Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Emma.” The name escaped him on a breath. It had been six months since he’d seen Emma at the bar and heard about her overactive imagination.
“What’s that now?” Mitchell canted his head to the side, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Greer,” Linc said, clearing his throat, grateful for his darker skin. “I couldn’t remember where I’d seen her before but when she went to Dawson, I remembered she was Emma’s daughter.”
“Right,” Mitch drawled out, more than simple disbelief in that single word. “That’s why you said Emma’s name on that low, drawn-out breath.” He clapped him on the back. “Can’t wait until Tully finds out about this.” He waggled a finger. “Almost as good as Tully with the throaty sigh. I think I just heard yours.”
Shit. Mitchell loved to gossip and no amount of bribery could stop him. Because he was grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat.
He was fucked.
…
Emma rubbed the stiffness out of her lower back, biting her lip to stop the moan of pain from escaping. She needed a new job.
Greer bounced into the room, fresh from her shower, grinning from ear to ear. Like a little mountain goat, her daughter clambered up into the chair that was really too high for her.
“I batted today, Mommy.”
“You batted? At the community center?”
Greer nodded with such enthusiasm Emma wondered if she would slide off the chair.
“Even when it was pitched to me.” A wider grin. “I love baseball.”
Three words that made all of her own pain vanish as she moved to slip into the chair nearest her daughter. Greer didn’t love anything. Her daughter was one of the most withdrawn and quiet kids she’d ever met. She liked things but never had she heard her daughter say she loved anything. And the fact she loved having something tossed in the direction of her head, well, that was proof that a child didn’t solely take after the one who raised them. Because for her, that would not be a fun pastime. She loved watching baseball, okay, one player in particular. Had since high school. However, she had no desire to play the game.
“You do?”
Greer nodded before blowing some of her wet hair out of her face. Emma took the hint and rose for the brush. Moments later they’d moved, and her daughter sat cross-legged on the couch in front of her as Emma combed out her hair.
“What do you love about baseball, Greer?”
“The numbers of it. And it’s fun.”
Emma swallowed as she tried to figure out who this person was and what had happened to her quiet daughter. Not that she wasn’t thrilled to know that she’d found something that called to her. Emma wanted her out and living. Making friends. Having a wonderful time in school. And after school.
Everything Emma herself hadn’t had.
She hadn’t even graduated high school. She pushed her own maudlin thoughts away. This wasn’t about her. It was about Greer.
“The numbers of it?”
Greer nodded, her hair bouncing. “When I look, I see angles and stuff.”
Oh God, her daughter was a freaking genius and she was woefully unprepared. Angles? She could see a ninety degree one sometimes but that was about it. She couldn’t tell you the difference between an acute and an obtuse angle. If those were the correct names for them.
High school hadn’t been easy or fun for her. Her lone bright spot had been Paul Lummin. He was a couple of years ahead of her in school, and she’d been thrilled when he’d begun to pay attention to her—the frumpy overweight unpopular girl. A short-lived joy when she’d ended up pregnant and he had then wanted nothing to do with her, saying a child would ruin his future and he—or rather his parents—had offered to pay for the abortion.
Emma had refused to abort her baby. She alone faced the wrath of her father. Refused him when he too wanted her to get rid of her unborn child. She alone struggled to work odd jobs after dropping out of school to bring in more money.
A tremor wracked Emma and she took several deep breaths. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in painful memories.
“Hold still, baby,” she murmured as she began braiding Greer’s hair for her bedtime.
Over her daughter’s slim shoulder, Emma watched as the little girl wrung her hands together, doing her best not to move from her spot. The tell was a big one. She was nervous about something.
“What’s going on, Greer?”
She’d tried to make sure that her daughter knew she could come to her about anything.
“I was asked today if I wanted to join the baseball team that’s going to be put together. They’ll have a few, grouped by ages.”
The longest sentence she’d heard from her daughter in, well, ever. Tears burned her eyes as she realized how beneficial the center had been for her child, even after one day. No way would Greer have even stopped to talk with someone. She would have been in a corner reading, keeping to herself. Alone.