Somebody Like You (Starlight Hill Series Book 2)

by Bell, Heatherly

  He heard Mom call out, ‘Dinner!’ and offered a hand to Pop. “You can go back to this treasure hunt later. Time to eat.”

  Pop put the box down. “I’m a little tired. Think I’ll take a nap.”

  “Before dinner?” It didn’t sound right. Was Pop getting weak on him?

  “Not hungry. And tell Eileen not to save any leftovers for me either.”

  Great. Even worse. He’d have to talk to Mom, and make sure Pop had been to the doctor recently for a full check-up. For now, he would let Pop think about other things besides grapes and vineyards. Truthfully, Billy could use a change of subject too.

  *****

  “I’ve finally got my boys all together for dinner,” Mom said. “Billy, seems like you get up in the morning, leave and I don’t see you until it’s time for bed.”

  “We’ve been grabbing lunch and dinner on the go. But I’m looking forward to this.” He’d missed Mom’s home cooked meals. “Pop said he’s not hungry. Anyone know what’s up with that?”

  “I’m not hungry, either,” Wallace said.

  “Oh no, Wallace. Again?” Mom set a platter of something white on the table. “Dinner is served! Don’t worry, there’s enough for all of you.”

  “What is this?” Billy stared at Mom’s dinner. This was not pot roast.

  “Tofu roast,” Mom declared. “We’re all eating healthy around here. Good for Pop, good for me, and good for my children.”

  No wonder Pop had begged off dinner. “Mom, tofu and roast don’t belong in the same sentence together.”

  “Word,” Scott said with a fist bump. “You’ve missed out on all the fun around here. Mom’s on a health kick.”

  “And I’ve lost thirty pounds and lowered my cholesterol and my blood pressure.” Mom pointed her fork at him. “So no more complaining. Eat your greens if you don’t like my tofu.”

  The greens looked like someone had taken a pile of grass, wet it, and put it on a plate. In the old days, Mom had cooked. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone terribly wrong. He put a spoonful of wet grass on his plate and passed the serving plate to Wallace.

  Wallace held out his hand. “No.”

  Billy scowled. If he had to put up with this, so should Wallace. “I’m meeting with some of the old vineyard crew tomorrow. The bank manager said they’d be more than happy to stay on with us.”

  “I’ll be out there tomorrow, with my crew,” Wallace said. “We need to finish up the living quarters.”

  “Should you spend all that money on that now? Who’s going to live there?” Mom asked.

  “Me,” Billy answered.

  “Don’t be silly. You don’t have to stay out there all alone. There’s plenty of room for you here, in my house,” Mom said.

  “I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve been living on my own since I was eighteen. I love you, Ma, but I can’t live with you.” Especially not now, when he couldn’t even look forward to a good home cooked meal.

  Anyway, he did want the quiet of the vineyard at night. Maybe there he could think. Make plans. Plans that didn’t involve baseball. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around that one. How was he supposed to get through the rest of his life without the passion that had driven him since he was seven years old?

  “Fine. Have I told you how grateful I am lately, that you’re making Pop’s dream come true?” Mom asked.

  “At least three times a day. But honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d do or where I’d be headed until Pop suggested the idea.” Where did a washed-up ball player go when he hadn’t even had the foresight to get a college degree? When he’d gone straight to the minor leagues to the majors without a second thought? Where the wind blew, apparently.

  “I’ve got to say I’m proud of my Scotsmen, doing something out of the ordinary. Why can’t the Scottish be successful in the wine making business?” Mom asked.

  “I like a good Scotch, myself.” Wallace said with a deep sigh.

  As it happened, so did Billy. But he’d learn to love wine if it killed him. “Maybe I should give Brooke a call.”

  “Please, bro. Do that and I won’t ever ask you for anything else again,” Scott said, then swallowed a bite of tofu with a pained expression.

  This spoke volumes, since Scott mostly inhaled food.

  “You mean Brooke Miller?” Mom asked as she tried to place some more roast on Scott’s plate. “She’s such a pretty girl. I see her every now and then at the farmers market with her mother. She always remembers to say hello.”

  “She’s in the running to be your daughter-in-law if I have anything to say about it,” Scott said, pulling his plate out of Mom’s reach.

  Yeah. Right over Billy’s cold and dead body. ”The point is she can help us.”

  “She can help me,” Scott said. “Without a doubt.”

  Billy ignored the hot spike of anger that hit his stomach. It couldn’t be the food since he’d barely touched it. No, it was Brooke, all right— even if she wasn’t his and never had been.

  “Hiring her, after you bought the place out from under her. It’s not going to be easy,” Wallace said.

  Not easy at all, but then again had anything worthwhile ever been?

  *****

  “Hey Billy, is it true you’re planning a comeback?” A reporter called out from the edge of the steep driveway.

  Okay, that one made him laugh. He’d barely retired.

  “How’s the shoulder?” Another reporter shouted.

  Great as long as I don’t throw a ball. No more surgeries. Did you hear?

  “Slow news day, guys?” Billy asked, as he climbed into his convertible. He’d been going between the vineyard and his mother’s house for the past few weeks mostly avoiding them, but today they’d found him. An easy thing to do if someone was looking for a Turlock in Starlight Hill.

  All the better that he didn’t plan on staying with Mom much longer. She didn’t tolerate reporters, even if the woman was practically a saint. But from the first time one of them had called Billy a “has been” she’d painted all of them with one broad brush. Speak ill of my child and you will die a slow death, Mom said. In other words, she was a typical baseball mom. Hopefully these guys would follow him and leave Mom’s tulip garden alone, or the whole town might come to regret it. Billy sighed and backed out of the long driveway.

  Baseball loved an underdog story, but as much as he might wish for it, it wouldn’t happen for him. He’d had his run. Maybe hadn’t ended the way he’d hoped, but he’d been luckier than most. And even if he’d miss baseball every day for as long as he breathed, it was over for him. No turning back.

  What might happen today, though, would be a meeting with one Brooke Miller. It wasn’t difficult to locate anyone in Starlight Hill, particularly not with his long reach. Within hours of asking his investigator to check into it, he had Brooke’s personal email, cellphone, home address and places she loved to frequent.

  Not that he would stalk her. He only wanted to ask her politely if she’d care to take on the position of general manager at the vineyard. She’d probably refuse, but then he’d have done his best. And he’d get another glimpse of her too.

  He’d been a bit shell shocked to see her pull up on that Harley, and since then she’d headlined a few fantasies of his own. Brooke remained, and always would be, the one that got away. Not that he would let her know that. He could only imagine how she’d greet the news that a washed-up ball player had the hots for her. But he should still proceed with caution or Gigi might show up. She always did when she smelled women, bless her evil heart.

  Billy figured he’d lost the reporters, all four of them, when he pulled in front of the old diner named Mama’s. This was where he’d been told he would either find Brooke, or her best friend Ivey.

  All right, so he’d give this a try. If Brooke wasn’t here, he’d try somewhere else. In the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to hang out with some locals and take some photos. It was necessary and expected, and he’d never be too good for it.


  He opened the glass-paned door, and the overhead chimes sounded. A waitress had her back to him and called out, “It’s self-seating. I’ll be right with you.”

  He took off his shades and when the waitress turned he saw Brooke Miller for the second time in ten years. The black apron skirt didn’t manage to take away any of her appeal, though he could much better see her in a French maid costume. Okay, Billy, enough already. Front and center.

  But Brooke, a waitress?

  “I suppose you want a big enough table for you and your entourage?” She glared behind him.

  He turned to see the reporters had caught up to him. “They’re not with me.”

  For the next few minutes he was greeted by everyone in the establishment with a hug and a request for an autograph. Again, he posed for a few pictures. One of them with Si, the chef, and yes he’d agreed that Si could hang the photo in the diner and say Billy Turlock had eaten here. Signed a little boy’s casted arm after his mother nodded in approval, and gave a few pointers to a kid trying out for the varsity team next season.

  Brooke ignored him, pouring coffee and wiping down tables. When he took his seat at a booth, she slapped down a menu without meeting his eyes.

  All four reporters had settled into a booth nearby. She threw down menus for each of them. “Everyone here is going to have to order something.”

  “You heard the lady,” Billy said.

  “What’ll you have, hotshot?” Brooke turned to ask him.

  He had half a mind to ask for the waitress, well-done, but no. If they were going to do this, it had to be professional. Brooke would never go for it any other way.

  So he ordered from the menu, which his old trainer (and now his mother) would call Heart Attack Alley. Everything sounded good, but he settled on the Santa Fe skillet with eggs over-easy.

  A few minutes later, Brooke set his platter down and tried to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist. “Can we talk?”

  “I’m working.” She shook him off.

  “Si,” Billy called out to the chef, “Can your waitress take a break and talk to me?”

  “Hells to the yes!” Si shouted.

  “What a shock. You get your way again.” Brooke dead-panned.

  “You’re working here now?”

  “It’s temporary. I give Em a few days off a week so she can do her rescue dog training. And also because I can’t buy the vineyard I’d planned to buy. Since someone else already did.”

  “Yeah.” Billy said, but he hadn’t missed the fact that the reporters were leaning a bit closer. Not exactly the privacy he’d hoped to have this conversation. “Didn’t know you were looking for a job.”

  “I’m not.” Brooke locked eyes with him. Had she already guessed he’d been about to try and hire her? It wouldn’t surprise him. Seemed like Brooke had always been two steps ahead of him.

  “Because if you are, I’m looking for a general manager.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I think you know that I’m slightly out of my element here. I need someone who knows what they’re doing. I could hire an outside firm, but I already know who I want.” He tried his best to give her a significant, completely non-sexual look.

  Which, let’s face it, was not easy,looking the way she didface flushed, hair a bit plastered to the side of her face. Like she’d just had a good— work-out. Still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “And of course, everyone knows you get what you want.” Brooke leaned towards him, giving him a generous view of her cleavage.

  The reporters were practically salivating. Not to mention Billy. If he could bury his face in that fleshy rack, he’d die a happy man.

  “Not true,” he said, regaining consciousness. He swallowed some of his water, wishing he could splash it in his face. He needed to concentrate right now.

  “Order up!” Si called out.

  “Sorry, gotta go. But this was fun,” Brooke said.

  She flitted about the rest of the tables, where her attitude remained as bright and cheery as a monsoon. Waitress material she wasn’t. A few times he noticed customers wound up straightening out their orders after she’d left, unwilling, or perhaps afraid to set her straight.

  He understood the feeling. If not for the fact that he’d faced a lot worse— such as rehab after the first shoulder surgery— he might have felt the same way. Brooke was like a tornado that fascinated as it drew people and objects in its direction with the assurance that if one got too close they faced certain death.

  He still thought it might be a good way to go if he got to choose.

  A couple of hours later most of the customers had left and even the reporters straggled out when Billy continued to silently read the sports section. Giving them nothing.

  “You’re still here?” Brooke asked, as if she hadn’t been silently throwing him death stares the entire time.

  “You need the table?” He scanned the empty room.

  “No, smart ass. I don’t.” She headed toward him with the coffee carafe, but he finally had the mix of creamer and sugar where he wanted it to be. He covered the mug but too late. Brooke poured a splash of hot coffee right on his hand.

  He drew his hand back as white blinding pain seared his skin, and Brooke’s eyes turned to big amber saucers.

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry. Let me get that for you.” She ran out of the room and came back with a wet towel and some ice.

  This was by far the best injury he’d ever endured. No stranger to blinding searing pain that cut like a razor blade, this didn’t initially feel like much though he knew it might blister by tomorrow. But the kind of attention he was now receiving from a penitent Brooke was well worth it.

  Brooke sat on the other side of the booth, wrapping his hand in a wet towel. “Si said the whole order is on the house.”

  He hadn’t expected the funny squeeze in his chest. “That’s not necessary. It was an accident. Hey. I’m okay.” He touched her wrist with his left hand.

  She gazed at him as if she was actually seeing him for the first time, and the years melted away. Back to the time before he’d let her down. “Billy Turlock.”

  Man, the way she said his name. That alone could give him a hard-on, as if he were still a teenage boy. “Brooke Miller. I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sorry? I believe I just tried to pour coffee on your hand. It doesn’t even resemble a mug.”

  “I’m sorry I bought the vineyard you wanted. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you know?”

  So she was going to cut him some slack. At least she understood it wasn’t personal. “Exactly.”

  “But I can’t work for you, Billy.” She stated this matter fact, like it was also nothing personal.

  “And why not?”

  “Here’s the thing. I’m thinking my next steps through, taking my time. I’m not going to do anything impulsive. And besides,” she waved around the restaurant. “I already have a job.”

  Time for stating the truth. From his past experience with Brooke, he remembered she appreciated honesty. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you suck as a waitress.”

  For a moment he thought she’d slap him, but then she laughed. “You don’t think it’s cool to pour coffee on a customer’s hand?”

  “I have a feeling your talents lie elsewhere.”

  “You would be right.” She rose. “But this is what I’m doing now, while I re-think my options.”

  No one had to tell him when he’d pushed too far. Brooke needed time to think about it. But first he’d give her something to consider. His offer.

  He placed a bill on the table, and stood. “Fine. But if you change your mind, give me a call.”

  He scribbled his private cellphone number on the napkin. “I’m offering a generous salary, medical and dental. And a 401K. Nice to see you again. Have a good day, Si.”

  He waved, opened the door to the diner, and left Brooke staring at the napkin, her mouth gaping open.

&n
bsp; *****

  “Ack. I did it! I hit ‘send’.” Brooke sat at her kitchen table with her laptop. A few days after seeing Billy at the diner, she’d sent him a simple one sentence email: ‘we need to talk.’

  With an offer like the one he’d made, she’d be a fool not to at least open a dialogue with the man.

  “You have to hit ‘send.’ How else is he supposed to get your message?” Ivey asked, popping the third chocolate cupcake from Genenieve’s All the Tea and China into her mouth.

  “But I changed my mind. I can’t work for Billy. I’m an idiot to think I can.” She reached for another cupcake, before they were all gone.

  “Wanting to talk to him shows you’re open minded. That you’re reasonable and will entertain the generous offer he made.”

  Generous indeed. Brooke still wondered if he’d added an extra zero by accident. In a way, part of why she wanted to talk.

  “But he’ll see it as a weakness. Like I’m giving in, but I’m not. The Mirassu vineyard was supposed to be mine. It would be mine had he not waltzed back into town.”

  “Maybe. But now you have a chance to show him, show the entire town what you can do. Turn the place around and back into the vineyard it used to be before all the trouble. And show George what he lost as well, by not giving you the position as VP.”

  Showing the community that she’d been the reason behind Serrano’s success would be satisfying. George would be destroyed to find out she could be his greatest competition. Of course, if Mirassu were hers in name too, it would be much better. But being the general manager, and in control of it all could work too. Resuscitating an old vineyard, saving it from ruin. A worthy challenge.

  She could do it as long as Billy gave her control to make all the important decisions, and she wasn’t at all sure about that. He didn’t look like the kind of man who handed over control easily.

  Ivey popped another cupcake into her mouth, and reached into the fridge for some more milk without even having to get up. “I don’t get what you have against Billy. I mean, other than the fact that he bought the vineyard.”

  “Isn’t that enough?”