No Sunshine When She's Gone (8 page)

“The apartment has two bedrooms.” He paused to give Sadie a bite of chicken breast without the skin or sauce. “I’d give you a good deal. Rent is negotiable.”

“My houseboat is rent-free,” Shaye was quick to say, as she topped off her glass of pink lemonade.

Trace turned to Mike and asked him, “Where will you be staying?”

Mike finished off his sweet potato, wiped his mouth with a paper towel, and said, “The construction trailer.”

Shaye started to object, but Aidan held up his hand, stopping her. “It’s his choice,” he told his sister. “Mike likes being on site, he always has. It’s him and the heavy equipment.”

“Doesn’t sound very homey,” Carrie murmured, as she worked her way around a cob of corn. Aidan was amazed she did so well wearing braces.

Mike rolled his shoulders and said, “I don’t need much.”

“Neither does Rylan Cates,” Carrie revealed as she passed the bowl of baked beans to Shaye. “Ry’s very pragmatic; he likes the basics. He has five pieces of furniture at his condo, nothing more.”

“How would you know that?” Mike’s tone was harsh. “Have you been to his place?”

Aidan wondered why Mike would care. Why he’d raise such a question. Why he sounded so angry. Mike’s pained expression gave new meaning to “turn back time,” at least by thirty seconds. He reached for a second beer, grunted his annoyance. “Don’t pay any attention to me,” Mike stated.

“You’re hard to ignore,” Carrie said softly. She didn’t have to explain how she knew Rylan, but she chose to anyway. “I met Ry when he arrived at James River Stadium. I showed him around town, lined him up with a real estate agent. I took him shopping and gave him a list of the best coffee shops, restaurants, and nightclubs.”

“You frequent clubs?” Mike was at it again.

“Carrie knows her way around a dance floor,” Jill answered for her friend.

“I took her for someone who waltzed.”

“You look like someone with two left feet.”

“He does,” Shaye said. “I danced with Mike at my brother Dune and Sophie’s wedding reception. He’s a toe-crusher.”

Mike grunted. “That’s because the ballroom was crowded. We had a foot of space.”

“Rylan couldn’t make the ceremony,” Shaye said. “He’d been chosen to play in the all-star game. It’s hard to get all the Cateses together at one time in one place. We are numerous.” She smiled then. “We do love family. Ry’s a year older than me, but he remains the baby boy of four brothers.”

“We picked on him as a kid, but that’s what older brothers do,” said Aidan. “He wanted to play baseball from the moment he could walk. He used to drag around a Louisville Slugger; the bat was bigger than he was.”

“You’ll see Rylan soon,” Carrie reminded them. “He’ll be in Barefoot William for the Rogues/community slow-pitch softball game in two weeks. He’s a great guy, and always has time for his fans. He’s a good person to know.”

Aidan was aware of the upcoming event. It was scheduled for the weekend between spring training and the season opener. Several retired Rogues from the front office would be in attendance, along with two starting roster players. Rylan would be one of the starters. He’d volunteered to come home. Aidan looked forward to seeing his kid brother again.

Carrie had yet to mention Ry and Mike’s college history, Aidan realized. Perhaps she wasn’t aware of their strained relationship. Rylan had made several attempts to contact Mike, but Mike had never responded. Ry was living Mike’s dream. Rylan’s presence only reminded Mike of everything he’d lost.

“Jillie Mac and I need to form a local team,” Carrie said, hope in her voice. “Will you join us for slow pitch?” she asked the table at large.

Shaye was first to hop on board. His sister loved sports. “I’ll play, and so will Trace,” she volunteered them both. She’d caught Trace with his mouth full, so he couldn’t decline. He nodded halfheartedly.

“Aidan, Mike?” Jill asked nicely. “Can we sign you up, too?”

Aidan rubbed the back of his neck. Slow-pitch softball wasn’t his game. He’d once played in a coed charity event in Tallahassee; it hadn’t been his greatest moment. Bricker’s Backhoes had taken the field against Cherri’s Hair Salon. The stylists weren’t afraid to break a nail. The girls had kicked Bricker butt, wearing tank tops, short shorts, and high-top sneakers. They’d been distracting as hell.

Aidan had blamed his poor showing on not having the proper glove. He’d gone with a ten-inch baseball mitt instead of the larger fifteen-inch glove used in slow pitch. Which was his own fault; he hadn’t had time to break in a new one. The pocket on his baseball mitt was meant to catch a nine-inch baseball, not the twelve-inch softball. He’d dropped two fly balls that day. His team had lost to the women who colored and cut, permed, and straightened hair. The defeat had not set well with the burly backhoe operators.

He should decline the upcoming game. It was in his best interests to do so. However the challenge in Jill’s eyes had him relenting. “Sure, why not?” he said. He knew of a dozen reasons he shouldn’t play, but kept them to himself. He would plan ahead this time. He’d purchase the proper glove and make a decent showing.

“Aidan’s got long legs and he’s a good runner,” said Shaye. “Put him in the outfield.”

“Mike?” Carrie nudged.

Mike pretended not to hear her.

Jill poked the bear. “Slow pitch isn’t for everyone. It’s all about timing and precision. You’d need to be an all-around athlete to participate. We understand if you don’t want to play, Mike.”

No response from the man.

Silence hung heavy over the table.

“You could always coach.” Carrie gave him an easy out.

Mike looked at her. “Would you be on my team?” he asked.

She nodded, and Mike made a rude noise.

Jill leaned her elbows on the table and eyed Mike with fire in her eyes. “Carrie can hold her own in slow pitch.”

Carrie didn’t look very athletic, Aidan thought. He wondered if that was another of Jill’s fabrications. “What about you?” he asked her. “Will you be playing for the home team?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be with the Rogues,” she said. “Carrie and I decided to split sides.”

Mike’s lip curled. “No surprise you chose the winning team.”

“Slow pitch is a stretch for all players,” Jill said. “The day isn’t about winning; it’s about fun and community involvement.”

“That’s what you say now,” said Mike. “Wait until the score is tied going into the ninth inning. You’ll be calling for a home run.”

“Barefoot William will bring home the trophy,” said Shaye, showing her competitive spirit.

“Psycho McMillan will be out for blood,” Carrie said, grinning. “The man is a warrior. He gets hyped tossing horseshoes.”

“His reputation precedes him,” said Shaye. “I look forward to meeting the wild man.”

“Psycho remains a fan favorite even after his retirement,” said Carrie. “He still gets more mail than any other player. Requests for him to make public appearances are never-ending.”

“He’s passed his hell-raising days,” said Jill, her face softening. “He’s become a family man. His daughter is adorable, and his wife, Keely, is pregnant with their second child.”

Aidan heard the fondness in her voice for the famous right fielder who was now the senior vice-president/ general manager of the Rogues. Envy slammed him, an unreasonable emotion. Jill worked in community affairs and associated with all the players, veterans and rookies alike. She shared in many aspects of their lives. Baseball was a close-knit community.

“Make a decision,” Jill prodded Mike. “Are you in or out of the game?”

“Chances are good I’ll be working,” he said.

“On the weekend?” again from Jill, her one eyebrow raised.

Mike glared at her. She glared back. Aidan wasn’t sure whose stare was more intense. It became a contest of wills. Aidan couldn’t determine the winner, they were both so stubborn.

Shaye pointed a rib bone at Mike. “A compromise,” she said to diffuse the situation. “We’ll pencil you in as coach.”

“You’re erasable,” said Jill.

Mike tipped his chair back on two legs, caught the edge of the table with his knees, and kept his balance. “I’ll play if you can answer one question,” he said to Jill and Carrie. “How many stitches on a regulation major league baseball?” A shrewd question.

Aidan knew the answer, but did the women?

Jill didn’t even blink. “There are one hundred eight single stitches or two hundred sixteen double. It’s however you look at the ball.”

“She’s right.” Aidan fought back his smile, but lost. Mike scowled at him, too.

“That settles it,” said Carrie. “You’ve made a commitment, Mike, and I’m holding you to it.” She raised her glass of iced tea, made a toast: “To Team Barefoot William.”

“Here, here,” said Trace, lightly touching his can of beer to Shaye’s glass of lemonade.

Carrie held her own glass toward Mike. He ignored her, but she waited him out. Shaye cleared her throat and Mike took the hint, in his own time. He would never offend his hostess.

Aidan was relieved when he finally tapped his Guinness against Carrie’s beverage, a little harder than was necessary. Tea sloshed over the rim. Mike surprised everyone by tearing off sheets of paper towels and blotting up the mess. He tossed the wet towels over his shoulder and into the trash can. He had perfect aim.

The men went on to have second helpings. Afterward, the women cleared the table. Shaye brewed a pot of coffee. Cupcakes wrapped up the meal. Mike retrieved his bakery box. Aidan eyed dessert. He let everyone select their favorite flavor before deciding on Butterfinger fudge. He noticed Mike polished off his devil’s food cupcake at the exact moment Carrie finished hers. There was one devil’s food left. He expected Mike to grab it, but he didn’t.

Instead, he and Carrie stared at each other across the table. She was the first to reach for the cupcake. She picked up a plastic knife and cut it in half. She slid Mike’s portion to him on a paper towel.

“You got the bigger half,” Mike accused.

“That’s because I’m the bigger person,” she returned. “You’re lucky I shared.”

Mike almost smiled. One corner of his mouth curved as he took a bite of devil’s food. He then chewed and swallowed his friendliness.

Carrie had been generous, Aidan mused. She could’ve eaten the entire cupcake herself, and no one would’ve said a word. Had Mike reached for it, Shaye would’ve slapped his hand. Carrie was company; Mike was considered family, albeit the black sheep. Guests had first choice. Always.

They sat around the table shooting the breeze for the next hour—until Shaye yawned, which Aidan knew was their clue to leave. His sister was tired. She often called it an early night, only to start her work day before the sun’s own alarm clock sounded.

Aidan pushed back his chair and stood. “Time to fly,” he said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I appreciated the meal,” said Mike, standing now, too. “I don’t cook, but I know the best restaurants in town. The next night out is on me.”

“Works for us,” said Trace.

Shaye nodded her agreement. “I like to cook, but I also support our local businesses several times a week.”

Trace curved his arm about his wife’s shoulders, kissed her affectionately on the forehead. “Shaye has Zinotti’s Pizza, Fryer Clucks Chicken, and China Palace on speed dial.”

“Those deliveries make my life easier,” his wife said.

Trace smiled. “I like you easy.”

Carrie collected the salad bowl and Jill finished off her iced tea. The group then moved from the table and trekked back through the house with Sadie ambling behind. Aidan stopped to say good-bye to Olive. “ ’Night, sweet girl.”

“Sleep tight.”

“Miss me?” he asked.

“Fuckin’ A”
was a far cry from her usual
“with all my heart. ”

Shaye stopped dead. She glared at Mike. “Olive overheard you,” she groaned.

He grimaced. “How can I fix it?”

Shaye sighed. “I’ll have to come up with a word she likes just as well.”

“Hell.”
The parrot mimicked Mike’s voice.

“Make that two words,” said Trace.

They walked to the front entry. “Thanks for everything,” Jill said as Trace held the door for her. She turned to Shaye. “I look forward to seeing the houseboat.”

“Get with Aidan,” Shaye said as they departed.

The four of them followed the path back to the driveway. Sadie took her sweet time, sniffing every plant and flower. No one complained. They allowed her plenty of time in the yard.

“When would you like to see the Horizon and the apartment?” Aidan asked the women once they reached their vehicles.

Jill leaned against the hood of her Triumph; gave it some thought. “We have this week free, so you pick a time.”

He rubbed his chin. “Nine tomorrow morning,” he suggested. “I need to be at the construction site in the afternoon.”

“The trailers and heavy equipment arrive then,” said Mike. “Aidan’s girls should be in town, too.”

Aidan’s girls?
Jillian Mac waited for further explanation, but Mike wasn’t forthcoming. He just looked smug. The man could tick off a saint, she thought.

“I wanted my ladies to fly down from Tallahassee,” Aidan said, “but they insisted on driving. They like to exert their independence on occasion.”

Jill admired self-sufficient women. Apparently he had several such ladies in his life. Her brow creased. Her curiosity felt more like jealousy, she realized. She’d just met the man. It was ridiculous to feel anything but appreciation toward him. He was helping them find a place to live.

She looked at Carrie, who nodded, agreeing to the designated hour. “We’ll be waiting for you,” Jill told Aidan.

He opened her car door then, and Mike did the same for Carrie, much to Carrie’s surprise. Once seated, Jill started her sports car. The Triumph hummed. She snuck a peek at the men in the rearview mirror. Aidan looked as good from the back as he did from the front, she decided. She liked the width of his shoulders, his tight ass, and his long legs. He had strut and purpose, yet tonight he slowed his pace for Sadie. The pointer walked between Aidan and Mike.

Jill caught Carrie adjusting her passenger-side mirror; she also wanted to catch one last look at the men. “Oh . . . how sweet,” Carrie said with a sigh.