Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Neely Andrews forced her legs to keep moving. One more lap and she’d take a break. Her tendency to add pounds to her five foot six frame provided perfect motivation to exercise. But since she’d been back in Ferndale for nearly seven weeks, she hadn’t exercised at all except for running up and down her father’s staircase. In Indianapolis, she’d joined a gym. Now she was worried about her dad’s recovery from a serious heart attack. Fitness had gone out the window, and weight had flown in. Running the high school track wasn’t the answer to her total workout needs, but it was better than nothing.
Although staying in Indianapolis might have been wiser, since she had the lead on another job, she couldn’t ignore her need to be closer to her father and widowed sister. Each time she thought about Ashley’s loss, Neely’s layoff became as unimportant as a lost penny, and though home brought back some darker thoughts, she focused on the brighter memories of friendships and happy times that still made her smile.
Fighting the desire to give her body a rest, Neely steeled herself and pushed forward, her lungs burning. Short of her goal, she nearly tripped over a shoelace splayed at her feet. She came to a stop, propped her hands on her thighs and braced her winded body to catch her breath. When she grasped the lace to retie her shoe, perspiration rolled down her forehead and stung her eyes. She lifted the bottom of her T-shirt and brushed the dampness away.
A wolf whistle jerked her upward, and she dropped the hem of her shirt. Across the field, boys were spilling from the school, wearing shoulder pads and carrying helmets. Two faced her, gawking. She let out a groan. Football practice. Another wolf whistle spurred her to turn away and ignore the silliness. She lowered her eyes to her plump legs, bare beneath a pair of running shorts. Who knew football practice began in August?
Her mind drifted back to the years she’d spent at this high school, but time fogged her mind. Memories of special occasions—some good, some bad—had glided or stumbled through her thoughts once in a while, but football practice hadn’t made an impact. Didn’t matter anyway. After fifteen years, school procedures had probably changed. Everything had changed.
A shrill whistle caught her attention. She looked toward the team and saw a man strutting onto the field. He glanced her way, said something to the boys, and before she could move, he headed in her direction. She focused on her lace. No doubt she would get a lecture from the coach for being on his turf. While she hurried to retie her shoe, his voice reached her. “Ma’am.”
What happened to Ms.? She tilted her head sideways noticing his long stride toward her. His build looked trimmer than a football player’s, but beneath his T-shirt she recognized a solid swell of muscles. His frame would look appropriate on a basketball court.
“Ma’am, would you mind leaving the field?”
What happened to please?
“You’re distracting the boys.”
She what? She straightened, embarrassed at his comment but, more so, irritated. “Sorry, I would have run the track this morning when I drove here earlier, but then I had to fight off the band. Apparently that’s when they practice.” When he drew close enough for to her to see his face, her heart tripped.
His squint grew to a wide-eyed stare. “Whoa! This can’t be Steely Neely?”
She couldn’t believe this good-looking specimen was her friend Rainie’s pesky kid brother. The only person she knew who would call her the concocted name was Jonny Turner. In the past, she would have shot out her typical insult, but “If it isn’t the conehead” faded from her mind. When she looked into his handsome face, she had all she could do to keep her mouth from gaping as widely as his.
“Jonny Turner. You’re kidding me.” She gazed upward at the six-foot-plus hunk of man with the blue eyes she could never forget. Blue like a crystal lake. It had been Jonny’s saving attribute, and she’d told him so years earlier.
“How about Jonathan or Jon.” He grinned, obviously enjoying her startled expression. “Jonny’s long gone.”
“Jon not Jonny? I don’t know.” She gave him a dubious look. “But here’s a deal—only if you drop the ridiculous Steely Neely. It’s stupid.”
“No, it’s accurate.” He sent her a crooked smile. “Even when we were kids, I’d never known a person as determined as you are. You were as strong-willed as steel.”
She rolled her eyes, hoping he got the point, but showing her usual disdain with him was losing the battle.
His grin remained as if he hadn’t noticed her eye-rolls. “Sis told me you were back in town. And I hear you’re her maid of honor.”
Neely managed an agreeable nod, though she was still in a tailspin. Maid of honor seemed a sad title for a thirty-two-year-old woman. Most of her high school friends would expect her to be dubbed the matron of honor by now. But finding Mr. Right hadn’t happened, not since her days with Erik Cross. She cringed. He’d been Mr. Wrong.
Jonny’s eyes brightened. “And if I’m right, maid of honor means you’re still—”
“Right again.” She rolled her eyes for a second time, not happy with the gleam in his. He’d always rebutted her verbal jabs with “you’ll never find a man with that attitude.” He’d been way too accurate.
“What are you doing here?” She waved her hand toward the gawking teens watching them.
“I was going to ask you the same question.” He motioned to the strip of track. “I teach phys ed and coach football and basketball.” This time he rolled his eyes. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? But you again, that’s a different story. Why are you running on my track?”
“It’s a long story.” And not a story she wanted to tell him. The more she looked at him the more tongue-tied she became. “Rainie didn’t mention you were teaching now.” Or that you’d turned into a great-looking man.
“Why would Lorraine talk to you about me?” He chuckled. “Or have you forgotten your lovable animosity?” He shifted to face his gawking team, and blew his whistle.
She pressed her hands over her ears, blocking the shrill assault on her eardrums.
He cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Push-ups. Twenty.” He held up both hands, fingers spread and acted out his order. Their groans sounded across the distance.
She lowered her hands. “Can you warn me when you’re going to blow that thing?”
“Sorry.” He dropped the whistle, and it bounced against his chest before hanging in place. His eyes shifted from the team to her. “I need to get back to my boys, but...” He touched her arm. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about your dad. I heard it was a bad one.”
His sincere turn-about caught her off-guard. “It was. Really bad. He lost a lot of his heart function. Now that Mom’s gone I need to keep him healthy.” Watching her dad trudging up and down the stairs for something he’d forgotten wasn’t part of her health plan for him.
