Home to Hart's Crossing (19 page)

“Sure. What day?”

“Let me check my appointment schedule at the office, and I’ll get back to you in the morning.”

“Okay. Thanks for the comments for the paper.”

“Not a problem. Be sure to remind folks to turn out for the season opener.” Rising from the chair, Mel said good-bye, then hung up the phone.

He turned, and his gaze swept over the kitchen. It was a room devoid of personality. Sterile, even. He’d bought the newly constructed house when he came to Hart’s Crossing and lived in it for five years, but there was little evidence of that.

He looked at the black forest cake on the table.
I’ll bet Terri Sampson’s kitchen has plenty of personality.

Maybe it was no accident that he’d noticed her green-blue eyes and the fiery color of her hair. He’d signed up to coach baseball as a reminder that he was among the living, but it might be time that the land of the living included more than his co-workers and a baseball team of ten-, eleven-, and twelve-year-olds.

Maybe it should include a woman, too.

* * *

Terri added another log to the fire, then returned to the couch, a soft blanket, a comfy pillow, and the latest novel from her favorite Christian author.

She loved lazy Sunday afternoons, especially in winter. Sunday was the one day of the week when she allowed herself to be selfish, doing only things she wanted to do, activities that brought her pleasure. Today she didn’t even mind the constant drumbeat coming from the compact audio system in Lyssa’s bedroom.

“Mmm.” She scrunched down into a comfortable position and opened the novel.

Although cool weather would be around for several more weeks—according to Punxsutawney Phil and his shadow—there wouldn’t be many more days that begged Terri to build a fire. Spring was almost upon them. Spring and baseball followed by summer and baseball.

The telephone rang, but she made no move to answer it. Nine times out of ten these days, calls were for Lyssa, shades of the teen years to come.

Terri shuddered. She was nowhere near ready to contemplate
that
.

“Mom! It’s for you.”

Glancing toward the stairs, she laid the book against her thigh. “Thanks, honey.” She moved aside both book and blanket and rose from the sofa. “I need a cordless phone,” she muttered as she walked into the kitchen and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Sampson? Terri. It’s Mel… Mel Jenkins.”

“Oh. Hello.” She couldn’t imagine why he might be calling. Other than last night’s fund-raiser, Terri’s volunteer duties for the Cavaliers didn’t start until the season opener.

“Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday afternoon.”

She cast a longing glance toward the living room couch. “No problem.”

“I…uh…I wanted to tell you how delicious your cake is. The best I’ve ever eaten.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Thank you.”

“To tell you the truth, it’s providing a bit too much temptation for one person. I’m afraid I’ll eat the whole thing before the weekend’s over.”

Her brow puckered in a frown. Why on earth had he called to tell her that?

“Lyssa said this is her favorite cake, and I thought…Well, maybe I could bring some of it back to her. Unless, of course, you made two of them while you were at it.”

“No, I didn’t make two.”

“Well, would you mind then? If I brought some of the cake over for Lyssa to enjoy?”

“I’m sure she would like that a lot—”

“Great. Why don’t I bring it now? Unless that’s an inconvenience.”

Having discovered the previous evening how shy Mel was, Terri decided it wouldn’t hurt to be kind to him. “No, it isn’t an inconvenience. I’ll let Lyssa know you’re coming.” She gave him directions to her house and then hung up the phone.

So much for an afternoon by the fire reading a good book.

A few moments later, she rapped on Lyssa’s bedroom door, a knock that was drowned out by the pounding music. She opened the door, saying loudly, “Hey, honey. Turn that down, please.”

Lyssa gave her a pained look but obeyed.

“That was your coach on the phone.”

“Did we raise enough money?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” Terri stepped into the bedroom. “But you can ask him yourself when he gets here. He’s bringing over the cake he won last night.”

Lyssa’s eyes widened. “Didn’t he like it?” Crestfallen, she sank onto the edge of her bed. “I thought he’d like it.”

Terri chuckled. “Just the opposite. I think he liked it more than he should.” She motioned with her head toward the door. “Come downstairs and give me a hand. He’s on his way now.”

“How could he like it more than he should?” Lyssa asked as she followed Terri.

“He said a whole cake is too much for just one person.”

“Not
your
cake, Mom. I could eat it all by myself.”

She laughed again. “True enough. But you don’t have to think about your waistline the way adults do.”

* * *

Mel parked his Ford F150 in the driveway of the Sampson home. It was a two-story house but not large, just big enough for a divorced mother and one daughter. He wondered how long Lyssa’s dad had been out of the picture. Did he see his daughter and ex-wife? Did he live in Hart’s Crossing? Were they on good speaking terms? What if there was a chance of reconciliation? Mel didn’t want to get in the middle of something like that.

Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea. Terri Sampson was a friendly, attractive woman, but dating was difficult enough without outside complications. Maybe—

The front door flew open, and Lyssa appeared on the stoop. “Hey, Coach!” She waved an arm.

Good idea or not, it was too late to change his mind. He reached for the cake platter and got out of the truck.

“Mom said you couldn’t eat that all by yourself.”

He followed the sidewalk toward the front door. “Not quite what I said. I
could
have eaten it all, but I knew I shouldn’t.”

She gave him a look that said he was nuts. “C’mon. Mom’s waiting.”

As Mel stepped through the doorway into the living room, he noticed the blanket and book on the sofa and the dancing flames in the fireplace. Looked like he’d interrupted her plans. He shouldn’t have come.

“Want me to take the cake?” Lyssa asked. “You can hang your coat in the closet there.”

“Thanks.” He handed her the platter, then shrugged out of his jacket.

Before he could open the closet door, he saw Terri step into the archway between living room and kitchen. She smiled in welcome, and the room seemed to grow brighter because of it.

Maybe this was a good idea after all.

* * *

Over cake and beverages—coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for Lyssa—the conversation turned quickly to Little League baseball. It was the one thing the three of them had in common, as far as Terri knew. Mel mentioned his hope for warmer weather by the season opener. Terri asked about the fund-raising results from the previous night. Lyssa announced she’d been working hard on her curveball.

“I’m proud of you, Lyssa,” Mel said. “You’ve come a long way since team practice began.”

Terri smiled, thankful that he took seriously her daughter’s desire to improve. A few of the Cavalier team members gave Lyssa a hard time. She was the only girl in the major division and among the youngest of the Cavaliers. Some of the boys—and undoubtedly some of their parents—didn’t think Lyssa belonged in the majors.

“Good enough to start a game next month?” Lyssa asked her coach, her voice filled with hope.

He gave a slight shake of his head. “This is your first year in the majors. This is the third year for both of our other pitchers, and they want to start as badly as you do. We’ll have to see how the season goes. I’m not saying it won’t happen. I’m saying we’ll have to wait and see.”

Terri noticed the way he looked directly at Lyssa as he spoke. His tone of voice was kind but firm. He didn’t talk down to her daughter, as if her question was frivolous or unimportant.

Determination narrowed Lyssa’s eyes. “Coach Jenkins, I’m gonna get good enough to start at least one game this year. You’ll see.”

“I hope you do, Lyssa.”

Something warm blossomed in Terri’s heart as she observed the two of them. A feeling so long unfelt she couldn’t quite put a name to it.

Chapter 4

LYSSA PUSHED OPEN THE door to the
Mountain View Press
. “Hey, Mr. Palmer. Mom said you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah, I did.” The newspaper editor rose from behind his cluttered desk. “Didn’t expect you so soon though. I just talked to your mom half an hour ago.”

“She had to run some errands after I got outta school, so she dropped me off on her way to the store.”

Bill motioned her forward. “Come on back here. I ran across an old article from the Associated Press that I think you’ll want to read.” He picked up several sheets of paper. “After I read the first one, I searched out a few more on the Internet. Pretty interesting stuff. Did you hear about this girl when it happened?” He handed Lyssa the papers before sitting down again.

She recognized the name in the headline immediately. “Are you
kidding
, Mr. Palmer?
Everybody’s
heard of Katie Brownell. She pitched a perfect game. She even got honored by the Baseball Hall of Fame.”

The editor laughed softly. “So where was I when all that happened?”

“D’know.” She shrugged as she sat in a chair opposite him, then started reading the top article.

Katie Brownell is a shy 11-year-old girl of few words. But when she gets on the baseball field, she lets her pitching do the talking.

Brownell is the only girl in the Oakfield-Alabama Little League baseball program in this community about halfway between Buffalo and Rochester. On Saturday, that didn’t stop her from accomplishing something league officials can’t remember anybody—boy or girl—ever doing.

She threw a perfect game…

Wow, Lyssa thought. Wouldn’t that be something? And if Katie Brownell could do it, why couldn’t she? She could if her coach believed in her enough.

Katie said she knew she had a chance for something special in the fourth inning. Fortunately, Katie’s coach, Joe Sullivan, realized that, too.

He had intended to pull Katie at some point during the game and was ready to do it when the scorekeeper told him she had a no-hitter going…

“She’s lucky she’s got a coach who let her start a game and keep playing.”

“What’s that?” Bill asked.

Lyssa looked up, only then realizing she’d spoken aloud. “Oh, nothin’.”

He watched, waiting for her to say more, his eyes saying he knew she hadn’t told him the whole truth. The look made her squirm inside. She hated it when adults did that, especially since it usually worked. She couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts to herself.

She laid the papers in her lap. “I guess I’m jealous. I want what happened to her to happen to me.”

“Who’s to say it won’t?” He smiled. “Your coach tells me you’ve got a great arm.”

Strange. She’d felt pretty good about things yesterday when the coach came to her house and he sat at the table, talking with her and her mom. Lyssa had convinced herself she could prove to him she was good enough to start a game, even if she was only ten and a girl. Now it felt impossible. “Mr. Palmer, you can’t pitch a perfect game if you don’t get to
start
a game, and Coach Jenkins says I’m not ready to start one yet.”

“I see.” His expression grew serious. “Do you think maybe he’s right?”

She looked down at the girl in the photograph in the article. “No,” she muttered. “I’m ready.”

“You know, Lyssa. The season hasn’t even opened yet. Lots can happen in a couple months. That girl’s perfect game was in May. Maybe by this May your coach will think you’re ready.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Lyssa slunk down in the chair. “It’s just I want it so bad. Know what I mean? Have you ever wanted somethin’ so bad it makes your insides hurt?”

He was silent awhile before answering, “Yes. Believe it or not, Lyssa, I have.”

* * *

The last errand on Terri’s list was a visit to A to Z Arts and Crafts. She needed a new curtain for the back window at the salon. She hoped she could find fabric she liked and make it herself. She wasn’t much of a seamstress, but she could manage a curtain: bit of cutting, a bit of hemming, relatively simple.

She was browsing through the bolts of fabric when Francine Hunter, Angie’s mother, appeared on the opposite side of the table.

“Oh, good. I’m glad I ran into you, Terri. I planned to call you as soon as I got home. The Thimbleberry Quilting Club is making a wedding quilt for Angie, and we hoped you’d want to participate. But it’s a surprise. Don’t say anything to her about it.” As she spoke, she came around the end of the table.

“A quilt?” And Terri was hoping she could manage to sew a simple curtain.

“Well, we’re not asking you to make an entire quilt, dear. Just one of the squares. Something that would be meaningful for Angie from you.”

“I haven’t done much needlework, Francine, but I’ll do my best.”

The older woman laughed softly. “Don’t you worry. What I’m asking isn’t nearly as difficult as you might think.” She patted Terri’s shoulder. “Trust me. The Thimbleberry gals will make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Terri wondered if she could bribe someone else to make her square in exchange for a perm or a haircut and color or even a French manicure.

“I don’t know why we waited so long to get started,” Francine said, oblivious to Terri’s thoughts. “Everyone knew Bill would propose. Only the when was in question.”

Terri smiled as she nodded in agreement. “He was smitten from the first moment he saw her after she returned to Idaho. He never stood a chance.”

“So true.” Francine paused and gave Terri a thoughtful look. “What we need now is to find a nice young man for you.”

As if bidden by the woman’s words, the image of Mel Jenkins sprang into Terri’s mind. “Nice” would certainly describe him, she thought as she recalled the way he’d interacted with Lyssa yesterday. But Francine meant a love interest, and Terri wasn’t attracted to Lyssa’s Little League coach in that way.