Frowning thoughtfully, he said, “So you’re telling me that Avery Anderson was an alcoholic. I didn’t know.”
“I thought everybody around here knew that.” Joseph shook his head. “What do the Andersons have to do with you having coffee with a woman, anyway?”
“She’s their daughter. Katherine. Her name is O’Dell now. Did you know she’d returned to Wickenburg?”
“No. Guess she came back to bury the old man and settle his estate. Which couldn’t have been much.”
Blake inwardly winced at his brother’s remark. He understood Joseph wasn’t being snobbish. He was simply speaking the truth. The Andersons had lived in a very modest house on the outskirts of town. They’d never had much in the way of material things. But until this moment, Blake hadn’t been aware that Katherine’s father had cared more about a bottle of booze than he had his family. How had she found it in her heart to care for him during his failing health? Blake doubted he could ever be that forgiving or compassionate.
Blake pulled his thoughts back to the present. “Katherine lives here now. She’s a widow. With a son.”
Long moments passed in silence and Blake wondered if his brother was trying to come up with a nice way of telling him to steer clear of Katherine O’Dell.
Eventually, Joseph asked, “You say she’s pretty?”
For once, Blake didn’t have any trouble putting a smile on his face. “Very.”
“Then you’d better ask her out.”
“I already have,” Blake said flatly. “She hedged on giving me an answer.”
Joseph looked at him. “You’re not going to let that stop you, are you?”
“I’m not going to let anything stop me.”
* * *
Later that evening in a small fenced yard behind Katherine’s house, she tossed a baseball with a gentle underhanded pitch to her son, then smacked the worn glove on her left hand.
“Okay. Let it rip. I’m ready,” she called to Nick.
Nick groaned with frustration. “Aww, Mom, that’s not the way to throw a pitch. You gotta go like this. And put some steam behind it!”
He went through the exaggerated windup of a major-league pitcher and then threw a hard bull’s-eye that nearly knocked the glove off Katherine’s hand.
Somehow she managed to make the catch, but her fingers stung from the force of the ball. “Nick! I am not about to throw the ball that hard. I might accidently hurt you. It’s underhanded or not at all,” she warned. “Take your pick.”
Nick groaned. “Oh, Mom, I’m not a baby. I can catch a fastball.”
“Maybe you can, but I’m not going to throw you one. You have to play by my rules.”
“Okay,” he mumbled with disappointment. “I’ll follow your rules. Let’s play.”
Katherine tossed the ball back to him while thinking how much better things would be for her son if he had a father. Not just a guy in the background, like Cliff, who’d worked too many hours to ever notice he had a son, much less spend time teaching him about sports. Nick deserved to have a father who would give him special love and attention. But finding a man who’d give that much to a stepchild seemed next to impossible.
By the time dusk began to fall and the backyard darkened with shadows, Nick had grown tired of the simple game of pitch and announced he was hungry.
Katherine pulled off the glove and handed it, along with the stained baseball, to her son. “Put your things away and wash up. I already have something fixed, so we’ll eat in a few minutes.”
“Okay, Mom. And thanks for playing catch with me.”
At ten years old, he was tall for his age, with long lanky limbs and feet that were growing just as quickly as his height. His thick hair was nearly as dark as hers and his eyes close to the same gray. People often remarked that Nick favored his mother, and Katherine had to admit that when she looked at her son, she saw nothing of Cliff O’Dell. And considering the way that things had worked out for her and her late husband, she supposed it was a blessing that Nick didn’t resemble his father.
Slinging her arm affectionately around Nick’s shoulders, she guided him toward the back door of the house. “You’re very welcome.”
“Mom, do you think I might go to baseball camp this summer? Jimmy Bainter’s dad is going to be the instructor. You know, he played in the minor leagues once. Back before he got so old.”
“Old? I’ve seen Jimmy’s dad before. He doesn’t look old.” Katherine opened the door and ushered her son inside a small mudroom.
“Oh, shoot, Mom, that guy is probably forty!”
Trying not to laugh, Katherine nudged her son on toward the kitchen. “Go on and wash up.”
“But what about the baseball camp? Can I go? Jimmy and Shawn have already signed up. And it’s going to be over at the park. Every day for two whole weeks!”
“May you go,” she said, correcting him. “And maybe. I’ll check into it.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Grinning as though he was already certain she’d conceded, he hugged her waist, then rushed from the room.
Katherine washed her hands at a deep double sink, before entering the kitchen to get the evening meal ready. As she walked toward the refrigerator to pull out a casserole dish filled with lasagna, she decided to detour to the cabinet counter to check her phone. Normally, she didn’t get many calls, but she did receive a few texts from coworkers.
Seeing a notification that she’d missed a call, she punched a button to see the caller identity and immediately let out a small gasp.
Blake! Blake Hollister had called her!
Yes, she’d given him her phone number the morning they’d had coffee, but she’d never expected him to use it. In fact, once she’d walked away from him in front of the bank, she’d pretty much decided she’d never hear from the man again.
What was she going to do now? She’d missed his call and he’d not left a voice mail.
The smart thing to do, Katherine, would be to put down the phone and forget the man. So what if he did call you? So what if he did take you out on a date? That’s as far as things would ever get with a man like him. You’d only be wasting your time.
Disgusted with the cynical voice going off in her head, she placed the phone on the far end of the cabinet and went about getting the lasagna heated for their supper.
By the time she and Nick had eaten the meal and finished it off with chocolate ice cream for dessert, she’d decided to forget about Blake’s call. If he’d wanted to talk to her that badly, he would have left a message. Besides, she had plenty of other things to think about. Like vacuuming the living floor and putting a load of towels in the washer.
“Mom, can I watch one of your Tarzan movies?” Nick asked as he helped her carry the dirty dishes to the sink. “I want to see the one with the elephant stampede. You know, the one where the bad guys are trying to get ivory from the sacred elephant graveyard.”
Katherine smiled to herself. She’d always loved the Tarzan movies made back in the 1930s and 1940s, yet the first time Nick had watched one with her, he’d promptly described the whole thing as dorky.
“I thought my Tarzan movies were too cheesy for you,” Katherine said as she began to scrape food scraps into the garbage disposal.
“I guess I got to liking them. The animals are neat and so is Boy.”
Smiling, she glanced at