Back in the Game: A Stardust, Texas Novel by Lori Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

worked!”
    Touching the tip of her tongue to her upper lip, Breeanne eased back the hinges. Inside the compartment lay a second box. This smaller box was square, about three inches all around, and an inch deep. Carved into the lid of this box was another odd saying.
Two pieces split apart, flung separate and broken, but longing for reunion; one soft touch identifies the other, and they are at last made whole.
    “What’s it mean?” Suki asked.
    Breeanne didn’t know. She lifted the lid, and the faint smell of cloves drifted out.
    Inside the second box lay a cheetah-print scarf folded into accordion pleats, and bound with raffia. The instant she spied the cheetah print, she thought, Rowdy , and a defenseless smile spread across her face.
    Attached to the raffia was a yellowed piece of paper the size of an envelope label. On the label, written in the faded, flourishing script of quill pen ink, were the words: “Touch Me.”
    Breeanne stared at it.
    “So touch the scarf already.” Suki nudged her with an elbow. “Or are you too scared?”
    Breeanne untied the raffia and picked up the scarf. The cloth rippled through her fingers, smooth and rich as warmed butter. “Wow.”
    “What is it?”
    “This is amazing material.” Breeanne rubbed the scarf between her finger and thumb. “It’s softer than expensive cashmere.”
    “Could be vicuna yarn, but it looks too silky for that. Pass it over.” Suki put out a hand.
    Breeanne pulled her arm back, holding the scarf away from her sister. A foreign sensation pushed up through her chest and into her throat.
    “Sheesh. I’m not going to hurt it,” Suki said.
    Breeanne hesitated. Why was she feeling like a jealous lover? Reluctantly, she forced herself to hand over the scarf.
    Suki made a face like she’d inhaled a sunflower seed husk, and jerked her head around to stare at her. “Ha ha. Very funny.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “The softest material you’ve ever felt? That’s rich. When did you turn snarky?”
    “It is soft,” Breeanne said, more sharply than she intended.
    “This is the scratchiest thing I’ve ever touched. I’d rather wear burlap.”
    Breeanne reclaimed the scarf and rubbed it between her palms. If anything, it felt softer now than when she first took it from the box. With a stubborn tilt of her chin, she tied the jaunty cheetah print around her neck.
    “What exactly did you wish for, a soft scarf? Because a delusional self-fulfilling prophecy is the only explanation I can come up with for why you think this thing is soft.” Suki’s laughter bounced around the bookstore, spiky and too loud.
    “For your information, I wished for a successful writing career.”
    “I can’t imagine how a miserably prickly scarf is going to help with your writing.”
    At that moment, Breeanne’s cell phone rang. Lightly touching the scarf at her neck, she pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the caller ID.
    Kip Miller. Her agent.
    Her entire body went numb, and she broke out in a sweat. It couldn’t be. Could it?
    The phone rang again.
    “Who is it?” Suki asked.
    “My agent,” Breeanne whispered.
    “I just got chills.” Suki shivered, and hugged herself. “You wished for something to happen with your writing career, and boom , the agent who’s snubbed you for over a year calls out of the blue, and on a Saturday afternoon to boot.”
    “What do I do?”
    “Answer the phone! Hurry. Before he hangs up.”
    Breeanne tilted her head, and managed to answer coolly despite the fact she was trembling all over. “Hello?”
    “Breeanne,” her agent’s cheery voice boomed. “Kip Miller here. I’ve got a golden opportunity for you.”
    She transferred the phone to her other hand, wiped her sweaty palm against her thigh. “What is that?”
    “Ever heard of the baseball pitcher Rowdy Blanton?”
    Her stomach flipped. “Of course I have, he’s from my hometown.”
    “I know. That’s why I’m calling. Jackdaw Press signed him to