Last Chance Book Club(25)
Author: Hope Ramsay

They fell silent, and sure enough, not more than ten seconds went by before they heard the unmistakable sound of a bull frog serenading the night in search of a mate.

Dash touched Todd’s shoulder and pointed. They circled the water’s edge to the right. The sound got louder.

“All right,” he whispered, “he’s right over yonder. We’ll need to wade into the water. You take the flashlight and kind of shine it along the edge of the water. When you see the frog, you have to be real quiet and move toward him, keeping the light on his eyes. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m not going into the water,” Savannah whispered.

Dash laughed. “Princess, I’m surprised you got this far. You stay here. We’ll do the huntin’.”

Dash and Todd slipped into the waist-high water, and all Savannah could think about was gators and water moccasins. She wondered if Dash was a gator wrangler, too.

Of course if a gator decided to eat her, Dash would be too busy frog hunting to notice. On the other hand, it was amazing what was happening to Todd. Everything she had wished for and hoped for was unfolding before her eyes.

And she would be an idiot not to realize that Dash was responsible. Todd was doing his chores, bringing home good marks in school, taking care of the dog, learning to ride a horse, and frog hunting. He was also getting taller and slimming down. He still played video games, but not all the time.

So maybe facing down her fear of snakes and gators was worth it, just to see her son fearlessly wade into dark waters intent on catching a frog for the big jump tomorrow.

The undergrowth rustled behind her, and her own fears sent a shiver right up her backbone. She turned to find a man-shaped shadow standing on the path behind her. Her skin went cold as scenes from The Creature from the Black Lagoon spooled through her mind.

She aimed her flashlight at it.

And it turned out to be only a man. Carrying a cat. Which seemed kind of strange here in the middle of what was turning into a community frog hunt.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“Hello.”

“I’m Zeph. I think Mr. Dash must have told you about me.”

“Oh. Yes.”

He took another step forward. “This here is Maverick.” He held out a very large, black cat. “He’s the best mouser I’ve got. He don’t need much attention either.”

Savannah didn’t want the cat. But she could hardly say no, standing there alone in the middle of a swamp. So she took the cat into her arms. It was heavier than she expected. It started to purr.

Suddenly she was ten years old, hanging out in the small apartment above the theater playing with Bogey, the black cat who lived at The Kismet. She hadn’t thought about that cat in years. Mom didn’t allow pets at home, so Bogey was the first cat she’d ever known. She had loved that cat.

This one settled right into her arms as if he belonged there.

She looked up at Zeph. He stood in the darkness now. “Thank you,” she said.

“I knew you and Maverick were going to be friends. He’s been waiting a long time to find a home.”

And with that, Zeph turned and walked into the darkness as if he knew the path so well he didn’t need a flashlight.

And that raised an interesting question: How had he found her out here in the dark? The answers that came to her were a little bit creepy.

Dash stood at the edge of the City Hall Park. The egg hunt was in full swing. Little kids with Easter baskets ran all over the place looking for plastic eggs, while the members of the sixth-grade Sunday Schools for five different churches ran after them providing hints.

The older kids had hidden the eggs this morning at o-dark-thirty, which had been kind of a challenge since most of them had spent the previous night frog hunting. It had practically taken dyn**ite to get Todd out of bed this morning. The kid thought frog hunting was “tight,” but Easter egg hunting not so much.

Dash and Todd had done okay last night. They’d caught three frogs, and a few hours of sleep, while Savannah had caught a big fat monster of a cat.

He smiled. Zeph was a piece of work.

He cast his gaze over the people in the park, searching for her. Savannah looked good enough to eat in her little blue dress. She stood behind a card table festooned with helium-filled balloons, handing out brownies and Rice Krispie squares. Her blond ponytail bounced as she talked.

She was cute. And built. And she believed in him, when everyone else seemed to be thinking he’d staged the whole snake rescue for some nefarious reason.

And that was a big breakthrough. Maybe what he was feeling for her was more than just an addiction. More than just lust.

And every time he allowed himself to think that way, it scared him silly. He could see that Savannah wasn’t like the blond bimbos he’d hung around with when he was playing in the majors. Those women were trouble. They were looking to party, and he’d been the original party animal. He couldn’t remember one of their names.

Savannah wasn’t a party girl. She was wholesome. She was a terrific mother, a dedicated niece, and a member in good standing of the Last Chance Book Club.

She was exactly like Hettie. Hettie was the Queen Bee, and Savannah was the princess. Dash had a weakness for royalty, evidently. Because he was falling in love with Savannah.

And love was the worst kind of addiction a man could have. Especially when the woman in question was destined for someone else.

He needed to keep his distance. It was the right thing to do, even if it was harder than staying away from Dot’s Spot.

He shifted his gaze, looking for the kid. As usual, Todd had disengaged. He stood by one of the big oaks at the back of the park. Watching.

Dash’s phone rang as he headed across the park toward the kid. One look at the caller ID had him tumbling right into the past. Condy Dombrowski, his erstwhile agent, hadn’t called in at least nine months.

He pressed the talk button. “Hey, Condy.”

“Dash. I’m happy to see you’re recovering.”

“How would you know that? We haven’t seen each other in more than a year.”

“Since yesterday when Sal Rizzo sent me an e-mail with a link to a YouTube video of you charming snakes.”

Oh, brother. “Yeah, well, I sure do wish Bubba Lockheart hadn’t posted that video. Or sent it to the local TV station. I had reporters from Columbia all over me for a solid day, asking a lot of embarrassing questions about my so-called career. And there are people who think I put those snakes in that theater just so I could be the hero.”

“I know. I saw the interviews. You’ve been sober for eighteen months, and your knee looks like it’s okay.”

“No, Condy, it’s not.”

“Oh.” Dash could hear the disappointment in Condy’s voice.

“What is it?” Dash asked, suddenly intrigued more than he wanted to be. His addictions took so many forms.

“Cincinnati might be looking for an experienced catcher for their single-A farm team.”

Single-A? Dash had never played single-A ball. He’d been drafted right out of high school, and the Astros had put him directly into their triple-A ball club. He’d only spent a year in the minors. Being told that there might be a spot for him in single-A was almost an insult. Condy was like a drug dealer, trying to gauge Dash’s desperation.

“I’m not biting, Condy, sorry.”

“Listen, Dash, I know it’s single-A, but Sal wants someone to bring the kid along.”

“The kid?”

“Jeez, Dash, don’t you read the sports pages? Dillon Taylor needs someone to teach him the finer points of the game.”

“Dillon Taylor has a ninety-nine-mile-an-hour fastball. He doesn’t need much more.”

“Yes, he does. Cincinnati wants an experienced catcher to work with him. It’s a way back in, Dash. Rizzo thinks highly of you. He knows you can manage a young pitcher, and the organization thinks you could teach a couple of their young catchers, too.”

“I see. Why don’t they hire me as a coach?”

Silence greeted him. Dash knew the reasons why. He would need to prove himself first. And from what he’d read, Dillon Taylor was a hothead with a big ego. This was probably the worst job anyone in baseball could offer him.

And the sad thing was that he wanted it. He wanted it the way he wanted a drink sometimes. “I’m not interested,” he said.

“Dash, come on, this is a great opportunity. You take on this kid, and you can prove to them that you’ve changed. This is a road map that might get you a coaching job. Sal told me he thought you could be a great teacher if you got your life together. He wants to give you a chance. He told me he’s a great fan of yours.”

Dash stopped and gazed at Todd. There was another kid who needed him. A kid who needed him more than some single-A ballplayer with a million-dollar arm. And even though Dash was trying hard to stay away from Todd’s mother, he was still coming to feel like God had put Todd in his way for a reason. Dash had something important to give that boy. The truth hit him hard, and something cracked inside his chest.

“Sorry, Condy, I can’t do it.” He pulled the phone from his ear and hit the disconnect button. And in that moment, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Savannah stood in one of the large party tents set up in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church. The Annual Allenberg County Frog Jump was in full swing. Contestants bearing Tupperware containers filled with bullfrogs large and small were gathering and getting their competitor numbers.

Todd was set to jump his frog in the next group—the twelve-to fifteen-year-olds. Dash was giving him last-minute pointers.

“All right now, son, there’s a trick to handling a frog.” He picked up the slimy green amphibian in his gigantic hand while Todd watched. “See, you hold him with your thumb and middle finger, and you put your trigger finger right between his eyes. That kind of hypnotizes him or something.”

Sure enough, the frog hung there in Dash’s hand without wiggling or squirming.

“Tight,” Todd said, obviously impressed by Dash’s frog-toting knowledge.

Dash turned the amphibian over and massaged its stomach. The frog closed its eyes. Todd looked up into Dash’s craggy face with utter devotion.

Savannah didn’t know how to feel about this turn of events. Her boy was falling in love with Dash. And she could understand why. Dash went out of his way to spend time with Todd—whether it was playing Frisbee, or catching frogs, or playing with an iPhone fart app. And Todd behaved, just to please him. More than that, Dash had made himself a model that Todd wanted to emulate. Where on earth had this man come from?

“Okay, lemme try.” Todd reached into the Tupperware container and pulled out a great big, slimy frog. But he’d used perfect technique because the frog just hung there in his hand.

“That’s the way,” Dash said. “Now, when it’s your turn to jockey the frog, you have to drop him on the little starting circle and then you slap the ground behind him to make him jump. If you keep your left hand over his eyes until you drop him on the starting circle, the extra light will startle him, and he’s likely to jump further on his first hop.”