Dodd called to him as he lowered his tailgate and pulled an ice chest to the back. “J.S., I say you and I should be team captains.”
Ruthie wagged her finger. “You’re picking me first.”
Dodd raised an eyebrow. “I never said that.”
JohnScott peeked at Fawn, but she had turned away from him to watch Grady as he talked to an elderly man. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Surely she didn’t intend to play. He frowned at Dodd and tilted his head toward Fawn, questioningly, but Ruthie popped him on the shoulder. “Fawn, my cousin doesn’t think you should play.”
JohnScott’s stomach tightened as if his team had just lost the state championship, and when Fawn glared at him, he thought he would’ve preferred losing a game, if he had been given the two options.
“I’ll be on Dodd’s team,” she quipped.
“No way.” Dodd wrapped an arm around Ruthie. “I’ve already got one weak link.”
She smiled, but JohnScott noticed she only looked at Dodd and Ruthie. “I’ll have you know I played softball in high school and intramurals at Tech my freshman year. Even if I can’t run at the moment, I can still knock the occasional home run.”
The preacher held his palms up in surrender. “But still, I only want one of you.”
Ruthie kissed him on the cheek. “And you’re stuck with me.” They walked toward the pitcher’s mound while Fawn crossed her arms in a pout.
A small, faint bruise lay across her cheekbone, barely visible beneath a thick layer of makeup, and when JohnScott saw it, he had the overwhelming urge to protect her. She seemed so fragile. And sometimes naive.
“You could get hit in the stomach with a ball,” he challenged.
“In all my years of playing softball, I’ve never been such a bad player that I could actually miss a ball coming straight at me.” She still kept her eyes diverted.
“Okay, fine.” JohnScott slid his hand into his baseball glove. “But if you’re going to be on my team, you can’t refuse to look at me for the entire game.”
She blinked twice, and her gaze flitted to his knees, sending a burst of energy through his muscles.
“I … don’t know how to act,” she mumbled.
“Neither do I, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
“You mentioned that.” She turned her back on him and walked to Ruthie.
JohnScott could have kicked himself. They had been good friends, and he, like an idiot, had messed that up. Only a few moments before he kissed her, the poor woman had been slapped, betrayed, and humiliated by her boyfriend, and JohnScott hadn’t slowed down long enough to consider all the reasons for him to keep his distance.
Dodd and Ruthie’s easy banter settled his nerves, but at the same time, their comfortable relationship shone in stark contrast to his and Fawn’s. But he could repair the damage he had done. He would show her they could be friends, even if he had acted like an adolescent schoolboy strung out on hormones.
Clyde held a bat toward Fawn. “Just try to hit the ball, and then run like a jackrabbit.”
“We don’t have to worry about her making contact with the ball,” JohnScott said. “But I’m not sure I want to see her running like a jackrabbit.”
“Aw, now.” Clyde chuckled. “Forgot about that.”
As JohnScott watched Fawn’s back at home plate, he could see why Clyde forgot. She swung the bat in a slow arc, and from this angle, she didn’t look pregnant at all. She even had a bit of a waistline. His gaze dropped to the curves of her shorts as she swayed, but he pulled his attention away, scolding himself.
He didn’t see the bat connect solidly with the ball, but it sailed high into left field, a little short. Fawn jogged to first base and stopped as Dodd fumbled the ball, picked it up, and threw it home.
The huddle of players around JohnScott cheered.
“She’s our secret weapon,” he called to Dodd.
“A pregnant girl who runs like a duck?”
Fawn laughed from first base. “I don’t run like a duck.” She shrugged at Ruthie. “Do I?”
JohnScott’s nerves settled as he stepped to home plate, hoping he didn’t make a fool of himself. Football was his game, not baseball, but sometimes he got lucky at bat. He glanced at first base, and when he saw Fawn staring at him, it charged him with adrenaline, but he quickly reminded himself she ought to be staring at him. He was batting, for heaven’s sake.
The pitch flew right over home plate, and JohnScott connected with it, hitting it high in the air. Holding his palm to his forehead, he followed the ball as it soared over his head to drop onto the frontage road behind him. Foul ball.
As Grady chased it, JohnScott called to him. “You might want to stay over there until I’m finished batting.”
“Turn around and hit backward,” Grady said.
“Not a bad idea,” JohnScott chortled.
As predicted, the next hit also sailed in foul territory, but the third slammed over Ruthie’s head in right field and turned into a clean home run.
JohnScott sailed around the feed bags, catching up to Fawn and sweeping her into his arms to carry her across home plate. Her giggles only made him run faster, and when he set her down, they both stomped on the feed bag.
“Two to zip.” JohnScott put his thumbs in his ears and wiggled his fingers at Dodd.
“You wait, J.S.” Dodd shook his head. “The best is yet to come.”
JohnScott pulled a Gatorade from the ice chest in the back of his truck, then sank onto the tailgate next to Fawn. “Be sure and keep drinking. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”
“Dehydration isn’t going to be the problem. You thought of everything except restrooms.”
“I suppose the cedar tree I used won’t do.”
She made a face. “Definitely not.”
“If worse comes to worst, take my truck to Allsup’s on the edge of town. Can you drive a standard?”
“Of course.”
A car honked as it passed, and JohnScott, along with several others, responded by lifting a hand in the air. But when he glanced toward the highway, he recognized the F-150 as Tyler’s, and he spoke quickly. “Hey, Mom and Dad are missing you. Can you come tomorrow night for dinner at my place?”
Her forehead wrinkled slightly, but then a swell of yelling brought their attention back to the game. Clyde was strolling around the bases, guzzling from a bottle of water, having just hit a home run far across Farm-to-Market 288.
“I’d like to see your parents, JohnScott.”
He gripped the edge of the tailgate as he grinned over Clyde’s home run, but then he slowly turned his gaze back to Fawn, forcing his actions to appear casual and unbothered. Her makeup had run slightly, and the bruise on her cheek was more prominent. He worked his sore jaw back and forth absentmindedly, wishing he could have been the one to bruise, not her. He didn’t realize he was staring until Clyde sat on the tailgate between them and spoke to Fawn.
“Seen any more snakes?” He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
“No, and I don’t expect to.”
“Best be on the lookout just the same. Back in the day, there were lots of critters out at that place.”
“So you’ve heard the rumors.”
“They weren’t all rumors. A team of hunters used to make a special trip to your place every year during the round-up.” His voice softened. “But even if there are more diamondbacks out there, they won’t bother you none unless they feel threatened.”
“But if a team came out, they would have gotten all the snakes, right?”
Clyde shifted on the tailgate, and JohnScott and Fawn lifted up, then down. “Well, that was a long time ago.”
“Which makes me think the stories don’t apply anymore,” she said.
“Not necessarily.” He spoke slowly, and JohnScott could tell his friend didn’t want
to scare her. “Rattlers live in dens, and the odds of every last one of them getting caught is slim to none. Usually at least a few are left behind.”
“Well, you guys got two the other day.”
“Yes, but …”—Clyde ran a hand over his chin, causing a scratchy sound—“they keep coming back to the same den, sometimes for years, having babies.”
JohnScott could see the gears turning behind Fawn’s eyes. He kept his mouth shut though, glad she had finally humbled herself enough to carry on a conversation with the ex-convict.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s say there were two snakes left behind. If both of those came back every year and gave birth to a baby snake, then after a year, there would be four snakes. And after two years, there would be six.”
Clyde sighed and seemed to choose his words cautiously, as though he were about to step on a diamondback himself. “Well, there’s a couple things you have to think on.”
“Such as?”
“Well, that second year, the babies would be having their own babies.”
“Of course.” She lifted a hand and let it fall against her knee. “So the growth would be exponential.”
JohnScott thought he saw her shiver as she considered the numbers behind it.
She massaged her lower back. “You said there were a couple things to think about. Do I even want to know the other?”
“I reckon not.” Clyde paused, watching the frolicking on the baseball field for a few minutes before speaking softly. “When diamondbacks give birth, it ain’t just one.”
“How many do they have?”
“Anywhere from three or four up to …”—he scratched behind his ear—“ten. Maybe twenty.”
“Oh my God.” Fawn slipped off the tailgate and turned to face him.
“Now, like I said, you don’t need to be scared.” Clyde spoke quickly. “Even if they’re out there, they don’t want a fuss any more than you do. Just give them some space.”
She stared, speechless, and JohnScott wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her she didn’t have to stay in that mess of a house.
“JohnScott brought the dog out there, right? Dogs can smell ’em.”
“But Rowdy is like … nine hundred years old,” Fawn protested.
“That doesn’t matter,” JohnScott said. “He can still bark.”
Clyde smiled, and then sobered again. “If you come up on a critter, do what you did the other day. Freeze, get your bearings, and then back off slow. Odds are, the snake will want away from you, and then it’d be a footrace to catch him.”
She sat back down, rubbing her palms up and down her arms as though she were cold.
Clyde peered across the makeshift softball diamond. “You don’t have to stay out there, sweetie. Ansel and Velma would take you back in a heartbeat.”
JohnScott cut his eyes toward Fawn. Two weeks ago, Clyde Felton referring to her as sweetie would have elicited a violent scowl, but now she only frowned in concentration.
“I need to prove I can take care of myself.”
JohnScott’s insides filled with clay. Surely she wasn’t talking about him.
Clyde grunted. “Your mom and dad?”
“Yep.” Now she was mocking him. “You have no idea.”
“Oh, I bet I do.” Clyde chuckled. “I bet I do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The restroom at Allsup’s was only a half step above the cedar tree JohnScott mentioned, but at least it had toilet paper. As I came out of the store, I immediately noticed Tyler at the gas pumps, and the confidence I felt at the ball game dwindled. I didn’t want to talk to him—or ever be seen with him again—but I had to get it over with. I stopped at the front bumper of JohnScott’s truck and waited.
Tyler replaced the nozzle on the gas pump, then smiled as he sauntered toward me. His good looks reminded me why I had dated him in the first place, in the midst of rebelling against my parents, against the church, against all the expectations burdening me. I had latched on to him with the fervor of a drowning child.
But I had grown up since then.
“You’re driving the coach’s truck now.” A glimmer lit his eyes. Maybe jealousy. Maybe disgust. Definitely anger.
I felt as though I had been caught red-handed stealing a pack of cigarettes. “He offered.” I gestured to the store behind me. “Too much Gatorade.”
“Babe …” He lowered his eyes, looking at me through his eyelashes. “You’ve got no business playing softball in your condition.” His gaze roamed across JohnScott’s truck, and his eyes softened as though he were forcing himself to stay calm. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”
I fingered the warm hood ornament and didn’t answer.
“You’re upset.” He stifled a laugh.
“I can’t ignore your behavior at the street dance.”
“Fawn … come on … Your old coach has been filling your head with ideas.”
“JohnScott had nothing to do with it.”
His glee from a moment before transformed into spite. “When did you stop calling him Coach Pickett?”
“Why do you care?”
He smiled at a blob of gum on the pavement. “I don’t want him to take advantage of you.” His gaze bounced to my waistline, and my anger swirled like a dust storm.
“I’m not a tramp.”
“No, you’re not, but the man’s been working at your place too much.”
“How would you know?”
He shrugged. “People are starting to talk. Everyone’s saying you’re after the coach.”
“That’s not true.” If that rumor had been flying around, I would have known. Ruthie would have heard it at the United, and JohnScott would have already taken flack about it from the Booster Club.
I opened the driver’s door but didn’t get in. Instead, I used the door as a shield. I had to get this over with. I had to end it.
Tyler lowered his head, not cowering to me, but low enough he appeared contrite. “I’m sorry about the street dance, Fawn. The booze made me step out of line.” When I rolled my eyes, he continued quickly. “But I’ve given up on drinking once and for all because you and the baby deserve better than that. Can you forgive me?”
I held up my hand and tapped my fingers against my thumb.
When Tyler stepped around the door, I thought he might slap me again, but then his eyebrows drooped, and I had a startling realization. He strategically calculated every move, right down to his facial expressions. How had I never noticed it before?
“I know I messed up again,” he said, “but I love you, Fawn.”
I scooted back on the seat, putting more space between us. Being aware of Tyler’s strategy didn’t completely take away his power over me. “This isn’t love.”
He looked away, blinking into the breeze, and his eyes reddened around the edges. Almost real. “You’re going to leave me again. You’re breaking up.”
“I think that’s best.”
Desperation flashed across his face. “We’ll slow down.”
I answered hesitantly, but as I spoke, my shoulders relaxed. “To be honest, I think we’re only together because of the baby, and that’s not a good enough reason.”
“It’s what God would want.”
“No.” I glanced at the gas pumps where two people were filling up. “It couldn’t work, Tyler. We’ve already tried it, and it’s over.”
A train chugged on the edge of town, its whistle stalling our discussion and giving me a chance to calm my racing pulse. I had done it. I had ended things with him, and I already felt better, more free and healthy. My initial reaction was to call Ruthie, but when I stopped to consider my priorities, I realized I wanted to tell JohnScott.
Tyler nodded, accepting my rejection stoically, but his hands gripped the frame of the driver’s door so tight, I imagined the ste
el buckling under his fists.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the seven months I lived with Ansel and Velma Pickett, I never ventured to the back pasture to the coach’s mobile home. Even though it could be seen from Velma’s back window, I hadn’t bothered to notice the way the double-wide lay nestled between a mesquite thicket and a shallow ravine. Or that he had built a large wooden deck for a front porch, where two tall-backed, wooden rockers now sat. Or that the place was immaculately well kept.
As I parked Velma’s Chevy on the circular gravel drive, a small herd of cattle gathered near the stock pond a hundred yards away. Not at all what I expected.
The way my mother’s nose wrinkled any time she said the words trailer house had always given me a certain impression about people who lived in them. As I made my way up the steps, my hand brushed the stained wood of the handrail, and I realized my negative opinions might have been unfounded.
The front door opened, and JohnScott’s father stepped onto the deck. “Haven’t seen you lately, Miss Priss.”
“Hello, Ansel.”
He put an arm around my shoulders. “You and the wee one doing all right?”
“Dr. Tubbs says everything is coming along right on track. Still a few more weeks.” The gentle compassion on the old man’s face nearly brought me to tears, and I looked away quickly.
“Better come on in the house. Velma and the boy are about done in the kitchen.”
I followed him into a spacious living room that opened directly into an eating area. Past a low counter with bar stools lay a brightly colored kitchen, where JohnScott and Velma bustled.
“Hey there, Fawn,” Velma called as she withdrew a pan from the oven. “How’s Rowdy?”
“As lively as ever.” The dog had become a good friend, calming my fears that came from living alone, but I felt silly telling the Picketts that, so I kept it to myself.
JohnScott carried a large pot into the room. “Red beans and french fries.” He set it on the table and inhaled deeply. “Doesn’t get any better than this.”
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