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July 2010
Welcome and a great big Western Howdy!
 July is the middle month of summer, something akin to having 'middle child syndrome'. It strives to rise above the excitement of the beginning of summer and the let down of August at the tail end leading to the return of children to the classroom.
This month, we will celebrate the birth of our nation. Men with passion, who conceived a body of government unlike any on the face of the earth, some say the perfect blend of Democracy and Republic principles all dedicated to freedom. As authors, we understand it is a work in progress. An American WIP if you will, constantly being tweaked and adapted to a changeable society. It is what makes us so unique. It is the indomitable spirit that I celebrate with my western heroes.
So enjoy your Fourth of July with fireworks, patriotic speeches, and song. Remember to honor those who have given 'their last full measure' on foreign soil or here at home. It is this collective spirit that makes each of us an American. To paraphrase Descartes, "We think; therefore we can".
Happy Fourth of July!
Nancy P. O'Berry
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Strike One for Love
Part Two
All day long he stood in the back field showing kids how to hold the bat, where to place their feet to knock it out o the park, and the kids ate it up. Now, finally the last group arrived. When he asked for volunteers, their hands eagerly begged, pick me, pick me. But one kid, hovering in the back, his hand by his side, merely stared. Deep blue eyes, the color of the pin stripe on the Yankee uniform yanked at his soul. There was an overwhelming yearning that drew him out, and before Logan realized it, he heard his voice beckoning to the kid. "Let's have that young man in the back step forward."
Envious glances from his classmates caused streaks of red to run down his cheeks as he pushed his way through the crowd. He was small and lanky, kind of a Jimmy Steward type of kid. Over his head, Logan caught a few of the athletic types snickered and murmured something to their cohorts. Some giggled. The kid hesitated. Logan stepped forward and held out his hand. The kid gripped it and they shook. Looking down, Logan detected a few unshed tears.
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Books on my TBR pile
'The Lieutenant's Ex Wife' By Aliyah Burke
Total E Bound
ISBN: 978-0-85715-179-7
Genre: Contemporary
'Masquerade' by Denise Jeffries
Romance/Mystery/Crime
Publisher: Parker Publishing, Inc./Noire Passion
ISBN: 978-1-60043-080-0
Look who's stopping by the month of July
Week of July 4- 10
Western author Paty Jager comes by with her new release.
Week of July 25- 31
It's Christmas in July with author Paige Ryter
I hope you'll stop by for some reading fun.
Be sure to follow the Summer reading trail sponsored by Voirey Linger. Check out all the free summer reads including my own 'Kissing Bandit'
www.voireylinger.com
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Damn them, he thought. Yet, from somewhere in the back of his mind a voice reminded him, years ago, it would have been him. It was a little late to undo the injustice he might have caused, but coming face to face with Karma, Logan figured he could try.
"I need two in the outfield," he said.
Again, a flurry of hands reached skyward. "You," He pointed to the upper classman, clearly the leader of the jocks, with the T-shirt proclaiming Coyote All Stars. "Grab yourself a glove and go deep."
He heard snickers, mostly male. Logan steadied his glance, eyeing the boys lounging along the side. Their glances smug in open disdain a clear signal they were superior. Time to put the bottom rung on top. "I tell you what, just so you'll have a sporting chance, the four of you join your friend, three deep, one short."
A gasp reverberated from the crowd. He could taste the since of blood in the air and they moved toward the backfield. "That's all right, the bigger the ego the harder the fall," he whispered. Looking down, he caught the kid's skeptical gaze.
"I'm gonna show you something only the big leagues know, kid. But you gotta trust and you gotta believe."
As he watched the knot in the kid's throat that would someday grow into an Adam's apple bobbled as he swallowed. "I believe, sir. I believe in you."
There was something so honest, so true about those words that made the swell of emotion rise in Logan. His own throat grew thick. "Go on, son," He patted the kid's shoulder and for the first time noticed how his hand encompassed the body from shoulder to two inches from his neck. "Choose your bat and take you place in the batter's box." Watching him walk away was like seeing himself in a mirror. Time seemed to fall away. He had been the scrawny kid thought to weak to play ball until Coach slipped up and became the dad he'd never had. Unfortunately, he let his skills get a head of his humanity.
"You plan on demoralizing the kid or work a miracle?"
Logan's head whipped to the side as he returned to the present. Gus stood at his shoulder. The chaw of tobacco shifted from one cheek to the other as his dark eyes narrowed. "You hurt this kid," he paused to spit to the ground. "And I'll mop the field with your ass, personally."
Logan blinked and stared as Gus turned away.
Raising his hand, he tugged on the brim of his hat and walked to the batter's box. The kid stood swinging an aluminum bat a second lay at his feet. Logan smiled at the Louisville slugger. For while the metal might sing, it was the crack of the wood that mad baseball the all American sport.
"Which one?"
"Wooden," the kid replied.
Logan noted the confidence in his voice. He watched the kid walk away to hand the bat threw the fencing to the P.E. coach. He bent down and hefted the wooden bat in his right hand. The weight was good. He brought his other hand to the wood and stroked down the length of the bat. No chips, no flaws, an excellent choice for the kid. The crunch of dry clay signaled the boys return.
"What do they call you?" he asked.
The boy glanced around at his classmates curious stares and rubbed his hands down the sides of his jeans. "Name's Clay, sir."
"Clay, huh?" Logan grinned. "A good name for a ball player." He tilted the bat toward him and Clay took it. "Show me your stance, Clay."
The boy backed into the batter's box and stood with the bat on his shoulder. Logan walked around behind him and positioned his feet and lowered his body to a crouching stance all the while whispering low so that only the two of them knew what was being said.
"Don't be afraid." Logan murmured. "Keep your eyes fixed on that straight line from the pitcher's mound to outfield. Now visualize the ball. That white leather hurtling at you ninety miles an hour or more." He placed his arms around Clay's body and put his hands on the bat over top the kids.
Skin to skin a charge of electricity seemed to flow through. Logan could feel Clay absorb the field and deepen the length of his swing. "You'll hear the pop of connection, feel the sting in your hands, and it will be gone."
He released his hold and Clay stood suspended, the bat out stretched his eyes piercing the outer field. "You ready?"
Clay took a deep breath and nodded.
Logan looked to the coach. "Speed gun. I don't want anyone to say this was a trick."
He heard the crowd murmur in wonder as he walked out to the mound. Bending down he picked up his old standby, a Spaulding glove he'd had since high school and slid it onto his hand. Inside the pocket, the ball waited. Logan took his place on the mound. Dropping his hands past his waist, his chin against his chest, he stared the ninety feet down at Clay's half hidden eyes. His fingers found the lacing. The nails dug in. Adrenalin flowed. One rotation of his shoulder, no pain, that was good. He reared back. The toss was good, the ball made a 'b' line for the catcher's glove.
Clay's eyes grew wide. There was a grunt and a smack as the ball made contact with the leather in the catcher's hands. Laughter erupted in the outfield. Logan caught Gus's hard stare.
"Speed," he called out.
"Ninety-three m.p.h." The coach replied.
Logan walked forward and raised his glove, signaling the catcher, who lobbed him the ball. He ground it into the pocket of his mitt and without looking up replied, "Don't blink."
A determined look flashed across Clay's face. He brought the bat to his shoulder. Logan walked to the mound. Taking his position again, he stared down into the face of the batter. Their e yes connected. Even in the shadows, he could feel the kid's stare and hunger. Life swirled into slow motion. Logan reared back and threw his best strike. The ball turned end over end nearing the plate. Clay's shoulders rotated, bat and ball collided with the sound of a gunshot.
Mouth's dropped. Logan turned, a satisfying grin pulled his lips back revealing dimples as the ball whizzed past his head, hurtling down field, with all four jocks in pursuit. He glanced back to Clay. The kid's eyes were shining as his classmates suddenly sprang into animation, screaming, yelling rushing to slap their new hero on the back. Logan looked past to the fence line. Gus grinned back.
"Speed," he called over the mayhem.
"Ninety-six m.p.h." the coach called.
Clay had just sent his fastest pitch sailing beyond the three twenty fence, something most triple A batter's couldn't do. As he looked across to the box, Clay stared back. Untangling himself from his well wishers, he walked out to the mound and thrust out his hand. "Thanks, Mr. Cash."
Logan took it. The grip was firm something to be said about the man forming underneath. "You're welcome, Clay."
***
Nina Leggett looked up from her paperwork as her s on burst through the door.
"Mom! Mom!" He called out, his voice an octave higher due to the excitement. "You'll never guess what happened."
She held up a finger and he grew silent as she signed off on a form. Laying the pen down, she looked up. "Now, Clay, what's all this -" and her voice trailed off.
"I hit a home run, Mom, A home run! Over the back fence, the whole thing!" he danced toward her.
She watched his excitement grow in his eyes. Those blue eyes just like another pair from the past.
"All because, Mr. Cash, here showed me how."
Nina looked to the man filling her doorway. Those blue eyes, staring questioningly at her only now a little bit older.
Part three coming in August
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