Cowboy Defender. Carla Cassidy

see you then, I’ll see you next Saturday to pick up the kids.”

      “They’ll be ready,” she replied.

      Goodbyes were said and Hank returned to the truck.

      The rest of the evening passed quickly with baths and bedtime for the kids. It was only when she was in her own bed that she realized within the next fourteen or fifteen hours Clay Madison might or might not show up at her house. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

      At three-thirty on Monday afternoon Clay showered and put on clean jeans and a long-sleeved navy polo shirt. A thrum of excitement rode with him as he got into his truck and headed toward Miranda’s house.

      On the passenger seat were two new ball gloves, a couple of baseballs and a good wooden bat he’d bought on Saturday. He didn’t know if Henry owned a decent glove or not, but he would after today.

      He was definitely looking forward to working with Henry. He’d forgotten how much he’d once loved baseball until he’d tried on a glove in the store.

      Immediately he’d remembered the crack of a bat hitting the ball, the shouts and cheers from the parents who sat on bleachers and the joy of running full-tilt for a base.

      There was no question he hoped there would be an audience of one for the practice today. He could imagine Miranda sitting on her front stoop while he and Henry played in the front yard.

      They would be able to talk and maybe laugh together. He’d love to ask her out on a date, but he had a feeling if he did that right now she’d shoot him down quicker than a wild mustang could disappear in the pasture.

      Still, the excitement ratcheted up a bit as he turned down the tree-lined street where Miranda lived. It was a perfect day to toss around a baseball. The sky was a robin’s-egg blue and the temperature had climbed to the mid-seventies.

      He parked his truck at the curb in front of her place and got out. Her house was a two-story painted white with forest-green shutters. A nice wraparound porch sporting a couple of pots with colorful petunias added to the appeal.

      From a distance it appeared to be attractive and in good condition, but as he walked toward the porch he noticed that the wobbly wooden steps definitely needed some work and the paint on the shutters was faded and peeling.

      Before he could knock on the door, it opened and Henry bounded outside. Clad in a pair of shorts and a bright blue T-shirt, he looked ready to play.

      “Hi, Mr. Clay. I’m so happy that you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you’d really come or not.” He held in his hand a baseball glove that looked like it had been bought in a toy store.

      “I promised I’d come and so I’m here. How about you trade that glove in for this one.” Clay handed him the new ball glove.

      “For real?” Henry’s blue eyes widened.

      “For real,” Clay replied and looked just over the boy’s shoulder to see if he might catch a glimpse of Miranda, but there was no sign of her.

      “Like, it’s mine forever?” Henry asked.

      Clay laughed. “Yes, like, it’s yours forever.”

      A lump of unexpected emotion leaped into Clay’s throat when the young boy threw his arms around Clay’s waist and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Mr. Clay.” He finally released Clay and stepped back. He put his old glove down on the porch and placed the new one on his hand.

      “Does your mom know I’m here?” Clay asked.

      “Yeah, I told her when you pulled up in front of the house.”

      “Okay, then let’s get started.” Clay couldn’t help but be a little disappointed when he started playing catch with Henry and Miranda didn’t make any kind of an appearance.

      For the next hour the two of them threw the ball back and forth to each other. Clay showed the boy how to keep his shoulders positioned toward the thrower, how to stand on the balls of his feet and to keep his eye on the ball.

      It was obvious to Clay that what Henry needed more than anything was practice and he hadn’t even brought out the bat to see how well the boy could hit balls.

      It was right before five when Miranda stepped out onto the front porch. She looked utterly feminine and yet professional clad in a pair of navy slacks that showcased her long, shapely legs and a white blouse that had a pretty ruffle down the front. Her blond hair sparkled in the sunshine overhead and once again he was struck by how pretty she was.

      “Evening, Clay,” she said.

      “Hey, Miranda,” he replied. He wanted to bound up to the front porch and sit in one of the wicker chairs there and talk to her, but there was no invitation for such a thing either in her greeting or in her stiff posture.

      “Henry, it’s time for you to come in now and wash up for dinner. And thank you, Clay, for helping him out.” She turned and disappeared back into the house.

      A wave of disappointment swept through Clay. “So, are you going to come over again?” Henry asked eagerly.

      “Sure. How about tomorrow around the same time?”

      “Awesome,” Henry replied. “Mom is going to sign me up on a team soon and I want to be a really good player.” He gave Clay a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      Clay watched as Henry ran up the rickety porch stairs and disappeared into the house.

      The next day and Wednesday were the same thing. He and Henry worked in the front yard and Miranda didn’t make an appearance except to call Henry in for dinner each evening.

      Still, Clay was enjoying his time with Henry. He did seem like a good kid who was eager to please and showed a lot of gratitude to Clay. He also had a wonderful, carefree laugh that somehow touched Clay. Maybe it was because he’d been around Henry’s age when his mother had left him and taken all the laughter with her.

      Thursday when Clay arrived for more practice time, Jenny was seated on the porch with Henry. They both popped up and ran toward him as he got out of his truck.

      “You said we were going to work on batting today,” Henry said. “So Jenny is going to play outfield for us.”

      “I don’t know what outfield means, but I’m going to chase the balls when Henry hits them,” she said.

      “Perfect,” Clay replied with a laugh.

      He didn’t even bother to look for any glimpses of Miranda. Although he’d had ulterior motives when he’d first offered to help Henry, in the last couple of days it had become all about Henry and helping him to become the best little ballplayer he could be.

      Clay was happily surprised to discover that Henry had a good eye when it came to batting. Jenny was kept busy running after the balls her brother connected with.

      They’d been playing for about an hour when Miranda stepped out of the front door carrying a tray of colorful plastic glasses. Clay’s heart lifted at the sight of her clad in a pair of jeans and a navy tank top. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and she actually offered Clay a small smile as she approached them.

      “It’s a little warm today so I thought you all could use a nice cold drink.” She picked up one of the glasses and handed it to Clay.

      “Thanks.” All of a sudden he felt tongue-tied in her presence. Jeez, he’d made small talk with plenty of women in the past. He’d been hoping to talk to Miranda all week, so why couldn’t he think of anything to say to her now?

      Thankfully she busied herself handing out the drinks to her children, who carried them to the porch and sat down, and then she gazed back at him. “A beautiful day, isn’t it?”

      “Warmer than usual,” he replied as he caught a whiff of her sweet, evocative perfume riding on the air.

      “It’s really nice of you to be helping out Henry