Long Shot

by D. Jackson Leigh

Tory put a hand on Leah’s arm to stop her before they went inside. “People will talk, you know,” she said seriously.

  Leah’s brow furrowed. “Talk?”

  “About the age difference. Your grandmother is forty years older than I am.”

  Leah laughed. “I’ll brace the family for the scandal.”

  Tory smiled at the sound of Leah’s laugh. It was soft and feathery, like silk against her skin.

  *

  Gram was sitting in a rocking chair in the living room, a faraway look in her eyes and the pie apparently forgotten.

  “Gram, I thought you wanted to have some pie,” Leah said.

  “Oh, I’m too tired to bake anything right now. We’ll do it later.”

  “Gram…” Leah stopped midsentence. Gram had closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Leah motioned Tory to follow her into the kitchen. “Would you still like some?”

  Tory looked at her watch. She had been here longer than she realized. “I really should go. I have another call that I’m already late for.”

  Leah looked as if she wanted to say something, but then wrapped one pie in foil and handed it to Tory. “Here. You can at least take one with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It is.” Tory fingered the foil covering and set the tin on the kitchen counter. She needed to go, but found herself searching for something to prolong the visit. “I heard that we have a mutual friend.”

  “We do? Who’s that?”

  “Jessica Black.”

  Leah brightened. “You know Jess? I haven’t seen her since we were twelve years old. I thought she lived in Atlanta.”

  “She lives here now. She’s managing the Parker farm.”

  “What happened to Kate Parker?”

  “The floozy ran off with Jessica’s mother to Greece and other parts of the world.”

  Leah laughed with that melodic lilt that made Tory warm in places she didn’t need to think about while she was working.

  “They’re having a cookout next weekend. Jess told me to invite you.”

  “They?”

  “Jessica and her partner, Skyler.”

  “Skyler is female?”

  “Is that a problem?” Had she misunderstood when she thought Leah was flirting?

  “Not at all. I guess Jess and I had more in common than horses. We were both going to grow up to like girls.”

  “Would you like to go?”

  “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “I…well, yes. Would you like to go with me to their cookout?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Tory was stunned. She thought they were getting along really well. She had never been ditched so bluntly. “Okay. No problem,” she said in an overly casual tone.

  Leah followed as Tory returned to her truck. When she climbed in and started the engine, Leah handed her the foil-covered pie through the open window.

  “You forgot your pie.”

  Tory set it on the seat and put the truck in gear, but kept her foot on the brake because Leah was still propped against the door.

  “Look, I’m only here long enough to find a suitable place that can take care of Gram. I don’t have time to date, even if it’s just a roll in the sheets. And the last thing I want to do is get involved with anyone.”

  Tory felt the familiar cold sting of rejection. She’d heard many versions of it’s-me-not-you. She was getting tired of being nice about it.

  “I was just inviting you to a freakin’ afternoon cookout, not asking you to move in with me. I thought you might need a break from your grandmother. And, for your information, I don’t do ‘just a roll in the sheets.’”

  “I can’t leave Gram to go anywhere,” Leah snapped back.

  “Like I said, it’s no problem. Call me if the pony gets worse.”

  Leah stepped back and Tory immediately pulled away and headed down the drive.

  Chapter Six

  Tory adjusted her rearview mirror, and the image reflected back at her showed what some people called classic, handsome features. But Tory saw something different. She saw a woman who apparently never quite measured up.

  She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to spend more time with Leah, until she turned her down. Christ, it wasn’t like they had a relationship and Leah dumped her. But the sick feeling in her stomach felt the same.

  That was a bit of an overreaction, wasn’t it? Maybe she was PMSing. No. Rejection felt the same way no matter how involved she was, like when she found out she wasn’t enough for Jessica or any of the other girls who chose Skyler over her.

  The real gut punch was that she couldn’t blame Skyler this time. The too-cute Leah Montgomery had chosen to sit at home rather than spend time with Tory.

  Tory looked at the pie on the seat next to her. She wanted to roll down the window and toss it out on the ground in a fit of anger. Oh, yeah. That would be an incredibly satisfying, but childish thing to do. Being the reasonable adult she had always been, Tory tucked away her resentment and left the pie there. With a loud sigh, she turned her truck down the driveway of her next appointment and forced her thoughts to her date that evening with a very pretty artist.

  *

  Two appointments later, Tory had to finally admit that the visit to the Montgomery farm had wrecked her carefully scheduled day so badly she wouldn’t have time to take Bridgette to dinner before the nine p.m. movie. She dialed Bridgette’s number, bracing herself for the second letdown of the day.

  “Hi, it’s Tory.”

  “Hey, how’s your day going?”

  “Not that great. An emergency put me way behind schedule, so I don’t think I’ll be able to pick you up on time. I still have another call before I can change and come by there.”

  “We could do it another time if you want.” Bridgette sounded truly disappointed.

  “No. I was looking forward to some downtime and good company. But it’s almost six now and the appointment’s on the other side of town.”

  After a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, Bridgette asked, “Where are you now?”

  “Uh, about five minutes from your house, but I’m headed in the opposite direction.”

  “We could save time if you turn around and pick me up now. I could go with you on your last call. Then we can go directly to the movie.” Bridgette’s tone made it clear this was only a suggestion. “If that’s okay with you,” she added hastily.

  “That’s a great idea, if you don’t mind me smelling like horses.”

  Bridgette laughed. “I love the smell of horses. But you have to promise not to make me hold icky things for you.”

  “Icky things? Oh, you mean like the artificial vagina I had yesterday. No icky things, I promise. I just have to check on a mare and her new foal.”

  “Wonderful! I love babies.”

  Bridgette was easy to please.

  “I’m turning around, then. See you in a few minutes.”

  *

  “I’m really, really sorry.”

  Tory’s luck with women today was getting worse. Disaster had already struck during the first hour of their date.

  “Stop it,” Bridgette said. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have asked before I tried to help.” She wrinkled her nose at her own pungent odor. “You should see me when I paint. I’m usually covered from head to toe. But I have to admit, paint doesn’t smell like this.”

  The foal at the Bartlett Farm seemed healthy enough, but the mare was still having a discharge that indicated a uterine infection. The baby had been a pest, butting Tory and being too curious about her equipment as she worked to flush out the mare’s uterus.

  So Bridgette had decided to be helpful and hold the foal back while Tory ministered to the mother. It seemed like a good idea until the baby let out a bleating cry and the protective mother wheeled around, knocking Bridgette and the foal into a large pile of warm manure.


  Normally, horse manure was dry and not too nasty. But with the mare’s health off a bit, it was softer and more fragrant than usual. The foal struggled to regain its footing, rolling Bridgette—dressed in a white, gauzy bohemian outfit—around in the droppings even more.

  Back in the truck, Bridgette sat forward so the seat didn’t press the reeking shirt against her skin. Despite her brave front, she looked like she would be sick at any minute.

  “I know you want to get out of those clothes. My house is less than a mile from here. You could shower there and borrow something clean from me.”

  Bridgette looked relieved. “That would be great, if you don’t mind.”

  *

  Tory showed Bridgette to the guest bathroom and handed her some clean towels.

  “There’s a brush in the shower to scrub your back,” she instructed. “My clothes will probably be a little big on you, but not too bad.”

  Bridgette put her hand on the door sill and ran her eyes over Tory’s physique. “They’ll need to be a little big to make up for the differences in our bodies.” She gestured to her hips. “I’m wide where you’re narrow.” She gestured toward Tory’s chest. “And you’re small where I’m not.” Bridgette didn’t bother to close the door before she began to strip.

  Tory blushed and turned to stare down the hallway, anywhere to keep her eyes off the now-naked Bridgette.

  “My wardrobe is pretty limited. Jeans or sweats?” She was surprised her voice sounded so calm.

  “Jeans.”

  “Polo or button-up?”

  “Button-up, I think. Do you have a tank top I could wear under it since I’ll be braless?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a drawer full.”

  Bridgette stepped into the shower and stuck her head out. “You’re cute when you blush.”

  Tory ducked her head as she felt her cheeks redden even more. “I’ll put your dirty clothes in the wash,” she muttered, grabbing the soiled items and escaping down the hall.

  They hadn’t even kissed yet. Tory was kind of old-fashioned about courting. Not that it had won her a lot of women. Maybe that was her problem. Maybe she needed to loosen up a little. Bridgette obviously had a more casual attitude about getting up close and personal.

  She started the washer and began to place the clothes inside. She groaned and stared at the lace thong panties in her hand before she changed the washer’s hot setting to cold.

  *

  Tory was relieved when Bridgette emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, apparently getting the message that she was moving a little fast. If they rushed, they would miss only the first fifteen minutes of the movie, but they both agreed they didn’t want to have to guess what happened at the beginning. So Tory grabbed a sweet blush wine from among her stock and they headed out.

  “Do you like Thai food?”

  “Yes. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I was thinking we could get some takeout and find a picnic spot.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  Tory had a hilltop picnic table in mind, one she often used for a lunch spot and some downtime. But when they rode past the community ball fields, blazing with light and swarming with softball players, Bridgette brightened.

  “You like softball?” Tory was surprised. She had pictured Bridgette as more of a community-theater kind of person.

  “I love softball. Fast pitch, that is.”

  “Do you play?”

  “I pitched in college.” Bridgette laughed. “What? You think an artist can’t be a jock, too? Do you play?”

  “Softball? No, I prefer my knitting circle.” This brought a new round of laughter from Bridgette. “What? You think a veterinarian can’t knit?”

  Bridgette was wiping a tear from her face, she was laughing so hard at the idea of Tory sitting in a circle with a bunch of women sharing knitting patterns.

  “Okay. Maybe I don’t knit. I played softball before I graduated and opened my practice. Unfortunately, summer is my busy season, so I had to choose between softball and work. I play community basketball in the winter when my workload lightens up.”

  Bridgette regained her composure, her eyes following the players on the closest field. “Do you know anybody on the teams out there?”

  “I know most of them. How about we pick up the food and come back here? I’ll introduce you around.”

  “That’d be wonderful!”

  *

  Tory spread a blanket in the grass next to the dugout where her old team was playing. It was a close game and they cheered loudly for Tory’s friends. Afterward, most of the team joined them to watch the next game. Bridgette chatted with the other women, easily making friends and securing an invitation to join their next practice. They needed a new pitcher. The current starter was pregnant and her partner was worried about her getting hit by a line drive while on the mound.

  When the last game ended, they said their good-byes and returned to Cheryl and Carl’s farm. Tory hesitated. She had this strange suspicion that Cheryl was peeking out from behind the curtains to watch her walk Bridgette to the door. Bridgette seemed to have the same thought, because she put a hand on Tory’s arm to stop her from getting out of the truck.

  “Even though things started out a little bumpy, I had a great time tonight. The picnic and meeting your friends was much better than dinner in a restaurant and a movie.” Bridgette brushed her lips against Tory’s. “I’d like to see you again.”

  “Actually, I was planning to ask if you’d like to go to a cookout with me Saturday. A lot of the people you met tonight will be there.”

  “I’d love to. This week is going to be really busy. I have to prepare for classes to start soon and find an apartment or house. But I’ll definitely be free by the weekend.”

  “Great. I’ll call or e-mail the details.” Warmed by the bottle of wine they had shared, Tory kissed Bridgette with more purpose. When her tongue brushed against the warm lips, Bridgette opened them willingly. Tory was startled by the sudden thought of what it would be like to kiss Leah, and she pulled back.

  “Good night,” Bridgette said, not noticing Tory’s discomfort. She gave a small wave before disappearing inside the house.

  Tory pressed her hand to her throbbing crotch. What in the world had made her think of Leah while she was kissing Bridgette?

  Leah Montgomery and Bridgette LeRoy were like day and night. A hot pepper and a cool drink. A Janis Joplin song and a piano concerto. A bloodred rose and a lavender orchid.

  She sighed. She was just exhausted and horny. Once she got home, slipped under the covers naked, and took care of the ache between her legs, she would get a good night’s sleep. That should fix everything.

  Chapter Seven

  Leah’s job search was going nowhere, so she decided to turn her attention to locating a facility where Gram would be safe and happy. Checking the Internet, she found more assisted-care and extended-care facilities in the area than she would have guessed, given the size of the town. So she called ahead and made an appointment at one of them. Administrators at two others put her off until the next week, but she planned to drive past and see what they looked like from the outside.

  She rose early and phoned Gram’s oldest friend, Margaret, to ask if she could come sit with her while she was out. Margaret readily agreed.

  When she pulled up to Kentwood Extended Care, it reminded her of a one-story elementary school built in the 1970s. The glass double doors opened automatically in deference to wheelchairs, and she found herself at a pleasant enough reception area that resembled a formal living room.

  The administrator wasn’t more than an inch or two taller than Leah’s five-five height. Despite his short stature and balding head, he dressed and moved with the confidence of a man who had once been fairly handsome.

  He thrust his hand forward. “Hello. I’m Ralph Brown. Welcome to Kentwood.”

  Leah returned his firm handshake. “Leah Montgomery,” she replied.

  “Well, Ms. Montgomery, I un
derstand you are considering Kentwood for your grandmother?”

  “I’m visiting several places in the area.”

  “Good. You should look around. I’m confident you’ll find Kentwood stacks up well against the rest. We try to provide a homey and safe atmosphere for our residents.”

  Mr. Brown led her through cheerful halls lined with bulletin boards announcing appointment times for hair styling, manicures, massages, tai chi classes, and bingo games. Photos of happy residents at birthday parties and holiday celebrations were scattered among the postings. He introduced her to a few who were glad to show Leah their rooms, which held their own furnishings from home.

  “We try hard not to feel like an institution. Many of our residents choose to live here because they enjoy the social opportunities and are simply weary of taking care of their own daily needs such as housecleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, and meal preparation. We also have a full medical staff to handle the usual ailments that go along with aging—arthritis, respiratory ailments, and the like,” Mr. Brown explained. “Does your grandmother have any special needs?”

  Leah had noticed that none of the exterior doors had locks, so the residents could come and go if they wished. Some residents even had their own cars in the parking lot.

  “My grandmother is physically healthy, but suffers from advancing dementia,” Leah explained.

  Mr. Brown stopped their stroll toward the dining room and rubbed his chin. “I see. Well, we have special facilities for Alzheimer’s and dementia patients. They require additional safety precautions.”

  “Yes, I would think so. I don’t want my grandmother wandering off,” Leah said firmly. “I’d like to see your accommodations for those patients.”

  Mr. Brown seemed reluctant but led Leah past the comfortable media room and the elegant dining room with white linen tablecloths. They turned a corner and stopped at some solid double doors, where Mr. Brown punched a code into an electronic pad on the wall, and the doors opened.