⭐PREORDER⭐ Mom Ball: A Sweet, Small Town Romantic Comedy

The last person I expected to see in the cow pasture was the father of my child . . .

Especially since I'm wearing a bathrobe and flip-flops with spa cream smeared on my face.

How ironic that the first time my son shows interest in baseball, his Major League dad shows up. Now it will be harder than ever to keep my secret about “Nate the Great.”

The complications continue when I discover Nate bought the abandoned mansion within spitting distance from my family’s apple orchard. Then he agrees to help my son with baseball.

When things couldn’t get any more stressful, my friend Morgan tricks me into helping her coach our kids’ Little League team.

We all know Nate would be the perfect guy to help. But the more I’m around him, the closer I come to spilling my secret.I never told him about Timothy for fear it would ruin his career.

If I confess everything, will we become a real family? Or will he hate me for keeping Timothy from him and leave town for good?

Brooke 

I sip sweet tea and snuggle against my lawn chair. Daisy comes into the sunroom with my cousin Erica, slogging behind her. 

“You’re up, Aniston.” 

Aniston leaps toward Daisy like a kid in a sack race. We laugh, and she frowns. 

“What? It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a massage?”

Morgan snorts. “You mean, Easton doesn’t massage you?”

“Sometimes, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Daisy’s magic.” Aniston pats Daisy’s shoulder. “Pun intended.”

Daisy laughs, and I roll my eyes. However, I agree that Daisy’s homemade candles take a relaxing massage to the next level. 

“Come on.” Daisy exits and waves Aniston toward her. 

I lean back, content with the home spa day I planned to make up for none of us having a real Valentine’s Day. Not that I’ve had one in years, but that’s beside the point. We’re all busy with kids, and Aniston—despite being newly engaged—had to spend the holiday putting on a daddy-daughter dance at school. 

I take a big gulp of my drink and try to ignore the constant question looming in the back of my mind. The one that would’ve come up during the dance had my child been a girl. The one that’s bound to come up sooner than later with my son.

Who’s my daddy?

Thanks to my loving family and a comfortable life at the apple orchard, Timothy hasn’t asked that dreaded question . . . yet. But I know it’s coming one day. 

“Hey, where are those cucumbers I sliced for our eyes?” Erica asks as she lathers on some of the facial cream I brought. 

Morgan leans up. “Wait, those weren’t snacks?”

Erica glances at me. I shrug at her, then laugh. 

“It’s okay, Morgan,” I say.

“Whoops.” Morgan laughs. “Since they were on that tray with the lemon slices, I thought it was some kind of dieting charcuterie board.” 

Erica shakes her head. “No, the lemon slices were for our drinks.”

Morgan raises her chin, then twists her lips. “Whoops again.”

 “It’s okay.” Erica gives her a forced smile. 

I bite back a laugh. My cousin is such a Southern belle and Morgan is, well, Morgan. They get along but they couldn’t be more different. The only thing they have in common besides me is that Erica shops at the Pig and Morgan works there.

Morgan sits back and sucks her Diet Coke until the straw slurps against the ice. I close my eyes and soak in the sun shining through the glass room. I wiggle my nose when the heat itches my skin. I don’t want to scratch it and mess up my skin cream. 

“This is nice. Us chilling while the kids play in the pasture.”

I jerk my head toward Morgan. “Pasture? I thought they were in the house with my mom.”

“The girls are. The boys went to play ball.”

“Timothy is playing ball?” I wrinkle my forehead. It feels like it’s breaking beneath the hardened cream. 

“Yeah. He’s plenty old enough to play with them. My kids came out of the womb hitting stuff.” Morgan leans to one side and pulls a lemon out from under her. “I say whatever keeps them off drugs.”

“Don’t you have like a six year old?” Erica asks.

“Yeah, but better to learn young.” Morgan sucks on the lemon. 

Erica snarls before leaning back and closing her eyes. I stare outside, my stomach knotting as I try and recall the cow rotation. 

The county owns that field, which connects to our land. They alternate between running a golf course and keeping cattle on it. There’s a good chance our kids will either get hit by a golf ball or worse—a bull. 

I spring to my feet and tighten the sash on my robe. Morgan and Erica stare at me like I’m crazy. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Erica asks. 

“I’m going to check on the kids. The cows may be out, and if not, there will be crazy people driving golf carts and hitting balls.”

Morgan tugs my robe. “Land the helicopter Brooke, they’re fine. Ethan’s in charge.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I jerk loose from her grip and head toward the door. 

My flipflops clap against the concrete on my way through the patio to the garage. Daddy keeps a four-wheeler ready to go by the house. I can maneuver it inside the pasture easier than my Corolla. 

I straddle the seat and tuck my robe beneath my thighs so it won’t blow open. All I need is to flash a random Apple Cartian on my way to rescue Timothy. With one hand on the gas and the other securing my robe, I fly down the drive in third gear. 

Stray hairs escape my topknot and stick to the cream on my face. I unsuccessfully attempt to blow a strand out of my eye, afraid to let go of my robe. I turn toward the gate to the pasture on two wheels, then park. 

Grass hits my bare legs as I jog to the gate. Of course, it’s locked. I gird my loins and climb the metal rails, then hoist my short legs over the top. I step down a few rungs and hop to the ground. Thanks to all my years as a cheerleader, I manage to land without breaking anything. Except for maybe my dollar store flipflops. To be fair, they were living on borrowed time. 

I jog best I can in the near knee-high grass, which is even more of an indication it’s cow time. 

“Timothy!” I yell his name as I stagger up a slight hill. 

When I come to a clearing, I spot the brains behind this outing—Ethan. And I use the word “brains” loosely. He’s your typical young teenager, obsessed with sports, outdoors, and Aniston’s niece, though he’d never admit the latter. 

“Ethan!”

He comes toward me, a bat in hand. 

“Miss Brooke?” He stares like I’m a swamp monster. 

But with four-wheeler hair and cleansing clay on my face, it’s probably an accurate assessment. 

“Do you know where Tim—”

“Mama?” Timothy bounces toward me before I can finish his name. 

I rush toward him and hug him close, kissing his cheek. He laughs and pulls back. 

“Why are you sticky?” He rubs a smidge of cream from his cheek. 

“I was worried the bulls were in here. Y’all don’t need to come out here without asking first.”

“I told my mom we were coming,” Ethan offers. 

I slant my eyes his way. “That doesn’t count for Timothy.”

 “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” He nods toward the road. “We can go back. Andrew is already out of the fence getting the ball.”

“You shouldn’t send your little brother in the road by himself.”

“I didn’t, I sent Carter, too.” 

I press my lips together, and fight the urge to scold Ethan. Sending Aniston’s nephew who’s maybe a year older than Andrew isn’t much better, if not worse. 

“Let’s go.” I hook my arm around Timothy’s shoulder. 

The three of us walk toward the gate. Both boys climb the fence effortlessly, then wait as I take my time on each rung to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. I’m facing the field, stepping down when I hear Andrew chattering wildly to the other boys. 

“He got our ball, and he said he’d show me how to pitch.” 

“Cool, could you help me with my curve?” Ethan asks. 

“Sure. You look like you’ve got a strong arm, young man.” 

I freeze on the bottom rail. That voice travels from my ears to my toes, making my entire body shake. I’d know it anywhere. It’s the same voice that promised me the world years earlier. The voice I haven’t heard in person since our last night together. The night I gained the child that would become my world.