Morning Man (22 page)

He shook his head. “Ain’t no one gonna hire me now.”

“Well, you don’t know that. Maybe Tack and I could help you out there.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Wouldn’t you want to tell your kids you found a good job? I think they’d all be real proud of their pop.”

Abel closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t even tell you how much–” His shaky voice trailed off. “How much that would mean.”

“It would mean a lot to us too,” she said, choking back tears. “We really do think of you as our friend.”

He looked up with kind and grateful eyes. “I am blessed.”

“Let us make a few phone calls, talk to some people and try to find something,” Tack said. “We’ll do our best, but we expect that when the time comes, you will too.”

Abel stiffened his hand at his brow and saluted sharply. “I won’t let you down, my friend.”

“Good man.” Tack smiled, slowly rising to his feet again.

Dayna put her hand inside of Abel’s. It was weathered and calloused, but one of the warmest she’d ever felt. “I’m really glad we got a chance to meet today. I hope it won’t be too long until I can see you again.”

“I hope not, pretty lady. My angel lady.”

“Hey, hey now,” Tack interrupted. “What did I tell you about not using all your smooth moves on her?”

She leaned in closer, putting her hand up to shield her lips from Tack. “He knows I have a thing for sweet talkers.”

“All the ladies do.” Abel grinned.

Dayna smiled as she stood up. “You take care. And thanks for the beet juice tip.”

She wrapped her arm around Tack as they walked away. “He’s so great. Everything you said he’d be.”

“I just don’t want to get his hopes up and then disappoint him.”

“That won’t happen. I have a real good feeling that we’ll be able to help him get a second chance.”

Tack smiled, holding the front door open for her. “Have I ever told you how much I love that you’re a cockeyed optimist?”

“Well, someone around here better be,” she said, still laughing as Myrna met them in the reception area.

“Oh, Dayna, I was just paging you. There’s a long-distance call on line three.”

“For me? Who is it?”

“I don’t know but he’s calling from Canada.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Uh, well, okay. I guess I’ll take it in the office. Thanks.”

“I’m going downstairs to see if El’s got any spots for me,” Tack said. “You want me to pick you up before the game tonight? Say, sixish?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Plus, it will drive CJ completely nuts.”

He cackled. “Bonus!”

She zipped into the office and picked up the call waiting on the line. “Hi, this is Dayna Cook.”

“Hi, Dayna. My name is Bucky Dawson. I’m the program director at Big Country Q-Ninety-two in Calgary, Alberta.”

She sat down on the edge of the desk. “Yes, Bucky. How can I help you?”

“I recently passed through Ohio and managed to catch your show with Tack Collins. Really good stuff.”

“Thanks, we haven’t been at it all that long, but we’ve had pretty good response.”

“I’d say you’ve had great response. I’m looking at some reports right now with some impressive numbers right in the twenty-five-to-fifty-four sweet spot.”

“Well, thanks,” she said, puzzled over why he’d be calling her instead of Tack.

“Let me get down to the reason I’m calling,” Bucky said, as if reading her mind. “We’re Canada’s third largest country station, but we’ve gradually lost footing in our AM slot. I’m on a quest to shore that up by putting together the best morning team I possibly can this fall.”

“Uh-huh.”
I still don’t get what this has to do with me
.

“I’d like to know what it would take to have you consider joining us.”

Me?
“Me?”

“I think you’d make a dynamite addition to our team, Dayna. I’ve brought in one of the top radio hosts from Vancouver and I’d like to consider you a potential candidate to sit in the chair next to him.”

She shook her head. “Gee, Bucky, I’m so flattered that you’d just call me up out of the blue, but–”

“You’re a real spark. Funny, bright and bubbly, and judging by the photos up on your station’s website, you’re pretty damn photogenic too. I don’t have to tell you how much good image marketing matters these days.”

“Well, thanks, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think the timing is right for me.”

“Look, we’ve been doing try-outs with a couple different co-hosts over the summer. I understand that it’s short notice, but if you’re game, I’d like to fly you in this weekend for a two-week trial run with Gord Johnson.”

She exhaled deeply, her head spinning. “Again, I appreciate you thinking of me for your show, but Tack and I are a team. It’s only because of working with him that I’m even half as capable as you think. He’s the real pro. He just makes me look good.”

“Dayna, Dayna,” he said with a soft chuckle. “You’ve got what it takes to be a big star. You shouldn’t hitch your wagon to Collins or anyone else if you want to ever get ahead in this business.”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite say I’ve hitched my wagon to him, but…”

“Look, just let this sit for a day and then give me a call.”

“Sure,” her lips said while her brain already knew there was no way in hell she’d change her mind. “When’s the latest you need an answer?”

“How about yesterday? I need to get my new Big Country morning team in place as soon as possible.”

Dayna jotted down his number before saying goodbye. She took several moments to absorb the strange and unexpected call. On one hand, it was impossible not to be incredibly flattered to receive a dream offer like that.

And then, on the other hand, there was Tack.

Chapter 14

Tack hunched low in right field, pounding his fist into the pocket of his glove as he glared hard at CJ, inching further away from first base and poised to steal second. The 96ers were closing in on the Wranglers’ one-point lead at the bottom of the seventh after scoring a two-run homer. With their final batters coming up to the plate, Tack was fiercely determined not to let CJ become the leaderboard hero.

“Hey, Maroni, I see you gave up that pathetic beard,” he called out mockingly. “Not enough testosterone, huh?”

“Believe me, I got plenty.” CJ grinned, grabbing his crotch. “Ask your girlfriend.”

His blood boiled. He knew full well that Dayna’s feelings for CJ were deader than disco, but it still didn’t erase the fact that the scumbag had once shared her bed. It was the one page of her history he wanted to tear out and incinerate beyond recognition.

Thunder rumbled overhead as Elliott threw out the pitch. The petite batter bunted for an easy single, moving CJ up to second. “Get ready to feel the earth move, baby, cause I’m a-comin,’” he called out to Dayna guarding third.

“That might be a tad premature,” she shouted back. “But coming from you, that’s no surprise.”

“Ha!” Tack laughed.
That’s my girl.

Dub tried firing up the team from his shortstop position. “Come on, Wranglers, wake up out there!” He flailed his arms as he turned in place. “One more out and then we can kick some ass.”

A solidly-built southpaw took several wide practice swings behind home plate, then stepped up. Dub looked over his shoulder and pointed at Tack. “It’s all you, man.”

Rain started spitting, but Tack only pulled the brim of his hat lower and punched his glove fiercely, his eyes trained on the batter. The first pitch was low. Ball one. It was quickly followed by another, this time low and wide. Ball two.

“Don’t walk him, for Chrissake!” Dub stormed the pitcher’s mound.

Elliott frowned and said something inaudible, but it looked as if Dub got the message loud and clear. He returned to his position with his trap shut.

Elliott wound up and threw the third pitch. With a mighty crack, it cleared the infield straight over Lisa’s head at second and zipped straight toward Tack. “Got it,” he called, his glove snatching the ball clean out of the air before he whipped it in to Dub.

“Here!” Dayna screeched. With a quick turn, Dub snapped the ball. She caught it and tagged the bag as CJ dropped to the ground and slid hard into third, knocking her feet out from under her and sending her flying.

“Out!” Dub bellowed, jumping in the air victoriously.

“Dayna!” Tack’s heart stopped as panic shot through him. He threw down his glove in the grass and sprinted across the diamond to her side. “Jesus, are you okay?”

She winced as she slowly crawled off CJ. “Uh, yeah, I think so.” Tack hooked her arm around his neck, gently scooping her toward him. She tipped her glove upright to show him that she was still gripping the ball. “Well, well. Look what I caught.”

He grinned. “You just might make the
SportsCenter
highlight reel tonight.”

“Mother Murphy, are you okay?” Elliott asked, his face filled with worry as the rest of their teammates rushed over. “You caught some air, but wow…what a play.”

“Yeah, I’ll live.” She groaned, brushing away the dirt and pebbles embedded in her flesh.

Tack examined her leg, running his hand over her ankle to make sure it wasn’t fractured. “Wiggle it for me.”

She flinched. “Ooh, that’s what she said.”

He chuckled and everyone in the concerned crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief. “All right, Shecky, let’s make sure you can put some weight on it.” His arm gripping her waist, he rose to his feet, hoisting her upright. “Easy now, easy.”

She exhaled, gingerly setting her foot down. “Ouch,” she said, cringing. “It’s a little tender.”

“Probably just a sprain. We’ll get some ice on that right away,” he said, still holding her tight. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“Just my pride.” She smiled a bit, looking up at him. “Could I bum a piggyback ride back to the bench?”

“Hop on,” he said, leaning over.

She climbed on his back and maneuvered herself into position. With her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his hips, he gripped her careful but tight and straightened up to adjust his hold.

She nipped at his earlobe. “Hey, now you’re my horse and my cowboy.”

Thunder cracked as the heavy skies opened up and steady rain fell in big, fat drops. “Sorry, but that’s the game, folks!” Dub announced. “Five-four Wranglers.”

“Shit.” CJ chucked a sports drink against the backstop. The bottle bounced off the chain link fence and rolled in the dirt just as Tack and Dayna reached home plate.

“Nice of you to stick around to see if I was okay, asshole,” Dayna hissed.

“You look fine to me,” CJ said, slicking down his black hair. “Besides, you’ve got the twelve-thousand dollar man here to look after you.”

Tack scowled. “What the hell were you thinking sliding into third like that? She could’ve been badly hurt.”

“Just playing the game, dude.”

He stepped into CJ. “Maybe I oughta give you a refresher on what pain feels like, dude.”

“Fuck him, he’s not worth it,” she said. “Let’s get out of the rain and go for a cold one.”

Tack made an about-face with Dayna still clinging tight, bouncing slightly as they started off toward his truck.

“Oh…and CJ?” She called out teasingly. “Don’t bother waiting up for me. I won’t be coming home tonight.”

* * * *

The last trickle of water fell from the shower head as a newly-invigorated Dayna pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the tub. It didn’t escape her notice that she stood stark naked in the same spot where Tack toweled off every day, and hoped he was thinking that very thing somewhere on the other side of that door.

He’d offered her first use of the bathroom for a post-game shower, handing her a folded bath towel, a cold beer and a smile in the doorway before she tried luring him to lather up with her. “I can’t reach my back all by myself,” she said with a devilishly demure pout, then stripped off her team t-shirt in front of him.

“That really is a shame.” His voice uncharacteristically squeaked as his eyes devoured the flesh spilling over top of her silky-smooth bra cups. “Luckily, there’s a long-handled brush in there. Be my guest.”

“Come on, cowboy, don’t be bashful. You know there’s plenty of room for both of us,” she purred, tugging the bottom of his shirt upward.

He stretched his arms above his head, his chin up and his barrel-wide chest stuck out, inviting her to do her worst. She pressed herself against his solid warmth as her palms rolled the shirt up higher. “We both need a shower anyway, so we may as well be good citizens and conserve a little water, right?”

Tack’s Wranglers shirt hit the floor next to hers.

“Plus, it’s only a shower, it’s not sex,” she continued to reason with him as much as with herself. Her hands were drawn like magnets to his powerfully broad chest, marveling at the wondrously masculine study of contrasts between smooth and hairy, unyielding muscle and pliable flesh. She lightly mapped every inch she touched, from his granite-hard shoulders and biceps, down to his abdomen and back up again. A sigh escaped them both as her fingertip traced around his hard nipple, setting off her salivary glands. “I mean really, we’re just getting clean. There’s nothing at all sexual about that.”