He squatted next to her, sliding his hand to her knee. “Hey, yourself. How’s it going?” His voice was low, intimate, for her ears only.
“Good,” she replied, because nothing else seemed to form on her lips. They stared at each other, millions of emotions welling inside her. She hadn’t bargained for this connection with Luke, nor the fact that no amount of logic was allowing her to dismiss it.
“Uh-oh,” Heather said. “Carl and Rick are going at each other again.”
“Carl Malone,” Luke clarified to Katie. “Rookie pitcher brought up from the farm team. Total pain in the ass.”
“It would help if you and Rick would stop calling him ‘Thumbs,’” Heather chided.
Katie’s jaw dropped. “No, you don’t. Luke. That’s horrible.”
“If you knew the trash he talked, you wouldn’t say that,” Luke assured her. “Everything is someone else’s fault. He ignores Conn’s calls.” Conn being Mike Connelly, the short, stocky catcher from Long Island whom Katie had noticed talked a lot of New York-style trash that generally amused his teammates.
He glanced at Heather. “He ignores Coach. Talks shit behind his back even. We wanted to give the kid a good knock off his high horse in preseason, but it’s only a couple of days until their first game on Thursday night, not much of a chance that’ll happen.”
Luke and Heather continued to debate the best handling of “Thumbs,” while Katie scraped the recesses of her brain, trying to recall Malone with more detail. Malone. Yes. Okay. He’d played ball at the University of Texas, like Luke, but years later, of course.
She would have thought that would have built a common bond. Then again, Luke was, no doubt, legendary at UT. The ones who left and became stars always were. Maybe Malone felt he was walking in Luke’s shadow then and now. Maybe Malone wanted Luke off the team, so he was trying to screw with Luke’s game.
“Yes,” Luke said quietly, kneeling before her again. “I’ve considered what you are thinking.”
She focused on Luke and nodded. They had a solid suspect in Malone. That felt like a positive thing.
“Speaking of Malone,” Rick said, as he and Conn joined them under the shade. “Thumbs is talking so much crap,” Rick said, sitting down next to Libby, “his tongue is going to swell right along with his head.”
Heather slapped her hands on her lap. “See what I mean?” she exclaimed, casting Katie a helpless look. “They call him that name, and he gets more fired up.”
Conn popped open a beer and motioned to Luke. “He says you’re cheating.”
Luke laughed, ignoring Heather, as did Conn and Rick. “How do you cheat at horseshoes?”
“Same way every call I make caused him to throw balls, I guess,” Conn said. “And he wonders why I say UT hasn’t picked a good pitcher since Luke.”
Katie cringed. No wonder Luke and Malone didn’t share a school bond.
Libby straightened and added, “It wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit more humble, Luke.”
“It’s backyard horseshoes and beer, Libby,” Luke said drily. “Egging each other on is part of the fun.”
Rick laughed. “Here, here,” he agreed, raising his beer in a toast.
“I’m not talking about horseshoes in the backyard,” Libby said. “I’m talking in general.”
Conn gaped. “Luke’s the most humble guy I know.”
Rick made a growling sound near Libby’s ear. “Down, girl. No biting in the backyard. Save that for the bedroom.”
Heather almost choked on her drink. “Rick!”
Katie gaped.
Coach Bradshaw, a tall man with gray hair, broad shoulders and tough, chiseled features, strolled up to join them. “Going for four, Luke?” he asked, referring to the three horseshoe games Luke had already won that day.
Luke pushed to his feet, but his hand remained possessively on Katie’s shoulder. “I never speculate, Coach, you know that.”
Libby snorted, as if something about Luke’s words disgusted her.
“Knock it off, Libby,” Rick reprimanded sharply.
“He’s getting old,” came a male voice. “But then that’s why they pulled me in to close up the games all nice and tidy for him.”
Katie looked up to find Malone standing there—tall, dark, younger than Rick, and ten pounds lighter. Something about the man scraped down her nerve endings and set her on edge.
“You better close and close well,” Luke said, pushing to his feet and snatching a beer from a cooler. “That’s why they call this a team. We win together.” He tipped his can back. “Stop throwing blame and start throwing some heat. That’s the point we’ve been singing at ya, man, but you keep tuning us out.”
“Luke’s right, kid,” Coach said. “I have a rotation to fill, and I expect every one of you to be the best.”
“Coach,” yelled one of the players from the sliding glass door. “That PR lady is here to see you.”
“Today is not the day to deal with her.” He grumbled to his wife, shaking his head. “Why did management have to hire this woman?”