He’d already been losing his red hair when Dylan had played for him; now, only a circle of faded orange and silver remained around his mostly bald head. Dylan was startled to see that the man had gotten rid of the matching mustache. He’d never seen Coach Burton clean shaven before.

The last time the two of them had seen each other was when Dylan had been in the hospital after the first shoulder surgery. Coach had come to visit him. Michael Echols had not.

When Dylan’s father had died right after the new year, Coach Burton had been visiting his daughter in Colorado before the school’s spring semester started. He’d ordered an arrangement of flowers for the funeral and later visited Barb to tell her he was here if she needed anything. Dylan wondered if his mother had ever taken the man up on his offer. Barb could be borderline passive-aggressive, depending completely on others while constantly fretting that she didn’t “want to be a bother.” She’d adopted an apologetic attitude with her own husband, instead of grabbing him by the collar, reminding him that she was half of the marriage, too, and demanding his respect.

In spite of himself, Dylan grinned at the mental image. He would have paid damn good money to see tiny Barb, five foot nothing in her stocking feet, give Michael Echols a piece of her mind. Since leaving home, Dylan had avoided timid women as if they were a curse, gravitating instead toward females who did whatever they wanted. Of course, that practice had netted him women like Heidi. There must be a middle ground he was missing.

“Echols!” The coach had looked up from the people talking to him and spotted his one-time protege. With a quick nod of dismissal to the people surrounding him, he covered ground in the exact manner Dylan remembered. How many times had he seen that purposeful stride as Coach headed out to the pitcher’s mound to confer during practice or a game?

Nostalgia bubbled up, forming a lump of emotion in Dylan’s chest. Being a guy, he hadn’t cried when he lost his major league career-although, dear God, he’d wanted to at times, wondering if it would help him purge any of the frustration, fury and loss-and he hadn’t shed a tear over his father’s grave. Barb had sobbed enough for both of them, and Dylan had played the part of the stoic son, holding her and thanking everyone who’d come to pay their respects, knowing that many of them were there out of obligation to his mother not affection for Michael. Now, Dylan’s vision blurred for just an instant, his eyes stinging.

Then he blinked, and the world righted itself again. “Coach.” He clapped the man’s shoulder, leaning into it and making it a half hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too.” Coach Burton squeezed him hard, strong as an ox despite his advancing years. Speaking low enough that only Dylan could hear him, he added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back in time to be here for you in January, son.”

Dylan swallowed and nodded.

Coach Burton moved back, turning to Barb. “Mrs. Echols, you’re looking as lovely as ever. I’m glad you made him bring you. It’s good to see you again.”

“I was glad he asked! You’ve been such a special person to our whole family.” A cloud passed over her face. “I’m just sorry Michael couldn’t be here for this.”

Taking the diplomatic path, Coach patted her arm and said nothing. During his summers off, he’d attended some of Dylan’s pro games. They’d gone out for beer afterward once, and Coach Burton had let slip the opinion that any man who routinely made himself feel more important by belittling his kid should be horsewhipped. As Dylan approached thirty, he found himself wondering if he’d ever settle down and if, assuming he ever became a parent himself someday, he’d be a decent dad. After all, his own father hadn’t provided a shining role model. But I had Coach. That was more than some kids ever got.

Other guys were coming through the doorway now, including Nick and Shane, who was accompanied by a very pretty girl with golden hair. Both men hailed Dylan with loud greetings.

His mother smiled. “You’ll be wanting to catch up with old friends. I should get out of your way.”

Coach Burton extended his arm gallantly. “You two will sit with me. Can I show you to the head table? Maybe get you a drink?”

Looking ten years younger, Barb nodded.

Shane strolled up, introducing his date. “Dylan, this is Arianne Waide. Ari, Dylan Echols.”

She grinned, her eyes twinkling at Dylan. “You went to school with my older brothers. I watched you pitch some great games.”

“Waide?” Dylan flashed back to the pregnant photographer yesterday. “Any relation to Rachel?”

The blonde nodded. “She’s one of my sisters-in-law. Lilah Waide is the other.”

Right, now he remembered the name of Lilah Baum’s steady boyfriend throughout high school. Tanner Waide. He’d been a fairly decent football player, but had been far more passionate about Lilah than sports.

“Nice to meet you, Arianne.” Smirking at Shane, Dylan leaned closer to her. “You do realize you’re too good for this guy here, right?”

She laughed. Shane, less amused, socked Dylan in the shoulder-not the one that had been injured, thank heavens.

“Shane and I are just good buddies,” Arianne said. “Honestly, I think he asks me out because he hopes I can get him a discount on fishing equipment at the family store.”

“That’s not why I ask you out,” Shane insisted. “Although now that you mention it…”

Heckling each other, the two of them moved farther into the room, leaving Nick and Dylan behind.

“I didn’t want to ask for details in front of Ari,” Nick began, “but did you track down your mysterious lady in red the other night?”

“As a matter of fact.” Maybe Nick knew more about her. “Chloe Malcolm. Is she-”

“Klutzy Chloe?” Behind them, a man guffawed. “Don’t tell me she’s here tonight. Better keep her away from the punch table.”

Next to Dylan, Nick had stiffened. His unsmiling expression fell several degrees cooler than civil. “Petey.”

Dylan turned to find Peter “Petey” Grubner holding a drink and sporting the same severe crew cut he’d favored ten years ago, atop a much rounder face. Their former teammate had gained about thirty pounds. What Dylan remembered about the guy was that Petey had often tried too hard to fit in, laughing loudly at his own jokes or picking fights with other teams to prove his “boys” had his back. To give him credit, though, he’d had a decent batting average. One of the best in the county, but he’d lacked the discipline to do anything with his God-given talent.

“Hello, Pete.” Even though he’d heard far stranger nicknames in professional sports, Dylan would feel asinine calling another grown man Petey.

“Dylan Echols.” The man bared his teeth in a smile. “We’re honored that you took time from your high-powered big-city career to hang out with us yokels.”

“No chance I’d miss Coach’s send-off,” Dylan said easily, refusing to be disturbed by someone else’s bitterness. Not when I already have plenty of my own.

“Shocked no one asked him to retire years ago.” Grubner sipped whatever was in his red plastic cup. “I mean, I like the guy as much as the rest of you, but he’s been at Mistletoe High ever since it was a one-room schoolhouse for the pioneers’ kids. It’ll do everyone good to get new blood.”

Go away, Grubner. “Who’ve they got to replace him?” Dylan asked Nick.

“They don’t. They’re still interviewing. The assistant coach, Asbury, will fill in for the interim, but he’s not too far off from retirement himself. They can make him head coach, but then they’ll be going through the same process in a couple of years.”

Grubner rocked back on his heels, puffing up his chest. “You know, I thought about going into coaching instead of taking over the car dealership, but it’s a good thing I followed in the family footsteps. Coaching just wouldn’t be fair to Petey Jr. Wife’s home with him tonight ’cause he’s got some stomach bug, but he’s a strapping boy. Quite the baseball future ahead of him. Why spend all my time and energy on a team that changes every year when I can devote every spare minute to shaping Junior’s career?”

Petey Jr. had Dylan’s sympathies. “Well, it’s been nice catching up, but-”

“When I walked over, you were talking about Chloe Malcolm.” Grubner was studying the room with predatory interest. “Where is she?”

“Not here,” Dylan said, unintentionally biting off the words. “I ran into her briefly at the reunion.”

Again with the braying guffaw-one of Petey’s many donkeylike qualities. “She actually showed up? I’m surprised she left her computer long enough to venture out in public. That little gal’s scared of her own shadow. Most exciting thing she ever did was douse Candy Beemis in punch at a high school dance.” He leered. “Even back then, Candy

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