“You’ll do no such thing.” He cuts me off, and for the first time in my life he seems upset. “This is your family home. It belonged to my father, your great, great grandfather, and you have as much right to be here as I do.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend you.” I shift in my seat. “I was only worried you’ve lived alone so long, maybe you were accustomed to things being a certain way, and we might disrupt that.”

  “I like having my family in the house. It’s part of the reason I sent Hutch to New York to get you. I had hoped you’d consider staying here, making it your permanent home.”

  “That kind of brings me to the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.” Looking down into my cup, I want to say this in a way that doesn’t sound wrong. “I’d love to stay here. Only, what would I do in Hamiltown? It’s a lovely place, but I can’t just sit around and not be useful. I’ll go bananas.”

  His brow relaxes, and he stands, rounding the desk to sit across from me in a matching wingback chair. “Tell me what interests you. We have so many options, you’d be surprised. I’m thinking about writing a memoir of my life and our family history here. I could use a research assistant if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

  Pressing my lips together, I try to think of the nicest way in the world to say I’m not really interested in research.

  He reads my expression at once. “Or if you prefer retail, I’m certain Carmen would love to have your help at the store. She goes on buying trips to Atlanta several times a year, and I bet you have excellent taste.”

  Again, he sees the lack of enthusiasm in my failure to meet his gaze. No one ever believes I hate shopping.

  “Ah, wait a minute!” He holds up a finger. “What was your major in college? Psychology?”

  Chewing my lip, I nod. “But I don’t have any clinical experience. I only got my bachelor’s degree, so I don’t know what I could do with it.”

  “Dirk is very into criminal psychology. He’ll be teaching a course at the college this fall. Granted it’s only a community college, but a lot of kids start there on their way to vocational training or larger universities.”

  I nod, unsure where he’s going with this. “I don’t think I’m qualified to teach.”

  “Probably not, but he could make you his assistant or even connect you with someone who could find a place for you.” Leaning forward, he takes my hand in his. “We won’t stop until we find something you like. If you want to stay here, you’re going to stay.”

  “I do want to stay…” My mind drifts to Hutch, and I want to say I want to stay with him. “The last thing I want to do is be a burden or sit around doing nothing, like I expect someone to entertain me or…”

  Marry me. The words flit across my brain, and just as fast, I shake them away. It’s too soon and far too presumptive. I have to make my own way, and if more happens, so be it.

  My uncle is on his feet, holding out his hand and escorting me to the kitchen. “Relax your mind. I’ll be sure you get what you want, I promise. I got you this far, didn’t I?” He gives me a mischievous wink, and I wonder if he can read my mind. “Now I have to make some calls.”

  He leaves, and my shoulders fall. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve got a little more time before I can even start to get ready for our date.

  Norris is in the kitchen when I drop off my mug, scurrying around and preparing for the next grocery run. Down the steps to the basement, I notice the red light is on outside Hana’s darkroom.

  It was so odd to find a darkroom in the basement when we arrived. I don’t remember there being one when we were children, but maybe I simply wasn’t interested and didn’t notice.

  Arching my eyebrow, I glance overhead and wonder if it’s possible our uncle had it installed just for her. More incentive to keep us here. Shaking my head, I exhale a laugh. That tricky old man.

  Tapping lightly on the door, I wait for her to give me the okay before entering. As soon as I step inside, my breath catches at all the oversized prints hanging on lines strung around the open space.

  “Hana!” I step closer, amazed at the beauty of her work. Walking down the line, I can’t believe my eyes. They’re all different angles and unique saturations–I’ve never seen anything like it. “These are incredible.”

  I stop at a portrait-sized, black-and-white photo of three little outfielders with their gloves up, pretending to catch huge, sprinkled donuts. Their faces are delighted, and in their uniforms and pigtails, she could sell this so easily.

  Hanging beside it is a series of images of me and Training Day. The first is black and white, but the white is so strong. The next is more of a halo around my face, cheek to cheek with the horse. It’s like we’re communicating, which I guess we sort of were.

  The emotion she captured is palpable. My heart was so heavy that day, and the only thing that gave me comfort was the quiet animal–until Hutch appeared.

  “These could easily be in a gallery.” I look over to where her hair is tied up and wrapped in a red handkerchief. “Why haven’t you shown them to anyone?”

  She’s in denim overalls and a white tank with yellow rubber gloves that go all the way to her elbows. “I showed some of them to Hutch.”

  “You did?”

  “Mm-hm.” Her voice is quiet as she moves a sheet of photo paper back and forth in a tray, and she tilts her head like she’s surprised I didn’t know.

  I am surprised. “What did he say?”

  “He said I have a unique talent and a good eye.”

  “That’s the understatement of the century.” I walk over and watch as the print she’s developing slowly grows more distinct.

  The image that appears is of Training Day’s large black eyes and my lighter ones gazing out from a field of white. It’s startling and breathtaking and somehow mystical.

  “How did you do that?” I speak in a whisper.

  Her lips twist as she holds up the dripping page, inspecting it a moment before carrying it to the clothesline. “It’s just different exposure techniques. It’s not hard, but you have to know what you’re doing.”

  “Obviously, you know what you’re doing.”

  “These are all finished.” She flips on the lights. “I’ll let them dry, and we can box up the ones of the players and give them to Coach Miller.”

  “You should keep some to show, I mean if you’d like to do a show.”

  Nodding, she starts for the door. “I will, but I always give the team their pictures. I’ll get releases if I decide to do anything more with them.”

  I follow her up the stairs and through the kitchen, where she takes a piece of toast off a tray and carries it out to the side porch. The breeze is blowing, and it’s getting warmer every day.

  She sits in one of the rocking chairs, looking up at me, and as always, she seems to know what I’m thinking before I say a word.

  “I don’t want to go back to New York,” she says before taking a bite of toast. “At least not to live. I could go there to visit or to show my work or something like that, but I never want to live there again.”

  Nodding, I lean against the rail across from her. “I talked to Uncle Hugh, and he wants us to stay here with him.”

  “How long?”

  “Forever if you ask him.” I exhale a little laugh. “He’s bending over backwards to find something to make me happy. I see you’re clearly following your muse.”

  “I thought he’d already found something to make you happy. ” She rocks slowly, her dark blue eyes studying my face.

  My chin drops, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you?”

  When I look up at her again, heat rises in my cheeks. “Hugh is old, and like most old people he loves playing matchmaker. That doesn’t mean he’s right or the people he’s trying to match up are going to follow his wishes or feel the way he wants them to feel.” I’m saying too much, too fast. “How could he even know what anyone wants?”

  My sister stands and puts her hand on my arm. “You’ve always been the smart one, the strong one, while I was the fuck-up. Take it from the fuck-up. He knows.”

  She leaves me on the porch with my stomach in knots. I want to scream, I know! I want him to be right! But I don’t.

  Pushing off the rail, I decide I’m not acting like myself at all. I am a controlled, strong woman, not a silly girl who obsesses over crushes. I’m going to follow the plan with Uncle Hugh, see what’s out there for me to do in this teeny little town, and live my life.

  And I need to start getting ready right now, because if I’m going to look as good as I want to look tonight, I need to shave my legs three times and curl my hair, and I have three different dresses I love–maybe I can get Hana to take pictures and we can vote on which makes me look hottest.

  Either way, I have a lot to do and only… four hours to do it.

  34

  Hutch

  “I don’t like this bad habit you’ve started, waking me up at this hour.” My brother is scrounging around in his kitchen, grumpy because it’s noon.

  I shake my head. “I take it you pulled another all-nighter. What’s the latest on Ivan X?” He straightens, holding a jar of instant coffee, and I recoil. “You’re not drinking that shit, are you? Get dressed. I’ll drive you to Steamy Beans.”

  Dirk sets down the coffee crystals, and he rakes his fingers through his wild brown hair before pulling on a cap. “Where’s my shirt?”

  Rush hour has ended for the coffee shop in town, and it’s my brother and me and one other table having cinnamon infused coffee and scones.

  “He’s a sneaky bastard.” Dirk takes a big bite of raspberry scone. “He’s covering his tracks way better than he did with that blackmail scheme he pulled on Blake. Either he got wise or he was trying to get caught.”

  “Why would he try to get caught?”

  “You’re right. He’s an idiot, but he’s learning.” Dirk leans back in his chair watching me. “Speaking of learning, I learned Uncle Hugh is looking for something for Blake to do in Hamiltown. Seems she wants to stick around, but she wants to have a reason.”

  My chest tightens, and I sit a little straighter. “What kind of reason?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, something that won’t make it seem like she’s waiting for a guy we all know to pop the fucking question. What the hell are you waiting on, man? You two couldn’t be more made for each other.”

  “We’ve been together for two… three weeks? I can’t propose–”

  “You’ve known Blake your whole life. You had her sent to the nuns when you thought she was partying too much in high school.”

  “That’s not why I did that–”

  “Don’t forget, you’ve been jerking off to her magazine spread for three years.”

  Anger flares in my chest, and he holds up his hands.

  “I’m not saying I’ve been jerking off to her, but that was a hot pictorial.” He lifts his mug. “What was she even selling? I only saw one thing.” He takes a sip of coffee and holds up his fingers. “Sorry, two things.”

  “Now I’m going to kick your ass.”

  “See?” He points a finger at me, winking “There it is. She’s your woman. You wouldn’t want to rip my head off right now if she weren’t.” He shakes his head taking another bite of scone. “I’m only making a point, bro, shit. Breathe.”

  I do inhale, then exhale slowly. “The truth is, I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “So what’s stopping you?”

  “Pepper.”

  Our eyes meet, and he frowns. “You think she doesn’t like Pep?”

  “No, she likes her. I know she likes her, but there’s a big difference in liking a kid and wanting to be her…” Shifting in my chair, I can’t think of another way to say it. “Her mom.”

  “First, she’ll never be Pepper's mom. Judy was Pepper’s mom.” I give him a look like, No shit, Sherlock, and he continues. “I get it. But I mean, I help you with the Pep. It’s not like it’s all on you.”

  “You’re a good uncle. I appreciate it.” I nod. “But when the shit hits the fan, Pepper’s my responsibility. We’re a package deal, and it’s a lot to ask somebody, especially somebody like Blake. She’s special.”

  “So fucking ask her. How else will you ever know?”

  He’s right, but I have another reason for waiting. “If she’s not interested, our relationship will change. I’d like to enjoy spending time with her a little longer before I drive her away.”

  “You’re not going to drive her away.” Dirk leans forward. “I’m no expert in women by a long shot, but from what I’ve seen, Blake’s not going anywhere. I’d bet my motorcycle on it. Now get off your ass and get that girl a ring.”

  Leaning back, it’s the same thing Carmen said–almost. Whatever, there’s only one way to know. I’m just not sure I’m ready if the answer is no.

  “I’m thinking about giving her Mom’s ring. If that’s okay with you?”

  He nods, finishing off his scone. “I like it. Hugh’s always been like family. Blake is his niece. It’s like she was meant to have it.”

  “Thanks, bro.” I stand, leaving cash for the bill. “I’ve got some shit to do, need a ride back to your place?”

  “Nah, I’m headed over to the office.”

  I’m headed back to the house, all the way back to the small, fireproof box I keep in the back of my closet. Taking it out, I move the papers aside, Pepper’s birth certificate, my passport, and a small, velvet pouch.

  Inside is the one thing I have left of my mom’s, a ring she took off after we came back here and gave to me. She told me to only give it to someone I would be faithful to, who I’d treasure as deeply as my own soul.

  It was the kind of love she dreamed of having, and I understood what she meant. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and I slip the small pouch in my wallet.

  Sitting in my truck in Hugh’s circle driveway, I’ve never felt more awkward. I’m in jeans and a button-down oxford, and in twenty years, I’ve never hesitated before marching up to that door. Hugh’s house has always been my second home.

  I quickly filter through all that’s happened in the last month, hell, all that’s happened in the last few years. This old man is like that guy in The Wizard of Oz, hiding behind the curtain, turning knobs and pulling levers.

  He’s orchestrated everything that’s happened, from sending me to check on her to making me promise to keep her safe then getting out of Dodge. Dropping my chin, I exhale a chuckle. Damn, him. He’s going to gloat so hard when he finds out what I’m planning to do tonight.

  I grasp the door handle, ready to step out and get things moving, when the front door opens, and my breath stills in my throat. Blake steps out on the landing looking like something out of my hottest wet dream.

  Her dark hair is shiny and loose over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a red dress that hugs her curves like it was sewn on her. Her lips are pale pink, and her eyes are round and blinking quickly like she’s as nervous as I feel–and as fed up with all this bullshit as I am.

  Grabbing the reins, I get out and go to her, reaching for her waist and pulling her firmly into my arms like she belongs to me, because fuck it, she does.

  I lean down and kiss the side of her jaw so I don’t mess up her pretty lipstick. I can tell she spent some time on her look tonight, and she’s rocking it.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Her body relaxes in my arms, and my certainty is complete. “You sure you want to go to Slim Harold’s? I should take you someplace nicer. You’re seriously incredible in this dress.”

  “You like it?” She looks down then up again, meeting my eyes with sparkles in hers. “I wanted a short skirt, but not too short for when you teach me to shag.”

  Hell, her sassy voice has my dick rising to life, especially when I remember her sweet little ass last night in that cheerleader skirt. “Are you wearing underwear?”

  Her head tilts, and she leans closer. “I’m wearing a thong. I didn’t want to take any chances if I fell.”

  “I won’t let you fall, baby.” I pull her to me again, kissing her cheek a little closer to her lips this time. “Just hold onto me.”

  Slim Harold’s is packed for a Friday night, and it’s mostly the old-timers out on the floor doing their classic dance to every song that comes on the jukebox.

  Blake is at a high-top table across from me. She’s having the house specialty–thick-cut bologna sandwiches with fried corn on the cob. I literally can’t believe she’s eating this, considering the cuisine I’m sure she grew up having.

  I’m having a burger and fries, wishing we were at someplace a bit classier, but this is what she wanted.

  She’s turned in her chair, watching them with fascination. “It’s like a twist, but with a little jitterbug and a Charleston mixed in.”

  “I think they made it up.”

  “Of course they did! That’s what makes it special.” She laughs looking back at me, and her eyes are dancing.

  I love that she’s having fun here. We’re in this crowded, hometown bar and grill, sharing this moment. I reach across the table, and she puts her hand in mine.

  “Hey…” I’m not sure how to start this gracefully. “I’ve been thinking about us and where we stand now. I guess we have a few things to talk about.”

  She nods, shifting her entire body to face me. Her eyes are serious, like she’s been thinking about it, too. “Okay,” is all she says.

  Clearing my throat, I just fucking say it. “I’d like us to be more, but there’s something we have to discuss.” She nods, and I continue. “Pepper is a part of my life–a permanent part–and I need to know how you feel about that, about me being responsible for her. I’m like her dad.”