Blog Tour: Slow and Steady Rush by Laura Trentham

Slow and Steady Rush [Falcon Football #1] by Laura Trentham
Expected Publication: March 10, 2015
Publisher: St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Format: via NetGalley
Challenge: NetGalley/Edelweiss
Rating: 4/5

She lives by the book—and is still searching for her happily ever after. Darcy Wilde has tried hard not to live up to her last name. As a librarian in Atlanta she lives a fine life far away from the football-obsessed town of her childhood. But when her beloved Grandmother needs help, Darcy takes a leave of absence and heads back to the home and past she left behind.

He knows how to play the field—and is in no rush to settle down. Robbie Dalton knows a thing or two about painful pasts. After bouncing around in foster care and the Army for years he is finally ready to move on and make a home for himself in Falcon, Alabama as the newest high school football coach. Sparks fly when the sexy new coach and the sharp-tongued librarian meet, but neither of them is looking to make ties.

But when it comes to love, sometimes you’ve gotta throw away the rule book to cross the finish line. Everything changes when Darcy falls in love, not only with the gruff, protective, and smoking hot man who's sharing her days and nights, but also with the complex tapestry of people who weave Falcon together. Could this be where she belongs - and who she belongs with?

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My Thoughts
First off I LOVED this book and can’t wait to read the rest of the series. I’m from the South so I totally connected with this book. Down here football is a way of life and there is nothing better. So of course I loved the football aspect but I also loved so many other things such as the blooming love story of Darcy and Robbie, but more about that later. What I really loved was tough as nails Darcy and her story. Darcy has come back home to visit her ill grandmother who raised her and her cousin Logan. She was just coming for a short visit but do to circumstances her visit has taken a difficult turn. While she started out wanting to go back to her life in the city she soon realizes that she misses her old small town.

Robbie Dalton is friends with Darcy’s cousin Logan and has come to help out with the football team. Robbie has his own demons and isn’t looking for much of anything…until he sees Darcy. He admits she catches him off guard but knows she isn’t in town for long and isn’t really to get hurt. However gravity pulls these two together and nothing can stop them once they let their attraction loose. These are two tortured souls who are brought together to help each other but more importantly heal themselves.

This book has a little something for everyone and that’s what makes this so enjoyable. I dare you not to fall in love with Darcy, Robbie or the town itself. While the romance is smokin’ hot there is so much more about this book that you have to read to understand. I personally love the aspect of coming back home a totally changed person. She always thought she had to leave to find what she was looking for when in reality everything she ever wanted and needed was right there…at home.

About the Author

Laura Trentham is an award-winning author of contemporary and historical romance. She is a member of RWA, and has finaled multiple times in the Golden Heart competition. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.

Connect with Laura

Robbie Dalton steered his black pick-up truck down the narrow washed-out lane. He’d have to talk Miss Ada into either laying more gravel or, better yet, paving the road. If he could convince her to sell him the farmhouse, he’d pay for it himself. A state forest, open fields, and the river enfolded the house. The absolute privacy appealed to him.
Honestly, he’d be doing the woman a favor. The house needed thousands of dollars in repairs and would require months of labor. But memories of past generations were steeped into the walls like a strong tea, flavoring the feel of the place. Robbie loved it. Miss Ada had told him to wait and see how the football season went, because if he couldn’t coach the team to a winning record, he might not be around long enough to unpack.
Trees crowding over the narrow lane ended in a stark line, and the harsh Alabama sun blazed after the relatively cool shadows. Fields once farmed in cotton had been left fallow. Tall grasses, newly sprouted pines, and hardwoods encroached.
He slowly bumped by the old woman’s house. The nurse’s huge SUV sat out front. A shudder passed through his body at the thought of getting trapped into a conversation with Ms. Evelyn. He’d stop by later.
Avery barked softly, and Robbie put an arm around the dog, steadying him. For the most part, Avery had adapted to losing his front leg. He still loved to run and jump and play, but there were times he whined as if he missed it, licking and nipping at the stump.

The rutted lane wove close to the river. The truck windows were down and the radio off. After four tours in Afghanistan, Robbie craved the silence, needed to know bone-deep that mortars, the beat of helicopter blades, or the zing of bullets wouldn’t break the serenity.
A sound broke through the silence. He killed the truck’s engine, his senses heightened by a pulse of adrenaline. The noise cut to him again. Close to the river. Human or animal? Maybe a hunter or maybe one of the wild pigs that had been wreaking havoc in the river bottoms.

Grabbing his pistol from the glove box, he said, “ You stay here, buddy.”
Avery whined and hopped down the seat as if to follow.

“ No, the bank’s too steep. I’ll be fine. Stay.” He took the time to rub the Belgian Malinois behind the ears. Avery seemed to prefer Robbie never leave his line of sight.
Ingrained training had him crouching low and moving across the short open field as if a sniper had him in his sights. He squatted at the edge of the bank and parted low- hanging willow branches. Leaning forward, he hung onto a ropey, pliable limb, his fisted hand stripping a row of leaves. His heart nearly stopped but then galloped out of his chest to match his bulging eyes.
Holy shit. It was a naked woman. A fine, naked woman. She stood hip deep in a slow-moving eddy with her back to him.  Her face tilted to the sky, she shook wet hair and squeezed out the water. The feminine, graceful movements dried his mouth. Rivulets raced from her shoulders to the hollow of her lower back. Water bobbed around her ass, framing perfection. The beauty of the scene went beyond the erotic.
He was intruding on a private moment and needed to leave. He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing but the whisper of the wind in the trees and the flow of the river filled the quiet.

He took a step back, cracking a dead branch under his boot, and froze. He’d be fired from the team if he were accused of voyeurism. Had she heard him? One eye opened and went straight to woman in the river. He tried his damnedest to look away, but hell, he was only human.
Another intruder captured his attention. The water lapping the far bank rippled. Wide body, flat head. He mouthed a curse. Cottonmouth. Big one, too. A bite might not kill her, but it would cause excruciating pain. The snake swam straight toward his fine, naked woman.
He stood, thumbed the safety, and cupped the gun in both hands. He had one shot to get the job done. Not the first time he’d been in that position. His finger caressed the trigger. The gun’s report and the woman’s scream trampled the seductive beauty of the scene.
The woman fell and stirred up enough silt to darken the usually clear water.  Bits of snake floated down the river. “My God!” she repeated as a litany, giving the snake remnants wide berth.
Shallow, fast-moving water eddied around her shoulders and concealed her curves as she scrambled backward on her hands and feet. Dark hair streamed into her face. She brushed it aside only to have the water push it back in front of her eyes.
He couldn’t let her panic and drown. Pushing willow branches aside, he called out, “You’re welcome.” He’d aimed for nonthreatening, but had landed closer to surly. Wincing, he rubbed his nape. Jesus, he was an idiot.
She startled and shielded her eyes against the sun. Her other arm curled over her breasts. “ You could have shot me. What are you doing out here?”
Her voice shook, and he recognized the emotion. Fear. He followed her darting gaze to the near bank. Clothing hung from a low tree branch.

Her words jumbled out. “The state forest starts on the other side. You’re on private land. Were you spying on me?”
“Of course not.” Maybe he’d looked a little longer than necessary, but damn … what man with a beating heart wouldn’t? “That was a cottonmouth, by the way. You wouldn’t want to get hauled to the hospital like that, would you?” He tried a jokey smile and made vague gestures toward her nakedness.  Her expression remained stony, turning his smile into a grimace.
“It looked like an innocent little water snake to me. I was in more danger of getting shot than bit.” She crouched. Water cascaded over her shoulders. Her arm pressed her breasts together, only the top curves visible. The hand not covering her breasts shooed him away like a dog. “Hello? Would you mind giving me a little privacy?”

What the fuck was the matter with him? He was acting like a perv.
“Of course. I’ll be on my way and let you get decent, ma’am.” He inclined his head and touched the brim of his baseball cap with a forefinger, playing the gentleman even as base impulses urged him to watch her nude body rise out of the water.
“Wait just a minute! We’re not done, mister.” Her voice, husky and melodious now that shrill fear no longer colored it, sent a tingle down his spine.
Halfway across the field to his truck, he stopped and tugged his cap lower and thought about the firecracker scrambling up the bank. He hadn’t seen her around town. Who the hell was she? A more important question forced itself into his consciousness.  Was she still naked?
He turned around. The throb of disappointment was real and surprising. She’d pulled on clothes. Navy T-shirt and cut-offs. But no bra and, if he were a betting man, he’d guess the bulge in her pocket was a pair of panties. Damp cotton outlined what promised to be a pair of stellar tits. Not huge, but roundly full on her small frame. Her nipples poked at the cloth.
He needed to adjust himself but hardly wanted to call attention to the uncomfortable situation brewing below his belt buckle. It had been too long. Too damn long. Generally, none of his relationships lasted longer than a few weeks— not that any of his past hook-ups could be called relationships.

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  1. Oh, Lord! It's a football series?!? Oh, you know I'm going to have to check this one out...

    1. Yes! It so captures how the South feels about football. Loved it!