Page 6 of Whoa There Cowboy
Hunter winds up and slings the ball into Jake’s glove. Jake wastes zero time zipping it back to him. I’m not stupid. I gathered from his comments this morning that his relationship with his dad isn’t all roses, and the wholegood luck with thatthing was another big tell. But not interested in huge press from Chris Olsen is, well, the very definition of cutting off ones nose to spite their face.
I roll my shoulders and clear my throat in an attempt to regain his attention, but the game of catch continues as if I’m not here. Thing is, I’ve learned a few tricks about beinga woman in a male-dominated world. Hell, I grew up in a world that trained me for this type of confrontation. I was the only female in my law graduating class. And my father’s firm handles a lot of land sales for the patriarchy. Not a ton of female ranch owners in Tennessee. Not a lot of women looking to build multi-use developments either. Men have been in charge just about everywhere I’ve been. And they’re in charge here. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that stand in my way.
I flip open the latch on the gate and march toward the plate before Hunter begins his next windup. I hold up a finger to the pitcher, perhaps a bit of a sarcastic nod to the way Jake did a moment before. Jake stands from his crouch and pulls his mask up to his forehead again, his eyes narrowed on me as he sways from one side to the other. He’s taking up space. But I know he’s also a bit off balance, thrown by my boldness. I’m tempted to push him just to see if he’ll fall.
“I’m sorry our roles around here weren’t made clear to you. See, the ownership has given me the authority to book the press I think is in the best interest of the Mavericks organization, and by extension, Texas. And the story of a baseball legend coming back home to spend one season with his son before calling it quits is a win all the way around. For everyone. Even you, if you’d just let your ego drop and trust me to do my job.”
He flinches and smirks, but before he can offer a rebuttal, I dig in deeper, step in closer. He leans back, but his feet don’t move.
“That’s right, Jake McKinney. Part of my job is to elevate the players in our system, and if I think doing this story will be good for your career, then that’s what we’re gonna do. Got it?”
My hands land on my hips, and I’ve never been happier about being tall in my life. I’m sure Jake would love to tower over me right now. As it is, we’re nearly eye-to-eye. Too bad I couldn’t wear heels on the field.
His eyes dim, and his mouth curls at the ends a hint. It’s not a smirk, though. It’s something much darker, a little angrier. Stubborn.
“We’ll see,” he finally utters.
All I do is laugh, a short swift puff of air in his face.
“I think you mean we’ll see you in the media room next Tuesday for your interview. I’ll let you know the time. Now, go on. Get back to work. Hunter’s got a bullpen to finish.”
I pat Jake’s shoulder, and his eyes follow my hand as his mouth curves into a more obvious grin. I’m not about to dwell, though, despite how my insides have suddenly rushed with heat. I learned a lot in the courtroom before I made the switch to PR, and I know when a closing argument lands. That one did the trick, so before either of us says another word, I march my way back through the gate, latch it, and take the warning track pathway to the away team dugout so I can hide and pat myself on the back for a job well done.
THREE
JAKE
Well. I’ve made it through five days of practice without seeing an alert for a press obligation pop up on my phone or appear on my daily schedule, so it might be safe to say Campbell’s big speech was more bluff than bite.
That’s good, because I’m not sure I can fake my way through an interview with my dad. It’s hard enough to share bullpen catching lanes with him. He takes up space—physically and mentally. And trying to be my best with his presence constantly . . .hovering?It’s hard.
Thank God today is all about hitting. I wormed my way into Jayden’s session. I figure if this hitting tunnel is this crowded, the odds are good my dad won’t try to insert himself. It’s when I’m alone that I’m vulnerable to his good ole fatherly advice.
I’m sure most people would leap at the chance to get insights from the great Roddy McKinney. Especially catchers. But my window for advice from that man shut about twenty-five years ago, when he took off and left Mom behind to raise me on her own. Hell, he didn’t even stickaround long enough to welcome me to the world. I got birthday cards, though, so I guess I should suck it up and be happy about that. Birthday cards and a closet full of McKinney replica jerseys. Same shit he sent his fans.
I step up to the tee to take a few warm-up hacks for our new hitting coach, Colby. Some of the guys around here talk shit about her being, well, aher.But I’ve seen her highlights from college. I’ll be lucky if I can hit half as good as she can.
I swap out places with Jayden so he can get his round in and lean against the back of the cage while I watch his swing with envy.
“He’s quite the player.”
I smirk at the sound of Campbell’s voice but keep my back to her. I’m afraid if I make eye contact, she’ll come at me with her crazy press ideas about me and my pops again.
“Yeah, he’s a natural,” I say, tapping the end of my bat on the side of my cleat then rolling it over my wrist. I started this habit in Little League, messing around with my bat while waiting my turn. It stuck with me, despite Coach Blackwood’s constant nagging at me to “quit noodling,” when I was in high school. I have nervous energy. It has to come out somehow. Better through fidgeting than putting my foot in my mouth, so to speak.
“She’s a great catch for this team. Such a good story,” Campbell says, I assume referring to Coach Kessler.
I glance down and back a hint, getting a glimpse of her tan legs and vivid blue sneakers. She’s dressed for the field today, which probably means she’s going to be hovering out here all damn afternoon.
“Yeah, she’s the real deal. You should get them to do a bunch of stories on her,” I suggest.
“Oh trust me, there are stories in the works. I mean,more than they’ve already done. A lot of the legacy media is interested, too. Someone breaking barriers is always an easy sell.”
“I bet,” I say, hoping she’ll continue selling the easy stuff.
“You know what else the media loves? A family reunion.”
Shit. I went and put my foot in my mouth.
