Black Hills

to.
    “Baltimore’s already killing you.”
    “It’s a fluke. They died last year, and they’ll fade this year.”
    “When they do, the Red Sox will pounce.”
    “Crawl maybe.”
    “Oh, a smart-ass.”
    Cooper paled a little, but Joe continued as if he hadn’t noticed the reaction. “Let me just say, Wade Boggs, and toss in Nick Esasky. Then—”
    “Don Mattingly, Steve Sax.”
    “George Steinbrenner.”
    For the first time, Coop grinned. “Well, you can’t have everything.”
    “Let me consult my expert. Sox or Yankees, Lil?”
    “Neither. It’s Baltimore. They’ve got the youth, the momentum. They’ve got Frank Robinson. Boston’s got a play, but they won’t pull it off. The Yankees? Not a chance, not this year.”
    “My only child, and she wounds me.” Joe put a hand on his heart. “Do you play back home, Cooper?”
    “Yes, sir. Second base.”
    “Lil, take Cooper on around back of the barn. You can work off the meal with a little batting practice.”
    “Okay.”
    Coop slid off the bench. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Chance. It was very good.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    As the children walked away, Jenna looked over at Lucy. “Poor little boy,” she murmured.
    The dogs raced ahead, and across the field. “I play third base,” Lil told Coop.
    “Where? There’s nothing around here.”
    “Right outside Deadwood. We have a field, and a league. I’m going to be the first woman to play major-league ball.”
    Coop snorted again. “Women can’t play the bigs. That’s just the way it is.”
    “The way it is isn’t the way it has to be. That’s what my mother says. And when I’m finished playing, I’m going to manage.”
    He sneered, and though it brought her hackles up, she liked him better for it. At least he didn’t seem as stiff as his shirt anymore. “You don’t know dick.”
    “Dick who?”
    He laughed, and even though she knew he was laughing at her, she decided to give him one more chance before she clobbered him.
    He was company. A stranger in a strange land.
    “How do you play in New York? I thought there were buildings everywhere.”
    “We play in Central Park, and sometimes in Queens.”
    “What’s Queens?”
    “It’s one of the boroughs.”
    “It’s a mule?”
    “No. Jesus. It’s a city, a place. Not a donkey.”
    She stopped, set her fists on her hips, and fired at him out of dark, dark eyes. “When you try to make somebody feel stupid when they ask a question, you’re the stupid one.”
    He shrugged, and rounded the side of the big red barn with her.
    It smelled like animal, dusty and poopy at the same time. Coop couldn’t figure out why anybody would want to live with that smell, or the sounds of clucking, snuffling, and mooing all the damn time. He started to make a sneering remark about just that—she was only a kid, after all, and a girl at that—but then he saw the batting cage.
    It wasn’t what he was used to, but it looked pretty sweet to him. Somebody, he supposed Lil’s father, had built the three-sided cage out of fencing. It stood with its back to a jumbled line of brush and bramble that gave way to a field where cattle stood around doing nothing. Beside the barn, under the shelter of one of the eaves, sat a weatherworn box. Lil opened it, pulled out gloves, bats, balls.
    “My dad and I practice most nights after dinner. Mom pitches to me sometimes, but she’s got a rag arm. You can bat first if you want, ’cause you’re company, but you have to wear a batting helmet. It’s the rule.”
    Coop put on the helmet she offered, then checked the weight of a couple of bats. Holding one was almost as good as the Game Boy. “Your dad practices with you?”
    “Sure. He played minor-league for a couple seasons back east, so he’s pretty good.”
    “Really?” All derision fled. “He played professional ball?”
    “For a couple seasons. He did something to his rotator cuff, and that was that. He decided to see the country, and he ended up out here. He worked for my grandparents—this used to be their farm—and met my mother. That was that, too. You wanna bat?”
    “Yeah.” Coop walked back to the cage, took a couple of practice swings. Set. She pitched one straight and slow, so he got the meat on it and slapped it into the field.
    “Nice one. We’ve got six balls. So we’ll field them after you hit.” She gripped the next ball, took her position, pitched another easy one.
    Coop felt the little lift inside as the ball sailed