Starlight Hill: Complete collection 1-8

by Heatherly Bell

  Brooke opened the door to see a freshly showered Billy, hair still damp and pulled into a ponytail. He wore low slung faded jeans and an equally faded Giants jersey. He smelled like soap, looked devastatingly handsome, and was missing his ever-present grin. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute. Can I?”

  “We were just chatting.” Gigi smiled, reminding Brooke a little bit of Cruella DeVille.

  “Yeah,” Billy said. “I can imagine the chatting.”

  “You told me I could live here,” Brooke reminded him.

  He stood in the frame of the door, filling it with his presence. “I did, and I haven’t changed my mind about that. As long as you don’t mind having me as your neighbor. I like it out here as much as you do. Are you cool with that?”

  “I’m okay with it.” Brooke waved him inside. Too late now, anyway. Billy did have a right to live in his own house. Even she had to concede that.

  “Oh wonderful, I’m glad you two kids are happy with this risky and tawdry arrangement.” Gigi threw up her hands.

  “It’s only tawdry because you’re making it out to be! And besides, I never step out of the house half-naked. I only did that today because I thought I was alone.” Brooke felt her cheeks burn as she locked eyes with Billy. Not only did he not break the gaze, but his eyes were smiling even if his lips were not. “Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

  “Are you satisfied?” Billy turned to Gigi. “You don’t have to protect me from Brooke. She’s not even interested in me.”

  “Exactly.” Brooke pointed her index finger at Gigi.

  “Hmmmm,” Gigi glanced from Brooke to Billy. “Just friends, huh? That’s it?”

  “Old friends,” Billy said, hooking his finger towards the door. “Now can we leave Brooke alone? You and I have business to discuss.”

  Gigi moved towards the door. “I usually have a sixth sense about these things. I see I was wrong this time. My apologies.”

  “You and I have to talk business, too. The winery,” Brooke said from the front door. “There’s so much to do and plan before we open.”

  “Absolutely. It’s at the top of my list. Come over in a couple of hours,” Billy said, smiling and shutting the door.

  At the top of the list? This winery should be the list, and if he required a reminder, Brooke would be more than happy to set him straight.

  “You must be out of your ever-lovin’ mind if you think I believe this ‘we’re just friends’ line.”

  Billy opened the front door and made room for Gigi and her attitude to walk inside. “Even if I wanted to marry her tomorrow, which I don’t, it’s not your business.”

  She stopped in her tracks, turned and pointed a finger in his direction. “Billy, don’t even joke about that. Tell me you wouldn’t marry her, or anyone, without a pre-nup. Tell me or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  Just like that they were back to a discussion they’d had once a year ever since she’d signed on as his publicist. He’d never come close enough to giving it much thought, but couldn’t help but think that the words pre-nup weren’t exactly the start of great foreplay. For now, he didn’t see the need to think about it.

  “You’ll sleep fine.”

  “Not with that vixen next door. Good heavens I thought your eyes would have to be surgically placed back inside their sockets. Why do you think I suggested you take a shower?”

  “So you’d have time to go hatch your evil plans?” To destroy any chance in hell he had with Brooke, who might never forgive either one of them.

  “What part of protect do you not understand?”

  “You don’t need to protect me from Brooke.” Though she might need to protect Brooke from him. He wasn’t sure how long he could go without at least giving it a shot. For now, he’d have to. He could read it in Brooke’s thinly veiled contempt. He wouldn’t be seeing a glimpse of those panties again anytime soon.

  “You say that about all gorgeous women, and you’re always wrong.”

  “Look, Brooke was the one girl at Starlight High that wasn’t part of my fan club.”

  “Oh no, it’s worse than I thought. Every athlete has one. She’s the one, right? The one that got away. Be smart, Billy. Let her stay away.” She made a shoving motion in the air.

  Scary how on target Gigi had come to his own somewhat convoluted feelings, even if she was a drama queen about the whole thing. “Let’s stop talking about my non-existent love life, thanks to you, by the way. Let me see some of these endorsement deals.”

  For the next two hours they went over some possible income generating leads, but Billy wasn’t interested in any of them. Not like he thought a washed up pitcher would get any significant opportunities, but he couldn’t see attaching his name to the newest wood shining product or kitty litter.

  More exciting to him were all the local schools who wanted him to bring a pitching clinic to them. Gigi said there was no money in that, not to mention the time and organization efforts it would take. Also, he wasn’t supposed to be diluting his star power or some such nonsense.

  Still, it would be something to be near the diamond again, even in some small way.

  More embarrassing were the offers of renaming local parks after him, and the new wing at St. Vincent’s Hospital. Of course, in lieu of a generous donation.

  A couple of hours later, he’d bid Gigi goodbye. She’d be flying out to LA on her broomstick in the afternoon, and not a moment too soon.

  Brooke was at his door within minutes. “Is Cruella DeVille gone?”

  Such a good name for Gigi. He almost laughed but Brooke, dressed in a tight Hensley shirt that hugged her succulent breasts, didn’t inspire laughter so much as pure unbridled lust.

  “The coast is clear.” He moved so she could come inside.

  “We have so much to talk about.” She held a laptop, a notebook, and a smart phone.

  “Right. Let me start with an apology. Gigi means well.”

  “I don’t like the way she sized me up. Walk out your house half naked and people start to make all kinds of assumptions.”

  It wouldn’t help for her to keep bringing that up. He could still picture the hard nipples pressed up against the tight cotton t-shirt, the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder, belly button with something shiny in it, the curvy bare legs and that scrumptious ass that headlined many a fantasy.

  He needed a drink. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Brooke didn’t waste any time setting up her laptop on the kitchen table, pulling out her notebook and pen. “Cream, no sugar.”

  He gathered the mugs and met her at the table. “I’m all yours.”

  Brooke leveled a gaze at him. “Don’t say that in front of your publicist or she’s bound to take it the wrong way.”

  He probably deserved that. “Don’t worry about her, she’s gone back to LA. Mostly we talk over the phone, but every once in a while they’ll be a chill in the air. My skin will crawl, and I know Gigi must be thinking about me.”

  Brooke smiled, and holy shit, she should do that more often. Why had she stopped smiling like that, and what was the jerk’s name? “First things first.” Brooke tapped the pen on her notebook. “A name.”

  “For…?”

  “The winery, of course. I mean, I figured you’d want to rename it the Billy Turlock Winery or something like that.” She looked serious.

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Doesn’t have a nice ring to it. Too bad I’m not Italian. They have the best names for wineries. Turlock— now that sounds like a good bat, but not a great wine. What do you think?”

  “Well, hear me out.” She looked tentative, unsure for once. “I was going to suggest we keep the name. The Mirassu winery has a long history in Starlight Hill, and for years it was a good one. We could say it’s under new ownership and management.”

  “Fine with me.” Billy reached for another gulp of coffee. “I don’t even think Pop would mind, but I’ll run it by him.”

  “That was easy,” Brooke said, making
a note, even if she did sound surprised.

  He leaned back in his chair, gratified he’d straightened her out on the assumption that he was another big headed narcissistic jock. Even if something told him he had a long way to go in convincing Brooke. “I aim to please. What’s next?”

  For the next few hours, Brooke talked about the harvest, crush, marketing, a new website, appointments with some of the restaurants in town with which she had connections, and hiring a staff.

  “I’m sure I can get Eric to come over from the Serrano winery, and he’s a good employee. You’ll find it’s hard to find good help. I believe in holding on to what you have when it’s working.”

  “I’ll trust you with those decisions.”

  “Great. I like that you’re giving me all this control, but don’t forget I’ll need you to be around. To attend meetings and be the face of this business. I’m not naïve enough to believe that our success won’t partially hinge on one popular baseball player.”

  “You’ll have me whenever you need me.” He meant that in more than one way, but it likely went right over Brooke’s head.

  “Thanks, Hotshot.”

  “You know, you’re the only one who ever got away with calling me that. I’ve decided I’ll let you keep doing it.”

  Brooke leveled an uncertain gaze in his direction. “O-kay.”

  He glanced at his watch. “We’ve talked business for over an hour. For two people who hadn’t talked in ten years before a few weeks ago, we haven’t talked anything personal yet.”

  “Billy, you saw me half naked and haven’t even bought me dinner yet. How more personal do you want to get?”

  Well, for one he’d actually like to get underneath those panties but that wasn’t something he would share. Yet. “What happened to you after high school?”

  “I went to Chicago State. You know that.” She tossed that ponytail and stared at her smart phone.

  “Yeah. I wanted details.” A painful subject, but one they’d have to broach sooner or later if they were going to work together.

  “There’s nothing to say. I got my degree, and came back home. I don’t like winters in Chicago.” Brooke leveled him a look that told him he might be swimming near a rocky shore.

  “If it will make you feel any better, you can say I told you so.” If he’d been to college instead of going straight to the minor leagues, he’d at least be a washed up player with a college degree. Not only that, but who knew what would have happened with Brooke?

  Most of his team mates had married their college sweethearts. Would Brooke have been the one?

  “Why would I say that?” Brooke asked.

  “I should have stayed in school. I know that now. You tried to tell me.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” She put her phone down. “I was wrong, and you were right.”

  This he had not expected. Brooke, hater of all things athletic, now believed he’d made the right choice? “No, you’ve got that backwards.”

  “I don’t think so. You’ve done pretty well for yourself. Wouldn’t you say?” She waved around the room, no doubt meaning the winery.

  “Brooke, what I made might have to last me for the rest of my life. And I’m not even thirty.” Not to mention that he couldn’t do the one thing that he still had passion to do, just because his body had given out on him. No one seemed to care about that.

  “Let’s not have this conversation.” Brooke got up with her laptop.

  He knew what this was all about. They’d had this argument a handful of times as kids. Even then, Brooke knew her own mind. And it was different than ninety-nine percent of the people he knew.

  “Let’s.” He stood up. “I’m not the one who sets the salaries. None of the players do.”

  She looked at the ground as if praying for patience. “If we paid teachers what we pay athletes, maybe we’d have the best educational system in the world. But you know how I feel about this.”

  “I do. I just wish you’d stop blaming me for the way things were set up long before I even picked up a glove and a ball.”

  “You always said that, but you were a part of the system. You accepted the status quo. All of you do.”

  “I just wanted to play ball. You of all people know that.”

  For one second it looked like she would understand. But that kind of acceptance didn’t happen in one conversation. Too many years stretched between them like a wound up coil ready to snap.

  “Say what you want, but you’ll never convince me that you’re not the luckiest man I know.”

  “I wouldn’t even try.” He’d had a great career, been smart enough to stash away a small fortune, enjoyed a loving family’s support, and now stood in front of Brooke Miller.

  She cracked a smile. “I’m going to set up some meetings, and I’ll get back to you. We have work to do.” She moved towards the front door.

  “You bet.” Maybe if he played this inning right, he’d have a second chance with Brooke.

  This time, he wouldn’t drop the ball.

  7

  For the first time in her life, Brooke might have too many lists. There was so much to do she didn’t even know where to begin. She’d never been a part of a venture from its inception in this way. Not that they were starting from scratch. They had rows upon rows of grapes. They needed to be harvested. Like yesterday.

  Harvest time usually began no later than late August, and they were now in early October.

  Back at her kitchen table, she tore off another piece of paper and made a list of items to be done in order of chronological importance.

  Harvest.

  Check on the tanks.

  Apologize to Billy for being a bitch.

  Brooke tore off that piece of paper. No, she didn’t need to apologize, but dammit if Billy didn’t make her feel like she did. It was in those eyes— they said so much without words.

  The eyes said that yeah, he knew he’d been lucky, but no, he wasn’t happy. In case anyone cared. And of course she shouldn’t, but unfortunately she did. Because he was Billy, dammit.

  He thought she’d been right, which was hysterical since she’d been thinking for the past ten years just how wrong she’d been.

  He’d taken the offer into the minor leagues instead of the college scholarship at Chicago State against her advice, and though it hadn’t guaranteed he’d make the major leagues, he’d done it anyway. Hard work and dedication to the thing that had always been, would always be, his first love.

  And the rest was history. She’d gone to Chicago alone, and made friends, had a couple of boyfriends. Lost her virginity to one of them, even though it should have been Billy. Would have been, on that night when it became clear that they both wanted more. But she’d been too good for the jock. Wanted to save herself for the right man. It might have been Billy, and a hundred times she’d imagined that it had been. But no matter what, she couldn’t change the past.

  And that was the end of it.

  Her cellphone rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Great. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi sweetie. I’m going to be at the Farmer’s Market this Saturday.”

  “Why would this Saturday be any different than any other one? You’re always there.”

  “It would be nice if you’d come by. I’ve made a new herbal shampoo with your favorite scent. Cranberry.”

  “I still have six bottles of shampoo I haven’t used yet. I’m good.”

  “Oh. Okay, then. I’d still like to see you.”

  Brooke felt the guilt press down. She hadn’t seen Mom in a while. “I’ve got a new job and its harvest time as you know. I’m going to be busy.”

  “Right. Harvest time. You usually disappear for weeks.” Mom’s voice got a bit tinnier. Possibly tinged with a whine.

  “Yep. Everything okay, otherwise?”

  Mom sighed. “Well, I might have to go on a statin because of my high cholesterol. Except that I refuse.”

  “Why?”

  “Honey, don’t you realize th
ey make that medicine with a pregnant mare’s urine?”

  “Ew, mom. Please.”

  “Well, I’m only telling you the truth. I ask you, would you take a pill made with someone’s urine?”

  “Not if I had a choice.”

  “Exactly. So I’m going to take the herbs that Sally makes at our farm. She swears that her cholesterol went down forty points…”

  Brooke let Mom’s voice fade into the background while she doodled on her pad. It was better, really, to tune it all out because Mom only wanted to be heard. Brooke made sure to say “Uh-huh” every few minutes.

  “And so that’s why I think all doctors are quacks.”

  Brooke let out a breath. “All right. Well, then. Gotta go. Talk later, okay?”

  After a few more false starts, she finally hung up. Maybe Brooke could and should pay more attention to Mom, but it would help if she would talk about something interesting for a change.

  Sighing, Brooke wrote at the top of a new list:

  Try to be a better daughter

  Stop thinking about Billy

  Write down something you have a prayer of getting done

  A few days later, every grape had been harvested. Even if Brooke had to call on every single one of her resources, she’d done it. Not one grape gone to waste.

  Naturally, her resources notwithstanding, she’d had no shortage of volunteers. It was now official news in town that Billy Turlock was back in town and the new owner of Mirassu winery. Those records were public, after all. Consequently the local media made a habit of parking at the end of the long sloped driveway. Brooke had campaigned for that, since Billy often allowed them up into the tasting room parking lot.

  But he’d listened when Brooke told him that they might chase away prospective customers. He hadn’t listened when it came to the so-called friends and ‘fans’ who had assembled to help in the frantic push to harvest in time. She couldn’t very well argue that point since she needed all the help she could amass. And frankly, with the before dawn hours the job entailed, it meant that the crowd of volunteers were hard-core fans.