by D. C. Stone
How her village had come to house a madman who terrorized women and took away the peace of the community was a nightmare she didn’t want to relive.
She turned down Piermont Avenue and stretched her stride, passing the park. Keeping a conscious mind on the time left before Hailey’s softball game, she glanced down at her watch. School had ended an hour ago and the team was meeting for a quick practice before this evening. This game would decide if they were going to the county championship. After the county, should—scratch that—when they made it through, they would go to state. It was an exciting time in Nyack, the girls being reigning champions from the year prior. They had a name to live up to. Another trophy to bring home.
Brooke rounded a corner, lifted her gaze, and jumped to the side as a large shadow filled her vision. “Shit!” Her ankle collapsed as she hit the bumpy lawn. After breaking it one too many times in soccer, it was still weak and without warning, simply twisted. With injuries she sustained as a kid, she really should get it looked at, should probably get physical therapy, but damn if she was willing to give up any more time living in the past.
Strong arms gripped her shoulders as she started to go down. Belatedly, she heard a little voice in her head, one that reminded her of the same strong arms waiting for Juliette in the novel next to her bed back home. She wanted to scream in frustration. Get your head in the game, you’re friggen falling, and you’re thinking of romance!
“Easy there.”
Brooke snapped her head up at the familiar voice and found herself staring into eyes dancing with humor, a deep green gaze that gave the lush lawns in the village a run for their money.
“I’m sorry, Dwayne, I need to pay better attention to where I’m going, I guess.”
He flashed a grin and her attention shifted to the dimples outlining his smile. Those two indents should take away from his ruggedly good looks, but instead they did the opposite. It gave him a boyish charm she found all too enticing, adding to his handsome appearance.
“Not a problem. It’s not every day I have women falling into my arms.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right.” Was it her imagination or did his arms tighten around her for a moment? She didn’t have too long to wonder about it before he set her away from him. Gingerly, she tested her ankle and winced as pain shot through her leg. She rolled it in circles, gave weight to it in increments. “Crap, I really do need to stop putting this off.” She hoped she could get home and that no additional damage happened to the already weakened ligament.
“Are you okay?” Before she could utter a response, Dwayne’s dark head ducked into her view. He knelt to take her ankle in his warm hands. A zip of electricity having nothing to do with pain sizzled where he touched. She tried to push away the fleeting pleasure his large palms against her skin gave. He wouldn’t have it, though, and held her ankle firmly. She blew out a breath and turned her face away to try to hide her reaction. If her cheeks were as red as they felt, then surely he’d see.
This reaction confounded her. Dwayne was her friend, had always been around and while he was extremely easy on the eyes, she’d never felt anything other than friendship for him. Then again, he’d never touched her, had he? It must be her. Years of going without physical contact from the opposite sex had left her body starving, craving for any touch.
That’s all it was.
Or at least that was her story and she was sticking to it.
Bright eyes looked up at her. His warm fingers danced along her ankle, pushing on the now-throbbing limb.
“It’s fine, I wouldn’t worry. Really.” Was that her voice, all breathless? For Pete’s sake, Brooke, get a damn grip! She gently tugged her leg away and stepped back.
Dark brows drew down with his frown and he rose to his full height. As he uncoiled, she gingerly took another step back. He moved with the grace of someone half his size, almost like a dancer unfurling from a ballet pose. Smooth. Fluid. Gorgeous. “Too many breaks as a kid. I’ll just walk it off, take it easy on the way home.”
“Dwayne?” a sultry voice called from behind.
Brooke turned to recognize a teacher from the high school. The woman lounged in a doorway. Long, brown curls fell in silken waves around her shoulders. A black skirt dangled around her hips and was partially covered by an untucked starched white dress shirt. Several buttons were undone and the look on the young woman’s face painted a story.
She’d interrupted something here, and if patience was anything to study, the woman’s face said it was anything but a virtue.
The earlier blush Brooke had felt now flamed to life again. Just as suddenly, regret lifted its head. She took a step to the side, and embarrassment prevented her from meeting Dwayne’s eyes, although she felt his gaze taking her in. It was like a caress against her skin. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll just, I’ll go now.”
She winced at her stuttering voice and turned away.
“Brooke, wait.”
Every muscle locked, but she kept her back to him. It should be illegal to sound so delicious, and despite being outside, his scent seemed to wrap around her—fresh mown lawn combined with the raw and undeniable trace of sex. Her heart pounded a hardy pulse in her ears, rivaling the beat Pitbull established before. The road ahead looked so damn long, and with her ankle screaming, the walk home would be anything but fun. Yet she wanted to be anywhere but right here, right now.
He sighed and stepped up next to her. “Do you need a ride home?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling like ten times the fool. For one, she enjoyed his touch on her skin more than a friend should. And two, she’d interrupted something that he was obviously heading to. Damn it, this wasn’t her. She didn’t do this kind of thing, get caught in anything resembling connection to a man. Dwayne was Dwayne, and she did not want to put a damper on his plans any more than she already had. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you at the game later, right?”
He nodded, then mumbled something under his breath, but it was so soft she couldn’t catch it. She really wanted to get the heck outta there and not cause any more of a scene, so she offered a weak smile. “Great.”
She limped away and got about twenty steps down the block before she glanced over her shoulder, unable to deny the urge to look at him one more time. That small mumble he had made jumped around in her mind like beans from Mexico, and with each bounce, the words grew in clarity.
Dwayne sauntered across the green lawn, his back to her, his stride toward an eager-looking young woman. The words, though, they had to have been her touch-deprived body playing tricks. She swore she heard him say, “But I do.”
Chapter Four
A low, pulsing throb wrapped tentacles around her ankle, but rather than staying home and nursing it, Brooke sat in the bleachers at Nyack High School, waiting on the game to start.
With the sun low in the sky, it painted the horizon in shades of orange and red. A lush line of green on the trees dotted the horizon, and leaves trying to keep up with the changing colors of the sky—another hint that fall was coming—combined to make a scene that could be the perfect shot for a postcard.
The girls, decked out in their black uniforms, came running out on the field, and the crowd stood and cheered. The sound was deafening. The community supported the girls and between the size of the crowd and the support of family members, it showed with packed bleachers. Shrill whistles pierced the air. Enthusiastic remarks about what some wanted to do to the other team rang with abundance. And clapping raised the already heightened anticipation for a good game.
Brooke sat after the cheers quieted. She watched as Hailey took her spot at the pitcher’s mound. Her eyes stung, but she took it all in and got lost in the emotional tug the scene brought. She blinked rapidly and tried to dismiss her tears on the fact that the sun shone directly on her face.
But deep down she knew it wasn’t that at all. Her daughter was no longer her little girl, and watching as Hailey stood tall and proud on the pitcher’s m
ound brought memories back in a rush.
It seemed like just yesterday that Dwayne stood in their backyard and taught Hailey the basics of a sport that had become her life. They spent hours working well into the night on throwing and catching. At one point she’d even become concerned that softball was taking over her daughter’s life, and she’d kicked Dwayne off her property, told him not to come back for days.
Hailey had been such a sweet little girl, her eyes bright with a thirst for knowledge on something she wanted to master. Looking at her now, there was only a hint of the little girl she used to be. Her curves gave her athletic form more of a feminine look. And her legs went on for what seemed to be miles. A few weeks shy of eighteen, the contours of Hailey’s face slimmed, taking youthful expressions and turning them sexier, more mature.
Brooke did not know what she thought about that. She didn’t want her daughter to grow up, didn’t think she was ready for this. With her little girl changing into a young woman, she grasped at the last of Hailey’s childhood innocence as if it were air to breathe.
Then again, remembering what she’d promised herself about letting Hailey be free echoed in her mind. She took in a lungful of air and pushed the panic, the threat of losing her child to womanhood, away.
A deep voice filled the speakers, welcoming everyone to the county championship game, then introduced the singer for the Star Spangled Banner. A girl no older than ten squared her shoulders and sang her itty-bitty heart out, not missing or confusing a word through the whole song—unlike some adult celebrities—which said something. The game kicked off with more cheers, each team moving to give the other a run for the title. As the innings progressed, the sun sank lower, and Brooke’s fingernails grew shorter as she bit on each with her nerves jumbling.
The game tied four to four at the bottom of the ninth.
Hailey stood on the plate, had two runners on base and a strike against her. Her long ponytail trailed down her back as she bent over. After concentrating on pitching for so long, her daughter was not the best with her batting average, but with two outs, the game centered on Hailey at least getting one of those runners in.
The pitcher wound her arm and sent the ball flying. Hailey did something she had never done before and uncorked her best swing, sailing the bat through the air and—crack!—the connection vibrated through the stands as everyone stood.
Brooke followed the path of the ball and out of the corner of her gaze, Hailey sprinted to first base. The ball sailed over the back fence. Brooke jumped, ignoring the pain in her ankle, and shouted.
With the setting sun, Hailey’s hair looked bright orange against the sky. She rounded first. Missing the tag, she turned and went to the base again and froze. It was a split second, but noticeable, and the crowd’s murmur brought more attention to it. In that moment, something happened, because Hailey collapsed. Brooke moved before realizing and headed down the stairs, still watching her daughter. The coach stood to the side of the base, talking to Hailey. Her daughter gave a shake of her head and crawled back to the base. What the heck was going on? The coach turned to the umpire and the conversation between the two turned heated as the older plump man turned red and the coach tossed his hands in the air.
Brooke walked around the field and stepped inside the fence, her intent to get to her daughter. To find out what was wrong and figure out why the coach looked as if he wanted to wring her neck. But before she could take another step, strong arms captured her shoulders and drew her to a halt. Startled, she glanced back and found Dwayne’s grave hazel eyes watching not her, but Hailey on the field.
“Easy now, you can’t help her.”
She bristled. “What do you mean I can’t help her? She’s my daughter, who is obviously hurt. And I have no idea what the coach is saying to her, but I don’t like it.”
He looked down at her and set his lips in a grim, flat line. “You go out there and help her, or if her teammates try to do something, she will be called out. They’re discussing bringing in a pinch runner now, but if you look at Hailey, she seems determined to get through this herself.”
Brooke drew her attention back to the game, and her daughter stood, one leg bent, weight distributed to the other. She tried to talk to the two men arguing, but between their heated conversations, she seemed at a loss.
Before anyone could do anything, the two runners who had the chance to cross home base because of Hailey’s hit walked over to first base. They ignored the ump and coach. Each took an arm, wrapped them over their shoulders, and began to walk—to her daughter’s limp—around each of the bases.
With the ball gone, Hailey had hit her home run and obviously wanted to get around each of the bases.
The act was so touching, independent, and such a true measure of teamwork, that tears stung the back of Brooke’s eyes. Dwayne, who still had a grip on her arms, tightened his hands against her until the girls crossed the last plate.
Cheers once again filled the air, and the ump called the home run—Hailey’s first of her entire life.
* * * *
Brooke turned and pressed her face to his chest, her arms around his waist. Dwayne fought against reacting in the way he wanted with this woman in his embrace. Rather than tossing her against the fence and taking her hard and fast here, he gave a gentle squeeze and smiled when she drew back, laughing.
The affection was short lived, though, as she pulled away and bounded over to her daughter, who sat on the bench in the dugout. A local physician examined Hailey’s leg. He could still feel Brooke against his body, lush curves, long limbs, and the sweet smell of lavender. Damn, he wanted her back in his arms, wanted to feast on her lush mouth for days, not hours. But Hailey had been hurt and both he and her mother needed to focus on her.
He caught the gaze of the young woman he had spent more hours with than any female in his life and winked as she grinned. His fondness for Hailey had grown stronger over the years, and no matter that she wasn’t his blood, he considered her family. It was not lost on him that this had, in fact, been her first home run. Being the bottom of the inning, the game was called, Nyack won the title, and congratulations jumped back and forth.
He pushed away from the fence and bounded into the dugout, dropping to a crouch next to the doctor.
“How’s it looking, Mike?”
“Nothing’s broken, but I suspect she may have stepped on something wrong out there and strained a ligament in her knee. It’ll need some rest.”
“It hurt like hell.”
He snapped his head up just as Brooke warned, “Hailey, watch your mouth.”
The teen looked contrite and muttered an apology.
“I’ll go home and get the car, Hails, then come back. I don’t want you walking on that tonight.”
“It’s no bother,” Dwayne filled in. “I can take you both home. I have my cruiser out front.”
Brooke opened her mouth, but Hailey’s voice beat her to it. “Actually, I was supposed to hang out with Jaxon tonight, remember, Mom?”
Dwayne stood and stepped back, not wanting to be in between these two when they worked out whatever was going on.
“I do, Hails, but don’t you think you should reconsider since you got hurt?”
“No, I think I should still go. Even Doctor Smith said I’d be fine as long as I took it easy.”
Said doctor stood and backed away, looking uncomfortable as well. He rubbed the back of his neck, and dark brown hair fell and covered one side of his face. “That is true, but maybe you should take it easy tonight, Hailey.”
In a classic teenager move, Hailey crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the doctor.
“Mom, please?”
Brooke bit down on her lower lip and, drawn to the sight, he stared. The plump pink bud was shiny when she finally released it, and instead of taking his attention away, it pulled him in further.
Christ!
He shouldn’t feel this damn horny after the afternoon he had spent with Lucy, learning more than one
way to make the teacher scream. And more so, his thoughts should be staying PG-13 in a high school softball field.
Brooke nodded and said something to Hailey. The girl jumped off the bench and limped her way over to her mother, tossing long arms around the star of his fantasies for so long.
Hailey left shortly after. Brooke pivoted to him and shrugged. “I have no clue how she gets away with it, playing that cute little face on me when she wants something. Am I foolish?”
He flashed a grin and followed her out of the dugout. “Not at all. Hailey has a good head on her shoulders. She knows to take it easy and understands she’ll only hurt herself more if she doesn’t.”
Her sigh reached his ears. She turned to him again and stopped walking. “I know, but still, a mother will always worry.” She glanced around, but instead of following her gaze, he kept his on her. Hair matching the color of her daughter’s, the soft light behind her seemed to give it a glow, brightening the golden highlights sparkling over the tendrils. Azure eyes gave a startling contrast against the afternoon sunset. The color and uniqueness grabbed him by the balls and refused to let go.
“What are you doing tonight?” He didn’t realize the words came from his mouth until she turned to him, arching a brow. Why had he asked her that? He knew better than most that Brooke was not someone to mess with. Asking her out would only have her drawing back, especially after her past.
“Probably falling into the tub with John, a bottle of wine, and a good book. Why?”
His brows furrowed. “John?” Who the fuck was John? Moreover, when the hell did this happen? And why did the surge of jealousy in his gut feel more like rage?
Her expression danced with humor. “Yeah, John. As in John Mayer?”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Ah, got me there.”
She grinned and poked his stomach. “Was that jealousy I heard in your voice, Dwayne?”
“No.” Fuck yes.
“What, you want to be the only man for this town?” She laughed.
