Jordan Pacheco seems a simple man. He grew along the banks of the Snake River, a steamboat pilot's son who cleared a baseball diamond out of the tough prairie grass and played till dusk would settle. In the lengthening shadows he'd demand for just one more pitch, one more, until the dirty ball could barely be seen in the darkness.
Daddy wanted him to be a pilot, too, or at least a stevedore, and Mama wanted him to be a preacher, and little, sweet Abigail just wanted him to stay home. But Jordan wanted to play baseball.