Even though Rhylan had given up on his dad’s dream to have a son in the major leagues so that he could chase me, he still had a love for his childhood passion. And now he was teaching our sons how to play the game; for fun, of course.
“You boys ready for lunch yet?”
“Aw, just one more pitch, Mama…Puh-lease?” Deacon, our oldest, now just shy of five, pleaded as if his life depended on this last hit. He loved the time he spent with his dad, and Rhylan made it a priority to always be there for our kids, front and center.
I once asked him if he’d have the same expectations for kids that his father had of him if they ever chose to pursue baseball seriously later in life.
He’d been quick to respond,“Not a chance in hell, darlin’. These boys will carve their own path, and I’ll walk beside them every step of the way.”
And as for the MUR… Well, that discussion’s been tabled until our oldest reaches at least seventeen.
“Food’s gettin’ cold, kiddo. And it looks like you're in desperate need of something to eat and drink with all that sweatin' you're doing.” I ruffled Deacon’s soft brunette hair, almost identical in color to Rhylan’s; his handsome spittin' image.
They’d been outside in the backyard since the crack of dawn. Honestly, if it weren’t for me, they’d likely skip lunch altogether without question.
Even our three-year-old, Liam, had managed to keep up with them this morning. “Daddy, throw the ball already!”
“One more, darlin’,” Rhylan gave me a playful wink in my direction, “Then we’ll bring it in, I promise.” He smirked, wetting his lips as his eyes stripped me bare.
There was no hiding what was running through my dirty cowboy’s mind. And he looked damn fine in his backward Nashville Sounds ball cap and white muscle shirt. Those toned biceps on full display with nothing to hide, his panty-dropping hazel eyes that brightened the second they locked on mine.
Such a goddamnturn-on…
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I crossed my arms as my eyes bounced between my boys. “All three of you.”
“Alright, here comes the ball, Deacon. You ready?” Rhylan rotated his hat forward before grounding his stance in the grass. He’d once told me that his favorite position was pitching. “Eye on the prize, sport.”
Deacon nodded, gripping both hands tightly around the handle of his Junior Louisville Slugger. With a slight wiggle of his butt, he squared up to the imaginary plate they’d created from a pile of dead sticks and leaves.
His bat was custom-ordered and hand-carved from cherry wood. A gift Rhylan had given him the day he was born. Deacon’s birth date was engraved into the barrel, along with all of our initials.
Rhylan wound up for the pitch, releasing the ball on the count of three. As it flew towards him, our son swung with all his tiny might, nailing it with the sweet spot on the barrel so perfectly that it lobbed right over his dad’s head.
“I hit it, I hit it, I hit it!” Deacon bounced around the plate, fists punching the air with ecstatic joy as he celebrated his best hit of the day.
“Run D-con!” Liam shouted, watching Rhylan pick up the ball before faking a charge toward his brother, who wasn’t paying a bit of attention.
Deacon dropped his bat and took off in the opposite direction, hoping to escape his dad by hiding behind the nearest tree.
Within seconds, Rhylan had him trapped with nowhere left to run, and then tackled him to the ground with a loud squeal of laughter.
“I save you!” Little Liam wasted no time joining the struggle, running over and leaping on top of them both, creating a pile-up. All three were now wrestling for the ball that had rolled only a few feet away, none of them giving up the fight.Boys will be boys.
“Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun. Wrap it up, boys.”
“Alright, you heard the lady—”
“Mom.” I sassed, rolling my eyes with a huff at my husband. “I ain’t pretending to be a lady out here, and thank god I don’t have to.”
Five years on the ranch really took the city girl right out of me. With the amount of testosterone that had taken over our home, I was far from ladylike anymore, living up to my pet name.
“You’ll always be a lady in my eyes, Wildcat.” Rhylan’s charming smile made my knees buckle as he scooped me into his arms, cradling me against his firm chest bridal style while he walked toward the house.
“Why is Dad always calling you that?” Deacon asked innocently, his mossy green eyes catching in the sunlight, making the color pop even more.
“It’s just a silly little nickname he came up with years ago...”
“Like when you call me, kiddo, or Dad calls me sport?”
