No Sunshine When She's Gone (4 page)

Her stomach still twisted when she thought of Darrel Atkins. A man she had dated for seven months. She’d given him her heart and a key to her duplex. They’d lived together. She’d thought they were exclusive, until Sybil Bond, the neighborhood gossip, informed her otherwise.

Jill had learned that while Darrel spent his nights with her, he enjoyed the company of her landlady by day. The woman lived next door. Darrel delivered more than the rent check several times a week.

The news had devastated Jill. She’d never been with anyone who was good for her or good to her. She’d closed the door on Darrel. Recovery was a bitch, especially as she bumped into him daily, either in the landlady’s driveway or at their sidewalk mailboxes. He’d had the nerve to smile and wave at her. She’d turned her back on him.

The job in Florida had come at a perfect time. She hadn’t thought twice about leaving Richmond. She’d been ready for a change. Her landlady had released Jill from her lease. Darrel had stood in the doorway and watched her drive away.

Looking up at Aidan now, Jill said, “I used my powers for good. I got you out of a bad situation.”

“I would never have married Lila.”

“She seemed persuasive.”

“I’m not a man to be pushed.”

Jill believed him. Oddly enough, one look at Aidan and she’d felt an affinity for him. He had no idea who she was or why she was in town. Or that she was connected to the Richmond Rogues. She was their executive liaison for Community Affairs. She’d been sent to Barefoot William to connect with the locals and involve them in every aspect of the new spring-training facility.

James Lawless, along with the other executives, hoped to fill every stadium seat at the start of next season. Jill would make it happen. She planned to pack the ballpark to standing room only. James trusted her, and had given her full rein.

Her formal introduction to Aidan would come soon enough. They’d eventually be working together. After the reading today, she now knew he hated liars. She could be honest. She’d do her best to be straight with the man.

A firm knock on the dressing room door turned both their heads. A woman with short blond hair and round glasses frames peeked inside. “What’s going on, Aidan?” she said, her voice low and anxious. “My sales clerk saw you charge in the store and head for the dressing room. One that was already occupied. This is a family shop. You’d better not be fooling around.”

He looked pained. “Trust me, we’re not, Jenna.”

Jenna’s gaze narrowed. “Last summer—” she accused.

“Has come and gone,” Aidan cut her off.

“I have a long memory.”

“You never let me explain.”

“I saw what I saw through the crack of the door,” Jenna said. “Your date was
naked.
”

“She was, but I wasn’t.”

“Your shirt was untucked—”

“Not by my hands—”

Jill listened, taking it all in, until they both stopped talking. This was family business, and they’d said too much in front of a stranger.

Transgressions on the boardwalk and sex in a changing room were all very interesting. If Aidan hadn’t been caught, would he have dropped his pants or just unzipped? she wondered. The space was tight, even for a quickie.

Her imagination teased her. Then overtook her. She could picture his body getting hot and sweaty. His kisses would be deep as he drew out a woman’s pleasure. He’d control the rock of his hips, the depth of his thrust. The mirror would reflect their orgasms.

Heat crept into her cheeks.

Her nipples were suddenly perky.

Perspiration dampened her cleavage.

Warmth settled in her belly.

Her panties grew damp.

She found it difficult to breathe. “I need air,” she rasped.

Jenna pulled the door wide and allowed them to pass. Aidan let Jill go ahead of him. She stuffed her crop top into her shoulder bag and wore her new T-shirt. She kept the red hat, too, but left the sunglasses behind. She was no longer in need of a disguise.

The crowd had thinned, and there was no one in line at the cash register. She paid cash, and Jenna cut off the tags. The store owner eyed her curiously. Once she’d received her change and receipt, Jill bolted for the door.

Unfortunately for her, there was no quick exit. Aidan was again on her heels. The sound of his boots was heavy and closing in. He clasped his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him. Her skin prickled where he touched her; prickled all the way down her spine to her bottom.

She rolled her shoulder, and he let his hand drop. She needed to get going. Her plans for the afternoon didn’t include Aidan Cates. Releasing a long-suffering sigh, she asked, “What now?”

“You never gave me your name,” he said.

“I never planned to.” Their timing was off. He’d discover who she was eventually. She didn’t want to rush their introduction.

“How long will you be in town?” came next.

“Long enough.” She remained evasive.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“I promise not to have sex in a dressing room.”

One corner of his mouth curved, but he didn’t fully smile. A hint of a dimple showed in his left check. He had a sense of humor.

Her heart gave a little squeeze. He could become a distraction, she realized. She needed to be cautious. “See you around,” she said.

“Yeah, around,” he returned.

She took off at a fast pace. The farther she got from him the better. Unfortunately, his image stuck with her. The dog walkers, beachgoers, and an elderly couple holding hands on the sidewalk nearby didn’t erase him from her mind. She shook herself.

Men would take note of his strength and physique; women would want to trace his six-pack with their tongue. His voice was deep and rough. His intensity made her shiver. He was built for physical activity. And sex.

Jill had always been a sucker for athletic men. Dark hair and eyes did it for her, too. Aidan ranked right up there with the hottest hunks she’d ever met, and she had met many. Most were professional ballplayers who wore strut and cockiness as easily as their uniforms. These were men who knew their worth and exceeded fan expectations.

She admired those Rogues who had retired several years ago, along with the new regime. Every male executive in the front office had played professional ball. They knew the game inside and out. Respect for their team ran high. They knew which traits were needed for a ballplayer to succeed. They signed players with Gold Glove potential and World Series drive. Dedication was second nature to all of them.

Those just starting out were searching for their place on the team. They made the occasional mistake and most often recovered. Each man fought hard. Nothing was handed to them. The team was young with growth potential. The average age was twenty-five.

That was one reason the front office had traded two of their infielders to the St. Louis Colonels for center outfielder Rylan Cates during their rebuilding year. Ry was a phenom with leadership qualities.

Born and bred in Barefoot William, he was the youngest of the four Cates brothers. He’d attended the University of Miami, and, at the end of his senior year, had been drafted in the third round. He’d played twelve years for the Colonels. He brought veteran experience and stability to the Rogues. The team hadn’t won a World Series in six years. They were due. Let this be their year, Jill thought, crossing her fingers.

The cement was hot beneath her bare feet when she stepped from the boardwalk onto the parking lot. She jogged to a plot of grass close to where she’d parked her restored black 1955 Triumph TR2. The convertible sports car was her most prized possession. She stood beneath a Queen palm in the cooling shade. Caught her breath.

Jill was jarred from her musings by “Cheap Seats,” the ringtone on her iPhone She scrunched her nose as Alabama sang about minor-league games where fans didn’t know the players’ names or how the team was doing, but crowded into the bleachers despite that fact.

Her crazy-ass brother had programmed the music; anytime she set down her shoulder bag and he was close by, he’d lift her iPhone and switch songs. Their taste in music differed greatly. He liked country western while she listened to the oldies. Her ringtone prior to “Cheap Seats” had been Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.”

She shook her bag and her iPhone surfaced. She checked the display. Carrie Waters’s name and number now flashed. She touched her thumb to the screen to take the call.

“’Lo,” Jill said.

“Jillie Mac, where are you?” asked Carrie, her voice sounding rushed. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you at the farmers’ market? How long before you get here? I’m at the main gate waiting for you.” She ran out of breath.

Jill couldn’t help but smile. Carrie’s questions rolled over each other when she was excited. “I got sidetracked,” she confessed.

“That’s the story of your life.”

Carrie knew Jill well. They’d been best friends since they were both in diapers. Growing up, Carrie was always on the go, proficient and prompt. Jill was the opposite. She never wore a watch, and instead listened to her biorhythms. She often ran five to ten minutes late.

Jill so often jumped into life feet first and Carrie made sure she landed on solid ground. Carrie settled in easily wherever they lived; she was a nester. Jill, on the other hand, kept the back door cracked and a window open.

Carrie was one of the few who still called her by her childhood nickname, Jillie Mac. Jill didn’t mind. The two women complemented each other, in an odd sort of way.

They’d both been raised in households by single parents on the poorest side of Philadelphia. Thugs and drugs and never leaving the house after dark had been commonplace. The girls had missed meals and outgrown their clothes. Jill had protected Carrie on more than one occasion. She’d learned from her brother that a baseball bat could be swung not only on the sandlot but to scare away bullies.

Jill had a lot of tomboy in her and lived in jeans, whereas Carrie was feminine and favored pastels. People were drawn to Carrie. She saw the good in everyone. She never doubted, and always trusted. She forgave.

Jill was pleasant, but cautious. She had a stubborn streak, and made sure no one took advantage of Carrie. She’d been known to hold a grudge, when it was justified.

Jill’s older brother had helped them escape their neighborhood. He was street smart, and his successful career allowed him to buy their mother and his five other siblings a new house in a safer district. Her friend Carrie was an only child; her mother had deserted her family when Carrie was six. Her dad spent more time at the corner bar than with his daughter. He’d called Carrie ugly and a burden and had cuffed her on the side of the head, often and hard.

Carrie had lost the hearing in her right ear. She would tilt her head when listening to people, so she could fully hear what they were saying. She often asked to have a sentence repeated and suffered occasional dizziness. Despite her hardships, Carrie never lost hope. She believed she deserved better. She stayed positive.

Jill had refused to leave Carrie behind when they’d moved. Her brother went to an attorney and had the paperwork drawn up, giving their mother custody of her best friend. Carrie’s father had willingly signed the document. He’d never tried to contact his daughter.

Jill released the bad memories. She and Carrie were survivors. That’s all that mattered. They were family.

“Jillie, are you still there?” Carrie sounded concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Her thoughts had drifted, as they so often did. “I’m twenty minutes from the market.” She quickly calculated. She’d passed a promotional billboard on her way to the boardwalk. The farmers’ market was rural. She was coming from the beach. “Where shall I meet you?”

“I’ll be at the main gate. There’s a coffee vendor close by, I’ll grab a cup while I wait.” She paused, then added, “You’re on your way now, right? Not in an hour?”

“I’ll be there shortly, promise.”

She disconnected, then tipped her shoulder bag until her car keys appeared. She unlocked the Triumph and slipped onto the seat. The inside of the car felt like a sauna; the backs of her legs stuck to the leather seat. She rolled down the window by hand to let the hot air escape.

Her mechanic had serviced the vintage sports car before she’d left Richmond. The engine turned over easily and hummed. She drove to the outskirts of town.

She soon came upon the sign pointing to the turnoff for the farmers’ market. The line of traffic seemed endless. The market stretched over five acres. Vendors from all over the state had set up stalls. Enormous sailcloth tents covered the produce and protected customers from the sun. Jill parked a half mile from the entrance. She grabbed her bag, slipped on her sandals, and power walked.

Carrie caught sight of her and waved. Her braces flashed when she smiled. She’d waited years to get her teeth straightened and, at thirty-two, finally had the funds to do so. Her hair was pulled into a high auburn ponytail; she wore an aqua sundress, and held two Styrofoam cups of coffee. Carrie sipped from one and handed Jill the other.

“Regular coffee with hazelnut creamer,” she said. “How was the psychic fair? Did you get a reading?”

No, but I gave one
. Jill hesitated. She’d never kept anything back from her friend; there were no secrets between them. However a part of her wasn’t ready to discuss Aidan Cates. She wanted to keep him to herself a little longer. “The boardwalk was crowded,” she said. “I’ll stick with fortune cookies to tell my future.”

“The last time we ate Chinese food, your fortune said ‘Travel is imminent’,” Carrie recalled. “And here we are in Barefoot William.”

“Ancient words of wisdom,” Jill agreed.

Carrie held up a flyer. “Let’s get started. There’s so much to see. We can produce shop ’til we drop.”

Jill let Carrie lead the way. Her friend already knew the layout of the stalls. They strolled the grounds, unhurried and appreciative of the fruits and vegetables; the plants, flowers, and herbs; the baked goods and variety of nuts.

Carrie bought a red wicker basket to carry the items they purchased. Jill filled it with a container of raw Tropical Blossom honey and a small sack of sunflower seeds. Carrie chose an orchid plant and an enormous beefsteak tomato. She loved fried tomato sandwiches. She’d created the sandwich as a kid. Something easy to make. She would fry sliced tomatoes in a skillet, and once cooked, she’d put them on toast with a little mayonnaise.