No Tan Lines (10 page)

“You’re thirty, not ten. No condiment fights.” She didn’t need a blowup. Not with Trace behind home plate. She could only handle one situation at a time.

A dozen people made demands on Trace Saunders all at once. He’d yet to change clothes and now sat at his desk in his volleyball T-shirt and neon-pink board shorts. His administrative assistant, Martin Carson, tried to herd people back out the door, but his staff stood three deep with no plans to leave. He was the final answer to their questions.

He ran one hand down his face, exhaling his day away. Shaye Cates complicated his life. Molehills turned into mountains. And now the two of them would be joined at the hip for the next three weeks.

She was a sexy beach chick with surprising business sense. She was also opinionated and annoying as hell. Sneaky, too.

He had three hours until the sandlot game. Whatever had possessed him to umpire? His knee-jerk agreement would have him crouching behind home plate. He’d never been an umpire, but he understood fairness. He’d call the game to the best of his ability.

Ninety minutes of paperwork, and Trace showed everyone to the door. He motioned to Martin to remain. Martin slid onto a translucent chair. He appeared to be sitting on air.

Trace had always shown remarkable forethought. It served him well now. He’d faced a lot of challenges in his life and knew when to stack the deck in his favor. The volleyball tournament was bigger than the rivalry between him and Shaye. They had little time to set up the event. Success depended on having the right people in place.

In his opinion, sharp as she was, Shaye was too small-town to handle the event. If all went as expected, Barefoot William and Saunders Shores would be overrun by tourists, traffic, and volleyball fans. His survival instinct kicked in.

He looked across his desk at Martin. “Contact Event Planners in Miami. Ask for Marlene Mason. Explain the circumstances of the pro/am, and agree to whatever she charges. I want her here tomorrow.”

“What if she’s booked, sir?”

“She’ll show.” Of that he was certain. He and Marlene were old friends. He’d known her at Florida State. He’d given her the seed money for her event-planning business.

Marlene was in demand. She organized political, corporate, and sports events. She would put together a top-of-the-line tournament and turn a profit in the process.

She had promised him a favor, whenever he chose to collect. The time was now.

“I’ll introduce Marlene as my secretary,” Trace said, feeling that was best. “I’d prefer her identity be kept secret.”

Martin clucked his tongue, then spoke his mind. “Shaye Cates won’t be happy, sir. This is her tournament. You’re going behind her back. She’s a proud woman. Her family will be involved. Her brother Dune is the major draw.”

Trace felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to change his mind. Shaye ran Barefoot William Enterprises. Her boardwalk and pier were rapidly heading toward bankruptcy.

Without professional direction, the event could prove a disaster. He was afraid that, left to her own devices, Shaye would lose her shirt. He couldn’t take that chance. Not if he was going to be involved.

Shaye didn’t like him now.

She’d hate his guts when she discovered his duplicity.

But when all was said and done, her town would be in the black. That’s what mattered most to her. He could then walk away, even if she threw darts at his back.

Martin cleared his throat. “Will you be working late? Should I have dinner sent over from Barconi’s?”

The bistro’s rigatoni often helped Trace burn the midnight oil. But tonight he had no plans to work late. He had a baseball game to umpire. He rose and headed out. “I’ll grab a hot dog at the park.”

He never got to eat. Shaye met him in the parking lot. She barely gave him time to grab his athletic bag from the passenger seat of his Porsche before hustling him to the storage facility. She seemed anxious and not all that glad to see him. He eyed her slender backside as she walked several feet ahead of him. She wore a gray
Gulf Field
T-shirt, black jeans, and red Keds.

He smiled to himself. Apparently athletic events warranted shoes.

The storage facility smelled like a locker room. It was small, barely big enough for one person to turn around in, but he and Shaye somehow fit inside. He dropped his bag on the floor. He’d packed a towel and a fresh shirt for after the game.

One dim bulb shed minimal light. She fumbled twice with the combination lock on a paint-chipped locker but finally was able to retrieve his mask, chest protector, and shin guards.

Equipment in hand, she pivoted on her heel and bumped him hard. Her arm scraped across his chest. Lady had sharp elbows.

She scrunched her nose as she looked at his light blue dress shirt, navy slacks, and black athletic shoes.

“I dressed by the rule book,” he told her.

“So you did,” she muttered. She handed him the gear, then raised an eyebrow. “Need help with the clips?”

She stood so close, her breath warmed his skin above the top button on his shirt. The scent of Dove soap surrounded her. A freshly showered woman appealed to him, especially one standing this near. Her chest rose, and his chest fell. Less than an inch separated their hip bones and thighs. His athletic shoes bracketed her keds.

She lifted her hand in an attempt to put space between them. Her palm firmly pressed his abdomen. Her expression was standoffish, yet her mood ring flashed the vivid pink of arousal.

She had no idea the ring gave her away. Had she known, she would’ve gone screaming into the sunset. Their situation was as grave as it was humorous. She was a Cates, and, for him, that closed the door on seduction.

He’d never been attracted to slender, opinionated, sneaky women. Then why did his body harden with their contact? It was a mystery he didn’t care to solve.

“I can dress myself,” he finally said. “I’ll need some room.”

“I’m gone.” She scooted around him, a very tight squeeze. Her wild blond curls bounced off his chin. Her silver headband was as shiny as a fishing lure in the pale light. Her lip gloss left a print on his shirtsleeve. Her breasts grazed his side, and her butt pushed into his groin.

He was glad he’d worn his cup.

The second she was out the door, he reached for his shin guards. He put them on first, followed by his chest protector. One closure clip was missing on the left side. He carried his mask at his side.

Shaye was waiting for him when he emerged. He found her leaning against the storage shed, tapping her fingers against the metal siding. Her uneasiness was even more evident now.

“This would be a good time to put on your mask,” she said.

“I’m not behind home plate.”

“It’s a short walk.”

She snatched the mask right out of his hand, went up on tiptoe, and slipped it over his head. Something was up. She wanted his face covered.

He squinted, then asked, “What the hell, Shaye?”

She was all innocence. “You should be ready to play the moment you step onto the field.”

Not good enough. He tipped back the mask and stared at her so intently, she squirmed. Realization hit, and he wasn’t certain whether he should laugh or leave her where she stood.

“Your family doesn’t know I’m umpiring the game, do they?” he asked.

She swallowed hard, then said, “Not exactly. I couldn’t let the kids down. Will you keep my secret?”

“Kai knows,” he reminded her.

“He won’t tell a soul. He’s busy dealing with Nicole at concession. ”

“The home plate umpire runs the game,” he stated. “People in the stands will soon realize I’m not Paul Cates.”

Shaye looked him over. “You and Paul both have dark hair. You’re close to the same height. You’re wider in the shoulders, so hunch over a little. The mask covers most of your face.”

“What about our voices?” he asked.

“Paul’s voice is higher.” She pursed her lips. “Can you raise yours an octave?”

“Not on your life.”

She went to Plan B. “Very well, then, I’ll spread the word that Paul has a cold. Could you cough a little, make it sound like deep congestion?”

“No coughing,” Trace refused. “Deception will bite you in the ass,” he warned, conveniently ignoring his own planned deceit.

She rubbed her left butt cheek. “As long as it doesn’t take too big a bite, I’ll take my chances.”

“You’ll owe me, right?”

Her eyes went wide, and her chin came up. “You
volunteered
to umpire.”

“Nicole offered me up.”

His lover had done just that. “But you accepted,” she argued.

“I saw a further exchange of favors in our future.”

She exhaled sharply. “What more do you want? I’m paying you twenty dollars.”

“Nothing comes to mind, but I’ll let you know once I decide.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said, then nodded toward the field. “Ready to play ball?”

He eased his mask into place, then nodded.

“There’s one other umpire on the field, Daniel Malone, Molly’s husband,” she said. “He’s positioned behind second. Daniel will handle any outfield disputes. He doesn’t have any kids playing in the game tonight.”

That suited Trace just fine. “Where will you be during the game?” He needed to know where she’d be sitting and whether she’d cause him further aggravation.

“I sit on a stool behind the fence to the left of home plate,” she said. “I can see the bag perfectly. If you make a bad call, you’ll hear about it.”

He heard about it six times in the first three innings, but Trace ignored her. He got into the swing of the game, and each call was made with respect and fairness.

Of all the voices cheering and commenting on the game, Shaye’s reached him the loudest. He kept his cool when she shouted he was
blind as a bat
. No one else in the stands contradicted his calls. Only Shaye.

He refused to reverse his “out,” even when she stood at the fence and argued her case for a home run. Through it all, he kept his back to her. He had the plate advantage. He saw every hit and slide firsthand, whereas she strained to see around him.

He debated gagging her or going as far as to evict her from the park. That would rile those in the stands. He wondered if she razzed Paul Cates but doubted she’d be so hard on a relative.

That was the catch. Paul was not only the regular umpire, he was also family. Trace was a substitute. And a Saunders.

While the Cates appreciated his involvement with the volleyball tournament, he might not receive the same welcome on the diamond. He’d yet to lift his mask to make a call. He hoped the remainder of the game would be as clear-cut as the initial innings.

Despite his misgivings, Trace enjoyed the game. The young athletes had confidence and strut. They chewed gum and spat sunflower seeds. Supported each other like brothers.

This was no organized Little League contest. It was pure sandlot. Equipment was shared between the two teams. The plastic batting helmets were dented and cracked. The leather on the outfielders’ gloves was well-worn. A middle finger poked out on occasion.

Holey T-shirts were tucked into torn jeans. Crab claws bracketed the logo for Pinscher’s Crab Shack.
Saltwater Sharkey’s
appeared inside a shark’s fin on the opposing team’s shirts. Sneakers were scuffed. Many parents had purchased tennis shoes with room to grow.

Beneath the lights, the cheers grew louder. Praise puffed the boys’ chests. Humbleness came with three strikes or a dropped ball.

Through it all, Trace felt the love of a big, boisterous community. The Cateses were the definition of family. Win or lose, every boy would leave the field with a parent’s hug or slap on the back, no matter how he played.

An announcement over the PA system called for the seventh-inning stretch. The score was five to three. The Pinschers were ahead by two runs, yet the Sharkeys would bat last.

The bleachers emptied. Everyone headed to the concession stand. Trace hoped Nicole wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the stampede of customers. Kai didn’t seem the type to show her the ropes. He didn’t have the patience. It was evident he didn’t like her.

Trace sought a quiet spot along the fence, just beyond third base. He rolled his shoulders, only to have them stiffen again when Shaye showed up.

“Fierce Grape Gatorade?” she asked, offering him a tall plastic cup. “I added a straw so you could sip through the wires.”

“How thoughtful.” He wanted to remove the mask and scratch his head. Wipe the sweat from his brow. It would have to wait. He could stand the mask another thirty minutes or so. There was a distinct possibility she’d owe him a further favor by the end of the game.

Beside him now, Shaye fidgeted while he sipped his Gatorade. Her unease seemed to increase as she said, “My ten-year-old cousin Jeff bats second in the bottom of the ninth. He’s number sixteen. I need you to—”

“What?” He prodded when she paused.

“—cut him some slack.”

“How much slack?” he asked, frowning. “Surely you’re not asking me to throw the game.”

“No, not throw, just show compassion,” she was quick to say. “Jeff has scoliosis. He’s always played ball and never missed a rotation. He gets one at-bat per game. That’s all he can handle. He tires easily.

“Jeff has trouble squaring his shoulders and swinging the bat. He’s never gotten a hit,” she added. “He runs with a limp. If there should be a tie at home, give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Trace frowned. “Despite his condition, you’re not helping the kid by handing him a home run. My call will be fair—that’s all I can promise.”

She wasn’t satisfied. “Promise more.”

“I can’t.” He took a final sip of Gatorade and passed her the empty plastic cup. He left her standing by the third-base fence, wishing she’d plant her ass there for the rest of the game.

She didn’t. Shaye returned to her spot on the stool. She was the head cheerleader for both teams. She encouraged each player, only to censure Trace’s next three calls. All were strikes, but she saw them as balls.

He rubbed his hands together. He was one second away from turning on her. He’d love to see her expression if he faced the stands and whipped off his umpire mask.