Relief hit her when the sun rose and her shift was about to end. It was six AM. Only one hour to go.
The morning customers were starting to roll in.
Delivery men, construction workers.
And Brody Jones.
She blinked in surprise. What was he doing up so early? She’d imagined him sleeping until game time, after a night on the town.
She’d heard the door to his room slam around eleven thirty as she was getting ready to begin the night shift. Then his footsteps faded away down the hall.
She shrugged. What he did was his business. A smile crossed her face and made her perk up. Until they were married. Then it would be hers.
When that was going to happen, she didn’t know.
She dismissed their argument on the stairs as her fault. A temporary blip in her plan to see her dreams come true. She admitted she shouldn’t have been so hard on Brody, showing up like she did without warning, but there hadn’t been time to let him know she was coming.
Up until a week ago, she’d never asked for his address. She’d always believed he’d come back for her. But he hadn’t. She’d finally taken matters into her own hands, all very spur-of-the-moment.
Brody’s mom had given her the address that was scrawled on the back of his letters, telling Mary that marrying her would be the best thing that ever happened to her boy.
With his mom’s blessing in her back pocket, Mary had been certain Brody would walk her down the aisle right away.
How wrong she was.
He was arrogant, ornery, and dead set against a wedding. Especially with her. Why? What was wrong with her?
She worked hard, went to church on Sundays, and made the best peanut butter cookies in Plain. Some would go as far as to say they were the best cookies in the county.
What more could a man want?
Sex.
She hadn’t had much practice with that. Brody was the only man she’d made love to, but she was a fast learner. And how she loved to learn ... her legs wrapped around him, his hands caressing her breasts ...
She rubbed the calves of her legs, trying to get out the kinks. She’d get him back. She had before and she’d do it again. Like the time that snooty girl from the next town over tried to get her claws into Brody.
Gwen Gardner, she remembered, had flirted with him when they all went for a swim in the river, then pretended to drown so Brody could save her. When Mary found out the girl was on the swim team at her school, she tricked Gwen into revealing her deceit to him. It worked.
Brody hated liars.
What about that line she’d given him about wanting to give back his ring?
That didn’t count. It was only a little white lie. She could have taken the ring off her finger, but she didn’t want to. Not until Brody added a gold band next to it.
She pushed out her chest. Time to go to work.
She tucked stray wisps of hair under her waitress cap and licked her lips. Dry. Where was her lipstick? No time. By the way Brody was looking at his watch, he wanted to order breakfast. Fast.
“What’ll you have, Brody?” she asked, strolling over to his booth, pen and pad in hand.
“Three scrambled eggs made with real butter—” He looked up. “Oh, it’s you, Mary. Still here?”
“Still here.” She grinned, then assumed her professional waitress stance. “Do you want hash browns with that?”
He nodded. “And coffee. Hot.”
“Hot is my specialty.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever you want it to.”
“Too bad I won’t be around to find out.”
Mary panicked, ignoring the ringing bell alerting her that her next order was up. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” He looked smug. “The Rogues play two series on the road. I’m out of here. Ten days gone.”
She excused him. “Must have slipped your mind.”
His cell phone rang. A text. He read it, then grabbed his jacket. “I won’t have time for those eggs. Bye, Mary. I’m still betting you won’t be here when I get back.”
“Brody, I’ll miss you,” fell on deaf ears. He’d already cleared the door.
She felt heartsick. She’d just gotten to town, and Brody was leaving her. Ten days seemed like a lifetime.
“Mary, your order’s up!” Duffy yelled, leaning over the counter and banging on the bell.
Her response time wasn’t quick enough for the cook. He rounded the counter and raced toward her, his eyes glaring, his belly wobbling as he delivered the food himself.
A customer was calling her, needing more coffee.
Another was waiting to be seated.
Mary’s head began to pound. Her stomach tightened.
Maybe Brody was right. Maybe she couldn’t cut it as a waitress. She’d give it one more hour and hope for the best.
Chapter 8
The Rogues ran the Braves into the ground. They won the first two games and were feeling cocky. Game three, and the score was 8–2 by the top of the seventh. They planned to clean house and leave Hell-Lanta.
The temperature was so high, Psycho McMillan wanted to do a rain dance. The field was so hot it could shock a lizard. The dugout was a sweat lodge.
Brody Jones sat next to Law on the visitors’ bench, sweating bullets and sucking air. “My dick’s roasting like a Ball Park frank,” the shortstop complained.
The heat dried Law’s mouth and throat, leaving him spitless. He reached for his favorite candy. “Life Saver?” He presented the roll to his teammate.
“I always get stuck with watermelon,” Brody complained, but he took the candy anyway. “I’d rather have orange.”
“Take what you’re offered.”
Brody cut Law an ornery look. The kid was on a tear, Law knew, his temper volatile. He’d been the last player to arrive at the airport, holding up the team’s departure. There’d been no apology when he’d boarded, only an angry hiss.
He’d sat in the back, he and his foul mood taking over the last four rows of the private jet. He’d brooded all the way to Atlanta.
Law had initiated conversation twice, only to be met with caveman grunts. He’d moved on to play poker with Risk Kincaid, Brek Stryker, and Psycho McMillan. Law swore Psycho had aces up his sleeve. No man won every hand, yet Psycho had. Law left the game with only change in his pocket.
Now seated side by side on the dugout bench, awaiting his at bat, Law watched as Brody clenched his fists and pushed for an orange Life Saver.