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The last place he'd expected to find himself was at the Finley Creek-Barratt Memorial Sports Complex. But he was there. Clay had spent the thirty-two of the last fifty or so hours tying up a cattle rustling bust in the southernmost corner of his county. He hadn’t seen Bailey in two days. He had called her this morning—but she’d reminded him that she was taking her scheduled time off, time she’d requested before she’d returned to work that first day.
And besides, she was waiting on a call from the Wichita Falls lab with results from twenty-eight years ago or something. And he should know that—because she’d texted him that information on both the past two mornings.
He’d felt like a chastised little boy. It was the first time he’d seen signs of the old Bailey in there at all. He’d almost promised to stay in the precinct today and wait by the phones just for her. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t be coming in today herself—she’d had another commitment that she’d refused to miss.
He’d almost asked her if it had to do with that ass Chase.
Good sense had prevailed.
He had to be there at the game today himself, or Houghton’s wife would clobber him. Mel had once dropped an entire Dr. Pepper down the back of his uniform when they’d worked a joint case four years or so back. He’d apparently said something stupid.
He was thrilled Houghton had snagged her. Mel was one hell of a woman. She’d been one hell of a cop before her career had ended, thanks to a bullet.
He thought it was great that his idiot cousin had ended up with her. She was good for Houghton. Kept him grounded in the real world.
But she’d taken it on herself to keep Houghton and his cousins in line—with her wishes.
Mel was relentless. She'd told him it was for a good charity, his department would be represented, and he needed to get his ass there. And then she’d called in every favor he’d ever owed her.
Since he’d probably be dead if it weren’t for her—they’d worked a few undercover operations together—there were quite a few debts she could collect on.
In exchange, she'd promised to keep her husband off his back at all upcoming family events for a year and promised to fund the recently storm-damaged roof over his precinct.
It was the roof that had him pledging one thousand dollars if the W4HAV team won.
He took a seat on the bleachers, surprised at the turn out. From what he knew, the charity Mel was involved with wasn't all that old. But then again, he'd heard the governor's wife was heavily involved in it, too. That would make a difference.
He thought that had been Texas's first lady running out toward right field, but he wasn't certain. He took a look at the W4HAV players. Clay had played competitive baseball in his college days at Finley Creek University, along with Micah. He'd always enjoyed the game.
He recognized a few of the players. Lacy Deane, a woman he'd known casually through Mel for a while, took first. They’d had dinner together once. He thought that was one of Mel’s sisters on the pitcher’s mound, too. Mel had a few. All redheaded and just as mean as she was. In a good way.
But it was the third-base player that caught his attention immediately. Familiar gold hair stuck out the back of her cap. Moore was emblazoned across her back, right above the number six.
Bailey.
He shot a look at the dugout, where Mel directed everything.
She looked at him and smirked. Then she waved and blew him a kiss. Damn it. She’d gotten him here on purpose. His department was represented.
Clay just glared back until she smiled and turned away. That woman was scheming and definitely up to something.
He'd have to talk to Houghton about her. Maybe Houghton could keep his wife in control. That woman was a seriously diabolical creature.
And he was stuck there watching Bailey.
There wasn’t any other way he wanted to spend his day off than watching her. Not when he was honest with himself.
Bailey was one hell of a baseball player. He found her easily at third, where she scooped and tossed the ball toward the catcher to make another out.
She scooped and dove and ran and hustled and bent and had him tied up in knots by the end of the first inning.
Hot and bothered and he wasn't even playing the game.
Someone clamped a hand on his shoulder. Clay turned to the second cousin, who was only a few months older than he was. Mr. Successful himself. There wasn't a slacker among the Barratt cousins of this generation. But Houghton, taller, wealthier, older, more powerful, was the most annoying of the lot. "See you made it."
"Your wife wheedled a thousand out of me."
"It's for a good cause."
"Then why didn't you just write a check?"
"I did. So did Turner, Tucker, Alex, Mac, Powell, and the rest." Houghton smiled like the shark Clay knew him to be. "Why don't you triple your contribution? Then you’ll be Mel’s favorite for the day."
Clay looked at his favorite player and found himself nodding. "Tell me about this charity."
"It's for women who've been victims of violence. Your girl at third is a regular visitor to the counselors there. Hangs out there quite a bit. Melody has decided to keep her. So be forewarned. She may end up at a family dinner or two, if Mel has her way."
Clay nodded again. He was. "I didn't know she knew your wife or the Deanes."
He didn't know a damned thing about her life outside of the TSP and the Dillons. He knew a great deal about his other deputies, but this one...
He avoided knowing any more about her than he had to. If he knew more, he’d be tempted to do something he’d regret.
Clay had no delusions where Bailey was concerned.
"It's a good place. W4HAV has helped them all heal." Houghton's words were solemn for a moment. Clay knew some of the story. Houghton's wife's family and friends had gone through literal hell because of political and police corruption going back decades. Hell, they'd just been collateral damage.
Same as Bailey.
If W4HAV had helped her heal to where she was laughing and enjoying herself, then, hell, yes, he'd give his entire damned savings, if he had to.
"Make it two thousand, Houghton."
"Pretty girl. I think you ought to take her to the hotel penthouse for a week. Show her how much you care. Just carry her off. I can guarantee if you do it right, it works."
"I'd have to arrest myself." Family legend said several Barratts had just carried off the women they wanted—including his idiot cousin, who was lucky he hadn’t been arrested for kidnapping Mel. Clay wasn't about to repeat family history.
Thankfully, Mel hadn't pressed charges. His cousin had been a total ass to her when they’d first married. But she’d loved him.
"I'm not involved with Bailey." He looked up at a particularly loud cheer to see the woman playing left field for Bailey's team make a difficult catch. She bulleted the ball to Bailey who tagged a runner out at the last second.
Bailey had had to stretch in a particularly intriguing way.
He was such an ass, drooling over his damned deputy.
"The way you stare at her tells its own story. I suggest you either act on it or scrub your eyeballs. Because people are starting to talk. My father-in-law mentioned it to me. He thought you two were already involved. Kevin is rarely wrong, so thanks." Houghton grinned at him. "And Melody's getting ideas. She likes to match make. She invited Tucker. Seems to think he'd be a good fit for your little blond elf there."
Like hell, Tucker would. His cousin was about the same age as Bailey, but there was no way his player of a cousin was ever going to be able to give a woman like Bailey what she needed. "Control your wife, Houghton. That woman is a menace."
"Hey, preaching to the choir here. But I'm loving every minute of it. You might just try it. It'll improve your chronically cranky disposition."
He never had liked Houghton. The guy had always been an ass.
And an idiot.
Clay ignored his cousin until Houghton wandered off, being replaced by Bert Dillon ten minutes before the game ended.