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

write his autobiography, and he’s in the market for a ghostwriter. I pitched your name, but they weren’t all that impressed with your credentials. However, Blanton’s contract gives him final approval on the ghost and he’s auditioning writers on Monday. If you’re smart you’ll get over to his place and convince him you’re the woman for the job.”

 
    CHAPTER 5
Don’t let the fear of striking out hold you back.
— B ABE R UTH
    Dipped cone.
    Breeanne sat in her eleven-year-old blue Nissan Sentra that was parked in front of the private locked gate outside Rowdy Blanton’s property. Dead center in the middle of her crisp white blouse, just below where her cleavage would be if she had any, was a big blob of melted chocolate. Every day after lunch for the last six weeks, since Breeanne’s cardiologist told her that she needed to gain ten pounds, she had pulled up to the drive-through at Dairy Queen and ordered a chocolate dipped cone. In all that time she’d gained only a measly half pound.
    But no one had sympathy for a skinny girl who couldn’t gain weight. Or, for that matter, a clumsy girl who dropped waxy dipped cone chocolate onto the front of her crisp white blouse when she was on her way to persuade the biggest celebrity in town to hire her as his ghostwriter.
    Dammit.
    Why couldn’t she have gotten a regular soft-serve cone? Or better yet, an M&M’s Blizzard in a cup? A cup was much safer than a cone. Then again why had she stopped for ice cream in the first place? Why hadn’t she driven up to his house first thing this morning?
    Why?
    Because she’d heard through the trusty Stardust grapevine that Rowdy Blanton liked to sleep until noon. He might be grumpy if she awakened him too early, and she would blow her chances straight off the bat.
    Really? She was spinning fibs for herself?
    Frankly, as badly as she wanted this writing gig, after her encounter with Rowdy on Irene Henderson’s lawn, he scared the living daylights out of her.
    The man was as devastating as a mudslide, breathtaking as a forest fire, daunting as gale-force winds. Major league baseball should have nicknamed him Force of Nature instead of the Screwgie King, although he was arguably the best screwball pitcher ever to take the mound.
    Sweat broke on her brow.
    How easy it would be to smack the Sentra into reverse and burn rubber all the way down the hill to Stardust. Normally, she was a people pleaser who preferred the path of least resistance, but this was her writing career. The one thing she wanted most in the world was within her grasp. All she had to do was reach for it.
    She would not chicken out. Chocolate or no chocolate, she was going in there and ask for the job. This was her big break. No excuses.
    Okay. Resolve strengthened. She could . . . no, she would do this.
    But how to camouflage the chocolate stain, and how to get through the locked gate?
    Whenever she faced a health-related challenge, her parents loved to say, Don’t worry about trying to eat the whole enchilada at once. Take it one bite at a time.
    Right. First things first. Deal with the stain.
    She leaned over, popped open the glove compartment, and found a couple of napkins. On the floorboard in the backseat she located a plastic water bottle that had a tablespoon or so of water left in it. She wet the napkins, dabbed at the chocolate blob, watched the stain smear, and widen.
    Nut bunnies.
    It wasn’t working.
    What now?
    She gnawed the corner of a thumbnail. Stopped. Sat on her hands. Remembered the cheetah scarf in her purse. All weekend, she’d taken the scarf around with her, bugging everyone she met to feel the material, anxious to see if anyone else felt the softness she did. But family and friends, neighbors and acquaintances all said exactly the same thing. The scarf was scratchy, rough, abrasive, coarse.
    How was it possible that when she touched the scarf it felt like rose petals, Callie’s fur, and chenille throw pillows combined?
    Hmm. If