into the darkness as if he knew the path so well he didn’t need a flashlight.
And that raised an interesting question: How had he found her out here in the dark? The answers that came to her were a little bit creepy.
Dash stood at the edge of the City Hall Park. The egg hunt was in full swing. Little kids with Easter baskets ran all over the place looking for plastic eggs, while the members of the sixth-grade Sunday Schools for five different churches ran after them providing hints.
The older kids had hidden the eggs this morning at o-dark-thirty, which had been kind of a challenge since most of them had spent the previous night frog hunting. It had practically taken dynamite to get Todd out of bed this morning. The kid thought frog hunting was “tight,” but Easter egg hunting not so much.
Dash and Todd had done okay last night. They’d caught three frogs, and a few hours of sleep, while Savannah had caught a big fat monster of a cat.
He smiled. Zeph was a piece of work.
He cast his gaze over the people in the park, searching for her. Savannah looked good enough to eat in her little blue dress. She stood behind a card table festooned with helium-filled balloons, handing out brownies and Rice Krispie squares. Her blond ponytail bounced as she talked.
She was cute. And built. And she believed in him, when everyone else seemed to be thinking he’d staged the whole snake rescue for some nefarious reason.
And that was a big breakthrough. Maybe what he was feeling for her was more than just an addiction. More than just lust.
And every time he allowed himself to think that way, it scared him silly. He could see that Savannah wasn’t like the blond bimbos he’d hung around with when he was playing in the majors. Those women were trouble. They were looking to party, and he’d been the original party animal. He couldn’t remember one of their names.
Savannah wasn’t a party girl. She was wholesome. She was a terrific mother, a dedicated niece, and a member in good standing of the Last Chance Book Club.
She was exactly like Hettie. Hettie was the Queen Bee, and Savannah was the princess. Dash had a weakness for royalty, evidently. Because he was falling in love with Savannah.
And love was the worst kind of addiction a man could have. Especially when the woman in question was destined for someone else.
He needed to keep his distance. It was the right thing to do, even if it was harder than staying away from Dot’s Spot.
He shifted his gaze, looking for the kid. As usual, Todd had disengaged. He stood by one of the big oaks at the back of the park. Watching.
Dash’s phone rang as he headed across the park toward the kid. One look at the caller ID had him tumbling right into the past. Condy Dombrowski, his erstwhile agent, hadn’t called in at least nine months.
He pressed the talk button. “Hey, Condy.”
“Dash. I’m happy to see you’re recovering.”
“How would you know that? We haven’t seen each other in more than a year.”
“Since yesterday when Sal Rizzo sent me an e-mail with a link to a YouTube video of you charming snakes.”
Oh, brother. “Yeah, well, I sure do wish Bubba Lockheart hadn’t posted that video. Or sent it to the local TV station. I had reporters from Columbia all over me for a solid day, asking a lot of embarrassing questions about my so-called career. And there are people who think I put those snakes in that theater just so I could be the hero.”
“I know. I saw the interviews. You’ve been sober for eighteen months, and your knee looks like it’s okay.”
“No, Condy, it’s not.”
“Oh.” Dash could hear the disappointment in Condy’s voice.
“What is it?” Dash asked, suddenly intrigued more than he wanted to be. His addictions took so many forms.
“Cincinnati might be looking for an experienced catcher for their single-A farm team.”
Single-A? Dash had never played single-A ball. He’d been drafted right out of high school, and the Astros had put him directly into their triple-A ball club. He’d only spent a year in the minors. Being told that there might be a spot for him in single-A was almost an insult. Condy was like a drug dealer, trying to gauge Dash’s desperation.
“I’m not biting, Condy, sorry.”
“Listen, Dash, I know it’s single-A, but Sal wants someone to bring the kid along.”
“The kid?”
“Jeez, Dash, don’t you read the sports pages? Dillon