The Cowboy and the Coach
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Anna Grace
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20
CHAPTER ONE
ASH WALLACE STOPPED right in the middle of his determined, well-planned tracks. Yes, he was staring. It was technically impolite, but who wouldn’t stare? For the first time in a decade, he didn’t know what to do.
Stunning was the only word for the woman. Ash wasn’t much of a wordsmith, but since he was frozen on the spot, he was pretty sure he’d been stunned. He was like a deer on the highway, mesmerized by oncoming headlights. As such, he should move out of her way before he was flattened, leaving his kid fatherless.
But she needed help. The woman was juggling a binder, several notebooks, two different bags and a ball cap. Her car had California license plates, and by the way she was scanning the parking lot, this was her first time in Outcrop. Ash’s well-honed sense of chivalry couldn’t let anyone carry that load on their own, especially not a guest in the community.
The cool autumn breeze picked up a lock of her dark hair, pushing it against the soft curve of her face. She shook the errant wave out of her eyes, then reached back in her car and somehow balanced a jacket and a clipboard on top of her pile.
That was the final straw, or clipboard, as it were. The tower wobbled precariously to the left.
“You need some help?” Ash gave in to instinct and jogged toward the beautiful, overloaded stranger.
She glanced up, as though shocked at the common courtesy. Deep brown eyes met his, and Ash smiled. The facial expression felt out of place and completely unexpected. A brief, capable nod was his general greeting to everyone, even his own parents. The greeting said, I acknowledge you but have no time for any nonsense. When was the last time he’d smiled at a stranger?
She studied him, then smiled back, becoming even more beautiful. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”
It must have been the reverberation of her speech that did it. The jacket slipped off her pile. She attempted to pin it down with her chin, sending the rest of the stack sliding out of her arms.
Ash caught the first notebook and the ball cap. She lunged for the clipboard, upsetting the binders. Ash reacted quickly, and between the two of them not an item hit the gravel parking lot.
“Or not,” she admitted, laughing at herself. Her gaze connected with his. “You’ve got quick reflexes.”
He nodded. It had been over twenty years since he’d captained the football team, but he still called upon the skills he’d honed playing quarterback as a teenager. Intelligence and planning helped him as head of his family’s ranching operation. Physical strength was needed for working with the horses. Leadership and teamwork were essential for raising a son. Agility came in handy when evading his matchmaking sisters’ attempts to set him up.
“Happy to lend a hand.”
“I always underestimate the amount of stuff I’m carrying.” The woman walked to the back of the car and balanced her pile on the trunk. “Someday I’ll learn to get a bigger bag.”
“Or maybe a dogsled?” Ash turned her ball cap in his hands, then glanced at her from under his Stetson to see if the joke had landed.
She grinned back at him. It had.
“I don’t think I could afford to feed that many huskies.”
Ash fought to tamp down the warm feeling rising within him, but some kind of happiness lunged in his chest, like a pack of joyful sled dogs. He had a hundred things he should be doing this afternoon and joking around with a gorgeous woman was not on the list.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
She glanced over his shoulder to Eighty Local. “Here.”
“Good choice. My brother owns this place. Best restaurant you’ll find in central Oregon according to most folks.”
“And according to you?”
“Best restaurant period.” Ash clamped his mouth shut before he offered to buy her a late lunch.
What is wrong with you, man?
She pulled her hair up off her neck and wound a rubber band around the thick, dark waves. “Good to know.”
Ash was disappointed she’d trapped her beautiful hair in a knot at the back of her neck, but she was still gorgeous. And he was still staring.
“My brother is a gifted chef. He’s also overextended and exhausted, but the guy can run a kitchen.” Ash gestured toward the addition his brother was attaching to Eighty Local. “I’ve got a meeting here too.”
She shook out a bright red track jacket. “Popular place.”
Ash glanced around at the parking lot, packed like always, but today was different. He, and half the town, was here to deal with an emergency. Hunter had kindly offered the use of the events center, even though it was only half-finished and there was no seating. “Our football coach had to step out unexpectedly. Everybody’s here to check out the new guy.”
“Oh yeah?” She slipped her arms into the jacket. “Are you part of the coaching staff?”
Ash let out a dry laugh. “No, ma’am. But my son plays. He’s pretty excited about it, and I’m just here to make sure he gets a good high school experience.”
Why was he babbling like this? And to a woman with California plates?
“Hmm.” She gazed at him. Ash couldn’t tell if she was actually interested in his small-town drama, or just amused. “What do you hear about the new coach?”
“Not much. He’s got some big shoes to fill.”
That was putting it mildly. Coach Kessler’s shoes were unfillable, and this was a tense meeting he was heading into. The legendary coach had unexpectedly and unapologetically quit. He’d been telling the town for years that he wouldn’t leave until he found a suitable replacement. Kessler was irreplaceable, so no one bothered to take him seriously. Then a week ago he’d told the booster club he was retiring, said the new coach was better than he’d ever been. When Ash had tried to argue with him, Kessler had slapped him on the back and told him his son would be in good hands, then cut out on a camping trip.
She shrugged, then glanced down at her feet. “Maybe this coach will bring some new shoes?”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
She zipped up the jacket, and Ash was somehow reminded of a knight donning armor for a battle.
A really beautiful knight with long eyelashes, a dry sense of humor and a softly curving face that forced him to clench his fists so he didn’t accidentally reach out to touch her cheeks.
Ash attempted to clear his thoughts, like he’d been trained to during his years in the National Guard. He needed to get away from this woman. Priority one was his son, and he was here to make sure Jackson had a positive football experience. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt his son ever again. Until he’d finished raising Jackson, there was no space for a woman. Standing around bantering with an out-of-towner made no sense. Ash was nothing if not sensible.
He opened his mouth to say good-bye, but instead found himself blurting out, “Let me help you with all this.”
“Sure. Since I seem to have left the dogsled at home, and the dogs.” She grabbed the ball cap from his hands. Ash moved to pick up the two binders and small pile of books. “And since we’re going to the same meeting.”
The words filtered through his brain. He looked at the books and clipboards, words slowly coming into focus.
Coaching manuals. Playbooks. Team rosters.
He glanced at the woman, who was now settling an Outcrop Eagles ball cap over her hair. She smiled at him.
“I’m Coach Violet Fareas.”
THE COWBOY’S GAZE ran from her face to her coaching materials and back again on repeat like a sprint drill. Violet repressed a laugh. She loved upending other people’s expectations. Which was fortunate because as a woman in football, she’d been doing it her entire life.
He gave up on the books and just stared, his green-brown eyes connecting with hers, sending a jolt of anticipation through her. Violet had been excited about coming to Outcrop, and relieved to walk away from the program at Taft, but pure, giddy anticipation? She hadn’t felt that since walking onto the field in college. Just what was it she was anticipating?
When his shock finally dissipated, he pulled off his Stetson and held out a hand, like he’d been trained to politely greet out-of-state female coaches since infancy. “Welcome to Outcrop. I’m Ash Wallace.”
Violet slipped her hand against his large, warm, calloused palm, and it became clear that this was what she’d been anticipating. She’d be happy to stand here shaking his hand all day long. For the first time in her life, she wished she were European, so the handshake could be followed by a polite kiss on the cheek.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and she realized she’d been shaking his hand for a lot longer than was strictly necessary.
Get a grip, Vi.
Her hand suggested this was exactly what it was trying to do. Violet forced herself to step back and turned to her massive pile, still smiling despite herself. She was here to get her first head coaching experience, not flirt with handsome cowboy dads.
There would be no flirting with anyone. She was in Outcrop for one year, two at the most. This was an important step in meeting her ultimate goal—head coach at a NCAA Division III college. She needed to get a head coaching position at a bigger, more competitive school next year, then get herself on the staff of a college program. That would take a winning season, and a good showing in the playoffs.
“You settling in all right?” he asked.
“I am. My uncle runs a store here—”
“Outcrop Hardware, Tack and Feed, right?” Ash nodded at the old wooden building her uncle Mel kept in pristine condition. “We all know Mr. Fareas.”
Violet glanced back at the adorable little town. Brick buildings lined a main street opening onto a town square and park at the far end. She’d rented an apartment above a chocolate shop, down the street from her uncle’s store.
“Can I help you carry these books into the meeting?” Ash offered again.
He’s going to carry my books? As far as she knew, no one had ever offered to carry anyone’s books since 1957. Violet glanced around, wondering if she’d been transported to some alternate universe where chivalrous cowboys welcomed female football coaches without question.
“Sure. You’re not as fluffy as a sled dog, but I guess you’ll have to do.”
He built himself a large, well-constructed pile of her stuff, a little grin playing on his lips. “What you need is a pack mule. Easier to train than a big group of dogs, and a mule can go anywhere.”
“Yes!” Violet laughed. She’d give herself another twenty seconds to flirt with this guy. But that was it, twenty seconds. Then it was all business from here until November. “But wait, mules are stubborn, right?”
“They are.”
Violet shook her head. “So am I. That might be a problem.”
Ash pressed his lips together, clearly holding back a smile. “Maybe a llama then?”
“Or a camel? Camels are fun.”
He shook his head, mock serious. “I hear camels can get pretty competitive.”
“Me too!” She threw her hands up and sighed. “Guess I’ll just have to keep hauling my own stuff around.”
“Hmm...stubborn, competitive, willing to pull her weight.” He smiled down at her. “Sounds like the perfect coach.”
Okay, she had been transported to an alternate universe. Or she was dreaming. In which case she should flirt as much as possible before she woke up or was transported back to the real world.
“I plan to do my best,” she said, with way more eye contact than anyone had ever used uttering that sentence. “I’m not perfect, but what you see is what you get.”
“Then I’m glad we got you. I won’t lie, though—Kessler’s departure was a real shock.”
Violet nodded. She was expecting a bumpy start, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She was more than ready for this.
“If you run into any problems, don’t hesitate to call on me for help,” he said.
Violet finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to glance at his ring finger. Then she fought a second urge to raise her hands in victory, shouting Yes! when she saw there was no ring.
She forced her gaze off Ash’s unmarried hand and cleared her throat. “You said your brother owns this place? Must be nice.” She picked up her stack and headed toward Eighty Local.
“One of my brothers,” he said, then nodded to a side door. “We’re meeting in the events center.”
Violet followed him to the correct entrance. “How many siblings do you have?”
She was going to stop flirting the minute they walked through the door. That was the hard cutoff. The first impression this community had of her would not include getting cozy with the parent of a player. Coaches were always the object of scrutiny, and few things would tank her credibility faster than accusations of favoritism toward the son of a good-looking, unmarried cowboy. She knew firsthand how quickly rumors could spread.
He raised his brow, dipping his head toward hers as he said, “Only four, but it feels like more most days.”
“You’re the oldest?” she guessed.
He nodded, lips twisting in a wry smile. “They’re a lot to keep in line.”
Violet laughed. His eyes lit up, and he seemed as surprised by their connection as she was. She glanced at the door to the events center. It was beyond time to shut this down...whatever it was. She wasn’t getting involved with a guy in Outcrop, and certainly not the parent of one of her players. Period. Exclamation point. Full stop, end of story, no sequel.
To remind herself that he was off-limits, she asked, “And your son will be one of my athletes?”
His expression shifted, and sobered. He stopped before the entrance, his green-brown eyes muddying with something between sorrow and regret. “He will. This was going to be his first year playing for Kessler.”
Violet held eye contact. “But instead, it’s his first year playing for Fareas.”
He rubbed his left hand, his fingers pinching the spot where a wedding ring might have rested once.
She’d stepped into something here. It was like the two of them had been playing in the sandy shoals of a lake, then she’d inadvertently swum out too far, the solid ground beneath her feet giving way to a murky expanse of cold water.
Ash shook his head, as though he could clear his thoughts like an Etch A Sketch. “Right. I’m glad you’re here. I just want my son to have a good experience.”
“Perfect. I want the exact same thing.”
He smiled again, but this time his smile was tinged with worry. He was probably concerned about his son. Football dads were always concerned, wanting their kids in the starting lineup, convinced their offspring should play quarterback.
Ash opened the door, then held it with his foot.
“It’s gonna go well,” he stated, as though he had the ability to decide such things.
Violet glanced through the door. People milled around, voices rumbling in concerned annoyance. Unfinished pine walls glowed in the September sunlight pouring through the high windows. The room was devoid of furniture, save for one folding table set up on a small dais.
“Of course, it’s gonna go well. It’s a meeting with the booster club. What could go wrong?”
At her words, a man glanced up from his conversation. He took in her hat, and arms full of coaching manuals, then stepped back. The other occupants of the room followed suit, and a path cleared between her and the folding table.
Violet relaxed her shoulders, and walked into the room.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Violet knew all too well what could go wrong. Everything.
She might love upending other people’s expectations, but the Outcrop Eagle Booster Club didn’t want anything upended. The only things they seemed to want were her resignation, Coach Kessler’s reinstatement and free range to wear as much plaid as humanly possible.
Questions started flying the minute she claimed the table, and only grudgingly stopped as she began her speech. Their silence was even more threatening than the interrogation.
Violet scanned the crowd, then took a deep breath and smiled as she finished up her rehearsed speech. “I know change is hard, and unexpected change can be frustrating. I bring fifteen years of experience in football, as well as the belief that there is no better way for kids to learn valuable, lifelong lessons. I look forward to working with you as we create the future for the Outcrop Eagles.” She inclined her head, like her dad used to do when speaking to team parents—a signal that he was finished, and they could begin applauding.
The room was silent. So quiet you could have heard a pin drop, only no one here was dropping anything. She suspected these folks would keep a tight hold on all their pins and any other sharp objects, so they could impale her the minute she stepped from behind the folding table. She cleared her throat, absently scanning the room for pitchforks.
The Eagle Booster Club was not happy.
For the most part, anyway. Her parking lot cowboy gave her an encouraging nod, then glanced at another man standing near the back of the crowd, who smiled at her too.
Ash had been shocked when she introduced herself as the new coach. He’d recovered well enough, his gorgeous smile and subtle humor cracking as he carried her books into the meeting. She’d been tricked into thinking this was the type of person she’d be dealing with. Had her one concern walking in here really been that she might get too attached?
If the Outcrop Eagle Booster Club had their way, she wouldn’t have time to attach to anything. Ash would be politely carrying her coaching materials right back outside and helping her into her car. She could imagine his gentlemanly wave as she headed back down I-5 to California.
But she wasn’t budging. While Violet had never gotten the chance to play on the line, she’d watched enough tough linemen in her day to know how it was done.
She was new, and new was hard.
Also hard? She was only here for a year or two. She needed to get the players on board, coach a winning season, then move on to a larger high school if she was going to reach her goal of coaching D III. She could just imagine the look on her parents’ faces as they sat in the stands watching their daughter’s college team play. She could anticipate David Laurent’s reaction when he learned she’d risen above him in the coaching world. Laurent might be head coach of one of the biggest high school programs in Southern California, but Taft High wasn’t college ball.
But first she had to get through this season, and it would sure help to have the parents on her side.
“Let me get this straight.” A man wearing a mustache leftover from the last time such things were in style crossed his arms and glared at her. “You’ve never been a head coach before.”
“This is my first head coaching position.” She’d led with that. There wasn’t much to get straight.
The man glanced at his compatriots. He seemed to be repressing a laugh.
“You’ve never been head coach, and you’re from California.” He said the state’s name as though it was a den of evil and vice. “And we’re supposed to trust you with our boys?”
Violet gazed politely at the man. She’d met his kind before.
“I hope my actions earn your trust.” She took her eyes off the troll and scanned the room for friendlier faces. Mostly men, but a strong contingent of women glared at her from the crowd. It was one big, angry, plaid-covered mass of humanity.
Not a lot of love coming from Outcrop today.
She glanced up at the rafters, then around the unfinished events center. Tools had been neatly stacked in a corner, and the room was clean and bright, like someone had abruptly stopped working and done everything he could to get the space ready for the meeting.
Her eyes dropped back to the crowd. This meeting mattered to these people. She wasn’t what they were expecting. Their kids had been practicing all summer with Coach Kessler. Most of the men in the room had probably played for the legendary coach when they were in high school.
Trust takes time, her father loved to say. Violet rested both hands on the folding table and let herself feel her dad’s support. She’d learned a lot watching him handle players and parents; it was time to put that knowledge to work.
A woman in steel-toed work boots and a brown canvas jacket raised her hand and asked, “Did you play football?”
Violet nodded. “I did. I played for my father’s team in Miner’s Creek, California. Go Diggers!” No one chuckled at her continued sense of school pride. Time to pull out the experience. Violet straightened to her full five feet nine inches. “I was a three time, all-state cornerback in high school, and I kicked for Mount Union in college. I worked in recruiting for the university for five years, but wanted to get into coaching, like my dad.”
Murmurs of respect burbled in some pockets of the room. “You plan on recruiting some girls for our team?” the same woman asked.
“I plan on recruiting anyone who wants to play. Football is a complex game of intelligence and athleticism. There’s nothing like it in the world. There are a lot of good lessons to be learned on the field, and I hope to offer that learning opportunity to anyone who wants it.”
A few heads nodded. The woman in the work boots was satisfied. Maybe the tide was turning?
“Janice, I don’t see why that would matter,” Mustache-man barked. “We don’t need a team. We’ve already got our crew. We need a coach.”
Violet widened her stance and addressed the man. “I have seven years of coaching experience, and eight years of playing. After I graduated, I stayed on at Mount Union as a recruiter for the team. Then I moved home and started a business as a personal speed and power coach for elite high school athletes, which is lucrative work in Southern California. That allowed me the freedom to assistant coach with my dad, for my old high school. From there, I was asked to join the team at Taft in San Jose, one of the biggest programs in the state. For the last four years, I’ve been the quarterback coach there. Now I’m here, and I’m excited to get started.” Violet gave a firm nod this time, the one she used to signal to her players that her word was final, and she wasn’t at all interested in discussing things further.
But something was off. Violet scanned the crowd, trying to figure out what it was. They were disappointed to lose Kessler, naturally. They weren’t expecting a woman, fine. It wasn’t like this was the first time she was the only woman involved in a program. But there was something else at play, and she needed to figure it out. A little compassion might go a long way.
Hopefully, because a little compassion was about all she had left.
“I understand this change in leadership is unexpected and—”
“You don’t understand anything,” her challenger barked. “You’re not from Outcrop. You’re not even from Oregon—”
“Settle down, Hacker,” Ash’s voice resonated from the back of the crowd, firm, but not adversarial. “Let the lady—” He stopped, cleared his throat, then continued, “Let the coach speak.”
“I don’t think this is the time to settle, Wallace. My boy’s a senior this year.” He turned accusingly on Violet. “I know my son’s got a good shot at a Division One scholarship.”
You and every other overly invested football parent in America.
Violet took a deep breath. “I’ve helped a lot of kids navigate the NCAA Clearinghouse over the last few years. As a former college athlete—”
Hacker swatted her words away. “You were a kicker.”
Wow. This guy could win a national championship in getting under someone’s skin. Violet had been proud, thrilled to kick for Mount Union in Ohio. It was an incredible experience, and her jersey was preserved, framed and would go on the wall of her office when she eventually settled into a head coaching position at a Division III school.
But she’d wanted to play cornerback. She was fast and had the hops and hands to turn the ball. No college coach would even consider her. A woman as fast as you should be a track athlete, she’d been told by every program she approached. But Violet didn’t want to run on an oval. Football was her passion. If she had to use her power and coordination to kick the ball rather than catch it, so be it.
And if she was still a little salty about not playing cornerback after all these years, it was what it was. Her experience would help her change the world and provide opportunities to other girls with similar goals.
This plaid-encrusted, smirking, caterpillar-faced alpha dad was getting in her way. She nodded, then did the one thing her father had warned her to never, ever do. She intentionally humiliated a parent in public.
“What position did you play? In college.”
His face went blank. She knew a hundred parents like this, men who were probably pretty good in high school, or not. Men who’d built a story for themselves about a bad knee, or a disinterested coach that kept them from playing in college. As the years passed between their high school experience and the present, people could convince themselves they’d possessed the skills and work ethic at eighteen that most people didn’t develop over a lifetime. Very few people had the drive, ability and interest to sacrifice their youth for the opportunity to play at a higher level. And that was completely reasonable—there were a lot of great things to do with the teenage years. Most athletes understood logically and at a gut level that college play would never lead to a professional career. But they did it anyway, just to stay in the game a little longer.
The majority of folks who liked to pretend they’d walked away from a college career were harmless, but not all. The worst of those people took their broken dreams out on their kids, forcing them to realize a goal they’d never been in danger of reaching in the first place.
Hacker’s stunned expression flashed to anger. “If you’re such a hotshot, what are you doing here?”
Saving my soul from being crushed by my former boss, she was tempted to yell. But this man didn’t look like he had much of a soul left himself, and certainly didn’t care about hers.
Coach Kessler had a private reason for stepping down, and he’d explicitly asked Violet not to say anything until the doctors had a better sense of what they were dealing with. “Coach Kessler contacted me a few weeks ago—”
“How’d he even find you?”
“My uncle, Mel Fareas, runs a store here in town, Outcrop Hardware, Tack and Feed.”
“We all know OHTAF,” a woman said impatiently.
“Yes, well, Uncle Mel put Kessler in touch with me a few weeks ago, and he asked if I was interested in making a move. I heard about the program here in Outcrop and—”
“That makes no sense,” Hacker barked. “Why would Kessler quit? I’ve coached offense for him for the last three years and he never said a word to me.”
Did the guy think she had the former coach tied up in her trunk so she could take over his team?
“I can’t speak for Coach’s decision, only—”
“And why’d he pick you? If you’re the type of coach who walks away from one team, how do we know you’re not going to walk away from this one?”
Violet made her second mistake with Hacker. She looked straight into his eyes. The anger and frustration she saw there clarified everything.
He’d been under the impression that he was next in line for the throne.
Mr. Hacker had been planning on filling Kessler’s shoes, and if Kessler hadn’t offered the position to one of his assistants, it was because he didn’t think those shoes would fit.
She had a lot to learn about the ins and outs of this community. But she’d given Coach Kessler her word. He loved this program, and it would break his heart to see it disintegrate. She had to work with these guys. And as upset as they seemed to be at the moment, they couldn’t be worse than David Laurent. Nothing could be worse than Laurent.
Her worst trait was a stubborn inability to listen to others when she was angry. Most people were wired for fight, flight or freeze under stress—Violet was all fight. She tended to get her back up and go on the offensive before she had all the information.
Willingness to fight made her an excellent football player, but as a coach she needed to learn to listen, and talk things out, particularly in a tight community like this one.
Violet drew in a breath and scanned the back of the crowd. Ash’s gaze connected with hers, and he gave her an encouraging nod. She had one supporter. And somehow, Ash felt like enough.
“My initial words must not have made it clear. I love this game, and working with high school players has been the most rewarding endeavor of my life so far. I’m competitive. The fastest way to win is to build respect and cohesion in a team. That’s what I’m here to do, and I look forward to working with you all to get it done.”
The crowd shifted with her words. A few people nodded. They’d been shocked by Kessler’s retirement, and it would take some time to get over it. It was her job to help them. Violet breathed in with relief. Everything is going to be okay.
Or so she thought for .067 seconds.
“You can love this game all you want,” Hacker spat. “But I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin my son’s senior season. I quit.”
Another man moved to stand next to Hacker. “I will also be resigning from my assistant position. No offense, but I signed on to work with Kessler.”
The rush of humiliation hit her, a cold slimy fear that felt like slowly slipping down a crevasse filled with Jell-O. It seemed as if she should be able to stop the fall, and she didn’t want to die of suffocation by gelatin, but she had no clear options.
She swallowed and picked up her clipboard. Her hands shook as she crossed Hacker’s name off the list as offensive coordinator. She glanced at his compatriot. “What’s your name?”
“Ramirez.”
She drew a line through the name of what had been her receivers coach. She gave the men a wry smile. “Literally no offense, then. Good thing that’s my coaching specialty.” She glanced out at the crowd, her heart pounding, ready for a fight. “Anyone else?” She took a quick look at the list. “Looks like I’ve still got a little help left. Then there’s snack coordinators, gear check out. If you want to quit, quit now. Makes it easier in the long run.”
“Larsabal,” one man muttered.
“Greg Larsabal,” she read loudly, and drew a line through his name. These people were awful, but she’d coach this team straight to state playoffs with nothing more than a chalkboard and a bullhorn if she had to. After a few others had spoken up, she scanned the piece of paper. There was one name remaining. “Looks like I still have a Jet Broughman on the list.” She looked around the room, angry and unconcerned about showing it. “You gonna bail? Because now’s the time.”
A tall, dark-haired man in his early thirties startled. He glanced at her cowboy, and a world of information passed between the two men. Jet’s eyes darted to the unfinished floor, his jaw working as he formulated a response. Then he raised his chin and spoke loudly, “No, ma’am. I’d like to stick with the defensive players if you’ll let me.” The quitters in the front row mumbled disapprovingly. He cleared his throat. “I’m ready to get to work, Ms. Fareas.”
She let her gaze connect with his, and smiled as she said, “I go by Coach Vi.”
He touched his fingers to his forehead in a salute. “Coach Vi, welcome to Outcrop. I’m here to help.”
Her slow, cold descent into humiliation Jell-O halted. She was buoyed, ever so slightly.
“I think this concludes our general meeting. Coaching staff,” she looked at the one man left on that staff, “please remain behind.”
The crowd mumbled as it broke apart, heading toward the exits. Some people glanced apologetically in her direction, others intentionally turned their backs on her. Violet’s gelatinous free fall resumed.
“Wait,” a deep, resonant voice commanded. Ash held out a hand in front of Hacker. “Hold up. This isn’t right and you boys know it.”
“It’s not right,” Ramirez challenged. “Kessler can’t just leave like this.”
“Kessler’s given his time and talents to this town for over thirty-five years.” Ash’s voice dropped dangerously. “He can do whatever he wants.”
People’s feet stilled at the authority in his voice. Who is Ash Wallace? The mayor? The sheriff? The only reliable dentist in a hundred miles?
“Let’s all come back together.” Ash gestured. “I don’t like the way this ended.”
“I don’t like the way it started, Wallace,” Hacker said.
For once, something we can agree on.
“This is Brayson’s senior year, Joe. You can’t leave the lady without an offensive coaching staff.”
“You’re one to talk.” Hacker gave Ash a once-over. “You haven’t stepped up for the program once since you’ve been back.”
Ash widened his stance and glowered at Hacker. “I have a lot on my plate.”
Hacker scoffed. “We’ve all got a lot going on, Wallace. You had four years as quarterback on this team, and you haven’t so much as stopped by a practice since you returned to town.”
The cowboy gave Hacker a long, hard look, then dropped his gaze. He seemed to be wrestling with something as he studied the Stetson he held in his hands. Finally he nodded, as though to himself.
“You’re right. It’s time to step up.” He glanced at Violet. “Coach Vi, if you’d like my help with offense, I’m at your service.”
