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“Coach Carr had a heart attack a few days ago.”
While Wade reeled, Joel continued, his voice somber. Wade heard snatches of what his old friend said—“bypass surgery” and “Lorelie is doing too much”—but the rest couldn’t cut through the white noise buzzing in his ears.
Coach getting sick? How was that even possible? He remembered a strapping man with a quick wit who didn’t tolerate any crap from his players, especially when they strayed too close to his only child, Lorelie. She was a tomboy who’d been more than capable of taking care of herself, but that hadn’t stopped Coach from warning the guys that they better mind their manners in her presence. Since none of the boys had dared date her themselves, they’d formed a sort of black-and-silver Titan shield around her, making it nearly impossible for her to meet anyone new.
Not that there was a whole lot of new in Quinn anyhow. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons Wade had used to explain his need to split the minute he had his G.E.D. in hand? He hadn’t even been able to tolerate sticking around the last few months until graduation. His future in music couldn’t wait.
Neither could his need to get away from the sight of Colt and Charlene together. Laughing. Dancing. Kissing.
More. So much more.
Now Coach was in the hospital. Recuperating from the sounds of things, at least. Still, how was he even supposed
to unglue his vocal cords enough to reply? Shock had frozen them in place.
“Hey man, you still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here. Look, what do you need me to do?” Now that he’d figured out how to speak again, the words flooded out of his mouth. “I’m sure there are expenses not covered by insurance. I can send—”
“We need you,” Joel interrupted quietly. “Not your money, just you.”
Wade fell silent.
“I know you have a tight schedule, and you can’t just pick up and leave Nashville.”
Oh yes, I can. I need to. “I’ll head back as soon as I can,” Wade said before sense kicked in and demanded he make the same excuses he’d made to his family over and over again about visiting Quinn. He wasn’t still avoiding his hometown after all these years. And Colt.
And Colt’s wife.
Ex-wife now. Still fucking hurt. He figured it always would, like that old kicking injury that ached every time it rained. Just one look into Charlene’s dark brown eyes would bring it flaring back to life.
“Great.” Joel exhaled. “It’s going to be so good to have you back home again.”
Wade tipped back his mirrored sunglasses and faced his tired blue eyes in the rearview mirror. Home was a nice word.
Too bad he wasn’t sure he had one to go back to.
* * *
ONE
“You going to help me get this feed up on the shelf or just stare at it?”
Charlene Martinez braced her hands on her hips and eyed the shelf above her head. “You do realize that I’m not even tall enough to reach that shelf, never mind haul a fifty-pound bag of cornmeal up on it, right?”
“Mind over matter, sister friend. Isn’t that part of that yoga lifestyle you preach?” With a sassy grin, Paige smacked Charlene on the ass and proceeded to haul the bag of feed up on the shelf by herself without even breaking a sweat. Her voluptuous curves damn near popped out of her tight top, but Paige never noticed the admiring glances from the ranchers and cowboys circling the store. She never would’ve believed the men frequented Wilcox’s Grub and Grain as much for a glimpse of her as to take advantage of the best feed prices in all of Quinn.
Charlene glanced down at her own pathetically flat chest. The truth was that her best friend had a frigging hot rack, better than the thirteen-point buck on the wall above the cash register.
“There. Took care of that. I swear, Mr. Mondell always calls up with the craziest orders. Today it was six bags of the—” Paige stopped and turned, pursing her lips. “Okay, go ahead. Slap me in the mouth a few times until my brain kicks in.”
Charlene had to laugh. She hadn’t even gotten the significance of the name Paige had mentioned until her brain connected the rest of the dots. Mr. Mondell meant Drake Mondell, also known as one half owner of C&D Horse Training. The C referred to Colt Bennett.
Her ex-husband. Three years’ ex, as a matter of fact, though everyone in town gave her sympathetic looks whenever Colt was brought up, as if he’d dumped her high and dry and bedded a dozen fillies since.
So he’d sort of dumped her. But that was only because she’d hung on way too long to something she should’ve let go of years before.
Live and learn, her abuelita always said. Charlene was fixing to get that tattooed on her ass, because it stuck out so far that she was sure to see it whenever she got the yen to do naked yoga at home.
