Renee Andrews - Daddy Wanted

“Such a shame,” Ms. Martin said. “Thirty-two years old. So young.”

A year younger than Savvy.

“Savvy? Hey!” her grandmother’s cheery voice called from the back of the store.

Thankful for a reason to end this awkward conversation, Savvy turned. “Good to see you, Ms. Martin,” she said, and then stepped inside the store.

Savvy liked Ms. Martin, but she wasn’t ready to tackle a discussion about Willow’s death or the fact that she was expected to raise her children. Dylan, at thirteen, was angry his mom was gone. Rose and Daisy, Willow’s six-year-old twins, were confused and heartbroken. And Savvy didn’t know how to handle any of it.

In the past week, she’d learned of Willow’s death, found out she was responsible for three children and abruptly traded life at the beach for life in the town she’d firmly left behind. And this morning’s meeting with Dylan’s school principal, who informed Savvy that she believed it would be “in his best interest” if they “retained” him a year, had done nothing to lift Savvy’s spirits. No child should be punished because his mother died. Savvy knew that better than anyone.

Jolaine Bowers closed the distance between them, embraced her and brushed a quick kiss against her cheek. “We thought you were coming in earlier. I’m afraid your granddaddy left to go check on things at the fishing hole.”

Savvy inhaled the familiar sweet scent of her grandmother’s favorite shampoo and remembered all of those hugs she’d distributed throughout her childhood. And her teens. When she told them she was moving back to Claremont, her grandparents had graciously told her she could work here again, the same way she had done in high school. She should’ve been here early this morning, but after Willow’s kids had gotten on the bus and Savvy was alone for the first time since she’d arrived, she’d spent a good hour crying.

Then she’d reviewed the papers she’d gotten from the attorney, organized all the casseroles the church brought after the funeral and received that call asking if she could come to the school. “I should’ve phoned you,” she said.

“Hey, it’s fine. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. Your granddaddy can see you tomorrow.” She eased away from Savvy enough to display her trademark wink. “We’re just so glad to have you back home and working at the store.”

“Thanks,” Savvy said, because saying she was glad to be back would be an outright lie.

Not wanting to get into any of that right now, Savvy started toward the checkout area to look for her grandfather’s habitual to-do list. Finding it, she glanced at the top. “I’ll get started on the new baseball inventory and—” The front page of a newspaper on the counter caused her words to lodge in her throat. She’d seen the same paper earlier today at Willow’s place. Not today’s paper—the date on it was March 5, from over a month ago.

Willow had saved it, too.

Her grandmother hurried to see what held Savvy’s attention. “It isn’t fair, is it?”

“Isn’t fair...?” Savvy asked, momentarily mesmerized by the photo of the handsome man centering the page.

“That men get better looking as they age.” Jolaine tapped the picture. “I meant to mail that paper to you. I remembered how close you, Willow and Brodie were in high school and thought you’d like to see what he’s up to now.”

Savvy stared at the broad grin and deep dimples she remembered, but instead of his Claremont High baseball cap, he wore a Stockville College one. And her grandmother was right; Brodie looked even better now. Dark eyebrows drew attention to intense eyes framed with equally dark lashes. A straight nose, strong jaw, cleft chin. The photo was in black-and-white, but Savvy knew if it were in color, icy blue eyes would peer out from that thick fan of black lashes.

In high school, Savvy and Willow had put the guys they knew in one of two categories: boys and men. The classification had nothing to do with maturity and everything to do with appearance. Some guys had a boyish look as a teen, and the majority of them outgrew that as they got older. Others looked like men from the get-go. That was the type that attracted Savvy and Willow.

And that was Brodie. Strong. Masculine. Muscled well beyond his age. From the broadness of his shoulders in the photo and the fact that he had an athletic position as head coach of the Stockville College baseball team, she’d guess those muscles were still enough to make a girl’s breathing hitch.

He’d had that effect on both Willow and Savvy, even if they’d agreed they’d never act on the attraction. A common understanding between all three of them—the “wild ones”—was that they would never risk their unique relationship by crossing the boundaries of friendship. They were too much alike, their histories too similar, and they needed each other as confidants. They’d never jeopardize that. Or so the trio had promised.

But then that had changed. Willow had never forgiven him for what he’d done, nor had Savvy. Yet for some reason, Willow had saved that article.

Under the photo, the caption read Hometown Hero Brodie Evans is Back.

Savvy had already perused the story, which briefly told of Brodie beginning as a star pitcher for Claremont High, his years at the University of Tennessee, his brief stint in the majors and his new role as head coach at Stockville Community College. Twenty miles away.

Not far enough.

“You can have that copy,” her grandmother said, jarring her back to the present.

Sighing, Savvy took another glance at the article, folded the paper and held it toward Jolaine. “I saw it at Willow’s, but thanks for thinking of me. Do you want to keep it?”

Her grandmother’s mouth opened, and then she shrugged. “No, I don’t guess so.”

“Okay.” Savvy plunked it in the nearest trash can, then started on the baseball inventory.

* * *

Brodie Evans trudged through the locker room at Stockville Community College and reluctantly entered his office. He prayed no one had tossed the envelope while he’d been away and, inspecting the top of his desk, feared the worst.

Willow’s letter was nowhere to be seen.

“Coach Evans, it’s good to have you back,” Phillip Stone, Brodie’s assistant coach, stepped into the office. He was twenty-three, fresh off his college baseball career, and he reminded Brodie of the guy he’d been ten years ago. Young. Athletic. Charming. Someone who had the world at his fingertips. But unlike Brodie, Phillip didn’t appear the kind of guy who would leave his loved ones behind while he fought to achieve his goals. “You planning to be at tonight’s workouts?” he asked.

Brodie had taken the head coaching job in January, only three months ago, and he hadn’t planned to miss an entire week of workouts and practices, but his priorities had taken a tailspin when he learned his daughter had been in a wreck that had nearly taken her life. Thankfully, the doctors—and God—had pulled Marissa through, but nearly losing her had caused Brodie to realize the truth.

He had earned no place in her world.

“Coach?” Phillip repeated, then shook his head ruefully. “Aw, man, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first. Everything okay with the family emergency?”

Family emergency . That was the only rationale Brodie could come up with to explain why he’d had to leave for spring break instead of sticking around for the team’s extra practices. He’d never mentioned his daughter to the guy. Then again, that precious fifteen-year-old with his eyes technically wasn’t “his daughter” anymore. Once they’d known Marissa would make it, his ex-wife, Cherie, had been quick to remind him that he’d terminated parental rights thirteen years ago.