Thrown By Love (18 page)

The next day Dick Fisher sailed into Chloe’s office as if he owned it.

“Well, Miss McNalley, I don’t think I’ve spent this much time in the owner’s office in all my days in the game.”

She didn’t doubt that. Spending less time with him was at the top of her list too. But she and Mike Thomas had laid out a strategy. It would work—if she kept her cool. Even if keeping her cool meant ignoring ninety percent of her thoughts when she was away from the game. The ninety percent of her brain occupied with thoughts of Scotty.

Brain? Right. Add body to that and that was the whole package. But she could do it, follow the strategy and stop thinking about Scotty—at least for as long as it took to concentrate, operate strategically and get rid of Fisher.

“Please sit, Mr. Fisher.” She stayed behind her dad’s desk, as she imagined a soldier might take cover in a shielding trench. She’d come out from behind it soon enough, but today it served its purpose.

“Would you like some tea?” He shook his head. She knew he wouldn’t. “That’s all I have to offer.” She meant it in more ways than one.

“I’d like to keep this short,” he said, as if it were his meeting, not hers. “There are trades on the line. But you know that.”

She did. She’d had him give her a list of all the player and personnel transactions he had planned; they were flagrantly appalling. Since she’d been at the helm, he’d made terrifically bad deals.

In the past week Mike’s staff had tracked down evidence that supported their suspicions that he was gambling on games. But Mike had cautioned her: there wasn’t enough to go on, not yet, and they’d agreed that they didn’t want to just fire Fisher, they wanted to run him out of baseball. The game didn’t need people like him. The only way to do that was to stack up enough evidence. Mike felt they had nearly enough to involve the commissioner. As soon as they had something solid to go on, they’d inform the appropriate parties. Secretly she feared that someone might see them as withholding information about Fisher to protect the stadium vote, but Mike knew what he was doing and he’d cautioned her to wait.

In the meantime she had to pay attention and bide her time. But biding her time didn’t mean she couldn’t stop him from using her team for his own purposes. Her dad had worked hard to put the team together, and she wasn’t letting anyone ruin what he’d poured his life into achieving.

“Yes, well, Mr. Fisher, this won’t take long.” She kept her voice cool and hoped that her jumping pulse didn’t show. “I’m going to manage the personnel deals for the remainder of the season, including all trades.”

Red shot into his neck and crawled up his face. If she’d liked the man, she could’ve admired the quick rearranging of his features to hide his anger.

“That’s an unnecessary burden for you, Miss McNalley. I can see why you might find it interesting to have your fingers in the game, but it’s my job to take care of details like that for you. I’m happy to keep you informed as we go along.”

She hadn’t thought it possible, but his tone was becoming progressively smoother. Maybe he was like one of those jungle animals that hypnotized its victims before it struck.

“That is, if you want to learn a bit and have a better sense of it all.” He waved a hand to encompass the stadium and, no doubt, the whole of baseball.

He actually thought she’d back down, that he could bully her. But her learning curve was none of his business.

“As I said, I’ll take care of personnel transactions. Right now, I’m much more concerned with the finances. Please prepare a full report and have it on my desk by the middle of next week.”

Never mind that Mike and his team were reviewing every transaction the man had made, she wanted to see what Fisher’d come up with. Sometimes even the most careful criminals revealed tracks they thought they’d concealed. At least that’s what Mike had told her, and she trusted him.

“We have a road trip,” he said. “I’ll have my assistant pull up some numbers for you.”

“I want
your
numbers, Mr. Fisher. The week after will be fine.” She should’ve told him to take his laptop and prep the report on the road. She’d given ground, and he knew it. A smile curved into his lips, and he leaned forward and planted his elbows on her desk.

“I think someone should talk to Kemp about Donovan. He’s not pitching well enough to start against the Royals.”

He tapped his fingers on her desk and smiled. God, she hated that smile.

“That’s Charley Kemp’s call, Mr. Fisher. If he thinks Donovan can do the job, then I’m sure he will.”

“Rumor has it you’re more than sure.”

Her heart skipped a beat. The threat under the man’s smooth words was veiled and subtle, but a threat nonetheless. But she and Scotty had been careful—he couldn’t know much. She’d prepared herself for this moment, but hadn’t thought it’d come so soon. And not from Fisher.

“Rumor has no place in the game,” she said, keeping her voice level and steady.

He leaned back into his seat. “I think I understand your deep personal interest, although why your father gave up four good minor league players for him, I don’t see. It could hurt us in the future.”

Hearing him say the word
us
revolted her. She’d given him an opportunity to drop the subject, to walk out and start the work of cleaning up his act. But he was just proving how dirty he really was.

“I have a personal interest in everything about the Sabers, Mr. Fisher. I own them.” She shouldn’t have added that last bit, but the anger swelling in her chest got the best of her.

The little lines around his eyes tightened. “A couple of weeks in the minors might shape Donovan up.” He crossed his arms and shot her another smile from his apparently bottomless arsenal of repulsive expressions.

He was baiting her, and he clearly thought she was inexperienced enough to react. A couple weeks in the minors was absolutely the
worst
thing for a player like Scotty, and Fisher knew it.

“Leave it to Charley Kemp.” She’d managed to steady her voice. “That’s his job.”

She didn’t bother to tell him that she was sending Chern, Lantz and Becker down to the minors. Charley had nearly hugged her when she’d told him her plan. He’d understood the need to wait, but just knowing he had her support lifted his spirits.

“Kemp has old-fashioned ideas about the game,” Fisher bit out. “I’d rather not.”

“Yes, well, that’s why we’re having this meeting. Those old-fashioned ideas took the Sabers to the World Series, Mr. Fisher.”

She picked up her cellphone, tilted it toward him and wished it were a phaser she could’ve set to stun.

“I have calls to make. Leave your report with Madge.” She leveled her best McNalley stare at him. “I believe you know your way out.”

Chapter Fifteen

Chloe watched out the window of the jet, curious to see the land surrounding Cedar Creek. So far, Nebraska was lovelier than she’d imagined. They’d had a wet spring, Scotty had told her, and even in midsummer the rivers were still flowing. The fields bordering the Platte River sported a dark blush of green.

There wasn’t much of a landing strip, but the pilot put them down safely. She’d arranged for a taxi to take him into town and bring him back at seven the next morning. He’d cleared the flight plan for their return and assured her they’d make it back to San Jose with plenty of time to make the game the next night.

The Cedar Creek airport consisted of a single gravel runway and a hangar that wouldn’t even hold her plane. The small, dusty office in one corner looked like it hadn’t been used in weeks. They could’ve flown into Lincoln or Omaha, but doing that and renting a car would’ve eaten another two hours. Scotty’s dad had insisted on picking them up since there weren’t any local rental cars.

Scotty’s dad, Sam, was nearly the same height as Scotty, and he had the lean build of a man who used his body.

“First time in Nebraska?” He lifted her valise as if it was packed with feathers and held the passenger door of the Jeep for her.

She liked his accent—open, steady and measured, with just a touch of twang.

“First time east of the Rockies—I mean, if you don’t count the East Coast.”

Sam laughed. “Can’t count that.”

She knew he’d gone to Harvard on scholarship and met Scotty’s mother there. They’d married the year after graduation, Scotty had told her. Four kids and twenty-five years later, theirs was one of the few marriages among their friends that had lasted.

“There’s Ault and Wolff General,” Sam said as they drove down the three blocks that made up the historic part of Cedar Creek. “It’s been there a hundred years. If you like spelling bees and box socials, you’ve come to the right place.”

They drove by the Little League field. The bleachers looked new, but the concession stand and scoreboard looked like they’d stood in the same spot for decades.

“That’s where I learned to pitch,” Scotty said with a nod.

“
That’s
where his mother gave up her dreams of her first-born becoming a doctor,” Sam added with a grin. He had the same open, inviting grin as his son.

“I’d have made a mighty poor doctor.” Scotty laughed. “I couldn’t even handle taking the dogs to the vet.”

“You handled Smokey okay,” Chloe said, remembering that day in the vet’s office. Her life had changed so much since then. She’d never imagined being in Nebraska. She laughed to herself; there were many things she hadn’t imagined.

“Another dog?” Sam asked.

Scotty told him about rescuing Smokey, with Sam interrupting with questions. There was an easy cadence to their speech. She could feel their deep affection, could see the mutual respect. She swallowed down the lump of grief that rose in her throat. Their ease made her feel strangely alone.

They drove away from the wide river and up along a narrow creek that Sam told her was the town’s namesake. The creek splashed and spilled across rocks and tree roots, making the water swirl in sunlit patterns. The scent of ripening hay and wildflowers blew in the window as they followed a small country lane that bordered the winding creek.

Two stone pillars and a beautifully painted sign marked the turn for Sunridge Farm. Chloe was glad that Sam hadn’t asked the usual questions about owning a team. She’d rather avoid any talk that reminded them all that, technically, she owned his son. He pointed out landmarks and chatted breezily with Scotty about the crops that had done well last year and about his plans for expanding into supplying produce to high-end restaurants in Omaha. Maybe Scotty had coached him in advance. Or maybe he was just one of those wise men who knew better than to rake up a tough subject. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.

She hadn’t expected to find a beautifully designed farmhouse or the more than half-dozen outbuildings and barns crafted in the same spare but elegant style. Scotty’s mother came from a wealthy Boston family, and evidently her money had been well spent.

They pulled up to the house and a lanky young woman came bounding down the front steps.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” she said as she folded Scotty in her arms and brushed him a sisterly kiss.

“Dara, meet Chloe McNalley,” Scotty said.

Dara shook Chloe’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. I couldn’t believe it when he said you owned the Sabers; that’s a lot of guys. I can’t even handle three brothers.”

So much for avoiding tricky territory.

“It took all three of
us
to handle you,” Scotty said, turning the conversation with the same ease that he threw curve balls. He draped an arm over his sister’s shoulder. “So how’s it feel to have your Ph.D., Dr. Donovan? Dad told me you actually landed a job.”

“I start at Berkeley in September. Dad thinks that until then he’s going to have free labor from me.” She turned to Chloe. “Scotty told us you teach cosmology. How can you possibly cover all that in one semester?”

“Taught. I’ve had to give up teaching for a while.” Chloe still wasn’t used to thinking of teaching in the past tense. “I imagine teaching art history is a pretty serious challenge as well.”

“Not when you love it like I do.” Dara nodded toward Scotty and their bags. “Mom put you in your old room. Chloe’s in the guest house.”

“I thought she might want a little peace and quiet,” a soft voice said from behind them.

Chloe turned and faced one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. The woman offered her hand.

“I’m Meg,” she said with a gentle smile as Chloe shook her outstretched hand. “Welcome to Cedar Creek, Miss McNalley. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have to get back to the kitchen. Sam has invited everyone for miles around.” She winked at her husband.

“Not everyone,” Sam protested.

“Please, call me Chloe. Can I give you a hand?”

“You settle in,” Meg said as she hugged Scotty, bags and all. “But I’d love some help later, with the dessert.”