Authors: Barbara Kellyn
“Like what? ‘Die, you evil slut bitch?’”
“No, but say it’s someone who might be jealous.”
Dayna raised her head. “You think it’s CJ, don’t you?”
“For one, he has the motive.” He lifted one finger before counting on a second digit. “Two, he has the opportunity, doesn’t he?”
She blinked. “Well, yeah, I guess. He’s not on the air for another hour.”
Tack held out a trio of fingers. “And three, he has the means. Not only does he know where and when you work, he knows you well enough to realize how much this would hurt you.”
She buried her face in her hands and grimaced. “Oh my God, Tack. You’re right, it’s got to be CJ. He’s been acting so crazy since he came home and found us together. He even called me a whore.”
“What?” He growled, lunging from the chair.
“Yeah. He said our billboard makes me look like your whore.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His temper flared as he pounded his fist loud on the desk. “I’m gonna go over there and kill that bastard.”
She shielded her eyes from his display of bravado. “You can’t do that. It will only make things worse.”
“You are moving out of that house,” he said, jabbing his finger in the air.
“And go where? I have nothing to my name but last week’s paycheck and a car with one tire.”
He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in a wild, what-the-hell gesture. “Move in with me.”
She laughed, knowing there was no way he could be serious. “Now you’re the one who’s gone off the deep end. I’m not moving in with you.”
“I’m giving you a place to stay where you can get away from that lunatic. Plus, I can keep an eye on you there.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll just bet you will.”
“Forget sex. I’ll sleep on the damn couch.”
“Absolutely not.” She shook her head adamantly. “Besides, we don’t even have solid proof that this is even CJ’s doing.”
“You have your gut instinct telling you it is. That should be enough for now.”
“I’m not moving out, Tack,” she said angrily. “Nor am I taking your money, sleeping in your bed or riding your coattails. I told you I can take care of myself. I don’t need you.”
He stepped back and tilted his head, looking both startled and hurt. “Oh really?”
Her steely demeanor suddenly softened along with her voice. “I mean, I don’t need you to do everything for me. I’m not a little girl.”
“I’m perfectly aware of how capable you are. So sue me for caring about you.”
She exhaled, knowing that she was feeling too much for him too fast. “I care about you too. I just can’t get overly dependent on you or on anybody else.”
“Okay,” he said quietly, shoving both hands in his pockets. “I’ll back off if that’s what you really want. I just–”
Myrna, the front-desk receptionist, knocked on the doorjamb. “Uh, Dayna? Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a service guy here from Gold Key Volkswagen to fix your car? He wants to know what to do with the old tires once they take them off.”
“Thanks, Mern. I’ll be right there.” Dayna got up to leave but stopped in front of Tack, looping her hand around his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder. “I get afraid when I let myself think about how much you mean to me, cowboy,” she said on the light gust of a sigh.
He kissed the top of her head. “I know,” he whispered. “You scare the daylights out of me, too.”
Chapter 11
Tack tapped the aluminum bat against the plate, then brought it back to settle on his shoulder. He shifted from side to side and sunk down lower in his stance. “You know how I like it, El. Nice ‘n’ easy, now. Nice ‘n’ easy.”
“That’s the only way I throw ’em, Tackman,” Elliott called out from the mound, winding up for the pitch.
He leaned in, his sights trained on the ball. He swung hard as it smoked right past him and into Jared’s catcher’s mitt. “What the hell? I said nice ‘n’ easy. That was high and wide.”
“You’re nuts. That was beautiful,” Elliott said with a chortle as he caught the ball coming back to him.
“You need bifocals?” Dayna hollered from third base. “Hey gang, maybe we should move in closer while the old lady’s at bat.”
Tack smirked along with the chorus of laughs. “I think the ball would fit nicely in that big pie hole of yours, Miss Cook, so shut it before you eat my line drive.” He tugged up the pant legs of his sweats and took his stance once again, determined to smack it hard and high above everyone’s heads. It was only team practice, but jeez, he had a reputation as a heavy hitter to uphold.
Elliott wound up for the pitch.
“Sa-wingggbattabattabatta-sa-winggg!” Dayna razzed.
Tack tightened his grip and swung with all his might. The ball made a sliver of contact, the sudden change in trajectory sending it zooming straight into the air before hurtling down into Jared’s glove. It bounced and the kid dropped it. “Tipped ball.”
“Shit!” He smacked the bat against the ground, sending a cloud of dust in the air. Wiping the sweat forming on his brow with his forearm, he threw a dirty look at Dayna bent over with laughter. Lucky for her she looked so damn juicy in her knotted 103 Wranglers shirt and cut-off shorts, otherwise heckling a man at bat would be tough to forgive.
“Ha! I’ve seen better swings on a ghetto playground,” she jeered.
Tack ignored her taunts, pulling his cap down low over his eyes in concentration. He stared intently at Elliott, holding his pre-throw stance on the mound.
Come on, baby. Let’s do this
, he silently coached himself. Game seven, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded.
Elliott wound up for the pitch and threw a slider. Tack gritted his teeth and put everything he had into his final swing, the ball finally connecting with the barrel of the bat. Ping! He dropped it behind him and with a satisfied grin, watched the ball sail far out and finally sink deep in the outfield. Stepping on the canvas bag at first base, he gave Barry a high five in passing before jogging to second.
Dayna spread her arms to barricade him from third. “No way, Jose,” she warned as he came running down the baseline.
“Not a problem,” he said, ducking down low.
She let out a loud shriek of laughter as he barreled into her, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder. “Put me down, you big hairy ape!” she squealed, earning a good hard smack on her bottom as they both crossed home plate to bring in the run. They were still laughing when her feet touched dirt again.
He pounded his fists on his chest. “That’s what you get for throwing me off my game.”
“Speaking of throwing, not only do you bat like an old lady, you throw a ball like one too.” She stuck out her tongue.
“Is that so?” He lifted her off the ground and tossed her back over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, playfully swatting her butt several times despite her mock protests. “All right, who’s coming out for a beer?” he asked as the team came in from the field.
“I guess I am,” Dayna said, hanging limply down his back like a rag doll.
Tack pushed his sunglasses up on the brim of his cap. “Well, of course you are. I’m talking to everyone else.”
“Count me in,” Dub said. “The Roadhouse?”
Barry nodded. “Sure.”
“Last one buys first round,” Elliott said, followed by quick agreement from the rest of the team.
Tack picked up an equipment bag in one hand, still gripping Dayna with the other. He proudly carried his woman caveman-style down a gully and across the next diamond as they approached the parking lot. “How’s it going back there, slugger?”
“Actually, it’s not bad,” she said. “I’ve got a great view of the full moon.”
He looked into the evening sky. “Where? I don’t see it.”
“Right here.” With one quick movement, she shoved down the back of his sweats and gave him a stinging spank, sending everyone behind them into hysterics.
“Fuck!” He scrambled to cover his bare ass as the gang howled with catcalls.
“Ooh, baby, that’s one Grade-A piece of tail.” She giggled. “Mama like.”
With one hand, he snapped his sweats and underwear back into place before picking up the equipment bag and moving on. “Do that again and Mama will be real sorry when I carry her through the bar with her shorts around her ankles,” he said, laughing along.
* * * *
Liz got her crew to push together several tables to make one long enough to accommodate all fourteen players on the Wranglers team. Wednesday was a low-key night of the week at the Roadhouse, so they made their money enticing local ball clubs to come by for cheap pitchers of beer and two-for-one pizzas.
Dayna sat across from Tack, enjoying her vantage point as he held court in the middle of the table. “Hey kid,” he said, slinging his arm around Jared’s neck. “Did I ever tell you that when I first started in radio, I was an intern just like you?”
Jared’s eyes lit up. “Really, Mr. Collins?”
“Absolutely.” He reached for the beer pitcher, topping himself up before stealthily filling Jared’s glass with clandestine suds as well. “I got my foot in the door helping with station promotions.”
“I didn’t know that.” Dayna leaned in.
He nodded. “Oh yeah. It was this tiny AM station in Hastings. I’d do whatever they asked just for a chance to get on the air. Believe it or not, I even agreed to wear a corny mascot costume and pass out bumper stickers during barbecues.”
That piqued her curiosity. “And what kind of costume was that?”
He chuckled. “Let’s just say they used to call me Wiener Boy.”
She slapped her hand on the table and fell back in her chair, nearly hysterical over the image of Tack dressed as a giant hotdog. “Wiener Boy?”
“I knew you’d like that one.”
“Well, you definitely have the buns for it.” She burst out laughing again.
Jared smirked. “Gee, Mr. Collins, even I don’t think I’d dress up like food.”
“You say that now, kid, but mark my word, if I hadn’t worn that dumb thing, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
Still snickering, Dayna wiped a tear from her eye. “So to be frank, you really relished that opportunity, huh?”
“Funny, funny,” he sneered as he picked up his glass.
Two servers toting four piping-hot pizzas were met with enthusiastic applause and cheers from around the table as everyone hungrily dived in. Dayna was halfway through a thick slice of sausage and mushroom when she spotted another boisterous team pouring into the bar. It took a moment for the Mix 96 logo on their jerseys to register and a millisecond longer before CJ caught her eye.
Tack noticed her distraction and turned his head to see who’d walked in. “There goes the neighborhood,” he muttered.
She had made a concerted effort to steer clear of CJ at home, strategically timing her entrances and exits to purposely avoid any confrontation, but she steeled herself realizing that was all about to change.
CJ strutted with his hands on his hips, wearing a stupid grin on his scruffy, unshaven face covered in three or four days’ growth. “Hey, guys,” he called to his pals, “I just figured out where the stench of horseshit is coming from. Country One-oh-three is over here.”
Elliott led a chorus of boos as CJ got closer to their table. Dayna glared at him. “Go away, CJ.”
“Yeah, get lost,” Dub sniped above the hissing. “And take the rest of the Shits Ninety-six crew with you.”
“I have as much right to come in for a beer with my buddies as the rest of you.”
Tack examined CJ’s pathetic attempt at a beard and started to snicker. “Ya got a li’l dirt on your face there, Seacrest.”
CJ stroked his prickly chin. “Screw you, Collins.”
“Ooh.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “I’m shaking.”
“I can’t wait to beat your redneck ass on the ball field. Then we’ll see who’s the big man.”
Tack angrily kicked back his chair and rose to his feet, sticking a finger in CJ’s face. “Or we could step outside and find out right now.”
The guys at the table erupted in cheers, spurring on a fight. Dayna froze with panic as Tack bulldozed CJ, forcing him backward. “Let’s go,” he growled, pulling back his massive fist. “I’ve been wantin’ to do this since I met you, boy.”
One of CJ’s Mix 96 cohorts rushed over to his aid. “Hey man, cool it, all right?”
“I’m not afraid of you, Collins,” CJ said, attempting to sound threatening as he shrank away.
“You should be.” Tack stared him down. “I’m gonna teach you a thing or two about bullying women. Lesson one: you pick on my girl Dayna, you deal with me.”
CJ suddenly slipped backward. His eyes widened as he tripped over his own feet and fell splat on the floor, meeting with a burst of deafening laughter from the entire bar.
Tack returned to an overture of applause at the table. He caught Dayna’s eye and shrugged. “Sorry, sugar. But he was asking for it.”
Provoked by a swell of gratitude, not to mention being incredibly turned on by how totally hot he was flexing his He-Man fury, Dayna reached out for a fistful of Tack’s shirt and pulled him in for a long, wet hero’s kiss.