Page 19 of Small Town Frenzy
Resting her elbow through the open window, she has sunglasses covering her eyes, and she smirks. “You’re lucky it’s not raining. But when it is, revenge is going to taste so sweet.”
“What are we talking about?” She rolls the window back up and drives away, leaving me wondering what she means. Should I be concerned? It wouldn’t be a first with her, considering I barely scraped by with my life when she stalked me the past few days. I need to stay on my toes with that one. She sounded way too smug about that sweet revenge she mentioned.
Revenge for what exactly?
She’s a complete mystery, which is a first for me. I know what women want. I’m not here to make their dreams come true, so if they want the white picket fence, a husband, or to settle down and start a family, I say more power to you.That’s not what I’m interested in. I’m here for the entertainment, the good time, and I always leave them satisfied. But I don’t think Cricket wants anything from me other than this so-called revenge.
Is this about me leaving after our night of fun? It was morning. I was starving and wanted to get back to my rental to shower and get some sleep. Now I’m the bad guy when she didn’t think it was necessary to share so much as her first name?
She wants control back. She wants to be the one who leaves me this time. I laugh.Good fucking luck with that, sweetheart.I walk to my truck, too tired to be riffling through the riddle that’s Ms. Dover.
I trackdown a rusted can of metal lubricant in the barn and return to the front porch. Spraying the hinges, I test until all three no longer squeak when opened.
It’s the simplest job, but it feels good to get it done. When I return the can to the barn, gravel crunches outside. The roar of a diesel engine pulls in behind me. I step through the large open doors as Tagger climbs out of his truck. “Hey, Griff, how’s it going?” he asks, shutting the door.
“Good.” I wipe my hands on a rag I found tossed on a shelf. “What’s going on?”
“Keeping busy.” He joins my side, and we walk back into the barn. “How’s practice?”
“It’s fine. I’m already having to ice my shoulder in the evenings.” I chuckle.
He chuckles as well and stops just inside the doors. Looking over at me, he crosses his arms over his chest. The brim of his hat shadows his eyes, his boots are scuffed, andhis jeans are worn in. Farm life isn’t pristine, and I’m not sure when I convinced myself that this life wasn’t worth my time. I almost miss the gritty feeling of dirt and sweat from a hard day’s work. He asks, “What happens after the game tomorrow?”
“What do you mean?”
“You coming back or taking off? Just think your sister should be prepared if she’s not going to see you on Friday.”
I shift, looking at this guy who was always my brother’s best friend, but now stands strong at my sister’s side as her husband. “I can appreciate that you’re protecting Chris, but I haven’t packed my bag yet.”
He stares at me a good long while. “A heads-up is all we’re asking for this time.”
“I can do that.”
His guard seems to lower when his arms return to his side. “It’s only been a few days, but it’s good to have you around.”
“You’ll get sick of me soon enough.” I laugh, but it’s lost its humor. “I can’t sit around this place. You got any odd jobs that need to get done come Friday?”
Nodding, he grabs an old wrench from the tool table. “I can find something for you, but until then, get to icing.” Reaching out, he offers his hand. “Tomorrow, we need you to show your nieces and nephew how great a player their uncle is.”
When my hand clasps his, I reply, “I can do that.”
He gets what he needs from this barn, then drives toward the equipment barn. Not a lot was said, but what was said feels bigger than the moment we gave it. Don’t go running off too fast and show everyone how it’s done in the majors even though it’s only a fundraising game.
I go inside, ready to clean up and prepare some dinner.
The smell of the old house still hits me each time I walk in through the door. It’s not musty, but a house with a history. It was once bustling with a busy family and all the things that remind me of home—my leather mitt, stinky cleats left by the door, a roast cooking on Sundays, and peaches picked fresh from our very own orchard. So many memories come back at once that I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can almost hear my sister banging on the bathroom door for Baylor to get out so she could wash her hair, the boiling pot of potatoes on the stovetop, a game on the TV in the living room, and my dad going on about the cattle not wanting to leave the wildflower field again.
Smiling, I welcome the flood of memories instead of pushing them away like I usually do. Exhaling an easy breath, I rush upstairs with renewed energy to take a shower. It’s not the memories, although they’re good to have, but come Friday, I have a purpose. I don’t have plans to leave or know how long I’ll stay. That’s the freedom of no obligations. But I can’t wait to be back in the saddle again.
CHAPTER 8
Cricket
The jersey feelsa little snug when I pull the two sides together to button over my chest. This polyester might be breathable, but I’ll need a little spandex to make this work. As I’m buttoning it up, the top one refuses to stay through the hole, so I undo it, which exposes my bra and a whole lot of cleavage. Probably not the look my father would approve of when representing the family.
My boobs aren’t going to shrink, and there’s no way I can fit a tank under this shirt. I change out my bra to one with more coverage and smooth cotton. Buttoning up the shirt, I leave the top undone since it won’t behave anyway. I check my appearance in the mirror. If I’m looking to meet a guy, this would be a great outfit to wear. Maybe not as great at a professional event that carries the weight of my name as the organizer on it.
But I’m not terribly upset. It feels good to finally like what I see in the reflection.
