Somebody Like You (Starlight Hill Series Book 2) (7 page)

“Not with that vixen next door. Good heavens I thought your eyes would have to be surgically placed back inside their sockets. Why do you think I suggested you take a shower?”

“So you’d have time to go hatch your evil plans?” To destroy any chance in hell he had with Brooke, who might never forgive either one of them.

“What part of’ protect’ do you not understand?”

“You don’t need to protect me from Brooke.” Though she might need to protect Brooke from him. He wasn’t sure how long he could go without at least giving it a shot. For now, he’d have to. He could read it in Brooke’s thinly veiled contempt. He wouldn’t be seeing a glimpse of those panties again anytime soon.

“You say that about all gorgeous women, and you’re always wrong.”

“Look, Brooke was the one girl at Starlight High that wasn’t part of my fan club.”

“Oh no, it’s worse than I thought. Every athlete has one. She’s the one, right? The one that got away. Be smart, Billy. Let her stay away.” She made a shoving motion in the air.

Scary how on-target Gigi had come to his own somewhat convoluted feelings, even if she was a drama queen about the whole thing. “Let’s stop talking about my non-existent love life, thanks to you, by the way. Let me see some of these endorsement deals.”

For the next two hours they went over some possible income-generating leads, but Billy wasn’t interested in any of them. Not like he thought a washed-up pitcher would get any significant opportunities, but he couldn’t see attaching his name to the newest wood shining product or kitty litter.

More exciting were all the local schools who wanted him to bring a pitching clinic to them. Gigi said there was no money in that, not to mention the time and organization efforts it would take. Also, he wasn’t supposed to be diluting his star power or some such nonsense.

Still, it would be something to be near the diamond again, even in some small way.

More embarrassing were the offers of renaming local parks after him, and the new wing at St. Vincent’s Hospital. Of course, after a generous donation.

A couple of hours later, he’d bid Gigi goodbye. She’d be flying out to LA on her broomstick in the afternoon, and not a moment too soon.

Brooke was at his door within minutes. “Is Cruella DeVille gone?”

Such a good name for Gigi. He almost laughed but Brooke, dressed in a tight Hensley shirt that hugged her succulent breasts, didn’t inspire laughter so much as pure unbridled lust.

“The coast is clear.” He moved so she could come inside.

“We have so much to talk about.” She held a laptop, a notebook, and a smart phone.

“Right. Let me start with an apology. Gigi means well.”

“I don’t like the way she sized me up. Walk out your house half naked and people start to make all kinds of assumptions.”

It wouldn’t help for her to keep bringing that up. He could still picture the hard nipples pressed up against the tight cotton t-shirt, the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder, belly button with something shiny in it, the curvy bare legs and scrumptious ass.

He needed a drink. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Brooke didn’t waste any time setting up her laptop on the kitchen table, and pulling out her notebook and pen. “Cream, no sugar.”

He gathered the mugs and met her at the table. “I’m all yours.”

Brooke leveled a gaze at him. “Don’t say that in front of your publicist or she’s bound to take it the wrong way.” 

He probably deserved that. “Don’t worry about her, she’s gone back to LA. Mostly we talk over the phone, but every once in a while there will be a chill in the air. My skin will crawl, and I know Gigi must be thinking about me.”

Brooke smiled, and holy shit, she should do that more often. Why had she stopped smiling like that, and what was the jerk’s name? “First things first.” Brooke tapped the pen on her notebook. “A name.”

“For…?”

“The winery, of course. I mean, I figured you’d want to rename it the Billy Turlock Winery or something like that.” She looked serious.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Doesn’t have a nice ring to it. Too bad I’m not Italian. They have the best names for wineries. Turlock— now that sounds like a good bat, but not a great wine. What do you think?”

“Well, hear me out.” She looked tentative, unsure for once. “I was going to suggest we keep the name. The Mirassu winery has a long history in Starlight Hill, and for years it was a good one. We could say it’s under new ownership and management.”

“Fine with me.” Billy reached for his cup and took another gulp of coffee. “I don’t even think Pop would mind, but I’ll run it by him.”

“That was easy,” Brooke said, making a note, even if she did sound surprised.

He leaned back in his chair, gratified he’d straightened her out on the assumption that he was another big headed narcissistic jock.  Even if something told him he still had a long way to go in convincing Brooke. “I aim to please. What’s next?”

“An opening date.”

He set down his mug and studied Brooke. “How soon can we be ready?”

“Soon, I think. How do you feel about the holidays?”

“It’s the best time of the year.” Yeah, he was a guy but he still appreciated the parties, the food, and giving gifts to his family and friends. He also appreciated all the Victoria’s Secret commercials and the red frilly lingerie. He found himself wondering if Brooke had red panties. Probably best not to ask.

Brooke frowned. “I think most people feel that way, so I was going to suggest December fifth. It’s also the day of the town parade. Santa comes through town with his big float. You know the one that’s supposed to look like a sleigh but looks like a boat?”

“They’re still doing that?” As a kid he’d ridden on that boat once or twice with his Little League team.

“Yeah,” Brooke sighed. She didn’t look happy as she made a note. “So is December fifth okay?”

“That’ll work.”

For the next hour, Brooke talked about the harvest, crush, marketing, a new website, appointments with some of the restaurants in town with which she had connections, and hiring a staff.

“I’m sure I can get Eric to come over from the Serrano winery, and he’s a good employee. It’s hard to find good help. I believe in holding on to what you have when it’s working.”

“I’ll trust you with those decisions.”

“Great. I like that you’re giving me all this control, but don’t forget I’ll need you to be around. To attend meetings and be the face of this business. I’m not naïve enough to believe that our success won’t partially hinge on one popular baseball player.”

“You’ll have me whenever you need me.” He meant that in more than one way, but it likely went right over Brooke’s head.

“Thanks, Hotshot.”

He met her eyes. “You know, you’re the only one who ever got away with calling me that. I’ve decided I’ll let you keep doing it.”

Brooke leveled an uncertain gaze in his direction. “O-kay.”

He glanced at his watch. “We’ve talked business for over an hour. For two people who hadn’t talked in ten years before a few weeks ago, we haven’t talked anything personal yet.”

“Billy, you saw me half naked and haven’t even bought me dinner yet. How much more personal do you want to get?”

Well, for one he’d actually like to get underneath those panties but that wasn’t something he would share. Yet. “What happened to you after high school?”

“I went to Chicago State. You know that.” She tossed that ponytail and stared at her smart phone.

“Yeah. I wanted details.” A painful subject, but one they’d have to broach sooner or later if they were going to work together.

“There’s nothing to say. I got my degree, and came back home. I don’t like winters in Chicago.” Brooke shot him a look that told him he might be swimming near a rocky shore.

“If it will make you feel any better, you can say I told you so.” If he’d been to college instead of going straight to the minor leagues, he’d at least be a washed-up player with a college degree. Not only that, but who knew what would have happened with Brooke?

Most of his team mates had married their college sweethearts. Would Brooke have been the one?

“Why would I say that?” Brooke asked.

“I should have stayed in school. You were the one who told me I should.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She put her phone down. “You were right, and I was wrong.”

This he had not expected. Brooke, hater of all things athletic, now believed he’d made the right choice? “No, you’ve got that backwards.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve done pretty well for yourself. Wouldn’t you say?” She waved around the room, no doubt meaning the winery.

“Brooke, what I made might have to last me for the rest of my life. And I’m not even thirty.” Not to mention that he couldn’t do the one thing that he still had passion to do, just because his body had given out on him. No one seemed to care about that.

“Let’s not have this conversation.” Brooke rose, grabbing her laptop.

He knew what this was all about. They’d had this argument a handful of times as kids. Even then, Brooke knew her own mind. And it was different than ninety-nine percent of the people he knew.

“Let’s.” He stood up. “I’m not the one who sets the salaries. None of the players do.”

She looked at the ground as if praying for patience. “If we paid teachers what we pay athletes, maybe we’d have the best educational system in the world. But you know how I feel about this.”

“I do. I just wish you’d stop blaming me for the way things were set up long before I even picked up a glove and a ball.”

“You always said that, but you were a part of the system. You accepted the status quo. All of you do.”

“I just wanted to play ball. You of all people know that.”

For one second it looked like she would understand. But that kind of acceptance didn’t happen in one conversation. Too many years stretched between them like a wound up coil ready to snap.

“Say what you want, but you’ll never convince me that you’re not the luckiest man I know.”

“I wouldn’t even try.”  He’d had a great career, been smart enough to stash away a small fortune, enjoyed a loving family’s support, and now stood in front of Brooke Miller.

She cracked a smile. “I’m going to set up some meetings, and I’ll get back to you. We have work to do.”

“You bet.” Maybe if he played this inning right, he’d have a second chance with Brooke.

This time, he wouldn’t drop the ball.

For the first time in her life, Brooke might have too many lists. There was so much to do she didn’t even know where to begin. She’d never been a part of a venture from its inception in this way. Not that they were starting from scratch. They had rows upon rows of grapes. They needed to be harvested. Like yesterday.

Harvest time usually began no later than late August, and they were now in early October.

Back at her kitchen table, she tore off another piece of paper and made a list of items to be done in order of chronological importance.

1. Harvest.
   
2. Check on the tanks.
   
3. Apologize to Billy for being a bitch.
   

Brooke tore off that piece of paper. No, she didn’t need to apologize, but dammit if Billy didn’t make her feel like she did. It was in those eyes— they said so much without words.

The eyes said that yeah, he knew he’d been lucky, but no, he wasn’t happy. In case anyone cared. And of course she shouldn’t, but unfortunately she did. Because he was Billy, dammit.

He thought she’d been right, which was hysterical since she’d been thinking for the past ten years just how wrong she’d been.

He’d taken the offer into the minor leagues instead of the college scholarship at Chicago State against her advice, and though it hadn’t guaranteed he’d make the major leagues, he’d done it anyway. Hard work and dedication to the thing that had always been, would always be, his first love.

And the rest was history. She’d gone to Chicago alone, and made friends, had a couple of boyfriends. Lost her virginity to one of them, even though it should have been Billy. Would have been, on that night when it became clear that they both wanted more. But she’d been too good for the jock. Wanted to save herself for the right man. It might have been Billy, and a hundred times she’d imagined that it had been. But no matter what, she couldn’t change the past.

And that was the end of it.

Her cellphone rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Great. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi sweetie. I’m going to be at the Farmers Market this Saturday.”

“Why would this Saturday be any different than any other one? You’re always there.”

“It would be nice if you’d come by. I’ve made a new herbal shampoo with your favorite scent. Cranberry.”

“I still have six bottles of shampoo I haven’t used yet. I’m good.”

“Oh. Okay, then. I’d still like to see you.”

Brooke felt the guilt press down. She hadn’t seen Mom in a while. “I’ve got a new job and it’s harvest time as you know. I’m going to be busy.”

“Right. Harvest time. You usually disappear for weeks.” Mom’s voice got a bit tinnier. Possibly tinged with a whine.

“Everything okay?”

Mom sighed. “Well, I might have to go on a statin because of my high cholesterol. Except that I refuse.”

“Why?”

“Honey, don’t you realize they make that medicine with a pregnant mare’s urine?”

“Ew, mom. Please.”

“Well, I’m only telling you the truth. I ask you, would you take a pill made with someone’s urine?”

“Not if I had a choice.”

“Exactly. So I’m going to take the herbs that Sally makes at our farm. She swears that her cholesterol went down forty points…”

Brooke let Mom’s voice fade into the background while she doodled on her pad. It was better to tune it all out because Mom only wanted to be heard. Brooke made sure to say “Uh-huh” every few minutes.

“And so that’s why I think all doctors are quacks.”

Brooke let out a breath. “All right. Well, then. Gotta go. Talk later, okay?”

After a few more false starts, she finally hung up. Maybe Brooke could and should pay more attention to Mom, but it would help if she would talk about something interesting for a change.

Sighing, Brooke wrote at the top of a new list:

1. Try to be a better daughter
   
2. Stop thinking about Billy
   
3. Write down something you have a prayer of getting done
   

*****

A few days later, every grape had been harvested. Even if Brooke had to call on every single one of her resources, she’d done it. Not one grape gone to waste.

Naturally, her resources notwithstanding, she’d had no shortage of volunteers. It was now official news in town that Billy Turlock was back in town and the new owner of Mirassu winery. Those records were public, after all. Consequently the local media made a habit of parking at the end of the long sloped driveway. Brooke had campaigned for that, since Billy often allowed them up into the tasting room parking lot.

But he’d listened when Brooke told him that they might chase away prospective customers. He hadn’t listened when it came to the so-called friends and ‘fans’ who had assembled to help in the frantic push to harvest in time. She couldn’t very well argue that point since she needed all the help she could amass. And frankly, with the before-dawn hours the job entailed, it meant that the crowd of volunteers were hard-core fans.

She was grateful, even if it meant she’d had to rise before dawn too so she could issue careful instructions and make certain all the volunteers were doing it right. But now, every grape had been harvested. Time to crush. 

She and Billy were in the tank room. They would need to  bottle some of the two year old reds soon. “Next year, we’ll have special wine crushing events— folks love that stuff. One place even sells t-shirts with the customer’s wine stained footprints on it.”

“Great idea,” Billy said.

“I’ll going to check a tank. Abe will help me with that.”

“Something wrong?” Billy asked.

“Abe said he thought there was a leak in tank ten. I’ll check it out.”

“Let me know if you need me. I’m meeting with Coach Buchanan in the tasting room.”

“Again?” Seemed like the coach at Starlight High was always hanging around, like a little puppy dog at Billy’s elbow.

“If he wants my advice, he’ll taste the wine.” Billy grinned, making Brooke’s knees  weak.

She should be  upset with him, for parceling out his time the way he did. His family and the winery did come first, but he still found plenty of time to talk baseball with the locals. Now the baseball coaches from the entire Bay Area had zoned in on the fact that Billy was generous with his time.

Which meant Brooke was getting ready to stick a plug in that, whether he liked it or not.

No matter, today Pop was here and he’d turned out to be one of her greatest allies. Once you got past all the baseball analogies, which went right over her head. She’d left Pop guarding the Pinot Grigio row in his favorite lawn chair. He’d take a nap or two there and when he woke he’d remind Brooke that he was very close to finding out the prizewinning tip.

She wasn’t holding her breath. “Abe, help me push this ladder to the tank so I can check it.”

“No miss, I’ll do that.”

She waved him away. “Don’t be silly. I know what I’m looking for. It will only take a minute.”

Abe found the ladder and pushed it to the tank, and Brooke clattered up to the top. The tank room had an equal mix of modern tanks and the old wooden barrels, because tourists enjoyed the old ways. Today she would check out one of the modern tanks because the level was lower than it should be.

“Careful,” Abe warned.

Funny how no man in the business, whether farm hand or owner, believed a woman could know what was wrong with a tank. Maybe she couldn’t fix it, but she’d know if it required fixing. Besides, this was part of getting her hands dirty, and being in every part of the business.

“Abe, can you give me a hand?” one of the crew called out.

“In a minute,” Abe answered, spotting Brooke.

“I’m fine. Go ahead.” She was almost done here anyway.    

Brooke stepped back down the ladder, but she probably shouldn’t have worn her flip flops as the edge wanted to stick to every step. Cal-Osha would have her hide. A casualty of living on the premises. She’d begun to feel too safe, too much at home in the work place.

Brooke lost her balance halfway down, and no matter how hard she tried to recover, she lost her footing. She grasped for the ladder and tried to steady it, but instead it came down with her.

There was the damn ground again, rising up to meet her.

*****

“I’m seeing too many injuries at younger and younger ages,” Coach Buchanan said. “I figured you would understand better than anyone. I have half a dozen players who remind me of you. They’re that promising. But my pitcher has been injured twice this season.”

“I hear you.” Billy understood, but had no clue how to help. Injuries happened. The shoulder or elbow wore out sooner or later.

“We need to change the way they throw.”

“That’s tough.”

“Don’t I know it. But they’re still young, and I figure if we’re going to do this, now’s the time.”

“We had someone come out and try to teach us a new way to throw, and it didn’t go over well.” After throwing one way for most of his life, he’d been worried about losing speed. Same with most of the other players.

“I wish I’d known about the better way to throw when you were in high school. Who knows? It might have saved the shoulder.”

He wondered if he would have listened even then. “Do you think they’re open to it?”

Coach sighed. “I doubt it, but I have to try. Did you know I’m retiring this year?”

“Congratulations.” It seemed about time, since Coach had been a fixture at Starlight Hill even before Billy had attended.

“Well don’t congratulate me yet. I’ve been tasked to find my replacement.”

Billy didn’t like the way Coach looked at him now, like he thought maybe he’d just found his replacement. “Any luck?”

“Not much. Do you think you might be interested?”

Nothing like coming straight to the point, but that was Coach. “Well—”

Billy was about to decline when Abe came rushing into the tasting room, white-faced. “It’s Miss Brooke. She fell. Hurry.”

Billy didn’t hear anything else but the thudding of his heartbeat in his eardrums. He recognized that his heart rate had spiked, not an easy thing to do any more.

He ran after Abe, and found her lying at the bottom of Tank number ten. Luke, one of the vineyard crew workers, held her hand. “She’s so white. She always this white?”

Billy knelt beside her and grabbed her other hand. Her eyes were half-mast, but thank God she was conscious. “What happened?”

“No Mom, I don’t want any more shampoo.” Her hand reached out and swatted him away.

So the floor had beaten the sense out of her. “What are you talking about, Bungee?”

Her eyes fixated on him, and comprehension dawned in her eyes. “Hey, you haven’t called me that since…”

“Right after you bungee jumped off the bridge?” He let out a breath and gathered Brooke in his arms. If she remembered his nickname for her, he wasn’t too worried. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Good idea,” Abel said. “Best to get checked out.”

“Bad idea. Put me down. I haven’t been to the ER in three months. I don’t want to break this streak.”

“You just broke it.” Her hair smelled sweet, a little like cranberries, as Billy carried her to his convertible.

“Can I help?” Coach Buchanan had followed him to the car.

“I’ll call you later. But would you get my grandfather home?” He climbed into the driver’s side.

“If you insist on taking me, go get my purse. I have my member’s discount card in it,” Brooke said.

“I hope you’re kidding, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of it.” Within seconds he’d pulled out of the lot. 

“That stupid ground,” Brooke kept muttering to herself on the drive.

Unfortunately, she kept dozing, and he saw no other way of keeping her awake than periodically pinching her left arm. This did accomplish its purpose, even if it earned him Defcon 4 glares peppered with some cuss words.

Luckily the hospital was only a two-mile drive into the heart of town, and Billy pulled in near the ER entrance. He carried a groggy Brooke in through the revolving doors and set her down in front of the reception desk. Brooke still seemed unsteady on her feet, so he held her up by keeping one arm wrapped around her.

A pretty redhead named Donna was the triage nurse, and she recognized Brooke. “Oh, Brooke. What now? Another concussion?”

“She fell, and seemed disoriented.” Billy explained, looking down at Brooke. He’d forgotten how petite she was standing next to him.

“Don’t let them stiff you.” Brooke turned her head up to him. “I come here a lot.” 

The nurse had Brooke sign a form and then wrapped a name band around her wrist. “Follow me,” she said and he walked through the double doors with Brooke.

It would take someone large and burly to keep him away. No one tried, even the security guard who stared like he was trying to place Billy.

Donna settled Brooke on a cot and then glanced at him. “Usually no one back here but family, but I think we can make an exception for you.”