A new high school principal challenges a woman's ability to coach a male basketball team. She has left a successful coaching career and her family to take the job.
What causes a man to leave a place in the East he loves, a teaching position he enjoys to move his son clear across the c country? Why would a woman leave the home of her heart, her entire family, and a successful coaching career to lock horns with a boys' basketball team and a new principal? He doubts a woman can be qualified to coach male jocks, especially when one of them is his son. She is still reeling from a scandal in Montana. Both are running from "ghosts in the past," yet neither can deny the chemistry that sizzles between them. Ryne Summers and Samantha Armstrong are beautiful people caught up in a delicious relationship in a gorgeous corner of the Northwest.
Ryne Summers stared at the woman over the top of the neatly typed resume he held in his hands. He breathed deeply, takking in the sweet smell of summer apples drifting through his small office window and sighed, breaking eye contact with her. He placed the resume on his desk. This was bad. Very bad. But what was he going to do about it?
He stood, cleared his throat. Sam Armstrong, the new basketball coach, hired by the school for the boys' varsity team was supposed to be a man, not this leggy, athletic beauty seated less than a foot in front of him. And to make matters worse, a shaft of light shining through the window just then lit up her hair, touching the red in the dark shiny curls cascading past the collar of her clinging burnt orange blouse. It was amazing, he thought, the way the red in her hair and the orange in her blouse meshed beautifully.
But that wasn't the issue at hand.
"Miss...Armstrong," he said, "it seems we have a bit of a dilemma here."
He watched as the perfectly groomed eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"I--I don't understand." A smile trembled over her lips. "You left a note in my box asking to see me." She glanced at her watch banded in white leather. "I cut my last class short to be here on time.:
He swerved around his desk and leaned against the front edge, folding his arms loosely across the front of his white shirt. "Yes, I know, but I wasn't expecting you."
She blinked. "Who were you expecting?"