Page 14 of Mom Ball

I stab some of the scrambled eggs with my fork. She catches my hand midair. “Boy, you forgot your prayer.”

I smirk and lower my fork. I thank God for the food and the visit with Mary and say a quick “amen.” This time she doesn’t intercept the eggs when I reach toward my mouth.

“How long you plan on staying in town?”

I swallow and consider my answer. Mary never asks a casual question. She usually has a deeper question buried beneath it somewhere.

“You know I bought the Vanderburke Mansion.”

“I do.”

Of course she does. Mary knows all in Apple Cart, even before the rest of us.

“I’ll live here in the off-season and whenever I’m not needed with the team. I’m trying to get Mom to move there too.”

“That would be nice.”

I chew a big bite of steak and nod.

“Great location. Across from the golf course, just a stone’s throw from the Marshall family orchard.” Mary’s eyes twinkle as she draws out the last part of that sentence.

I stare at my plate, not caring for her insinuation. She has a bit of a reputation as a matchmaker. Brooke being my ex will only add to her meddling.

When I bought the place, I didn’t know she still lived down the road. Would I still have bought it had I known?

I don’t want to answer that.

“You know, I always pictured you being a good coach and mentor to young men.”

“That is kinda my current retirement plan.”

Mary straightens the condiments in the corner of the table, then looks at me. “You don’t have to wait until retirement to start helping out.” She gives me that all-knowing look.

“Funny you say that, since a kid asked me the other day about pitching lessons.”

“Oh really, who?”

“Ethan Archer.” I don’t dare add that Brooke’s son was with him. That would be like tossing kindling on the fire.

“He’s a good ballplayer. There’s several kids in this town who have talent and drive, but no father figure to help them. So sad.” She shakes her head.

The question of Brooke’s relationship status comes to mind. I know Mary knows, but I don’t dare ask. That would prove my interest in her.

Mary’s lips curve into a grin. “I best get back to the kitchen. One of the church small groups comes in for an early lunch on Wednesdays.” She stands and winks before hurrying away.

I chug my tea and sigh.

It would be in my best interest—and Brooke’s—to assume she’s involved with someone. Even if she’s not. She broke up with me long ago and hasn’t bothered to contact me since. If that’s not a clear message, I don’t know what is. For all I know, she hurried out of church on purpose.

If she wants me to help Timothy, I will gladly. I’ll treat him like I would any other boy eager to learn ball.

Lord knows I’ve had plenty of single moms sign their kids up for pitching lessons with ulterior motives. I call them cleat diggers. Cleat chasers and gold diggers rolled into one.

Only difference is the mom is Brooke, total opposite of cleat diggers. She ended our relationship when my career started to take off, and her family has plenty of their own money.

This time I’m the one who might have an ulterior motive.

CHAPTER 4

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