Strike to the Heart(13)

Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted. “Well, I’ve never been there myself, but I hear the oil business is good.”

This woman was a little tyrant. I could tell. “I’m sorry to say that my family is not in the oil business, ma’am.”

“I see.” Her eyes darted to Jo and back to me again. “I don’t mean to be gauche, but Jo is my grandniece and I would be remiss in my duty to my sister’s memory if I didn’t look out for her. What sort of business are you in, Mr. Ryan?”

“Aunt Frances, I realize—”

“No, Jo, it’s quite all right. There’s nothing wrong with my business. Ms. Barrow, I’m an athlete, like your niece.”

Her face brightened. “You know, my husband was quite an athlete. Do you play tennis as well? Or do you play golf?”

Were those the only two appropriate choices? Tennis or golf? “No, ma’am, I fight.”

“You fight?” She looked confused.

“Yes. In the ring. Mixed martial arts. Something like boxing.”

“Pugilism. Well, I certainly hope you have a backup plan. Jo won’t be able to play tennis forever. She’s going to want to settle down and have a family. She’ll be looking for someone who can provide a nice home and a stable income.”

“Aunt Frances. Zane is a friend.”

Jo’s aunt lifted her chin. “I have eyes in my head and I have learned a thing or two about the world. Your friend is much more than a friend, no matter what you say.”

Jo leaned in and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “It’s always nice talking to you, Aunt Frances. I hope you have a lovely day.” Jo dragged me away.

“Joella?” I suppressed the urge to laugh.

Jo’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

A bony, angular woman stepped in our path. “Why Jo, look at you. Don’t you look … athletic?” The woman’s jet-black hair fell in a straight curtain to her chin.

“Priscilla, how surprising to see you.”

The woman’s blood red lips pulled into what passed for a polite smile. “And who is this with you?” she asked with an assessing gaze that actually managed to make me feel a bit uncomfortable. Jo was standing right there, after all.

“Priscilla, this is my friend Zane.” She gestured toward the woman. “This is my cousin Priscilla.”

“I heard you haven’t lost yet, Jo. Congratulations on that.”

Jo’s lips thinned. “And what have you been up to, Priscilla? My mother told me you’re getting divorced. Again.”

“Yes, as it happens, I’m back on the market, so to speak. I like the look of your friend.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What does your friend do?” Priscilla asked as if I weren’t standing right there.

“He’s a fighter. A professional MMA fighter.”

“Oh, he works with his hands. And he hits people? How very … primal.”

Jo grabbed my arm and simply walked away with me in tow. “Sorry about that. Pricilla’s always been an idiot. I’ll call my mother later.”

“Don’t apologize at all. This is the most entertaining party I’ve been to in a long time.”





Chapter 8

Jo

My heart thumped in my chest. I had a chance. A real chance. I could almost see it. The trophy in my hand. The crowd cheering wildly. I was energized. Ready to go.

Maria served. I zeroed in on the ball and placed my return deep in her court with a heavy spin. Her body position signaled she was going down the line, and I shifted in that direction. At the last moment, she pulled her racket, twisted her body, and sent the ball cross-court. I was out of position, wrong-footed. I lurched toward the ball. I felt a pull in my ankle and then a foreboding sense that my foot couldn’t hold my weight. I fell to the court, hitting my shoulder hard. There was a collective gasp as I rolled to my back. The pain in my shoulder competed with a growing throb in my ankle.

I rolled to my knees and picked up my racket, using it to push myself up on my good leg. I half hopped toward my chair and fell into it.

The umpire leaned toward me. “Can you continue play?”

“I don’t know.” Numbness settled into my arm. I moved it around, rotating my shoulder. Bruised for sure. Sore. But I didn’t think the injury was serious. My foot was another story. It tingled ominously and I could see it swelling.

“I need the trainer, please.” Maybe wrapping it would fix me up. Barely a moment passed before the trainer was kneeling before me, probing my ankle gently.

“Will it hold your weight?” the trainer asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.” I had three minutes to figure this out. That was all that the rules allowed for a medical time-out.