From Left Field: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 7) (7 page)

But he made himself hold every muscle still as she let herself into her house, as she greeted her ecstatic dogs, as she blew him a saucy kiss before she shut the door. Or maybe that was just a sisterly kiss. How the hell was he supposed to know?

The grass was even wetter on the way back to his own lonely house.

Two and a half weeks later, Haley looked around Club Joe, amazed at how the coffee shop had been transformed. In the past hour, the front counter where people usually ordered their gourmet coffees had been transformed into an extravagant landscape of sliced cakes and pies, with tempting brownies and cookies filling in the few empty spaces. The small tables scattered around the popular gathering spot had been converted to display spaces for some of the most elaborate desserts Haley had ever seen. There were towering coconut cakes, triple-layer caramel cakes, even a fresh-baked stack pie just like the one a local chef had used to win a reality TV show a few months back.

Haley turned to Kate and said with awe in her voice, “You’re amazing.”

Kate laughed. “It helps to know people who know people.”

Haley could only shake her head at the understatement. “So, are we ready to open the doors?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be.”

As Kate had planned the bake sale, she’d quickly discovered that health officials frowned on an animal shelter hosting a food event. Therefore, she’d called in all her markers, setting up the sale at one of the trendiest cafes in town.

And the tactic seemed to work. People were lined up outside; the queue stretched all the way down the block. A few people had brought their dogs, and many more wore T-shirts proudly emblazoned with pets. One woman sported a headband with cat ears, and she’d drawn whiskers across her cheeks.

Haley took one last look at the baked goods, and then she nodded to the Club Joe employees who staffed the door and the cash register. “All right, then! Let’s see what we can do!”

And that was the last complete sentence she strung together for almost two hours.

The crowd was amazing. Everyone had complimentary things to say about Paws for Love. Several people had adopted animals in the past. A lot more said they were going to stop by in the next week or so. A fish bowl set beside the register began to fill up with donations, and the staff was soon overwhelmed by sales of individual slices of delectable treats.

Kate’s real inspiration, though, had been in selling whole desserts—entire cakes and pies that buyers could take home for a special family dinner or a party. Paws had originally considered having the bake sale on a weeknight, trying to snag tired office workers who wanted a sugar boost before they completed the trek home, but Kate had realized that a weekend made more sense, lending a party air to make big bucks on the finest gourmet treats Raleigh could offer.

Haley was making a record of the entire event, snapping photos on her phone. At first, she tried for artistic angles, trying to catch the afternoon sunlight glinting on pastries, the shimmer of powdered sugar, the gleam of ganache. Soon, though, she was grabbing shots of the excited crowd. And then she didn’t have time to take any pictures at all, because she was pressed into service setting out more slices of pie, more cakes, more brownies. She even took a shift at the register, ringing up sales and tallying the proceeds.

By the time the event ended, the cafe looked like an army had rampaged through. Napkins littered the floor, and the trash cans were piled high with paper plates. Kate pulled the cash tray from the register and retreated to a table to count their earnings. Haley used the time to help Joe, the shop’s proprietor, wipe down the counters and tabletops, mop the floor, and shift all the chairs back to their usual places and put things in order for the expected morning rush.

“I don’t believe it,” Kate said, as Haley slid the last chair into place.

Bracing for bad news, Haley turned to her assistant. “What?”

“We just raised six thousand dollars.”

Six thousand dollars, for two hours of selling dessert.

Kate said, “If we did this every week…”

And that’s when reality came crashing down on Haley. They couldn’t run a bake sale every week. The bakers who’d donated wares today couldn’t be tapped for another gift for at least six months, probably a year. And six thousand dollars—while it was an amazing haul for a single fundraising event—wasn’t going to make a meaningful dent in the money they needed to buy the Reeves farm.

For the first time since she’d come up with her crazy plan, Haley really began to doubt if it was possible. And she’d never had a poker face. Kate could obviously read her disappointment from across the room.

“This is just a start,” Kate said, her voice warm with reassurance. “Things will snowball, you’ll see. The people who participated today will spread the word; they’ll let people know about everything else we have planned.”

“I know you’re right,” Haley said, purposely keeping her voice bright. After all, she was the executive director of Paws for Love. It was her job to keep her staff engaged and enthusiastic. Her voice only quavered a little as she said, “But maybe we
do
have to consider Pet Ownership University.”

Kate looked her straight in the eye. “Do I have to remind you? Two words: Missy Newton.”

Looking around the sparkling coffee shop, Haley had to admit that Kate was right. Missy Newton—and all the ignorant customers who bought her puppy mill dogs—was reason enough to run screaming for the hills at the thought of doing Pet Ownership University. And six thousand dollars
was
an excellent start.

Haley smiled. “Okay. You win.”

After that, it was easy to wrap things up. Kate gathered up the money, promising to make a night deposit at the shelter’s bank. Haley shook hands with Joe, thanking him again for letting them commandeer his shop. The rest of the staff collected their gear from the back room, including the various desserts they’d bought as personal rewards for a job well done.

As Haley walked to her car, she tried to shake away her exhaustion. She was a little astonished by how much the sale had taken out of her. When she keyed her ignition to life, the radio snapped on. As always, it was set to the AM sports station, the one that broadcast the Rockets’ games. Haley glanced at the clock, and she was surprised to realize it was already 7:30. The Rockets were in the top of the second inning in New York.

As she listened to the familiar patter of the announcers, Haley’s heart twisted a little in her chest. She’d avoided Adam since her unnerving attempt at getting him to back off of the Reeves deal. Part of her reaction was practical—he had enough to think about sorting out his financial disaster; he was overwhelmed by the inevitable frenzy as the press sank its teeth into the story. And part of her reaction was routine—he’d been on the road for the better part of the last two and a half weeks, and there were still four games before the Rockets came back home.

But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that a third part of her reaction was personal. She couldn’t deny the tug she’d felt as Adam walked her home. She couldn’t deny the roller-coaster breathlessness when she’d considered inviting him in, when she’d thought about how it would feel to take him up to her bedroom, to take him into her bed.

It was a bad idea to get involved with Adam Sartain. It would screw up their friendship. And it would totally complicate whatever was going on with the Reeves farm, with their competition over the land.

Who could blame her, if she reached out to an old friend? Who could say she was wrong for keeping in touch? Hell, she talked to her brother Michael every other day, even if it was just a quick question about grabbing one of the kids after school. And Adam was like a brother to her.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and flipped through the photos she’d taken that afternoon.
There
. A snapshot of a towering caramel cake, the icing glistening like an invitation. The picture was perfect—just behind the cake was a line of people waiting to pay at the cash register, even the fish bowl was clear with its tangle of donated cash.

There was no need to give Adam the details. No reason to tell him the total they’d raised. No reason to let him in on her momentary flash of despair, her realization that the mountain in front of her was a hell of a lot steeper than she’d first considered.

She tapped the screen and added a message: “Dogs rule! Paws bake sale a huge success. Ready to give up now and spare us both a bunch of grief?” She hit Send before she could change her mind.
 

The radio play-by-play kept her company for the drive home.

~~~

Adam leaned back against the headboard in the anonymous New York hotel room, reaching for his tumbler of Scotch before he checked his phone for messages. No voice mail. Three emails from his lawyer, summarizing yet another phone conversation with the FBI agent in charge of investigating Reiter, outlining next steps, asking for input about the civil actions they were putting together, the cases they could control while the criminal system crept along. Jesus. How much was he paying that shark? How many hundreds of thousands of dollars would he flush down the crapper, trying to get his money back from Reiter?

There were a couple of messages from the team, the usual reminders about traveling to Toronto tomorrow night, like he hadn’t been on road trips thousands of times.

And there was an email from Haley.

His heart slammed against his sternum when he saw her name. And that was goddamn ridiculous, because he’d seen her name all the time during the twelve years they’d gone to school together. He’s seen
her
almost every day while they were growing up, and on a regular basis for all the years since then.

But his body had pretty much stopped listening to his brain regarding anything where Haley Thurman was concerned. That’s what he’d started to realize the night she’d brought him the Macallan. That’s what he’d had to accept after waking up from half a dozen dreams in the past couple of weeks, after finding himself sweaty, sticky, a goddamn mess.

He’d told himself not to text her. Not to email. For damn sure not to call. Because no matter what his cock said it wanted, he knew better than to fuck up a friendship that had lasted for more than thirty years. Screwing around with Haley would be a hell of a lot worse than running the lawn mower over the flowers she’d planted when she was in fifth grade, the ones she said she was going to show in the county fair. It wouldn’t begin to compare to sneaking into her parents’ liquor cabinet with her brothers, to getting sick on peach schnapps and puking in the bathroom sink when he couldn’t reach the john. It wouldn’t even be as bad as sniffing around after her best friend, Sara Thatcher, then dumping the girl the second he realized she was looking for a ring and a husband and two point five kids, pretty much right out of college.

Adam wasn’t a saint, not by a long shot, but he’d always known better than to shit where he ate.

But he wasn’t the one who’d reached out to Haley. He’d been good, minding his manners.
She
was the one who’d sent the text earlier that night. He touched the screen and read her message. A bake sale. And things had gone well, from the taunting tone of her words. His first reaction was to laugh, to type a few quick words of congratulations.

But he went with his second reaction instead. He called her.

She answered on the third ring, suspicion darkening her voice. “Hey. What’s up?”

He couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her from the road. Sure, they talked when he was home. He dropped by to raid her kitchen when he hadn’t had time to stock his own. He took her out to dinner, to a movie, whatever, when he had the down time—which was almost never, during the season.

“That cake looked good enough to eat.” Shit. If he couldn’t figure out something better than that, he might as well hang up now.

At least she laughed. “I suspect it was. At least, that’s what the person thought who paid the big bucks. Your ass is grass, my friend.”

“Not fair,” he retorted. “I’m stranded here in New York, while you’re moving full steam ahead.”

“And whose fault is
that
?”

She had a point. Haley always had a point. He fumbled for something to say, but came up empty. At least she had the good sense to fill the silence. “You had a good game tonight.”

“Yeah. Durban’s home run in the sixth broke things wide open.” He didn’t give a damn about Durban’s home run. Not now. Not when he was trying to figure out what to say to keep Haley on the line.

Shit. This should be easy. He talked to women all the time. He was on the road for almost half the year; he’d perfected the art of telephone seduction. It should be easy enough to tell Haley he’d been thinking about her, to ask about her day, to let her know he was lonely.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“Sitting on my living room couch. I was watching a movie, some stupid thriller. This idiot woman just left her front door unlocked, even though she knows half the city is out to get her because of something the bad guy slipped inside her purse.”

He could picture the line of her throat as she threw her head back to laugh disdainfully. “Are you alone?” He heard the roughness in his voice, but he thought he hid it well.

“If you don’t count the dogs. And Emma. She’s curled up beside me, purring like a motorboat.”

He didn’t give a damn about the animals. But curling up beside Haley… Damn, that sounded good. He took a gulp of Scotch and shifted on the bed, working the button on his jeans with impatient fingers. He slid down his zipper as he said, “It sounds like you could find better things to do than waste your time with a crappy movie like that.”

She laughed again. “Oh, I’m using my time just fine. I’m writing up plans for our next fundraising project. The one where we raise enough money to beat your sorry ass, fair and square.”

If he’d been sitting beside her, she probably would have socked him in the arm, leaving her knuckle out to make sure she gave as good as she got. And picturing the sarcastic tilt to her lips, he was ready to give her a hell of a lot. He slipped his hand inside his briefs, letting his cock twitch against his palm.