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|  | | An Apple for the Teacher
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 p | |  | | The Watermelon Patch
A high school boy is found dead in a watermelon patch. Is it murder or suicide? What is the mystery surrounding his death? What are the valley secrets that turn this quiet, church-going rural Nevada upside down? The story is an intimate flashback to the 1950's, a coming-of-age saga. A time when kids hung out together and shared a chocolate Coke, not a sniff of cocaine or meth, listened to the music of Johnny Cash and Hank Williams and were awed by the "aboveground" testing of the atomic bomb. But was this era in our history as simply lived as most today believe? Will the people in Pinon Valley find the answers and peace to their doubts and heartache? Will the shadows hovering over them all dissipate, making way for the sunshine of their lives as they once knew it?
I stood beside my best friend's wife in the small crowded cemetery wearing last year's mail-order suit that pulled at the shoulders, and made me uncomfortable.
Clasping Ali's sweaty palm, I glanced down at her, saw her chin quiver and looked quickly away. As the mourners hugged the gravesite, the Bishop said a few words, then a couple of church Elders joined him in forming a half circle. Hands behind their backs, heads bowed, they prayed. I stared down at the dark-stained wood casket that hid Jimmy Joe from us because it was too hard to look at Ali, and memorized the kaleidoscope of co |
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