Head Over Cleats: No Place Like Home, #1

By Delancey Stewart and Marika Ray

Iris Copeland has sworn off men. She has a glorious daughter, parents willing to let her come back home after her nasty divorce, and more sharp knives than she knows what to do with, thanks to her folks' post-retirement business venture. Maybe it wasn't quite the life she planned, but between her daughter and opening the pet shop she's always dreamed of with her best friend, life is good.

Until Trey Callihan comes to town. Though Iris loves Roy, the old man out on Three Squirrel Ranch who is a fixture in the tiny town of Solano Creek, she's a lot less sure about his tall, broad, handsome grandson. Why would a pro athlete be hanging out in a place like this?

The answer, certainly, is that he won't be for long. That's why Iris decides her best defense is a strong offense. She'll stay far, far away from that athletic mountain of a man to avoid accidentally admitting how ridiculously charming she finds him, or how completely smitten her daughter already is with her baseball idol.

But when it looks like Trey might be staying to help his grandfather, Iris lets her guard slip. And while their relationship feels like a perfect day at the field for a while, Trey mixes things up just as she gets comfortable, and reminds her that even an easy pitch can be hard to hit…

Will Trey convince Iris to give him a chance? Or will it be a shut out?

Find out in the first book in the No Place Like Home series by USA Today bestsellers Delancey Stewart and Marika Ray. Every book is a full-length standalone happily ever after with plenty of LOLs and awws along the way!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delancey Stewart
• Release date: May 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224178865

Delancey Stewart

Delancey Stewart writes contemporary romance. Stewart has lived on both coasts, in big cities and small towns. She's been a pharmaceutical rep, a personal trainer and a direct sales representative for a French wine importer. But she has always been a writer first. A wife and the mother of two small boys, her current job titles include pirate captain, monster hunter, Lego assembler and story reader. She tackles all these efforts at her current home outside Washington D.C. Find her at www.delanceystewart.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

W hat are you having today, Roy? The pretty lady who owned Cunning Ham winery asked the grizzled man that had sat down on the last available seat at the bar. He was a fixture here in Solano Creek. He never failed to show up with his suspenders and a bag of scraps hanging off his belt to feed the animals as he walked home. 

Hannah served me one of your reds that I liked, he said, running a hand over the beard that needed trimming. 

He’d gone completely white over the years and it gave him a distinguished look, ala Sean Connery, though he ventured to the disheveled side. No one would know just by looking at him that his land was worth millions. If he ever actually sold it, that is.

Well, we have a few reds, so let me pour you a couple and you can tell me which one. 

Roy usually sat and made some sort of art project at Hannah’s place, but since business was booming, she’d had to hire a few more employees. Roy said talking to an eighteen-year-old was like talking to a tree trunk. Whatever that meant. Either way, he spent more time at Cunning Ham Winery now.

Pam poured three reds for him and glanced down the bar, seeing everyone engaged in conversation. All glasses were more than half full, which meant Pam had a minute or two to chat. Roy sipped the first and pursed his lips. 

Good. But that one wasn’t it.

Try the second one. That’s my personal favorite. Pam slid that glass closer to him. Though I have to say, I haven’t had much time to enjoy a glass lately. I’ve been too busy shopping for baby things and helping Boston and El set up the nursery.

Roy humphed and took a sip. Ah, that’s it! 

Pam grabbed the bottle of the cabernet sauvignon and filled his glass, pouring more than normal. What was the point of being the boss if she couldn’t show a little love for her friends?

You know, grandkids seem like such an amazing thing when they’re small and lack opinions. Then they grow up, get mouthy, and move away, leaving you to die alone in your rocking chair.

Pam blinked. Wow, Roy. That’s a really upbeat description there, but I don’t see anyone around here dying anytime soon.

This was a common thing with Roy. He’d been proclaiming to be on death’s doorstep for ten years now. He’d cried wolf so many times the town just ignored him. Poor guy would one day have a real medical event, and no one would believe him.

His light blue eyes twinkled as he took another healthy sip of his wine. Well, that’s the thing with death. You just never know.

That sobered Pam. I know that all too well.

Roy’s big hand, complete with callouses, veins, liver spots, and a sprinkling of knuckle hair, landed on hers. Forgive me, Pam. I spoke without thinking. May Michael rest in peace. He gave Pam a squeeze and let go.

She gave him a smile to let him know he didn’t need to feel bad for speaking of her deceased husband. I think that’s why I’m celebrating my first grandchild so much. I have to enjoy the living or all I would do is focus on the dying.

Roy studied Pam for a moment before leaning closer. Can I tell you a secret, Pam?

She nodded for him to continue.

His eyes darted left, then right, before coming back to Pam. They positively sparkled with humor and light. Roy had been what they called a looker back in the day, charming women with his good looks and aw-shucks personality. He was older now, but the vitality was still there.

I ain’t planning to die anytime soon, but I’m also not afraid to use my advancing age to get what I want. I’ve summoned my grandkids to come home.

He ended there, and Pam tried to connect the dots. You invited them to come here to Solano Creek under the guise of dying?

He sat back a bit and shrugged. That’s putting it strongly. I maybe implied a thing or two, but the main point is I’m getting my grandkids back here to put the family back together. They all drifted apart over the years and it’s unconscionable. Family should stick together. Always. So before I die, my job is to stitch this family tree back together again.

A customer down the bar took the last sip of wine in her glass and gestured to Pam. That sounds reasonable to me, Roy. I can’t wait to meet them again. I’m sure they’ve changed so much since I last saw them. Pam made to move, and Roy swigged the last of his wine in one big gulp that made the wine snob in Pam wince.

He slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and stood, hitching his soft blue jeans up as he went. I’ll let you get back to work. I’ve got to go make sure my dog has plenty of water. It’s a hot one out there.

As Pam backed away to grab the refill the customer down the bar wanted, she called to Roy, When did you get a dog?

Just picked him up yesterday from the pound. Lots of dogs need rescuing, and I’ve got the space, so… He shrugged and turned to leave.

The door to the winery opened, letting in a blast of heat and sunlight. For a second, everyone turned to look at the newcomer, blinking into the blinding sunlight. All Pam saw was a tall, dark outline of a man, a giant actually. Conversation dimmed, as if they all knew there was a stranger in their midst. 

Did someone lose their weiner dog? His voice boomed into the hush that had fallen over the late afternoon wine crowd. Pam had the urge to giggle like a little boy using the word weiner for the first time. The giant stepped forward and the door closed behind him. A woman gasped and the conversation picked up with a buzz akin to a disturbed beehive.

Is that…? A man at the bar nudged his buddy. Is that Trey Callihan?

Pam frowned, not knowing who in the world Trey Callihan was, but also confused at the juxtaposition of a muscled man towering over everyone carrying a tiny dog in his arms. The dog peeked over the man’s baseball mitts, or hands, as mere mortals called them.

Avert your eyes, mon amour. You are a married woman, Jacques whispered, suddenly by Pam’s side.

He’s… Pam trailed off, not knowing how to politely describe the man who was creating a stir in the winery. A guy at one of the tables jumped up and was trying to talk to the man, fluttering around him like the paparazzi with an A-list celebrity. The man wore a pair of jeans like a supermodel, though Pam had never seen a male model with muscles like that. Plus, he was handsome with sun-kissed brown hair and light blue eyes. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

That’s my dog, Roy called out, walking over to greet the man. The brown and black dog started pedaling its legs in the air as the man held the dog out to Roy. As soon as Roy got close, the dog lifted its back leg and a dark line appeared across the big man’s shirt.

Good Lord, he mumbled, nearly tossing the poor dog into Roy’s arms. Thanks, Grandpa. Your dog just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.

Roy held the dog like a precious ancient artifact. If you were dumb enough to buy a T-shirt for two hundred dollars, you deserve to have it peed on. Walmart’s got the same one for five bucks on Fridays, dummy.

Sorry to interrupt, but could I get your autograph? The guy popping his head around Roy’s grandson finally got his attention.

He smiled benevolently at him and seemed to turn into a different guy, all jovial and full of smiles. You bet, man. What’s your name and where did you get those shoes? I have to see if my sponsors can get me a pair.

Pretty soon, half the winery was on their feet, headed over to crowd around the man and clambering for an autograph or a selfie. The man just joked and talked his way through a bazillion autographs on the back of the Cunning Ham napkins. Pam looked over at Jacques, eyes wide with confusion.

That’s Trey Callihan. He’s a professional baseball player, my sweet. He was the MVP the last three years before he announced his retirement at the end of last season. Some say he’ll be inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame soon.

Pam patted Jacques’s cheek, always impressed with her man. How do you know these things?

He just shrugged and looked embarrassed. I may not have been born American, but I do follow the American sports. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was Roy’s grandson.

Huh. Pam let her gaze follow the people crowding around Trey and pushing poor Roy and his weiner dog to the side. I didn’t know he was a big deal or I would have told you.

Jacques kissed the side of Pam’s head. You should get a selfie with him with the winery in the background or Dalton might never forgive you for passing up the promotional opportunity.

She sighed and leaned into Jacques. When the last person sat down and left Trey alone, he found Roy where he waited by the bar, a disgusted look on his face. Pam noticed the two hadn’t even hugged, which she found incredibly sad.

Trey pointed at the dog, who looked almost ready to fall asleep in Roy’s arms.

How’d he get loose?

He must have pulled that darn collar I just got him clean off. Poor thing’s probably dehydrated. Roy swiveled his head until he found Pam in the crowd. Pam? Can I bother you for a dish of water? 

Trey crossed his beefy arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow. Probably pulled loose because you put him in a cheap collar. Sometimes you need to pay more for quality.

Roy rolled his eyes and ignored his grandson’s dig. I’m surprised you noticed a wandering dog, what with all the people following you like some sort of celebrity.

Pam put a bowl down on the ground with some clean, cold water. When she stood back up, Trey’s face held the same smile she saw him throw at his fans. The man must whiten his teeth every other day. Or maybe they flashed so brightly because of his tan.

Hey there, I’m Trey. This must be your place? He held his hand out and Pam shook it.

It is. I run it along with my husband and my four sons. Your grandfather here is a regular of ours. One of our favorites. Pam put her hand on Roy’s shoulder, somehow feeling like she needed to help him bridge the gap with his grandson. She couldn’t imagine feeling animosity between herself and her future grandkids.

Roy ran his hand over his brow, his shoulders slumping alarmingly. I’m feeling just plain tuckered out. He lifted his head and tossed a pitiful look at Trey. Can you take Batman to that fancy pet shop that just opened up at the end of Main Street? They should have a collar that’ll fit.

Trey’s jaw dropped open. Batman?

Pam narrowed her eyes, wondering if Roy was up to his normal tricks, but not wanting to call him out on it if this was part of his ploy to get his grandkids back in town. If Trey’s cold shoulder was anything to go by, Roy needed this reunion to happen ASAP if he had any hope of reconnecting.

Well, sure. I’m just an old man living alone, and I needed a sidekick.

Trey screwed up his face and somehow, even that expression was handsome. So wouldn’t you name him Robin?

Roy grimaced, and Pam could see the family resemblance. Gosh no! Calling a dog Robin would be ridiculous. Then he grabbed his stomach and moaned. I better get home right now. Here. He hoisted the poor dog into Trey’s arms and beat a hasty retreat out the door, moving faster than a man should if he was ill.

Pam looked at Batman, with his beady little eyes, then up at Trey. If storm clouds could manifest in a face, it was coming down like cats and dogs—no pun intended—on Trey’s. 

Any chance you’d take a selfie with me? Pam held up her cell phone with a desperate smile and watched the emotions cross Trey’s face before he settled on what seemed to be a trademark grin. 

Sure. Sorry to barge in and cause a scene. I saw the dog and tried to catch it and he led me right here.

No problem. It’s an honor to have you. My husband tells me you’re a big deal. I hope you enjoy your time here in Solano Creek. Pam held up the phone and leaned into the arm that held Batman. They smiled—Batman’s tongue flopped out the side of his mouth—and she took the picture.

Trey eased back. I appreciate it, but I don’t intend to stay here that long. Just long enough to see what Grandpa wants and then I’m on the road again.

Pam’s heart sank, knowing how much Roy wanted to reunite the family. Well, I hope you give the place a shot. You might find putting down roots can be just as enjoyable as traveling the globe.

Trey shot Pam a look that said he didn’t believe her for even one second, but it was all she could do without traipsing into something that was none of her business. Roy would have to do the rest. Trey nodded and headed out the door, all eyes on his backside. She couldn’t blame the fans. His backside was something to behold. Even Jacques was still watching him.

Pam had a feeling Solano Creek—and especially the female citizens—had gained a visitor they might not be able to manage without copious amounts of wine.

CHAPTER 1

TREY

The glass door let out a jingle to put all other jingles to shame when I pushed it open. The jumble of bells overhead sounded like Santa’s entire sleigh had descended in early October. It was an odd sound when the weather outside was still clinging to the last vestiges of summer. Batman started squirming in my grasp, his pathetically short legs cycling in the air in a mad scramble to be put down. I had no idea what my grandfather was thinking when he adopted this mutt. Or when he named him.

Hold still, for fu–

Ohh! A high pitched squeal cut me off before I could announce my arrival at the pet shop with my favorite curse word.

A little girl with dark curls as bouncy as her legs came racing over. She slid into my leg in her rush, righting herself and staring up at me with big blue eyes. Can I pet him? Please, please, please?

Dahlia! You know your mama would have my head letting you talk to strangers! A woman, taller than average and wearing an expression of complete overwhelm, came out from the door behind the register. She shoved her oversized glasses up her nose and pasted on a smile when she saw me, coming over to pull the little girl away by the shoulders. How can I help you?

Meet Batman. I need a collar that fits this guy properly. I gestured to the brown and black canine, who not only continued to paddle his four legs in the air, but had added a whine that was as pathetic as my grandfather’s soft heart must have been when he decided to give him a home.

Well, we can help with that. Dahlia, go get this cute fella a biscuit. 

For a hot second, I thought she meant me and I was about to decline the biscuit offer. My diet did not include biscuits, from strangers who called me cute or otherwise. Thankfully, I realized she meant the mutt before I opened my mouth. 

I ran my hand over my eyes, feeling like I hadn’t slept in months. Now that the baseball season was over, I was taking Grandfather up on his offer and coming back to Solano Creek to see what he wanted. I should have waited until I was well rested, but