“Well, feel free to leave now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity.”
Shaking his head, he patted the playbook. “I really did come to go over this. I didn’t expect to

find you still in bed at nine o’clock in the morning. But I can’t say I’m sorry I did. You look…
wonderful.”

“Oh, please. I look like death warmed over.”
“I think you look sleepy and rumpled and desperately in need of kissing.”
“You have to stop that,” she snapped. Because all of it was true. As irritated and unsettled as she

was by his presence, her lips felt heavy and swollen with need.

Both pairs.
“Why?”
At first, she thought he was pulling her leg, but then she realized the question was absolutely

genuine. He really didn’t see a conflict.

“Because you’re my boss. You can’t just come to my house first thing on a Saturday morning and

hit on me while I’m still in my pajamas.”

“Well, you could always take them off,” he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.
“Oh my God, you’re impossible.”
“On the contrary, when it comes to you, I’m willing to be very, very possible.”
At the mock leer he gave her, Angie clutched her robe together beneath her throat. It didn’t

matter that she was flattered by his admiration, even wanted his attention. For more reasons than she
could count, she had to nip this in the bud.

Okay, it was probably well past the bud stage, but still…
“You’re just as bad as Donnelly, you know. No, you’re worse. You’re a hypocrite, acting

offended on my behalf because he’s harassing me then doing the same thing yourself. The only
difference between you and him is that I never made the mistake of sleeping with Donnelly.”

In the stunned silence that followed the words, she threw back the rest of her coffee and stood

up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go get my shower. You can show yourself out.”

As she stalked by him on her way toward the stairs, his hand snaked out and encircled her wrist.
“Please, don’t go.” His voice was soft, contrite even. “You’re right. I’m an ass. I’ll stop.
Just sit down and go through this with me.” He pointed to the playbook. “I promise, I’ll keep my

hands and my more colorful thoughts to myself.” He raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Chapter Eight

Johnson?
That one word followed by its question mark, scratched in the margin alongside the X’s and O’s

that laid out the Eagles’ longest pass play, spelled Angie’s doom. She knew before Cade explained
what that one word meant.

“This is a really well-designed play,” he began. “In fact, this whole playbook is brilliant.
Better than most college teams have and maybe even a few in the NFL. You could probably get a

job as an offensive coordinator with a major university if you wanted.”

Angie tried not to let the praise go to her head—and failed. Miserably. Because for a few

seconds, she basked in the glow of his words.

“But after watching the team last night and thinking about what I’ve seen in practice this week, I

don’t understand why you don’t have Tyler Johnson in at quarterback when you run this play. Don’t
get me wrong; Hanssen’s great and he’s definitely got a gun, but your receiver—what’s his name?”
Cade snapped his fingers a couple of times.

“Anton Rodgers,” she said softly, already knowing where Cade was going.
“Rodgers, that’s it! He can outrun Hanssen’s range by a mile. Johnson hasn’t got the same touch

on the ball, but damn, that kid’s got an intercontinental ballistic missile for an arm.

You should take advantage of that and let Rodgers just plain smoke the coverage. As it is now,

he has to either slow down or come back to the ball, and the play isn’t as successful as it could be.”

Angie couldn’t help smiling a little at the irony of it. She’d had this exact conversation with

Harvey at the beginning of the school year, except that she had been the one taking Cade’s position.

In response, she repeated Harvey’s objections. “Tyler Johnson is a sophomore, that’s why. He

doesn’t have enough game experience yet.”

“And how is he going to get that game experience if you don’t give him the chance?”
Cade countered. “I’m assuming when Hanssen graduates, Johnson’s your boy. Why not give him

part of this year to get some actual game time under his belt? That way, he’s not a virtual novice at the
beginning of next year when he needs to shoulder the load.”

“Because Jake is the higher-percentage player. And because we have a shot at the championship.

We can’t take the chance of sacrificing this year’s record on the altar of next year.” She winced a
little in spite of herself as the point of view she’d so vehemently disagreed with earlier in the season
rolled off her tongue.

But then, in the end, she’d had to concede that Harvey was right. You didn’t take out your best,

most consistent players just to make a single play operate better. Especially not when the potential for
it to go wrong in a big way—in this case, with an interception that could easily come back for a
touchdown—was so high. So it only made sense she was saying what Harvey had; she agreed with it.
Even if she had designed the play with Tyler’s arm strength in mind.

Cade gave her an appraising, narrow-eyed look. “Is that Angie Peterson talking or Harvey

Lund?”

She blinked in surprise. How had he known?
Before she could answer one way or the other, he nodded. “Right. Harvey, then.”
“Yes, but once Harvey explained his logic for keeping Jake in, I couldn’t disagree. And even if I

had disagreed, he’s my boss. His opinions carry more weight than mine.”

“But now I’m your boss, as you reminded me a few minutes ago. I think we should have Johnson

in at quarterback on this play, and if the players agree, that’s the way we’re going to run it.”

Angie wasn’t sure what the team would think, but she knew what she really thought. The play

would be better with Tyler at quarterback. But more than that, she was grudgingly impressed that,
after watching practices for less than a week, Cade had seen Tyler’s potential and honed in on the
best way to exploit it.

“All right, on to the next one,” Cade said, turning to the next page he’d marked with a sticky note.
It was an off-tackle run designed to break left. Angie didn’t need to wait for him to speak to

know what he was going to say. “You think I should swap the tight ends—put Goff on the left and
Zelinski on the right.”

Cade arched an eyebrow. “If you know that, why don’t you do it? Wait, don’t tell me.
Harvey again?”
“Yes, but he’s right,” she snapped, stung by the implication that she just let Harvey roll right

over her. “Every team in our division knows Goff is our best blocking tight end. If we shift him left,
they’ll sniff out the run left before we even snap the ball.”

“Then swap Goff and Zelinski for some of the pass plays, too,” Cade answered with a shrug.

“It’s not rocket science.”

Angie’s mouth dropped open. The glow of his earlier praise flickered out like a candle flame

drowned in its own wax. He might as well have slapped her. On the other hand, perhaps he’d
knocked some sense into her as well. She’d been that close to believing she could trust him, that he
actually respected her abilities.

Fool me twice, shame on me.
“You’re right, it isn’t rocket science,” she said, sliding her chair from the table. “I’m sure your

other suggestions are just as clever as the first two. We’ll float them to the boys on Monday and let
them decide. Meanwhile, I really do need that shower.” To wash away the humiliation of having it
pointed out to me that I’m an idiot.

Cade’s expression sobered instantly. As if he’d just realized what he’d said. What he’d done.

Too late.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “I meant Harvey should have seen that.”
“And so should I. Maybe I’m not as good at this as I thought.” She stood up.
Cade got to his feet, too, “Damn it, Angie, that’s not what I meant.” His tone was fierce rather

than pleading. She could appreciate that even if she wasn’t moved by it.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said it.”
But then, he’d have thought it anyway, and what was the difference? That her feelings wouldn’t

have been hurt? At least now she knew what he really thought.

Of course he felt entitled to take the job that should have been hers. He thought she was a good

strategist, but too timid or weak to take risks. Maybe he was right. If she was as good at this as she
thought she was, if she deserved the head coaching job when Harvey retired, then she ought to act like
the head coach when given the opportunity. Do what she thought was best for the team and the
players.

But she hadn’t. She’d kept to the playbook Harvey had approved because…well, because

Harvey had approved it. Not to put too fine a point on it, but she’d acted like a girl.

Well, enough of that. It was time to prove—to Cade and everyone else in Harper Falls—that

Angela Peterson had the balls, figuratively if not literally, to be the Eagles’ next head coach.

Fortunately, she knew just how and when to do it.

***

Damn it, he’d done it again.

Cade watched as Angie left the table, having assured him of her confidence in his ability to show

himself out. She headed for the stairs, her hips swaying vigorously, although he doubted she was
consciously aware of that. He’d noticed that the angrier she got, the more her backside swished from
side to side. Judging from the current angle and pitch, she was royally pissed.

Which didn’t make the effect any less seductive.
What was it about Angela Peterson that made him so eager to gnaw on his feet? He wasn’t

normally an idiot when it came to women. Rarely did he insult them, either accidentally or on
purpose, and he certainly never acted like a sexist pig. Something about Angie had thrown him off his
stride, and it wasn’t just that she kept shutting him down on the sex front. Granted, he wasn’t
accustomed to being turned down, but he could handle a little rejection. Especially since he knew the
reason she was rejecting him wasn’t that she didn’t want him. She just didn’t want the man he was
pretending to be.

Except right now, it was damned hard to be sure he was pretending because stupid crap he

didn’t mean kept slipping out of his mouth at the most inopportune and unintentional moments. He’d
been trying to win her over this morning, to show her he wasn’t the bad guy but genuinely interested in
her success and in the team’s performance. To get her to see him as an ally rather than an enemy.

But then she’d had to go and catch him off-guard with her observation that if she shifted the tight

ends for that one play, she’d be signaling her intentions to the defense. She was, of course, one
hundred percent right. And he hadn’t seen that problem with his idea until she pointed it out. So he’d
popped off, because he’d felt called out.

Okay, and also because seeing her mussed and sleepy and clutching her bathrobe had reminded

him forcibly of what he’d missed when she’d walked out on him in the middle of the night. Of
everything he still wanted to do to her, with her. Things her darkened eyes and flushed cheeks and
uneven breathing told him she wanted just as much as he did, even though her mouth kept shutting him
down. She made him feel hungry and alive and unbelievably frustrated, which was undoubtedly why
he kept tasting his own toes instead of her…well, all of her.

Great job, asshole.
The irony was that he’d stayed up until two in the morning last night, poring over her playbooks,

looking for something—anything—to criticize so he could win his bet with her and stay with the team
long enough to expose Donnelly, not to mention keep his promise to Harvey.

And it had been hard. He hadn’t been out to flatter her when he told her she could get a job as an

offensive coordinator for a college. He’d meant it. She was that good.

“Did you finish your conversation?”
Cade all but jumped out of his skin. He looked over his shoulder to find Angie’s father standing

a few feet from him. When had the other man come back into the house? How much had he overhead?

“More or less,” Cade answered grimly. “I was just leaving.”
“Ah,” Peterson said, inclining his head in a way that suggested he’d read more into Cade’s

response than Cade had intended. “Tell me, Reynolds, what exactly are your intentions toward my
daughter?”

Well, that was sure as hell direct, which was not very Minnesotan at all. It was also a little

retro. But then, this was Harper Falls, and even now it felt a little like a town stuck in the 1950s. He
wondered idly if Daryl Peterson kept a shotgun in the hall closet and decided the odds were pretty
high. Probably best to keep the sexier aspects of his relationship with Angie—if it could even be
called a relationship at this point—to himself.

“I’m her boss until Harvey gets better. That’s all.”

Peterson’s lips flattened into a line that said he didn’t believe a word of this, but he didn’t call

Cade on the lie. Instead, he said, “Any truth to the rumor you’re in the running for the quarterback
position with the Vikings?”

It was such an abrupt change of topic, Cade felt unbalanced. “No,” he said. Then amended, “I

went and talked to them about it a few days ago, but they haven’t made an offer, and if they did, I’d
turn it down.”

“That’s too bad. You could step right into Harris’s shoes without missing a beat. The team

would be as good with you at quarterback as they are with him.”

“Which is why I won’t take the job,” Cade answered steadily. “Warren is a good friend, and I

won’t be the one to stand in his way when he’s ready to come back to the game.”

“Admirable,” Peterson said with a curt nod. “Pity you can’t show my daughter the same

courtesy. That team, those boys, her job…they mean the world to her. Just like I reckon being a big
league quarterback means everything to you and to Warren Harris. Maybe you ought to take that under
consideration. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have something to take care of in the garage.”
With those words, Peterson ambled back out the door between the kitchen and the garage.

Well, damn. Put in his place by not one, but two Petersons in the same morning.
He deserved it, too. Why hadn’t he seen before now that what he was doing to Angie was no

different from what had been done to him, what he’d consciously decided he wouldn’t do to Warren?

Because he’d arrogantly imagined her job couldn’t possibly matter as much to her as his did to

him.

Suddenly, with a clarity that surprised him, Cade knew what he had to do. And he knew just how

and when to do it.

Chapter Nine

Angie waited until Monday afternoon to put her plan into action. She leaned against the wall

outside the boys’ locker room, arms folded across her chest, trying not to think about what Cade had
done during this afternoon’s practice. Although the boys had voted to implement all of Cade’s
changes to the playbook, he had told them everything he suggested had originally been her idea and he
was simply approving them when Harvey hadn’t. In other words, he’d sacrificed his own credibility
with them to raise hers.

She wasn’t fooled, though. Cade was no different than Donnelly. And she couldn’t allow herself

to forget it.

Because if she did, she might start to feel guilty about what she was going to do.
As if to underscore her unease, Jake Hanssen, her star quarterback and the lynchpin in her plans,

chose that moment to exit the boys’ locker room. Freshly showered, with his stuffed backpack slung
carelessly over one shoulder and dressed in his green and white letterman’s jacket, he reminded her
more than a little of the young Cade Reynolds.

Do not go there.
Jake caught sight of her and stopped, hitching the backpack up on his shoulder as he did.
“Hey, Coach Pete. What’s going on?”
Angie smiled at the nickname. It made her feel like they considered her one of their own despite

her gender.

“I need your help with something,” she said.
Jake’s youthfully smooth brow furrowed. “My help? Really?” When Angie nodded, his

expression brightened with pleasure. “Sure, Coach. Anything.”

Anything was good. Because this was going to be a doozy for a teenager.
“I need you to convince the rest of the first string offense to come to my house before school for

an extra practice for the next week or so.”

“Um, okay,” he agreed dubiously. “How come?”
“I’ve drawn up a new play I’d like to test out. But I don’t want the rest of the team or Coach

Donnelly to know about it.”

“Why not?”
Like any quarterback worth his salt, Jake wasn’t dumb. None of her players were, of course, but

even so, she might have done better starting with one of the offensive tackles, who were automatically
on board with almost anything that involved the possibility of shoving people around.

But Jake was the leader of the offense, and the rest of the players rallied around him. If he said

they should do something, they’d do it, whether it made sense or not.

Loyalty was like that.
With a fortifying breath, she took the gamble and told the truth. “Because I need to prove to the

school board that I can be the head coach of this team when Coach Lund retires in a few years.”

Jake gave her a quizzical look. “Well, duh. Everyone knows that.”
His support warmed Angie’s heart but then, she’d always known the players had faith in her. It

was the adults she had to worry about.

“Then why did Coach Lund ask Mr. Reynolds to be the head coach until he gets back?”
The boy gave her a baffled look and shrugged. “I guess we just assumed it was like he said—

Coach thought we’d get a big morale boost from having an NFL player around for a few weeks. And
he is pretty awesome. He showed me a cool technique for throwing off the wrong foot the other day.”

Angie frowned. There were some things Cade could do for the players—and for the team—that

she couldn’t. This was one of them. And she hated the fact that Jake had to remind her.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jake asked nervously.
“No, not at all. Ca—Mr. Reynolds has a lot of practical experience as a quarterback. I’m sure

anything he shows you is something you can benefit from.” Much as she hated to admit it.

Damn him.
The young man breathed a sigh of relief. “So, what’s the problem, then?”
“The problem is that the school board will think Mr. Reynolds is the reason we’re winning

games while Coach Lund is gone. And maybe he is helping us, but if they think we couldn’t have done
it without him, it’s going to be hard for me to convince them when the time comes that I’m capable of
taking over the head-coaching job. They might decide Coach Donnelly would make a better choice.”

Jake shook his head. “But that would be wrong. You’re way better at designing plays and calling

them and stuff.”

“I appreciate that you think so, Jake, but the school board doesn’t have any way to know that.”
“Well, all the players and I would come out to support you.”
She chuckled. “By then, you and most of the players on the team now will be in college.
Heck, you might even be playing in the NFL.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Do you really think so?”
She did, actually. Jake had great hands, good instincts, and the fierceness of a born competitor.

Maybe not Tyler Johnson’s intercontinental ballistic missile for an arm, but more than enough juice
behind his throws to make it in the big time. “Yeah, I do.”

“Wow. Thanks.”
“So, will you help me with this?”
“Definitely, Coach Pete.” He gave her an affectionate punch in the shoulder. “You can count on

me.”

Angie resisted the urge to hug him. At least there was one trustworthy man in her life other than

her father. Even if he was only seventeen years old.

###

“So, how long am I going to be waking up to this?” Angie’s father asked as he handed her a

steaming cup of coffee over the railing of the backyard deck.

Eleven teenage boys in sweats and cleats were arrayed across the well-tended lawn.
They’d spent nearly an hour working on the play Angie planned to pull out in the fourth quarter

of their game next Friday night. The one that would prove she was really the head coach of this team,
not Cade Reynolds.

She took the mug from her father with an apologetic smile. “Just until we get this play sorted

out.” After taking a sip of her coffee, she hollered, “One more time, then you can all go home and get
ready for school.”

The players dutifully lined up in their positions and ran through the pattern again.
“Hmmm,” her father said when they’d finished, “are you sure you want to use that in a game?”
Angie closed her eyes for a second. There was a reason she had decided not to suggest this play

to Harvey after she’d first drawn it up, and her father had seen the problem right away.

By design, the ball would be unprotected for several seconds, and that meant a savvy defender

could get to the quarterback before the pattern was well enough established for him to throw the ball.
In other words, the play could just as easily result in a turnover as a huge gain, and Harvey always
objected to plays he viewed as chancy. Angie, however, trusted her players enough to know they

could pull this off with spectacular results.

“It’s just an insurance play, Dad. We won’t use it unless we really need it.” A small smile

tugged at her lips, because they were going to need it on Friday night. The players had agreed, in an
effort to make the win more dramatic, to hold back just enough to keep the game close until the final
quarter.

Which was even chancier than the play itself. If she used it and it didn’t work, the Eagles could

lose that game—and with it, their chance at the state championship. There were no sure things in
football, after all, and even a perfect play could fail. But what other choice did she have? Cade’s
criticisms on Saturday morning had made it eminently clear to her that her failure to take the bull by
the horns and make the hard decisions would be held against her.

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing, chickadee. I never doubt you.” He leaned over the

railing and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “When it comes to football strategy, anyway.”

Angie knew that was a subtle dig at her antipathy toward Cade, which she’d made no attempt to

hide after he’d left Sunday morning. Although her father was fully on her side when it came to the
question of her fitness to be the Eagles’ head coach, he was nonetheless smitten with Cade—in a
purely bromance-y fashion, of course—and thought she was being too hard on him.

He was, after all, just the messenger.
Of course, he hadn’t been there when Cade had delivered his most cutting message.
You’re not brave enough to do this on your own.
“How was that, Coach?” Jake shouted.
Coffee in hand, Angie walked down the slight incline from the deck to the flat expanse of lawn

between her father’s house and the canal that ran behind it. The boys clustered together, steam rising
off their heads in the early morning chill.

“You’re all doing great,” she assured them before giving a few pointers to keep in mind for

tomorrow morning’s practice.

“Are we going to get a chance to run through this in full pads against the defense?” Kurt

Tompkins, the center, asked, obviously concerned.

Angie shook her head. “I’d like to, but this play is a secret weapon. If anyone else sees it before

we use it in a game, we lose the advantage. But I promise, if everyone sticks to their assignments, this
is a guaranteed touchdown. You all know where you’re supposed to be, right?”

They gave stout nods of agreement. No one wanted to be the weak link. None of them would be,

either.

She was lucky to have these great kids—young men, really—playing for her, and even luckier

that they trusted her to know what was best for them. That was probably why, as she watched them
run up the hill and out to their cars and bicycles, she felt a twinge of unease.

Pulling off a play like this in a game was going to turn them into stars. Every one of them would

be writing their own tickets to the colleges of their choice. But there was also a chance that the play
would be blown and they’d lose the game, along with their shot at the championship. And whichever
way it went, Angie would have to live with her decision.

Chapter Ten

They were losing.
Cade’s eyes kept flicking to the scoreboard, as though if he just looked often enough, the

numbers would reverse themselves. But each time he checked, the score remained the same:

Guest 24, Home 21 with less than three minutes to play. The grand gesture he’d already

discussed with Harvey and planned to reveal tonight after the game—to cede his position as interim
head coach to Angie and give her full credit for the win—wasn’t going to be much of a gesture at this
rate.

He glanced at her. She stood to his left, studying her clipboard as calmly as if the Eagles were

already up by twenty points and on the verge of waltzing into the opponent’s end zone for another
score.

Her team was about to lose the most important game of the season. Homecoming.
Against their only serious division rivals. In the closing minutes of the game. And the other team

still had the ball.

Why wasn’t she concerned?
In retrospect, that should have been his first clue that she was up to something. As it was, he just

thought she had an unnatural, unnerving calm.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” he asked under his breath.
She gave him a blank look, as if he’d just suggested she fly to the moon for some green cheese

and a bottle of wine. “I am doing something,” she pointed out. “I’m deciding what play to call when
we get the ball back.”

“Don’t you mean if?” The way the defense had played tonight, that seemed a real question. Not

that they’d been bad, precisely. But they had seemed a little sluggish and late on their tackles. Of
course, he’d only seen them play one other game last week, against a clearly inferior team. Perhaps
this week’s opponent was just that much better.

Angie gave him a serene smile and nodded toward the field just as an enormous cheer went up in

the stands behind them, accompanied by a collective groan from the opposite side.

“No. I meant when.”
“Eagles! Eagles! Eagles!” the crowd chanted.
Cade could only shake his head in amazement. Somehow, at precisely the right moment, one of

the Eagles safeties had landed an interception and returned it almost to midfield.

“You couldn’t have known that was going to happen,” Cade said.
“No,” she admitted with a shrug. “But I was pretty sure.”
Jake Hanssen, in the process of strapping his helmet onto his head as he jogged toward the field,

stopped in front of Angie. “R27-6L?”

She nodded and gave him a push on the shoulder pad to turn him toward the field.
Cade frowned. He knew the play in question, of course. It was a straightforward I-formation

delayed run up the middle that could reasonably be expected to gain no more than five yards unless a
defensive player missed a tackle or seriously misread the play. With—he glanced at the game clock
—two minutes and fifteen seconds left, it was also a call that made absolutely no sense.

After almost two weeks of working with her, Cade knew Angie would never call that play in this

situation. Which could only mean…

“What are you up to?” he asked, his voice a suspicious hiss.
Her expression was absolutely benign. “I’m up to winning the game. What else?”

Oh, she was up to something else all right. She and the entire offense.
But since she clearly had a plan, it seemed better to wait and watch than to intervene. The

players lined up in the expected I-formation, Hanssen tucked in tight behind the center and the running
back, Mike Tamblyn, a few yards behind him. Hanssen called out the count and the center snapped the
ball.

And then everything went simultaneously crazy and magnificent in the same moment.
Hanssen stepped neatly aside as the ball whizzed by him and directly into the waiting hands of

the running back. Tamblyn raced by Hanssen and cut to the left, the ball tucked under his arm as he
turned the corner, pursued by the defense. Except, Tamblyn didn’t have the ball.

Somehow, through some remarkable sleight of hand, he’d passed it back to Hanssen. Cade

squinted, not quite able to believe his own eyes as the young quarterback cocked his arm back and
hefted the ball he shouldn’t have a good thirty yards downfield.

This play was most definitely not R27-6L. It was not, in fact, even in the Eagles’ playbook. At

all.

Damn it, she’d been keeping this from him and so had the players, who couldn’t possibly have

pulled off anything so carefully choreographed without a lot of practice.

An almost reverent hush descended over the stadium on both sides of the field as everyone’s

attention turned and focused on Anton Rodgers, the Eagles’ fastest runner and leading wide receiver.
He rocketed down the center of the field, the nearest cornerback more than five feet behind him and
losing ground. The ball began to slow and fall, and the only question was whether Rodgers would be
at the right place at the right time to catch it.

Breaths were drawn, held. Rodgers slowed his stride ever so slightly. Turned. Jumped.
Caught the ball, came down with it, and all but strolled into the end zone. The referee raised his

arms over his head, signaling the touchdown. The scoreboard flashed the new score: Visitor 24,
Home 26.

A deafening cheer rose up as the Eagles’ offensive players who were close enough rushed

Rodgers in the end zone. And then, just as suddenly, everything fell terribly, unnaturally silent.

“Oh God,” Angie whispered. The words were injected with such abject misery, Cade didn’t

even have to see Jake Hanssen, sprawled on the ground near the line of scrimmage, to know what had
happened.

Angie had dropped her clipboard and was running to Hanssen’s side before the penalty marker

thrown by the line judge hit the turf. The defensive player who’d delivered the blow was yanking off
his helmet, remorse and concern etched in the sagging lines of his shoulders.

Cade’s feet felt leaden and his sense of reality disjointed as he followed Angie out onto the

field. Seeing Jake Hanssen lying there on his back, limp and motionless, was like an out-of-body
experience. This must have been how Cade himself had looked after the tackle that had shattered his
shoulder, except as far as he could tell, Hanssen’s limbs looked to be unbroken and intact.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the defensive player babbled. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I swear to

God.”

“I know you didn’t,” Angie said, her tone almost eerie in its calm. She knelt beside Hanssen’s

head, his inert hand clasped in hers. Her face was ashen. “It’s my fault. All mine.”

***

By the time the stretcher arrived, Jake was conscious and able to respond to simple questions,

but this fact did nothing to console Angie. As she watched the paramedics trundle him into the
ambulance, his worried parents piling in beside him, she knew she couldn’t stay here. His injury was

her responsibility. She’d been so determined to prove herself to Cade and the entire town of Harper
Falls that she’d accounted for the strategic risk of the play but not the practical one. All she’d been
worried about was a turnover. Maybe if she’d run it with the defense on the field, she would have
been able to foresee this outcome. Her decision not to do so seemed reckless now.

And more than a little selfish. She’d been so enamored of the cleverness of the misdirection

scheme and so sure it would work, she hadn’t taken the care she normally would have.

As the ambulance doors slammed shut, she turned around and walked straight into the broad

chest of Cade Reynolds. She nearly fell on her backside, but he grabbed her by the wrists, preventing
her from toppling to the ground.

“I have to go,” she mumbled, tugging against his grasp.
“To the hospital?” His voice rumbled out of him in a way that made her realize he was as

concerned as she was.

“Yes. I need to be there with Jake and his parents. You can call the last two minutes of the game.

You know the playbook.”

But Cade shook his head. “No way.”
“What? Why not?”
He moved his hands from his wrists to her upper arms and steadied her. It was only then that she

realized she was swaying precariously.

“Because you’re so upset, you’re in no condition to drive. If you’re going to the hospital, I’m

driving. Donnelly can run the show while we’re gone.”

Donnelly in charge of the team with a little over two minutes to go and only a three-point lead,

assuming they made the extra point? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Cade might not be entirely on her side, but she knew for certain he was on Harvey’s side, and

that meant he’d never blow the game.

“If they screw it up, it’ll be his fault, not yours,” Cade pointed out. “And since that would only

hurt him, not you, there’s no way he’ll do it on purpose.”

Angie blinked up at him, open-mouthed. He was right. Donnelly would be a fool to throw the

game. But she was still perfectly capable of driving to the hospital. True, she was sick with worry
that her mistake might have caused Jake some lasting harm, but that didn’t make her incompetent.

As if he could see the gears whirling in her brain, he added, “Please let me do this. I want to be

there, too.”

Something in his delivery of those simple words made up her mind. Whatever issues were

between the two of them, Angie knew Cade had come to care about the team and the players, and he’d
developed a particular kinship with Jake.

“All right.” She nodded. “You can drive.”
Five minutes later, they pulled out of the school parking lot in his black Cadillac. The hospital

was twenty minutes away. Cade covered the distance in fifteen.

They drove in fraught silence until they pulled into the hospital parking lot. Angie grabbed the

handle to open her door, but Cade reached across the relatively small interior of the car and stopped
her.

“Before we go in there, what did you mean when you said this was your fault?”
Angie’s stomach pinched with misery. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t. I can guess, but I’d probably be wrong, and I’d rather you just told me.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed. “That play was flawed.”
“Flawed?” Cade echoed, his brow furrowing with incredulity. “Are you kidding? I want you to

teach me and my next running back how to pull off an exchange like that. Jesus, it was brilliant.”

“That’s not the part that was flawed. I knew when I drew it up that there would be several

seconds, right before the ball was thrown, when the quarterback would be unprotected on his blind
side.  I  just  thought  those  seconds  would  be  so  brief,  the  worst  thing  that  could  happen  would  be  a
broken  play  or  a  turnover.  Because  I  never  ran  it  against  our  own  defense,  I  didn’t  see  the  timing
issue.”  She  scrubbed  her  palms  over  her  face,  wishing  she  could  scrub  away  the  memory  of  Jake
lying  there  on  the  turf,  looking  more  like  a  small,  broken  toy  than  a  strapping  young  man.  “I  never
should  have  asked  them  to  run  that  play.  It  was  too  risky,  and  now  Jake  is  in  there,  maybe  brain-
injured, and…” She reached for the door handle again and pushed on it. “I have to go in and find out
what’s happening.”

“Wait,” Cade said, his voice low and urgent.
“I can’t wait any longer.”
“Getting in there sooner isn’t going to change the outcome. And it could make things infinitely

worse.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What I mean is that you said the quarterback would be unprotected before the ball was thrown.

Did I get that right?”

Angie nodded, feeling sick to her stomach.
“Then what happened to Jake can’t be your fault.”
“Of course it can.”
He released his hold on the door handle and brushed the hair back from her forehead before

taking her face between his palms and forcing her to look straight into his eyes. “Think, Angie. If he’d
been hit when he was unprotected, before the ball was thrown…” He trailed off, his warm brown
eyes urging her to think it through, to find the answer for herself.

And she did. “Then he’d never have thrown the ball and it wouldn’t have been a touchdown,”

she breathed. “He was hit late, after he threw the ball.”

“Exactly,” Cade said, allowing his hands to slip from her cheeks.
She closed her eyes and let her head drop back against the leather headrest. She’d been so

prepared to take the blame that she hadn’t even looked at the evidence. Because she’d been watching
the play develop, and Jake hadn’t been hit during the brief period when the blocking scheme left him
exposed. In fact, she hadn’t seen him get hit at all because by that time, she was following the path of
the ball through the air and into Rodgers’s hands at the other end of the field.

“You didn’t see it happen, either,” she said after a few seconds. It was a statement of fact, not a

question.

Cade shook his head. “No.”
“Then we can’t be sure it wasn’t something else I didn’t see that led to the late hit.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cade said. “It was a late hit. You’re not to blame. This could have happened

on any play, no matter how safe or familiar. No one knows that better than I do.” He flexed his injured
right shoulder as he spoke, perhaps without even being aware he was doing it.

The emotion that flooded in the wake of his self-deprecating admission wasn’t just relief or

gratitude. It was warmer and sweeter than either of them. And scarier.

Cade had every right to be furious with her, but instead of berating her, he’d prevented her from

walking into the hospital and making a bad situation worse. If he were really out to undermine her, he
would have let her walk into the hospital and take responsibility for Jake’s injury. Let her put the nail
in the coffin of her future.

But he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d reminded her of the simple fact she already knew. Football was a dangerous sport.

Everyone who played knew the risks but went out onto the field anyway. She and the other coaches
could do everything in their power to keep the boys from getting hurt, from training to equipment to
game strategy, but accidents would still happen. Which, come to think of it, made football just like
pretty much everything else in life. Nothing that was really worth doing was safe.

Especially not falling in love.

###

“Thank you,” Angie said as she and Cade exited the hospital lobby several hours later, having

left Jake to get a well-deserved night’s sleep. He would be fine in a few days, thank God. “I really
appreciate what you did for me tonight.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t let you take the blame for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh, yes, you could have. Donnelly would have been happy to, I’m sure.”
He drew up short on the island between the hospital’s front doors and the parking lot.
“And I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t compare me to that ass-wipe.”
She stifled an amused snort at the more-than-accurate term. “You’re right. You’re nothing like

him. I owe you an apology for that.” Her lips twisted. “And for everything else.”

“Everything else?”
Sighing, she nodded. “From the beginning, I just assumed the worst, which was stupid, because I

should  know  better  than  to  think  Harvey  would  ask  anyone  to  do  anything  to  hurt  the  team  or  me.  I
guess  my  feelings  were  just  bruised  because  the  fact  that  he  asked  you  to  take  over  as  head  coach
meant  he  didn’t  think  I  was  ready  for  the  job  yet.  And  judging  by  what  happened  tonight,  he  was
right.”

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Cade wrapped his palms around her upper arms. In contrast to the

increasing chill of the fall evening, his hands were warm and soothing. “I thought we’d already
established that nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

“Maybe not directly, but it easily could have been. I was so determined to prove to you and

everyone else that I had the guts to be the team’s head coach that I lost sight of the most important
thing, and that’s the safety of the players. I knew there was a flaw in that play’s design, but I called it
anyway because I cared more about myself than I did about the boys or the team.” She inhaled a
miserable, shuddering breath. “Especially since I deliberately called a weak game to ensure we were
behind when I pulled the rabbit out of my hat.”

To her amazement, Cade smiled broadly. “Well, thank God for that.”
“For what?”
“I’m just relieved that you were trying to lose—or fall behind, at any rate. Because if you’d

actually been trying to win with that game plan, I would have had to seriously rethink my decision to
resign as head coach.”

Angie stared at him, slack-jawed and dumbfounded. “You were going to resign?” She couldn’t

believe she’d heard him right.

He nodded. “After we won tonight and with great fanfare. In fact, I was kind of hoping that

reporter you like so much from WNSP would interview me so I could tell her and everyone who
watches the local news that you’re the primary reason the Eagles are having their first championship
level season in sixteen years.” His palms slid down to cup her elbows. “I might even have mentioned
the fact that, if it weren’t for you and your football genius, I’d probably be a mid-level manager with
a boring desk job instead of an NFL quarterback.”

Her eyes widened with astonishment. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do. Although I didn’t realize when we ran into each other in the coffee shop that you

were that girl. Or that it was you Coach was asking me to supervise, for that matter. And I have to
admit, I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Why is that?”
“Because if I’d realized who you were, I wouldn’t have asked you to dinner, and I wouldn’t

have made love to you. Not because I wouldn’t have wanted to, but because I would have known I
was about to become your boss. And it would be a damn shame if I’d missed out on that.”

“Oh.” The single syllable was the only coherent response she could form. She was suddenly

keenly aware of the proximity of their bodies, of the size and heat of his in relation to hers, and of the
seething sexual awareness that was always present between them. The desire she’d been trying—
without much success—to suppress sprang to the surface, bright and almost painful in its intensity.

She was still afraid. There were still a thousand good reasons not to give in to the temptation he

represented, starting with the thousands of pieces her heart would be in when it ended.

But maybe, just maybe, the splendor of the fall would be worth the sudden stop at the bottom.
In the final analysis, all the logic in the world didn’t matter because her body made up her mind

for her. Before she’d even decided that the prize would be worth the price, she was stepping into his
embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, and lifting her face up for his kiss.

Oh, and it was more than worth it. Their mouths crashed together. There was no time for gentle

exploration or a slow build-up. Instead, the kiss was instantly open-mouthed and demanding, a
passionate melding of lips and tongues. To Angie, it seemed as though she’d spent the past two weeks
underwater, holding her breath, and now she was suddenly at the surface, gasping for air. It couldn’t
be healthy and it couldn’t be wise, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She couldn’t seem to get
enough of him.

Silly, silly Angie. As if you could ever get enough of this.
He cupped her jaw, angling her head for even better access as he stroked his tongue against hers,

sending hot shivers of pleasure along every nerve ending. She moaned as his free hand fell into the
small of her back, fitting her abdomen against his hips and the telltale ridge of his rising erection. Her
breasts pressed tight against his chest, her nipples taut and tingling.

Kissing had never felt so perfect, so elemental, so incredibly, unbelievably necessary to her very

existence.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”
Angie jumped away from Cade with the speed of a scalded cat. She recognized that sardonic

voice instantly. Chuck Donnelly stood a few feet away from them, an evil smile creasing his features.

Again. Good God, it was like the man was clairvoyant. He certainly had an uncanny knack for

being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Giving the teacher another lesson, are you, Reynolds?”
Angie squeezed her eyes shut. Damn, damn, damn. Her stomach sank. Somehow, some way,

Donnelly was going to use this against her. She just couldn’t foresee how yet.

Cade took her hand and pulled her back toward him. He seemed unperturbed by the interruption.

In fact, if anything, he looked oddly pleased. “Actually, I believe she was giving me the lesson this
time. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Donnelly’s eyes glittered with calculating malice. “Maybe you should consider not engaging in

public displays of affection. Or a-fuck-tion, as the case may be.” He leered at Angie.

“At least you’re consistent; you always sleep with the boss. Yet another reason to aspire to the

job.”

Cade’s fingers flexed, and Angie knew he was fighting the urge to deck Donnelly. His tone was

neutral, however, perhaps even slightly amused. “Ah, but I’m not the boss anymore. As of the end of
tonight’s game, I’ve resigned, which makes Angie the official head coach of the Eagles.”

Donnelly’s face reddened, and he opened his mouth, clearly to say something nasty, but Cade

plowed right on with perfect amiability. “In addition, Harvey has decided that he won’t be returning
to the head coaching position when he recovers. He’s going to step into Angie’s assistant coaching
role instead. Less stress for his heart, you know.”

Angie’s jaw dropped open in perfect synchronization with Donnelly’s. It might have been

comical if it hadn’t been so surreal. Surely she hadn’t heard Cade correctly. Or maybe he was just
saying it to get under Donnelly’s skin. But if it were real…

Her knees weakened at the thought. She’d always imagined it would be years before she got the

job of her dreams. To have that job now, with Harvey’s complete support and blessing, seemed too
much to hope for. If she’d been lightheaded with desire when Donnelly interrupted them, she was
positively dizzy now.

“By the way,” Cade went on cheerfully, “I hope you managed to hold onto the lead for the rest of

the game. It would be a shame if the school board fires you for incompetence before you have the
chance to suck up to the new boss.” He reached behind him and took Angie’s hand in his large, warm,
reassuring palm. “Although I have a feeling she’s not going to be looking for you to provide her with
sexual favors. I’m pretty sure she’s already tapped someone for that job.”

Donnelly looked fit to be tied. His face was so red, it was nearly purple. “Of course we won the

game,” he affirmed sourly. “I just came to see how Jake is doing.”

“Mild concussion,” Cade said, pulling Angie forward to his side. “He’ll be fine in a few weeks.

But I’m glad to know you care about at least one person other than yourself.”

Donnelly seemed to consider a sharp retort but apparently couldn’t find one. Scowling, he turned

abruptly and stalked toward the hospital entrance. If life were like cartoons, there would have been
steam rising from his ears.

“Good night,” Cade called after him with false courtesy.
“You shouldn’t tease him like that,” Angie said, despite her glee at finally seeing Donnelly put

firmly in his place. “He really does care about Jake’s well-being.”

“He’s a raging asshole, that’s what he is. I almost wish he had managed to lose the game.
He should lose his job.”
“Oh, Cade, he isn’t all bad.” Angie didn’t know why she felt the need to defend Donnelly, but

she supposed there could be loyalty even between enemies when they’d worked together long enough.
“Besides, I don’t care about him. Is it true? What you told him about Harvey and me being head coach
from now on?”

“Of course it’s true. That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun if I’d been making it up.”
Angie felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “But…but…why didn’t you tell me

earlier?”

“You didn’t give me much of a chance, jumping my bones like that.”
Her cheeks heated. She had pretty much assaulted him. Although he’d been a plenty active—and

eager—participant in the assault.

He gave her a crooked grin and added, “Not that I’m complaining…boss.”
She blinked. “Boss?”
“Hey, you’re the head coach now, but you still need an assistant until Harvey is well enough to

come back. In the meantime, I’m available for the job. “ He leaned forward and brushed his lips
across the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe, sending an instant rush of heat to her core and raising
gooseflesh along her neck and arm. “And I’m more than willing to sleep my way into the position.”

“Oh.”
The sound was breathy and weak, but the pulse beating in her throat, in her wrists, and between

her thighs at this suggestion was the polar opposite of weak. It was strong, heavy, and insistent. After
almost two weeks of denial, her desire for him had surged to an unstoppable tidal wave of need.

Her nerve endings sang with joy. Tonight, she was going to throw caution to the wind and

embark on a real, honest-to-God affair with this gorgeous, smart, wonderful man. When she thought
about it, she’d treated him shabbily the past few weeks, holding things against him that weren’t his
fault. Instead of behaving in kind, however, he’d treated her with respect and kindness, to the point of
preventing her from compounding her mistakes by taking the blame for Jake’s injury when she didn’t
deserve it.

So for one, she was going to take a real risk. And she was absolutely, positively not going to

worry about the future or the condition of her heart when the affair came to its natural end.

She turned toward him, a smile that felt both wicked and thrilling overtaking her lips. “As it

happens, I am accepting applications.”

His eyes grew dark with that smoky intensity she recognized from their first night together. “I’m

glad to hear it.”

“I have to warn you, though, the screening process is rigorous.” She dragged the tip of her finger

down the center of his chest toward his abdomen. His muscles twitched at her touch.

He grabbed her hand when she reached his navel. “I think we ought to continue the interview

somewhere more private, don’t you?” The words were a low growl. “Because I’m this close to
demonstrating my qualifications right here and now, and I’d really hate to be interrupted by Donnelly
a third time.”

Abruptly reminded that they were still standing on the island between the hospital’s main

entrance and the parking lot, Angie blushed again. In his magnetic presence, it was easy to forget such
trivial matters as where they were and who might see them. Harper Falls was too small and too
traditional a place for a high school math teacher to carry on a wild, public affair with anyone, let
alone a celebrity like Cade. She was going to have to be more careful in the future.

But she wasn’t going to let being careful stop her.
“You’re right. I’d say your place or mine, but…well, there’s really only your place, isn’t there?”

she said.

“And this time, you stay the night.” It wasn’t a request, although it wasn’t exactly a command,

either. It was more of an aspiration.

One she shared. Except, despite her best intentions, she was already starting to aspire to forever.

Chapter Eleven

It wasn’t the long, leisurely seduction Cade had imagined when he’d envisioned getting Angie

back in his bed. He didn’t, in fact, even get her into his bed. They were both too hungry, too needy to
wait longer than it took to enter the hotel suite and close the door behind them.

No sooner had that been accomplished than they were exchanging frantic, open-mouthed kisses

against the wall and tugging frantically at each other’s clothing. She undid the button of his jeans,
unzipped his fly, and delved inside his boxers to release his cock. He sucked in a pained breath as her
cool fingers explored his heated, aching flesh and cursed the fact that she, too, was wearing jeans.
Why couldn’t she have been in a skirt? Then it would have been a simple matter of pushing aside her
panties…

Sensing his frustration, she moved to help him, toeing off her shoes and wiggling her hips as he

pulled her pants and panties together toward the floor. When they reached her ankles, she kicked her
way out of them, gloriously naked below the waist but for a pair of knee-high black socks. And
somehow, they were most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

Slipping his fingers between the apex of her thighs, he found her slick and ready. Her body was

just as anxious to skip the preliminaries as he was. Thank God.

“I have to be inside you,” he muttered against her neck. “Now.”
Her eyes dark and luminous with desire, she nodded her agreement.
“Back pocket. Wallet.”
She reached around him to fish out his billfold. Flipping open the slim leather case, she located

the single condom packet and removed it, passing it to him with trembling fingers. He tore the plastic
open and rolled the delicate sheath on carefully so as to avoid any chance of tearing it. The rest were
too damned far away.

He took her then, bracing her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips, his palms

supporting the firm half-moons of her ass. Burying himself in her tightness was everything he
remembered and more, and the little sounds of pleasure she made in her throat tore at every shred of
control he possessed.

The cadence of his thrusts increased with each breathy moan, each muffled whimper that

escaped her. She clung to his shoulders, the back of her head thumping softly against the wall as he
drove into her, over and over, striving for completion, for union.

His orgasm built not only in his loins, but in the center of his chest, at the tips of his fingers, even

behind his eyeballs. There was no reining it in, no holding it back, so it was a matter of pure luck that
when he came, she was with him, her muscles clenching around him in exquisite counter-rhythm to the
rolling waves of his own release. He rested his forehead in the curve of her shoulder as he shuddered
into her, her body no separate entity, but rather a sweet, feminine extension of his own.

He’d never really understood math before, he realized. One plus one didn’t equal two at all.
One plus one equaled one.

***

Pinned against the wall with her legs clutched around Cade’s lean hips, Angie was certain she

had never been in a more physically uncomfortable position in her life. Her calves were cramping,
the skin on her shoulder blades felt raw, and she was probably going to develop a bump on the back
of her head where it had bounced against the wall during their frantic coupling.

And she couldn’t have cared less. Not while she still floated on this haze of sensual bliss with

Cade’s hands supporting her buttocks, his cock still buried inside her, and his irregular breaths

fluttering across the skin of her neck.

He lifted his head from her shoulder when his breathing had somewhat normalized. His

expression was almost…sheepish.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was husky and a bit hesitant, as though he wondered whether he

needed to apologize for something.

That tiny glimpse of uncertainty, of vulnerability, was the last thing Angie expected. He always

seemed so supremely confident of himself and of her reactions to him; even when he’d failed at
seducing her, he’d expected nothing else. The fact that he was worried now both amused and pleased
her.

Silly, sweet man.
He couldn’t have failed to realize that she’d been every bit as needy and impatient as he had.

How long had it taken her to come after he’d thrust that delicious cock of his inside her?

Probably not more than three minutes.
And yet, despite the evidence that he’d more than satisfied her, he had the decency to worry that

he might have pushed her too far, too fast.

Not even close!
Still, she couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. Recalling their first time together and the way

he’d strung things out as long as possible, almost tormenting her with his determination to go slowly,
she gave him a playful frown and said, “Well, that was definitely not…slow.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he admitted with a rueful shake of his head. “But I promise to do much better

next time.”

“Mm, as much as I approve of the idea of a next time, I’m not sure anything could be better than

that, let alone much better.”

Cade’s brown eyes narrowed and turned smoky. “That sounds like a challenge to me.
How much do you want to bet I can make it even better?”
“I’d say before we can make a wager, you have to define better. Also, who decides if it was

better or not?”

He grimaced. “Well, we’re sure as hell not having the players vote on it this time.”
Angie burst out laughing at the sheer comic horror of the notion, and Cade groaned as her inner

muscles tightened involuntarily around him.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, that’s okay. It reminds me that if we stay like this too much longer, we might get stuck and

have to wait for the maid to help us get apart in the morning.”

She laughed again, eliciting another groan. “You’re right. That would be even more awful.”
As she unwrapped her legs from his hips and lowered them to the ground, she noticed for the

first time that she was still wearing her knee-high socks. Ugh. Could anything be less sexy?

“I’ll bet Haley Burroughs wouldn’t be caught dead in these,” she muttered, reaching down to

pick up her underwear and jeans from their heap on the floor.

“Huh?” Cade was zipping up his own jeans, having discarded the condom and tucked himself

back into his boxers.

Angie’s cheeks flamed. She hadn’t meant for him to hear that. She knew it was stupid for her to

worry that he found her lacking in comparison to his past girlfriends. He was here with her now, and
he clearly found her attractive enough that he’d taken her up against a wall the second they’d walked
in the room. If that wasn’t enough to convince her of her appeal to him, nothing ever would be.

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking these socks aren’t what I would have worn if I’d known we

were going to be doing this tonight.”

“Are you kidding?” He dropped to his knees in front of her and wrapped his palms around her

calves. “I’ve never seen anything as hot as your legs wrapped around me in these.

Sort of like boots, but without the sharp heels digging into my ass. Very sexy.”
“Really?” The word came out on a sigh as he began to knead the sore, stiff muscles beneath his

hands. The clothes she’d been clutching slipped from her grasp, and she grabbed onto his shoulders to
keep herself from melting into a pool of pleasure at his feet—okay, technically, at his knees.

She was powerfully aware that his mouth was almost level with her sex. If he leaned forward

just a little, he could press his lips just there… Her legs threatened to liquefy at the thought.

“Oh, God, yeah.” His voice was a low, sexy rumble, ruffling the curls at the apex of her thighs.

“I swear, from now on, the sight of a pair of black socks is always going to make me hard.”

Despite the erotic sensation his touch evoked, Angie managed to keep her wits about her enough

to observe wryly, “You’re going to have a tough time walking through a department store, then.”

He looked up at her, a lazy smile curving his lips. “Guess I’ll just have to bring you with me

whenever I go shopping so my hard-ons won’t go to waste. Just be prepared to be pulled into a
dressing room and ravished every time we pass a sock display.”

Angie had to close her eyes. If she kept them open, if she kept looking into his earnest face and

smoldering eyes, she’d start to believe that he meant what he said, that he actually imagined a future
in which they’d do normal, domestic things together like shopping. But there wasn’t anything domestic
or normal about Cade. He was a multi-millionaire, a celebrity. Even if he never stepped foot on the
playing field again, he’d always be rich and famous. There was nothing for a man like him in Harper
Falls.

And there was nothing for Angie anywhere else.
She couldn’t leave Harper Falls. He wouldn’t stay. The sooner she accepted those truths as self-

evident, the sooner she could enjoy the thrill of having him for however long it lasted.

He nuzzled the hem of her blouse, pushing the fabric up toward her navel. His lips brushed her

abdomen, sending tiny electric shockwaves along her nerve endings.

That’s right. Don’t think; just feel.
Not that any such self-admonition was necessary. Between the expert manipulation of his hands

on her calves and the tiny kisses he pressed on her belly, deep thought wasn’t exactly her strong suit.
His touch was like a magnet, erasing all the data from her brain and turning her mindless with lust, her
sex damp and heavy with renewed arousal.

“In fact,” he said, his lips grazing across the triangle of her curls, “I think it’s working already.”
“What’s working?” she asked, their previous conversation a dim memory.
“The socks. I’m hard as a rock. And not a dressing room in sight.” He made a clucking noise

with his tongue.

“I’m sure you can improvise.” She gasped as his mouth drifted downward, closer and closer.

Her thighs tensed in anticipation.

“I’m flattered by your confidence.” His tongue darted out to stroke the seam of her sex, lightly,

briefly.

Too briefly.
She knew him by now. He’d drag out this sensual torture all night if she let him. Time to take the

bull by the horns. Or the man by the balls, as the case might be.

“I hear bedrooms are good for this sort of thing, and I believe there’s one right next door.”
“Really? That seems a little…unimaginative.”

“You can show your imagination in other ways.” She released her grip on his shoulders and

ruffled his hair. “Besides, I seem to recall you saying something about me being the boss now, and I
think it’s about time you demonstrated your work ethic.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way…” He got to his feet. “I suppose I have no other choice.”
“You’re right. You don’t.”
She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom, acutely aware that she was treating him to an

excellent view of her bare bottom as she walked in front of him. If he’d been any other man, she
probably would have been embarrassed by what she was doing. She would have been self-conscious
and uncomfortable, wondering whether he truly found her attractive or just desperate. But with Cade,
she didn’t worry because he’d made it absolutely clear to her—with his words and with his actions
over the past week and a half—that he wanted her. Badly. If she was desperate, well, so was he, and
that knowledge was thrilling and empowering.

And so she slowed her steps, swaying her hips in deliberate provocation. Cade’s reaction was

immediate and thoroughly gratifying. He closed the distance between them until his chest was pressed
against her back and muttered, his voice hot and thick in her ear, “This is one instance in which a
little more speed wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

She smiled, but she didn’t walk any faster. “Who’s the boss here?”
“You are,” he growled, not sounding at all happy about it.
When they got to the bedroom, she turned around to look at him. God, he was handsome.
And unbelievably turned on. His eyes were dark and dangerous, his mouth set in an almost grim

line, and the bulge in his just-tight-enough-to-be-ridiculously-sexy jeans was enormous.

Oh yes, he wanted her. There was no doubt about that.
“Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to get undressed?” she asked.
Those grim lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He whipped his T-shirt off over his head, revealing the sculpted musculature of his chest and

abdomen. Although there was no way to achieve that degree of definition without a lot of weight
training, he didn’t have the exaggerated proportions of a bodybuilder, just a perfectly chiseled set of
pecs and lightly ridged six pack bisected by a fine trail of dark hair that disappeared into his
waistband. Or it did until he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them and his boxers toward the floor.

Angie sucked in her breath at the pure masculine beauty of him. She’d seen him naked before, of

course. That wasn’t what affected her. Or at least, it wasn’t the primary thing. No, what made her
knees weak and her breath catch, what brought a liquid rush of desire to her sex was the
unmistakable, gorgeous evidence of his arousal. Of what she miraculously, inexplicably did to him.

She had never considered the penis to be a particularly aesthetic element of the male anatomy,

but Cade’s cock—long and thick and as perfectly proportioned as the rest of him— forced her to
revise her opinion. There was nothing about the man that wasn’t beautiful. It was as simple as that.

And he wanted her. Incredible, but true.
“Your turn,” he said gently, his eyes boring into her with the heated intensity of a laser beam.
“My turn…?” Then she remembered she was still wearing her blouse and bra. “Oh.”
Their gazes locked as, one by one, she undid the buttons, slowly because her fingers were

trembling, and then shrugged the blouse from her shoulders. When she was done, she turned her back
to him. He read her request immediately, his warm fingers making short work of the clasp of her bra.
As soon as that last scrap of fabric between them was gone, he slid his arms around her and cupped
her breasts in his palms.

“Beautiful,” he murmured in her ear as he kneaded her flesh, his thumb and fingers tugging

rhythmically at her nipples.

“I could say the same about you.” She leaned back into him, trapping his cock between her ass

cheeks and his abdomen.

He made a guttural sound in his throat as she rolled her hips from side to side. “You’re making it

very difficult for me to do a better job this time around.”

“I told you,” she said, twisting in his arms to face him, “I’m not sure it’s possible to do better.”
His eyes narrowed, and his mouth drew into a feral line. “Them’s fighting words, Miss

Peterson,” he drawled, deliberately laying a thick Texas accent over the top of his Minnesota vowels.

She twined her arms around his neck. “Then let’s get to the fighting, Mr. Reynolds.”
Before she knew how it happened, she was on her back on the bed, the length of Cade’s body

stretched out over hers. “I aim to please,” he said with a grin.

And please her, he did. His hands and mouth were magic, finding erogenous zones she’d never

even known existed—the tips of her fingers, the edges of her rib cage, the backs of her knees. He
teased her nipples to tender, aching points with his teeth and tongue before settling between her legs
and bringing her to a swift, sweet climax with that very same, incredibly talented tongue.

When he was finished, he donned a condom, then shifted her onto her side, facing away from

him, and slid into her from behind. The sensation of him filling her from this angle was so exquisite, it
was almost painful. As he moved inside her, he pressed his fingers to her clit, making slow, dancing
circles over the tender bit of flesh until she was frantic to come again.

“Jesus, Cade,” she whimpered. She’d always thought the G-spot was a myth, but she was pretty

sure he’d found hers.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He was trying to sound casual, but his voice was as strained as

hers.

She shattered a few seconds later, the orgasm pouring through her like a monsoon, wet and hot

and wonderful. His mouth captured hers as he stiffened and came with her, the pulsing of his cock as
palpable as the beating of her own heart.

He lifted his head and grinned down at her. “Now, be honest with me. That was better, wasn’t

it?”

Angie twisted to face him and dragged a finger down the center of his chest. “I’m not sure. I

might need another demonstration before I can make up my mind.”

Grabbing her hand, he brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “I think that can be arranged.

Very soon.”

Chapter Twelve

The phone was ringing.
Barely conscious, Cade flung his arm out to answer it, knocking the receiver off the hook before

he realized the sound wasn’t coming from the hotel phone. The ring tone was too tinny and too distant.

A cell phone, he thought. And not his.
Memory rushed in, along with a heady dose of the scent of sex and the soft warmth of Angie’s

body spooned against his.

She was still here.
He jostled her shoulder gently to rouse her. The room was dark and a quick glance at the bedside

clock verified it was coming up on three a.m.

“Angie, your phone.”
“My what?” she mumbled, snuggling back toward him so that his half-erect cock seated itself in

the crack of her ass.

He grimaced as he came to near-instant attention. Apparently, three times in one night hadn’t

been enough for him. He wasn’t sure three hundred times would be, either.

“Your phone. It’s ringing.”
That, combined with the next jangling sound, was enough to rouse her. She struggled up onto her

elbows and glanced over him at the clock.

“Oh, shit.” She threw off the sheet—with their combined body heat, they hadn’t needed a blanket

—and pitched her legs off the bed.

Cade smiled in the darkness. He’d only heard her curse once before. As a high school teacher,

he supposed an ability to avoid using profanity was a practical necessity.

“What’s the problem?”
“My dad. I never called to tell him I wouldn’t be home tonight.” She pushed off the bed and

headed toward the suite’s living area, where her handbag was probably somewhere on the floor near
the door. The motion-sensitive nightlight in the hallway clicked on, bathing the elegant curve of her
back in a dim, golden glow before she disappeared around the corner.

The cell jingled again, and she muttered something indistinguishable. This was followed by one

more ring and the muted clank of car keys.

“Hello.”
That was the last thing he heard before she appeared in the hallway again. Her front side looked

even better in the soft light than her back did, and her back had looked pretty damned terrific.

She gestured with the phone as she walked back into the bedroom. “I just missed it.
Rolled to voice mail.”
“Was it your father?” he asked.
With a morose nod, she sat down on the bed beside him and stared at the phone. “He wanted to

know if Jake is okay and to make sure I’m all right after what happened. He knew I’d blame myself.
I’m going to have to call him back.” She sounded as though she considered the idea about as
appealing as walking on hot coals.

Cade reached over to switch on the light before the motion sensitive ones went out, then pushed

himself to a sitting position and tucked the pillows behind his back. “Why is that a problem?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s my father. Can’t you guess?”
“Hey, you’re a grown woman, not a teenager. This can’t be the first time—” He broke off when

she gave him a biting look.

Oh. Well, that was interesting. And more than a little flattering.
“I should get dressed and go home.” She sighed.
“Oh no, you shouldn’t. You promised me the whole weekend.”
“That was before I considered the implications of telling my father where I’ll be spending the

next two nights.”

Cade frowned, trying to square the Daryl Peterson he met last Saturday with a man who’d have

issues with his adult daughter’s sexuality. Granted, Peterson was of a different era, but he’d fully
embraced Angie’s decidedly non-traditional career choice. It was difficult to imagine him going
medieval over her spending a weekend with a man.

“Why do you still live at home, anyway?” Cade asked. The question had been niggling at him

since he’d stopped by the house with the playbook over a week ago. “Surely being a teacher pays
well enough for you to afford your own place.”

She looked away, her mouth pulling into a frown. “After my mother died, he was just so lost. I

couldn’t leave him alone; I was afraid he’d die, too. Since then, I just haven’t found a good reason to
move out. I have my own space upstairs, so it’s almost like having my own apartment, and this way, I
can be sure he’s okay. Losing my mom like that was awful. I’m not ready to go through it again.”

“You don’t really think he’s going to think less of you if you have a relationship, though, do

you?”

Angie laughed mirthlessly. “You don’t get it. He’s been after me to ‘have a relationship,’ as you

put it, for the last two years. He won’t be upset. He’ll be thrilled. And worse, he’ll have…
expectations.”

“Is that why you don’t date?” Cade asked. It still baffled him that a woman as smart and

gorgeous as Angie was not only unmarried but not even seeing anyone. She ought to have men stacked
up at her door ten deep. Not that he was complaining.

“I date,” she contradicted. “Just not very much.”
She stooped down to pick up something off the floor—her blouse, he realized—and slipped her

arms into the sleeves, clutching it closed over her breasts before sitting on the bed beside him. He
resisted the urge to pry the fabric from her hands. As much as he loved to keep looking at her luscious
naked body, doing so wasn’t exactly conducive to conversation.

“Okay,” he amended. “Why don’t you date very much?”
“Well, it’s not like there are a lot of opportunities in Harper Falls. This is a place people move

to  when  they’re  married  to  raise  their  families,  not  a  place  people  live  when  they’re  single  and
looking. Almost everyone we went to high school with has moved to the Cities or even farther away.
And  the  ones  who  are  left…”  She  shuddered  and  shook  her  head.  “Besides,  even  if  I  did  have
opportunities,  it’s  weird  to  date  someone  who  lives  in  the  same  town  when  you’re  a  high  school
teacher. Especially a town as small as this. Everyone knows everyone’s business.

Nothing’s private.”
Cade nodded. He understood what it was like not to have a private life. As a celebrity, he hadn’t

had one until he’d dropped off the map after his injury. Every date he’d been on in the previous fifteen
years was a matter of public record. In fact, ironically, it was only since he’d gotten back to Harper
Falls that he’d been to bed with a woman without it making the gossip columns. At least, it hadn’t yet.

But it was different for Angie. She wasn’t a celebrity, and she had a certain reputation to

maintain. He’d have to be careful not to compromise her standing in the community. Which meant
he’d better fish or cut bait.

“Well,” he said, “I can’t say I’m sorry the pickings here are slim.” Leaning over, he nuzzled her

neck. “It gives me a fighting chance.”

She let out a sigh that was half surrender, half exasperation. “You always had more than a

fighting chance. But you need to stop that before I forget to call my dad back. He’s probably worried
sick.”

Cade straightened up. “As long as you promise you’re not going to go running home at the sound

of his voice.”

With a grin, she stood up. “I promise. But don’t be surprised if the next time you see him, he’s

calling you ‘Son’ and asking when you’re going to make an honest woman out of me.”

As she walked back into the living room, the sweetly rounded cheeks of her ass peeking out

beneath the hem of her blouse, Cade decided that was a risk he was more than willing to take.

***

“Love you, too. ’Bye, Dad.” Angie pressed the end button on her cell, completing the most

uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had.

It was silly, of course. She was twenty-nine, not eighteen. But still…there was something about

telling her father she was spending the weekend with Cade Reynolds—and knowing her dad knew
exactly what they were doing together—that made her want to crawl into a hole and die. Her father
wouldn’t think less of her; she knew that. But she hated that when this whole thing came to a crashing
halt, his heart would be as broken as hers, because she would never date anyone he’d like as much as
he liked Cade.

“All taken care of?” Cade asked when she came back into the bedroom.
She’d half hoped he might have fallen back asleep while she was gone, because she really didn’t

want to talk any more about her lack of a sex life. Compared to Cade, she felt gauche and
inexperienced, as if she’d been transported by time machine back to the ninth grade, and she wasn’t at
all sure he wasn’t starting to feel the same way. Like maybe she’d read too much into the fact that they
were spending the weekend together and he thought she was expecting a marriage proposal to be right
around the corner.

Nodding, she crawled back into the bed. While she’d been in the living room, she’d buttoned up

her blouse and found her panties, which she’d put back on.

He raised an eyebrow. “Unusual choice in pajamas.”
Unable to think of a smart retort, she shrugged. “Just making do with what I have.”
“We’ll stop by your place tomorrow and pick up something else for you to wear. In the

meantime,” he said, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I’d really prefer it if you weren’t wearing
anything.”

“I don’t—” Angie began, but it was already too late to object that it was the middle of the night

and surely he couldn’t want to have sex again, because he was kissing her and unbuttoning her blouse
at the same time, and there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever that he did want to have sex again.

And unbelievably, so did she. Her nipples came to instant attention, and her panties grew damp

as he slid his hand down her torso to her abdomen. She gasped as his fingers found the waistband of
her panties and then pulled them down to her thighs.

He broke the kiss, shifting their bodies so they lay on their sides, facing each other. His eyes

were dark and heavy-lidded. “The whole time you were in there talking on the phone, all I could think
about was getting you back in here and fucking your brains out. And then you come in here all dressed
and prim. I’m feeling downright barbaric.”

Her clit pulsed with need at his coarse language. She wriggled her hips. “I’m feeling a little

barbaric myself.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Take off the panties then, Barbarella.”
She giggled at the reference as she lifted her legs and slipped the underwear down over her

knees, then kicked them off the end of the bed.

“Better. Now, let’s try this…roll over onto your stomach.”
Her breath hitched as she wondered what he had in mind, but she did as he asked. He straddled

her legs at the knees and then began massaging his way down her back to her butt and thighs. She
closed her eyes and moaned as he turned her into warm butter. By the time his fingers delved between
her cheeks and the swollen flesh between her legs, she was too relaxed and too aroused to object to
anything he might do. In fact, she lifted her hips and spread her legs to assist him.

He made her come once, almost right away, his thumb pressing her rhythmically as his fingers

moved inside her. She was still weak and panting when he leaned over and grabbed a condom packet
from the bedside table. After rolling it on, he grasped her waist, angled her hips slightly upward, and
buried his cock inside her. Muffling a moan into the pillow, she arched her back, deepening their
connection. He groaned and kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

“Make yourself come again,” he ordered, grabbing her hand, which was resting beside her head,

and guiding it down between her legs.

Her face flamed. Could she do that? But as he pressed his fingers over hers, showing her what

he wanted her to do, she found she not only could do that, she liked it. He moved his hand away,
sliding them up to cup her breasts and tease her nipples while he fucked her with slow, deep strokes
that seemed to reach all the way up to her heart.

When she came again, he turned her head to capture her mouth in a kiss and came right along

with her.

Afterward, as they pulled apart and settled back beneath the sheet again, spoon-fashion, he

muttered, “You can get clothes tomorrow. But you won’t be needing pajamas.”

Chapter Thirteen

This time, it was Cade’s cell phone that was ringing. Or playing Pink Floyd, as the case might

be.

Even groggier than he’d been at three a.m., he rolled over and found his cell, grimacing as he

noted the time. Six thirty. On a Saturday morning. Was Stu insane?

He glanced at Angie and smiled. Still sound asleep. He’d worn her clean out.
Clicking the talk button, he put the receiver to his ear. “This better be good,” he said, his voice

hoarse with sleep.

“It is!” Stu was plainly both wide awake—although Cade was pretty sure his agent normally

didn’t rise much before noon—and very excited. “The Jets want to see you today. They heard the
Vikings are in talks with the Texans for you and they want a shot. Meadowlands, three o’clock this
afternoon. I’ve got a seat for you on the nine thirty flight out of Minneapolis up on the computer screen
right now. You’ll hit the tarmac at one thirty in Newark, which should give you just enough time to get
to—”

“Wait just a goddamn minute,” Cade interrupted. “I didn’t even know the Vikings were still

interested.” It had been almost three weeks since his audition. He’d assumed that deal wasn’t going to
happen.

“I didn’t want to mention it because your GM is driving a hard bargain. He wants more in the

trade for you than the Vikes really want to give.”

Cade rubbed his eyes, trying to get his head around what his agent was telling him. It was too

damn early in the morning for this much information. “And the Jets want to see me today?”

“Isn’t it great? It’s the break you’ve been waiting for. They’re ready to can Maddox, and they

want you for the job. For good.”

Cade allowed himself a full second of exhilaration before he let skepticism take over.
“Me and who else?”
“No one. They swore to me it’s you unless you reject their offer.”
Angie shifted and stirred beside him. His heart skipped a beat as the sheet slipped to her waist,

baring one gorgeous pink-tipped breast. He couldn’t just up and go to New York at the drop of a hat.
Not today. Not when he’d finally gotten Angie back in his bed where she belonged.

But damn, it was New York. The Big Apple. There was no bigger gig than quarterback of the

Jets, unless it was quarterback of the Giants, but Eli Manning had beat him to that job. Cade couldn’t
afford to let this opportunity slip away.

Stu cleared his throat in the silence. “You’re not going to say no, are you? Please tell me you

haven’t decided you’d rather coach high school football than play in the NFL.”

Quarterback of the Jets was the position of Cade’s dreams. Not just because he’d be the starter,

but because he loved New York. On his first trip for the Heisman ceremony, he’d been dazzled by the
city—by its lights, its grandeur, its energy. Since then, he’d become a regular visitor, spending time in
the city both when he played against the Jets or the Giants and during the off-season for photo shoots
and guest appearances on talk shows and sports programs that shot there. If the offer was right—and
there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t be—he was definitely not going to say no.

He looked at Angie again. “Make it two seats,” he said, “and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

###

“I can’t just go to New York at the drop of a hat!” Angie protested, her hair framing her face like

a fuzzy golden halo.

She looked so adorably frazzled that it was all Cade could do not to push her back to the bed and

make love to her again. But they didn’t have time for that now. Later, though…

“Why not? You promised to spend the weekend with me. What difference does it make if we

spend it here or in New York? I’ll have you back home in plenty of time for school on Monday
morning.”

Angie scrubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t know. I just… You said the flight is at nine

thirty. We’ll have to leave straight for the airport to make it in time. I don’t even have time to go home
and change my clothes, let alone pack.”

Cade grinned. If that was her only objection, he’d already won the argument. “They have stores

in New York, you know.”

“I’m sure they do,” she retorted, a little testy, “but I doubt I can afford them.”
“I can,” he said smoothly.
She shook her head. “I can’t let you buy me new clothes…not to mention a plane ticket and food

and everything.”

Ah, now they were getting to the heart of her objection. “Angie, I’m asking you to come with me

because  I  want  to  spend  time  with  you,  not  because  I’m  on  some  weird  campaign  to  make  you  feel
like  you  owe  me  something. And  it’s  perfectly  fine  with  me  if  we  spend  the  entire  weekend  in  the
hotel room naked—which is pretty much what we’d be doing if we stayed here—but I’d rather you
got  the  chance  to  see  a  little  bit  of  the  city  while  you’re  there.  Plus,  I’d  like  to  take  you  out  to  an
amazing dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. But if my buying you a couple of outfits to do that is
make-or-break, then…”

“I’m not poor,” she said flatly.
“I didn’t say you were,” Cade pointed out. “You were the one who said you couldn’t afford the

stores in New York.”

She grimaced. “It all… It seems so sudden.”
“It is sudden,” he agreed. “But it’ll be fun. And you did promise. If you go back on it now, I

might reconsider making you my boss.”

“You wouldn’t!”
No, he wouldn’t, and she knew it. But he won the argument anyway.

***

They arrived at the airport with enough time to spare for Angie to buy a clean outfit to wear on

the flight. Unfortunately, however, the one boutique on the way to their gate that carried women’s
clothing wasn’t open for business yet. She was ready to pass right by, but Cade saw movement inside
the store and tapped on the window. The salesgirl took one look at him and unlocked the door, a huge
grin plastered on her face.

When Cade explained what they needed, the young woman ushered them inside and made short

work of finding several items in Angie’s size. After trying them on, she settled on a pair of black
slacks that seemed unlikely to wrinkle and a lightweight sweater in turquoise blue with a scooped
neckline. Cade whistled when she exited the dressing room, then insisted on buying a pair of ankle-
high black boots to complete the ensemble, saying with a laugh that even he knew black trousers and
white sneakers didn’t go together.

Angie managed not to gasp in frugal Minnesotan horror when the total purchase price appeared

on the cash register, but only barely. She consoled herself, however, with the fact that the shopkeeper
had given Cade a fifteen percent discount in exchange for his autograph. It could have been even
worse.

When they arrived at the gate, the flight attendant intercepted them.
“Mr. Reynolds and Ms. Peterson?” she asked. When they nodded, she said in a scolding tone,

“Well, you’re late. We were about to close the gate.” She scanned their tickets, and then hurried them
down the jetway.

As Angie ducked her head to enter the plane and started down the aisle toward the back of the

plane, the flight attendant stopped her, gesturing toward two empty seats in first class.

“These are yours, Ms. Peterson.”
“Oh.” Of course Cade wouldn’t fly coach. For one thing, he’d probably be cut off at the knees by

the seat in front of him. For another, he could certainly afford better.

But two first-class tickets at the last minute? The price must have been exorbitant, even by

Cade’s standards. Angie felt queasy as she buckled in. She was thrifty by nature, and this whole
endeavor was becoming more extravagant by the second. Whether it was within Cade’s means or not
was irrelevant; it wasn’t within hers, and that made her uncomfortable.

Cade’s warm hand covered hers. “Afraid of flying?” he asked softly.
She shook her head.
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.” Her neuroses weren’t his fault. Besides, this was just another reminder of how badly

they’d fit together for anything more than a brief fling. If she couldn’t get through a weekend trip to
New York without cringing over every penny he spent on her, how on earth would she get through a
marriage?

Not that marriage was even remotely on the table, of course. She shouldn’t even let that word

cross her mind, at least not in relation to Cade.

He let out an exasperated sigh as the plane pushed back. “If there’s one thing I know about

women, it’s that nothing is definitely something.”

“Trust me, it’s not important.”
“All the more reason to tell me, then.”
Angie pressed her lips together. “I’ve just never flown first class before. It seems so—”
She broke off, embarrassed.
“Comfortable? Roomy? Pleasant?” he supplied.
“Expensive,” she whispered.
He wrapped his fingers around her hand and brought her palm to his lips. “Angie, I made five

million dollars last season, thanks to my signing bonus and my endorsement contracts. A couple of
first-class plane tickets aren’t even close to expensive. If I’d wanted to go all out, I could have
chartered a private jet for this trip. In fact,” he added with a heated glance down the scooped neckline
of her new sweater, “I wish I had. We could have made much better use of the next two hours. What
was I thinking, flying commercial?”

Angie jerked her hand away from his with an embarrassed laugh. “Keep your voice down.

People will hear you.”

Cade glanced around at the well-dressed, middle-age men and women seated in the remaining

rows of the first-class section. Most of them had their noses buried in the Wall Street Journal or
Fortune magazine. “I don’t think any of them are the slightest bit interested in how much money I made
last year.”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “That’s not what I was worried about them overhearing!”
“Ow,” he said in mock protest. “That’s my bad shoulder, you know.”
“If you can’t take a little punch from me, what’s going to happen the first time you get hit by a

linebacker? I’m just trying to toughen you up.”

“And I’m trying to toughen you up.” He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips.
“You’re so used to worrying about what other people think, and I get it. You have to. But we’re

not in Harper Falls now. For one weekend, I want you to forget about everything except enjoying
yourself. You deserve a little fun. Whatever I spend this weekend, I’m spending because I want to and
I can afford it. And if I catch you paying attention to the price of anything while we’re in New York,
whether it’s the dress I’m going to insist you buy to wear when we go out to dinner tonight or the
breakfast we’ll have in bed tomorrow morning, I’m going to double-down and buy even more just to
prove my point. Got it?”

The jet engines whirred to life as the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Flight

attendants, prepare for takeoff.”

A little curl of exhilaration wound in the pit of Angie’s stomach. She flew seldom enough that

she still got a rush out of the speed as the plane barreled down the runway and the brief sensation of
weightlessness as the wheels left the tarmac.

Cade was right. It was only one weekend. One weekend to splurge, to wallow in excess, to

ignore her inner Scrooge. After that, Cade would surely accept the Jets’ offer and move to New York.
Angie would go back to teaching math, coaching football, going to Pilates twice a week with Rachel,
and having Sunday dinners with her dad. In other words, everything would return to normal.

So why did normal suddenly seem as dull as dirt?

Chapter Fourteen

Alone in the mirrored elevator of the St. Regis hotel on her way to the twentieth floor, Angie

could examine herself from every angle and, as yet, she hadn’t found a flaw in her appearance.

Dress: Perfect. Hair: Perfect. Makeup: Perfect.
This was, of course, crazy thinking; any good Minnesotan knew there was always a blizzard

lurking, even in a cloudless sky.

Of course, she hadn’t achieved this degree of perfection without help, starting with the personal

shopper who’d met her at Saks Fifth Avenue—the real one—followed by the hairstylist and make-up
artists in the salon. If Angie looked like a million bucks, it was all thanks to their patience and
expertise. Well, and to Cade’s very generous credit limit.

The elevator dinged. Angie spared herself one last glance in the mirrors. Maybe she could give

Haley Burroughs a run for her money after all.

When the doors opened, she walked out into the corridor and made a right hand turn toward the

suite Cade had booked for the night. According to her cell phone’s clock, it was just past six o’clock.
Their dinner reservation wasn’t until eight, which meant there was plenty of time for her to ruin
something, even if it was just to get a run in her stockings.

She waved the key card over the lock—the first time she tried to open the door, she spent

several seconds trying to find the slot for the key before realizing it was touchless, and then felt like
an idiot—and turned the knob when it clicked. The spacious living room of the suite looked out over
a sea of green treetops in Central Park to the city beyond. She stood in the open doorway for several
seconds, just staring out the window. It was all so beautiful…and so surreal.

“Hey.”
Angie turned toward the rumble of Cade’s voice. He stood just outside the bedroom door,

wearing a pair of black trousers and a white shirt that was still open at the throat. His hair was wet.

“I didn’t think you’d be ho—here yet,” she said. God, she’d almost said home. “Did everything

go all right?”

He grinned like a kid on Christmas. “It went great.”
“So they’re going to offer you the job, then?” She set her purse and the key card on the small side

table by the door.

“I think so. They’ll have to talk to my agent before it’s formal, but it looks good.”
If she’d been prone to dramatics, Angie might have clutched at her heart, because the knifing

pain in the center of her chest was that acute. Instead, she took an uneven breath and lied, “That’s
great.”

So this was really going to be it. One weekend.
She’d better make the most of it. Too bad she was already dressed and coiffed to the nines.
As if reading her mind—or at least part of it—Cade said with a sigh, “I should have made our

reservation for seven. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the next two hours without ripping
that dress off you.”

Reflex made Angie glance down at the dress. Sarah, the personal shopper, had accurately called

the color “beaujolais” when she pulled it off the rack. Covered from neckline to hem in clear glass
beads that sparkled like rubies when they caught the light, the fabric clung to her curves in a way that
was both sexy and classy. With her hair done up in a French twist—a feat she would never have
managed on her own—and her feet encased in a pair of designer pumps that were comfortable despite
their two-inch heel, she almost could be mistaken for someone rich and famous…or at least rich.

“I hope you like it,” she said. She’d angsted between this dress and another considerably less

expensive one in a pretty shade of midnight blue, but Sarah had convinced Angie that the red did more
for her coloring and figure. Now she wondered if she’d made the right choice.

Cade gave her an appraising look, his eyes smoky with sensual promise. “I like you in it.
Although I think I’d like you even better out of it. And, to tell the truth, I’m probably always

going to have a very soft spot for the dress you wore on our first date.”

Angie’s face flushed as heated images of that night flashed through her mind. “I’m not sure I’d

call that a date, exactly.”

“Which is why we can’t give in to the temptation to do what we did that night. It’s past time we

had a proper date, don’t you think?”

A slow smile pulled at her lips. Closing the space between them, she wound her arms around his

neck. “Maybe proper dates are overrated.”

***

Cade had to exercise all his willpower to disengage himself from Angie’s embrace and finish

dressing for dinner. It would have been all too easy to take her up on her offer and repeat their first
night together, but he didn’t want that. He wanted her to know that this wasn’t just about sex for him,
and if he gave in to temptation now, he’d never achieve that. With a formal offer from the Jets
looming, this weekend with Angie had taken on new meaning; he had to use it to convince her that the
two of them were a viable long-term proposition. He wasn’t sure how to make it work, but he knew
he’d regret not trying. Football season wouldn’t last forever, and once it was over, he could return to
Harper Falls until training camp started in the summer. By then, maybe he could convince her that she
belonged in his world every bit as much as he belonged in hers.

She certainly looked the part tonight. As they strolled into L’Escalier, New York’s finest French

restaurant, every head in the place turned to look, but Cade knew it wasn’t him they were gawking at.
Although he was sure she was completely unaware of it, Angie was the most beautiful woman in the
place. She would have been if she’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but dressed as she was, she
looked like a movie star. He could almost see the gears in people’s heads turning as they tried to
figure out who she was, where they’d seen her before.

The thought made him smile. Let them wonder which starlet Cade Reynolds was dating now.

They’d never figure it out.

“Monsieur Reynolds,” the maître-d said in his heavily accented English, “it’s very good to see

you.”

Cade shook the man’s outstretched hand. Although he made it a point to eat at L’Escalier

whenever he was in the city, it had been longer than usual between visits thanks to his injury.

“It’s good to see you, too, Jacques.”
“How is the shoulder, monsieur?” he asked, while at the same time pulling two menus and a

wine list from the caddy on the side of the host’s table.

“Right as rain,” Cade answered, rolling the joint for emphasis. “Allow me to introduce you to

Miss Peterson,” he added, gesturing toward Angie.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, stretched out her hand, but the man shook his head,

bowing with French ostentation.

“Mais non, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Peterson. I hope you enjoy our humble establishment.”
Cade smothered a chuckle. L’Escalier, renowned for both the superiority of its cuisine and its

clientele, was about as humble as a custom-made Italian suit.

Jacques led them to the quietest corner of the restaurant. A bottle of Cade’s favorite pinot noir

was already open and breathing in the center of the table. The maître-d seated them, draping the crisp
linen napkin across Angie’s lap and pouring the wine for Cade to taste before filling their glasses.
After ensuring everything was to Cade’s satisfaction, he departed with another showy bow.

When he was gone, Angie looked at Cade with wide eyes. “Was that Mariska Hargitay at the

table by the front door?”

Cade smiled. “Probably. Robert Kennedy, Jr. is sitting to our left, and Carmelo Anthony is over

by the fireplace. I’m sure there are a few more you’d recognize if the lighting were better.

A lot of famous people eat here, partly because the food is fantastic, but also because other

famous people eat here. You can have a meal in a place like this without being mobbed.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Angie said. “But I’m not in any danger of being mobbed.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you’re dating me. People are bound to notice you and wonder who you are.”
“God, I hope not.”
Cade was a little taken aback by her vehemence. “Why?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m from Minnesota, Cade. Isn’t that reason enough?”
He laughed. “I’m from Minnesota, too, you know.”
“But you were never a shy, retiring Minnesotan. Not even in high school. You were always a

Jesse Ventura kind of Minnesotan.”

At the comparison to the colorful former professional wrestler and governor, Cade frowned.

“I’m not sure whether to be insulted or not.”

“Oh, definitely not,” she said earnestly. “I like Jesse Ventura.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Now I’m worried about your taste in men,” he teased.
“Hey, he’s never boring. You have to give him that.”
“He’s also a few fish short of a fry, but never mind that. I don’t believe you’re any more shy or

retiring than I am. I remember what you were like in high school, you know.”

She grimaced. “You mean dorky and plain?”
“No, I mean smart and confident. You came right up to me after that first game of the season and

told me exactly why we were going to lose in spite of the fact that I was the best high school
quarterback in the state. Although, come to think of it, you were probably just flattering me when you
said that last bit. You couldn’t have known I was the best; you hadn’t seen every high school
quarterback in the state play.”

Her cheeks colored. It hardly seemed possible, but he was fairly certain she was even more

beautiful when she blushed.

“God, I can’t believe you remember that. I really hoped you didn’t.”
“Why? I thought you were brilliant.”
“No, you didn’t. You thought I was a weird freshman girl with a horrible crush on you.
And you were right.”
“You had a crush on me?” He’d never had an inkling. The way she’d talked to him back then, it

had never occurred to him that she was like other girls. She hadn’t acted like other girls, whose only
interest in football seemed to be in the tight pants. That was probably why he remembered her, in fact.
She’d been different.

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Of course I had a crush on you. Everyone did.
Well, every girl, anyway.”
“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not. You were Homecoming King, you know. Or did you manage to forget that little

detail?”

“Of course not, but I was the quarterback of the football team. My only competition was the

senior class president, and Matthew Thibodeaux was a douche. He only won the presidency because
no one else was running.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Angie said with a wry laugh.
Cade raised his eyebrows. “Only one?”
“Yeah. Matthew Thibodeaux was a douche. And still is.”

***

She hadn’t intended to tell him about Matthew Thibodeaux, but Cade’s unsolicited and accurate

opinion of their former classmate’s character had reminded her of that very bad dating mistake in her
past and loosened her tongue, Cade was adorably offended on her behalf and vowed to take
Thibodeaux out behind a woodshed if it would make her feel better. The idea made Angie laugh, but
as richly as the jerk deserved it, she wasn’t a bloodthirsty sort of person, despite her love of football.

Later, she couldn’t remember what else they’d talked about over the course of the most delicious

meal she’d ever eaten. All she knew was that she’d never enjoyed a “date” more. By the time they left
the restaurant several hours later, she was beginning to imagine that maybe they might have a future
beyond this weekend. New York was big and noisy and crowded, but it wasn’t quite as intimidating
as she’d feared. Of course, she could never move here—not with both her job and her father back in
Harper Falls—but she could fly up to visit Cade once every few weeks, and he could come to see
her, especially during the off-season. How long that would work, she didn’t know, but if being with
him made her feel like this, it would be worth the effort.

And then, as they stepped out into the street, dozens of flash bulbs went off.

Chapter Fifteen

“I’m sorry about all that,” Cade said when they were safely back in the hotel suite. “I didn’t

think anyone knew I was in town. I should have realized the press would find out and track me
down.”

He was going to give Jacques a piece of his mind the next time he saw him. He had no doubt the

maître’d was the one who’d contacted the press. And under any other circumstances, Cade probably
would have been grateful for the attention. As it was…

Angie walked toward the bedroom, pulling pins out of her hair as she went. “It’s not your fault. I

should have expected it, really. You are famous.”

Something in her tone of voice worried him. He followed her into the bedroom. She stood with

her back to him, shaking out her hair.

“That doesn’t happen every time I go out, you know. It’s only because they’re speculating about

whether or not I’m going to be playing for the Jets.”

“I know.” She turned to face him. Her expression was more resigned than angry. “I can’t blame

them, either. It was just…startling, that’s all.”

Cade knew it was more than that. What was it she’d said? That she was the shy and retiring kind

of Minnesotan. It was one thing to be recognized for her talent and skill as a football coach, but being
a celebrity probably seemed to her like a form of torture. And that was what being with him would
make her.

Damn it, of all the times for the paparazzi to chase him down, why did they have to choose

tonight? On the other hand, after more than a year of obscurity, he had to admit to being a tiny bit
pleased to be back in the limelight.

“Once I announce my decision, the media will settle down,” he said. To a point, anyway.
Standing beside the bed, she gave him a sultry smile and kicked off her shoes. “I’m sure they

will.” She crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “But maybe we
should consider staying in for the rest of the weekend.”

Cade loosened his tie. “I couldn’t agree more.”
He’d convince her tomorrow that being famous wasn’t as terrible as she thought it would be.

Right after he reminded her how fabulous they were together.

***

Cade spent the better part of the following day showing Angie just how good they were together.
In bed…and in the in-room Jacuzzi and on a chair in the dining room.
Now, with less than an hour left before they had to leave for the airport to make their flight, they

sat together on the couch, Cade clad in a pair of jeans and Angie wrapped in one of the hotel’s plush
white robes, watching the Jets play the afternoon game on the widescreen TV.

They were god awful.
Angie winced as the Jets’ current quarterback was sacked for the sixth time. “Are you sure you

want to play for this team?” she asked dubiously. “Their o-line couldn’t block a blitzing linebacker
with a barn door.”

“It’s not entirely their fault,” Cade pointed out, sliding his fingers through her hair.
“Maddox is holding onto the ball way too long. They can’t block the defense forever.”
“That’s because none of the receivers are getting open or coming back to the ball.” She looked at

him, worry twisting her stomach. “You’d be way safer if you went with the Vikings.”

“You know I can’t do that. I won’t take Warren’s job the way mine was taken from me.”

“Who’s to say he wouldn’t want you to? From what I saw in the paper the other day, his injuries

are serious. He’s going to be out at least a season, maybe longer.” Maybe forever.

“Which is exactly what happened to me. Out one season and out of the starting position for good.

I don’t blame anyone for it—it’s the game and the business—but I can’t do that to one of my best
friends. However long it takes Warren to get back in the game, someone may be standing between him
and his job, but it won’t be me. Besides, the Jets are a better career move for me. I’ll be the starter
there, not just filling Warren’s shoes until he gets back.”

Angie fell silent. She knew he was right. The Jets needed a solid, experienced quarterback. As

bad  as  they’d  looked  so  far  this  season,  their  biggest  problem  was  lack  of  a  solid  performer  at  the
helm. A  good  quarterback  who  could  read  and  respond  to  defensive  schemes  improved  the  play  of
everyone  else  on  the  team,  and  Cade  was  as  skilled  in  that  department  as  any  of  the  big-name
quarterbacks in the league. This season was probably a lost cause, given the Jets’ current record, but
with  all  their  young  talent,  she  could  see  them  in  the  playoffs  next  season  and  possibly  even  in  the
Super Bowl down the line. The Vikings might get him to a Super Bowl this season, but then what?

She ought to be pleased for him. But selfishly, she was thinking only of herself and how much

she would hate being subjected on a regular basis to the kind of attention they’d drawn last night.
Despite what he’d said, she knew the paparazzi wouldn’t leave him alone once he accepted the Jets’
offer. She’d seen the tabloids; until his injury in the middle of last season, Cade had a staple in their
pages, his exploits both on and off the field a source of endless fascination. A lot of that interest had
been due to the models and actresses he’d dated, although it didn’t hurt that he looked like a movie
star himself. But once he was with the Jets, he’d become a major celebrity in his own right, and the
press attention would certainly not go away just because he was dating a nobody like her.

“We should pack and get dressed,” Cade said softly against her hair. “Our flight’s in two hours.”
She nodded. Not that she had much to pack. Just a gorgeous dress she’d never wear again and the

shoes to go with it.

“Maybe we should take a shower first, though,” he added, feathering his lips across her temple

and down her cheek to her mouth.

Angie found she couldn’t disagree with that suggestion, either.

###

Hot water pounded Angie’s back as she clasped her legs around Cade’s hips. He braced himself

against the tiled wall, his hands cradling her ass, holding her steady as he drove his cock inside her.
Their  mouths  met  in  desperate,  hungry  kisses. Angie  wanted  to  savor  the  moment,  to  commit  every
nuance  of  this  final  coupling  to  memory,  but  there  was  too  much  to  take  in  at  once—the  slippery
smoothness  of  his  skin,  the  tangy-sweet  taste  of  his  tongue,  the  relentless  cadence  of  his  thrusts.  It
couldn’t last long enough, and it didn’t. She climaxed before she was ready, fast and hard, shivering
despite the steamy heat of the shower. With a groan of surrender, Cade came seconds later.

“Jesus, Ange,” he muttered against her lips when the shudders of his orgasm had subsided

enough to permit speech, “what is it about you that I can’t go slow?”

“I didn’t think slow was an option,” she said, her respiration still rapid and uneven. “We have a

plane to catch, you know.” She kept her tone light despite her heavy heart.

His head dropped back against the tiles, and he closed his eyes. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
She tried to unwrap her legs from around his hips, but he held her steady. “Um, Cade…?”
He opened his eyes, and the intensity of the expression in them made her shiver again.
“I’m not ready for this to be over, Angie.”
She knew he didn’t just mean the weekend. “I’m not, either,” she admitted.

Chapter Sixteen

The first hint of trouble came on Monday morning. Angie started to put her cell phone in her

purse before leaving for work, then realized she’d never turned it on again after getting off the plane.
When she powered it up, she was greeted by a breathless—and ominous—voice mail message from
Rachel.

“Oh my God, Angie, you and Cade were on Entertainment Tonight and the local news.
You’re famous! And by the way, you looked awesome. Where did you get that dress you were

wearing? It’s fabulous. Call me a-sap.”

Of course Rachel would think this was fabulous news; most people probably would. Most

people wanted their fifteen minutes of fame and would take it any way they could get it. But most
people weren’t high school teachers in a small town with a decidedly archaic sense of morality.

Angie closed her eyes and pressed the cool screen of the phone against her forehead. Of all the

disasters she’d imagined, this was the last one she’d anticipated.

With a heavy sigh, she deleted the message and pushed the end button on her cell. If she was

lucky, the principal and the school board hadn’t seen the news last night. If she were even luckier,
people who had seen it wouldn’t mention the fact that she’d clearly been in another city late at night
with a man who was both her boss—at least on paper—and, more damning, not her husband.

Except, of course, she wasn’t lucky. As soon as her first student walked through the classroom

door, Angie knew she was doomed.

“Oh, Miss Peterson,” Jenna Donnelly squealed, “I saw you on TV last night. You’re so lucky.

Cade Reynolds is soooo hot!”

Before Angie could think of a suitable way to respond to this, Trevor Marten, who was not only

in her class but played cornerback for the football team, came into the room and gave her a wide grin.
“Way to go, Coach Pete!”

Crap, crap, crap.
It took ten minutes longer than usual to get the class settled down because all the students wanted

to talk about was her trip to New York and the fact that she’d been on TV. Her second period class
was no less interested in discussing the story, and by third period, it was apparent that everyone in the
school had either seen the clip or heard about it from someone else. This meant it was no surprise
when, in the break between third and fourth period, the school secretary delivered a note from the
principal requesting Angie’s presence in his office during lunch.

When fourth period ended, Angie made her way straight to Jim Calhoun’s office. She saw no

point in delaying the inevitable. When she arrived, the principal was sitting at his desk, cradling the
phone against his shoulder as he shuffled through a stack of papers. He motioned for her to come in
and sit down while he continued talking.

“Yes, I know it’s unprecedented.” Pause. “No, I don’t think that’s an accurate assessment of the

situation.” Pause. “She’s sitting right here. Let me call you back.”

Oh, great.
The principal set the phone back in the cradle and looked up at her. In his mid-fifties and

balding, Calhoun usually projected the aura of a kindly uncle but was quite capable of turning into a
drill sergeant when necessary. These qualities made him an effective administrator because no one,
from the staff to the students, wanted to disappoint the uncle and turn him into the drill sergeant.

“That was Anton Rodgers’s mother,” he said. “She’s concerned about the example you’re setting

for her son. I’ve been fielding calls like that all morning.”

Angie willed herself to remain calm. She’d been expecting this. The fact that it was medieval,

sexist, and unfair didn’t matter. “I’m sorry. I had no idea that Cade and I would be photographed or
that we’d wind up on TV.”

The principal nodded sympathetically. “I’m on your side here. You’re far and away the best

math teacher I’ve ever known, and you’ve done a heck of a job with the football team. I don’t want to
lose you, either as a teacher or a coach. Unfortunately, that decision isn’t up to me, but to the board.”

“The board is involved? Already?”
“For every phone call I’ve gotten today from a concerned parent, the school board has gotten

three. They’ve called an emergency meeting for tonight at six. And they want you and your union rep
to be there to answer the charges.”

Angie stared at her boss in disbelief. She’d known this would be bad; she just hadn’t though it

would be this bad. “All this over a picture of Cade Reynolds and me outside a restaurant in New
York?”

“It’s more than that, I’m afraid.” Calhoun closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and index finger

over them before continuing. “Chuck Donnelly has made some rather disturbing allegations. He
claims to have caught you and Reynolds in…well, in flagrante. Several times and in public places.
Places where you might easily have been seen by students.”

Oh God. She was an idiot not to have seen that Donnelly would find a way to use this against

her. And he didn’t even have to tell an outright lie to make his charges stick.

“Is it true?” the principal asked gently.
Angie grimaced. “He caught us kissing. Once in the school parking lot and once outside the

hospital.”

Mention of the hospital made her think of Jake Hanssen, and guilt assailed her. She hadn’t

thought of him once that whole weekend. All she’d thought about was herself.

“Just kissing?”
Kissing like we couldn’t wait to get into each other’s pants. “Yes.”
“Well, he made it sound considerably more lurid than that when he told me this morning he was

going to report you, but if you’re telling the truth, that may help you with the board. Your personal life
really shouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.”

But it was everyone’s business in a small town, and the worst part of the whole thing was she

knew it. This entire situation was perfectly predictable, utterly preventable. Foolish as she’d been to
embark on what she’d imagined would be a one-night stand with Cade Reynolds, she’d been orders
of magnitude more foolish to agree to spending a weekend with him. Even if they hadn’t gone to New
York, what were the chances that they could keep their relationship a secret for any length of time?
The answer was slim, fat, and none. And since there was absolutely no likelihood of their affair
leading to marriage, which was the only acceptable outcome of an acknowledged sexual liaison for a
high school teacher, she should never have allowed any of this to happen.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is,” she said. “So, am I suspended until the board makes its

decision?”

Calhoun frowned unhappily. “I’m afraid so. But I think you have a good chance of being

reinstated if you tell the board what you’ve told me. I’ve already registered my objection to the
morality clause being used this way and expressed my support for you personally, so that might count
for something.”

But Angie had no intention of settling for might. She’d ignored and excused Donnelly’s behavior

long enough. It was one thing when she’d thought he was just blowing off steam, venting his

disappointment at being passed over as Harvey’s heir apparent. When he went after her job, however,
it was time for a new strategy. And if there was one thing she could do, it was devise a kick-ass
strategy. One that wouldn’t just get her job back, but change the game for good.

***

“Unbelievable.” Cade stared at Angie, incapable of comprehending what she’d just told him.
“Believe it,” she said, her tone flat. “They suspended me, pending further investigation.
At least my union rep was able to make sure the suspension is with pay. She couldn’t change

their minds about anything else, thanks to the calls from concerned parents.”

“Jesus, what century do people think this is?” He clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to

march back through the now-closed doors of the school board’s meeting room and punch every last
one of the close-minded bastards.

“They’re just doing their jobs, Cade. They have to answer to the voters, and the voters in Harper

Falls don’t like the idea of high school teachers sleeping around.”

“You’re not sleeping around. You’re sleeping with me.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” she said with a shrug.
“I don’t know what’s worse: that they might fire you or that you’re defending them.”
“It isn’t their fault. I signed a contract with a morality clause in it.” She put her hand on his arm.

“They haven’t fired me yet, but I have to convince them I’m not going to set a poor example for the
students, and that starts and ends with me not getting caught in compromising situations with you.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “And what, exactly, does that mean?”
“It means I told them you were planning to accept a job offer from the Jets and that we won’t be

seeing each other anymore.” She dropped her hand from his arm and turned toward the door that led
out of the foyer to the parking lot.

Cade grabbed her wrist and spun her back around. “What?”
“It’s over, Cade.” Her eyes shone with gathering tears, and she sounded like she was going to

choke on the words.

Good. At least she wasn’t happy about breaking it off. Not that he was about to let that happen.
“The hell it’s over. We agreed before we left New York that we’d make this work.”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I know, but it was never going to last. Maybe a few

weeks or months, but sooner or later, one or both of us was going to get tired of being apart more than
we were together. And now—” She looked back up at him, her expression pleading.

“And now, the only way we can be together is for me to give up everything I’ve worked for over

the past four and a half years. I just…I can’t do that, especially for something that’s not even
permanent.”

“Then let’s make it permanent.”
The words were out before Cade even realized he was going to say them, but he couldn’t take

them back…nor did he want to. He loved her. From the moment he’d seen her pick up that sports
section in the coffee shop, he’d known where this was headed. One plus one equals one.

The only mystery was why he hadn’t recognized sooner.
Angie’s widening eyes said that his declaration was as much as surprise to her as it was to him.

“You can’t mean—“

“I can and I do.” In fact, he’d never meant anything more in his life. If the situation were

different, they could take things more slowly, but they didn’t have that luxury anymore. And anyway,
more time was only going to make him surer of what he was about to do. He clasped her palm in his
and dropped to one knee. “Angela Peterson, will you marry me?”

***

How many times had Angie imagined Cade Reynolds on his knee, asking for her hand in

marriage? Oh, not recently, but when she was fourteen, this moment had been one of her most
persistent fantasies. She had also never believed it could actually happen. And now that it was, the
timing was all wrong.

Her throat ached with emotion. She loved him…so much that the thought of losing him was

physically painful. There was nothing she wanted more than to fling her arms around his neck and say
yes. And that’s exactly what she would do…if marrying him would fix anything.

“I can’t,” she whispered, blinking to clear her tear-blurred vision.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” To her relief, Cade sounded more baffled than angry or

offended. “I love you, and I’m pretty damn sure you love me. What else matters?”

“What else matters?” she repeated. “What about my job?”
“But you won’t need it once we’re married. You can do whatever you want.”
For a few seconds, she could only gape at him, dumbfounded. He claimed to love her, yet

apparently, he didn’t know her at all. After everything they’d been through these past few weeks, after
everything she had told him, how could he fail to understand that everything that mattered to her was
right here in Harper Falls?

Furious, she tugged at his hand, pulling him back to his feet. She didn’t want to have this

discussion while he was still on bended knee.

She jerked her thumb in the direction of the double doors. “I just spent almost an hour in there

trying to convince the board that I deserve to keep my job. Now you want me to throw it all out the
window to marry you and do ‘whatever I want’? What if teaching and coaching is what I want?”

Cade frowned. “Well, I’m sure they need teachers in New York. High school football coaches,

too. Hell, I told you already you’re good enough to design plays in the NFL. The Jets could use
someone with your skills. All it would take is a good word from me.”

Angie’s hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to scream.

“I  don’t  want  a  teaching  job  in  New York.  I  want  the  one  I  already  have…or  had,  until  I  made  the
mistake of falling into bed with you. And I most certainly don’t want a coaching position that I only
get  thanks  to  my  husband’s  recommendation.”  She  shook  her  head,  unable  to  believe  that  the  Cade
Reynolds  she’d  grown  to  love  and  trust  could  be  so  obtuse.  “I  want  what  I’ve  earned,  not  what
someone hands me on a silver platter. And I love my students, my players, and even this sometimes
narrow-minded  little  town.  New York  is  a  great  place  to  visit,  but  I  don’t  want  to  live  there. You
might  love  to  be  in  the  limelight,  but  I  hate  it  and  I  don’t  see  any  way  I  could  avoid  it  if  we  were
married. I’d be your arm candy, the pretty piece you trot out on the town. I couldn’t stand it, Cade, and
eventually, that would tear us apart.”

He pressed his lips together, and his jaw tightened. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do. How would you feel if I was asking you to give up being an NFL

quarterback to be with me?”

“I wouldn’t like it,” he admitted.
“You wouldn’t do it,” she countered. “And I don’t want you to.” She placed her hand on his arm

and raised herself up onto her toes to press a quick kiss on his cheek. “Go to New York.

Play for the Jets. Get your Super Bowl ring. It’s what you want and you deserve it.” And then,

she turned and walked away.

Only when she was safely alone in the car did she allow the tears to fall. She’d known from the

beginning how this would end. Somehow, that only made it hurt more.

Chapter Seventeen

When Cade blew a game, he tended to blow it big. This wasn’t a game, but he’d sure as hell

blown it big. Unlike the games he’d lost, though, he did have a chance to make this right.

Starting with ensuring that Angie got her job back.
When he arrived on Chuck Donnelly’s doorstep, it was almost nine o’clock. Donnelly opened

the door, his features registering surprise before he said, “Reynolds. What can I do for you?”

Cade wasn’t in the mood for social niceties. “I think you know.”
Donnelly crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t withdraw my complaint, if that’s what you’re

asking.”

“You will if you don’t want the next complaint to be against you.”
“Oh, that’s rich. I catch the two of you with your tongues down each other’s throats not once, but

twice, and you think you’re going to lodge a complaint against me? For what…coitus interruptus?”
Donnelly snickered and started to close the door.

Cade laid his palm flat against the oak surface and pushed the door back inward. “There’s

nothing illegal about what we were doing. What you’ve been doing, on the other hand…”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Donnelly protested, but his voice was half an octave higher than

before and his neck and ears reddened.

“Then I’m sure it won’t concern you in the slightest if I go to the school board and describe how

you’ve been sexually harassing Angie for years.”

Donnelly gaped and then sputtered, “Y-you can’t p-prove that.”
“You’re right. I can’t prove the ‘for years’ part. But I can damn well describe what I’ve

witnessed in the two weeks I’ve been acting head coach. Hostile workplace harassment is a generous
description for what I’ve seen you do.”

“If I’ve been harassing her, why hasn’t she lodged a complaint herself?”
“Mainly because she thinks you’re an ass who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Cade stepped

across the threshold, forcing Donnelly to take a step backward. “I, on the other hand, think you’re an
ass who not only knows exactly what he’s doing, but also gets a big kick out of belittling and
intimidating women.”

“That’s…that’s not true. I’m married, for fuck’s sake.”
“Give your wife my condolences.” Cade poked a finger in the center of Donnelly’s chest.
“I know your type. How much would you like to bet that I can find half a dozen other women

you’ve treated the way I’ve seen you treat Angie? Maybe more. Some teachers, some students.

Because men like you don’t treat just one woman like dirt; they treat them all that way.”
The pinched expression on Donnelly’s face told Cade he’d struck a nerve. The guy was every bit

as big a prick as Cade thought. Worse than that, the prick knew it.

“Then why haven’t they reported me before now?” Donnelly might know he was sunk, but he

wasn’t going down without a fight.

Cade shrugged. “Maybe they’re giving you the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe they just don’t

think anyone will take them seriously if they make individual reports. As a group, though, I think
they’ll be pretty convincing, don’t you?”

Donnelly’s mouth drew into a tight line. “You’d do that?”
“And enjoy it,” Cade confirmed.
Donnelly clenched and unclenched his fists. Before he could answer, a woman’s voice rang out

in the background.

“Who’s at the door, Chuck?” A few seconds later, the bearer of the voice appeared behind her

husband’s door. Mrs. Donnelly was a petite but buxom woman with auburn hair and an attractive,
heart-shaped face. Her eyes lit when she saw Cade. “Cade Reynolds!” She gave Donnelly a playful
punch in the bicep. “Why didn’t you invite him in?” With an apologetic shake of her head, she said,
“I’m so sorry for my husband’s rudeness. Please, come in.”

Cade held up his hand. “That’s all right, Mrs. Donnelly.”
“Shannon,” she interjected.
“Shannon,” he repeated. “Anyway, I just came to discuss an issue related to the football team.

We’re done now.”

“Oh, I see.” She was clearly disappointed that he didn’t want to stay for a while, but she smiled

brightly anyway. “Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time,” Cade agreed while sincerely hoping there wouldn’t be one. He looked at

Donnelly, who seemed to be vacillating between jerking his arm away from his wife, who rested her
palm on his shoulder, and punching Cade. “So, do we have an understanding?”

“Uh huh.”
“First thing in the morning.” If he wasn’t specific enough about his expectations, Donnelly would

drag his feet.

The other man nodded. It was hardly a ringing endorsement, but Cade felt confident that

Donnelly would withdraw his complaint rather than risk the alternative.

Satisfied, Cade said good night to Shannon Donnelly and headed back to his car. Angie would

have her job back before the week was over. But he needed to think long and hard about his own job.
And what he was willing to give up to have it.

***
“What are you doing here?” Donnelly asked, his tone thick with irritation.
It was Wednesday morning, and Angie had been waiting for him outside his classroom for

almost twenty minutes. She’d planned to catch him before school started, thinking this would give
them plenty of time to talk. Instead, he’d arrived just minutes before the first bell. Even when he
wasn’t trying to thwart her, he still managed to get in her way.

“Waiting for you,” she answered, mirroring his response to her the afternoon he’d waited for her

outside her classroom.

Glowering, Donnelly pulled a key ring from his pocket. “Why?” He located the right key and

thrust it into the lock, turning it with an angry jerk. “You sic’ced your attack dog on me and now you
want to gloat. Is that it?”

Her attack dog? She frowned in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He pushed the door open and walked into the dimly lit room. “And if I believe that, you have a

swamp in Arizona to sell me.” He flipped on the light switch. The fluorescent lamps overhead sizzled
and then blinked to life.

Angie followed him into the room. “I really don’t know what you mean.”
“So you’re trying to tell me that you had nothing to do with Cade Reynolds showing up on my

doorstep  last  night  and  threatening  to  get  every  woman  I’ve  ever  looked  at  sideways  to  lodge  a
harassment  complaint  against  me  if  I  don’t  make  sure  you  get  your  job  back?”  Donnelly  set  his
briefcase  on  his  desk  with  a  thud  and  looked  at  her  through  narrowed  eyes.  “Pardon  me  if  I’m
skeptical.”

Cade had gone to Donnelly’s house and threatened him with a harassment suit? Oh God, please

tell me he didn’t.

But she knew he had. Donnelly had no reason to lie, especially since he had all but admitted to

having harassed other women in the process. And somehow, Cade had known…or been confident
enough in his hunch to use it as leverage. The fact that the threat had worked spoke for itself.

Angie had always suspected that she might not be Donnelly’s only victim, of course, but she’d

given him the benefit of the doubt, in part because she knew just how difficult it had to be for a man to
lose his position in a male-dominated field to a woman. No matter how much lip-service people paid
to gender equality, some things were always going to be hard for most guys to swallow. A female
football coach was one of those things.

She really ought to be furious with Cade for going over her head and trying to solve her

problems  for  her.  The  last  thing  she  needed  was  for  someone  like  Donnelly  to  think  she  wasn’t
capable  of  fighting  her  own  battles.  Part  of  her  was  a  little  pissed  off.  Cade’s  confrontational
approach  to  the  situation  wasn’t  likely  to  improve  matters.  Donnelly  might  withdraw  his  complaint
and accept her return to the team, but he’d be simmering with the same resentment that had gotten them
to this point in the first place. Cade undoubtedly thought he was making things better, but the reality
was, he’d left her with another mess she’d have to clean up.

And yet…and yet, what he’d done was sweet. Supportive, even. It was a message, and she’d

gotten it, loud and clear. Cade knew how much her job meant to her. Doing what he could to get it
back for her was an apology. A peace offering. She was touched. And maybe a little tempted.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have to repair the damage his act of contrition had done.
“I swear, I had nothing to do with Cade’s visit. He did that all on his own. Do you really think

I’d send him to do my dirty work?”

“Well, he is your boyfriend…”
Boyfriend? Ugh. She hated that term. They taught high school; they weren’t in it. “No, he’s not.”
Donnelly waved a hand. “Lover, squeeze, whatever. I’ve seen the two of you together,

remember?”

“That’s over,” Angie said, doing her best to ignore the stab of regret that pierced her heart at the

thought. “He’s going to be playing for the Jets, which means he’s moving to New York.

We won’t be seeing each other anymore.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Look, I promised him I’d tell the school board that I think

the charges should be dropped, and I will. You should have your job back in no time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for class.” He turned to the white board and picked

up the eraser.

Angie watched him erase the previous day’s notes from the board with broad, angry strokes.

Damn it, but when it came right down to it, she felt sorry for him. Before she had come to Harper
Falls High, he’d had every reason to believe he’d be the next head coach of the team.

How could she blame him for reacting badly when she usurped his position in the team

hierarchy? It wasn’t as if she’d behaved any better when the same thing had happened to her.

While they’d been talking, the voices and footsteps of students in the corridors had grown

louder. The first bell would ring soon. It was now or never. She could accept Cade’s solution to her
problems, or she could implement her own.

In the end, it was a no-brainer.
“I don’t want you to tell the board you think I should get my job back,” she said. “If you don’t, I

promise there’ll be no repercussions.”

Donnelly’s hand stopped mid-erase. He turned to look at her. “What? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe,” she admitted, “but the fact is, I’m sick and tired of being at war with you. It’s not good

for me, it’s not good for you, and it’s definitely not good for the team. That’s not going to change if the
only reason you’re helping me get my job back is because you’ve been blackmailed into it.”

“You’d never walk away from your job or this team without a fight. Since the moment you

walked into this school, you’ve been all about getting the head coaching position after Harvey retires,
and you want me to believe you’re just going to give up now?” His eyebrows pinched suspiciously.
“What are you really up to?”

“The only thing I want is for you to ask the school board to give me my job back because you

think it’s the right thing to do. If you believe that getting rid of me is the right thing to do—if you’d be
happy to tell your wife and kids that you got me fired and how you did it—then you should go right
ahead. If you really want to get the head coaching position when Harvey retires because you shoved
me under the bus, I’m not going to do anything to stop you. But if you have a shred of decency, then
you know what you’re doing to me is wrong, and you won’t do it.”

As she spoke, the lines etched around his eyes and mouth eased and his expression began to

soften. That might mean her argument was having the desired effect, but it could just as easily mean
the exact opposite. She was handing him the perfect opportunity to get everything he wanted. All he
had to do was admit to himself that he had no conscience.

At least this time, she knew she’d done the right thing. Now it was up to Chuck Donnelly to do

the same.

“By the way,” she added over her shoulder as she headed for the door, “you might also want to

call the parents you contacted and admit that you exaggerated the severity of the situation.”

Donnelly rocked backward, his mouth dropping open. “How did you know?”
“You just told me,” Angie answered with a wink before sailing out of the room.

***

The call came Thursday afternoon, much sooner than she’d expected. After Angie hung up, she

wandered into the living room, where her father sat in his recliner watching ESPN.

He muted the TV when he saw her. “I hope that was good news,” he said.
“It was. I’m expected at school as usual tomorrow morning. Plus, I’ve been given the head

coaching position. Permanently. No more ‘interim’ in my title.”

Her father beamed with pleasure. “That’s terrific, chickadee. Congratulations! You earned it.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She took a seat in the chair that had once been her mother’s. “I’m just glad it’s

over. The last few weeks have been…”

She let the thought trail off. What had they been? Maddening, certainly. But also thoroughly

marvelous. Now, she had everything she’d always thought she wanted: her teaching job, the head
coaching position, a shot at the state championship. Unfortunately, she was no longer sure it was
enough. She wanted her cake…and Cade, too.

As if the television read her mind, a picture of Cade appeared on the screen. Her heartbeat

faltered. “Turn up the volume,” she said.

Her father unmuted the TV in the middle of the announcer’s sentence. “—announcing the trade of

Cade Reynolds today. The Texans have been entertaining multiple offers from teams in need of a
strong quarterback. Let’s go to Fran Jacobs, who’s live at the press conference, which should be
starting in just a few minutes.”

The scene cut from the studio to a brunette reporter who was standing in a hotel lobby holding a

microphone. A very familiar hotel lobby.

Angie’s heart skidded to a halt. Cade hadn’t gone to New York; he’d stayed right here.
He was holding his press conference at the Riviera St. Croix hotel. And there could be only one

Chapter Eighteen

“In conclusion,” Bill Fielding, the Vikings’ GM, said, “we’re thrilled to have Cade join the team

and confident that he’ll be able to help us turn the corner on the season.” He gave Cade a hearty slap
on the shoulder as he spoke. “And now, I’d like to open the floor to any questions from the media.”

As hands shot up in the air, Cade surveyed the audience packed into the small conference space

the hotel had provided. And that was when he saw her. Angie stood at the back of the room.
Somehow, she’d managed to convince the security guard to let her in despite her lack of press
credentials. Knowing the cameras were on him, he repressed a grin. It was just like her to bull her
way right past obstacles as if they didn’t exist. One short, slightly rotund man in a rent-a-cop uniform
wouldn’t stand a chance against her.

Cade sure as hell didn’t.
As the reporters began lobbing their questions, Cade met Angie’s gaze and inclined his head

ever so slightly in acknowledgment. Unfettered by the attention of the lights and cameras, she scowled
in answer. He knew what she was thinking. She’d given him explicit instructions to follow his
dreams, but here he was, sacrificing it all for her.

But how could it be a sacrifice, when he’d realized that this was his dream?
“This question is for Mr. Reynolds.”
Cade’s attention snapped to Jim Dutton, a reporter from Sports Illustrated, who was sitting in the

second row of seats. Dutton had done the cover story on Cade for the magazine the year he’d won the
Heisman and again two years ago, when he’d been in the running for the MVP award.

Fielding stepped away from the podium so Cade could take the microphone. He nodded toward

Dutton. “You needn’t stand on ceremony with me, Jim. Cade will do just fine.”

“All right, Cade,” the reporter answered with a chuckle, “in that case, I won’t pull my punches,

either. Earlier this week, a very trustworthy source told me you were going to the Jets. I remember
you saying years ago that you hoped to play for a New York team someday, so this decision is a big
surprise. Would you care to elaborate on how you wound up taking a trade to the Vikings instead?”

Cade glanced at Angie. He’d done it in large part to be near her, yes, but he’d done it for so

many more reasons than that. She had to know that, no matter what happened between the two of them,
he wouldn’t regret what he’d done.

“Now, Jim, I’m sure you know it wasn’t entirely up to me. The Texans had a lot of say in the

matter.” A low rumble of laughter rolled through the room. “That said, I went to high school just
across the river in Harper Falls, so Minnesota is home to me, and being able to play for the team I
grew up rooting for ranks right up there on my list of lifetime ambitions. To be honest, I just never
considered the possibility that I’d get the chance, and I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity.”

“How do you feel about taking Warren Harris’s place?” another reporter, this one female, called

out. “The two of you are close friends off the field, aren’t you?”

“Well, Miss— ” He knew almost all the reporters in the room, but he didn’t recognize this

woman. She was both young and very pretty, if a bit unorthodox in appearance thanks to the decidedly
unnatural red and gold streaks in her hair and the tiny ring laced through her eyebrow.

“Erica Grassley, Minneapolis Star-Tribune,” she supplied.
“Well, Ms. Grassley, the truth is, I can never take Warren’s place. The Vikings’ offensive

scheme is similar to the Texans’, which is why I was a good choice for the position, but Warren and I
have different skills at quarterback, and I won’t run the game the way he did. I just hope I can do the
job to the satisfaction of the team and the fans for the rest of this season. After that, we’ll see how

Warren’s rehab is going, and when he’s ready to come back, I’ll step aside.”

The rest of the questions were routine: when would he play his first game, how did his shoulder

feel, what was he most looking forward to about getting back on the field. As Cade answered them, he
kept his eye on Angie. He could tell she wasn’t entirely satisfied with his answers; she was still
afraid he’d given up on the Jets for the wrong reason. And her fears were justified. He’d made a big
deal about how much he wanted to play for the Jets, to live in New York. Somehow, he had to say
something that would convince her that, no matter what happened between them, no matter what
happened with his career, this wasn’t a decision he would regret.

So, when the questions died out, he took over the microphone one last time.
“I’d like to go back to Jim Dutton’s earlier question about the rumors that I’d be going to the

Jets. It’s true that I was initially leaning toward that deal, but I changed my mind for several reasons,
some of which I’ve already discussed. But there is one reason I didn’t mention, and that’s the fact that
I’ve come to realize there’s more to life than football. If my injury taught me anything, it’s that this
game is fickle and fleeting. A man can go from being at the top of his game to being a has-been in the
blink of an eye. There just aren’t any guarantees.

“I spent the past few weeks here in Harper Falls, where I grew up, getting reconnected with my

past. In the process, I saw that my future is here, too. You see, I got the opportunity to help coach my
former high school football team, and although I’m not at all sure they needed me, I discovered that I
definitely needed them. They’re on their way to their first state championship since I was a senior,
and being a part of that gave me a real sense of purpose.

These are great kids—great players—and their coach is possibly the most inventive and gifted

strategists I’ve ever met. Now that I realize how much this town and the people in it mean to me, I
can’t just up and leave.” He looked straight into Angie’s eyes. Their blue depths shone with emotion,
though whether that emotion was faith or disbelief, he couldn’t tell. “They say home is where the
heart is. Mine is here.”

***

Angie blinked back tears. Her throat was raw.
It had been an affecting speech. Even the reporters, who had no idea what had motivated Cade’s

monologue, had misty eyes. They couldn’t know that when he said his heart was here, he’d meant her.

If she were being strictly rational, she would admit that there were still plenty of issues for them

to resolve. Like how she was going to cope with being a celebrity’s wife or what they would do
when his stint with the Vikings ended. But how could she be rational when he’d laid his heart on the
line? Logic was a great strategy in football, but it was a lousy one when it came to love. Sometimes,
you had to throw caution to the wind and do what felt right. Even if it scared you to death.

“Are there any more questions?” Cade asked, his tone business-like. He clearly wasn’t

expecting any.

Angie raised her hand. “I have one,” she called out.
Every head in the room swiveled in her direction. Cade stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Maybe she had. Or maybe it was just time to stop being afraid of what she couldn’t control.

Cade cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone. “What’s that, Miss Peterson?”
Reporters scribbled fiercely on their tablets, recording her name for posterity. They were

probably trying to figure out which news outlet she worked for. Good luck with that.

“Does your previous offer still stand?”
For a few, anxiety-producing seconds, she thought he didn’t understand which offer she was

referring to, but then his eyes crinkled at the corners and he nodded. “You know it does.”

“Then I accept.”
“Accept what?” a female voice called out. The reporter from the Minneapolis Star-Tribune.
Cade looked at Angie, his eyebrows raised in query. Are you sure about this? She smiled in

answer. One way or another, she was going to have to find a way to live with media attention.

No time like the present.
He held out his hand and beckoned her to the stage. Her stomach pinched a little at the thought of

standing up there under the lights and in front of the cameras. Of making her private life so very
public. But she went anyway. When she reached the platform, she took his outstretched hand and let
him lead her up the steps to the podium. The warmth of his large palm was comforting. Steadying.

She could do this.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he began, “I’d like to introduce you to Angela Peterson,

head coach of the Harper Falls High Eagles and, as soon as we can arrange it, my wife.” The room
erupted in a chorus of surprised oohs. Cade leaned over and murmured in her ear, “I think a public
display of affection is called for.”

Yes, yes it was.
Angie turned and wound her arms around Cade’s neck. “You’re right. And for once, I don’t think

it can get me into any trouble.”

As he bent his head to kiss her, flash bulbs went off and applause rang out. Angie had no doubt

that the photos would turn up on the Internet within an hour and in the pages of many papers tomorrow
morning. When his lips met hers, though, she couldn’t bring herself to care one single, solitary bit.

Epilogue

Spring break

“Do you think we can sneak away without anyone noticing?” Cade whispered into Angie’s ear

as they retreated to one corner of the hotel ballroom to watch their wedding guests dance and
otherwise make merry. Although they’d been legally married since the week of Thanksgiving,
between Angie’s football season and Cade’s, there’d been no time for a formal ceremony until now.

She shook her head. “What would they think if we did?”
“That I couldn’t wait to get you into bed?” He nuzzled her neck, sending a shiver of pleasure

down her arm.

“Exactly my point,” she hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. “Some of my students are here, you

know!”

Angie cast a fond glance in Jake Hansson’s direction. He’d been cleared to play again with just

a few weeks left in the season and had graciously shared the quarterback position with Tyler Johnson
throughout the state championships. His willingness to give up part of the spotlight was
unquestionably responsible for the team’s ultimate success. Fortunately, the reduction in his playing
time hadn’t affected the interest of college scouts, and Jake was already weighing offers from Notre
Dame, Syracuse, and UCLA, although he was still hoping to hear from USC so he could follow in
Cade’s footsteps.

“And your father,” Cade observed, then added with a chuckle, “although if anyone winds up

sneaking out early, I’m putting my money on him and Georgette.”

Georgette Baker, an attractive, lively widow in her early sixties, was her father’s girlfriend.

They’d met a little over a year ago at—of all things—a fly-tying class, and had been seeing each other
ever  since. Angie  had  been  more  than  a  little  shocked  when  her  father  admitted  the  relationship;  it
seemed that by living with him for so long, she’d been putting a crimp in his style. She supposed it
was natural for him to worry that she’d be upset with him for “replacing” her mother, but she knew
better  than  to  think  that.  He  should  have  trusted  her  with  the  truth.  On  the  other  hand,  she  hadn’t
exactly  trusted  him  at  the  beginning  with  the  truth  about  her  relationship  with  Cade,  so  she  was
willing to cut him some slack on the subject.

Her gaze strayed from her father and Georgette, who were huddled in a corner, heads bent

together in quiet conversation, to Harvey Lund, who was on the dance floor with Cade’s mother,
who’d made the trip from Florida for the ceremony. Looking at Harvey now, no one would guess he’d
had a heart attack complicated by pneumonia just six months ago, a turnaround Angie had to credit
largely to Rachel. In addition to finding appropriate nursing care for him, Rachel had put Harvey on a
diet and exercise regimen that had him fitter than he’d been in years.

He could easily have taken the head coaching position back from Angie, but being a man of his

word, he’d declined to do so. She still thought of him as her boss and mentor, though, and was
relieved that he’d recovered so quickly and thoroughly.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Warren Harris. Shortly after his initial surgery, he’d

contracted a severe infection that had not only taken six weeks to cure, but had done further damage to
the bones and muscles in his ankle. Despite intensive therapy, he was still unable to walk more than a
few feet without the assistance of a walker and even that was clearly painful. He’d been determined
to stand as Cade’s best man, however, and had managed to make it through the ceremony with the help

of a cane, but since then, he’d retired to his wheelchair. Angie knew Cade was concerned that Warren
had given up hope of recovery;

Warren’s retirement would secure Cade’s position with the Vikings for the foreseeable future,

but under the circumstances, that would make Cade feel worse rather than better.

As Angie was pondering this dilemma, Rachel sailed up to them. If Angie were the envious type,

she might be irritated with Rachel for looking so gorgeous in her royal blue maid of honor dress.
“Are you two thinking of sneaking away?” she asked, her tone playful.

“To be honest—” Cade began.
With a glare, Angie cut him off. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t deprive you of the chance to get

rice in my hair.”

“It’s birdseed now, you know,” Rachel corrected. “Either way, you two look like you’ve about

had it. Why don’t we do the bouquet, garter, and cake now so you can get out of here.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Cade said.
In her usual take-charge fashion, Rachel hurried off in the direction of the DJ to make the

arrangements.

“She’s quite a powerhouse,” Cade remarked when Rachel was out of earshot.
Angie laughed. “That’s an understatement. I think Rachel could make Niagara Falls run in

reverse if she put her mind to it.”

“Think she could make Warren well again?”
Angie looked from her best friend, who stood at the DJ’s station, her face lit with animation as

she explained what she wanted him to do, to her husband’s best friend, who sat in his wheelchair,
grim and silent. Warren was the sort of challenge Rachel would never be able to resist. Moreover,
she had her doubts that anyone could resist Rachel’s will, even if he wanted to, and she doubted that
Warren Harris wanted to spend the rest of his life walking with a cane.

“If anyone can do it, it’s Rachel.”

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