Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio (17 page)

“I’m coming down.” Rachel grabbed a rope tied to the gabled end of the barn and swung herself to the ground.

“Neat trick,” Joe said. “No Tarzan yell?”

“Not today. When I was ten, however, you would have been impressed.” She dusted her hands off on her jeans and picked up the toys Bobby had abandoned. “Maybe if he sees you on the baseball field, he’ll change his mind about liking the game.”

“I doubt it.”

“It doesn’t matter if you aren’t all that good. I’m sure the high school team will thoroughly enjoy beating us ‘old guys.’ I’d consider it a personal favor.”

Joe considered. It might be wise to do a favor for Rachel. Ever since she had helped him clean the daadi haus, she had seemed to soften toward him. Joe flexed his shoulder. It was feeling a little stronger. He should be able to throw a ball around. Of course, he would have to dumb down his game. A lot.

“Sure.” He took the ball and bat out of Rachel’s hand. “I’ll help you out.”

Rachel introduced Joe to the rest of the team, several of whom voiced gratitude that he could fill in.

Bobby tugged at her hand while Joe chatted with the men on her team. “Can I have my hot dog now?”

“Absolutely.” Although she would have preferred to stay and see how Joe got along with the other players, she bought Bobby his coveted hot dog, a soft drink, and some cotton candy, for good measure.

Then she sat him down beside Carol, a wife of one of the firemen who had a child near his age. They watched as Carol’s son shared a toy car with his new playmate. The two children immediately started creating tiny roads together in the graveled dirt.

“Who is this little guy?” Carol said.

“Bobby. His daddy is helping us out today.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Rachel said. “If he gets upset, let me know.”

“You bet.”

The men were laughing now. Apparently Joe had told a good joke. She hated that she had missed it. She was impressed that Joe had already been accepted by men she respected.

“Bobby’s fine,” she told him as she walked up to the group. “He’s playing with a new friend. I bought some cotton candy, but I’m afraid it’s going to get a little dusty before it’s consumed.”

“A little dirt never hurt anybody.” Joe took an awkward practice swing with a bat. “I’m afraid it’s been awhile since I played.”

“That’s okay,” Rachel said. “Just do your best.”

She left Joe to warm up while she approached their coach, Sam, who was a dispatcher for the fire department. Sam had once made it as far as a Cincinnati Reds farm team.

“Where did you find the new guy?” he asked.

“He works for my aunts.”

“Can he play?”

“I have no idea, but he was available.”

Sam watched Joe fumble a catch. “We’ll put him in right field, where he can do the least damage.”

“That would be my call too.”

“What part of the infield do you want?”

“Is second base okay? I’ll try to cover for Joe.”

“You got it.” He made a mark on a clipboard. “It’s going to be tough giving these boys a respectable game. I don’t know about you, but I could have used a little more time to get ready for this.”

“Yeah, but we’ll make them sweat a little.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be eighteen again.”

“Not me,” Rachel said. “It was tough enough going through that age once.”

Sam laughed. “You weren’t a guy.”

The cop/fireman team won the coin toss and took the bat first. The high-school pitcher, a boy with red hair who looked a little like Opie from the
Andy Griffith Show,
had a great curve ball and struck out the first two team members.

“You’re up next, Matthews,” Sam called.

Joe grabbed the bat he had liked the least, toed up to the plate, and purposely swung wild on the first two pitches.

“That’s okay,” Rachel called. “You can do it, Joe. Just take your time.”

He glanced back at the dugout, where Rachel was trying to encourage him.

He didn’t want to embarrass her for inviting him to play, so he clipped the third pitch hard enough to make the ball wobble forward a few feet. The trick was to play just well enough not to disappoint but to hold back so that no one would guess his true skill level.

While the Opie kid scooped up the grounder, Joe’s toe touched base. A split second later, the ball hit the glove of the first baseman.

Rachel was up next. She connected with a line shot that took one bounce and hit the fence in right center. With Joe running ahead of her, she managed to pass third and tag back before the schoolboys threw it. In the meantime, Joe had slid into home. He gave her a thumbs-up as he brushed himself off.

“Beginner’s luck,” he called, pointing to himself.

The next batter struck out, causing the cop/fireman team to take the field.

“You’re playing right-center field,” she said as she handed Joe a borrowed glove. “There’s only one left-hander on the boys’ team. When he’s up to bat, move closer to the line.”

“Got it,” Joe said.

It felt good being on a ball diamond again, even though he couldn’t allow himself the pleasure of playing well. Actually, it felt good
because
there was no pressure to play well. At least not the kind of pressure he’d experienced in past years.

He checked to see how Bobby was doing. His son was happily playing in the dirt with another little boy with a vigilant mother watching over them.

No reporters. No news cameras. Just a small-town baseball game. The crisp fall weather was invigorating. The sound of the bat smacking into leather was almost hypnotic. Even the familiar smell of the dust on the baseball field gave him a sort of autumn high.

The teams were neck and neck. As the game continued, he could tell that Rachel’s team was doing better than she had expected, and she was getting excited over the chances of winning.

Her team was up one run going into the top of the last inning when the cop/fireman team took the field, hoping to hold the boys and make that last turn at bat unnecessary.

“Watch out, Joe,” Rachel called. “Keep an eye on that lefty I told you about.”

He saw her backing up, playing her position deep, hoping to cover anything in short right field and handle second base too. He smiled inwardly, wondering what she would think if she knew for whom she was trying to cover.

He had allowed himself the pleasure of stopping a couple of grounders that had gone through the infield during the game, but overall he had deliberately played with such mediocrity that he knew she had little confidence in his ability to field a ball.

The first batter took a walk down to first. The second batter hit a pop foul behind third base. The third baseman made a great catch but couldn’t keep the runner from getting to second. The third batter laid a bunt down the third baseline.

While trying to field the bunt, the catcher accidentally kicked the ball. The batter ended up on first and the runner slid safely to third. One out, one man on third, and one man on first. The top of the batting order was up.

The lead-off hitter knocked some dust off his cleats and stepped into the batter’s box. It was “Lefty,” the hitter Rachel had warned him about. If the boy hit it to Joe and Joe missed the catch, the boys’ team would tie it up and be in an excellent position to win the game.

“Heads up, Joe!” Rachel shouted, backing up farther.

Lefty whiffed the first pitch, took the second, tipped the third, and then slammed into the fourth pitch, drilling it toward the right-field line.

Joe got the same rising feeling of excitement in his stomach that he always did when he saw a well-hit ball flying toward the fence. That left-handed kid could hit!

The small-town crowd rose as one to their feet. Rachel started running, but she was too far away to make it. There wasn’t anything anyone on the field could do about that clean extra-bases hit—except Joe.

His eyes lingered on the ball as it arced its way toward him, high, high against the blue autumn sky. It was apparent to all who watched that the ball was going to sail right over the fence.

The sight of that white ball was mesmerizing. Not once did it occur to him to let it go. Years of training and instinct came into play. Before he could check himself, Joe had a lock on the ball and was moving toward the section of the fence where the ball would go out. Without conscious thought, his legs coiled beneath him and he leaped high into the air, using every inch of his superior height and catching the ball over his shoulder right at the fence.

Lefty was out, but out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw the runner on third tagging up and heading for home.

“Throw it,” the crowd roared. “Throw home.”

She knew it was futile. Even though Joe had somehow made an ESPN-level catch, he was still at the fence, and there was no way he could keep the runner from sliding into home. No one on the team had that kind of arm—not even Sam.

She checked behind her. Ed, who was acting as the catcher, hovered hopefully over home plate. Then she glanced back at Joe. Her jaw dropped when she saw Joe launch a low, sizzling rocket straight toward home plate. She involuntarily ducked as the ball hissed past her head.

Ed squatted, held his catcher’s glove directly in front of his chest, and was nearly knocked backward off his feet from the impact of the ball. Dust flew off his mitt, but he made the tag.

“Out!” the umpire called.

There was total silence on the field. Rachel was not the only one with her mouth hanging open.

Stunned, Ed stared down in disbelief at the ball embedded in his catcher’s glove. Rachel and the rest of the team began trotting in from the field.

Sam nudged her with his elbow as she walked by. “I thought you said the man wasn’t all that good.”

“I didn’t think he was.”

Joe handed Rachel the baseball glove she had lent him. He seemed in a hurry to leave. “Thanks for letting me play,” he said.

“How—how did you…” Her shock was so great, she couldn’t find the words to finish her sentence.

“It was a fluke,” Joe answered. “Sheer luck.” He seemed distracted. “Where’s Bobby? I lost track of him during that last play.”

She pointed toward Carol, who was talking to some of the other mothers. “Over there.”

“Right.” Joe nodded. “I’m going to grab him and head on back to the farm. I have some grout work to do on the tile in the bathroom.”

She watched him collect his son near a cooler of juice boxes Carol had brought to the game. She saw him thank Carol for watching his boy, and then his tall, lean body started walking home with Bobby seated firmly on his broad shoulders.

She shook her head in disbelief. Baseball players
lived
to make a throw like that. If it had been any of the rest of them who had made the play, the whole team would be going out to celebrate right now.

Her aunts’ handyman, from deep right field, had just thrown a baseball on an arrow-straight line over 335 feet.

No one could do that. No one except a few elite pro baseball players had
ever
done that. Regardless of what Joe said, luck had nothing to do with it.

Who
was
this man?

“Wow.” Ed came up beside her. “Joe can play on our team anytime he wants.”

“I agree.”

“You up for pizza? I’m buying for the team.”

Joe was a speck in the distance by now, but he still held her complete attention.

“Thanks, but I need to get back to the office. I have some work to do.”

She desperately wanted to access a computer. She was certain there was a story behind that magnificent throw—and she couldn’t wait to find out what it was.