A League of Her Own (9 page)

“It’s the right one for me.” She hiked an eyebrow and sent him a sidelong glance that made him shift in his seat. It’d been a while since he’d been this close, and alone, with such a beautiful woman. Definitely not with one who kept him up at night, counting all the “what ifs” until he gave up and dreamed about her instead.

“I have a meeting in Holly Springs. After the accident, I called and postponed it. If I hurry, I’ll make it on time.”

When the car started to fog up, she turned on the fan, then rolled down her window to speed the defogging. The wind tossed strands of her citrus-scented hair, her long brown bangs falling forward and accentuating the curve of her chin and her thick eyelashes.

“And I have no say in this?” He tried keeping the amusement out of his voice and failed miserably. Since today’s game was rained out, he had nothing better to do than spend an afternoon with a beautiful woman. One who drove him crazy and was completely off limits. Nope. No better way to spend his time at all.

She fiddled with the radio dial and stopped on a country channel, a Martina McBride tune making her fingers tap on the wheel. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given you those keys.”

“I have you completely in my power,” she teased him, the playful spark in her eyes making the air catch in his lungs and throat, producing a strangled sound.

“You okay?” she asked when he sputtered, looking cute as she cocked her head to the side to study him briefly. Seeing her confidence return felt good.

“Depends on what you plan to do with me.” He played along and rolled down his window, letting the cool, wet air stream over him.

Down, boy.

Though he liked this banter they’d slipped into, a caution signal flashed in his mind’s eye. He should be running for the hills. Not strapped in beside her, his eyes pulled like magnets to her shapely legs revealed by an above-the-knee skirt.

“After the meeting, if you’re a good boy, I’ll treat you to ice cream. How’s that?” Laughter filled her voice, and he couldn’t help but join her, the sound of their mingled amusement better than the country hit playing through his speakers.

“Deal.” Her condescension was disarming. She didn’t have a chance of denting his confidence, but it was fun to see her try.

“Deal.” Her smile turned him inside out. He forced himself to look away, watching the old-fashioned facades of Holly Springs’ main street come into view. Though the vintage lights gleamed like new, the pristine sidewalks contrasting with the colorful stores, the town had a desperate feel. For Sale signs hung in several windows, Closed signs in others.

He felt the familiar jab of fear whenever he drove in for an AA meeting. The small town was clearly fizzling. Ideally he’d move on before it shut down completely. His gaze strayed to Heather. He’d miss their daily squabbles, laughs and conversations when he left. There was no denying it. He tugged at his restrictive seat belt, a strange sense of loneliness washing through him.

Heather pulled into a small parking lot beside a large building at the end of the strip. Something about the nondescript, beige brick structure seemed familiar, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“This is it.”

“I don’t know if this is an important meeting, but you do realize you’re all wet.” He tried keeping his eyes off the small waist revealed by her clinging shirt.

Heather’s eyes bulged. “Shoot. What do I do? I can’t miss this.”

He reached behind him and hauled out a raincoat. It’d be ten times too big for her, but at least it’d cover her to her knees and prevent any creeps from looking at her in those see-through clothes. His hands bunched. No one was checking out Heather. No one except him, apparently...

She took the coat and shrugged it on, buttoning it over her skirt and blouse. “How do I look?”

He met her anxious eyes. Adorable, he thought. “You’ll do,” he said instead. “Do you want me to come in or wait here?”

“Join me if you don’t mind. It’ll save me explaining all of this to you later.”

“Huh?” He shook his head. She was speaking in riddles.

“Just come with me. I’m late.” She pushed open the door without waiting for his answer, and he watched her slender form stride past the front of his car before he scrambled after her.

Inside the utilitarian building, he followed Heather through a small reception area that held sagging chairs and magazines with dusty covers. The walls were bare and painted a dull olive that matched the worn carpet. A tired-looking woman sat beside a crying child. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, her thin hair lying flat against her sunken cheeks. She casually flicked the kid on the arm with a jagged fingernail and went back to texting, the move making something heavy shift in his chest. It jogged a memory of his own childhood before his mother had lost custody of him. How old had he been? According to his file, five.

Sometimes he caught himself wondering about her... Where was she? And where was the father who didn’t even care enough to have his name on Garrett’s birth certificate? Who were the people who’d given him life, then given him up? The thought depressed him and, seeing himself, he looked away from the kid who now cried harder than ever.

Unwanted and disposable.

“Yes,” he heard Heather say, “I called a while ago about being late for a meeting with your director, Mr. Lettles. I was told he’d be able to postpone the appointment.”

A woman with red, fleshy lips picked up the phone without bothering to answer. Heather turned around while the woman spoke to someone on the other end of the line. A shrug was in Heather’s eyes when they met his.

At the sound of the phone clicking back on its cradle, Heather turned.

“Mr. Lettles is available. He’ll meet you in the conference room on the fifth floor.”

“Thank you.” Heather’s smile was wasted on the woman, who picked up a bagel and resumed eating.

As they crossed the room to the elevator, Garrett asked, “So who is Mr. Lettles?” He reached past her, their arms brushing. She jerked away like a skittish stray as he pushed the up button.

Heather opened her mouth, then closed it when a loud
ding
startled them. The elevator door whooshed open.

Inside, she pressed the number 4 and stepped back.

“We want five, don’t we?” he asked. Her alluring scent clung to him as she moved closer and corrected her mistake.

“Thanks.” She gave him a wavering smile. Was she nervous? An urge to take her hand seized him, and he stuffed his fingers in his pockets before he did something stupid. She was his manager, he reminded himself, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

“So who’s Mr. Lettles?” he repeated. “Why are we here?”

“He’s the director of—”

The door whisked open on the fourth floor, and they glimpsed a group of boys racing cars down the hall while others put together puzzles or built Lego constructions in an open space. A sinking sensation overtook him. None of them looked sick, and they appeared too old for this to be a preschool, especially on a Saturday.

No. He recognized that look on some of the boys’ faces when they spied him and Heather in the elevator. He’d worn it himself until he’d given up hope of being adopted by visiting couples. Instead, he’d found a little brother in his roommate, Manny.

“This is a foster home.” His chest expanded and deflated faster than it should have.

Heather glanced at him. “Yes. A group home for kids who haven’t been able to make it in family settings. When you told me the other day you’d lived in one, I thought you’d want to be involved with my plans. I’m going to start a baseball camp for these kids, give them a sense of pride and self-worth. Help them the way baseball must have helped you. It’ll be good for the children and for Holly Springs since we’ll be inviting other foster group homes around the state to participate. They’ll see our community as one that gives back. Great idea, right?”

“Wrong,” he corrected her as the door closed and they rose another floor. She gave him a sharp look, but the door opened again before she could speak. He followed her off the elevator and down a hall to a glass-walled meeting area. Inside was a long conference table at which sat an older man wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

“Thank you so much for your patience, Mr. Lettles. I’m Heather Gadway, and this is one of my starting pitchers, Garrett Wolf.”

An impossibly perfect set of dentures flashed as the man advanced and held out a hand. He shook Heather’s hand, then reached for Garrett’s.

Garrett briefly gripped the man’s hand before shuffling back a step. Out of reach. He couldn’t believe he was in a group home. Again. A place he’d vowed never to revisit. Memories, long suppressed, exploded in his mind.

He and Manny wrestling over the latest comic book. He and Manny sprinting after a soccer ball. He and Manny taking a hidden key and sneaking into the kitchen for extra fudge pops.

Grief was a knife to his throat. It kept him from speaking or moving as the director and Heather took their seats. Ambushed on every level. This was the demon he’d tried outrunning with alcohol. Now that he’d sobered up, he’d walked right into it anyway. Ironic.

Heather shot him a questioning look. “Garrett, please join us. We’re going to discuss our plans to have the kids help renovate the Falcons’ old park before turning it into the baseball camp. I’m hoping, with your encouragement, the players will volunteer some time to assist and coach the kids as well.”

Manny would have loved a baseball camp. It was a world away from the gang-infested neighborhood where he’d grown up. He’d been an excitable kid. Had wanted them to cut their palms and shake when Garrett took him under his wing. Garrett had hoped to replace the sense of family the gang had given to Manny.

Garrett’s heart plunged to the floor. A lot of good that’d done. His friend now lay in a cemetery outside Atlanta. And it was Garrett’s fault.

“Can we count you in?” Heather’s eyes were bright and expectant, her earlier pain gone. Yet his had returned with a vengeance.

“No,” he forced out through his swelling throat.

Heather’s eyes widened, and Mr. Lettles blinked in surprise. “I don’t want to see any of those kids near that park,” he added, meaning it.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Heather remarked coolly, their earlier connection melting away. “They’ll be around.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” he ground out and turned on his heel, striding to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time until he burst out into the parking lot.

He leaned against the building. Pounded the back of his head against its brick side, his body clamoring for a drink. Anything to make this moment disappear.

Only alcohol had chased away memories of Manny and the guilt he felt about his death. With foster kids crawling all over the ballpark, he’d be reliving it every day.

He should never have listened to an agent and left Manny for a Minor League team all those years ago. Could have taken an odd job and waited another year for his friend. But it’d been an opportunity to get away and feel important for the first time in his life, like he mattered, had a future. Plus, he’d planned to provide for himself and Manny. Give them both a home when his friend aged out of the system. They’d vowed keep in touch. Stay close—a promise Garrett had broken.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise when he’d phoned the group home around Manny’s release date and discovered his friend had left without a message or forwarding address. How long since they’d spoken before that? Three months?

Whatever the time, they’d grown apart. Garrett’s preoccupation with his new career meant their daily calls had become weekly, monthly and then so infrequent that he’d lost track altogether. If he’d kept his promise always to be there for Manny, his only friend wouldn’t have lost faith. Would have joined Garrett instead of his old gang. If not for his thoughtlessness, Manny wouldn’t have become another drive-by victim.

He stared down at his fists and unfurled them.

No amount of fame could wash the blood from his hands. It was a stain he carried for life. No way would he let it touch any other children.

CHAPTER SIX

H
EATHER
TROMPED
OFF
the Falcons tour bus in the drive leading to her house and the players’ residences, never so happy to be home in her life.

It’d been a long five days away in Florida with only one win out of three games. She stretched her back and angled her stiff neck as the driver opened the outside compartment and started tossing their bags. Before she could grab hers, Hopson cut in front of her and snatched up his brown duffel. Now why couldn’t he show that kind of hustle when running bases?

She crossed her arms and let a few more of the players retrieve their belongings, their silence tense and uncomfortable. Worry gnawed at her. Their unease around her seemed to have grown rather than lessened. She wasn’t producing wins, and ultimately that was the bottom line for a manager. But if they wouldn’t apply her corrections, how could she turn things around? It was a vicious circle. She had to win to make them trust her enough to follow her advice. But she couldn’t win if they didn’t take her suggestions...

Her shoulders drooped when she spotted her father standing in the drive with his arms crossed, his mouth pursed. They’d been in near constant contact since she’d left for the series. The two cell chargers and the extra prepaid phone she’d packed had worked overtime. She knew what he had to say. Had heard it already. And, by the look of him, she’d listen to it again over dinner.

Great.

“This yours?” came a gruff voice that sent prickles of awareness through her. Garrett.

She looked from the hand holding her black bag into vivid blue eyes that sent goose bumps down her arms. Since their visit to the foster home, they’d circled each other, avoiding interactions as carefully as two boxers in the opening of a prize fight.

“Thanks.” Their hands brushed as she grabbed the handle, but when she tugged, Garrett held on.

Her eyes lifted again, her heart picking up speed. Was he going to repeat his comments about the baseball camp? The foster kids had been here all week fixing up the old field. With several group homes emailing her the names of children they wanted to enroll, this was a rolling ball she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—stop.

“You did your best this series,” he muttered, his gaze swerving to her red-faced father. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

His unexpected encouragement took her aback. She opened her mouth to answer, but he’d already spun on his heel, his long strides carrying him away from her.

Too far
...came the unbidden thought.

She watched Garrett’s broad shoulders disappear around the bend that led to the players’ housing. Even though they hadn’t spoken much, she’d been too aware of him throughout the trip. And she’d caught him staring plenty, as well. A strange bubble of togetherness had formed around them, and seeing him leave made her feel hollow.

She wished like anything that she didn’t think about him so much. How could she be interested in a man who didn’t want to help kids? Give back to the kind of institution that had cared for him growing up? She wished she understood his reaction. Had something happened to him in foster care? A past he wanted to forget?

“Welcome back, Falcons,” her father boomed. Then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said, low, “Heather. A word?”

He nodded and smiled as the team called out greetings, their tone more enthusiastic than she’d heard it all week. They adored her dad. Looked up to him. She’d love to ask her father how he inspired that affection, but that’d only open the door to a blistering list of her failings that’d shake her confidence more.

Nope. She would figure this out on her own. There had to be a way to get through to the players. Maybe a team-wide project, like the baseball camp, would help. If they worked together in a different way, it’d strengthen their relationship and build trust. She hoped they wouldn’t be as resistant to it as Garrett.

“Let’s go. The pizza’s getting cold,” her father ordered, sending her marching after him up the small slope to their rambling, one-story ranch.

She stopped to give Scout an ear rub before following her father inside. Puppy stall-tactics had always been her go-to strategy when putting off one of her father’s talks. Although, honestly, she deserved this one. Other than Garrett applying her corrections and pitching their only win, she hadn’t disproven a single thing her father had predicted. Her jaw tightened. But she would show she had what it took to win over the team. She had to.

The smell of pepperoni and cheese filled the combined kitchen, eating area and informal living room with built-in shelves holding trophies from years past. This year she wanted there to be another one. Hers.

“Heather. It’s nice to see you.” Mr. Lettles rose from one of their leather sectionals, startling her as she bustled around the kitchen island, setting paper plates around an open pizza box. What was he doing here? Her father hadn’t been enthusiastic when she’d shared her baseball camp plans after meeting with the director last week. In fact, he’d nearly poked enough holes in the idea to deflate it. But ultimately he’d given her his grudging approval.

Did the foster care director’s presence mean Dad was now on board? Hope flickered inside her. Maybe this evening wouldn’t go the way she’d imagined.

Mr. Lettles joined them, slipping his thin hand into hers and shaking it.

“It’s good to see you, sir.” Heather brought bottles of soda to the counter along with glasses. “How are the boys doing?”

He smiled, and his ultrabright teeth glittered as he walked beside her to the kitchen area. “Wonderfully. Haven’t seen them this fired up in a long time. Not since that local singer came through and played for them.”

“Tamara Parks?” she asked as they sat on wicker stools at the granite-topped island, pulling themselves closer to the steaming pie.

“Great folk singer.” Mr. Lettles nodded when her father pointed at the pepperoni pizza. “And a nice young lady.”

Heather mouthed a thank-you to her father and accepted the slice he passed her. “I knew her in high school, though she was kind of a loner.”

“She’s terrific with the kids. Made a lot of them want to become musicians. We had to write a grant requesting funds for guitars after her last stop.”

Heather’s stomach grumbled as she bit into the warm, cheesy slice. It was the first thing she’d eaten all day.

“I hope we’ll get some of them thinking about playing college-level sports as well,” she replied after swallowing another large bite.

“No doubt about that!” Mr. Lettles smiled (or had he ever stopped?) and pointed his pizza crust at her father. “Your dad’s been with the kids every day, directing the first phase of the camp, prepping the field and giving them some baseball tips when they finished.”

She lowered her slice and stared at her father’s sheepish expression. A lot had changed since she’d been away. He’d gone from resistant to helping out? He was not only on board but also practically driving the train.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He poured them all sodas and spoke without looking up. “Just wanted to make sure this idea of yours worked out,” he grumbled.

His words made her breathe easier. She’d been worried her idea might flop, despite the pep talks she’d given herself. But with her father involved, it couldn’t fail. The Falcons needed to be known for more than their record. They should be role models, giving back to the community. In turn, she hoped the region would support them and start attending more games.

Air wheezed out of her father when he lowered himself to the stool beside her. “We should take a walk out there tonight. I’ll show you what the kids accomplished. They did a heck of a job.”

Heather smiled. There it was, the compliment that always seemed aimed in any other direction than hers. But still. This had been her idea. Any tribute he gave them was one for her. “I knew they would. Thank you, Mr. Lettles, for agreeing to this.”

He reached for another slice and nodded. “Of course. It’s great for the kids, and they’re very excited to meet the players now that you’re home. We’re still starting on Monday?”

Concern rang through her as she nodded. She could barely get her team members to take a critique, let alone volunteer their time. What if they didn’t agree to give the kids their attention? The boys had faced enough rejection in their lives. They didn’t deserve it from athletes in their hometown. But her concern might be premature. She wasn’t asking them to change their style of play. She’d be appealing to their goodwill. Ideally their frustration with her wouldn’t get in the way. She bit hard into her crust and polished it off in two bites.

Tomorrow she’d call a team meeting and fill them in, officially, on the Falcons’ new role and her expectations. She pictured Garrett and the kids’ response to him when they’d attended a game earlier this season. Like it or not, he was a local hero. A role model. Was there any chance he’d changed his mind? She had to convince him—show him he could make a big difference.

Make him see how much she needed him...

* * *

“D
AD
. A
RE
YOU
sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Heather double-knotted her laces and glanced across the room at her father. He was sitting in his usual spot, a recliner they’d had as long as Heather could remember. Despite other updates through the years, the gray plush chair had faced their television forever. A lopsided heart in faded purple marker still graced its back. It was something her six-year-old mind had thought would pretty up the contraption. Why he hadn’t gotten rid of it after she’d ruined it, she’d never know.

When the seat had started sagging, the seams fraying, Heather had tried persuading her father to buy something else. Failing, she’d ordered chairs—high-end models he sent back as quickly as they were delivered.

Nope. He liked what he liked. The chair was comfortable and it stayed, no matter how big an eyesore it was. After a long day, she could always find her dad there, his feet propped up on the tilted footrest, soda and peanuts by his side as he watched his favorite late-night talk shows, his rumble of a laugh reassuring because, unlike everything else in her life, it was always the same.

“Nah. Guess I’m feeling a bit tired tonight, after all. But you go out and see what those kids did. You’ll be impressed.” The remote shuffled the television through a few channels before stopping on a news station with a fast-talking anchor woman.

She squatted beside him and kissed his leathery cheek. A life spent outdoors had made him tough, inside and out.

His mouth hooked upward a bit, and he grunted when she pulled away. “And wear a coat. Hill nights are colder than you remember after all that time in California. Managers never get sick. Got it?”

She smiled as she stood. Nope. Some things never changed. “Got it, Dad.”

“And don’t go hanging out there on your own too long. There’s plenty of wild animals.” He peered at her around the side of his chair, his close-set eyes studying her until she nodded.

“I hear you. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“We still need to talk about that series.”

Her stomach soured. With Mr. Lettles’s visit, she’d hoped she might have dodged this conversation. Especially since they’d had it on the phone twenty different ways already.

“I know,” she said, keeping the disappointment out of her voice. Dad didn’t tolerate weak. Or emotional.

She reached for the door and paused, waiting for a final question. He always had one.

“You got your phone?” he called over the sound of something exploding on screen.

A small laugh escaped her. “Locked and loaded.”

“Huh?” He raised his voice and squinted at her again around the side of the chair. “Speak English. Is the darn thing charged or not?”

She held up the phone and waved it in the air, then pulled open the door. “All set, Dad. Really. I’ll be back, okay?”

“Yeah, well—” he grumbled, then trailed off, twisting around to switch channels as Heather slipped out the door.

Phew.

Freedom.

Living with her father again was definitely taking some getting used to. She’d complained about his daily cell phone check-ins. But now that she was home, it was the Dave Gadway show, 24/7, at least until she felt he was strong enough for her to look for an apartment and move out. She strode down the steps, Scout at her heels. She’d forgotten how hard her father was to take in big doses.

But she wouldn’t complain...much. He’d scared the heck out of her with his heart attack, and seeing him get stronger every day felt like a blessing she should never take for granted. Though she did sometimes. She’d admit it. No one was perfect. Especially not her, he’d be quick to remind her.

Was it too much to wish that, just once, he’d believe she was strong and capable? That she was an awesome daughter? The best he could have hoped for instead of a disappointment?

She looked up at the stars, knowing that’d be a pointless wish. Better to prove it to him by turning around her dismal win-loss record.

The baseball camp was another way to show him her worth. And she couldn’t wait to see the new and improved field.

She picked up the pace, and the collie trotted along beside her as they skirted the new field. In the distance, lights shone down on the old park. Maybe her dad had kept them on for her. Either way, they helped guide her as she followed the familiar path.

She let herself in through the locker room entrance, smiling at the way the tiled space shone when she snapped on the lights. Her dad was right. The boys had used their elbow grease. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she made her way to the field, eager to see the rest.

The wind picked up and tossed her hair around her face, blinding her for a moment as she stepped onto the field. When the breeze died down and her vision cleared, she gasped. The blazing overhead lights illuminated neatly painted stands and railings and a clipped field. And the kids had painted colorful wooden banners advertising local businesses. Her call for help through the chamber of commerce had been answered. Holly Springs businesses had supported her as she’d known they would.