“I have that aluminum one.”

Pace shook his head. “Wood. Wood is better.”

“But I have a huge sweet spot on the aluminum—”

“Yours doesn’t ring when you hit anymore.”

“It’s because he doesn’t hit anything,” River quipped, and Chipper might have launched at him but Pace straightened and gripped him by the back of the shirt just in time.

“He’s right,” he told the kid. “You need batting practice. When your bat doesn’t ring anymore, it means it’s dead. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not all the way dead, not yet—”

“Wood,” Pace repeated stubbornly, and handed it over, which produced more oohs and aahs. “This baby’s sweet spot is all hickory. You’re going to love her.” Wood was more expensive, but it was required in the pros, and Pace wanted them to get used to the feel of it. He rose to his feet. “I can’t stay.”

This was met with a bunch of groans and protests, but Pace just shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve got a—”

“A chick,” Chipper said.

“Doctor’s appointment—”

“Don’t look now,” Chipper whispered loud enough for the living dead to hear. “But you have a chick getting out of your car. She’s walking along the creek, coming this way.”

The “chick” smiled at the guys as she came close. Holly’s hair was carefully tucked up again, and she’d buttoned her jacket, but her eyes sparkled with life as she crossed the patchy weeds masquerading as grass and came to a stop right in their midst. “New equipment,” she said with a smile.

“Pace brought it all,” Chipper said. “He’s the best.”

The others all nodded emphatically.

“He’s always bringing us stuff,” River added. “He’s like our skipper.”

“That’s what a team manager is called by the guys,” Chipper informed her.

“I know.” Holly was looking at Pace with a speculative curiosity in her sharp light brown eyes. “I think that’s lovely.”

“When he gave up Dr Pepper, he brought us the cases he’d had stashed at his place so he wouldn’t fall off the wagon,” Chipper told her. “Oh and he takes us for pizza, too.”

“Well that must be fun. And he coaches you.”

“Yeah. He’s the best pitcher in the majors right now.”

“Chipper.” Pace shook his head. They were trying to sell him like a used car.

Chipper ignored him. “Did you know he packs high heat? It means he’s got an unusually fast fastball. So technically he could be a closer, but he’s an ace starter.”

Great. His own personal cheering squad. “She doesn’t need to hear—”

“Are you Pace’s girlfriend?” Chipper asked her.

She laughed, a sweet musical sound that had Pace taking a second look at her.