A League of Her Own (8 page)

“I’m sure you do.” The twinkle in her eye sucked the air out of him. Her encouragement filled him back up with confidence.

He squared off to the plate. At least he could take advantage of a full windup and gain some speed since the batter had made it to second and the runners couldn’t steal.

The hitter tapped his spikes with his bat, tightened his gloves and stepped into the batter’s box, his face impassive and relaxed. Confident. It was clear the guy wasn’t rattled. Concious of his arm angle, Garrett rocketed a pitch that caught the outside corner.

Strike one!

A few people got to their feet and began to cheer.

Garrett closed his mitt against Dean’s throw and brought it up to his chest. He wound up, sweeping his hand close by his head as he delivered one on the inside corner at the knees.

Strike two!

Now the stadium was rocking. Catcalls, whistles and stomping feet echoed in the air. The Falcons’ mascot raced around, flapping his wings.

The batter fidgeted and backed off the plate. He removed his helmet and wiped his forehead with his wristband. His face was tense when he stepped back into the box. Good. Now the guy was on his toes.

Garrett weighed his options. Since he’d thrown two fastballs already, the batter was probably expecting something off-speed—a curveball or changeup. But he still felt strong. He could deliver another heater and get it by him.

Dean signaled for a curveball, and Garrett shook his head no. Dean’s fingers flashed for a changeup, and Garrett shook his head no again. Finally Dean showed three fingers, then swiped his index finger right.

Garrett nodded. Just what he wanted, a fastball to the inside of the plate. In a blur, the ball jetted over the plate and disappeared in Dean’s glove.
Thwack!
The batter stood for a moment, looking into the empty air, then jogged to his dugout, head low. The stadium erupted in thunderous cheers.

“You froze him,” hollered a boy’s voice from a crowd of kids holding a banner lettered with his name. They were in the front row, right above the Falcons dugout, and wore bright blue shirts to show their support.

“Caught him staring,” whooped another youngster. A few other kids fist bumped him while the rest stamped their feet as the speakers blared “We Will Rock You.”

Garrett slid a glance in Heather’s direction and caught her smug smile. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to hand it to her. She’d been on to something with the arm drop. If he pitched like that all season, he’d make it onto the radar for the Major Leagues. Crazy that she’d picked up on something when no one else had. Beginner’s luck. Had to be.

The rest of the game passed quickly, with a reliever saving his game after he left it during the eighth inning. When the crowd demanded a curtain call, he stepped out of the dugout, doffed his hat and waved before signing several balls the boys threw to him. Their shrieking excitement made him smile and linger until one caught his eye.

The redheaded boy with dark eyes was a ringer for the foster “brother” he’d lost. He ducked back into the dugout, his nose burning with every harsh breath that shuddered through him.

And he wished, like anything, for a drink. Scotch, gin, vodka...something to float that memory away.

He gritted his teeth as if someone held a bottle to his mouth. That’d been his old habit. His way of coping. He brought his fists down on his thighs, then buried his head in his hands until he had himself under control. The hole in his heart plastered over once more.

Returning to the locker room, he took a quick shower and pulled on his street clothes. He started when someone yelled, “All clear!”

Heather walked in, her snug dress slacks and silky top making her far too tempting for a guy who was trying to think of her as his boss.

“Congratulations, Falcons,” she said as she came farther inside the steam-filled space. She pulled a note card out of her pocket, the edges bent and creased, and cleared her throat. “You did a nice job out there. Good hustle, especially on that gap play that could have handed the other team three runs. If we give the same effort at every game, we’re going to have a great season. Go Falcons!”

The team cheered, though he noticed their enthusiasm was lukewarm at best. It’d been a close game, and they’d won by only a single point. But that didn’t account for their lackluster response. They still hadn’t accepted Heather. While he understood their reaction, felt the same way, it burned him at the same time.

“Let’s hear it for Skipper!” he shouted, eyeing his teammates so that their voices rose louder than before.

“To Skipper!”

“And Wolf,” bellowed Dean, sending Garrett a wink.

“To Wolf!” echoed the team, and suddenly sports drinks were being shaken and sprayed around the locker room.

He ducked out and found himself beside Heather, who leaned against the outside wall, her chest rising and falling as if she’d been nervous. Funny. She always seemed confident. Now she looked as insecure as he felt at times. It touched something in him.

“Thanks for the tip out there,” he said, his voice bringing her large eyes up sharply and quickly.

She studied him for a moment. “I’m glad it helped.”

He made no move to leave, and neither did she. It felt as though they each had more to say, though what it was, he hadn’t a clue.

“Heather.” Her father rounded the end of the corridor, and Garrett stepped away, suddenly conscious of how close they stood.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, her voice low, something in the tone making him linger.

“That was quite a ride,” Mr. Gadway said, sounding slightly winded, his belly straining against the zipper of his blue Falcons warm-up jacket.

“Glad we could entertain,” she responded, her hands twisting in front of her. Was she nervous around her old man? It didn’t match up with his Daddy’s-little-girl image of her.

“Would have preferred not having my ticker racing all game. Next time, get those boys moving from play one. You should be leading by a wider margin when you’re playing a team like them. They’re not even in division contention. Or they shouldn’t be, unless you give up games to them like you almost did today.”

“We pulled it off.”

There was a note in her voice that caught at Garrett, something raw, lost, a cry for help that only he could hear.

“Thanks to this guy.” A broad hand slapped Garrett’s back. “Almost had her lost in the sixth, but you nailed it with that final strikeout. Keep pitching like that and you’ll be looking at league MVP.”

Garrett’s smile faded when he noticed Heather’s somber face and the hint of sadness she tucked tight inside the corners of her eyes. It bugged him. Why was her father handing him the credit?

“With all due respect, sir, Skipper gave me some pointers at practice. Plus, she kept me in when she could have lifted me. She deserves the praise.” Despite his irritation at Heather, he had to be fair. Something about seeing her so flattened didn’t sit well with him. He would have preferred her driving him nuts with her overconfidence, smug ignorance and irrational anger that flared at the strangest times. At least she glowed then. Now she looked like a snuffed out flame.

For some reason, her father harrumphed and shuffled his feet before turning to Heather. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Sounds good.” She kissed her father’s cheek, and the tender gesture tugged at Garrett. Despite getting ripped by her dad, she cared. Were they alike? Motherless, both holding tight to the people they had left. He’d felt close to someone once, until his own actions had severed that bond in the worst way imaginable.

Her father stomped away, and she turned to Garrett. Her glossy brown hair, free of its ponytail, swirled around her delicate face. Impressive that after such a dressing down, she looked as composed as ever. Heather had grit.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, studying him for a long moment. “Now. If you’ll excuse me?” She turned on her heel and strode away without waiting for an answer.

His eyes followed her as she disappeared down the corridor. He fought back that unexpected protective streak she brought out in him, wanting to run, catch up, grab one of her hands and comfort her. Strange, since she’d looked just fine. As if this was normal for her. Maybe it was. But still...he’d seen grown men blubber after getting a critique like the one Heather had received.

He forced his feet to stay put. Heather didn’t need him. She’d shown she could handle things on her own. Preferred to, it seemed.

And although he’d always believed the same of himself, suddenly he wasn’t sure he was as independent as he’d thought.

Not when it came to Heather.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
WEEK
LATER
, Heather stood on the side of the two-lane rural route leading to Holly Springs and dripped. Not just her clothes. Not only her hair. Nope. Every bit of her was drenched including her nose, from which raindrops fell as fast as they collected. She needed to be wrung out and hung on a clothesline. But getting caught in a Carolina rainstorm made you feel as if you’d never be dry—or warm—again, despite the season.

She shoved back her tangle of hair and peered through the fat splatter of rain, shivering. Water drummed on the roof of her car as the tow truck driver hooked his chains to her rear bumper, his camouflage rain poncho pulled tight around his face. Good thing he’d come quickly. Even better, she’d had a fully charged cell phone to call for road service and postpone her meeting.

Guess her father knew best after all, as he’d been quick to point out when she’d phoned him. But he hadn’t stopped there. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity to wax poetic on his favorite subject: Heather’s screwups, the car edition.

He’d scolded her for driving too fast (she’d been below the speed limit), listening to the radio instead of watching the road (as if country music wasn’t made for cruising) and not checking the tire pressure before setting out (wasn’t that a biannual thing?!).

It didn’t matter that none of these issues seemed responsible for the hydroplaning skid that’d sent her into the ditch—with a completely different car than the the one she’d left in California! He’d been on a roll and his message—she didn’t care about vehicle safety—came through loud and clear. At least, after she’d made the usual agreeing noises, he’d eventually cranked down a notch. No sense arguing when his doctor had emphasized less stress. Yet lately she seemed to be causing him more of it. If she hadn’t needed a ride home, she never would have bothered him in the first place.

She sighed and glanced at the steep, evergreen-covered sides of the road. The hills were hidden in mist, just snatches of green appearing and disappearing. Luckily, she wasn’t hurt, and Dad had promised to send someone to pick her up. Across the road, a grinding noise sounded as her car’s rear bumper lifted off the ground. Any minute now and they’d be gone, leaving her here alone unless her dad’s errand boy arrived. Pronto.

And how was she supposed to meet with her postponed, ten o’clock appointment looking like this? Get her plan to restore Holly Springs’ pride started? She ducked beneath a live oak, its wet leaves dark against a mottled, sulky sky. It gave some coverage, but not much. She plucked her sodden dress shirt from her stomach. What she’d give for an umbrella!

She would have grabbed one if she’d paid attention to the threatening clouds when she’d left earlier. But after making Dad breakfast and approving some travel arrangements for the Falcons’ series next week, she’d barely glanced at her doughnut, let alone the weather.

Never a break. Or it felt like that after a long week of dealing with unreceptive players and two more game losses. She wasn’t getting through to them, and if their record didn’t improve, fast, the team would be out of contention for a division win before the month was out. Her quick inhale caught her off guard and juddered her whole body. She couldn’t fail.

Around a bend splashed a red car. She squinted at it through the pelting rain, then backed up, too late to avoid the
sploosh
of water when it jerked to a stop.

“What? Hey!” she sputtered, wiping, if it was possible, even more water out of her eyes. If this was her dad’s help, he could keep it. She would have stayed drier walking home.

The door opened, and a pair of long legs in cowboy boots and jeans appeared. The rest of Garrett followed, and in a second, he was standing in front of her, his irresistible grin matching the devilish twinkle in his eye. He looked as if he was enjoying her imitation of a drowned rat.

“Your chariot awaits.” He gestured to his car, his voice holding more than a hint of laughter as his eyes ran over her. He held out a bright yellow object. “Umbrella?”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” She tugged at her clinging shirt, then let it go when she caught his eye. Her outfit could have passed for wet tissue paper, and a warm flush crept up her neck.

“I think I timed it just right.” His lips twisted, sending her senses into overdrive. Why was it impossible to think of him as just a player? Being aware of him as a man—a very attractive one—had to stop. Her radar was off...waaaaaaay off...to consider him as anything more than a Falcon.

She broke their stare and glanced around him to see who else her father might have sent to pick her up. Surely Dad wouldn’t expect her to drive with Garrett at the wheel? An addict struggling not to relapse? For all she knew, he might have fallen off the wagon already, though she hoped like anything that he hadn’t. But the car was empty except for a few unidentifiable cans rolling around the passenger floor mat.

“Ready?” He looked up at the sheets of rain plastering his hair to his head. “This isn’t getting any lighter.”

“I’ll wait.” She crossed her arms and gave him her shark-eye stare.

His mouth firmed in a straight line before he asked, “Wait for what? There’s no one else coming.”

Her eyes darted skyward, her pulse racing. Tiny memories of her accident with her mother fell through her mind, blooming like flakes of flaming ash. Her eyes burned with the effort to keep her emotions in check. She was not a crier.

When she lowered her gaze, Garrett stepped close, concern darkening his eyes to navy. His calloused thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away raindrops he must have mistaken for tears. “Hey. I know you’re probably shaken up from the accident, but I’ll get you home safe and sound.”

He couldn’t possibly know it wasn’t this accident that had her in knots. A hoarse sound, halfway between a cough and a retch, escaped her. Her mother had been driving her home when they’d hit that tree. Sweat beaded on her forehead, mixing with the rainwater.

When she swayed in her heels, his arm slipped around her waist and pulled her close. Panic filled her, pushing the air out so that she struggled to breathe. She would not look weak in front of one of her players. Garrett most of all.

Garret steadied her. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” His deep voice sounded far away, as if she heard him underwater. And maybe she did, since she felt as if she was drowning. She remained frozen in place, her mind traveling back to another road, another time.

When Garrett tugged her toward the car, instinct seized her. She jerked against him, needing to get away.

“Hey,” he protested and held her tight. Secure. She panted, working for every breath. It’d been a long time since she’d had a panic attack or let herself think about her near-death experience. Why, of all people, was Garrett her witness?

But something about his solid warmth stole into her. The steadfast way he held her stabilized her rocking mind until her thoughts cleared. Her rigid body grew limp. He kept his arms around her long after she’d stopped struggling.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruffer than she’d ever heard it.

She nodded, humiliation banishing her from the land of the speaking.

“If I let you go, are you going to run?”

She shook her head, the rest of what she needed to say cowering at the base of her throat.

When he let go, a strange emptiness took hold. Did she want to be in his arms? It seemed she did. Another irrational thought to go with the rest zinging through her mind.

“Your dad is worried about you. Can I drive you home now?”

“No,” she gasped out, the single word scraping the back of her throat raw. She forced herself to meet his eyes, her breath rushing between her teeth. As his manager, it was an order, even if it’d sounded like she was pleading.

He inhaled sharply and set his jaw, looking ready. But for what? If she didn’t speak her piece, would he force her into his car anyway? Unease ricocheted through her. Her father was top dog, and if he’d told Garrett to bring her home, he’d obey. But she couldn’t let him drive her. Not with memories sawing her heart in half.

“Not you,” she insisted, wishing like anything that she could get some force into her voice.

His eyes narrowed. “And that’s because—”

She gave him a long look until understanding dawned in his eyes. They darted from the disappearing tow truck back to her.

“Is this because of the accident with your mother?”

She nodded reluctantly and shoved words out of her mouth. “I won’t trust an addict to drive me again. Recovering or not.”

He shot her a look of pure, jagged incredulity. “You honestly think I would drive while intoxicated?”

The air heated up as they locked eyes; it pressed around them dense and scratchy as wool.

“No. I don’t know,” she snapped, though her voice had no bite. Certainly not the ring of authority she needed to get him to back off. “And why did my father send you of all people?”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Because Reed told him I was heading back from an AA meeting and could pick you up.” He exhaled, heavily. “You don’t trust addicts about anything, do you?”

She scrunched her eyes against the sudden pain that lanced through her. “No.”

After a long moment, his shoulders lowered, and the anger drained from his face. “Guess that makes two of us,” he surprised her by saying. “Why don’t I call one of the other guys, and we’ll sit in the car until he gets here?”

Relief flooded her. He understood. Wasn’t pulling some macho act or trying to prove he would always be sober—something she could never, in her heart of hearts, bring herself to believe fully. She’d been let down too many times before.

“Thank you. But I...uh...actually would like to get out of here. Can I drive us?”

He studied here, his eyes quizzical, until he nodded and handed her the keys.

She slid behind the wheel, touched by his faith in her. He’d seen her at her worst, was picking her up from an accident she’d just caused, yet he still believed in her. Trusted her to drive them.

After he hopped into the passenger seat, he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. The confining space closed around them, the beating rain making her feel as if they’d entered their own world. She stole a sideways glance at him as she started the engine.

It was a world she might not want to leave if she wasn’t careful.

* * *

G
ARRETT
’
S
FINGERS
TAPPED
lightly on his knee, his mind puzzling over what had just happened. He’d sensed Heather mistrusted him. Had known, on some level, that it was probably connected to her mother. But to have her put it so bluntly. To say she’d never ride in a car with him at the wheel. Trust him. It disregarded all of his hard work to get clean. Scattered it to the winds. Why her opinion mattered so much, however, bothered him more.

Heather didn’t fit into any box. She was a mystery he wanted to solve, even though he had no business being on the case.

After a mile had passed in tense silence, he asked the question burning through him.

“What happened back there?”

Her knuckles whitened against the wheel, and her mouth looked tight.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“You basically implied I was a drunk driver. I deserve an explanation, don’t you think?”

When she glanced at him, the wound in her expressive eyes flayed him. “It’s not you, okay? I know you’ve worked hard to get sober.”

“But you’ll never trust I’ll stay that way.”

Her eyes squeezed shut for a second. When they reopened, they shimmered.

“I don’t trust anyone. Growing up, it was always broken promises, secrets and lies.”

His heart stalled with a twinge of pain. The silver spoon she’d been born with had tarnished fast. “That’s rough,” he said, inadequately.

Her chin jerked, and she stared straight ahead, her arms taut as she gripped the wheel. The sports car rounded each curve of the winding road a bit faster than it should have.

“She always vowed she’d stopped taking the pills.” Heather’s voice had less substance than dandelion fluff, and he leaned closer to hear it. “She claimed she didn’t need to go back to rehab, but then I’d find bottles in her makeup bag, in the freezer, under the grandfather clock.” Her neck cords stood out, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “Dad asked me to search the house for them every day. A twisted Easter egg hunt for pills.”

The hurt in her voice was palpable, and it squeezed his chest. He pictured Heather as a little girl, crawling, hunting for proof she hoped she wouldn’t find. Sympathy rose in him. Their childhoods were different, but they’d sustained the same damage. It connected them. Maybe that’s why she was opening up. Still, he sensed she wouldn’t ever fully let him in.

“I’m sorry. No kid should have to go through that.”

“At least I had my dad.” Her lashes fluttered down to her cheeks and, because of the tremble of her soft lip, he wondered if that’d always felt like a good thing.

Suddenly she turned to him, her eyes wide. “Oh. I’m sorry. That was thoughtless. Did you know your parents before foster care?”

“My mother,” he muttered, needing to end this conversation before things got too deep. The more they confided, the closer he felt to Heather.

He watched tall oaks and spreading maples flash by as Heather drove at what would be normal speed except for the weather. He peered at the speedometer and decided to lighten the mood.

“Ease up, Danica Patrick. We’re not racing.”

Her mouth curved in the way that made him ache to kiss the corners of her lips. She was getting to him. Big time. Being around her was like riding a carnival Tilt-A-Whirl. She had him spinning. One minute she was a tough spitfire he wished he’d never laid eyes on, and the next she was soft and open, making him want to hold her and never let go. Especially when he glimpsed the same vulnerability in her eyes that consumed and strangled him.

“And in case you lost your sense of direction,” he continued, forcing his mind down a safer path, “we’re heading the wrong way—this is toward Holly Springs, not home.” He pulled off his wet hat and tossed it on the floor behind him.