Young brows wrinkled with this revelation.
“We’ll get in trouble for writing on the sidewalk,” one child said.
“My brother got arrested because he painted on the outside of the school,” a boy said.
Jamie nodded. “You can get in trouble for spraying paint on a private or government building without permission, because it costs lots of money to have it cleaned off. And you’ll get in even more trouble if you paint bad words.” She took up the broom that she kept in her trunk for sweeping glass off a street after an accident and began to clean the sidewalk in front of the center with it. “But this sidewalk belongs to the public, and that includes you. Besides, we’re going to use chalk. It’ll wash off the next time it rains.”
One boy pulled at his lip, considering this.
“Trust me,” she said. “I’m a police officer. I know what’s right and what’s wrong.”
That pronouncement was enough to send the kids diving to claim their favorite color from the boxes of chalk. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she could only say that about the law. Right and wrong wasn’t always crystal clear in life. And she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to recognize the difference.
* * *
Trip twisted the key in the padlock and pushed the barn doors open. The new easy-glide doors she’d installed on the century-old building were a big improvement. Actually, except for the massive axe-hewn corner posts and overhead weight-bearing beams, little of the original structure remained. Years of housing a variety of animals and weathering a multitude of storms had been hard on it, inside and out. Her grandfather had converted the old barn into a basketball gymnasium when Trip was a lanky kid and it became obvious that she’d inherited Grandpa’s talent for the game. He’d completely stripped the dilapidated structure, then rebuilt it on the original bones.
She’d abandoned her dreams of playing as a pro when her personal world, and the bigger world, seemed to fall apart the beginning of her junior college year. Even so, this court where her grandfather had patiently coached and challenged her was still her sanctuary.
She flipped the series of switches next to the door, and the polished boards of the court gleamed under overhead lights. White nets hung from bright orange hoops attached to fiberglass backboards. The floor was better than the court at the new high school. The only things missing were a scoreboard, the cheering crowd, the referees’ whistles, and the sound of the horn that signaled for play to begin or resume. The bounce, bounce, bounce of the balls echoed in the cavernous building as she tested several from a rack along the wall. Jerome was the only other person she allowed to use her gym, so he made sure the balls were kept properly inflated and the floor maintained.
She began with dribbling exercises. Up and down, up and down the court. Left hand, right hand, between the legs, behind the back, full run, half run, weaving run, change lead, stutter step. Up and down again and again.
Sweat ran down her temples, between her breasts, down her legs. She began to shoot, starting at the left wing and working her way around to the right wing. Beyond the arc, top of the key, layup, reverse layup, old-fashioned hook, turnaround jumper, and rolling around an imaginary guard to jump high and dunk it over the rim. Yes, she could jump high enough to dunk. Actually, several women on her college team could, but didn’t because it was simply a showy move and high risk for the fine bones of women’s hands and wrists.
“I see you’re feeling better.”
Trip clutched her chest when her heart nearly jumped out. She’d been so focused on the bounce of the ball and the swish of the net, she hadn’t noticed Jerome standing at the other end of the court in basketball shorts and his worn Michael Jordan’s. “Christ almighty. You nearly scared the life out of me.” She glared as he walked farther into the court. “Is there a reason you’re sneaking around scaring innocent women?” She fired a hard pass right at his gut.
He grinned as he caught the pass. “Okay. I’ll concede the woman thing, but I’d buy swamp land in Florida before I’d believe you innocent of anything.” He fired the ball back at her. “Do you want to talk about what’s got you drinking yourself into a stupor last night, then pounding the court today?”
She caught the pass. “No. I want to play ball.” She rocketed the ball to him and backed up to defend the goal.
“First to score thirty,” he said. “If I win, you spill.”
“And if I win, you have to get your wife to put together two of her incredible lasagnas for my freezer.”
He groaned. “You drive a hard bargain. But since I’m going to beat you anyway, I accept.” He dribbled right, then left, then pulled up and swished a long three-pointer into the net.
Trip retrieved the ball, dribbled out to half-court, stutter-stepped, then rolled left to take advantage of Jerome’s clumsy footwork. He stumbled off-balance, and she streaked to the basket to lay the ball neatly in the net.
The next twenty minutes were filled with trash talk, the swish of the net, squeak of shoes on the polished floor, and showy displays of speed and agility. In the end, a simple pull-up jumper put Trip’s scorecard at thirty-one.
“I think you cheated.”
Trip laughed as the ball bounced a few times, then rolled to an eventual stop. They collapsed and sprawled on the floor where they stood mid-court. Trip stared up at the ceiling while her breathing slowed.
“You want to talk about it?”
She lifted an arm and began stretching her overworked muscles, while Jerome did the same. “Don’t have to. I won.”
“You know you want to.” Jerome tapped his big foot against hers, and his words held a hint of tease.
Trip sat up and leaned low over her legs to stretch her hamstrings. Jerome mirrored her movements. “Jamie Grant is in Pine Cone.”
Jerome wrinkled his brow. “Who’s Jamie Grant?” Realization dawned. “The girl from college? The one that went in the army after nine-eleven?”
“Yeah.”
“Man.” Jerome knew more than anyone. She’d been a wreck when she came home for the holidays after Jamie left school. She’d cried on his shoulder, and he ran interference for her when her mother—and her grandfather—wanted to know what the hell was wrong with her. “That was a long time ago. You still tore up over her?”
Trip stopped her stretching and stared at the floor. “I didn’t think so, but when I ran into her…yeah. I guess I am.”
They were both quiet for a few minutes. “I guess that she hasn’t gotten ugly or married some guy and spit out five kids.”
Trip smiled and shook her head. “Hotter than ever. The women at the cookout were drooling. Grace says she’s single and married to her job.”
“Where does Grace fit into this?”
“Jamie’s one of the new cops she hired.”
Jerome’s mouth dropped open. “Not the one who’s been putting tickets on your windshield every time you stop at an intersection.”
Trip nodded. “The very one.”
“Damn.” He wiped his face on the tail of his T-shirt, then chuckled. “I don’t know any man or woman who can get in bigger predicaments.” He sprang to his feet, his smile big. “But you always manage to roll off that screen and score anyway.” He demonstrated with a twirl and pretend jump shot in the direction of the goal. “Swish.”
“This is different, J.” She looked up at him. “This one really matters. Even if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I need to set things straight.”
He offered his hand and she let him pull her to her feet. “Then make a game plan before you hit the court.”
“I had a plan in college, and you know how well that worked out,” Trip said. She stared out the door where the big barn doors were still open. “I’m going to try something different and just be myself. If she finds me still lacking, well, then it wasn’t meant to be.”
Chapter Ten
“Glitter Girl to Fast Break and Paintball, do you copy?”
Trip smiled at Grace’s
voice and scribbled faster to finish the billing statement she was filling out. This guy was going to pay a hefty emergency fee for calling her out on a late Sunday afternoon just because he wanted to go fishing with his pals tomorrow morning instead of waiting for her to come out then. She was about to stick it to him, when she reconsidered. He could have gone fishing and waited until Tuesday to call, leaving his horse to suffer two more days. She relented and marked down her usual fee. She knew he wasn’t one of the county’s super wealthy and had been looking forward to this rare outing. Her client peered past where she sat in the truck to the CB radio snugged under the truck’s dash.
“Didn’t know anyone still used those things,” he said.
Trip totaled the bill on her cell phone’s calculator app. “They still come in handy occasionally. Cell service can be sketchy in some remote areas.”
Several clicks sounded from the speaker, then “Come in, guys.” Grace was getting impatient.
Trip handed over the bill, and the client handed over his credit card. She used her phone to swipe the card and finish their transaction.
“Paintball here.” Trip turned down the volume on Clay’s response.
“Here you go,” she said, handing back the credit card. “Soak that hoof twice a day for the next five days, but don’t stop the antibiotic until it’s all gone. It should be fine, but call me if you think I need to look at it again.”
“Sure thing, Doc.”
Trip upped the CB volume again as she drove back onto the highway.
“Where are you?” Grace asked.
“On a pickup near the county line, about thirty minutes outside town,” Clay said. “Are you okay?”
Trip grabbed her mic and cut in. “Fast Break, I copy. What’s up?”
“Any chance you guys could meet me at Mosquito Alley for a powwow?”
“Paintball ETA about five thirty,” Clay said.
“Fast Break same.”
“Thanks, guys. This could take a while. I’ll bring food. You bring drinks. Glitter Girl out.”
Trip chewed her lip. She was so preoccupied with the sudden appearance of Jamie, that she’d forgotten other things were afoot. This was a good idea to check in. Or was it? She wasn’t sure she wanted to confess about Jamie, not even with her two very best friends. Having a chance, well, trying to get a second chance with Jamie felt very fragile. Like the tiniest misstep could turn it all wrong again. So, maybe she’d just see what was up with Grace and keep the Jamie thing quiet for now. Yeah. Quiet. Oh, but find out if Clay was making any progress with River.
* * *
Trip carried her flip-flops and towel in one hand and Playmate cooler in the other as she padded barefoot down the sandy path between the highway and their special spot by the Altamaha. Clay was already sitting by the river’s edge, propped against a cooler and sipping a beer. Nostalgic flashes of the three of them splashing in the river, drinking their first alcohol here, and sharing secrets instantly peeled away the adult in Trip. She dropped the cooler and barreled down the path, yelling a battle cry and flinging her towel and shoes at Clay as she shot past. A thick, knotted rope dangled from a huge oak limb that stretched out over the water, and Trip launched smoothly from the small beach to grab the rope and swing out as far as possible before dropping into the water.
She came up sputtering just as Clay cannonballed into the water next to her. They laughed, splashed each other, and wrestled to dunk each other until they both were gasping for air and coughing swallowed river water. Damn, this felt good. They grinned at each other and chorused “Dude” in a mutual greeting.
“So, what’s up?” Trip swam closer to shore in a lazy paddle until she found footing on the sandy bottom.
“Don’t know.” Clay followed until they stopped in chest-deep water. “Grace called this meeting.”
“Hey, where are you guys?”
“Speaking of Grace.” Trip turned and cupped her hands to yell back. “Cooling off. Bring your mosquito spray.”
“I could use a hand with the food,” Grace called back.
Again, they spoke as one. “Food.” Their base brains ran on the same wavelength, even though Trip’s higher thinking was all science and Clay’s was deeply artistic.
Trip sprang toward the bank. “Last one—” Her words turned to a gurgle as Clay pushed her face-first into the water to gain advantage and spring ahead.
“Dibs on the drumsticks,” Clay shouted as she sprinted up the path.
Trip scrambled to catch up. “You always were a leg woman.”
“Did somebody mention food?” Clay, her shorts and tank top dripping, grabbed Grace in a big wet hug. “Where’s your swimsuit, woman?”
Before Grace could answer, Trip hugged her from the back, effectively soaking her from both sides. “The water is just right.”
“Who needs to swim when I have you guys?”
In an unspoken and time-honored ritual, Clay grabbed Grace’s cooler while Trip carried the picnic basket. Grace could kick butt with the best of them, but her flair was a bit more feminine and always triggered Clay’s and Trip’s innate butch chivalry.
At the water’s edge, Trip set the basket down and signaled Clay with a conspiratorial smile.
Grace was having none of it. “Don’t even think about it, Trip Beaumont. If you throw me in that water, neither of you will get anything to eat.”
Trip shrugged, nudged Grace closer to the water, and then darted around her side and jumped in, splashing just enough to cool Grace’s legs. Trip pointed at Clay, who held her ground next to the food. “Chicken.”
“Exactly,” Clay said, pointing to the picnic basket.
“You’re just afraid Grace will get out the handcuffs. No, wait. From what Shayla says, you like that kind of thing.”
“You made that up.” Clay helped Grace spread the picnic blanket, then plowed into the river to resume their earlier water war. After a few minutes, the clink of beer bottles brought them up short.
“Cold one?” Grace didn’t have to ask twice.
“Okay, hand over my money.” Trip held out her hand to Clay.
“What did you two bet on this time?” Grace asked.
Clay riffled through her dry clothes until she found her wallet and handed a ten-dollar bill to Trip. “How long you’d wait to talk. I said thirty minutes, and Trip guessed fifteen. So, what’s up, Gracie?”
Trip searched for somewhere to tuck the bill. Her dry clothes were up the hill, in her truck. Finally, she tucked it into her wet sports bra. It would dry later.
“Aren’t you hungry? I brought all your favorites. Chicken wings, ribs, cracklings, and potato salad.”
Trip cocked her head at Grace’s oddly evasive tone. “Now you’re stalling. We know where the food is. What’s going on with you and how can we help?”
Grace took a deep breath. “Dani Wingate.”
Trip looked at Clay, who hesitated before fishing another ten from her wallet and handing it over.
“Seriously, guys?” Grace frowned at them.
“I’m a sucker for a sure bet,” Trip said. “Besides, Jolene at the diner is telling everybody the two of you’ve already slept together.”
“What?” Grace glared at her. “I hope you set her right.”
Trip shook her head. “She could know something I don’t.”
“She is your type,” Clay said, taking another swig of beer.
“And what exactly is my type?”
Clay looked at Trip for help.
“I’ll let you hatch that egg, pal. You laid it.” Trip bit into a chicken wing to indicate she wasn’t going to attempt an answer.
Clay shrugged. “You know, like…us.” She wagged a finger between herself and Trip. “Handsome, butch, sporty…did I mention handsome?”
Trip swallowed her mouthful of food. Okay. Maybe she’d help Clay a little. “In other words, if we weren’t like sisters, we’d probably be trying to date you.”
“There’s a significant difference between you
guys and Dani. She doesn’t even want to be around me.”
“What makes you think that?” Trip asked.
“She barely speaks to me unless she has to, tenses if I try to touch her, and goes to Savannah at least twice a week, probably to hook up.”
Trip frowned. “You mean when I send her to the airport to ship or pick up semen?” She tossed her chicken bone into the woods for natural recycling. This was breeding season, and frozen semen was big business in the horse world. She’d been sending Dani to Savannah to keep her from feeling isolated in Pine Cone. Trip glanced at Clay, but Clay was studying Grace who stared out at the river as she sipped her wine. Trip, too, turned her gaze on Grace. Holy crap. Was Grace—?
Grace seemed to flinch under their gaze. “No, no, no. I’m not falling for her. Really.”
“Then why can’t you look at us?” Trip asked.
“And why is your left eyebrow doing that little quirky arch like it does when you’re not being entirely honest.” Clay waved a rib in front of her face like a magic wand. “You looked pretty cozy in the alley the other day.”
“Yeah. Wait. What alley?” Whoa. Clay had been palming an ace.
“She said nothing was going on, but it looked pretty cozy to me,” Clay said.
“You’re imagining things,” Grace said.
“I don’t think so,” Trip said. She’d get the details on this alley thing from Clay later. “Did I imagine seeing Dani drag you into my office yesterday?”
Grace was insistent. “I’m not falling for her, and I probably won’t. It’s like she’s afraid of connecting, I mean really connecting.”
Trip shifted uneasily. She was sure this was a career issue for Dani, not a Grace issue. If she and Clay helped Grace nail Dani, this could go two ways. Grace could be the anchor to keep Dani in Pine Cone. On the other hand, Dani might leave anyway and break Grace’s heart. Trip stood and walked around Clay to sit on the other side of Grace. The two knights now flanked the princess they were sworn to protect. “What do you want, Grace?” Trip waited while Grace scanned the river for an answer.
Take a Chance Page 10