18. Sinclaire

The parade staging ground is a parking lot. There are trucks and flatbeds and a fire engine. There are marching bands and dance troupes.

Trick is riding a horse. In his baseball uniform, with the same cowboy hat he was wearing that first day we saw each other, and he looks good enough to eat.

But since tens of thousands of people showed up to see him—families especially—I'm going to have to keep that instinct on lock until we leave for Wyoming later today.

He pulls up beside the pickup truck I'm riding in the passenger seat of. "All right, cowgirl, give me a kiss for good luck."

I lean out of the window and press my lips against his. "Love you," I say breathlessly. "Come back and find me any time you need more beads to throw to the fans."

He tips his hat at me. "Yes ma'am."

My cheeks are flaming.

From the driver's seat, the nice older lady who volunteered her truck for the parade gives me a knowing look. "That one is real sweet on you."

"Mm-hmm," I admit. "It's mutual."

"Is he going to play next year?"

I give a noncommittal answer. That's not my story to share. Trick will make his retirement announcement in good time.

And he'll be back to celebrate with the fans again. Next spring, there will be a World Series ring presentation.

He's not going to sell his house down here. If we have kids, we'll want them to spend time with their grandpa.

But tonight? Tonight that cowboy is taking me home to his ranch, high in the hills above Wildflower Hollow.

And I can't wait.

* * *

It takes two hours for the parade to wind its way to the stadium. There's a stage set up outside, with some VIP bleacher seating and a huge open area for a crowd that has followed us from along the parade route.

When we get there, Trick hands his horse off to an attendant from the horse farm, and then he grabs my hand. "Come on."

"Don't you have to?—"

"It's going to take them a few minutes to get organized, and I want you somewhere safe."

I don't argue. I let him pull me up an external stairwell that is opened by a key fob he had in his pocket. He stops just inside to give me a good, hard kiss before dragging me up two levels. We emerge into a hallway I've never been in, part of the team's offices.

And one of those offices has a window that opens, and looks down right at the stage.

"Wait here for me."

From below us, someone turns a mic on and says, "Welcome to the World Series Championship celebration!"

The crowd roars.

I push at Trick. "Go. I'll stay here and keep your baby safe."

It's only been three days. I have no idea if I'm pregnant or not, but I like the growly way he grabs me when I say things like that.

He yanks me against him, and I wish we had time for me to climb this oak tree of a man, but not right now. "Later," I say breathlessly. "Go."

He leaves, pressing his hand to his cock, and I grin and turn my attention to the crowd below.

Two minutes later, the master of ceremonies says, "We sent these men to Texas, and they came back with some really incredible trophies."

Another roar.

"I know how long some of you have been waiting a long time to hear me introduce your World Champions, so let's not wait any longer. This is your team, and they are your champions."

The crowd breaks out into a roar. From my perch where Trick put me, I have the perfect vantage point to see them all spill onto the stage. The cheering continues as they each take a turn holding the trophy aloft. Some of the players pull out their phones and record the crowd. Others wave and blow kisses, grinning from ear to ear.

Trick looks up at me and touches his hand to his chest.

I love you, I mouth.

He smiles and says it right back.

The team owner speaks, and then it's my dad's turn.

"Now let's hear from The Arm himself, Mr. MVP, Trick Lowry!"

The crowd chants MVP, MVP, MVP, as Trick's teammates push him to the front of the stage.

Trick grips the microphone tightly. He glances back at his team, who all mime chugging champagne.

He grins and looks up at me. I blow him another kiss.

And then he turns to the crowd and says, "A lot of people talk about that last game. How it came down to the last out, and the last pitch. But I think about every game that came before it. For me, that's twenty years of games that you have turned out for, and cheered this team on. Cheered me on. That kind of dedication is incredible. The real MVPs are you all. Thank you for coming out today! Thank you for all the support."

There are two more speakers, and then confetti rains down on them, silver glittery wisps of paper.

Trick stands there for a minute, his last minute like this in the spotlight. He looks bashful, and happy, and I press my hands to my chest, wanting to never forget this for him.

Then he takes his hat off, shakes off the confetti, and makes a beeline for me.

I meet him at the doorway. He's slightly out of breath. I think he ran up the stairs this time.

He sweeps me into his arms. "And now I get to take you home."

* * *