With that she held the mic out to her side, raised it shoulder level, dropped it to the ground like she’d seen so many rappers do, and marched off the stage.
And she didn’t trip once.
*****
Billy Turlock picked up the Chronicle at the 7-Eleven, along with a gallon of milk. While he waited in line, he opened up the sports section.
Pitcher or Winemaker?
Although the two wouldn’t appear to have a thing in common, Billy Turlock has been spotted in his hometown of Starlight Hill in Napa Valley. The word is he’s scouting a location to start a vineyard. The pitcher retired from the Oakland Sliders after a year of injuries and surgeries on his nearly shredded shoulder. But the fact is even though he’s not even thirty, the former darling of baseball had outlived his usefulness on the mound. So if wine making is in his future, we hope he can press grapes better than he can pitch a no-hitter. The last time he pitched a no-hitter…
Cockroaches. Vile filth. Billy set down the newspaper and grabbed a pack of beef jerky instead.
“No paper?” The checker said, ringing up the milk without even looking at Billy.
“I’ll find something else to line my bird cage,” he grunted.
That’s when the man glanced up. “Holy shit, Billy Turlock. In my store. Crap, hold up dude. Would you take a picture with me? Hey, Dad. Get out here, would you? Look at this.”
Damn, that was nice. He should stop reading the sports section, like his older brother Wallace suggested. People were so much better. Before long some of the customers had congregated to ask for autographs and a photo or two. Or three. Of course Billy posed for pictures but he insisted on paying for the purchases, even if the owner wanted to give them to him on the house. He might not have a million dollar contract to look forward to this year, or any other year again for that matter, but he wasn’t exactly in the poor house.
He wouldn’t be playing baseball anymore, but he’d find something to do with the rest of his life. He was almost sure of it.
Of course, this winemaking situation was a bit tenuous at best. But who was Billy to deny his grandfather’s dream? Hadn’t Pop been at every game since Little League? It was certainly time to come back to his hometown and reward their support by sinking some money into the economy. Why not a vineyard?
Some of the customers followed him outside. “Is it true you’re moving back?”
“I am back, and it’s good to be home again.” Billy threw the gallon of milk in the passenger seat of his convertible.
“You opening a sports bar?” One of the men asked.
“Not exactly, but you’re in the ball park.” Billy said, opening the door. Everyone got a kick out of that double entendre. “A vineyard.”
“Another vineyard?” Billy heard someone say. “Like we need more of those.”
“How’s that like a sports bar?” Someone else muttered.
Billy didn’t know the answer to that question, so he didn’t even try. He hopped in his car and ripped open the bag of jerky. Eventually everyone wandered back in the store or went about their business, waving goodbye.
Vineyards.
He didn’t know the first thing about them, other than the fact he’d grown up in Starlight Hill. But Pop said a private label vineyard was the way to go. A family business. Even if Billy’s mother’s side of the family was proudly of Scottish descent, filled with men that had likely never even come close to the grape, Pop said he knew what he was doing. Billy believed him, even if he realized he’d probably be seeing a lot more articles like the one in the paper today. Retired pitchers were supposed to open sports bars and fade quietly into the background. Certainly not try to resuscitate an old vineyard.
His cellphone rang, and he could see by the caller ID it was Gigi, his publicist. Checking up on him again since it’d been all of thirty minutes since they’d last spoken. “What now?”
“Just checking up on my favorite ball player.”
“Right. Well, it’s been thirty minutes and no, I haven’t fathered an illegitimate child yet. The minute I do, you’ll be the first to know.” Billy punched her in on the speaker phone, and drove out of the parking lot.
“Don’t make fun of me because I try to protect you from those women.”
Gigi referred to those women as baseball’s version of gold diggers, and by now Billy could recognize them as well. He didn’t need Gigi’s assistance, not that she would believe him. “I’m in my home town. Give my home girls a little credit.”
“Fine, but don’t come crying to me if an old classmate comes to you with an eleven-year-old, claiming she gave birth to your love child,” Gigi said without taking a breath. “I’m kidding. Do come to me when that happens.”
“It’s not going to happen.” His teenage prowess had been greatly exaggerated, and he’d never been the man-whore the media liked to portray. If he had been, he wouldn’t have had time to play baseball. “You should stop worrying. I’m with family now, and they look out for me.”
“Believe me that single fact is why I haven’t come down to scope out the place ahead of time. Besides, I’m still fielding some of these endorsement offers. How do you feel about kitty litter?”
“No.” Was there anything more to say?
“I’m fielding offers, but nothing is quite right yet. I’ll keep looking. What’s wrong with you, anyway? You sound pissy.”
Billy crossed over Merlot Bridge, and felt a grin coming on despite his mood. The prettiest girl he’d ever known had bungee jumped off this bridge back in high school. Memories. “I just took a look at the Chronicle. Mistake.”
“What did it say? I’ll demand a retraction.”
“Never mind.” They were right, much as it hurt. He’d been on a losing streak ever since the last surgery. He only wished he’d quit while he was ahead. But quitting the game had turned out to be harder than he’d imagined. He wasn’t sure who he was without a mitt in his hand, but he was about to find out.
“Whatever they wrote, don’t listen to them. You have a bright future ahead of you.”
“Yeah.” Except that future wouldn’t involve baseball. No more surgeries. Time to retire, the doctor had pronounced. No more options.
“And you be careful with this vineyard venture. I’ve heard the business can be cut-throat.”
“Unlike baseball?” Billy laughed.
“Laugh all you want, but those vineyard owners are probably going to scoff at a retired ballplayer acting like he can be any kind of real competition to them. You’re not even part Italian.”
“Let them scoff. Don’t worry about me.” He was worried enough for all of them. The last thing he wanted right now was a failed business. He couldn’t afford another embarrassment, another failure.
As for competition, maybe it was time the old vineyard growers of Napa got some friendly competition.
A little something he did know about.
Not everyone regarded him as a useless retired pitcher with a shredded shoulder. None of the people he’d run into so far questioned whether he’d ever been worth all the millions he’d earned out over his career. They were loyal baseball fans, like no other.
Damn, it was good to be home.
An excerpt from Until there Was You, book three in the Starlight Hill series, available now:
Chapter 1
Wallace Tucker had never wanted to kill one of his clients before today. Maim them, sure. Hurt them? Okay, after several change orders, it happened to the saintliest of contractors.
But he wasn’t going to be able to kill Genevieve Hannigan. A shame.
“You can’t keep changing your mind.” Surprised he got the words out between his clenched teeth and jaw, he kept going. “First you wanted the mahogany wood floors, then the blonde wood, and now the cherry. Would you make up your mind? Do you even know what you want?”
Genevieve stared back at him with wide blue eyes which had felled greater men than he. Didn’t do a thing to him, fortunately, thanks to years of aversion tr
aining.
“I know exactly what I want. The cherry wood floors. Maybe if you’d shown those to me to begin with, we wouldn’t be behind schedule.” From behind the counter of the little bakery she’d chosen to name All the Tea and China (seriously?) Genevieve looked at him with a straight face.
Please. She couldn’t be serious. “All the choices were available to you, Gen. You’re the one who doesn’t know what she wants.”
She sighed, took a box out from under the counter and started filling it with sugar-raised donuts. “Are we going to have this argument again? Joe said you’d do a good job. You’re supposed to be the best contractor in the area.”
Joe Hannigan, Gen’s big brother. Wallace’s best bud and the only reason he’d agreed to take on such a small renovation project. His company, Pacific Granite Construction, should have been able to take care of a job like this in a few days. They would be done by now, but Genevieve had changed her mind half a dozen times and he’d finally let his crew loose and decided to finish the job himself. Or die trying.
He usually took the entire month of January off, having finally worked his company into a position where he could afford to do so. Any other January, he’d have already retreated to the cabin he’d single handedly built in Miwuk Village. The first snowfall had hit the Sierras last week, and he could picture his fireplace if he closed his eyes. The quiet. The solitude. The peace.
The banging.
“Genevieve, are you going to open or what?” A male customer shouted from outside.
Wallace turned to see a line of customers outside the shop’s door. Another thing. He could have used the fact the delays were affecting her business. Instead, all these fools kept coming. The only difference being that no one lingered, but took their pastries to go.
“Hold your horses, sugar.” Genevieve came around from behind the counter and opened the front door to Ophelia, President of the Chamber of Commerce and self-appointed busybody.
Everyone else filed in after the Queen.
“Hey, Wallace.”
“How’s your brother and Brooke? She knocked up yet?”
“Did he seriously turn down a chance to broadcast for Fox Sports?”
Wallace grunted and chatted with a few of the locals. A casualty of life in the small Napa valley town of Starlight Hill, in addition to being big brother to the town’s local millionaire and retired baseball superstar Billy Turlock.
As the last customer left, Wallace crumpled up the oldest change order in his hands and stood up. “Tell you what. I’m going to put one of my best guys on this.” Jerry was the patron saint of contractors. And Gen needed one.
“No! You said you’d do this. I don’t trust anyone else.” Gen did that thing she and every other woman put on this earth did to torment him— her lips parted slightly.
“I said I would, but you’ve changed your mind one too many times. You need a saint not a contractor, and I’ve got just the man. Don’t worry, you’ll get your cherry wood floors or mahogany or whatever you wind up choosing.”
“But—” Genevieve said just before he shut the door to her shop and stepped outside.
He’d call Jerry, a sixty-year-old man on his crew who took extra work here and there to supplement his retirement. Enough was enough, and there was only so much a grown man could take. Joe would understand. Wallace would pack up tonight, and be on his way to the cabin first thing in the morning. He could almost smell the pine trees, the crisp clean air, and see the smoke curling out of chimneys. He could hear the whistling sound of the wind through the trees.
His phone buzzed. Would he ever get a moment’s peace? Caller ID showed Joe’s number. Had Gen tattled on him already? “Yeah.”
“Hey, bud.” Joe said.
“Look, here’s the thing—” Wallace began but Joe cut him off.
“I need a favor. I got another one of those jobs flying a private plane for a celebrity. I forget his name, some rap singer. Anyway, I need the money so I took it. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Great. So what’s the problem?”
“I heard Gen’s ex-husband is on his way to Starlight Hill. And you and I both know that after their divorce, there’s only one thing he could want.”
Wallace let out a breath. Right. Her ex probably wanted to hurt Genevieve. What else? And Wallace should probably not let that happen.
“The yokel might want to get back together with her. I’ve no idea dude, but I want him to stay the hell away from my sister. You saw how she cried after that disaster. And my Mom will have a fit if they get back together.”
Wallace saw his trip to the mountains fading. He couldn’t hear the wind whistling through the trees any more. All he could hear was the theme from Jaws.
He shut his eyes. “And you want me to look out for her while you’re gone?”
“Exactly. I don’t trust any other guy in town. You know men. They see a damsel in distress and they come arunnin.”
Wallace tried not to snort directly into the phone. Damsel in distress his ass. “I was going to the cabin tomorrow morning—”
“You’re such a bud. You’d put that off for me, man. Thanks. I owe you.”
These Hannigans heard what they wanted to hear. “Uh-huh. Yeah.”
“One more thing. Don’t get all shocked when you see her ex. I know it’s kind of weird, but staring won’t help anything.”
“Staring? Why would I stare?” Granted, he’d never met Allen Shebowski because Genevieve had met him on a cruise last summer. Some kind of whirlwind romance and Gen had moved to Austin for about two minutes.
“Okay, gotta go. See you in a couple of weeks!” Joe hung up.
“Wait— a couple of weeks?” Wallace stared at his phone. Dammit. He reached his pick-up truck, and kicked the tire. It didn’t help much with his frustration level.
“Wallace, I’m so, so sorry.” From behind him, the teeny tiny voice of his tormentor spoke. Deceptively sweet and charming.
“You better be.” He turned and locked eyes with Genevieve.
She was wringing her hands together, and for one minute reminded him of the teenager he’d first met at Joe’s house. The one that used to follow him around like a lost puppy dog. She’d had a raging crush on him back then, of course he knew. But thank goodness that was all in the past. She pretty much hated him now, sort of like a sister might ‘hate’ her big brother.
Although he was pretty sure that a brother wouldn’t notice the perfect shape of Gen’s mouth. The way she bit her lower lip when she was about to beg. Yeah, he liked this Genevieve. And all right, maybe he would go to hell for this one but he let her beg even though Joe had already shanghaied him into staying.
“I won’t change my mind again. I pinky-promise.” She held out her slim pinky.
Fine. He wrapped his own around it. “Let’s give this one more shot.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean you’ll stay? You won’t send someone else?”
He tried not to notice her doe-eyed look. “I’ll do it. I said I would.”
In the next second he had his arms full of Genevieve as she jumped up and grabbed him in a hug. “Thank you! Oh, you won’t regret it. I promise you! I’m going to be the best customer you ever had.”
He resisted pushing her away when she lingered in his arms. Genevieve was gifted with an ability to make a guy feel like a hero by simply opening the door for her. He was not as immune to her charms as he wanted to be. He was flesh and blood, a woman-loving man to the nth degree.
But he wasn’t supposed to want to bang Genevieve.
*****
At five o’clock, Genevieve locked up her bakery and made the short drive home to Sweet U Lane.
Whew. That was a close one.
She might have pushed her luck a little too far with Wallace today when she’d changed back to the cherry wood floors. He’d actually forgotten about the fact that her first choice had been cherry. But then she’d changed twice before winding up right back where she started. Her stalling tactics h
ad stopped working, but she couldn’t allow anyone else to do her bakery’s renovation.
No one else was Wallace Turlock. She’d already made that mistake once before, and wouldn’t do it again.
Besides, was it so wrong of her to want to keep him from going up to that lonely cabin where he retreated every January? No matter what anyone else believed about Wallace, she knew he wasn’t the loner type, destined to be a confirmed bachelor all his life.
And the remodeling work was good for him. Invigorating. She saw how much he enjoyed working with his hands, the tool belt hanging low on his hips. A hammer in his hand, sometimes a nail between his teeth. Those muscles in his forearms and in his back, the ones she could see bunching up beneath the surface of his work shirt.
And she sure enjoyed watching him. She sighed a little as she pulled into her carport. The renovation would be done soon, and she’d have run out of excuses to keep him around.
Too bad he’d never notice her in a million years. She’d always be Joe Hannigan’s little sister, even if she could rock Wallace’s world. She’d love just one chance to prove it.
Before going home, Genevieve knocked on her next-door neighbor’s door. The widow Mrs. Paulsen was one of the original homeowners in the pre-WWII housing development now christened Sweet U Lane. On account of how many of the homes were rentals and many of them occupied by college kids.
Mrs. Paulsen loved Genevieve’s pastries and because she didn’t get out much anymore, Genevieve always brought her the day’s leftovers.
“Hi Mrs. Paulsen,” Genevieve said when the widow opened the front door. It took a while, as she had three deadbolts, because of the rabble rousers she’d said. In other words, young people.
“Oh sweetheart! Aren’t you pretty. And what’s that you got there for me?” She reached out for the box.
“A little bit of everything. Enjoy.” Genevieve gave a quick wave and turned to leave.
“Wait, honey. There’s a package for you.” She reached behind her and handed Genevieve a medium sized box.
“For me? What on earth? I wasn’t expecting anything.” She usually had her packages delivered to the store.
Anywhere with You (Starlight Hill Series) Page 9
