Though Cooper struck Lil as stiff as his shirt, he managed to eat two helpings of everything, though he barely opened his mouth otherwise.

Until her father brought up baseball.

“ Boston ’s going to break the curse this year.”

Cooper snorted, then immediately hunched his shoulders.

In his easy way, Joe picked up the basket of biscuits, offered it to the boy. “Oh, yeah, Mr. New York. Yankees or Mets?”

“Yankees.”

“Not a prayer.” As if in sympathy, Joe shook his head. “Not this year, kid.”

“We’ve got a strong infield, good bats. Sir,” he added as if he’d just remembered 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.