Free Just Joe by Marley Morgan

vexedly, but was this the passageway he had shown her before
the game or had she fallen down Alice's rabbit hole? Mattie was so preoccupied
with looking for the White Rabbit that her first inkling of another presence
came when her bent head rammed solidly into a massive, masculine chest.
    The force of that blow would
have knocked any ordinary man off his feet or at least back a step or two.
Mattie herself landed ignominiously on her delicate little backside. The bull
elephant in front of her didn't even flinch.
    Mattie's stunned eyes
focused on cleat-encased feet and rose...and rose...and rose slowly over
dirt-smudged white uniform pants, muscular thighs—each easily the size of a
baby redwood—a tight waist and a massive chest with the number 53 spread on the
straining jersey. The man's shoulders stretched forever, Mattie thought with
awe. And that was with no pads beneath the uniform. Then Mattie's eyes lighted
on his face, and she swallowed audibly.
    He looked mean. Very mean.
The bottom half of his face was covered with a scruffy stubble, as though he
hadn't shaved in two or three days. His jaw was square and hard.
    Mattie swallowed again.
"H-hello.. .sir."
    A deep, rusty voice boomed
like the wrath of God from that massive chest. "What are you doing
here?"
    If it was an accusation,
Mattie was ready to admit to any crime. She was also ready to turn tail and
run. She may be little, but when faced with a male mastodon, she could be
quick. It took another second or two of panicked planning—escape routes to
South America and such—before Mattie's normal good sense reasserted itself. Joe
had asked her to be here, she reminded herself bracingly. If all else failed,
she could run like hell.
    With that comforting
thought firmly in mind, Mattie picked herself up delicately, testing gingerly
for any broken bones or life-threatening contusions. Not immediately finding
any, she deigned to answer. "I'm looking for Joe Ryan."
    This time the rumble was
derisive. "You and half the female population of Texas.''
    "No, really,"
Mattie insisted. "Joe asked me to meet him here."
    "Sure, little girl. Wives wait here. Ryan ain't married. Beat it." Number 53 was brusque. He'd
heard it all before.
    Mattie was irritated.
Fleetingly the realization that she wasn't having much luck with Joe's
teammates ran through her mind. Before she could consider a wise course of
action, she began heatedly, "Listen, Mr.... 53—"
    But Mr. 53 was not
listening to the troublesome little lady berating him. His eyes had drifted
beyond her, and the hard, mean face and wild eyes softened like chewing gum on
a July-hot sidewalk. Mattie's tirade halted abruptly, leaving her open-mouthed
in absolute astonishment.
    Number 53 brushed past
Mattie—Dumbronkowski was the name sewn on the back of the jersey—and met the
slight woman coming down the tunnel. She was almost as small as Mattie herself,
a pretty redhead with flashing green eyes and a slim build. Slim, that was,
except for the fact that she was easily eight months pregnant.
    "Jen!" Mattie
heard Dumbronkowski roar gently. "What are you doing here? I told you to
wait in the stands. I was going to come for you after I took my shower. You
shouldn't have come to the game anyway. You'll strain yourself, trying to do so
much. You push yourself too hard, beloved." He continued to berate gently
as Jen reached up and brushed a kiss across his sweaty, dirt-smudged cheek,
replacing his admonishing expression with one of such fatuous adoration that
Mattie simply stared.
    "Marion, darling, I'm
fine," Jen assured him indulgently. "I wanted to tell you how well
you played—even though they had you double-teamed."
    Dumbronkowski— Marion —Mattie
corrected herself, began again to fuss over Jen, completely oblivious to
Mat-tie's continued presence.
    "Mattie." Joe's
voice came from behind her, and Mat-tie jumped startled.
    "Joe!"
    Joe regarded her
curiously. "Have you been waiting long?"
    "No! No," she
denied dazedly. "I've