Page 62 of Playing With The Mountain Man

“Right. I think we’ve taken up enough of everyone’s time and resources. I’m glad it’s good news. It will be good to have Cody back on the pitch as soon as possible,” Coach summed up, dismissing everyone with a clap.

With hearty handshakes and promises of catching up soon, one by one, they filtered out of the room. I’d almost made it to the door when Coach called my name, halting my escape.

I spun and faced him. “Yeah, Coach?” I replied, remembering my manners.

“What’s so special about Wattle Creek? It’s barely even on a map?” he asked, dropping back into his seat and rocking back.

“It’s home,” I told him honestly with a shrug.

“And you can do the rehab from there?” he questioned.

“I’ll do everything I have to. I just need to be there. I’m out of the spotlight,” I explained.

“Good point. But I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me, Cody. I’m gonna let it go for now because I believe you when you tell me Wattle Creek is the best place for you. You seem almost calm about it. The young kid I knew would’ve been beating down my door, promising me he was fine and demanding I put him in. What’s changed?”

I was startled by his question. “I guess that kid grew up,” I replied, brushing off his words and pretending they didn’t hit deeper than they actually did.

“Well, when you get home, tell her she’s a lucky girl.” He chuckled, rising from his chair and tugging the cap off his head.

“There’s not … I didn’t say …” I stuttered, suddenly lost for words.

“You didn’t have to.”

“How did you—”

“When you get to my age,” he started, “you quickly realize, there’s always a girl. And if she’s worth it, you’ll end up a much better man than even you thought you could be.”

His words hit hard.

“Tillie is something else,” I commented, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t.

“Well,” he started, rounding his desk and coming to stand beside me. When he clapped his hand down on my good shoulder and started leading me to the door, I knew my time was done. “Get on the plane. Treat her like a queen and get that shoulder ready. We need you back on the field. I’ll have a ticket waiting for your girl when you get back.”

His words were as good as getting your parents’ blessing.

“I’m on it,” I assured him, shaking his hand.

“You’d better be,” he replied, breaking the connection and shutting his door, ending the conversation.

I stood there staring at the door for a full minute before my brain kicked in. I headed straight for the exit, ordering a car as I went. I had somewhere to be, and it wasn’t in Dallas.

After a three-hour flight, two delays, and the worst traffic trying to get out of the parking lot, I was finally headed home. Home. It was odd how comforting that word was. Never in a million years did I think my temporary escape to the mountains would become the sanctuary I craved.

I checked the time. It was just after three. If I kept to schedule and got lucky, I could pick Tillie up after her shift and whisk her away. I pumped up the stereo, wound down the window, and let the breeze hit me.

By the time I eased off the gas and turned into Wattle Creek, I was practically salivating at the idea of seeing Tillie. Ten days of missed calls, hurried video chats, and text exchanges weren’t enough. Not nearly enough. I knew when I left town that I was in love with her, I just hadn’t realized how much I needed her until we’d been forced to put distance between us.

Last night I’d almost blurted it out. I’d almost sent her a plane ticket and begged her to fly out and see me. Somehow, I found the common sense to keep my mouth shut. Besides, Tillie wasn’t just some woman. She deserved the best I could give her. And it started with flowers.

Swerving, I cut off a car, dipping my head when they honked. I waved my apologies and turned the corner, pulling up out the front of the florist. Jumping out, I hurried inside, hoping that I wasn’t too late.

I ignored the jingle of the bells and marched straight up to the counter, already overcome by the smell of the blooms. An exhausted woman appeared from the back, wearing a sage-colored apron.

“Afternoon, how can I help you?” she asked, pasting on an exhausted smile.

“I need a bunch of flowers,” I blurted out, internally cringing when I heard how stupid I sounded.

“Good thing I’m a florist and I sell flowers,” she replied sassily, and I felt the tension fall from my shoulders.