Back in the Game Page 17

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, no?”

  She scowled. “I’m not the kind of person who would take money for work that I don’t do. If you want to quit the book, then quit it, but I won’t allow you to ease your conscience by paying me money I did not earn.”

  He stood staring at her for so long that she thought she was going to explode from the tension.

  Finally, he ran a hand over his mouth, narrowed his eyes in a glare as hard as her own. “Okay, have it your way, Breezy. We’ll write the damn book.”

  “Remember the corner of Rock and Hard Place isn’t a destination, but rather a long journey to the grave,” Warwick philosophized to Rowdy as they sat in lawn chairs on the back patio late that same night, drinking a beer and gazing up at the stars. Nolan Ryan lay in the grass between them, gnawing on a chew toy.

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, don’t take it out on me because your girlfriend got to your soft spot. She’s tougher than she looks.”

  “Obviously, I didn’t fully understand that until this afternoon.”

  “There’s none so blind as those who will not see.”

  “Babe Ruth?” Rowdy asked.

  Warwick let out a hoot of laughter. “The Bible.”

  “I do have to read more.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Breeanne would love it,” he mused. “She’s a book girl.”

  “You really like her.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out husky as he thought about how cute she had looked chasing him down the street to bawl him out. “I couldn’t just burn her.”

  “This issue between you and Potts has been building for years. Breeanne just happened to get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Zach too,” he said glumly.

  “Zach too,” Warwick echoed.

  A shooting star streaked across the sky, and damn if he didn’t make a wish. Not a solidly formed, I-want-something kind of wish, but more of a one-word mantra repeated three times. Breeanne. Breeanne. Breeanne.

  Breeanne and her cheetah print, sweet but sassy. The appeal totally unexpected, but far more real than anything he’d ever experienced with any other woman. He’d never counted on running across someone like her. Not in a zillion years.

  “It would be so much easier if I could just cold-cock Potts the way Zach did me.”

  “I’d buy popcorn for that bout.” Warwick reached into the ice chest and took out two beers, held one out to Rowdy.

  Rowdy put up a palm, shook his head. “The kid worries me. He reacts before he thinks.”

  “Reminds me someone else I knew when he was twenty-five.”

  “Me?”

  Warwick shrugged, dropped the beer Rowdy refused back into the cooler. “You’re a passionate guy. Heart rules your head. No judgment. Just sayin’.”

  True enough. Otherwise, he would have been phoning Heath Rankin, instead of trying to figure out how to make this book thing work with Breeanne.

  “So what am I going to do now? If I expose Potts, he’s going to take it out on Zach. But it will kill my soul to let him get away with what he’s done to people.”

  “Damn your pesky sense of fair play.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me too.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Don’t write anything about Potts.”

  “C’mon, Breeanne isn’t going to let me get away with that. Jackdaw either, for that matter.”

  “Then tell the world what a wonderful human being Potts is.”

  “I’d rather take one of Babe Ruth’s line drives to the face. No shit.”

  “That would hurt.”

  Rowdy groaned and closed his eyes. “I’m so screwed.”

  “Don’t have to be that way.”

  He opened one eye, peeked at Warwick. “Meaning?”

  “Since your sense of fair play won’t let you renege on the book, you could always get Breeanne to quit.”

  The suggestion intrigued him. If he got Breeanne to quit, then he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy. “How would I do that?”

  “I dunno.” Warwick lifted shoulders so big the movement shifted the muggy air. “Make her uncomfortable.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You could always focus on your sexploits. Talk up a blue streak about the women you’ve bedded. Give her nitty-gritty details. She embarrasses easy. That would probably send her packing.”

  “But also she has a ferocious stubborn streak. She gave me a big dose of it this evening.” Rowdy fingered his tender lip.

  “Alternately, you could try talking sense into Zach. Get him to understand that Potts is gunning for him and he has to be careful.”

  “Would you believe it if you were in his shoes?”

  “No.” Warwick set his beer on the patio table, slapped hammy hands on his knees, and stood up. “Sorry. That’s all I got.”

  “I’m more likely to get traction with Breeanne.”

  “Guess there’s your answer.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t quit?”

  “Then prepare to pucker up and publicly kiss Potts’s ass.”

  “Remind me again why I keep you around?”

  “Because I keep it real, baby.”

  Real. Yeah. The reality was that he was stuck writing the book with Breeanne, and he couldn’t see his way out of it. Warwick was right. In order to keep Zach safe, his only real choice was to focus on his sexual adventures, and keep the topic off the Gunslingers general manager.

  Potts had him over a barrel. The sonofabitch had won again.

  Breeanne spent a restless night, her mind occupied with thoughts of her move and with what had happened between her and Rowdy. Should she back out of the deal with Stephanie in case Rowdy flaked out on her again? But no, that wouldn’t be fair to her roommate. Besides, she needed to move out. The time had come for her to stand on her own two feet.

  While she was proud of herself for standing up to him, she worried that maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing she could have done. Did she really want to write a book with a reluctant man? It had been hard enough getting him to talk about his past when he was fully into the project. Now, was every day going to be a battle?

  What had really happened that caused him to backtrack?

  She’d accused him of being jealous of his younger brother, but what if his reasons had nothing to do with his brother and everything to do with skinny-dipping in the pond with her?

  All her old self-doubts came gnawing to the surface, relentlessly nibbling at her self-confidence.

  But if that was the case, if he was somehow disappointed with her after what happened today, why had he kissed her in her family’s kitchen, with the entire neighborhood peeping in through the screen door at them?

  And damn her, she’d liked it.

  Liked being kissed by him. Liked that he’d done it in front of people. Liked that he wasn’t ashamed of claiming.

  Then he’d gone and ruined it all by firing her.

  Talk about mixed messages. No wonder she couldn’t sleep.

  Finally, she slept for a few restless hours, got up, had breakfast with her family—Dad made his famous pecan waffles for the occasion—and she took a few boxes over to the house on Peach Street. She and Stephanie had planned on painting the walls before fully moving their things.

  Stephanie got to the house not long after Breeanne arrived and they drove together in Stephanie’s red Mustang convertible to a big-box home improvement store in Tyler to pick out the paint and supplies. They looked at paint swatches and simultaneously, they fell in love with a satiny color called Magic Mist that was a blush of lavender mixed with a whisper of dove gray.

  “It’s romantic without being too obvious,” Stephanie declared.

  “And perfectly matches the couch my parents are giving us from the antique store,” Breeanne said.

  “Great minds think alike.” Stephanie held up a palm for a high five.

  B
reeanne surprised herself by asking Stephanie if she’d mind going clothes shopping with her. Since she’d gained a little weight, she needed a new wardrobe. But that was an excuse, wasn’t it? She wanted the stylish woman’s opinion on clothing so she could look sexier for Rowdy. She’d do anything to keep him from quitting the book.

  Well, maybe not anything . . .

  They had a great morning shopping and giggling together. They grabbed lunch at an Italian bistro and then went back to the house to paint and hang curtains well into the night.

  For the remainder of the Memorial Day weekend, with help from family and friends, they moved into the house. It wasn’t until Breeanne was curled up in bed at night that she felt a little homesick, and missed Callie. Mom had said Breeanne could bring the calico to the new house as long as she brought Callie over to Timeless Treasures each morning. The calico was a fixture at the antique store and the customers loved her. But Stephanie turned out to be allergic to cats, so that ended that. To make up for it, Stephanie graciously gave Breeanne the master bedroom.

  Tuesday morning, Breeanne awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs. She threw on a bathrobe and padded into the kitchen to find Stephanie standing at the stove with a spatula in her hand, fully dressed, a cheetah-print scarf tied at her neck. The table was set for two, complete with glasses of freshly poured orange juice.

  “Good morning!” Stephanie chirped. “I thought I’d make breakfast.”

  “That’s really sweet of you. Can I help?”

  “No, no. Sit down. Have some juice.”

  “I have a scarf just like that one,” Breeanne said.

  Stephanie carried a Teflon pan over to the table and spooned scrambled eggs onto the two plates. “I know. It’s yours.”

  “What?”

  Stephanie’s polished smile was smooth and even. She put a French-manicured hand to the scarf at her neck. “I borrowed it. I hope you don’t mind. You’re so easy to get along with that I knew you wouldn’t mind. But it perfectly matches my skirt.” She swept a hand at her orangey-brown pencil skirt that did indeed match the spots on the scarf. “I have an interview with the Longview News-Journal at ten.”

  The scarf did look good on Stephanie. Much better than it looked on Breeanne.

  “Isn’t it scratchy?” Breeanne said, a bit irritated by Stephanie’s high-handedness, and yes, there was a niggle of jealousy too.

  “Now that you mention it, the material is rough, but it’s so pretty I can overlook that. Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

  Breeanne opened her mouth to ask her not to wear it, but the words stuck to the roof of her mouth, clinging like peanut butter. Stephanie had been so nice to make breakfast. Maybe this was how it was with roommates? Share and share alike? What was proper roommate etiquette? She had no idea.

  “It’s okay, right?” Stephanie blinked, wide-eyed, managing to look both Bambi-defenseless and adorable.

  “Um . . .”

  Stephanie embraced Breeanne, giving her a quick, cool hug. “You are the best roommate ever! Feel free to borrow my clothes any time you want.”

  Yeah, right. Breeanne was a size zero, and Stephanie was a voluptuous size eight.

  “Cross your fingers that I ace the interview.” Stephanie crossed her fingers.

  Feeling like a doofus, Breeanne smiled, crossed the fingers of both hands. and held them up for Stephanie to see. “Good luck.”

  “Rooming with you makes me feel so calm and peaceful. You’re so easy to get along with.” Stephanie giggled. “I feel as if I’ve found a soft place to land.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Breeanne said, and lifted a bite of eggs to her mouth, but she had no appetite.

  CHAPTER 16

  Baseball is the only field of endeavor where

  a man can succeed three times out of ten

  and be considered a good performer.

  —TED WILLIAMS

  Rowdy lounged on the patio chaise and pushed his sunglasses down on his nose for a better look at Breeanne, who was standing beside the infinity pool clutching her laptop computer to her chest, and his stupid old heart melted.

  Today, she wore shorter shorts than she’d ever worn, daring red ones with cuffs that hit her mid-thigh, and he couldn’t help hoping she’d worn them for him. Never mind that her legs were pale. He loved her coloring, and those adorable coltish legs.

  He whistled at her.

  She blushed and lowered her computer to cover her bare knees.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Then again, since he was trying to get her to quit the book, maybe he should be doing more whistling, and ogling, and . . .

  Be careful. If he did too much of that other stuff, he’d be the one crying uncle.

  Nolan Ryan loped over, and she set her laptop down on the patio table so she could lean over to pet him. Rowdy took full advantage of the movement, studying the fine curve of her rump and salivating.

  The last time he’d seen her, she’d looked like a Tasmanian she-devil out for blood. Her hair curled wild and frizzy from their day at the pond, her green eyes flashing fire, her chest heaving with angry breaths. And damn if he hadn’t been super turned on by her fierce determination. He loved the hot fire that raged inside such a demure package and he couldn’t help wondering what she would be like in bed once she got over her initial nervousness.

  Ah shit, was he in serious trouble here?

  The urge to grab her by the wrist and tug her down on top of him had Rowdy sitting up straight and leaning forward. But his chest tightened and his throat closed up at the same time that she thankfully, regrettably moved out of grabbing distance and sat down at the patio table, Nolan Ryan sinking down on her feet.

  How was she going to be with him today? Shy or fierce? Prim or relaxed? How should he react? Pretend Friday never happened? Apologize again? Tease her? Keep his distance? Was she still mad at him for trying to fire her? Or had she already forgiven him?

  Christ, he’d never second-guessed himself so much in his life.

  Feeling like he was losing his grip, he pushed his sunglasses back up on the bridge of his nose to hide his eyes, and leaned back against the lounger as if he couldn’t be bothered to get up.

  “Good morning,” she said with a big smile.

  Apparently, all was forgiven. Relief poured through him. He was at the mercy of that smile.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice coming out so husky he had to clear his throat.

  “Do you want to work out here?”

  “Is the sunlight going to bother you on the laptop?”

  “I can record you and transcribe later,” she said, pulling a voice recorder from her purse and setting it on the patio table.

  “I’m comfortable here if you are,” he said, bracing the backs of his hands in his interlaced palms, hoping to look much more relaxed than he felt.

  “Works for me,” she said, sitting straight as a razor in her chair. “I heard through the grapevine that an anonymous donor gave money to have a community center, including a Little League field, built near a school in your old neighborhood. Did you have anything to do with that?”

  Darn it. He’d wanted to keep that quiet. He wasn’t looking for accolades. After visiting his old neighborhood on Friday, and seeing it again through fresh eyes, he’d met with the town’s movers and shakers over the weekend, with stipulations on how the money would be used and under the condition that he was to remain anonymous. He couldn’t believe it was already being broadcast through the local grapevine. He’d forgotten how quickly gossip moved through a small town.

  Hell, half the town was probably already taking bets on when he and Breeanne would hook up, especially after he went to her family’s crawfish boil. Why hadn’t he left when no one answered the door? He should have left.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  He shrugged.

  “Guilty conscience because you got out?”

  “You’re assuming I was the donor.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

/>   “I can afford it.”

  “Don’t you need to be saving your money? It’s not going to be rolling in like it used to.”

  She made a good point, but he’d been thinking of the kids that would benefit in a community center in that rough neighborhood and not of his own future. He had enough. He would be all right.

  “Someday you’ll want to get married,” she went on, “and have kids. They’ll need a legacy.”

  “You’re assuming a lot,” he said. “Like some woman would have me.”

  She snorted. “They’d line up for miles.”

  He grinned. “You never know. I’m not all that easy to live with.”

  “You’ve never lived with a woman before?”

  “Other than my mother and sisters? No.”

  Was it his imagination or did she look pleased by this tidbit?

  “But you want kids, right? I mean most people do.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think that far ahead, Breezy. I figure, take care of the kids who need it today and worry about the fictitious kids when and if they appear.”

  “Aha!” She held up a finger. “It was you.”

  “Busted.”

  Her face softened. “That was really sweet of you.”

  “Don’t go putting me up on a pedestal, sweetheart. I’ll just fall off and disappoint you.”

  “You could never disappoint me,” she said so adamantly that he knew disappointing her was inevitable. That damn pedestal was way too high.

  “You can’t tell anyone I gave the money.”

  “Mum’s the word, but people will guess.”

  He raised a casual shoulder. “Let ’em speculate. We’re not going to confirm it.”

  The sun beat on his bare chest, sending a rivulet of sweat sliding down his breastbone. He tugged on his T-shirt, got up, and moved to the sheltering umbrella of the patio table. Purposefully, he pulled out the chair beside Breeanne instead of across from her.

  Her gaze flashed up to his, and she pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth, her nipples hardening underneath her shirt and her eyes taking on a sultry cast. He turned her on.