Page 63 of A Little Twist

“Just ruling out possibilities.” Doug shrugs. “What are these little guys doing?”

“Batter… batter, batter…” Owen’s voice rings out from the first base line, and I scan the mostly empty field.

Ryan stands where the pitcher would be, and Adam is covering third base. A little girl about my daughter’s age stands with a bat, in front of a tee with a ball on top.

“We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!” Pinky’s voice taunts from the dugout across the field under the trees.

My stomach tightens when I spot Cass outside the fence on the opposite side of the field chatting with Julia Belle.

“You got this, Crimson!” Julia calls, clapping her hands.

Julia and her mother Liberty moved in with Terra after Christmas. I don’t know why or what happened, but I’m pretty sure the little batter is Julia’s daughter.

She pulls the bat back, and when she swings it forward, I notice her eyes are closed. Miraculously, she still hits the ball, but she doesn’t stop there. She does a full twirl all the way around before staggering a few steps, almost falling.

“Run, Crimey, run!” Pinky is on her feet, yelling at the top of her lungs.

Owen dashes forward to scoop the ball off the ground, and he charges at the surprised four-year-old. Her brown eyes widen as she drops her helmet, and she turns and starts running to her mother.

“Wrong way, Crimey!” Pinky is jumping up and down, screaming so loud I’m afraid she’ll go hoarse. “Run to first base! Run to first!”

It’s too late. Owen tags her, and Adam walks forward to try and comfort the now-crying child. Julia goes to them and picks up her daughter. Crimson puts her head on her mom’s shoulder, sucking her fingers, and the two return to the dugout.

“There’s no crying in baseball,” Owen grumbles, kicking dirt as he returns to his spot at first base.

“Good play, Owen!” Doug calls, clapping, but I’m not getting pulled into this little-league drama.

I’m not even sure if this is a real game, and I’m willing to bet my brother is forcing him to play with the girls.

Instead, I hustle over to where my daughter is pulling on a helmet, grabbing a bat, and striding onto the field with purpose. Cass’s eyes light when she sees me, and she jogs to meet me halfway.

“Hey.” I fight the sudden urge to pull her in for a kiss.

She’s so pretty with her hair up in a ponytail, the ends bouncing around her smooth shoulders. Her stomach is exposed by her crop top, and she’s a little breathless.

“You’re not going to believe how well she can hit the ball!” Her cheeks are flushed. “She didn’t want to use the tee, so Adam is doing coach’s pitch.”

Glancing up, I notice the boys in the field are backing up. Pinky is at the plate, and she lines herself up like a pro, lifting the bat and squinting one eye. She even has a little ball of something in her cheek.

“Is my daughter chewing tobacco?”

“Big League Chew.” Cass snorts a laugh. “I have no idea where Adam found it, but he gave it to all the kids. He said it’s what the real players like.”

Ryan is covering third now, and my brother stands midway between the pitcher’s mound and home plate, holding up the ball. “You ready, P?”

“I was born ready!” she yells.

Cass turns wide eyes on me, and I look down, covering my laugh with my hand. Bender was right, she’s only getting feistier as she gets older.

A boy in a catcher’s mask squats behind her, and I nod in his direction. “Who’s the little guy catching?”

“One of Owen’s classmates.”

Adam holds up the ball and gently tosses it underhand to my frowning daughter. I hold my breath as she swings hard. Her eyes don’t close, but she also doesn’t make contact. It goes straight into the little guy’s mitt.

“Strrriike!” The catcher growls like a real umpire. “You got lucky, kid. You couldn’t hit the ground if you fell off a ladder.”

“I can to hit!” Pinky shouts at him. “I’ll hit you!”

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