“Dada!”
I looked down at my youngest daughter, Jackie.
Jackie was a year old, and an Irish twin to her big sister, Mackie.
Both of our girls were born one on top of the other, and the moment that Jackie made it into this world happy and healthy was also the day that I went and made sure that I got a vasectomy that actually worked this time.
I also went to my follow-up appointments six weeks later to make sure there was no baby batter in my special blend.
Spoiler alert, there wasn’t.
Thank God.
I loved my girls, but I was getting older.
I didn’t want to be in my eighties and not get to experience my daughters growing up.
Three daughters.
It was still a shocker that I had three.
Nineteen, two, and one.
I was one crazy son of a bitch.
I picked Jackie up and nuzzled her face.
“Yes, baby?”
“Juuuuice.”
I grinned and reached for her cup, expertly pouring a drink into the cup I was holding while also hanging onto her.
Twisting the lid on, I handed it to her.
Once she got her cup, she drained it and then handed it back to me.
“Mo.”
I shook my head, laughter creeping out of my throat.
“No, she’s not your kid at all,” Cora drawled as she made her way into the kitchen.
I snorted and handed Jackie over.
She immediately wanted down, and Cora obliged with a shake of her head.
Jackie, being the little terror that she was, walked over to where Mackie was on the barstool and started to shake it, causing Mackie to clutch at the countertop.
“My!” Jackie crowed.
Mackie hissed at her little sister. “My p-pers!”
I looked over at the papers.
Mackie was my little mini-me, through and through.
She had my need for order, as well as my need for cleanliness, where Frankie and Jackie did not.
Where Jackie’s room was a pigsty just like Frankie’s had always been, Mackie’s was the complete opposite. From birth, Mackie was different.
Furiously, Mackie gathered her papers and ran from the room. All the while Jackie ran behind her, happy at having interrupted her sister.
Cora turned to me and offered me her lips.
I didn’t hesitate in taking them.
“They’re yours,” I teased.
She snorted. “Those kids are yours, and you know it.”
She was right.
All three of my girls looked just like me. They had my nose, eyes, and hair color. My skin tone and my attitude.
The only thing that our youngest two had belonging to Cora was her smile.
Just as I was about to pull her into my arms, both girls shrieked.
I turned to see Gabe and Ember arriving on Gabe’s motorcycle.
“Papa! Papa! Papa!” Jackie slammed her tiny little fists on the window.
Mackie, abandoning her drawings, made a mad dash for the door and was out it before either Cora or I could caution her.
Neither one of us bothered to go after her.
By the time we arrived at the door, Gabe already had Mackie in his arms.
Now, if there was anyone in this world who may have adored my kids more than me, it was Gabe.
Mackie, Jackie, and even Frankie had Gabe wrapped around their little fingers.
Ember bent down and picked Jackie up, who’d forgone Gabe since he had Mackie, and smothered her with kisses.
Cora giggled.
“One day,” I said softly. “They’re going to break my heart like their big sister did today.”
Cora pinched me softly on the side. “Hush your mouth. We still have years for that to happen.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” I admitted. “I don’t even remember the last time I picked her up…it was like one day, she was a big girl and didn’t need me anymore.”
“And then she’s having babies of her own,” Gabe said from the doorway.
I looked at him, and something passed between us. Something profound—huge.
As father-in-laws went, Gabe was a good one. Like my first father-in-law, Gabe was around a lot. He was very present in our lives and came over once a week for a family dinner. We went to their place at least once a week as well.
“Saw some construction going on…” Gabe started.
“Mom! Come look at the new chicken that just hatched today!” Cora cried suddenly, remembering the ‘construction’ that Gabe was inferring to.
Ember snickered at the look on my face and then decided to leave before I started cursing.
When she and Cora had disappeared outside, Gabe came up to my side and leaned against the counter next to me.
“More chickens?” he asked.
I nodded, groaning. “More chickens.”
“You’re so screwed.”
I was.
I was also a sucker.
All Cora had to do was bat those eyes at me and I was a goner.
“I may not have approved of you in the beginning,” he said softly. “But seeing her this happy makes my heart happy. You’re good for her.”
Cora came back with a baby chick in her hands moments later and walked to her father and held it up for his inspection.
He held his hand out, and the little thing curled up and laid his head down right there in the palm of his hand.
Cora giggled, and then came to my side.
I looped my arm around her and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I think your dad needs that one for his birthday next month.”
Gabe snorted. “You wish.”
I smiled. “Just wait, old man. It’s coming. I’ll buy you a coop and everything.”
“Negative,” he denied.
A month and three days later, Gabe got a chicken for his birthday.
And he actually liked it.
What’s Next?
Quit Your Pitchin’
Book 2 of The There’s No Crying in Baseball Series
George & Wrigley
7-20-18
Chapter 1
Dear Lord baby Jesus, please make baseball season start sooner.
-Text from Diamond to Wrigley
Wrigley
Lumberjacks vs. Strokers
I’d never, not once, been to a major league baseball game. But, for my sister, I’d do just about anything. Even sit down at some sporting event and pretend to act like I cared.
“You could at least act like this place isn’t infecting you with hepatitis,” Diamond hissed under her breath at me.
I grimaced.
This place was gross.
Well, it didn’t look gross, but the seat was sticky.
As a certified occupational therapist who worked with a home health agency, I was no stranger to dirty places and things. But I didn’t do sticky very well. There was just something about it that grossed me out.
“I’m sticking to the chair,” I spat, standing up and looking at the seat.
The seat was black plastic, so at first, I couldn’t see what the stickiness was from.
But, upon closer inspection, I could see that there was some residue dripping down from the platform above the chair behind me.
I braced both hands on the metal arms of the chair and bent over the seat, peering behind to see what was dripping and groaned.
“Umm,” I said, looking up at the man that was paying a great amount of attention to his phone. “Your drink is spilling. And it’s dripping down my chair.”
The man looked up, reached forward, and tipped his cup back up.
But, in the process, he’d spilled even more of his drink—this time directly onto my chair.
“Wrigley!” Diamond hissed. “Sit down!”
I did, but I didn’t stop the grimace that curled the corner of my mouth wh
en I looked at her.
“There’s a red Slushee all in my seat…” I paused when a thought occurred to me, turning and trying to see my ass over my shoulder. “Is there anything on my shorts.”
“Absolutely nothing.”
I froze at the sound of that deep voice, and I turned to follow the direction I’d heard it from. And nearly swallowed my tongue.
Why?
Because there was a man standing on the grass right below the short wall that separated our seats from the field.
And the man?
He was gorgeous.
He had a yellow jersey on with ‘Lumberjacks’ written across the chest. His jersey was tucked into a pair of skin-tight white baseball pants, and those pants were pulled up above the calf to expose his matching yellow socks. His feet were encased nicely in a pair of pink baseball cleats.
One hand was tucked into a glove, and the other was holding the rim of his baseball hat—which he pulled off moments later, giving me a blinding smile.
He had red hair.
Red hair that leaned more toward orange than red, and a trim beard that closely resembled the same shade.
His teeth were straight and white, and his eyes were a bright green that shone like shiny emeralds.
And he was staring straight at me.
“Ummm,” I hesitated. “Did you say something?”
“I said there’s not a damn thing wrong with your shorts,” he repeated, then he walked off, leaving me standing there stunned.
“Oh my God!” Diamond hissed. “Do you know who that is?”
I looked at my sister and followed her gaze back to the man that was now in a circle swinging his bat.
“I have no clue who that is,” I admitted, shaking slightly. “Should I?”
God, he really made my heart race.
And how freakin’ tall was he? Holy shit!
He had to be at least six-foot-four or five. And, he wasn’t skinny either. He was stocky.
Tall and stocky.
The man looked like he’d take down a freight train.
“That’s Furious George Hoffman,” Diamond said as if I should know this. As if I’d disappointed her by not knowing. “He’s won the Home Run Derby three years in a row, and has one of the highest batting averages in the entire major league.”
I nodded my head as if that was the coolest thing in the world. “Nifty.”
She rolled her eyes. “You have no clue if it’s any good or not.” She snorted. “You disgust me.”
I had no clue what a home run was. But, a derby, I knew was like with horses and at the race track. I just couldn’t see the correlation.
I grinned, then patted my sister on the head. “I’m gonna walk up there and grab a few towels to wipe my seat down with. Be right back.”
My sister waved me off and returned her eyes back to the game, and I was just about to hike my way back up the million stairs I’d just descended when a crack had me looking up.
People around me started to squeal, and I looked up and around just in time to take a baseball straight to my left eye.
I hit the ground seconds later.
***
George
I cursed and started running, hopping over the small wall that separated the stands from the field.
The moment I hit the concrete, I vaulted up the two steps and crouched down beside the woman I’d just beaned in the face with one of my foul balls.
The brown-headed temptress dressed in her tight white jeans shorts, tiny black tank top, and flip-flops looked like a broken doll.
“Wrigley!” the girl that’d been sitting beside the bombshell cried. “Move!”
I growled at the people that were crowding around me and said two words. “Back. Off!”
They backed off, giving me enough room to shift the woman’s hair away from her face and take my first look at her eye.
It was already swelling, turning a deep shade of purple.
Shit.
“George!”
I ignored Coach Siggy’s voice and felt for a pulse, happy when I’d found one.
Passed out. Not dead. Good.
“George!”
I kept ignoring him and smoothed a hand over the woman’s face.
“Wake up, beautiful.”
As if she’d been waiting for my call, her eyelids fluttered open, and the intense gray eyes were once again staring back, looking at me.
“Hello,” I smiled. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled back. “Sorry for what?”
I pressed lightly on her forehead, right above where the swelling was starting, and said, “For hitting you in the face with a ball.”
She moaned. “That’s gonna suck the next few weeks.” She frowned. “I’d say I’d take your balls to my face any time you want but…I have a class for battered women tomorrow. This is going to be hard for them to look at.”
I held my laughter inside…barely.
I also silently agreed with her.
My mother wouldn’t have taken advice from some woman with a black eye. She’d have just looked at her like another victim.
The girl started to sit up just as the medics made their way down the steps to us.
“You okay, ma’am?” the first medic asked.
“Yes,” the woman answered.
“Wrigley!”
‘Wrigley’ looked around my crouched form and saw her sister there, staring at her with worry in her eyes.
“I’m okay, Diamond,” Wrigley promised. “I told you we shouldn’t have come here.”
Diamond gave a watery laugh. “I also told you to watch for fly balls in this section. Which you insisted we sit in because it didn’t have netting to obstruct your view. Are you glad we sat here now?”
Wrigley stuck her tongue out at her sister, and I found myself thinking about sucking that tongue into my own mouth.
“Game’s on, Hoffman!” Coach Siggy bellowed. “Either get your ass over here and get the game back on or find your way to the locker room.”
I’d rather find myself into something else, but alas, I wasn’t a total cad.
I stood up, but not before pressing a kiss to Wrigley’s hand. “Hope you’re not too fucked up tomorrow to give that speech.”
Wrigley’s eyes met mine. “Oh, I’m a pro at hiding my bruises.”
And, before I could so much as comment on that, or relay how angry it made me feel to know that she had any experience at all hiding her bruises, she made her way up the stairs with the paramedics, leaving me no reason at all to be standing in the stands.
I sighed and went back down, easily vaulting myself over the wall.
Then I went back to the box, and hit a solid line drive up the middle, yielding me a double.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t look for her throughout the game.
She came back some time in the third inning. She was gone by the eighth.
***
Too Bad So Sad
Tyler & Reagan
8-8-18
Book 5 of The Simple Man Series
Chapter 1
Never run with a set of bagpipes. You could fall and poke your eye out, or even worse, get kilt.
-Text from Reagan to her dad
Reagan
I looked over at my friend.
“You want me to what?” I asked in surprise.
“Go on a blind date,” she said. “I want to set you up with someone I know you’ll adore.”
I highly doubted I’d adore anyone.
I never did.
I was, by definition, a very shy person.
Until someone pissed me off, then not so much.
But I didn’t think that a blind date would piss me off—it took a lot.
I snorted and turned to face Janie fully. “I don’t have time to go on a blind date with anyone. Besides, what if he’s a serial killer?”
Janie gave me a droll look. “He’s not a
serial killer. In fact, he’s a cop.”
Like that was any better?
I winced. “I’m not dating a cop.”
I refused.
That was a big fat no. I would not, under any circumstance, date a cop.
It’s not that I had anything against them. My dad was a cop, after all. However, cops had certain personalities that tended to clash with my wild and free soul.
I was a quiet person. I was a scholar. I was a pain in the ass, and on occasion, I did some not so legal things that might get a cop in trouble if they knew about it and didn’t arrest me for.
No, I didn’t do drugs. And no, those things weren’t all that bad.
It’s just that sometimes I got myself in hot water while quenching my thirst for knowledge.
You see, I was a botanist.
My job was working for Texas Parks and Wildlife investigating the nuisance aquatic plant, hydrilla vertilicatta. The hydrilla was starting to take over Texas lakes and was proving to be very harmful to the habitat.
I didn’t necessarily perform anything illegal for the state. I did, sometimes, get caught up in my brain and trespass. A lot. But it was on my own time, when I was researching my own things—such as a type of moss that grew on the trees near the lake that belonged to the state.
Not intentionally, though.
“Are you even listening to me?” Janie groaned, sounding exasperated.
I looked at my friend and sighed. She knew precisely when I was listening—and when I wasn’t.
She’d been my friend since I was a young girl. I couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t around—well, until lately that is, since she moved to this town and promptly started luring the rest of the kids that’d grown up with us this way.
“No,” I didn’t even bother trying to lie. “I don’t want to go out on a date. I want to go watch some Sam and Dean on Netflix. If I go out on a date, that’s possibly three episodes that I wouldn’t get to watch.”
“Okay,” she said. “Say it with me now. Sam and Dean from Supernatural are not real.”
I flipped her off. “I know it’s not real, Janie. I just like to watch them, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t come, I’ll make you regret it.”
I sighed loudly.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “When?”
She smiled brightly. “Six. At the Taco Shop. We’re bringing Cora, June, Johnny and a couple other people…maybe our husbands if we can get them to say yes.”
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