Heavy Hitter (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 4)

by Lucy McConnell

  She had that effect on him. They’d had a great time—the best of times—in Vegas. But it was one date. He shouldn’t be so far gone over a woman after one date that she could rope him into public speaking with little more than a soft lilt in her voice.

  “There you are.” Sheila came through the doors that separated the locker room from the hallways. As she approached, his heart pounded louder and louder, drowning out the noise from above. “I have cue cards for you.” She held up a half-inch stack of index cards. On the back was the Redrocks logo, which made him smile. Sheila was so in love with this team. “I found some questions for you to use—just in case.”

  His nerves sagged with relief. He’d spent the morning coming up with ideas, all of which sounded trite when he practiced them in the truck on the drive over. “Thank you.”

  He took the cards, brushing her fingers with his in the process and reminding him of her Goldilocks comment in the truck. He stepped closer, unable to resist the pull he felt to be with her, to touch her. He reached up and brushed his fingers down her cheek, just as he’d dreamed of doing several times. She was so soft, so holdable—if that was even a word.

  She glanced quickly around them as if they were doing something wrong. Her hesitancy made him pause and then back off. The last thing he wanted to do was hand his heart to Sheila and have her toss it away because she was too busy for him. He’d been hurt one too many times before to not know the signals.

  “Thanks for the cards. They’ll help a lot.”

  She looked him over with a professional eye, which felt so different from the way she’d looked at him on their date. “They’ve got you wired up? You can hear the booth?”

  The booth was the hub for the afternoon. Sheila would be up there, giving directions and working with the director. Even though the event was only going out on the Redrocks’ live feed, there were enough cameras in the park that it took a full crew to get the shots they wanted. Brock would have his own camera operator assigned to him. He had yet to meet the guy. In order to do that, he had to leave the locker room. “Yeah, I can hear them.”

  “Great. And Grant gave you the rundown on when to begin the interviews, the rest of what is happening, et cetera?”

  He nodded quickly, feeling as though his head was drifting off his body. Who knew there was so much to remember? He had to wait for his cue, the countdown, and the red light to go on the camera before he started talking; otherwise his mic wouldn’t be on and no one would hear him. He had to remember to talk into the mic and hold the mic for the person who was answering the questions, which didn’t seem like that big of a deal until you had to do it all with a camera and a spotlight in your face. He’d been interviewed enough times to handle the other side of things with grace; he only hoped the experience he had would help him along.

  Sheila reached out and tugged at the shoulders of his polo shirt, moving the shirt up on his chest. She adjusted the collar and then stepped back to look him over again. Her hands were like bird feathers, brushing here and there. He would have liked to explore the feelings smoldering inside of him but got the feeling she was in a hurry. Still … he grasped her hand and held it, pressing a kiss to the backs of her fingers.

  Her mouth formed a small “o,” but no words or sound came out.

  Her phone must have been set to walkie-talkie mode, because a voice called, “Sheila?” It sounded unreasonably loud in the empty locker room.

  She tugged her hand away and touched a button on the screen. “Sheila here.”

  “Security caught a group of teenagers bringing in a cooler of beer.”

  “I’m coming.” She pressed another button, her eyes never leaving his. “Are you good?”

  He refused to be another item on her worry list, a list that was probably growing by the minute. “I’m great.” He would walk onto that field as if it was just another game day, and he’d play the game with as much positive energy as ever, because he was suddenly motivated to make this the best mascot audition ever.

  “Okay, let’s …” She bit her lip. “… keep it professional today, okay?” Her hands were down by her side, her chin tucked back.

  Brock was reading her as easily as a pitcher with tells. She was saying hands off. “O-kay.”

  She smiled and then was gone, her phone at her ear.

  Brock stared after her, wondering what he’d done to earn the brush-off. They’d had fun. He always believed that the way to a woman’s heart was through laughter. You could turn on the romance on a first date and you’d fall flat, but if you could get her to laugh, you were set up for a second date and maybe even a third. Laughter was the key, and he’d turned that key as many times as he could manage during their date. He hadn’t pressured her into a kiss at the end of the evening—they’d shared a lingering hug that he’d thought she enjoyed as much as he had. She’d certainly held tight enough to him.

  So where had he gone wrong?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sheila

  Sheila kicked herself. Keep it professional? She might as well have told him to buzz off. She had more class than to drop that kind of a bombshell on a guy with no time to explain herself, but she had to say something. Something to keep him from pulling her closer. Because if she didn’t, she’d end up falling into his arms and never wanting to leave. Brock’s embrace could carry her away. Heck, he’d hugged her good night and she had to pry herself away from him. She could have stood there the whole night through and not even noticed time tick by. It wasn’t just his strength that drew her in; it was the sound of his heartbeat. He had a slow, soothing beat that lulled her into a sense that all was right with the world.

  She could use some of that calm as she marched into the security office. Three teenaged boys and two girls were lined up in plastic chairs against the wall. They hung their heads and studied their hands. Their phones were on Ted’s desk. Not having them was probably as much of a punishment as Ted could dish out in this situation. A trip to security wasn’t supposed to be a fun experience. The offices were even left off the tours for elementary school kids.

  The head of security was an older gentleman with dark gray hair and leathered skin. He owned a private security firm that his kids ran, and he probably should retire, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from being on the right side of trouble. The job with the Redrocks was a compromise between him and his wife. He worked the season and took the rest of the year off.

  Neal, Ted’s right-hand man, stood with his arms folded, glaring at the kids. He had Russian ancestry, and he liked to joke he could scare a mob boss into a confessional. He used all of his heritage to intimidate those who caused trouble in the stadium.

  “What’s the plan?” Sheila prompted. She didn’t have time to sit around and chat with the kids. They all looked like they could use fierce hugs, and she was itching to soothe their worries. Even though they’d violated several state laws and the park’s policies, they were kids and her heart went out to them.

  “We’ve called their parents and the police—in that order,” answered Neal with that gravelly voice of his. Honestly, it sounded like someone had taken his vocal cords out, dragged them behind a truck, and then put them back in.

  The kids sank deeper in their seats.

  There was nothing more for her to do here without interfering. Knowing that the situation was under control was what she needed. Still … She pulled Neal aside. “They look like good kids.”

  He nodded. “Good kids who made a dumb mistake.”

  “Can we … do something?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t let this one go, Sheila.”

  She pinched her lips. “I know. I just ache for them.”

  “They’re juveniles, so it won’t show up on their permanent record. Hopefully, this will scare them straight. Maybe the judge will see what you see.”

  She held up her crossed fingers. “Thanks, Neal.”

  He lowered his chin in recognition and went back to filling out the paperwork for the off
icial police report.

  Sheila pressed a fist to her stomach as she hurried out. Moments like this were the worst part of her job. And this wasn’t going to be the only storm cloud of the day. That was for sure.

  Her next stop was at the registration table, where Tilly Birks oversaw a crew of seven. Tilly gave the tours of the stadium to the elementary-aged children. She’d been an avid climber, on the verge of going pro, when her boyfriend at the time had fallen and broken his neck. The two of them went through a rough patch, but the giant ring on her finger attested to the fact that love ran deeper than fear and broken dreams.

  “How many?” Sheila asked as she approached the back of the table.

  Tilly was standing with a laptop balanced in the crook of her arm, pecking away with her right hand. “One hundred and forty-three entrants.” She paused to toss her long golden-blond hair over her shoulder. Her mint eyes stayed glued to the screen.

  Sheila choked. “Are we going to be able to see that many tryouts? We’re limited on time here.”

  The stadium and all the support staff were scheduled from nine to five. One full workday. If they ran out of time and people didn’t get a chance to audition, there could be hard feelings. Sheila was all about avoiding hard feelings when it came to the Redrocks.

  “That’s seven hours and fifteen minutes. We have eight hours’ worth of slots.”

  “That’s cutting it close.” There were a thousand things that could go wrong. Even a mic that didn’t work took time to replace. She glanced over Tilly’s shoulder at the screen. “What do the colors mean?”

  Tilly glanced up for the first time. “Yellow is for those that we think the crew needs to keep a close eye on. They may have said something suspicious or been rough-and-tumble—not taking things seriously.”

  “Like what?” Sheila leaned closer to the screen, crowding Tilly in her distress.

  “Like asking if they can use fireworks or something like that.”

  “Heaven help us.” Maybe inviting the whole town of St. George and every crazy within a hundred-mile radius to audition wasn’t a good idea.

  “Amen.” Tilly scrolled down the list. “The red is a danger zone.” She pointed at one line. “This guy had crazy eyes. I’m talking crazy—like he could have been high. The red tags him so security knows when he’s up in the rotation. Since the first fifty are already in line, they can pick them out by number and keep an eye on them.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. I didn’t think about any of this.” Sheila stepped back.

  Tilly lifted her palm. “It seemed like a good idea.”

  “It is.” She patted Tilly’s forearm. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re exactly who we needed to oversee this.”

  Tilly smiled. “Thanks.”

  One of the ladies sitting at the registration desk called Tilly over with a question. Sheila checked her phone. “Crap.” She had less than three minutes to make it up to the booth. Touching the walkie-talkie button, she sent out a message to all the department heads. “Final check, begin with Grounds.”

  “Grounds is a go.”

  She breathed a silent thank-you to heaven for that one. The rental company had quite the time with the grounds crew underfoot as they worked to set up the stage the day before. Sheila had dipped into their extra funds to buy lunch for the guys and smooth ruffled feathers.

  “Jumbo screen is a go.”

  “EMTs are a go.”

  Sheila prayed they wouldn’t need the emergency staff on the field. If someone decided to get stupid, they would have medical attention within seconds.

  The rest of the crews checked in. By the time she pushed the door open to the booth, they were ready to start, and she gave a nod to the director. Below them, seen through a thick glass window, David walked onto the stage, one hand held above his head. He wore a hat today to protect his bald head from the sun. Music pumped through the speakers.

  Leaning forward, Sheila could see the people in the stands settle down, their eyes on the stage. “Welcome, Redrocks fans!” David’s deep voice boomed through the stadium.

  Mike, the mixer, turned a knob, and David’s next comment was heard in Vegas.

  Sheila sucked in her stomach, content with the stunning view below. People said behind home plate was the best seat in the house, but this one was pretty hard to beat. The grass was green, the stage was ready, and the line of contestants went from home plate along the first base line and then cut back up the stands. But the best sight of all was the bodies in the seats. All the way up to the nosebleed sections, people waited and watched.

  Harper Wolfe walked into the booth, her blond hair hanging in loose waves. She wore a pair of fitted slacks and a loose, flowing blouse. Even in her casual attire she looked like money. “I thought I’d find you up here.” She smiled at Sheila as she came to stand by her at the window. “You did good, Sheila. You did real good.”

  The praise was like sunshine and she was a plant, and she grew three inches. “Thanks. I’m happy with the turnout.”

  They watched the contest get underway. The first contestant danced around and waved his arms. He wore a simple ski mask over his face. One of the rules was that the identity of the mascot would be a secret. Therefore, no one was allowed to show their face. Some of the more ambitious contestants had dressed in full costume. The line was spotted with superheroes, a Scooby, and even beloved public television characters. Their exuberance added to the carnival-like atmosphere with the popcorn and cotton candy vendors hawking their wares as they walked up and down the steps. Behind her, the crew chatted as they changed the camera feed to provide a seamless viewing experience on the big screen. Julia’s face appeared as she talked to people in the crowd and got their reactions to the auditions. Behind her trailed one of the interns, carrying extra batteries, chargers, wires, and her makeup, which she reapplied throughout the morning.

  “We’ve got a red coming up,” said Mike.

  “A red?” asked Harper.

  Sheila jumped in to explain about the color system Tilly had put into place.

  Below them, the contestant dropped something on the stage. There was a flash of light and then a blast of smoke. Harper grabbed her arm and held tight.

  Sheila leaned back as if the dissipating cloud were in her face. “It’s nothing. Magicians use those onstage,” she tried to reassure Harper.

  Harper nodded. “I know.” She let go of Sheila’s arm. “I’m always worried when the stands are full. I think I’ve spent too much time listening to Greg’s horror stories about security.” She gave a self-depreciating smile.

  Sheila looked closer at her boss. Harper had gone pale. “It’ll be okay. Thanks to Tilly, security is ready.” She pointed to the left of the stage, where Neal took the contestant by the arm to escort him to a waiting golf cart that would take him out of the ball field. Use of flashes, fire, or smoke was not permitted in the preliminary round. The final round was a whole different story. By then, they would be down to just seven contestants.

  Harper looked longingly at a chair in the back of the room.

  “Would you like to sit down?”

  She pressed her lips together. “No, thank you. I’ll watch for a while longer. Some of these people are really good.”

  “I know. I’m glad I don’t have to make the decision. Getting it down to thirty will be a challenge.” The second round, held in just one week, would be comprised of longer routines and some acrobatics.

  “Red number two, coming up now,” said Mike.

  Sheila chewed on her cheek. Harper clasped her hands together. From here, the man looked to be in his late sixties with salt-and-pepper hair and slightly stooped shoulders. He bounded onto the stage wearing a Tarzan costume and a clown mask.

  “Oh, yeah, this guy looks crazy,” said the director as the clown face filled the Jumbotron. Behind the mask, his eyes were yellow and darted back and forth.

  The music started, signaling that his one-minute tryout had begun. Instead of dancing, he grabbe
d the one shoulder strap of his costume and ripped downward. The fur fell away, leaving him naked on stage.

  Harper gasped.

  Sheila snatched up her phone. “Security!”

  “On it,” replied Greg. Three uniformed men approached the stage, looking to corner the streaker. He saw them coming and bounded off the back, headed for the outfield. The crowd roared with laughter, pointing and cheering him on.

  Harper’s hand went to her head. “There are children in the audience.”

  Sheila looked closer at the fans, seeing fathers shielding their daughters’ eyes. She glanced up in time to see the guards reach for their Tasers. “You can’t tase him in front of the children,” she barked into her phone. A naked man convulsing on the grass could scar them for life. The security guards heard her through their earpieces, and their hands dropped away from their belts. The smallest of the three pounced, tackling the man to the ground.

  Sheila and Harper cringed in unison.

  “This is a family park,” Harper lamented. “We can’t have parents afraid to bring their children here.” Harper swallowed loudly and then crumpled to the floor. One hand was on the windowsill and her other was on her heart as if it were racing beyond control.

  Sheila was next to her in an instant, the cold tile floor hard against her knees. “Are you okay?”

  “I need to lie down,” she panted. Sweat gathered on her forehead.

  “Here?” Sheila scanned the floor. It appeared clean, but … Sheila hit the button on her phone to talk to everyone. “If Coach Wolfe is in the park, I need him in the booth STAT.”