The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,6

her news. Her sleek brunette hair hung in chic layers and emphasized her high cheekbones and catlike green eyes.

Camille frowned, not bothering with a greeting since Natalie hadn’t either. She’d learned long ago to be wary when Natalie appeared with one of her bombshells.

“No, I haven’t heard anything. What about the coach? Is he okay?” Edward Stults had been the varsity football coach at Sweetgum High School for more than thirty years. He also taught senior year world history, so almost every adult in town had been a student in his class—including Camille.

“He’s retiring to Florida. Mrs. Stults finally convinced him it was time.”

“That’s nice.” Camille smothered a sigh of relief, glad that the news was good for once. She knew the town would miss the couple, but it hardly seemed the kind of topic to put Natalie in such a frenzy.

“Yes, but I haven’t told you the most interesting part.” Natalie’s attention was caught by Merry’s voice from the back of the store. “Hey, Merry,” she called before turning back to Camille.

Camille was instantly wary. “What could be so interesting about Coach Stults retiring?” She couldn’t imagine why Natalie would think the news worthy of bolting to the dress shop.

“The interesting part is who they’re going to name as his replacement.” Natalie looked like the cat that had gotten into the cream.

“And that would be…?” Camille prodded, hoping to bring the conversation to a swift conclusion. She still had to pull together the information for the shop’s weekly advertisement in the Sweetgum Reporter, and a shipment of winter separates waited in the back to be unpacked.

“The new coach is someone we know. Someone we went to school with.”

Even though Camille was only twenty-four, her high school days seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened since the beginning of her senior year—her father’s desertion, her mother’s long illness and recent death, the burial of Camille’s own precious dreams of a glamorous life beyond Sweetgum.

“I can’t imagine anyone our age being hired as head football coach,” Camille answered. “Did I mention the new shipment I just got in?” she asked, hoping to distract Natalie. “There’s a suede jacket I think you might—”

“Dante Brown.” Natalie’s sharp features lit with a mixture of spite and glee.

Camille’s jaw dropped for a moment before she remembered to close her mouth and maintain her composure. Merry reappeared from the back of the store and saved Camille from having to reply.

“Are you sure about Dante?” Merry asked. She’d obviously overheard Natalie’s announcement. “I thought he was playing professionally somewhere.”

“He got sliced or whatever you call it by the Dallas Cowboys during training camp. His knee never was the same after that hit he took in the Alabama game.”

Camille knew exactly which hit Natalie meant. It had been shown over and over on sports news channels. A chop block, the announcers had called it, with one man tackling Dante around the shoulders while another took him out from behind at the knees. The first time she’d seen the replay, Camille had rushed to the bathroom and thrown up.

Dante Brown. Beads of sweat broke out along her forehead. Dante. Back in Sweetgum.

“He’s taking over the team starting tomorrow,” Natalie said. “Cody says they’re a shoo-in to win the state championship now.” Cody Grant, Natalie’s husband, had been the quarterback to Dante’s running back. The two had been an unstoppable team.

A hard knot formed in Camille’s stomach. Dante had made it out, escaped Sweetgum, left small-town life behind. And now he was coming back. Had evidently chosen to return of his own free will.

Well, he always had been a little crazy. About football. About his future.

About Camille.

She had refused to give him so much as the time of day in school. Not because he was black and she was white, as many people had whispered. She’d avoided him because of the way he made her feel just by passing her in the hall and saying hello. She’d switched lockers with her friend Jackie her junior year so she wouldn’t have to see him any more than she could help.

And then her senior year, Camille had learned how fickle life—and men—could be when her father walked out, which only reinforced her decision to avoid Dante Brown. The intervening six years had done nothing to dim the truth of the lesson her father had taught her.

“Dante always did have a thing for you,” Natalie said with a smile both teasing and malicious.

“Did he?” Camille’s tone could have frosted ice. “I don’t