A Very Daring Christmas (The Tavonesi Series Book 8) (5 page)

“These are the lucky ones,” the council leader added. “Only a fully funded, holistic approach to water, hygiene and sanitation will make any difference. Deeper wells and a few water tanks alone won’t do the job.”

They headed back to the limo, and a few of the village women joined the crowd of men and children that had gathered. The limo had been her only choice that morning, the only vehicle that came with lockable doors and a driver who was willing to make the trip. But now, in the face of such poverty, she wished there’d been another option. Cameron gave away everything in her purse except her cellphone. But a few lipsticks, a hairbrush and a few hundred dollars wouldn’t get the people of the batey what they really needed. Only a reliable source of clean water would stop the unnecessary deaths. Clean water would also allow the villagers to grow kitchen gardens and have access to badly needed nutrition. And education was also critical, the council leader had said. They had to learn how to keep the water clean during transport and use, learn how to differentiate water use according to its source—to use surface water for animals and clothes washing and reserve pristine clean water for drinking, for cooking and for bathing babies.

How many other villages were there around the world that needed something so basic, so critical and yet so hard to achieve? Cameron’s heart dropped in her chest at the thought.

When they returned to the limo, Jake turned to her, his expression stony.

“Why me, Cameron?”

“You happen to be the only guy I know who is going to meet the president face to face at the White House and who has seen this problem up close and personal. This project needs U.S. funding; the Dominians can’t do it on their own. The World Bank has already turned them down.”

“Someone told you wrong. I’m not going to the White House, and I don’t do press unless I absolutely have to. And even then all I talk about is baseball. End of story.”

“Then what was that performance back there?” It pained her to think that what she’d felt from him, the genuine man she’d seen in action, had been a figment of her imagination. It couldn’t have been. She was pretty good at reading people.

“You owe me,” he said, leveling a steely gaze at her. “I had no choice but to act the part of your willing accomplice. And honestly, I hope it helps. But I’m done.
Done
. Do you get that? I don’t like being used.”

“I had no idea the press would be there. I just wanted you to see the importance of the project.”

“I saw. And I believe you. But you still owe me.”

She didn’t try to draw him into conversation for the rest of the ride back to the hotel in San Pedro. She’d forced him to make a snap moral choice in front of the cameras; that hadn’t been right. But she’d do it all over again if it would help the people of the batey. Yet when they reached the hotel and he offered her his hand to help her from the limo, she was sure the spark she felt wasn’t just on her side of the equation.

Or maybe it was.

Maybe she was finally succumbing to her family’s greatest genetic defect—wishful thinking. Or maybe their greatest defect was choosing inappropriate mates. Her mother was already on wrong mate number five.

Chapter Four

Jake slammed the door to his hotel room harder than he should have and wished he could use a punching bag to let off some steam.

He’d been had.

He admired Cameron’s spunk but hated that she’d tried to manipulate him, good cause or not. She couldn’t have known how deep her actions sliced, and he wasn’t in any frame of mind to explain to her or anyone else. Some secrets were best kept buried.

Maybe a shower would clear his head. He’d only been halfway present during his coaching session with Aderro’s kids, not that anyone noticed. The boys’ energy ran so high that it would have taken an earthquake to get their minds off baseball.

He rummaged through his gear bag a second time—it had to be there. He never forgot it. A grin spread across his face as his hand closed around the rippled bottle, and he drew out his bottle of shampoo. The resort had plenty of amenities in the marble-tiled bathroom, but he preferred using his own. His sister made the shampoo for him, and the scent reminded him of summers in the Carolinas. Not that he’d spent a summer there for over six years. That was the only problem about baseball—a player never got to take a summer vacation and travel to see the world. But they got to play the game they loved, and that was what mattered.

He grabbed a way-too-fluffy white towel off the stack the maid had left just inside the bathroom door and then leaned in and cranked on the shower.

The gilt-edged, floor-to-ceiling bath mirrors—surrounded by marble tiles polished until every square gleamed in the light cast by fancy brass fixtures—had him pausing before closing the door to the glass-walled shower. Aderro had booked Jake into the fanciest hotel in San Pedro through a friend in the hotel’s management, and he’d sworn that the man had comped Jake’s room. But free or not, the disparity of the hotel’s opulence with what Jake had seen in the village just an hour’s drive away nagged at him like a blister that wouldn’t heal.

He’d had to learn fast how to handle the changes that came with being a near-instant millionaire. Some changes were welcome; he had to admit he liked not having to worry about making his mortgage payment. And it had meant a whole lot to help his parents buy their place outside of Atlanta. He even liked being able to go out to eat where he wanted and when he wanted. But he’d grown up as the son of a coal miner in a poor mountain town. The fingers of poverty dug deep, especially in places the outside world wanted to pretend didn’t exist. He’d had to learn early on that even with his salary, he couldn’t right all the wrongs in the world.

And hell, if he didn’t take the million-dollar salary, there’d be a hundred other guys lined up to sign on the dotted line and have their chance at stardom and riches.

The stardom part he fought with too. There should be some kind of school or program that took guys like him from piss-poor backgrounds and prepared them for life in the Major Leagues. College hadn’t been any help. Life on a sports scholarship at USC had only made him more aware of the gap between him and the rich party boys who didn’t have to have backup careers to fall back on. His dad had kept on him to finish his business degree. Jake knew as well as he did that an injury could’ve ended his baseball career.

If he kept up his performance and didn’t get injured, he’d make more, even multimillions. He could do some real good with that sort of money. But for now, he had to be realistic. Once the government had eaten its share of his current salary in taxes and he’d paid off his sister’s student loans and bought his parents the house in Atlanta, there hadn’t been a helluva lot left over. But next year? If his agent was successful over the next couple of months, next year would be a different story.

He stepped into the shower, and the pounding hot water immediately began to soothe the muscles in his upper back. He’d taken a few too many swings on the field the day before without warming up properly. But watching the ball sail over the wall was a thrill, one he’d never tire of. So he’d kept at it until Cameron’s appearance had disrupted the guys on the field.

He poured shampoo into his palm, slid his hands to his hair and lathered. The scents of rain and soft green spring grass and Cameron Kelley rose in his mind. She smelled like the wildflower honey he used to collect as a boy.

At the thought of her quick, wide smile and luscious curves, he imagined drizzling honey over that gorgeous body. No wonder half the world was in love with her. She had the bright-eyed look of the girl next door but the curves and flashing smile of the most intriguing siren. A woman like Cameron could drive a guy to distraction. Could drive a guy to thoughts of sex...

Jake trailed his hand down his body and allowed himself to be distracted. And in just a few moments he found that the release he sometimes craved wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as his blazing fantasy. He whacked the shower handle to cold, and the brisk spray brought him back to his senses.

He stepped out of the shower. Was he imagining things? He could’ve sworn he heard the sound of Cameron’s laugh. She didn’t laugh much. Hell, their visit to the village hadn’t been material for humor in any way, but she had laughed with the children. And she’d even laughed once at one of his poorly told jokes.

Her kidnap caper had done more than intrigue him with her spunk and daring. She’d woken him to a bigger picture of the world, up close and personal. He was pretty sure she’d been more shocked at the level of poverty than he had been. But she’d grown up as a Hollywood princess, a child star, and was now an A-list actress. The coal-mining holler he’d grown up in still held him in a firm grip. He knew the sights and sounds that went with being poor, with living on the edge and never being sure there’d be enough money to put food on the table. But he’d never seen poverty like he’d seen in the village the previous afternoon.

With locker-room quickness, he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door leading to the balcony. Three floors below him, standing by the sparkling blue waters of the hotel pool and framed by lush tropical flowers in planters, Cameron stood encircled by a group of men in suits. Her arms were crossed, and as she listened to something one of the men said, she frowned. One of the other men tapped her on the arm. She backed away from his touch and frowned again. Jake fought the urge to leap over the balcony and deck the guy.

Cameron looked up and met Jake’s gaze. She narrowed her eyes and then pointed at him and said something that made the men turn and look toward where Jake stood. He ducked into the room. The last thing he needed was to be on display half-naked for a bunch of suits. No, thanks.

He’d have a word with Miss Kelley, yes, he would. Another word. No one used him. Not anymore. Whatever she was plotting, he wasn’t available.

He buttoned into a crisp blue linen shirt. His phone buzzed. He wasn’t one for fancy ringtones; leave those to the guys who had signature walk-on songs at the ballpark. He fumbled around the room, searching for the damned thing. Whatever happened to the days of landlines? Of phones beside the bed that were easy to find?

But he did like caller ID. He found the phone under the towel he’d thrown on the bed and glanced at the screen, then took the call. When his agent told him he’d been offered the multimillion-dollar contract to be the future face of Nike, Jake astonished Tony when he didn’t say no outright and instead said he’d think about it. He heard the glee in Tony’s voice. The man knew how to launch and sustain careers, and he’d been more than frustrated that Jake wouldn’t follow the tried-and-true paths to success—do the PR and all that other crap.

He clicked off his phone.

He could buy a lot of books and clothes and baseballs and hell,
water
for the kids around here with that sort of money. It wouldn’t solve the problem, but it would help.

He dressed and then found himself staring out at the pool, where waiters hustled drinks to perfectly tanned women. Cameron and the suits were gone, but like one of those ghosts you hear about that shows up in old-fashioned photos, her image hovered. And relit his fantasy. But he had no time that evening for fantasies. He was meeting Aderro downstairs in ten minutes.

When Jake entered the hotel bar a few minutes later, the intimately lit room was already packed with couples—vacationers out to have a good time in the warmth and buzz of the Caribbean. And there were single women too. They knew the players frequented this bar, knew there was music and drinks and the possibility of hooking up with a guy who could be a ticket to America. There were a few men on the hunt, Jake observed. A few locals mixed in with the businessmen out to have a good time with the local ladies.

“Thirty kids this year,” Aderro crooned as Jake slid onto the leather-covered barstool next to him. “We could do more. Last year four of my boys got college scholarships.”

He had every right to be proud, Jake thought. Every one of those boys had a better chance at making a good life for themselves and their families if they had an education to fall back on.
If they didn’t make it to the majors
. But no one wanted to talk about that. Dreams led. And didn’t he know.

A band pounded out a lively Latin beat. Jake tapped his foot against the rung of the barstool, the rhythm curling into his blood, spicing the heat of the whiskey he downed in a few quick gulps. He’d heard the tune in the locker room, or maybe one like it. The Latin guys on the team always had music with them, on their earbuds or on portable speakers. He’d learned a few dance moves from them. He’d always loved dancing. Right up there with swinging the bat, running and sex.

Aderro gestured toward a young player leading a woman onto the dance floor. “Did you see Mario’s swing yesterday?”

“Hot bat. Needs to set up earlier and use his hands.”

“He signed with the Dodgers. He’ll have a commercial soon, mark my words.”

Jake snorted. “He’s twenty-one and already has his own personal logo—had it stitched into his shoes.”

Aderro signaled the bartender and ordered a rum. “Times are changing.”

“But the game isn’t. He’ll have to keep his head on him and stick to the basics.” Jake traced a finger around the rim of his glass. “What’s our plan for the rest of the week?”

“Infield drills first, like this afternoon.
Then
hitting.” Aderro grinned. “That’s where you come in.”

Jake laughed. Some of the kids in the program could grab line drives out of the air faster than a lizard catching mosquitoes. And their adeptness at snagging grounders had taught Jake a move or two. During the games on rubble-strewn lots, the young players in Dominia had learned the patterns that balls could take off the bats, even anticipate and catch the bad hops. Years of playing on the rough makeshift lots taught them more than any Major Leaguer ever could. But Jake could help them with their hitting. That was why he was there. Hitting was part science, part practice and heart.