by KG MacGregor
“I had no idea that was an actual job. I thought the scorekeeper just flicked a little button every time somebody scored.” Britt chuckled and shook her head. “Okay, I’m being facetious…kind of.”
“The official scorekeeper records every single play. That’s how they keep up with player stats. I used to do it old school on a scorekeeper pad with a pencil, but the Valley League uses software so the scouts can calculate everything and analyze it to death. Like who’s the best hitter with runners in scoring position, stuff like that.”
Carly started clearing the dishes, refusing Britt’s offer to help. “Justine and I will handle this. You guys just relax and keep each other company.”
Alone together for the first time, Ninah sensed that Britt was winding down. “You must be exhausted. You’ve had a wild twenty-four hours. I bet your dad was glad to see you this morning.”
“Not as glad as I was to see him. You try not to think about these things, but our parents get older. I figure this is our cue to start talking about what we want the next ten years to look like, and the ten after that, and so on. It’s just him and me, so we need to look out for each other. I’d love it if he’d move out west so we can be closer. He won’t, not yet anyway. But the conversation has to start somewhere. Maybe he’ll be ready in a couple of years.”
“Have you given any thought to coming back this way?”
“Me back in Kentucky?” she scoffed. “Sorry, this place isn’t for me.”
“It’s definitely not California.”
“I can’t deal with the church culture. Mostly because of my mom, but it’s ingrained in everything. They’ve taken over government, schools, doctors’ offices, bedrooms. And why are they so obsessed with other people’s sex lives?”
From the sound of it, Britt and her mother were estranged.
“We’ve definitely got our share of Bible thumpers, but most of the churches around here are Mainline Protestant, middle of the road. Conservative, sure. And that’s a challenge when you wanna start a Gay-Straight Alliance at the high school, which I did. But then Carly being elected shows we’re getting to be more open-minded. You’ll probably see that once you meet some of your dad’s friends.”
“Dad’s always been my rock.” Her voice cracked with sudden emotion. “Sorry, it hits me every now and then what a close call this was. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“He’s gonna be okay.” Ninah covered Britt’s hand with hers. “That’s what Justine said. She wouldn’t lie to you, not about that. Trust her.”
“I do.” Clearly embarrassed by her tearful display, she brushed her cheeks and stood. “I guess I should be getting home. This jet lag’s going to do me in. Thanks for everything you guys did last night at the house. It means a lot to know that Dad has so many good friends looking out for him.”
“We’re looking out for you too. Want me to run you home? I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, but the walk will probably do me good.”
“Okay, sure. But let’s get together again while you’re here. We could go for a walk, grab a bite to eat. Maybe even take in a ballgame. I bet your dad would get a kick out of hearing you put his tickets to good use.”
They took out their phones and traded texts to capture numbers.
“Here, I’m sending my address too in case you ever wanna stop by. I’m just a couple of blocks off Main Street. We could walk over to The Bean and grab a latte or something.”
Britt nodded, but it was distinctly noncommittal. “I’ll shoot you a text once I get the lay of the land.”
Ninah blamed herself for the gloomy turn in Britt’s mood, having dredged up ill feelings about churches and her mother. Added to the worry over her father, it took an obvious emotional toll that spilled over into her goodbye.
Justine sensed it and responded in her usual nurturing way—with a motherly embrace. “I know you’re worried, sweetie, but it’s all gonna be okay. I promise. Anything you need—I don’t care if it’s a hug, a bedtime story, or a piece of chocolate pie—you’re gonna hurt my feelings if you don’t ask. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
They stood motionless in the foyer for over a minute, the only sound an occasional sniffle. When they parted, Justine took Britt’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead, a tender gesture that sent Britt back into her arms with a sob.
Ninah and Carly recognized the depth of their connection and stepped away to give them privacy.
“Do you think she’s okay?” Carly whispered.
“She is now. I have a feeling what she needed was mothering, and Justine was there to give it to her. Like she does for everybody.”
Chapter Five
Britt perused a shelf of mugs and T-shirts as she waited for JT Sharpe to collect her soy latte. The Bean was a popular spot, with every table occupied by coffee sippers chatting with friends or working on laptops. It had the genuine warmth of an indie shop, but with the tried and tested vibe of the iconic chains.
This JT was a likable fellow, she had to admit. Smiling and folksy, he too had a silver Southern tongue that probably played well with juries. While she could easily see him as her father’s best friend, it was harder to wrap her head around the idea that he’d once been Justine’s husband. That they remained good friends was a testament to his decency.
“Here ya go, one soy latte,” JT said as he handed her a cup. “Too bad we missed Carly. I’ve got some papers for you to sign back at my office, but what say we take a little walk through town first?”
It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm but without the sticky humidity that would overtake Kentucky by midsummer.
“A walk would be nice, I think.” Following him outside, Britt excused herself to hand a couple of bucks to an apparently homeless man who greeted passersby with random flattery. Earlier he’d complimented her shoes, which were ordinary canvas flats. He was partial to red, or so he said.
“That was nice of ya,” JT said. “Ol’ Judd’s an institution around Leland. And he doesn’t miss a thing, so watch yourself.”
“Good to know.”
“Saw your daddy last night. He’s sure glad to have you home.”
Britt cringed at the word. Leland wasn’t her home. “I saw him early this morning. He’s definitely on the mend—got real food for breakfast. Except he called it break-food. They said his aneurysm was in an area near a language center, so they expect him to have those little flubs for a while. He’ll come out of it over time. They want to keep him another few days at least and then slot him into the rehab center.”
JT lowered his sunglasses from his forehead and loosened his tie. “However hard it is, I know Vernon. He’ll deal with it.”
Their walk took them past a handful of shops that lined the town square, its centerpiece the antebellum courthouse where Carly worked. At City Park, JT guided her to a shaded bench across from the baseball stadium. Behind them was a historical marker that honored town founder Benjamin Leland, a Revolutionary War hero.
“Here we are, home of the Longdogs,” she said. “Carly and Ninah said you guys are all bracing for bad news. Dad’s going to be devastated if this team gets sold and moves away.”
“Nobody wants to see the Longdogs go. They’re woven into the fabric of this town.” He stretched his arms along the back of the bench and crossed his ankle over his knee. “The casual fan might not realize it, but just about everybody who’s made it to the Baseball Hall of Fame got their start in a little town like Leland.” He sat up and scrolled through his phone to show her a ticketing app. “Season opens Friday night against the Cookeville Moccasins. Got my tickets already.”
“Dad has his printed out and stacked on his desk. He hates that he’ll miss the opener, but I promised him I’d go in his place.”
“Bet that made his day.” He raised his sunglasses and squinted in the sun. “Vernon said you never really took to Leland.”
“I don’t have anything against it.” Other than its role in the most miserable time of her life.
“I just prefer the anonymity of a big city. Plus there’s something about California that speaks to my soul. I feel at home there, like I belong.”
“I get that. I feel the same way about Leland. I’d say your daddy does too.”
It was beginning to sound as if her father had sent JT on a mission to head off her attempts to persuade him to move to the West Coast. Or worse, that he was planting a bug designed to make her feel guilty for not coming back.
“My wife and I have a daughter, Alex…she’s special needs. When she was little, we had help from Trey and his sister Emmy, the kids I had with Justine. And from my mother-in-law, God rest her harpy soul. But when Alex got bigger, we had to start looking at the big picture. She wasn’t thriving, not like she could’ve. What she needed was to be in a group home with people who knew how to bring out the best in her. It was gut-wrenching, all that guilt about sending her away. But it came down to doing what was best for her. That’s how parents roll, you know?”
She acknowledged a grudging respect for the challenges he and his wife had faced, while tamping down her irritation that he probably was setting her up for a guilt trip.
“Your daddy and me, we’re the same age. Played high school ball together. Now you wouldn’t know this to look at me”—he sucked in his gut and slapped his stomach—“I was a real porker back then. Coach always sent me down the field to block so Vernon could run it in for a touchdown. All the girls, ‘Oh Vernon, you’re such a hero.’ And there I’d be lying flat on my back with somebody’s footprint on my face.”
“Took one for the team.”
“Took a bunch for the team. See, I’d do anything in the world for Vernon. Back when he divorced your mama, I tried to get him a better split, but he said, ‘No, give her whatever she wants. As long as I’ve got enough left for Britt.’ That’s why he came home to the old farmhouse here in Leland, so he’d have what he needed to send you to college in California.”
Playing on her father’s sacrifices was way below the belt. “Dad’s always been very good to me. He was there for me no matter what I needed. And I’ll be there for him too.”
“I know you will. My point is this: Parents—good parents, that is—they don’t ever stop wanting to help their kids. We’re all gonna get decrepit one of these days and that shoe’ll wind up on the other foot, but Vernon’s not there yet. He still thinks it’s his job to look after you, and he’s been worried lately that things aren’t going so well out there in San Diego. Is he wrong?”
The truth was irrefutable, if temporary. “My business went off track last fall, but I’ve got feelers out. I’m very good at what I do—product launches, rebranding, setting up conferences. My skill set is always in demand.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. In fact, it’s in demand right here in Leland.”
She cast him an indulgent look.
“Suppose somebody came along and offered you the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of something that was flat-out guaranteed to make you a multimillionaire in five years or less?”
“No business comes with a guarantee like that.”
“Don’t be so sure. Sometimes Lady Luck sits herself right in your lap.”
“Go ahead, I’m listening.” She willed her crossed leg to stop swinging with impatience.
“Good, ’cause I’ve got a helluva story for ya. It all started a couple of years ago with that fire out at the Iverson homestead. Vernon thought about rebuilding something new out there but then Carly pointed him to that house on the lake and he couldn’t imagine anything he’d like better. He held onto the land though…sentimental reasons, I guess. But then about three months ago he decided he ought to just clear up the mess and sell it. Problem was his papers all got burned up, so he went down to the courthouse to get a copy of the deed. You’d never guess what he found.”
Probably not.
“You know all that fenced-in land along Pinckard Road? Folks around here always figured that was Clyde Hickson’s ’cause he runs his horses on it. Turns out it was part of the old Iverson farm. We’re talking over three hundred acres of prime Kentucky bluegrass.”
He definitely had her attention now. “Are you saying that gorgeous horse farm I’ve been driving by my entire life actually belongs to my family?”
“Belonged. See, Clyde’s daddy took out a fifty-year lease on it way back in the day, but it was expired. So I set up a meeting between your daddy and Clyde to smooth it all out. Any given day Clyde’s got a dozen or more thoroughbreds out there grazing, so he had to have that land. And he’s rich as Croesus so he didn’t care what it cost.”
Grinning at her father’s luck, she said, “And now Dad’s rich too, it sounds like. Good for him. He’s set for life.”
“Sure, but my story’s not finished. Not by a long shot,” JT said coyly, nodding toward the stadium. “Your daddy ever mention Duffy Barnett? A right good fella, played ball with us in high school. Started these here Longdogs back in 1985 when the league was expanding. It was all humming along till a couple of years ago when he went in with some investors on a riverfront development up near Prospect. Looked good on paper I guess, till the guy putting the deal together turned out to be a scam artist. Took everybody’s money and ran off. Next thing you know Duffy’s having trouble meeting payroll here at the ballpark. He tried doing things on the cheap, but the fans noticed and started complaining. Attendance fell, sponsors pulled out. Next thing you know the Pirates serve notice that the Dogs might be in breach of contract, and they start threatening to go looking for a new prom date.”
Suddenly she didn’t like where this was going. It would be just like her dad to lend his new fortune to an old friend, especially if it meant saving the team he loved.
“So in came this guy, Raymond Gard, owns Gard Trucking. You’ve probably seen his trucks out on the highway. Big red letters on the side, ‘Let us Gard your shipment.’ Guess he reckons that’s clever. He made Duffy a fair offer considering the Dogs were losing money and couldn’t draw more than six hundred head a game. Two-point-one million. But he wanted to move the team to Carbondale and change their name to the Big Rigs.”
He teased her with a long silence, forcing her to say, “I get the feeling Dad had something to say about that.”
“You’re doggone right he did. He had a check from Clyde for a million-three burning a hole in his pocket, and two hundred grand from me, ’cause I wanted a little piece of the action too. He borrowed the rest against his 401K.”
Her next breath caught in her throat.
“That’s right. The league papers went through this morning. They’re Vernon’s team now. And mine too, a little bit.” He spread his arms on the back of the bench and crossed his legs.
“That doesn’t…” She shook her head. “Dad made his living in the food business. What does he know about running a baseball team?”
“He knows he needs smart people on board. In particular, he needs someone who knows how to turn out a crowd and show them all a good time. Seems that particular skill set is always in demand.”
“Whoa! You’re not serious.”
“I am, and so’s your daddy. We’re sitting on a golden opportunity here, and all we need is a marketing whiz like you to make it blossom. Picture this, Britt. You’ve got two thousand seats in there. Those are fans who think they’ve come to watch a baseball game. Sure, but they’ve also come to eat your hot dogs, drink your beer, and buy your T-shirts. That’s the baseball experience. And since this is the minor leagues we’re talking about, it’s all that plus raffle tickets and ugly dog contests and Cowboy Night and grown men racing tricycles around the base paths. Your job is to come up with all those silly ideas so you can show fans a rip-roaring good time whether the Dogs win or not. Tell me that’s not right up your alley.”
It was. Exactly.
Except annoyingly, this had all the fingerprints of her father trying to bail her out of her own business failure. Surely he could find someone better suited to the job. “Look, the idea of me havin
g anything to do with a baseball team is frankly ludicrous. And in case you missed it, I live in California. I have a business out there that needs all my attention right now.”
JT chuckled as he wagged a finger in the direction of the stadium. “You gotta admit, it’s a heckuva coincidence, you being an expert on promotions, and that being exactly what the Longdogs need help with. Come on, walk with me.”
It was no use arguing about her professional capabilities when the real issue was Leland itself. She didn’t want to get into that with JT, but her dad would surely understand.
They passed through an open iron gate and trudged up a winding ramp to a concourse lined with vacant concessions stalls, kiosks, and public restrooms. A short tunnel took them into the stadium, where about three dozen uniformed players were taking batting practice, fielding practice, and conditioning drills. It was a decent-sized park inside, with bleachers on both ends and a section of premium club seats that spanned from one dugout to the other. Above those seats was an awning, painted black and red in the Longdogs motif. At the very top were a pair of box suites she assumed were for VIPs.
“Now some people might look at this and see an ordinary sports field. Those of us who love the Longdogs, we see a community institution, something we can rally ’round and be proud of.”
Words that sounded too familiar to be a coincidence. Carly also had spoken about the importance of the Longdogs to the community, which left Britt to wonder if she was part of this conspiracy to lure her to Leland. “Am I the last person to hear about this?”
“Why no, you’re the first. After me, that is. And I know Duffy hasn’t told anybody ’cause he called me just this morning scared to death the deal was gonna blow up along with your daddy’s brain bubble. I said no, that you were here to sign off.”
That made her feel better. Carly and Ninah were going to love this news, even if she didn’t.
“Now Vernon, he looked around and saw all the places where Duffy could have been making money but wasn’t. And he’s got a plan to fix it—a plan that involves you.”