Falling For The Coach

By Danielle Thorne

She isn't interested in romance, and a washed-up coach won't change her mind.

 

Rachel's going to make sure her nephew stays on the right path. When her former neighbor, Lincoln Barker, moves back to town, she's surprised to learn he's the new football coach at the elementary school. The cocky hometown hero wants Wyatt on his football team, but the boy needs tutoring and a mentor with a better reputation.

 

Lincoln Barker wants his life back after ruining his career. He hopes Bear Hollow remembers he carried them to the state championships, but small town rumors have made him a joke. To make things worse, his old crush is still single, beautiful, and unimpressed with him. Rachel doesn't want her nephew on the new team Lincoln hopes will salvage his reputation, but he's not sure he can win without him—or ever be happy without her.

 

Can Lincoln convince Rachel he's changed while she fights falling for the coach?

 

This book is a clean and wholesome small town sports romance.

 

Read more sweet, southern romances by Danielle Thorne.
A Promise For His Daughter (Harlequin Love Inspired)
His Daughter's Prayer (Harlequin Love Inspired)
Valentine Gold
By Heart and Compass
Brushstrokes and Blessings

Georgia Bride

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danielle Thorne
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201708641

Danielle Thorne

Danielle Thorne writes sweet southern romance and historicals from Atlanta, Georgia. Married for thirty years to the same fellow, she's the mother of four boys, four daughters-in-law and has two grandbabies. There are also cats.Danielle graduated from BYU-Idaho after studying English and Communications. Free time is filled with books, movies, yardwork and not enough road trips or beach time. She can be found on most social media platforms and loves to connect with readers.

Book preview

Quote

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God...

Ephesians 2:8

Dedication

For family, friends, fall, and football. And to my faithful readers—always.

CHAPTER ONE

Lincoln Barker eased his truck into the driveway with a knotted stomach. He checked the rearview mirror to see if his things were still tied down and wondered if anyone would notice he was home. By all appearances, he was moving back to care for his father, but behind the façade, his life was a gnarled, humiliating failure.

Smack! The sound on the driver's side window nearly made him jump out of his skin, but he knew what it was before he looked: a leather ball. He handled them every day as a football coach; or a former one, anyway. He narrowed his eyes expecting to find his dad beside the truck with a teasing grin, but there was no one. Instead, a lone football wobbled around on the blacktop beside the truck.

Through a tangle of tiger lilies that lined the side yard, Lincoln spied a dark-haired stocky boy standing several yards away. He looked to be about ten or eleven years old and gritted his teeth in an apologetic grimace. Sorry, he mouthed.

Lincoln smiled. Forgetting his problems, he climbed out of the truck and put his hands on his hips. No one had told him the Montgomerys next door had moved away from Bear Hollow, and he hadn't heard about either one of the kids marrying. His gut clenched. He wasn't married either, thanks to being dumped by his fiancée. He had no business wondering if Rachel Montgomery or her troubled younger brother had settled down.

The boy raised a hand. Sorry, sir.

It's alright. Lincoln scooped up the football and walked through the damp grass of the near-acre lot. It conjoined the Montgomery and Barker properties. Tall fences made good neighbors, his father always said, and through the years they'd learned that wide open lots did, too. Here's your ball.

Thanks.

Do you play football? wondered Lincoln.

The boy looked surprised at the presumption and wagged his head. No. I don't play sports. The tone of his voice sounded sheepish, ashamed.

Why not? Lincoln slanted his head.

Well, I'm...I just don't.

Lincoln eyed the child's physique, calculated his stamina, and wondered if he was uncoordinated. Sometimes it just takes a little practice.

The boy dropped his gaze. I play video games.

That's not the same, Lincoln pointed out.

I can't. I wouldn't be any good anyway.

Lincoln spun the football in his hands. Says who?

Everybody, sighed the boy.

Lincoln thought of his new job and wondered where the boy went to school. If I were you, I'd find out for myself, he suggested. What's your name?

Wyatt.

Hi, Wyatt, I'm Lincoln Barker, and it looks like we're going to be neighbors.

The boy's eyes widened. You're the assistant coach of the Turberville Eagles.

Lincoln coughed but managed to say, Not anymore.

Wyatt didn't know Lincoln was no longer employed for the Tennessee college because the enamored glow didn't disappear from his dark brown stare. You also took the Bear Hollow High School Bears to the state championships, he breathed with admiration.

That was a long time ago.

My dad played football in high school.

Did he? What's his name?

Wyatt's cheeks turned bright pink. Oh, it's... It doesn't matter. Flushed, he stared at the football in Lincoln's hands until he tossed it over. It slipped through Wyatt's thick fingers and hit the ground. Thanks, he mumbled, scrambling over his mass to pick it up. I better get back inside and do my homework.

That's important, too, Lincoln agreed. The boy was sweet and obviously a little lonely. He watched Wyatt trudge toward the Montgomerys old house across the field, admitting he felt somewhat relieved the conversation was over. The truth was, Lincoln didn't want to answer any questions about why he was no longer a college coach or why everything he owned was in the back of his pickup truck.

He ran his fingers through his hair, squinting through the morning shadows cast by the towering smoky-blue mountains over the ridge. There was no place like Bear Hollow, North Carolina. He should have been happy to be back in his hometown, but he wasn't, he was mortified. He was also willing to do whatever it took to get his career on track. It was strange because Lincoln had never felt this way before, but now he could understand in some ways how Wyatt felt. He was a dud, too.

#

RACHEL MONTGOMERY SET her cell phone down like it was a ticking time bomb. Relieved the call with Wyatt's fifth grade homeroom teacher was over, she rested her elbows on the kitchen table and covered her face with her hands. A whiff of the medical-grade hand sanitizer she used at the retirement home where she worked made her grimace until the front door slammed. She looked around with a knot pinching her shoulder and watched her nephew lumber through the living room with a rare smile on his face.

Guess what?

Rachel tried to let go of her disappointment with Wyatt, frustrated at how shaky it made her feel. She didn't want to ruin his afternoon after he'd spent all day at school, but—

Mr. Barker is next door.

She felt her forehead crease. He stays home most of the day. He's retired now.

No, explained Wyatt, yanking out a chair to sit beside her, not old Mr. Barker, I meant his son. The coach of the Turberville Eagles.

Rachel's tired shoulders perked up with curiosity. Lincoln Barker?

Yeah, that's him. Wyatt beamed. He's nice, and he threw me my football. He looks just like he does in pictures.

Oh, does he? Rachel's interest was suddenly dulled by memories of her brother and his high school football team captain next door. That was nice of him to take the time.

Yeah, his truck's all full of boxes and stuff like he's moving. Wyatt gave a small gasp. Maybe he's moving here!

Rachel's heart did a little shimmy at the thought of having the infamous Lincoln Barker living next door again, but reality smacked it away. Lincoln Barker coaches college kids and there's no college in Bear Hollow. He's probably just visiting his father.

She brushed away any ideas of running into him. He seldom came to Bear Hollow, and he likely wouldn't care what any of the Montgomerys were up to these days. She cringed, then remembered the phone call.

I just got off the phone with Mrs. Elliot. Rachel pressed her lips together and watched Wyatt's excitement over meeting her old neighbor deflate. He heaved a loud, deliberate sigh.

What happened? Rachel clasped her hands on the table. Your teacher says your homework was only half-finished yesterday, and today you didn't complete your classwork.

Her nephew's face drooped, making his cheeks sag like the oversized tee-shirts he insisted on wearing. "Ah..." mumbled Wyatt.

Rachel resisted the urge to put her hands on her hips like she would have if Wyatt was his father. She'd spent her entire life scolding her little brother, Chuck, but it hadn't helped any of his problems. There had to be a better way. She was going to keep Wyatt on the right track. Wyatt, she admonished him in a loving tone, this is not the way to start off the new school year.

I know.

You also know there can't be any video games or computer time if your grades aren't good. We agreed.

I know, Aunt Rach! puffed Wyatt, but I'm tired, and school's boring.

Boredom is a choice, she reminded him.

No, it's not!

I need you to focus, buddy. Rachel squeezed her hands together to keep from throwing them up. Why were all the people she loved so frustrating?

I will. Wyatt grunted, and his nose wrinkled up like something smelled bad. Don't worry about it.

I am worried about it, Rachel replied, surprised at his sass. That's all I worry about. It's my job to make sure you do your job, and your job is to make good grades and behave so you— Rachel caught herself before she said, So you don't end up like your father. A familiar pain brewed in the pit of her stomach. How could Chuck humiliate the family like this? Worse, how could he leave Rachel to raise his little boy?

I said I know, repeated Wyatt in a thick voice. He lurched to his feet and shoved the chair under the table. It was as if he'd read Rachel's mind. Everyone knew Wyatt was a foster kid. Everyone knew Chuck Montgomery was in prison now. The Montgomery family could not fall any further.

I just need you to—

I know, homework, I'm going. Wyatt barreled out of the kitchen and stomped to his bedroom. I'm not an old man, Aunt Rach! Just worry about your people at the old folks' home!

His door slammed, and Rachel winced at his outburst. Then she realized he'd forgotten to bring in the mail. The arrival of Lincoln Barker must have distracted him. Rachel rolled her eyes although a tiny thought wondered what Lincoln was like now. Wyatt had called him nice.

Nice? She sighed and pushed away from the table. The casserole in the oven smelled like bubbling, browning cheese. After a quick peek, she went out to get the mail, stopping in the middle of the weedy lawn when she spied a round, foreign object moving in the grass.

Bart? She strode over to the large box turtle, and he arched his long neck up to look at her. You're going the wrong way, she chided him. You'll get squashed in the road, buddy.

Bart did not look happy to see her again. He ducked inside his shell, pulling all four of his limbs inside with him when she leaned over to pick him up. Gripping him from the back, she circled the house to the trickling creek at the back boundary of the Montgomery property. The turtle didn't move when she set him on the bank, so she backed away a few steps and waited.

A faint crashing sound in the distance turned her head. Looking over, she spied a vague figure on the Barkers' property throwing things into a shed behind the house. It wasn't Mr. Barker she thought, squinting with interest. The man was a bit taller and had a head full of dark hair instead of silver-gray. She tensed.

Lincoln Barker. He looked her direction so Rachel dropped to a crouch and pretended to pet Bart, but the turtle was fast when it wanted to be. It took off. She climbed to her feet and strolled back to the mailbox without looking across the lot again. Whatever Lincoln Barker was doing was not her business today. She knew he'd been in the news or something, but Lincoln always landed on his feet smelling like roses. Her cheeks tingled, imagining his reaction when he heard Chuck Montgomery was in jail and that she was raising her brother's child. He'd probably just shake his head. Throw the next pass. Win the next exciting game.

Rachel tugged the small door to the mailbox down. There was not much excitement working at the retirement home in Bear Hollow; no glory in raising her ten-year-old nephew by herself. She pulled out a stack of flyers and bills and squeezed them in her fist. Well, things were going to get better. The Montgomerys were going to be winners if it was the last thing she did. Wyatt Montgomery was not going to have a tragic accident like her parents, and more importantly, not turn out like her brother. Wyatt was going to do great things, and she would be right behind him cheering him on.

#

THE NEXT MONDAY, RACHEL pushed through the emerald-green front door of the Perky Pastry and sighed happily at the fragrance of coffee and baked confections. The bakery was perched like a faithful friend between the hardware store and the pharmacy. It was the refuge for early morning sweets and late night herbal teas in Bear Hollow.

The cashier slid her breakfast order over with a grin, and Rachel thanked her. How are your classes, Heidi?

Great, chirped the ambitious student. I like them even though they're at night.

I went through that, too. I'm happy for you though. Rachel smiled. You keep up the hard work, and you'll go places. Wyatt's only two weeks into fifth grade and already complaining about homework. He needs good examples.

Heidi chuckled. Tell him to stay strong.

Rachel dropped a generous tip in the antique pitcher beside the register, hoping it would help Heidi with school fees. Juggling a vanilla steamer and croissant, she turned and smacked right into the customer behind her. She gasped but caught herself before she spilled the hot drink. The man's surprised stare pierced her scattered thoughts. Sorry, she blurted. Dark curling lashes contrasted against bright eyes the color of a summer sky. Lincoln Barker. Rachel felt time rewind.

Rachel Montgomery, he guessed. How are you? How's your family?

Heat shot like an arrow from the top of Rachel's head. What could she say? My parents are still gone, I never married, and I'm raising my nephew on my own. Oh, and in case you haven't heard the latest rumor, my brother Chuck is in prison. Same, Rachel offered tonelessly, hoping it disguised her anguish and rather intense approval of his freshly-shaven jaw.

She'd spent the entire weekend trying not to reminisce about high school or wonder what Lincoln was like now. She'd never had much to do with him from the time he moved in next door during seventh grade through high school. He'd always been handsome and popular, and he'd known it. Like everyone else, Chuck had worshiped him, and that was around the time Chuck began running with the wrong crowd. Rachel had hoped as team captain, Lincoln would do more to influence her brother for the better, but he hadn't.

Lincoln offered her a polite smile. It's nice to see you.

You, too. Rachel avoided his appraising stare and made a beeline for the corner of the bakery ignoring the butterflies twirling in her stomach. Her best friend, Bree Cassell, crooked her finger from their usual table. It was dark like the rest of the outdated furniture in the bakery, but the contrast against the sunflower-yellow walls gave everything a cozy feeling. Rachel grimaced to apologize for her tardiness while feeling her next door neighbor's gaze on the back of her neck. She wondered if Bree had seen him.

Sorry I'm late, breathed Rachel as she collapsed into the chair across from Bree. Her friend thumbed through her smartphone with a hand under her chin, oblivious to Lincoln's presence.

The senior center is only a half-mile up the road. Bree set the device down. Her eyes looked sultry with sleek lines of dark eyeliner. I can walk to the salon from here, but you'd have to run to make it to work.

Rachel picked up her croissant. If I ever escape Bear Hollow, I'm going to live closer to my job.

You're not going anywhere, and speaking of fresh starts, whispered Bree in a low whisper. She shifted in her seat making Rachel look up from her breakfast. Bree inclined her head toward the register. From the back, Lincoln's brown-black cropped hair was trimmed neatly at the neckline. His shoulders were broad, and his calves looked like solid marble beneath his long basketball shorts. Is that who I think it is? Bree wondered.

Heidi was fawning over the new customer while fumbling with the register. Rachel had to admit Lincoln's profile was easy to admire. As if feeling her examination, he looked her way, and she averted her gaze with a sharp turn of her head. The boy next door was back, but he didn't need to know she admired how he'd matured.

Bree made a noise in her throat. Lincoln Barker, she murmured in a fascinated tone. Our team captain has not aged a bit.

As Bear Hollow's former football hero paid for his smoothie, Rachel kept her gaze on the table trying not to feel self-conscious; trying not to feel like a Montgomery. She took a nibble of her croissant then brushed off her hands. Low whispers began to trickle around the room, breaking up the odd silence that had fallen over the bakery. Rachel noticed patrons eyeing Lincoln with curiosity. Some smiled. Mr. Chernisky from the hardware store smothered chuckles from behind a raised page of the newspaper. Rachel glanced back at the counter perplexed, and to her surprise, the center of attention walked straight toward her instead of heading out the front door.

Bree, right? The plastic cup Lincoln had purchased hung at his side by his fingertips. Rachel's attention skipped up his arm to his lean, tanned face. His voice was deep and rich enough to give her goosebumps if she wanted them.

Hi, Lincoln. Heard you were in town. Bree set her chin back in her hand like she'd just seen him yesterday instead of over a dozen years ago. So how long have you been back? Staying long?

He shifted his stance, and Rachel was glad to be out of the spotlight. Was he still single? She picked