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The news was actually more interesting than Cal had imagined. He set down the tray in the grass while Brittney wound a possessive hand around Clint’s elbow.
“Is one of the teams interested in him?” Cal had played for Dusty briefly when he’d been in the minors. He liked the way Dusty coached, and the guy in turn seemed to appreciate what Cal brought to a team. Dusty had led a club deep in the playoffs his second year in the majors, and he’d been viewed as a big part of that run.
But he’d left coaching suddenly because of family problems three years ago. His son had been born with a heart defect and he’d set everything aside to focus on his family. Yet another reason Cal thought a lot of him.
“More than one,” his father assured him. “You know his record. Teams are ready to look at a guy like that if they aren’t getting off to a good start. He’s spoken to three organizations.”
“Three?” Cal knew his father liked to exaggerate things and he didn’t want to get his hopes up.
But a coaching change could mean a roster change, especially if a team was struggling to begin with. And if the new coach was someone who thought well of Cal…there was a sliver of a chance his season could still turn around.
“Didn’t he say three?” Clint looked to his wife for confirmation.
Brittney moved her cheeks in a way that might have been an attempt at a smile. A very, very small one.
“I don’t remember, honey, and I really don’t want to be late for that party.” She shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes still darting over to where Josie worked in the garden.
Because she was that interested in what went on at Clint’s ex’s home? Or was she that watchful of young women around her wealthy husband of the wandering eye?
“Don’t let me keep you.” Cal had no use for the vapid trophy wife who’d turned his father’s head, and he’d never made a secret of it.
“I’ll see if I can pull some strings, Son,” Clint assured Cal. “We’ll get you back in the game.”
Cal knew if his brothers were here, they could defuse the tension with an eye roll or a joke, but it got on Cal’s every last nerve that their father wanted to claim credit for careers they’d worked their asses off to build.
“No, Dad.Wewon’t,” he told him levelly. “Either there will be a need for me in the league this season, or there won’t be, but my future depends on me.”
His father frowned, and looked ready to argue, but Cal didn’t care to hear it, so he continued, “But if you want credit for working on a project, why don’t you come by tomorrow and help me finish painting Gramp’s house?”
Brittney sighed loudly. “Of course he’s not grateful, Clint. I told you he wouldn’t be.”
His father looked so disappointed for a moment, Cal half wished he could have reined it in. But then, Clint slid his arm around Brittney’s waist and walked away from the farm.
Refusing to ruminate about his father Cal retrieved his supplies and climbed the ladder to finish his painting for the day. His relationship with his father had always been tense, not because he tried to be his own advocate, but because he’d always tried to champion his younger brothers. Even back in the days when he’d looked up to his dad, he’d been well aware that Clint was a harsh critic of his kids.
Cal didn’t care about the criticism for himself. Much.
But it ticked him off for his brothers’ sake, who deserved better. When he got to the top of the ladder and settled into his rolling routine, he found himself scanning the garden for Josie.
A very welcome distraction from his visitor.
There was no sign of her outdoors anymore, though. Even the dogs were gone from the yard.
And damned if her absence didn’t make the day slide from frustrating to downright dismal. He’d been avoiding her because he thought that’s what she wanted, but now, realizing how much he missed her company, he wondered if there wasn’t another way around those prickly defenses of hers.
*
It was allCal’s fault, Josie told herself the next day as she carried a peach pie over to Everett Ramsey’s house.
She had a taste for dessert now after Cal had brought her the decadent offerings from Char-Pie last week, and she seemed to crave pie night and day.
At least, she hoped it was coconut cream she was craving and not the studly baseball player himself. Either way, since she would only allow herself to satisfy one of those cravings, she had used the pantry staples Cal had stocked the kitchen with and baked her own peach pie. The peaches in Last Stand were supposed to be some of the best in Texas, and based on the fresh ones she’d eaten, she could see why.
The result of her baking smelled amazing and looked reasonably good, although she didn’t have much experience in the pie-making department.
By afternoon, she’d decided to take it over to Everett’s house. She wanted to talk to him about the bees she’d delivered to the watermelon fields, maybe see if there was any other help he would need on the farm once her caretaker work was done. Besides, this way, she wouldn’t have to eat a whole pie on her own, and she could check on Everett with her own eyes since she hadn’t seen him out with his walker in the last few days. While she hoped that Cal was keeping track of his grandfather, she couldn’t be totally sure how dialed in he was to Everett’s health since Cal seemed to be spending all his time working on the house next door.
He’d been painting walls, sanding porch rails, patching broken steps and weed whacking. Whatever he did, he seemed to do it either shirtless or sweaty enough to make his shirt cling to those highly memorable shoulders. She’d accidentally hoed up perfectly good bean plants multiple times because she’d been too busy taking surreptitious glances at his fine male physique.
