Going long boys of fall, p.1
Going Long: Boys of Fall, page 1
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
INTRODUCING THE BOYS OF FALL SERIES
GOING LONG
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
EPILOGUE
OUT OF BOUNDS BY ERIN NICHOLAS
OUT OF BOUNDS EXCERPT
FREE AGENT BY MARI CARR
FREE AGENT EXCERPT
WANT MORE SEXY SINGERS?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR ~ CARI QUINN
RECENT TITLES BY CARI QUINN
GOING LONG
CARI QUINN
Boys of Fall
COPYRIGHT
EBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
GOING LONG
© 2015 Cari Quinn
ISBN: 978-1-940346-13-7
Cover by Tibbs Design
All Rights Are Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Rainbow Rage Publishing print edition: January 2015
Sign up for the CARI QUINN NEWSLETTER for info on upcoming releases and exclusive content!
DEDICATION
To my mom, who never stops believing.
To Taryn Elliott, who is my eleventh hour cheerleader and never lets me panic.
This ride is a million times more fun with you.
INTRODUCING THE BOYS OF FALL SERIES
In Quinn, Texas, the temperature isn’t all that’s heating up…coming home has never been so hot!
Coach Nicholas Carr was the greatest high school football coach the sleepy little town of Quinn, Texas had ever seen. He led his boys to the state championships year after year. However, only once did the Quinn Titans ever bring home the state title. Quinn locals still insist that high school team was the greatest Texas ever had or ever would see. The exceptional group of athletes went on to do incredible things, bolstered by the qualities their cherished coach had instilled in them.
But when a retired Coach Carr suffers a heart attack and risks losing his beloved family ranch, his boys return home, anxious to give back to the man who’d been like a father to all of them.
Little did they know that returning to Quinn meant they’d fall in love—and into bed with strong, sexy women that are their match in every way. Home is definitely where the heart is, and so is the shower, and the wall, and the kitchen table…
Warning: Keep a glass of cold ice water handy to avoid sudden heatstroke—and a change of panties never hurts either.
GOING LONG
This time, he'll need to hit all the right notes to win the woman he's always loved...
Wade Bennett is used to coming in second to his seemingly perfect older brother. In high school, Colt was a star linebacker while Wade was the punter, an important job without all of the glory. When Charlene Martinez—the only girl Wade ever truly wanted—fell for Colt, Wade decided to take his chances with music and went on the road. Leaving behind his family, his best friend, Rafe, and Charlene, who had feelings for Wade she never allowed herself to feel.
Years in Nashville quickly hardened the dreamy guy who just wanted to sing and hang out with his dog, Melody. His success has given him more than enough money, even if he knows he’ll never be able to compete with his hometown hero big brother. But after Coach Carr's heart attack, Wade comes home to help the man who helped him make the decision to chase his dreams all those years ago.
Now Wade wants to chase a new dream in his old hometown, especially since Charlene is single again after divorcing Colt. And Wade is no longer a boy unwilling to fight for what—and who—he needs.
PROLOGUE
The road stretched ahead of Wade Bennett, winding up into the mountains of Truxton, Tennessee. Endless miles of land surrounded him, offset by the bucolic farms tucked into the forest. Trees rose up around him like sheltering angels that dripped shade onto the sunbaked earth, offering snatches of respite from the sweltering heat.
He tipped back his coffee mug and took a long sip. June in the south meant sweet tea, and lots of it. It also meant sticking his elbow out the window and soaking up the summer breeze that barely cooled the sweat clinging to his skin.
Behind the wheel of his beat-up old pickup was his favorite place to be. With his dog Melody’s head in his lap and the radio blasting country music, he couldn’t think of one other spot on God’s green earth more perfect or right for him.
Well, just one. But that was more about the people than the place.
He took a curve too fast, spitting up gravel on the shoulder of the road as he passed the Gruber farm. Clothes flapped on the line next to their charmingly rustic barn, a pretty usual sight in this part of the area. Wade had grown up in Quinn, Texas, a small town where football was king and ranching ran herd on many other occupations, so he felt more than comfortable here. It was in the rhinestone glitz and glamour of Nashville that he felt like an outsider in his scuffed cowboy boots, faded jeans and worn-thin T-shirts.
He’d stopped wearing a cowboy hat when his record company had decided to turn him into country radio’s version of a Backstreet Boy. Then they’d told him to lose the hat and the twang and the songs that made him who he was in favor of pop shit.
Not that there was anything wrong with pop. It just wasn’t him. He might’ve stashed his black Stetson in his truck—though it was on his head right now—but that didn’t mean he’d changed who he was at the root.
Back home, most of his friends hadn’t worn cowboy hats. Some had worn boots, some hadn’t. Most had helped their families work the land, but some had avoided the backbreaking parts by pitching the old rawhide every Friday night under the hot lights. “Gotta save the arm” had been Wade’s older brother Colton’s excuse. He’d done his share around the farm and Coach’s ranch, but he’d always managed to disappear when it came to mucking out stalls or milking Bessie. No self-respecting golden boy like Colt wanted to get caught with his head between a cow’s legs.
His cell beeped in the ashtray and he sighed. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to talk. It might be the waitress he’d hooked up with a couple of months ago. Linda was a sweet girl, but he wasn’t anyone’s bargain right now for love or anything else.
The other possibilities were record company execs or his manager, and neither was appealing. Stanley thought Wade needed to meet some new songwriters and producers to infuse his music with something edgier. More hip. Basically he was spewing Alliance Records’ BS version 2.0.
It was better he didn’t answer at all.
His phone went off again and he gave up trying to ignore the insistent chime. Looking didn’t mean he had to answer.
An unfamiliar number showed up on his Caller ID and he debated just dropping the cell back into the tray. But curiosity had him lifting his phone to his ear. “Yeah?” he said, fully expecting it to be a sneak attack from the record company.
They’d already sprung a visit with some new up-and-coming songwriter on him for the week after next. The dude was in some kind of rock-metal outfit, for fuck’s sake. What did he know about writing country songs?
Wade had said yes anyway, because the fact was, his album sales were down. Lonestar Angel had moved half the units of his previous release, and radio wasn’t playing him like they once were. Without tour dates to get him back in front of the fans until the fall when his next unnamed single was scheduled to drop, he had no way of reconnecting with his base.
Maybe new music—music he hadn’t written—was exactly what he needed, but damn if it didn’t sting.
The pause on the other end of the phone ended with the clearing of a throat. “Wade, is that you?”
Wade frowned. The voice was vaguely familiar, like a song he hadn’t heard in too many years to count. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Joel Rodriguez. From—”
“I know where you’re from.” Quinn. Joel was from Quinn. Fuck. Had thinking about his old hometown been enough to conjure one of his old buddies? “This is a surprise.”
“Not a welcome one, it sounds like.” Joel laughed. “Am I calling at a bad time?”
“Yes. No. Shit, let me pull over. I’m on the road.”
“Oh, are you on the way to a show?”
The excitement in the other man’s voice made Wade grin before the disappointment in himself reared up once again. He wasn’t on the way anywhere if he didn’t figure out how to up his worth to the record company. “Nah, just driving to clear my head. Trying to come up with some new music. You know how it is.” The lie came easily, like so many others had recently.
No, I’m not having trouble coming up with new material.
No, I’m not frustrated, pissed off and bored.
No, I haven’t turned my back on this life.
That was the biggest one of them all, because part of him had. He’d stopped connecting with the fans when his sense of isolation within Nashville had reached critical mass. Instead of his years in the biz making it easier for him to meet new people, he was retreating into himself more and more. The mask he’d once worn to make it seem like he belonged had fallen away, and he couldn’t set it back in place no matter how hard he tried.
“Oh sure. I get it. You creative types need your mental space,” Joel teased, his familiar voice tossing Wade into the past so swiftly that he wondered when he’d stepped out of his Silverado and into a DeLorean.
The road in front of him melted away, becoming an acre of shimmering green grass. Joel, the center on the team, flashed Wade a grin as he walked up to the football and prepared to kick. It was an often-thankless job on the squad, but a hasty kick could set the wrong tone for an entire game. Tonight, Wade was feeling good. Ready to do some damage. With the roar of the hometown crowd in his ears, he glanced toward the cheerleaders, hoping to catch a glimpse of Charlene in her short black and silver skirt.
And he did. Oh, he did, but she was smiling at Colt. Pound for pound, a star linebacker was almost always worth more attention than the kicker who played his guitar better than he ran the field.
“You know it,” Wade said, steering to the side of the road so abruptly that Melody lifted her head and let out a low yelp. “Sorry, baby.” He patted her head and turned off the truck. For once, he didn’t want to listen to music.
Not even his own.
“So how’ve you been?” Wade asked into the silence, surprised to realize his palm was clammier than it had been just a moment ago. “It’s been a damn long time.”
“Too long. We haven’t talked in what, two years? Three?”
“Something like that. Damn shame how time gets away from us.”
“It is.” Joel sighed. “Look, Wade, this isn’t just a social call. I have some difficult news.”
Images flashed in Wade’s mind. His little sister, Hollie, nestled away in the library, surrounded by books older than she was. Colt, running with those stupid earbuds in his ears, music set on scream. His mama, rocking on her porch swing. His pop, working the land without a cross word no matter how long or hard the day he’d put in.
Charli. God, Charli.
“Who?” Wade asked, unable to say more.
“Coach Carr had a heart attack a few days ago.”
While Wade reeled, Joel continued, his voice somber. Wade heard snatches of what his old friend said—“bypass surgery” and “Lorelie is doing too much”—but the rest couldn’t cut through the white noise buzzing in his ears.
Coach getting sick? How was that even possible? He remembered a strapping man with a quick wit who didn’t tolerate any crap from his players, especially when they strayed too close to his only child, Lorelie. She was a tomboy who’d been more than capable of taking care of herself, but that hadn’t stopped Coach from warning the guys that they better mind their manners in her presence. Since none of the boys had dared date her themselves, they’d formed a sort of black-and-silver Titan shield around her, making it nearly impossible for her to meet anyone new.
Not that there was a whole lot of new in Quinn anyhow. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons Wade had used to explain his need to split the minute he had his G.E.D. in hand? He hadn’t even been able to tolerate sticking around the last few months until graduation. His future in music couldn’t wait.
Neither could his need to get away from the sight of Colt and Charlene together. Laughing. Dancing. Kissing.
More. So much more.
Now Coach was in the hospital. Recuperating from the sounds of things, at least. Still, how was he even supposed to unglue his vocal cords enough to reply? Shock had frozen them in place.
“Hey man, you still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here. Look, what do you need me to do?” Now that he’d figured out how to speak again, the words flooded out of his mouth. “I’m sure there are expenses not covered by insurance. I can send—”
“We need you,” Joel interrupted quietly. “Not your money, just you.”
Wade fell silent.
“I know you have a tight schedule, and you can’t just pick up and leave Nashville.”
Oh yes, I can. I need to. “I’ll head back as soon as I can,” Wade said before sense kicked in and demanded he make the same excuses he’d made to his family over and over again about visiting Quinn. He wasn’t still avoiding his hometown after all these years. And Colt.
And Colt’s wife.
Ex-wife now. Still fucking hurt. He figured it always would, like that old kicking injury that ached every time it rained. Just one look into Charlene’s dark brown eyes would bring it flaring back to life.
“Great.” Joel exhaled. “It’s going to be so good to have you back home again.”
Wade tipped back his mirrored sunglasses and faced his tired blue eyes in the rearview mirror. Home was a nice word.
Too bad he wasn’t sure he had one to go back to.
CHAPTER ONE
“You going to help me get this feed up on the shelf or just stare at it?”
Charlene Martinez braced her hands on her hips and eyed the shelf above her head. “You do realize that I’m not even tall enough to reach that shelf, never mind haul a fifty-pound bag of cornmeal up on it, right?”
“Mind over matter, sister friend. Isn’t that part of that yoga lifestyle you preach?” With a sassy grin, Paige smacked Charlene on the ass and proceeded to haul the bag of feed up on the shelf by herself without even breaking a sweat. Her voluptuous curves damn near popped out of her tight top, but Paige never noticed the admiring glances from the ranchers and cowboys circling the store. She never would’ve believed the men frequented Wilcox’s Grub and Grain as much for a glimpse of her as to take advantage of the best feed prices in all of Quinn.
Charlene glanced down at her own pathetically flat chest. The truth was that her best friend had a frigging hot rack, better than the thirteen-point buck on the wall above the cash register.
“There. Took care of that. I swear, Mr. Mondell always calls up with the craziest orders. Today it was six bags of the—” Paige stopped and turned, pursing her lips. “Okay, go ahead. Slap me in the mouth a few times until my brain kicks in.”
Charlene had to laugh. She hadn’t even gotten the significance of the name Paige had mentioned until her brain connected the rest of the dots. Mr. Mondell meant Drake Mondell, also known as one half owner of C&D Horse Training. The C referred to Colt Bennett.
Her ex-husband. Three years’ ex, as a matter of fact, though everyone in town gave her sympathetic looks whenever Colt was brought up, as if he’d dumped her high and dry and bedded a dozen fillies since.
So he’d sort of dumped her. But that was only because she’d hung on way too long to something she should’ve let go of years before.
Live and learn, her abuelita always said. Charlene was fixing to get that tattooed on her ass, because it stuck out so far that she was sure to see it whenever she got the yen to do naked yoga at home.
“Nothing to worry about. Drake’s a friend of mine, just as he is yours. Besides, you know me and Colt are amicable,” Charlene said, patting Paige on the back as she hustled behind the counter to check inventory.
Colt and Drake weren’t the only best friends who’d gone into business together. Three years ago, Paige had inherited Wilcox’s from her grandfather upon his passing and she hadn’t been ready to let it go. She also hadn’t been willing to take over running the feed store herself. Since Charlene had just gotten out of her marriage—extremely amicable, thank you very much, which probably spoke to the lack of passion she and Colt had endured for the bulk of their relationship—she’d been at loose ends. Along with helping out at Rosa’s, her mama’s Mexican restaurant, Charlene also taught a couple of yoga classes a week and hoped to maybe one day open her own studio. The college courses she’d taken while helping out on the Bennett farm hadn’t given her quite enough background to feel comfortable managing her own business yet.
