Baseball and Other Lessons (Devil's Ranch Book 2)

by Aubrey Gross

  Matt dug it out and handed it to her, amused and way too curious about what was in the box. Jenn dropped to her knees before she sliced through the packing tape, pulled the edges of the box and then wadded up newspapers up and out. She tossed the paper over her head, sat back and groaned.

  “Seriously, Mom?”

  Matt was beyond curious as Jenn began pulling items from the box. First was a camouflage military-grade backpack followed by a gallon-sized container labeled “Heirloom Seeds.”

  “Jesus, Mom. Really?” Jenn muttered.

  Matt raised his eyebrows but remained silent. This was utterly fascinating.

  She reached back into the box and pulled out two ammo cans. Matt squinted and could make out .223 written on one and 9mm written on the other.

  Well, that explained what had weighed so much, although none of this was stacking up against the person he thought Jenn was.

  Everyone has secrets, Roberts.

  His attention was drawn back to Jenn as she pulled another item out of the box and made what could only be described as a low, keening sound like that of a cat about to attack. “You have got to be shitting me.”

  He was totally enthralled as Jenn lifted up what could only be a gas mask.

  “Wait a second. Are you a closet prepper?”

  Jenn’s head snapped around towards him and she shot him a panicked glare. “Mom, I’ve gotta go now that you’ve ruined my life. Love you, bye.”

  She ended the call and tossed her phone onto the couch, then dropped her head to her knees.

  Matt wanted to laugh—really, the urge was quite overwhelming—but he had a feeling that laughing right now would go over like a fart in church. Instead he walked over to Jenn, sat down on the floor beside her and picked up the gas mask.

  “I’ve always wondered what one of these would look like up close and personal. And yup, still a little like an alien.”

  Jenn snorted and muttered into her knees. “I’m going to kill my mom. This shit has got to stop.”

  “So you didn’t have ‘gas mask’ and ‘‘bug out bag’ on your Amazon wish list?”

  “God, no. She just randomly sends me this crap. Yesterday I got four buckets of MREs from her. Two weeks ago it was a homemade Faraday cage, which I had to Google in order to even know what the hell it was used for.”

  “What is it used for?”

  She shook her head. “To protect electronics in case of an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP.”

  “Like in the book One Second After.”

  “Yeah, she’s sent me that one, too.”

  Matt laughed. “I guess I know what you meant when you said your mom was ‘more or less’ retired.”

  Jenn looked up and rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. Long story short, Mom and Dad quit their jobs some time ago, bought some land out near Sanderson, sold their house here and have been building a prepper’s paradise ever since.”

  “And apparently embarrassing you in the process.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know about embarrassing, at least not until today. I’ve managed to hide their lifestyle from most people. Chase and Jo know a little, but Owen happened to see the MRE stash one day and grilled me about it. Until today he was the only person who knew about all of the crazy.”

  He inclined his head towards the backpack. “So what’s in the bag?”

  “I’m not sure I even want to know.”

  “Want me to open it for you?”

  She picked it up and handed it to him. “Sure. You’ve already seen the crazy, might as well let you have fun with it, too.”

  He unzipped the bag and said, “It’s like Christmas or my birthday or something.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Easter?”

  She snorted, leaned over and peered into the bag. “Only if the Easter Bunny was in the habit of leaving you Lifestraws and trauma kits.”

  Matt pulled said Lifestraw and trauma kit out of the bag and set them on the floor. Next was a bundle of paracord, a military-style compass, two rolled elastic bandages, a pink canister of pepper spray, a Bear Grylls multi-tool, a large flashlight that could double as a club, a small sewing kit, a slingshot, a sixty-count bottle of toothpaste tablets, a package of no-rinse bathing wipes, a bottle of no-rinse body wash and some square package with “Urinelle” written on it in a script font.

  “What the hell are these?”

  Jenn took the package from him, flipped it over and back and laughed. “Apparently you missed the lovely illustration right here,” she said as she pointed to something that looked suspiciously like a drawing of a semi-naked woman standing up with a paper party hat in front of her goody bits.

  “Wait. Is this what I think it is?”

  Jenn opened the package and pulled out a triangular-shaped, thick piece of paper. She unfolded it along the seams to reveal that it was actually a cone. “Yup. Now we women can stand up and pee like you guys.”

  Matt eyed the paper cone suspiciously. “Somehow I doubt that thing’s going to work as well as, well, being a dude and having a penis.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ve talked to some women who have used something similar called a Go Girl. Some of them love it, and some of them hate it. Me? I think I’ll just hand these out as party hats. Throw some glitter and tassels on them and we should be good to go.” She set the cone aside. “What else is in there?”

  Matt turned his attention back to the bag and resumed pulling out items. “There’s a poncho. A package of carabiners. A roll of Duct Tape. Oh, here’s a weather radio, for all those hurricanes we get here on the Rio Grande. And your mom apparently knows you well enough to send you an old school percolator.”

  “Let me see that thing,” Jenn said before grabbing it and looking at the metal contraption. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of these since I was a kid. How do you even use it?”

  “You put the grounds in the part with the holes and then pour hot water over them, I think.”

  “You think?”

  Matt shrugged. “I haven’t used one of these since I was about ten years old and we went camping with Dad. Been a while.”

  Jenn sighed and set the percolator aside. “Anything else in there?”

  Matt peered into the bag and pulled out the next item. “Yup. Apparently there’s a blanket.”

  It was gray and scratchy.

  “Well, at least that’s somewhat useful. At the very least I can put it in my car.”

  “I think some of this stuff is somewhat useful. Plus, you got free party hats.”

  Jenn tucked a curl behind her ear. “Fair enough. Anything else in there? It seems like we should be getting to the end. That bag couldn’t have held that much.”

  Matt reached into the bag without looking, wrapped his hand around a box and pulled out the final item.

  “I’m going to kill my mom.”

  He looked at the box in his hands and couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, at least she got the right size.”

  #

  “Argh!” Jenn growled before leaning over and grabbing the box of Trojan Magnums out of his hand. “I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Her.”

  Matt held the box above his head, playing keep away. Jenn briefly thought about lunging for them, but then decided plastering herself all over him probably wouldn’t be her smoothest move.

  Besides, there’d already been that almost kiss in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure she needed to play with fire anymore today.

  Rolling her eyes and trying to act unaffected, she sat back on the floor and looked at the stuff strewn around them.

  “Oh, come on, you don’t want them?”

  She played dumb. “Want what?”

  Matt shook the box of condoms and Jenn shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t even know why she sent them. You can keep them, hand them out to all those jersey chasers always skulking about.”

  “Please. And when was the last time you saw any jersey chasers hanging out anyway?”

  She glanced sharp
ly at Matt, trying to figure out if he was teasing or being serious. “Um, last night at the bar. They were everywhere.”

  “I don’t remember any of them.”

  “So they’re just faceless bimbos with boobs to you?”

  “Making assumptions today, are we?”

  “Oh, please. I’ve seen those girls, and I’ve heard enough from you and Chase to know that to most athletes they are nothing but faceless bimbos with boobs.”

  “And you know I don’t mess around with jersey chasers.”

  “How would I know that, Matt? We’ve barely spoken to each other in ten years, and when we have it’s been to do nothing more than trade insults and be mean to each other.”

  He set the box down on the floor beside him and leaned forward. “No, Jenn, the only time we’ve talked to each other is so you could insult me and be mean to me.”

  “Oh, and you’ve just been Mr. Nice Guy?” she shot back as she threw her hands in the air.

  “Not exactly. But I’ve let you insult me and get your digs in because I felt like I deserved it.”

  She poked him in the chest. “What the hell? So now you’re a freaking martyr?”

  He grabbed her finger and gently squeezed it. “No. I’m just a guy who did a shitty thing and figured if insulting me made you feel better I’d deal with it.”

  Jenn swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at her hand, which was now cradled in Matt’s hand against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She could feel his heart thumping behind his chest, so steady and sure. She slowly spread her fingers until her entire hand was flat against that solid wall of muscle. She let it linger there for just a second before slowly pulling back and looking away.

  “I’m sorry. I really wasn’t meaning to be a bitch just then.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Old habits die hard?”

  “Something like that.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway. Let me put all this crap back in the bag so I can throw it in the spare bedroom with the rest of the stuff Mom’s sent me.”

  He started handing her items, and asked, “Why do you keep it if you don’t see a use for it?”

  Jenn shrugged. “They spend a lot of time and money on this stuff, and I know they do it because they care. Well, it’s mostly Mom who does it—Dad’s usually too busy building booby traps or charging his truck battery with a chainsaw—but I know it comes from a place of love, so it’s hard to just toss it.”

  “Wait. Did you just say charging his truck battery with a chainsaw?”

  “Yeah, long story. Don’t ask. Apparently there’s a YouTube video if you’re really curious.”

  Matt shook his head as she zipped up the backpack. “I guess your folks definitely keep life interesting, huh?”

  She stood up and slung the backpack over one shoulder. “Don’t judge. I know it’s tempting and honestly easy to do, but just don’t, okay?”

  Matt stood, too, and grabbed the two ammo cans. What she was going to do with all that .223 was beyond her—she didn’t even own an AR-15.

  “I wasn’t judging, just commenting. If living that lifestyle is what your parents want to do, more power to them. And it’s nice that you don’t just toss the stuff they send you—makes me realize there is a soft, gooey center under that prickly exterior.”

  Jenn snorted. “Really? ‘Soft, gooey center’?”

  “I seem to recall a pretty soft, gooey center once upon a time.” He winked at her. Actually winked.

  Jenn face heated. She had to be crimson by now. Embarrassed—and so not on his flirting level—she made a sound that she could only liken to a strangling fish before whirling around and heading to the spare bedroom. She could feel him behind her, considering the man radiated heat like a freaking furnace, and that Matt scent was invading her nostrils making her tongue-tied and muddle brained.

  Still, though, she couldn’t lie to herself—Matt was proving to be even more dangerous now than he had ten years ago.

  Chapter Ten

  “Well, Matt, I have to say that your CT scan came back good. Your head’s healing quite nicely.”

  Matt breathed a silent sigh as relief crashed through him. “So when do you think I can play ball again?”

  Dr. Cushon glanced at Matt and then back at the CT scan. “When was the last time you had a headache?”

  He shrugged. “A couple days ago, but it went away with a couple of regular strength ibuprofen.”

  “And before that?”

  “A week or so.”

  “You know I can’t clear you to play until your headaches have gone away.”

  Matt rubbed a hand over his head. “But you and I both know I haven’t had any other concussion symptoms, and that a couple of headaches could be nothing more than just that—a couple of headaches.”

  “Yes, but rules are rules. Besides, even though your head’s healing well, it’s not completely healed.”

  “How long until you think it is completely healed?”

  Dr. Cushon turned and looked at him rather than the stupid CT scan result. “It’s hard to say. Head injuries are tricky, Matt. I’ve seen people recover from trauma such as yours quite quickly, and I’ve seen others take years. It wasn’t just your skull that was affected, as you know, and while your skull is looking good, I’m not going to take chances with your brain.”

  Matt gripped the edges of the exam table until his knuckles turned white and the tips of his fingers tingled. “Doc, I have to play ball again.”

  The older man pulled out a chair and sat, an expression of patience mingled with pity etched across his grizzled face. “Matt, you’re thirty-five. Even though you’re in excellent physical condition, your body takes longer to heal as it ages. Plus, there’s the added complication of a brain injury thrown into the mix. You have to be realistic here and start thinking about your future beyond baseball, because you might not get to play again.”

  He refused to accept that. “You don’t understand, though. We have a chance to go to the World Series and win this year. This is the best team I’ve ever been a member of, and I’m not going to let them down.”

  There was more of that pity from Dr. Cushon. “Matt, I know you think you’re letting your team down, but you have to take care of yourself first. If you took another blow to the head right now, it could kill you. You’re lucky you’re not dead right now, or at the very least in a vegetative state. The fact that you left the hospital within a week and that a month and a half out you’re doing much better than anyone would have guessed is something you need to consider. You’ve basically been given a second chance at life.”

  “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

  Dr. Cushon sighed. “I’m saying you need to seriously evaluate your priorities and think about what means more to you—playing baseball or being alive and sound of body and mind forty years down the road so you can be around to see your grandchildren.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud! I’m not even married, and I sure don’t have any kids running around. Who’s talking about grandchildren?”

  Dr. Cushon sent him a sharp look. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Matt. Priorities. I can’t clear you to play baseball right now. I might be able to in a few weeks or a few months, it could be a few years or it could be never. You need to consider all of the possibilities.”

  Matt sighed. “How long do I need to go without headaches to meet concussion protocol?”

  “At least a week. But concussion symptoms are only a small part of everything we have to consider in your situation.”

  “I know, but it’s something I can at least focus on, a goal to work towards.”

  “Matt, you can’t finesse your brain the way you can a breaking ball. These things are huge unknowns, and every person is different. Every brain is different. My advice would be to take it easy—nothing more than light workouts for at least another couple of weeks—and really sit down and think about your future after baseball. I would love to see you pitch again and win the World Ser
ies, but as your neurologist I have to warn you that the odds of that happening are slim to none right now.”

  Matt closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, counting backwards from ten in an attempt to find some small amount of calm amidst the storm of emotions. “Fair enough.”

  Dr. Cushon stood and slid the chair under a desk. “I’ll see you again in a week. In the meantime, if you have any questions or if anything comes up, you have my number.”

  “Right. Thanks, doc,” Matt said as he shook the neurologist’s hand.

  He slid off the exam table and followed the doctor to the checkout desk, where he scheduled his next appointment and ignored the flirtatious glances from the receptionist. Calmly, he exited the building and walked towards his JEEP, hit the unlock button on the key fob and climbed inside. He slid the key into the ignition, turned the engine over and closed his eyes against the blast of hot air followed by cold.

  Then he hit the dashboard with his fist. “Godmotherfuckingdammit!”

  #

  “So how’s your summer been so far?”

  Jenn scooped up queso with a chip and pondered how to answer Rene’s question. “Interesting, I guess.”

  The other woman leaned forward, a dimple flashing in her cheek. “Really? Please say there’s been some good gossip. I desperately need some good gossip.”

  “Hubby and kids driving you nuts?”

  “God, yes! I mean, I love them, don’t get me wrong, but when I’m looking forward to the school year starting and spending time with other people’s kids more than I am spending time with my own kids, you know it’s been a rough summer.”

  Jenn’s grin turned into a frown. “That doesn’t sound good. What’s been going on?”

  Rene waved a hand through the air. “Nothing major, really. The boys are teething, Brad’s been traveling a lot for work and Mama still hasn’t forgiven me for marrying a gringo and has been passively aggressively bitching about it to my sisters.”

  Rene had shocked her very traditional Mexican-immigrant Catholic mother two years prior when she’d not only gotten pregnant out of wedlock, but had married a blond-haired, blue-eyed white man rather than the black-haired, dark-eyed Mexican man Mama had chosen for her. Mama had come around slightly and at least showered her grandchildren with love and affection, but she would passively aggressively make Rene’s life a living hell at times by stirring up non-existent drama, seeing the boys but not acknowledging Brad, giving everyone but Brad gifts at Christmas, and even going so far as to not invite Rene’s husband to family events.