Silver Player: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

“I do.” His smile grows, and it’s almost infectious, although I don’t want the love-bug disease he’s caught. Love. Ew.

  “Why?” The question comes out harsher than I intend, but I’m also curious. I’ve been spending so much time with Roxanne and Sadie, I’ve gotten to the point I actually enjoy Roxie. A little bit. Sort of. After her rejection of my kiss and her accusation of seeing me having sex against a wall, there’s been no discussion of anything ever happening or happening again.

  You’re the one who told her it wouldn’t, I remind myself.

  “I like the way she looks at me,” Giant answers without thinking about it. “And I like how she laughs.” His eyes sparkle like a kid finding something shiny and invaluable, and I realize I want that feeling as well, but I can’t admit this to my brother as he’s borderline gushing.

  “You’re a sap,” I tease.

  “Pour me over pancakes,” he says. “I won’t lose her for anything.”

  I’m startled by the words. I won’t lose her for anything. Those are some strong emotions, and I instantly think of Sadie. It isn’t the same thing as Giant loving a lady, but a reminder I don’t want to lose Sadie. I just found her. This makes me think of Roxanne. We aren’t parents in the conventional means, but Sadie needs both of us, and so far, Roxie’s plans for visits are working out, which means I can’t lose Roxanne either.

  “Wow,” I mutter in response. Giant winks at me and picks up his phone.

  “Hey, Cricket…” He’s walking away before I can make a comment about her name sounding like an insect.

  + + +

  On the Thursday before Oktoberfest, I don’t make it to see Sadie. It isn’t that I forgot, but I forgot. I was so tied up in last-minute arrangements with the tent service, the rentals, the temporary bars, and just everything else that before I knew it, it was almost eleven.

  Shit.

  Sadie doesn’t answer me when I send a text, and I assume it’s because she’s in bed. But she’s also a teenager, and sometimes they stay up late. I don’t typically contact Roxie, preferring to keep all communication with Sadie. Confirming dinners. Assuring her I look forward to our time together. Tonight, I slipped up, so I call Roxanne, whose number I have for emergency purposes.

  “I fucked up,” I say immediately. It’s something my father once said works best with women. Admit your mistake before they can call you out on anything, and you’re forgiven.

  “You didn’t even call her, William.”

  Okay, unless you are Roxanne McAllister, and then the stick up your ass chokes you.

  “It got late. I was working.”

  Her silence tells me that’s not a good enough excuse except it’s the truth.

  “Who was she?” The bitterness in Roxie’s tone could be construed for jealousy, if there was someone to be jealous of. Instead, I’m pissed at the accusation.

  “She’s a full-body mistress. Frothy and refreshing as she glides down my throat.”

  “You pig,” she hisses.

  “Yeah, well, oink, oink because I’m telling the truth. Oktoberfest is this weekend, which you know, and I’m working on all the last-minute details. It’s been hard enough since our band cancelled a week ago but thank God we have a replacement. But then there’s the tent company and the—” I abruptly stop. Why am I telling her all these things? “Never mind.”

  “What do you mean never mind? What else do you need to do for your party?”

  Thankfully, Roxie dropped her permit request shortly after the paternity test. I’m surprised she’s asked about my party, but find I want to talk, maybe vent a little bit about my frustration. This will be one of our biggest years yet, and I just want it all to be perfect. Historically, our financial statements support this is more than a party but profitable for us, and I tell Roxanne all of this for some reason.

  “I’m always trying to prove to my dad how important BRMP is to me, but also how I’m not a total fuckup.”

  “Just a little one, occasionally.” She laughs as she teases.

  “Nothing little about me,” I proudly state, then realize it might sound a bit wrong. Roxanne purrs through the phone, and fuck, if that’s not a turn-on.

  “Is she really mad at me?” I let out a deep exhale as I swipe a hand down my face. I’m lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling and considering how quiet my place is. I like hanging out at Roxie’s although it’s small for three people.

  “Yeah.” Roxie pauses a moment as if contemplating something. “Deep down, I think she’s scared you don’t want her. I mean, you haven’t introduced her to your family and without that comes some uncertainty.”

  “What does she want to know? What can I do to make her understand I do want her?” Because the truth is, I want to get to know my daughter. I want to be a decent dad. Maybe better than I feel my father treated me. But a part of me feels like my questions go deeper than Sadie. What does Roxie want from me? What can I do to make her see that I don’t want to break up our little party of three? I like our threesome, which is not something I thought I’d ever say about a woman who drives me crazy and a daughter I don’t know. I want Roxanne to like me.

  “You’re trying, and I think that’s the most important thing. Just don’t give up on her no matter how tough she gets, okay? You’re bound to make mistakes. I make mistakes all the time like thinking spaghetti was a favorite of hers until she finally told me she doesn’t like it that much.”

  I chuckle. “Can I tell you a secret? I don’t like it either.”

  “Then why did you eat it when you came for dinner that first night?” Laughter fills her voice.

  “I wanted to impress both of you.” I hear Roxie gasp—crap—so I try to cover my tracks. “I didn’t want to be rude.”

  “You don’t need to impress me, William.” Her tone softens my name. It’s not so edgy and condescending, and I swallow before I admit, “I want you to stop thinking I’m a manslut.”

  Roxie laughs again, and my stomach flips a little. It’s a nice sound from her.

  “I don’t think you’re a manslut.”

  “You do.” I inhale. Exhale. “And I don’t like it because it’s not true. I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t me. Not like that, not outside against the wall of my building. Give me a little credit, Roxanne. Please.”

  I hate the whine to my voice, the plea. I don’t care what others think, but for some reason, I don’t want Roxie thinking these things of me, especially as I’m trying to build something with Sadie. Silence fills the line for a second.

  “You’re doing a good job, Billy. With Sadie.” The use of my name in a softer and more tender tone widens my eyes in surprise, and then I smile. It’s a start.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t show up or even call her.”

  “It’s okay. Well, not really, but I understand. She will, too.”

  “I sent her a text, but she didn’t answer me.”

  “She’s probably reading.” Roxanne chuckles, and I like the sound too much. Strangely, I feel so much better now that I’ve spoken with her, unleashed my frustration with the fest, fears about my father, and even my irritation at her opinion of me.

  I just want Roxanne to accept me for who I am and not who she thinks I am.

  And I want my father to accept me as a successful son.

  It makes me think of Sadie, but she has nothing to prove to me. I already accept her as mine.

  “Yeah. Lots of words,” I joke. Silence falls between us again, and I realize I could just lie here listening to Roxie breathe, which is weird and creepy but so comforting. I miss a woman in my bed for more than a few hours.

  “Billy,” she whispers.

  “Huh?” I moan, drifting into a heaviness of relaxation.

  “Time for sleep.” I imagine her calling me honey or baby like she calls Sadie, and I lazily smile to myself.

  “Okay,” I mutter. “And Roxie? Thanks for listening to me tonight.”

  “Anytime, Billy,” she says, and I’m certain she’s for
gotten who she’s speaking to. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  13

  Oktoberfest

  [Roxanne]

  I almost hate to give Billy credit, but he knows how to throw an event, and this is a huge party.

  Third Avenue is covered by a massive tent that I’m not sure is legal to place on a side street, but when your brother is the mayor, I suppose you get away with these things. It still stings that I moved my permit request to another date but after seeing this setup, I couldn’t have competed. I’m hosting my own small-scale sales event during the following week leading up to Halloween and emphasizing the boo part of Booktober.

  The fest is in full party mode with beer flowing and music thumping, and for the first time, I might enjoy myself being here if for no other reason than to watch Billy Harrington work his butt off. And unfortunately for me, I find my eyes wandering too often to his backside, which is snug in tight-fitting jeans. I hate that I’m attracted to him when I shouldn’t be. He’s barking orders and laughing uncontrollably, and his entire demeanor says, I like to have a good time. I wish I could be that easygoing, but I’m a little self-conscious as I mingle among community members who remember me as a teenager more than a businesswoman. I make small talk with many customers I recognize but excuse myself when I can and eventually find myself hanging near Grace.

  As far as people go, I’d consider Grace one of my best friends in this town, even if she isn’t from here originally. Her husband brought her to Blue Ridge on a visit, and she claims she fell in love with the place. When he died, she decided it would be the best place to raise five unruly boys without a father. She’s counting on the saying it takes a village or, in her case, a ridge to raise her clan to good men. Grace and I don’t have to chatter, so we remain near one another, smiling at townspeople we recognize and soaking up the atmosphere. Grace is simply happy to be among adults for a few hours.

  A playlist of country hits played by a disc jockey, but rumor has it from Billy the musical entertainment will be a real treat. Unfortunately, Billy hasn’t paid me much attention this evening other than a hand wave over a sea of people. A strange sensation tells me he doesn’t want people to realize we share a connection since he still hasn’t told anyone about Sadie, but I dismiss those thoughts, deciding he’s just busy tonight. Clyde’s the one who offered Grace and me our first beers. Somehow, we make our way to the back section of the tent and linger near the bar, where Giant Harrington pushes his way through the crowd with a girl by his side. I don’t personally know Giant as I’m almost ten years younger than him, but everyone knows who he is, and he’s another devastatingly handsome sight for the eyes, if you like men large and lumbersexual, which I do.

  “This is Letty,” he shouts to his bartending brother who immediately offers her a smile and wipes his hands on a rag before coming to our end of the bar. Billy reaches out for the woman who has sleek dark hair with a tall stature and an amazing body. I hate that I notice her physique, but Billy’s embracing her and holding on a little longer than necessary. He mutters something to her that causes Giant to glare at him. When Billy pulls back, he claps his hands good naturedly and grins at his brother.

  “I see how it is,” he says. Letty laughs, and Billy’s smile deepens. “What’s your flavor, honey? I’ll let you taste anything you like.”

  I hate the innuendo in Billy’s voice, although it isn’t as if I don’t know he’s a huge flirt. There’s just something about witnessing it, especially after all the time we’ve spent together lately.

  “William Forrest Harrington,” Giant bellows in a warning only an older sibling can give.

  Letty looks back and forth between the two men for a second. “I don’t understand that one.”

  “What do you mean, love?” Billy questions, and with the use of the endearment, the conversation has my full attention even though I’m aware I’m eavesdropping.

  “Roald Dahl,” Letty explains, and Billy’s eyes shoot to his brother.

  “You told her the family secret?” Billy’s taken aback, and then he mischievously grins again. “She really must be special.”

  It takes me a moment to realize what they are discussing, and I can’t help but interject.

  “Roald Dahl?” I question, looking at Billy with a tweaked eyebrow before glancing over at Letty. “Billy is the name of a character in a short story called The Minpins by Roald Dahl. It’s a cautionary tale about not going into the woods.” I pause for a moment, wondering what the connection is exactly between Roald Dahl and his name—what’s the family secret? Then I make my own connection. William Forrest. “Seems appropriate.”

  Letty covers her lips with two fingers as if biting back a giggle. “Oh my,” she says under her breath, and Giant tugs her to him, but her eyes remain fixed on me.

  “What would you know about playing in the woods?” Billy mocks me, his voice sharp and not as playful as it’s been with Letty or as easy as it’s become with me over the past few weeks.

  “More than you’d know about reading a book,” I snap, instantly on edge again with this man. My response comes from his name connected to a fictional character, but then what I’ve implied hits me. Billy struggles with reading, and my retort suddenly feels like a low blow. Then again, Billy’s being awful standoffish…and just awful.

  “Oh, good one,” Billy mocks, covering his heart with both hands. “Ouch, I’m hurt that I don’t read.”

  “It’s better than being anywhere near your wood,” I bark, narrowing my eyes at him. If I had a momentary lapse of judgment, giving him some credit for working hard and playing harder or looking fine in those snug jeans, I take it all back. He’s an ass.

  “Go away,” he stammers, shooing me to scurry along like a dismissed creature within those fictional woods, and I admit it hurts.

  “With pleasure,” I state, although the last thing I want to do is walk away because he’s shooed me off. I’m upset and want to fight back but decide against it. I turn to Letty instead, and offer, “If you need a good book, come visit me.”

  “And if she needs a good wood, she can come to me,” Billy adds, puffing up his chest as he bellows his comeback. Grace gasps beside me while Giant glares at his brother, and I remember we have witnesses to his harsh tone, his dismissal, and his innuendos. I turn and stalk away from the bar with Grace following me.

  “He doesn’t mean it,” she whispers, but I’m too upset to believe her.

  “He doesn’t matter,” I lie because the truth is, Billy’s behavior sometimes does hurt, and I’m exceptionally susceptible to his lashing after all the time we’ve spent together lately because of Sadie.

  Behave, for Sadie.

  Within fifteen minutes of the altercation with Billy, he’s introducing a band on the stage, and I’m starstruck. Lawson Colt of Colt45 was one of my teenage crushes. He eventually moved on to join his sister and form the band Kit Carrigan and the Chrome Teardrops. I forget all about Billy as Grace and I squeeze our way to the front of the crowd near the stage and cheer like teenagers when Lawson—now known as Tommy Carrigan—breaks into song. “Wait for Me” was one of those anthem songs that made me long for love as a pre-pubescent teen. As the haunting words flow over me in the rich, older voice of a man with chrome and midnight scruff and hair curling over his ears, I feel the same way I did some thirty years ago. Whoever I’m supposed to be waiting for, I hope he’s still waiting for me. Then I shake the thought and laugh aloud to myself because I’m no longer waiting on him, whoever he was. I made my own way in life between Sadie and the bookstore. I’m comfortable where I am, even if occasionally lonely.

  Before I know it, Clyde has brought Grace and me another beer. “Only take drinks from me tonight,” he yells over the roar of the crowd singing along with Tommy and the band. Denton Chance is with him, and I recall the story of him leaving this town for fame and fortune. He definitely achieved it. He’s just as mesmerizing strumming away on his guitar and singing backup to Lawson with his mod
el good looks and edgier features. The final member of the band is Hank Paige, a slightly larger man with no loss of sexy silver on him like his band friends, and he’s just as enthusiastically playing his drum kit.

  Grace lifts her cup and takes a hardy drink of the amber liquid with a thick foam at the rim. I sip my second beer and realize the taste is growing on me. The mixture of spices and cloves gives this one a real autumn flavor, like fall in a plastic cup. I should serve this during the Booktober Sale the night we do first chapter readings until I realize why I like the flavor. It tastes like Billy smells.

  I take another sip of the sharp flavor and smile as the band breaks into another song. Glancing over my shoulder, I curse myself for searching the rear of the tent where Billy is hoisting his sister up on the bar top, and then I follow her line of vision back to the stage. I vaguely remember some story of how Mati Harrington had been best friends with Denton Chance back in high school, but I was a few years younger than them and can’t recall the details.

  Speaking of high school, Cora Conrad makes her way next to me, and I bristle from her nearness. Cora’s a blonde bombshell even as she pushes forty, but she’s changed a bit over the last year since her divorce. Seems divorce becomes her because there’s a glow about her tonight, but I don’t let the luminescence fool me. Cora and I were in the same grade, and she made my high school years hell. Her family has status equal to the Harringtons and the Chances in Blue Ridge, but she stood out from the offspring of those other families as a single child who was just plain mean.

  “My how you’ve changed,” she addressed me almost three years ago when I opened the store, blatantly eyeing me up and down, noting the weight loss. Only she didn’t say what people typically ask: Have you lost weight? No, Corabelle knew outright I had.

  “That Tommy Carrigan was a young girl’s wet dream back in the day,” Cora states, turning to peer at me, her eyes rolling down my body once again. “We never could have obtained boys like him as teens, though, could we?”