We Need a Little Christmas (17 page)

Something like a stifled scream escaped through her clenched teeth. She paced the short distance to the living room wall, then wheeled, obviously aware she had nowhere to go. Cuddly-living-room Liv was gone, replaced by five-foot-eight of barely contained fury.

No way would he make the mistake, at this moment, of asking her if she was okay.

Instead, he asked, “What's wrong?”

“I can't even speak English.” Liv closed her eyes and rubbed her jaw below her temples. Scott hadn't seen her do that in days. “The guy I broke up with? Kevin? He was our silent partner. He was the one who convinced us to open a storefront for the business.
He
was the one who was supposed to put up his share of the rent at the beginning of the month, and Terri's been trying all this time to reach him. She didn't tell me.”

Her eyes opened. They locked with his. Her fury wasn't directed at him, thank God, but he was the only other person around. He felt the force of it.

“She finally reached him,” Scott offered.

“And he's bailing. Of
course
.” She took a deep breath, teeth still clenched, fingertips still at her temples. And with that deep breath, he saw her pull it all in, condensing her anger and frustration into a white-hot knot.

If all that concentrated wrath was ever released, he could see it knocking out the power of a major city. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet.

“We'll be okay this month,” she said. “But it's going to wipe out most of our reserves. She didn't want to tell me, with everything that's going on. And I'm the one who got us into this. I feel so
stupid
.”

“You're not stupid. He's a jerk.”

“So why did I ever trust him?” Liv lowered her hands from her temples, and just for a moment, her eyes glistened. “I feel like hitting something.”

Then she blinked hard.

“I want a margarita,” she said savagely.

From Liv, those sounded like fighting words. Scott studied her.

“I know of something better,” he said.

Chapter 18

The small white blur of a ball rushed out at her, and Liv swung the bat. Her hands buzzed with the impact as the bat connected. But, once again, the baseball spun straight upward and thumped ineffectually to the ground behind her.

Another ball came flying. She swung hard, and this time she stirred up a
whoosh
of air, but missed the ball completely.

“Whose idea was this?” She was only half joking.

“Yours.” Scott stood on the other side of the chain-link fence surrounding the town recreation center's batting cages. “You said you wanted to hit something.”

“Hit something,” she repeated, swinging again. “Not chip it.”

This was her second round of pitches fired from the weird automatic cannon several yards in front of her. She was still having trouble connecting with the ball at all. A lot of foul tips and, so far, about three grounders. But when she connected at all, man, did it hurt. The ball was hard and it was moving fast. Fifteen minutes in, her hands, arms, and shoulders were complaining loudly.

“It takes practice,” Scott said. “That's the name of the game.”

Did anything faze this man? He'd weathered her embarrassing tirade back at the house without even blinking. Now he had her outside, as the temperature dropped into the thirties, playing baseball. Or trying to, anyway. Her loose jacket flapped around her with every swing, and the sponge-filled helmet she was required to wear made her feel like Atom Ant.

The sadistic machine stopped humming, and Liv lowered the bat.

“My arms hurt,” she said, rubbing her shoulders.

“Good,” Scott said. “Now maybe you're ready to focus some of that energy. Make it count.”

Opening the gate, he walked into the hypothetical batter's box and stood alongside her. Scott pointed beyond the fenced area, clear to the horizon at the neighboring mountain peak darkly silhouetted in the distance. “Aim right there,” he said. “Try to hit it all the way to Mount Douglas.”

He stepped away and loaded more tokens into the coin slot mounted next to the gate. Liv eyed the mountain as the light on the ball-firing machine blinked to life again.

“Mount Douglas, or Kevin's face,” he added, exiting the cage again. “Take your pick.”

A laugh of surprise blew out of her, and she missed the first pitch altogether. But half an hour ago, she wouldn't have bet she could laugh at anything tonight.

She swung again and missed. “How do I keep an eye on the ball and the mountain at the same time?”

“Okay, I gave you bad advice.
Aim
for Mount Douglas. But keep your eye on the
ball
.”

A few swings later, Liv hit another grounder. Then another. It still hurt, but it was starting to feel good, too.

“Try to get
under
the ball a little more when you swing,” Scott said. “Sort of scoop it up. That's how you'll get the ball in the air.”

He seemed to know a lot about this. “Did you coach Little League or something?”

“Something like that.”

She made a few more tries as she tried the new swinging technique, missing the ball entirely. Then, suddenly, she hit the ball and it sailed straight out, level with her waist. It didn't land until it collided with the tentlike structure that held the cannon, somewhere beyond where the pitcher's mound would have been.

“That, madam, is a line drive.”

Liv felt a surge of satisfaction. She wanted more. By the end of the round of balls, she was hitting about half of them. Two more were line drives. Probably that was as good as it would get. She
really
wanted to hit a fly ball, but she'd kept Scott watching her for half an hour as it was. All on his dime—or his tokens, at any rate—and of course, he'd refused to take any of her money when she offered.

Reluctantly, she stepped back from the painted home plate on the concrete. “You want to hit a few?”

“Nah. It's my night off. But I'd like to see you hit at least one home run before we go. I'm pretty sure you've got one in you.”

Crossing her arms in front of her, she rubbed her upper arms and shoulders. She rotated one arm, then the other. Her muscles protested.

“Is that you loosening up?” A spark of challenge lit in his eyes. “Or is that you
giving
up?”

She knew darned well what he was doing. A little reverse psychology, trying to tick her off and get her motivated. But at this point, she was as ticked off at the ball as she was at Scott or even Kevin.

In fact, she'd forgotten about the mess with Kevin for a few minutes.

Liv lifted her chin, accepting Scott's challenge. “I'm game.”

“Okay.” He opened the gate again and walked toward her. Her stomach dropped, not sure if she was ready for whatever he hand in mind.

But when he reached her, he turned her around, giving a brisk, loose massage to her neck and shoulders, shaking her arms to loosen them.

“All right,” he said. “Now, before we start the next round of balls, step up to the plate again.”

Liv did. He followed, still standing behind her.

“Hold your bat.”

She did. Then he put his arms around her, his hands holding hers over the bat, directing her to reposition her fingers higher up the neck of the bat. She felt the warmth of his body against her back. This could turn into funny business pretty quick, but so far he seemed to be playing it aboveboard. And when had Scott ever not been on the level?

Even so, her heart was speeding up.

“Widen your stance,” he said, a suggestive line if ever there was one. Liv set her feet farther apart, bending her knees, trying to ignore the touch of his hands over hers. And the way her palms were sweating.

“Work with me here,” he said, his voice near her ear. “Concentrate.” Slowly, he guided her arms back, then forward into that scooping-swinging motion. Back and forth. It was a little like dancing. “Feel that?”

Oh, she was feeling it, all right. Scott stopped swinging, and she closed her eyes, grateful that her back was turned to him.
Baseball
, she reminded herself, letting her breath out in a slow, silent sigh.

“Now, put your weight behind it,” he said. “All the way back, then swing and follow through.”

He guided her through the motion several more times. Liv tried to follow suit, ignoring the little sparks that stirred up inside her.

She really wanted to hit that ball, she reminded herself.

Scott let go and stood back. “Let me see your swing again. Remember, keep your weight with it.”

Standing alone, feeling self-conscious, Liv pantomimed a few more swings until she felt slightly less ridiculous. She could do this. She was nothing if not a good student.

“Okay,” Scott said. “This is the last round. You've got twenty tries. You're going to nail that ball.”

A clink of tokens, and the machine revved to life. Liv watched the blinking light and tried to keep her mind on baseball.

The ball fired out, and she swung. And swung. And swung.

A tip. Another tip. A line drive. Her arms and shoulders ached in protest, but so far she'd connected with every pitch.

“Eye on the ball,” Scott reminded her after her third tip in a row.

Liv took a deep breath, kept her eye on the ball, and swung hard. Another line drive. Silence from Scott.

She didn't know how many balls she had left, but she knew it was less than half. When the next one flew out, she put all her weight into the swing, right where she wanted it, and somehow she knew it was right before she connected with the ball. Then she felt the solid impact of wood against ball that set her shoulders screaming. And sent the ball sailing.

Up. And up.

She stared at the ball against the night sky, and for a moment it seemed to climb straight for Mount Douglas in a beautiful arc before it hit the rope mesh that hung overhead. It sank like a wounded bird, landing far at the back of the enclosure.

“Keep going,” Scott said. “Here comes your next one.”

She'd barely cranked her arms back when the ball fired out, and she kept swinging, but it didn't matter much now.

Three more line drives, in a row, solidly connecting with the ball every time. And then the light on the machine went out.

Everything after her lone fly ball had been anticlimactic, but it was enough. Liv lowered the bat and shook her arms out as she met Scott's eyes. She couldn't keep a triumphant smile off her face. She stayed where she was, beside the imaginary home plate, relishing the moment. Outside the batting cage, reality waited, and she didn't want to think about that right now.

Scott gave her a nod of satisfaction as he came back into the cage with her. “Atta girl,” he said. “I knew you could do it.”

Liv's heart skittered. Under the bright outdoor floodlights, suddenly the scene felt unreal, like something out of a movie.

Not sure what to say, she held the bat out to him. “That did it for me,” she said. “Want to hit a few now?”

He shook his head. “No, I'm good.”

“You sure?” She dangled the bat loosely, letting it swing like the pendulum of a clock. “What, are you chicken?” she teased.

It didn't get the reaction she expected. Scott inclined his head and stared at her.

“Chicken?” he echoed.

She'd sparked something, hit some sort of nerve, and she wasn't sure what it was.

Not until he sauntered purposefully toward Liv, blue eyes never leaving hers as he stopped before her and pulled the silly batting helmet off her head. He tossed it carelessly to the ground a few feet away, his gaze still unwavering.

“Which one of us is chicken?” he said softly.

The moment still felt surreal, like a movie. Or a dream. Maybe that was what kept Liv pinned in place, watching it all in slow motion.

But no dream had ever felt like this.

Hands on her shoulders, he bent to kiss her, and Liv never thought about pulling away as his lips pressed over hers, warm and sure. Purposeful. Like someone who knew exactly what he wanted. And Liv knew she'd been wanting the same thing all along, ever since that moment earlier tonight in front of the silver tree, and all during the past week as they worked side by side.

When they'd kissed in the attic, he'd let her take the lead. This was different. Liv stood on tiptoe to meet his kiss head-on, clasping her arms around his neck to hold on. Scott brought one arm down to encircle her waist, closing more of the space between them, steadying her.

Maybe it really was a dream, because when he released her and eased her back down until she stood squarely on her feet, it was hard to open her eyes.

Liv kept her hands clasped behind his neck, because for some reason, her legs didn't seem to be working right. They trembled, and she didn't think she'd been on tiptoe that long.

“What was that?” she murmured.

“A good idea?” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, and dimly she remembered she was wearing the same ponytail she'd started the day with. It had to be a mess by now, especially after the baseball helmet. She brought her hands to her hair, trying not to wobble as she disengaged herself from Scott.

“Want to get some dinner?” he said. “And maybe that margarita?”

What had she been thinking? Surely, it was the longest she could remember going
without
thinking. And she sure couldn't blame it on spring fever.

“I'm sorry.” She stepped back and saw Scott's eyes go dim in an instant. “I can't. I've got to—”

“Liv, don't do this. Not again.”

“I'm only going to be here one more week—”

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

He'd asked her that before. Maybe she owed him an honest answer. If only she knew what that answer was. All she knew was that, standing this close to Scott, thinking about how lost she'd been a few minutes ago, she felt something close to panic.

“I don't know. I'm afraid I won't want to leave. It's going to be hard enough as it is.”

“Maybe you don't have to.”

And under the warm weight of his eyes, she felt her near panic turn to terror.

“I
have
to,” she said. “I have a business. I have a partner. I have commitments.”

That word
commitment
hung in the air, and in a moment of inspiration, she seized on it.

“What about
you
?” she challenged. “Maybe you
like
the fact that I have to be gone in a week. Maybe that's why you keep going after these transitional girls. You like things with a built-in exit.”

He looked as if she'd slapped him in the face. Had she hit on a truth?

Scott's eyes shuttered and his hand went into his jeans pocket for his car keys.

“You win,” he said. “I'll take you home.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Joe Velosa frowned quizzically at Scott from behind the counter at the recreation center. “Scotty,” he said. “You're back.”

“Yep.” Scott handed him a twenty to make change for the token machine.

“We close in fifteen minutes,” Joe said.

“That's okay. It won't take long.”

Scott passed once again through the recreation center's arcade to the batting cages outside, popped in his tokens and stood ready with his bat.

And one after another, with a swing that was second nature, he scooped those balls toward the now black sky. There was barely time to watch each ball hit the mesh at the back of the cages before the next pitch came, but that wasn't the point. The point was hitting them, one after another, feeling the sure, solid connection of bat against ball.