The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] (34 page)

Georgia hung back.

"Are you sure you want to do this?” Blackie asked her.

"Do you mean, am I sure I can do this?"

"Look, Georgia, this ain't the time to argue. If you say you can pitch, then you can pitch. I just don't want you to feel like you have to."

"She doesn't feel that way, Uncle Blackie,” Jay answered for her, “she's excited about it."

Blackie laughed. “Who are you, her agent?"

"Nope,” Jay said proudly. “I'm her coach."

Georgia saw Blackie roll his eyes, but also saw the humor in them. He got a kick out Jay, just like they all did.

"Here you go.” Blackie handed her the ball, which she tucked snugly into her glove. “Knock ‘em dead."

The butterflies in her stomach refused to allow her to speak, so she simply nodded. After she'd turned away, Jay shouted, “Remember, Georgia, it's just like playing catch!"

Without turning around, Georgia raised her right hand and waved to let Jay know she'd heard him.

When she reached the mound, Georgia moved around for a moment to get comfortable, using her right cleat, which Jay had also swiped from her bag and brought to the game, to fill in a little of the hole in front of the rubber.

Ready to throw her five allotted warm-up pitches, Georgia raised a hand and signaled to Judd—her catcher. He pulled down his facemask, squatted behind the plate, and jammed his fist into the pocket of his glove, giving the signal that he was also ready.

Georgia positioned herself, placed her fingers around the ball in a tight grip, wound up, and let a soft, slow pitch going no faster than ten miles an hour sail over the plate.

Accustomed to being made fun of for the slow way she warmed up, Georgia tuned out the chuckles and teasing she heard coming from the opposing team's bench. She wasn't, however, able to ignore the loud, angry, “Shut the fuck up!” that Blackie shouted to the other team for teasing her.

She caught the ball Judd threw back to her, walked around the mound to get herself settled, and tossed him another one. After repeating the routine with three more quick pitches, Judd called, “Time,” raised his facemask until it was resting on top of his helmet, and ran out to the mound.

"Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “I'm fine, why?"

"You're going to have to throw a little harder, Georgia, these guys are real hitters."

She smiled; anticipating the reaction Judd was going to have in about thirty seconds when she threw her first pitch. “No worries, Judd. The next three are going to be fastballs, and they'll be coming in hard, right down the middle. Be ready."

He placed the ball in her glove and winked. “I'm always ready."

Sure he was.

By the time Judd returned to take his place behind home plate, the batter from the other team was in the box and taking warm-up swings. Judd squatted, adjusted his facemask, and gave Georgia the signal that he was ready.

Georgia used her upper arms to wipe the sweat from one side of her face, then the other. She positioned herself, grabbed hold of the ball, and stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing but the pocket of her brother's glove. Ten years of practice had made it easy for her to tune out the sounds around her on the softball field and concentrate on nothing but the task at hand. The world around her became instantly silent as she took a moment to stare down the batter before taking a deep breath and beginning her windup. Everything felt as if it was happening in slow motion until the windmill was almost complete and her arm was even with her hip. She heard herself grunt as she released the ball with every ounce of power she could muster, and watched it fly. The loud ‘smack’ she heard told her that the ball had landed in the exact part of the pocket where she'd been aiming.

Her brother jumped up, removed his glove, and was staring at her, wide-eyed, as he shook his catching hand. The batter, who hadn't even begun his swing until after the ball had landed in Judd's glove, was shaking his head.

Over by the bench, Blackie had dropped his clipboard, Brady was on his feet, and Jay—her biggest fan—was jumping up and down wearing the silliest grin she'd ever seen. He waved to Georgia, and she waved back.

Two more pitches were all it took to strike out the batter. The second one went down on strikes, as well. The final man hit a hard grounder to third, which was fielded by Wade, who threw the ball to Rebel at first base in plenty of time to get the runner out.

When the inning was over, Georgia tossed the ball to the umpire and ran toward the bench with the rest of the team. Blackie met her halfway there. “Holy shit, Georgia, them balls had to be goin’ over sixty miles an hour! How come Jay was the only one who knew about this talent of yours?"

Why did they have to have this conversation now? “Honestly?” she asked.

"Yeah, Georgia,” Blackie furrowed his brows and stared down at her, “honestly. You got a hell of a talent. How come you never told us you could pitch?"

"I didn't say anything because it had been four years since I'd touched a softball,” she explained. “I wasn't even sure I could still pitch.” She shrugged, and continued in a lower voice, “There was no pressure with Jay; he thought I was cool just because I threw him a few balls. If I hadn't been able to find my rhythm and couldn't pitch anymore, he wouldn't have noticed.

"If I'd told you guys that I was throwing sixty-four mile an hour fastballs at the age of fifteen, that's what you would've expected to see the first time I threw. No girl wants to bomb in front of her big brothers, especially me; the three of you are so good at everything."

Blackie nodded in understanding. “Well, you got us all beat in this sport, little girl. Ain't none of us can throw like you."

Her heart swelled with pride. “Really?"

"Really. How long you been playin’ softball?"

"Since I was five."

Blackie laughed, shook his head, then reached out and pulled Georgia's ponytail. “Great. So how are you at battin'?"

"Okay, I guess, why?"

"'Cause you're on deck. Go take some practice swings; you're up after Judd."

Georgia did a respectable job with the bat that day; her two singles and three RBI's helped McCassey's Garage defeat Myer's Lawn Care by a score of 17-8.

When the field was empty and most everyone had gone home, Georgia walked Wade to his truck. She leaned her back against the driver's side door and stood up on her tiptoes, silently telling Wade what she wanted.

As usual, he didn't disappoint her. He pulled Georgia close and planted a soft, knee-weakening kiss on her lips ... right there for the whole world to see.

When they separated, she followed him around to the back of his truck, where he'd tossed his bag. “Are you sure you don't want to come hang out with us in the dugout for a while?” Georgia asked. “The guys have cold beer."

Wade shook his head. “Thanks for the invite, Georgia, but I think that's sort of supposed to be a brother and sister thing. Plus, Blackie, Judd, and Rebel can see us from where they're sitting. I just kissed their sister in broad daylight, and don't want to walk into work Monday morning with two black eyes."

Georgia knew he was kidding, but respected the fact that he wanted to give her alone time with her brothers. “Okay. But I'll see you later for the cookout at Rebel and Gypsy's house, right? It's an opening day tradition ... Blackie said so."

He winked and placed a quick kiss on her forehead before climbing into his truck and hanging his head out the open window. “Well, I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for breaking tradition. I'll be there."

Georgia watched until Wade's truck had pulled out of the parking lot. When he was out of sight, she ran over and joined her brothers inside the dugout, only to be greeted by a barrage of flying sunflower seeds. “What are you guys doing?” she asked, ducking behind Judd for shelter. “Those are for chewing, not throwing."

"Yeah,” Blackie said, spitting a mouthful of seeds onto the ground. “But I need somethin’ to occupy my hands now, since you won't let me have cigarettes no more."

"You have something to occupy your hands,” Georgia reminded him. “They've been shoving food into your mouth non-stop since you quit smoking."

Blackie reached out and tried to grab her, but Judd playfully slapped his hand away. “She's right, bro, you've been eating a lot the past couple months."

Blackie gave up, sat down on the bench, and cracked open a can of beer. “For Christ's sake, Judd, I been smokin’ for thirty years. Quittin’ ain't easy. You're lucky I ain't eaten you yet."

Judd momentarily cowered, pretending to be afraid. Then he sat on the bench next to Blackie and punched him in the arm. “Damn lucky. And thanks for the warning."

Following their brothers, Rebel and Georgia sat too.

The four of them had been sitting in silence for just a few seconds when Judd turned to Georgia. “Hey, how come your boyfriend gets to smoke? I haven't heard you hounding him to quit."

She had been. But it wasn't going well. “I—"

"You leave that boy alone, Georgia,” Blackie interrupted.

Judd looked shocked. “What? If the three of us have to quit, he should, too!"

Blackie threw a dirty look at Judd ... along with a handful of sunflower seeds. “Will you shut the hell up and leave it alone, Judd? If Pickett quits smokin', he's gonna need somethin’ to occupy
his
hands, too. And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather them be wrapped around a cigarette's butt than our sister's. So if keepin’ his hands off her means that I have to stuff a cookie in my mouth every time I see him light up, then so be it. Once I get over my nicotine withdrawal, I'll go on a diet.

"Of course, by that time, I'll be ninety, and will need all that extra fat to keep me warm."

Georgia couldn't help laughing. As serious and intimidating as he was most of the time, Blackie had his moments. Sometimes, he could be really funny.

But since none of her brothers were laughing with her, Georgia got quiet.

Thankfully, Blackie broke the tension by changing the subject. “That's some throwin’ arm you got there, little girl,” he complimented as he handed her a bag of ice from the cooler. “What do you plan on doin’ with it?"

Georgia leaned back and placed the bag of ice on the shoulder of her pitching arm. “What do you mean?"

"Well, if you ain't plannin’ on playin’ for someone else, Team McCassey could use a pitcher."

Georgia stretched her free arm out and accepted the can of beer Rebel offered her, only to have Blackie snatch it out of her hand and stuff it back in the cooler. “What the hell are you doin', Reb, don't give her that."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I said so. She don't need to be drinkin’ that shit. Give her a soda."

Rebel leaned forward, took off his hat, and used it to smack Blackie in the head. “Give the big brother thing a rest for a minute, will ya? Georgia pitched a hell of a game and earned herself a cold beer. Besides, you were drinking moonshine by the time you were eleven, and at Georgia's age, you were a hardened criminal."

"Yeah, well, she ain't gonna live the same life I did. Give her a soda,” Blackie repeated.

Afraid of the building tension, Georgia reached into the cooler herself and pulled out a can of soda. “It's okay, Rebel, I don't even like beer."

All three of her brothers looked at her questionably.

"What?” she asked, “just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I'm innocent. My friends and I did lots of wild stuff together before Dolan took me. In the summers when we were all out of school, I used to—"

"I don't want to hear this,” Blackie interrupted.

"Yeah, me, either,” Judd said quickly.

Georgia smiled to herself. Mission accomplished, subject dropped. “Okay, so what about Brady?"

Blackie crushed his beer can and tossed it into the trashcan. “I don't think he wants to hear this, either."

That time it was Georgia's turn to hit Blackie. “I was talking about his position. He's your pitcher."

"Not with a broken wrist he ain't. He'll be lucky if he's able to do any work for the next six weeks. He ain't gonna be playin’ ball no more this season."

"So you want me to be your permanent pitcher?” Georgia was so excited she was having a hard time containing herself.

"The job's yours if you want it. Interested?"

"You won't mind having a girl on your team?"

Suddenly serious, Blackie set his freshly opened beer can on the bench and sat up straight.

"You may have taken the long road home, but you're here now. And just because this family's full of men, don't mean that the three of us ain't proud to have you in it. Even though you got that funny twang in your voice and can't shoot worth a damn—yet—you're still just as much a McCassey as the rest of us. Any man who disrespects our sister—for any reason,” Blackie paused and looked at Judd and Rebel, who each gave a slight nod, “ain't gonna live to tell about it. That's a promise, little girl. You got that?"

Georgia got it, and knew it was true.

"I love you,” she said into the eyes of each of her brothers, “all of you."

Silently, Blackie raised his fist and held it in the air. Judd and Rebel followed, lightly touching theirs to Blackie's. Georgia set her ice down, made a fist, and joined her brothers.

It was good to be home.

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Lauren Sharman, who was voted BEST ROMANCE AUTHOR in the 2006 Annual Preditors & Editors Reader's Poll, has been creating characters and writing short stories since she was a little girl. But it was her love of reading that finally inspired her to write novels. At home in Maryland, she and her husband live on three acres of land with their two kids, and share a passion for classic cars, music, steamed crabs, and spending time with their friends.

She is an active member of both the Maryland Romance Writers and Romance Writer's of America, and is an RWA PRO. She loves talking about her books, so feel free to contact her at [email protected] or through her website at: www.LaurenSharman.com

In addition to
The Long Road Home (The Final McCassey Book)
Lauren's other award winning releases from Whiskey Creek Press include: