To Win Her Back

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Oh, God. He was wrong. Not everything had been bigger when he was seventeen. Back then, he’d been larger than most of the boys his age, but he’d still been on the cusp of manhood. He stood before her now, broad-shouldered and proud, a man fully grown, and the soft gray eyes that used to look at her with love held nothing but disdain.

  His lips curled in a sneer. “You’re the last person I’d expect to find in Barlow. Slummin’ it, V?”

  She stiffened her spine and refused to wince at the sarcastic bite of his words. His animosity was no more than she’d expected. No more than she deserved.

  That didn’t mean she had to like it. If he’d expected more all those years ago, so had she. Her dreams had been crushed right along with his when he’d blown out his knee. And wasn’t life a bitch? Hell. She was a bitch, or so she’d been told on a number of occasions. Sam obviously agreed. She snorted inwardly. She’d take the title of bitch over victim any day.

  She jacked her chin to an extra snotty angle. “Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead in this dump of a town, but since you’re here and I need to speak to you, here I am.”

  “Speak to me?” He crossed his arms. “That’s a complete turnaround from the last time we saw each other.”

  Since his mocking claim was true, she’d give him that one. She pasted on a fake smile. “I have a business proposition for you.”

  From the far end of the field, one of the coaches called his name. Sam lifted his hand in a silent wave, then turned back to her. Though he was a foot taller and topped her by nearly one hundred pounds, she’d never been afraid of him. Yet, the way he stepped forward, crowding her against the car, made her nervous. She refused to flinch as he lowered his head until his face was less than an inch from hers.

  “Baby, any business we might have had together was finished a long time ago.”

  The direct hit was like a blow to her belly. She absorbed the pain. Embraced it. Put it behind her, the way she always had, and focused on the business at hand. While a pop in his nose would be more satisfying, in her experience, a dangled carrot normally delivered better results. Sam’s hostility might be justified, but he was still a man, and a competitive one at that. She’d bet her favorite Louis Vuitton bag he wouldn’t let her walk away without finding out why she’d come.

  With a careless shrug, she pivoted away. “Suit yourself.”

  He stepped back as she opened the door and slipped into the seat, then prevented her from slamming the door in his face by propping a forearm on the window frame.

  “That’s it?” He leaned down to meet her gaze, his broad chest and shoulders filling the crack of the open door.

  “That’s it.” She pushed the sunglasses down her nose to fry him with a pointed glare. “Now, if you don’t mind….” She let the unspoken suggestion he go to hell dangle in the air between them.

  “It happens I do mind.” An angry crease marred the tanned skin of his brow.

  “Sucks to be you.” She tugged on the armrest, but he held the door firm.

  His voice vibrated with an impatient growl. “What’s the proposition?”

  She could just imagine how much it stung him to ask, since he’d cut off his throwing arm before he requested anything from her. Guilt softened her voice. “A job offer.”

  His mouth twisted in a derisive smirk, and his eyes traveled over her body in an insulting survey before he lifted his gaze to hers once more. “I’ve sampled what you have to offer, Red. No thanks.”

  Now he was just being nasty, and the old pet name, spoken in such a cutting tone, hurt enough she was tempted to tell him to go fuck himself. Instead, she tossed out Caroline’s dream offer, and hoped like hell he was too angry to accept. “Not even if the job is offensive coordinator for the Manhattan Marauders?”

  He snapped straight and his eyebrows shot to his hairline. They quickly lowered to a dangerous tilt. “Last I heard, you were a sports agent, not a recruiter for the pros.”

  She tossed her head. “Caroline Wainwright offered me a job as the Marauders’ public relations coordinator when Jake retired from the field.” Tugging the envelope from her satchel, she held it out.

  He hesitated for a moment before snatching the thick envelope from her fingers. “Bob Duggan—”

  “Was recently diagnosed with cancer.”

  He stared at her in silence and the hostility in his eyes eased with the pained grimace wrinkling his brow. “Damn. I hadn’t heard.”

  She hardened her heart against the rush of empathy tightening her throat and lifted her chin. “Not many have.”

  His shoulders sagged. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough he’s retiring as soon as his replacement is found.” The team had kept the well-loved coach’s diagnosis out of the press so far, but that wouldn’t last long. Not with the Marauders searching for his replacement. If Sam accepted the position, he’d learn the details soon enough. Still, he hadn’t taken the job yet. “That’s privileged information, by the way.” She bumped her chin toward the envelope. “Since those papers represent an official offer of employment, and they’re technically in your custody, we expect you to keep Bob’s condition, and every other detail contained in the offer, to yourself.”

  Affronted irritation sparked in his eyes, but he dipped his chin once in a curt nod.

  She snapped on her seatbelt with a click. “Bottom line, Bob Duggan and Caroline Wainwright want you in the position once he leaves.”

  He remained silent for a moment, his gaze sliding over her face as if searching for the lie in her claim. “And you?”

  “I want you to take your hand off my door.”

  Surprisingly, he did so. He stepped back, and she slammed the door shut. Twisting the key in the ignition, she jammed the shifter into drive and nearly ran over his toes as she tore out of the lot.

  Chapter 2

  “Son of a bitch.” Sam sent the town’s mayor and his wife a final wave and climbed into his truck. Blowing a frustrated breath, he shoved the key into the ignition. Four hours of shaking hands and making small talk when all he could think of were the contents of the envelope in his pocket—and the woman who had delivered it—had been an exercise in torture.

  His hand shook as he slipped the Marauders’ offer from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Angling the sheaf of papers toward the glow from the parking lot lights, he began to read. His pulse accelerated with each page until his heart jackhammered against his ribs. His breathing quickened and his palms went clammy.

  Jesus. She’d been telling the truth. Offensive coordinator for the Marauders.

  Adrenaline surged, and he pounded his fist against the steering wheel in a half-dozen celebratory thumps. From the day he’d made that lateral cut, tearing his ACL so badly he would never play football again, he’d worked his ass off, earning his degree at an accelerated pace, with one goal in mind: to get his foot in the door with a pro team. But he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for the door of the reigning Super Bowl champs.

  Dropping his head against the rest, he stared at the emptying field and stands. The underlying reason for Bob Duggan’s retirement made him sick to his stomach, but with the playoffs about to begin, the Marauders couldn’t afford to leave the job open. If Sam didn’t take his place, someone else would. And, damn it, he’d earned the position.

  Hard work, lucky timing, and a palmful of local celebrity had gained him his first low-level coaching position at East Texas U. He’d made the most of the opportunity, rising through the ranks of the Division II program to head coach. In the six years since, he’d delivered two championship titles. He’d fallen short this year, but considering the lack of talent on the current roster, he was proud of what they’d accomplished.

  It happened sometimes, at every level of collegiate sports. Players graduated, leaving the coaching staff to rebuild. His record was solid, however. Solid enough to gain the interest of the Marauders. Thanks to the college administration dragging their feet over his
contract, it looked as if he’d won the timing lottery again, along with a second chance at his dream.

  And how fucking ironic the chance would come via the woman who hadn’t loved him enough to stick by his side when his dream had come crashing down around him?

  Ignoring the rare band of anger compressing his chest, he tucked the offer back into the envelope, slipped it in his pocket, and started the truck. Damn. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he’d spotted V leaning against her car like a vision from the past. For a split second, he’d been back in high school, exiting the locker room after a game to find her propped against the fender of his old pickup. His reaction was the same as it had been all those years ago, but unlike in high school, the insistent twitch of his cock was an unwelcome development.

  He shoved the truck into gear and joined the parade of vehicles exiting the lot. In a perfect world, Victoria Price’s sultry shell would match her cold heart, but even at seventeen, she’d had an earthy quality that grabbed the male of the species by the balls. Though petite, she was built, with curves that didn’t quit and a mane of dark red curls that had sent his teenage hormones rampaging with thoughts of steamy windows and sweaty sex.

  That obviously hadn’t changed.

  The packaging, however, had been false advertising, or had been back then. With the exception of Jake Malone, who had lived in the trailer next to hers on the Double J Ranch on the outskirts of town, she’d barely spoken to the boys who constantly sniffed after her. In fact, she’d blackened the eye of the one boy who’d tried to steal a kiss. Brian Hayes had taken a shitload of razzing when he’d shown up at school on Monday. He’d suffered a second shiner when Jake learned how he’d gotten the first.

  Word was, she and Jake were doing the dirty, but Sam had never bought the rumors. Perhaps because he didn’t want to. The way he saw it, Jake treated the quiet little redhead like a sister, not a girl he’d gotten naked. Pursuing V had risked Jake’s friendship, but Sam had never been one to walk away from something he wanted. He’d wanted V until he couldn’t think straight, and from the shy smiles and blushes whenever he caught her between classes to say hello, the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

  Still, it had taken perseverance and charm to finally convince her to share a cone with him at the Dairy Barn three months before he left for college. The next morning, Jake had shown up at the garage where Sam worked part time and promised to break his throwing arm if he did anything to hurt her, but their friendship survived.

  Before long, everyone in town knew V was his girl. They’d dated throughout the spring and early summer, and with her irresistible mix of shyness and quirky humor, she’d had him eating out of her hand in no time. For a single smile, he would have promised her anything, and had.

  He dragged a palm down his face. She’d made promises as well.

  Against her mother’s wishes, she’d followed him to Florida State that fall, delaying her own plans for higher education. Working two jobs, she’d found a small apartment near campus and had accepted his marriage proposal the night he’d taken her virginity while staring into her incredible bedroom eyes.

  She’d disappeared without a word six weeks later.

  He grunted. The bedroom eyes hadn’t changed, but the screw-you jut of her chin was new. Apparently, the shy girl who had once captured his heart had grown some sharp edges. She wasn’t alone in that. He’d developed some as well.

  Up ahead, the town’s one-and-only traffic light switched from yellow to red. He slowed to a stop and, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he eyed the street sign glowing in the beam of his headlights. When the light changed, he yanked the wheel to the left onto Cholla Drive instead of heading straight home. Driving past a half dozen well-tended homes, he pulled the truck to the curb in front of a small Craftsman-style home.

  Frustration fired on all cylinders as he stared at Anita Price’s empty driveway. He should have known V wouldn’t stick around, even for a short visit with her mother.

  When V had first taken off, he’d been too raw, too angry, and too embarrassed to object as friends and neighbors alike raked V over the coals for being a heartless bitch. With time and maturity, he’d put the embarrassment behind him and the anger had eased with his acceptance of a lesson well learned, but the damage to V’s reputation was done.

  With very few exceptions, the citizens of Barlow considered her a pariah and weren’t shy about voicing their opinions. Then again, she hadn’t given them a lot of opportunity to do so to her face. Anita was another story. Over the years, she’d shown him nothing but kindness; had even become a friend of sorts. Yet, living in Barlow, there was no escaping the nasty criticisms and snide remarks. Anita loved V, and his gut gnawed with guilt over the humiliation she continued to suffer on her daughter’s behalf.

  As far as he knew, V had only been back to Barlow once, when news reached town her estranged father had died. Sam had returned home from coaching a road game to find the citizenry abuzz over how V had met Anita at the bank to sign some papers and left again before the ink was dry.

  She hadn’t been back since. Until today.

  He propped his forearms on the steering wheel and ground his teeth. Damn it. What was he doing here, anyway? The ache of hurt had dulled long ago, as had the regret. Victoria Price wasn’t worth regrets, and he’d discovered what real hurt was during the long months of rehabilitation as he worked to regain the ability to walk.

  It was just as well she hadn’t hung around. He had no interest in being topic number one on the town grapevine, and if he gave into temptation and strangled the Marauders’ PR consultant, he could kiss their offer goodbye.

  He curled his fingers around the shifter, preparing to go, then cursed as the front porch light winked to life. Anita pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. She raised her hand in a hesitant wave, and Sam’s spine tingled with a sense of déjà vu. The neat little house was a far cry from the small trailer where V had grown up, but the stark sadness on her mother’s face was the same as on the day he’d finally swallowed his pride and had come looking for answers—and found none.

  “Fuck.” Great going, Fitzpatrick. Now you get to explain to Anita how her daughter was in town and didn’t bother to stop by. You’re an asshole.

  He twisted the key in the ignition, climbed from the truck, and crossed the lawn to the foot of the steps.

  Anita spoke before he could. “If you’re looking for V, she’s not here.”

  He hid his surprise by scrubbing a palm over his chin. “She came by to see you?”

  A pained smile tweaked her lips. “She called from the airport. Congratulations, Sam. She told me about the job offer.”

  He shuffled his feet and searched for an excuse for being here that wouldn’t make him sound like a sap. “With the game about to start, there wasn’t a lot of time to discuss the details. I was hoping to catch her before she headed back to New York.”

  Eyes full of apology, Anita shrugged. “You know V.”

  He’d thought he had once, but he’d been wrong. She’d fooled him completely with her claims of love. In truth, he’d been nothing more than a one-way ticket out of Barlow. The moment that ticket was canceled, she was gone.

  Anita glanced at his truck then back. “Have you told Lucy yet?”

  Christ. He was a sap. Rattled by V’s appearance, not to mention the job offer, he hadn’t stopped to consider how his daughter would react to having her life uprooted yet again. “No. I came straight from the game.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “She’s not going to be happy.”

  “Kids are resilient, Sam. Lucy especially. She might just surprise you.”

  A harsh laugh rumbled in his chest. “When doesn’t she surprise me?” He dropped his arm to his side. “She dyed her hair yesterday. Bright purple.”

  Anita’s face softened with her laugh. “I saw it this afternoon when she showed up for dance class.”

  He shook his head. “I swear, she’s deliberat
ely trying to drive me crazy.”

  Understanding darkened her eyes. “She’s expressing herself, which is a big improvement over the sad little girl she was only months ago. Don’t you think?”

  He grunted, but she had a point. Lucy had barely spoken in those first few months after she’d come to live with him. Not that he could blame her. Confused and grieving over her mother’s death, her life had been tipped on its head, and he hadn’t been a lot of help. Out of his element, he’d had no clue how to go about being a father to a scared fourteen-year-old he’d never known about, much less met.

  As if she’d read his mind, Anita rested gentle fingers on his arm. “It’ll all work out, Sam. You’ll see.” She dropped her hand to fiddle with the button on her sweater. “Well, I’ll let you go, but if you need me to talk to Lucy, I will.”

  “I appreciate that.” But whether or not he took her up on the offer would depend on Lucy. She tended to get spooked whenever he tried to have a serious conversation with her.

  Anita dipped her chin in a nod, and he waited until she’d gone inside before retracing his steps to the curb. He clenched his jaw as he started the truck, then swung it around toward home. Life was full of irony. What little headway he’d made with Lucy was due in large part to the friendship she’d developed with Anita. Yet, thanks to Anita’s daughter, and the delivery of the Marauders’ offer, the familiar refuge Lucy had found in the dance classes Anita gave at the rec center was about to be taken away.

  His stomach plummeted as he slowed at the light. Dance classes were the least of his worries. The light turned green and he hung a left, sucking air through his teeth. With a little luck, Lucy would see the move to Manhattan as a positive development, but he wasn’t holding his breath. The truth was, any progress they’d made had stalled the moment the court insisted on that Goddamned DNA test.

  In the month since, Lucy had withdrawn, as if she expected him to tell her a mistake had been made and he was sending her away. That wasn’t going to happen. He might have no idea if he was Lucy’s father or if some other man held that distinction, but however the test came out, his name was on her birth certificate. More importantly, he’d made a promise to Maggie. He meant to keep it. Convincing Lucy of that was something else, however, and until the legalities of their situation were settled, the fear and confusion in her young eyes would continue to gut him.