Blame It on the Rodeo (17 page)

“Okay, how about we do this. Little League tryouts are Saturday. I'll draft him to my team, where I can help channel all that aggression into competition.”

“That's a little outside the box, don't you think?”

Travis eyed the man who'd been his friend since they were Josh's age. Playing sports had gone a long way toward keeping them both on the straight and narrow.

“As I recall, you were quite the truant before Coach Marsden promised to kick you off the team if you skipped school one more time.”

“Well, there is that. Little League, huh?” Bob rubbed his chin. “I guess we can give it a try, as long as Josh and his mom agree.”

“Hah,” Travis scoffed. Of course the mom would say yes. What parent didn't want a former minor league baseball player as their son's Little League coach? Not only did he have an eye for talent, but experience had taught him how to bring out the best in the boys. His team had won the district play-offs last year. Since most of his best players would return again this season, he hoped to go even further. State. Maybe even regionals.

Bob cleared his throat, and the image of a championship trophy winked out.

“You know how I hate giving up on a child. Especially when there are extenuating circumstances, like a death in the family. But, Travis, there can't be any more fighting at school.”

Travis rubbed his sore ribs. No more fights was fine with him, too.

* * *

I
N
THE
BACK
office of Coffee on Brevard, Courtney Smith stared down at one-year-old Addie. Though she stirred restlessly in the portable crib, her daughter had fallen asleep.

“Finally,” Courtney whispered. She wrangled loose strands of her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, wound it into a knot and anchored it in place.

A new tooth had spelled sore gums and extraordinary fussiness for her daughter. It had turned the day into one of those rare occasions when Courtney wished she could still hand a crying baby off to a nanny.

She shook her head. The times when someone else took care of her children, when she spent her mornings at the spa and her afternoons at the ballpark, when every detail of her life was determined by how it impacted her husband's career—those days were over. As were the countless tears she'd shed both before and in the nine months since the accident that had changed everything.

She gave her hair a final pat. It was time to move on. Time to build a future for herself and for her children.

Not that she was ready to forgive Ryan for the way he'd destroyed their lives, but she'd gladly traded the social whirlwind that had enveloped her as the wife of a major league baseball star for the peace, quiet and anonymity offered by Cocoa Village. Sure, there were things she missed about their old life. She held up one hand, her fingers spread. She'd give her eyeteeth for a manicure. But what use were weekly trips to the nail salon if the polish chipped off the first time she scrubbed out a coffeepot?

Which, she reminded herself, she'd better get busy doing if she was going to keep a roof over their heads. Addie's crankiness had put her behind schedule. She slipped the baby monitor into her pocket and quietly stepped from her office.

In the dining area, she swept an appraising glance over the café. Turning the vacant storefront into a welcoming oasis had been a huge risk, but the results were everything she'd hoped for. White trim above pink-and-green-striped wallpaper gave the room a cheery Florida look that balanced nicely against the dark green wainscoting. Glass droplights illuminated each of the small tables she'd dressed with starched linens and fresh flowers. Hardwood floors added to the ambiance. Best of all was the nook she'd created in one corner. There she encouraged patrons to take one of the current bestsellers from her small collection and curl up on the comfy sofa, a novel in one hand, a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

Now, if she could only drum up enough business to stay afloat, she'd be okay.

She worried a thumbnail. Building a loyal clientele took time. At least, that was what all her college professors had taught. And she was making progress. Only two months after she'd opened the doors to Coffee on Brevard, business had grown from the occasional customer to a steady trickle. It wasn't enough to make ends meet yet—not quite—but if people liked the soup-and-sandwich special she'd added to the lunch menu, she could squash the fear that kept her up at night. The one where she ended up living out of her car with two kids and no prospects.

She hurried to the tall granite-topped counter at the front of the café. Stepping behind it, she stirred the simmering pot of soup she'd started before Josh left for school. The smell of cream of asparagus mingled pleasantly with the house blend and the vanilla almond that was today's special coffee.

Across Brevard Avenue two shoppers emerged from one of the gift shops along the village's main thoroughfare. Bulging bags hung from their arms. From their high-end footwear to their carefully tousled hairstyles, Courtney knew them. Oh, not their names or how their husbands earned a living, but she recognized their type. A year ago she'd lived a life very much like theirs. But hers had come at too great a price.

She took a deep breath. The past was behind her. Today she needed to focus on whether the warm February weather would draw the shoppers and others into her café.

Banking on it, Courtney opened three large cans of solid white albacore and spooned the expensive tuna into a colander. Within minutes she'd chopped hard-boiled eggs and finely diced enough celery to triple her grandmother's recipe. She'd measured out the requisite amount of mayonnaise when the phone rang. She scooped it up, her smile fading when she recognized the number on the caller ID.

“Coffee on Brevard. This is Courtney.” She mustered a businesslike tone. Slowly, she lowered the jar of mayonnaise to the counter, her concern for her son on the rise. Would her ten-year-old ever adjust to his new school...or forgive her for spiriting him away from their old life in Orlando? She crossed her fingers and hoped his teacher had called with good news about Josh's grades.

“Ms. Smith, this is Cheryl Lewis, the secretary at Orange Blossom.”

Courtney froze. The phone wedged between her chin and her shoulder, she braced for worse news than a failed spelling test. “Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

“Ms. Smith, I'm afraid there's been a problem. Principal Morgan would like you to come to the school as soon as possible.”

A lump formed in Courtney's throat. “Is...is Josh all right?”

“He was in a fight.” Disapproval weighted the answer. “Can you come right away?”

Panic rose at the possibility that her only son had been hurt so soon after the accident that had ripped their lives apart.

“I'm on my way.” With shaking hands, she hung up the phone.

After shutting off the flame under the soup, she double-timed it to the back room, where she scooped up a sleeping Addie, flung the diaper bag over one shoulder and grabbed her purse. Back through the shop she ran. She paused only long enough to flip the Open sign to Closed before she stepped onto the sidewalk and keyed the dead bolt.

Fifteen minutes later Courtney pulled into a crowded parking lot, grabbed Addie from the backseat and darted into the school. She stepped into the administration office while her pulse hammered against her temples. Immediately, she spotted Josh slumped on a bench beneath a colorful mural. He didn't look hurt. Angry, maybe. But not hurt.

Relief brought tears to her eyes. On legs that trembled so much she wasn't sure how they supported her, she crossed the tile floor to her son. A torrent of questions filled her mind.

Powerless against them, she asked, “Josh, honey, what happened? Were you in a fight? Are you okay?”

At the sound of her voice, her ten-year-old sat up straight. His arms crossed. In the accusatory tone he'd perfected in the months since his father's death, he demanded, “Why did you have to come?”

Courtney stared into her son's hooded blue eyes and felt her heart lurch. Ever since the night they'd lost Ryan, she'd been afraid of losing her little boy, too. She'd let Josh think it was her idea to start a new life in Cocoa Village. He believed she'd chosen to end their long afternoons at the ballpark where the Smith family received the royal treatment. That she'd wanted to move out of their house, leaving his toys, his friends, behind.

He'd learn the whole sordid story sooner or later. In fact, she suspected Josh already knew more than either one of them wanted to admit. But until the truth came out, at least they were together. They still loved each other. They were a family.

Couldn't he see that?

Not if the scowl he wore was any indication.

At her hip, Addie stirred and began to whimper. Courtney grimaced. One unhappy child at a time was all she could handle.

“Shh, baby girl,” she soothed.

She needn't have worried. Addie's bright blue eyes latched on to the colorful wall above Josh's head. The little girl pointed. “Burr.”

Courtney spared a single glance at the large pink flamingo that was OBE's mascot. “That's right. Bird,” she confirmed while her daughter cooed delightedly. With Addie occupied, she faced her son, intent on getting some answers no matter how angry he was.

On the other side of a low counter that separated the waiting area from the offices behind it, the school secretary called, “Ms. Smith, Principal Morgan will see you now.”

“I'll be right there,” Courtney answered, her focus still on Josh. “We'll talk this evening,” she promised, her tone letting her son know that while she acknowledged his pain, he still had to follow the rules.

His face crumpled. “I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't start it. Honest, I didn't.”

At the plea for forgiveness, Courtney fought an urge to drop to her knees and pull her little boy into her arms. She settled for ruffling the thick blond hair that was so much like his dad's.

“Thanks, Josh,” she said. “That's really good to hear.”

Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe she could turn her fledgling coffee shop into a thriving business. Maybe she could help Josh let go of the past to become the sweet, lovable child he'd been until his father died. Maybe she could be a good enough parent to make up for the fact that neither of her children would ever have a dad.

Maybe. But it was far more likely that all her dreams would come crashing down around her.

While Addie squirmed and jabbed her stubby fingers toward the pink flamingo, Courtney drew in a deep breath. She marched past the counter to the office marked Robert Morgan, Principal. Resettling the baby on her hip, Courtney couldn't deny the feeling that she, more than her son, was in trouble.

* * *

“I
COUNTED
TEN
scouts at the district tournament last year. One was a buddy of mine, Frank Booker. He's pretty high up in the Norfolk organization.”

Travis leaned back in his chair. Though the Sluggers had done well, the scouts had shown more interest in him than in his players. The next time the Norfolk Cannons had an opening for an assistant coach, Travis's name was at the top of a very short list of candidates. A fact Frank had confirmed over their third beer.

“Do you miss it? Playing ball?” Bob asked.

Like I'd miss my right arm.

Nothing compared to the exhilaration he felt when he struck out the other team's ace—a feeling he hoped to rekindle when he coached rookie players in the pros.

Guessing that wasn't what his old friend wanted to hear, Travis gave a different version of the truth. “Some aspects more than others.”

Of course, playing in the minor leagues had its drawbacks. Like the nights he'd spent trying to catch some shut-eye on a bus filled with guys just as anxious to make it to the next level. A low hum stopped him before he could confess how much he enjoyed waking up in his own room every morning, even if he hadn't found anyone special enough to share his king-size bed.

Bob held up a finger. “Hold that thought,” he said, and told Cheryl to admit their guest. To Travis he added, “Showtime.”

While the man in charge leafed through Josh's file, Travis straightened out of the relaxed pose he'd adopted during the twenty-minute discussion of his favorite sport. His focus shifted to the closed door, his expression hardening into his game face.

He wasn't sure what he expected, but the slim, petite blonde who entered the room with a baby on one hip and desperation in her sad blue eyes certainly wasn't it. With her thick blond hair captured in a simple bun and her face devoid of makeup, Ms. Smith looked far too young to be the mother of a ten-year-old. Curious, Travis scrutinized the woman, whose blouse nipped in neatly at her waist. Aware that he was staring, he forced his gaze to a pair of slender feet in sturdy loafers that were anything but elegant.

The baby in her arms stirred, and she absently patted its diapered bottom.

“Hush, now, Addie,” she whispered.

Travis tossed his interest to the side the same way he used to discard a bat after getting a hit. A widow with a baby and a difficult preteen presented too many challenges for a guy with his sights set on coaching in the big leagues. He quashed the faintest glimmer of attraction to Ms. Smith with a stern reminder that he was here only to help her son. Yet he couldn't completely ignore her large eyes, where sorrow and fear shone like beacons.

Bob Morgan rose to greet his guest. “Ms. Smith, thanks for coming in.”

“Courtney, please.” She extended one hand across the desk.

Shaking the proffered fingers, Bob said, “I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.”

Courtney Smith's chin trembled. “I've spoken with Josh. I don't think he was injured. Was the other child hurt?”

Travis aimed a raised eyebrow at Bob. Most parents were so busy making excuses for their own children they didn't spend a minute worrying about anyone else's.