Back in the Game: A Stardust, Texas Novel (24 page)

“Let’s not do her any favors.” Breeanne straightened. “Beside, you have too much class to stoop to her level.”

“No one has ever accused me of that.”

“Well, you do. And you showed a Herculean self-control for not punching Renner in the face.”

“I might have punched him.” Rowdy’s laugh was dry and humorless. “If I could have caught him.”

“Wait a minute. How was it that Joe Renner just
happened
to be in Paris at the same time you guys were?”

“He wasn’t. She made a booty call and he hopped on a plane.”

“Oh my God! Does the woman have no shame?”

“I count my blessings that it happened before social media was big. Today, she would have been all over Facebook bragging about her doubleheader.”

“I’m so sorry I ragged on you about mistreating her when she was the one who broke
your
heart.”

“Nah.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Just bruised the hell out of my ego.”

“If you would be upfront with me, I wouldn’t go jumping to conclusions.”

“It’s fun to watch you get froggy.” He winked, but the wink didn’t have his usual perk in it.

She picked up the Joe Renner card. “If Laila didn’t break your heart, then why did you keep this?”

“I didn’t. I bought a stash of baseball cards for the kids I’m coaching.”

“You coach Little League?”

“I sponsor a three-day baseball clinic at a summer camp for underprivileged kids. I wish I could coach Little League, but I’m too well-known.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did. It’s not something I usually share because I don’t want people to think I’m using what I do for the kids as a pedestal to hoist myself up on.”

“That’s fine, but I’m your ghostwriter, you can’t keep secrets from me. You have to tell me everything.”

“Are you sure you want to know? There are a lot of skeletons in this closet.”

“I can handle it.”

“You say that now . . .”

Breeanne tapped the face of Joe Renner’s card. “This card honestly doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you mind if I have it?”

“It’s all yours.” Rowdy cocked his head. “But why do you want it?”

“To take out my anger on your behalf.” She held the card in both hands and ripped Joe Renner’s smiling face right off his body. Then she ripped the pieces in two. And then ripped those up, until nothing was left of Joe Renner except for tiny bits of glossy paper.

Rowdy’s pupils widened, and amusement pleated his lips. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Consumed by
the sexual tension that had plagued them all day, and Rowdy’s heartfelt confession about Laila and Joe Renner, Breeanne barely slept that night.

Thoughts of the day turned into a review of everything that had happened from the moment she’d gotten beaned with his baseball. The events of the past month circled in her head, as she reviewed them again and again. One memory would land, she’d examine it, and then it would fly away and another memory would swoop in. She’d worry over the one for a time, doze, and then another memory would nudge her awake. That went on until dawn, an endless merry-go-round of mental photos, both remembered and embellished.

In her mind’s eye she could see Rowdy, a boy of eight or nine, sitting on the saggy porch of the run-down old house, tossing a baseball into the air, playing catch with himself while listening to the Texas Rangers on the radio.

She could smell the pungent creosote. Could taste the tar in the air. Could hear the sound of the mournful train whistle, and the endless clacking of the railroad cars upon the tracks.

Then they were in the forest of pines, dark and spooky and cavelike in its thickness, and crossing that woodsy threshold into the clearing and the beautiful oasis waiting for them there. Because she’d dared to step outside her comfort zone, she’d found a sparkling gem. The special place that Rowdy had never taken another woman.

How glorious it had been, naked in nature. The sun kissing every inch of her bare body, and filling her with life-giving energy. Rowdy with his arms in the air, turning his back to her while the sound of his teasing laughter bounced off the trees. The mysterious water, where unknown things lurked, lapping at her breasts.

She poked the scary moment when she believed a snake had brushed against her leg. She cringed at how she’d panicked, slipped and fallen. But her spirits soared remembering what it had felt like as Rowdy’s arms went around her, his deep voice promising that as long as he had her, she was safe.

She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes when he saw her scars for the first time. How he’d been concerned and caring, but not repulsed. She savored again the flavor of his mouth when he’d kissed her in her parents’ kitchen. How he’d fired her and then immediately rehired her when she called him on the carpet.

Each thought, each memory, each feeling brought her to the same place. She wanted him.

Yes, he was a charmer.

Yes, she was stepping off an emotional cliff.

Yes, she was not going to end up with him. Not for the long haul.

None of that mattered. She wanted him. More than that, she wanted to live a little. She wanted to get on the dance floor of life, and shake her booty. She wanted experiences. Hungered for them. Craved them. Yearned for them.

She wanted to have sex, and she wanted to have it with Rowdy Blanton. It should be an easy enough goal to obtain. He’d been with scores of women. He was the one she wanted to give her virginity to. If she was going to lose it, she wanted to lose it big. She wanted someone who could not only show her the ropes, but give her the ride of a lifetime.

And she had a plan.

Question was, was she brave enough to go through it?

While the sun peeked over the horizon that second day of June, she got dressed, gathered up her purse, her car keys, and her courage, and went to ask her younger sister how to seduce a man.

After talking
to Suki, Breeanne came away with a plan to seduce Rowdy and tame the sexual tension that was making working together so difficult, but she had no idea how or where she was going to pull it off. She couldn’t just fling herself into his arms and holler,
Do me
, although it was tempting.

“You wore the scarf,” Rowdy said when he opened the door to her that morning, and her knees almost buckled when he reached out to stroke the scarf at her neck.

“My good luck charm. I thought it might help me focus on the work today. We’re so far behind.”

“
Our
good luck charm,” he corrected. “If it hadn’t been for the scarf I would never have hired you.”

“Oh?” she said.

“Yeah. Once you told me that only we could feel the softness of it, I knew we were on the same wavelength.”

Her heart fluttered hopefully at the same time doubt clutched her. She wanted sex with him, she’d convinced herself she could have sex with him and be okay with nothing more than a physical relationship, but when he said romantic things like that she wanted to run away. If she seduced him, ultimately she was in for a world of hurt. Was the momentary pleasure worth the pain?

He led the way into his den, and while he wasn’t looking, she whipped off the scarf and tucked it into her purse.

Inside the den, the TV was turned to a sports talk show on ESPN and they were talking about how well the Gunslingers were doing. As Breeanne sank into the plush leather armchair, Rowdy leaned his blue-jeaned butt against the majestic mahogany desk. The mother-of-pearl snaps at the cuff of his Western-style shirt caught the light from the deer-antler chandelier hogging the ceiling.

She settled the notebook computer on her lap and powered it up.

On the ESPN talk show the commentators were speculating about Zach.

“You know,” said one commentator. “You have to wonder why the Gunslingers called Zach Blanton up. He’s got promise, but is he really big league material?”

The camera flashed to a second commentator who said, “It makes me wonder if Potts picked up the younger Blanton just to get a dig in at his older brother.”

Breeanne shifted her gaze from the TV to Rowdy. A shadow of beard dusted his tightly clenched jaw. He folded his arms over his chest, and scowled.

“Seems like a bad decision to me,” said a third commentator. “Letting a personal vendetta get in the way of a strong pitching roster.”

“Makes you wonder what really happened between Dugan Potts and Rowdy Blanton,” the first commentator added.

Rowdy picked up the remote control from the desk, flicked off the TV, and strode across the hand-scraped oak hardwood flooring in custom-made cowboy boots. With each step he took, Breeanne’s heart beat faster. He dropped onto the black and white cowhide couch next to her chair, slouched against the cushions, propped his feet on the rustic coffee table, and cradled the back of his head in his interlaced palms. In spite of his relaxed posture, his muscles were tensed.

“Have you heard from Zach since your run-in?” Breeanne asked.

Rowdy lifted a hand to his lip that was almost healed. “He won’t take my calls or answer my texts.”

“You wounded his pride.”

“I know.” Rowdy rubbed his temple, winced.

“Tension headache?”

He grunted. “Yeah.”

Was he knotted up over conflict with his brother? She got to her feet. “Would you like some aspirin?”

“Sit. I already took aspirin. It didn’t cut it. Those weeks I spent on painkillers after my attack raised my tolerance.”

She eased back into the chair. Rowdy was usually so laid back. She hadn’t ever seen him this tense. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll be fine. Let’s get to work.”

“You know, because I had so much pain after my surgeries, the doctor recommended alternative therapies in conjunction with medication. I find acupressure and reflexology techniques can be helpful for pain management.”

He squinted at her, grimaced.

“Light sensitive?”

He barely nodded.

She got up, switched off the chandelier, and pulled the blinds. “Better?”

“Thanks.” His face was the color of chalk.

“You look miserable. Do you get headaches a lot?”

“Not since I was a kid worried about how I was going to take care of Mom, my sisters, and Zach.”

She imagined him as a child burdened with headaches from growing up in that rough neighborhood with an ailing father, and her heart wrenched. “Would you like for me to massage the acupressure point for you?”

“Hell, I’m ready to try anything. The damn headache started in the middle of the night and it feels like Santa’s elves are building a workshop inside my skull.”

“I think I can make it better.”

“What do I need to do?”

She set her computer on the coffee table and got up. “Take off your boots, and lie down on the couch.”

He moved to the couch she’d just vacated, and leaned over to take off his boots, but he winced and slumped back against the cushion. “Give me a minute. Bending over makes the pounding worse.”

She went over to him. “Stretch out.”

Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the armrest, his long body taking up the remainder of the couch. The man was always in motion. This was the first time since she’d known him that he’d been so still.

She took off his boots and socks and settled them on the floor, surprised at how intimate doing so seemed. As if they were a couple. Her pulse sped up the way it always did when she was close to him. Would this feeling ever go away?

Stop thinking this way. You’re not a couple.

She lifted up his legs, sat down on the couch beside him, his legs across her lap, and began rubbing the big toe of his right foot.

“This is supposed to help my headache?”

“I know it’s hard for a smooth talker like you, but be quiet for a minute.” She looked everywhere except at his sexy feet. There was something far too intimate about this.

He was quiet for all of ten seconds. “That feels good. You could do this for a living.”

“Shh.” She moved to the other foot, and kneaded that big toe.

He didn’t last ten seconds that time. “Gosh, Breezy, no one’s taken care of me like this since . . . Well, I don’t believe anyone has ever taken care of me like this.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“It’s true. My mom was so busy taking care of my dad and holding down a job and raising four kids, essentially on her own, that I sort of slipped through the cracks. Not that I’m whining. Mom did her best.”

“None of your girlfriends ever took care of you?”

“I don’t date the kind of women who are into nurturing, if you know what I mean.”

She did. He preferred party girls who weren’t looking for anything more than a good time. “What about when you were recovering from your injuries? Who took care of you then?”

“Okay, Warwick does look after me, but he’s not as pretty as you are.” He raised his head, winked.

“Your headache is better?”

“It’s completely gone. You’re a miracle worker.”

“Not a miracle worker.” She smiled, praying it did not give away how much touching him unraveled her. “Just forced to find various ways to deal with pain.”

“Hey,” Rowdy said, sitting up and reaching for his boots. “Bet you never guessed that the suffering you went through would end up bringing pleasure to others.”

He was right about that. All those times she lay in a hospital bed, battling to keep from dying, it never once entered her head that she’d be rubbing away pain for a major league baseball star.

“You know,” he said. “I think I’m going to Dallas this weekend. The Gunslingers are home, and maybe if I show up in person Zach will talk to me.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” she said, a self-serving thought popping into her head. If Rowdy went out of town for a day, it would be the perfect time to go through with the seduction Suki had helped her plan. “When would you be back?”

“I’d go over on Friday evening, see if I could make contact with Zach. Maybe see some old friends. I’d be home by Saturday evening. Warwick is going to be out of town this weekend and I couldn’t leave Nolan Ryan alone for longer than that.