by Hope Ramsay
The poodle’s condition had stabilized, but he still needed another day of limited activity. He took the dog out for a pee break and put him back into his kennel with a little bit of food and water.
Prince, on the other hand, needed to get out of his cage and exercise his hind leg. Knowing this, Noah had stopped by the hardware store on his way home the night before and picked up a collar and leash for the puppy. It was never too early to teach a dog leash manners, and it looked as if Saturday was going to be another beautiful summer day on Jonquil Island.
A morning walk seemed like a good way to start the puppy’s therapy, and Lavender Lane Park was only a two-block walk from the clinic.
Prince wasn’t too sure about the leash or the collar. He pranced, tried to bite the leash, and generally behaved badly all the way across Magnolia Boulevard until he finally figured out who was the alpha male in charge. When that happened, the dog looked up at Noah with a calm and submissive look and began to learn how to behave.
That’s when Noah gazed into the puppy’s big brown eyes, and something deep in his chest broke loose. His throat swelled. “Yeah,” he breathed on a big sigh, “you could be Duke’s ghost, you know?”
The dog’s tongue popped out of his mouth as if he were smiling. As if he knew some deep secret. As if maybe he was, indeed, Duke returned to earth.
Which was absurd and irrational. But it stuck in Noah’s head nevertheless as they walked down Lilly Street to the corner of Pine and into the park. They followed the pathway through the green space toward the athletic fields that fronted on Lavender Lane, Prince gingerly putting weight on the injured leg, which was good.
They had almost reached the chain-link fence separating the softball field from the rest of the park when Noah realized his mistake. The people on the softball field weren’t the usual kids. One of them turned, shaded his eyes against the sun, and hollered, “Noah? Son, is that you?”
Damn it. There was no way he could turn and run away. So he sucked it up and continued to the fence line as Daddy, wearing a pair of baggy athletic shorts and a Magnolia Harbor Police Department T-shirt, jogged up. Daddy took off his MHPD ball cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Man, it’s hot as crap out here. So, you here to help out the team?”
If Noah had been planning on office hours today, he would have dressed in khakis and a golf shirt. But since it was Saturday and office hours had been shortened until they could staff up, he’d made the mistake of wearing shorts and a long-sleeve compression T-shirt. He could see why Daddy might think he’d dressed for softball…if he ignored the puppy with the shaved hip and the e-collar around his neck.
But then Daddy was good at ignoring dogs or anything else that he dismissed as unimportant.
“No, I’m here with—” Noah began.
“Hey,” Ethan said, jogging up to the fence. “Boy, are we glad to see you. We need you, man.”
“Sorry. I haven’t changed my mind. As you can plainly see, I’m out here exercising the dog.”
Their gazes shifted. “Hey, he looks just like that old dog you had once,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, he does. But he’s not mine. He’s a patient. And I’m on call, so…”
“Don’t go,” Ethan said, leaning on the fence. “Grant Ackerman came out for the team,” he said with a wink.
Well, damn. Grant Ackerman was someone Noah wanted to get to know and playing a softball game with him would be one way to do it. But the price would be way too high. “Sorry. I’m just walking the dog.”
“Well, at least stay and watch for a while,” Ethan said in a pleading tone that did something to Noah’s insides. His little brother had always been desperate for attention. Daddy had been so busy singing Noah’s praises, watching everything he did and endlessly coaching him in destructive and overbearing ways. Unfortunately, Ethan never understood how withering Daddy’s attention could be.
“Yeah. Maybe you could coach us. I’m sure you could give some of the guys a few pointers,” Daddy said with a wide smile.
He should go, but the look on Ethan’s face held him in place. “I guess I could stay for a little while,” he found himself saying. “Prince could use a rest before we walk back to the clinic.”
He found a spot on the shady end of the bleachers and sat down. He was sizing up the players, trying to figure out which one was Grant Ackerman, when Bud Joyner, wearing a volunteer fire department T-shirt, came out of the dugout and took a seat right next to him. Bud was a big man with white hair and a close-cropped beard. In November, the guy always let it grow out a little so he could play Santa Claus as part of the holiday boat parade.
Everyone liked Bud Joyner. He was one of those happy guys who spread Christmas cheer every day of the year. But it looked as if he’d been benched for the softball game. He was wearing a heavy-duty brace on his right knee.
“Hey,” Bud said, gingerly lowering himself to the bench with his knee held straight out in front of him. “How’s the dog?”
“Napoleon’s stable. He needs a few more days of restricted activity. Did you get that in a car accident?” He nodded toward the knee brace.
“Accident? Oh, no. I fell off a ladder cleaning the gutters. Suffered a tibial plateau fracture.”
“Bad luck.”
“Well, it could have been worse.” Bud glanced at Prince’s e-collar. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Got tangled up with a car out on Magnolia Boulevard. But he’s on the mend.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess. Look, um, your daddy sent me over here to plead with you. We need your help on this team.”
“It looks like you’ve got plenty of talent for a charity softball game, Bud.”
“Yeah, but not if we play by the rules.”
“What?”
“We’re supposed to have a team with at least five females.”
“Uh, I don’t see any girls out there.”
“I know. Your daddy has this idea that he can get our wives to show up on game day, stick most of them in the outfield, and then have a few ringers in our lineup.” He let go of a sigh before continuing. “I told him that was bending the rules, you know?”
“Yeah, well, Daddy is good at that.”
Bud chuckled, and he even sounded like Santa. “Yes, he is.”
“You do realize that softball is a women’s sport in high school and college? I’m sure you could find some young ladies from the high school team.”
Bud nodded. “Try telling your daddy that. I mean, we all expected your sister to play for our team. But she’s going to pitch for the other side.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Yup. I don’t think your old man even bothered to ask her. By the time I mentioned it, she’d already signed up to play on the merchants’ team since she’s waitressing down at Rafferty’s.”
“Really? Ethan gave me the impression that Daddy was upset about Abby choosing the other team.”
“Is he? Maybe. But the thing is, he didn’t ask, you know?”
Yes, Noah knew. All too well. Abby was like the afterthought. Maybe that was better than having to endure what Ethan had to go through. Even now, Daddy was out there giving Ethan crap about the way he was fielding grounders. Which was pretty terrible, but still. It was supposed to be a charity game.
“Bud, I’m not going to be one of the ringers on Daddy’s team, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Bud’s shoulders slumped. “In retrospect, I should have insisted on managing this team. But I let Greg do it.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but—” Noah was interrupted by a sudden commotion out on the field.
“You can’t be here right now. We have the field.” Daddy’s voice rang with that angry tone Noah had learned to respect and even fear at an early age. He looked up to find a group of people standing at the fence line, at least half of them women, wearing ball caps and fielders’ gloves and carrying a few aluminum baseball bats. His sister was there, dressed in her softball practice clothes, looking totally bad
ass.
But she wasn’t the only badass girl on the other team. Standing right next to her was Lia DiPalma, wearing skintight yoga pants and a white athletic compression shirt that hugged every one of her cute curves. Wow. Now that was more like it. He was tired of her baggy pants and standard-issue T-shirts.
Maybe he should join the other team. They were way cooler, and certainly more diverse than the first responders.
* * *
The guy in the MHPD shirt and hat reminded Lia of one of those drill instructors who truly loved making people miserable.
“We have the field,” he said, assuming that tough guy stance, legs apart, shoulders squared, blood in his eye. Yeah, he was one of those borderline guys. The kind with too much testosterone. The kind who intimidated and bullied the people below him in the chain of command. The tough guy who thought he was a better soldier than anyone else.
Of course this guy wasn’t a soldier or a marine or a sailor. Judging by his hat, he was a policeman. And he stared Jenna down.
Jenna met the guy’s stare, but before she said a word, her husband, Rev. St. Pierre’s younger brother, stepped up to the fence line, folded his arms across his chest in a mirror of the cop, and said, “My wife happens to have a permit from the park authority that says we have the playing field for the next two hours. What about you?”
“I don’t need a permit. I’m the law around here.”
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” Kate Joyner said. Lia could almost taste Kate’s fear on the tip of her tongue. Something wasn’t right with that woman, and it was a huge surprise just to see her here, still walking like she was badly bruised.
“Katie, is that you?” A man with white hair and a beard yelled from the bleachers across the field.
“I should go,” Kate said. “I shouldn’t have—”
Abby took her arm. “Kate, you work at Rafferty’s, and you should play on the merchants’ team. Look at me; my father and brother are on the other team, but I’m here.”
“Daddy, this is supposed to be a charity event, right?”
Lia recognized Noah’s voice. She searched the field looking for him. He was sitting beside the bearded man. Prince was with him. He’d just called the guy in the MHPD hat “Daddy.” Well, that explained a lot. The conversation she’d overheard. And Noah’s father issues, which he tried to hide.
Noah’s father turned and yelled over his shoulder. “Stay out of this, okay? It’s not like you’re playing or anything.”
Noah stood up and took a step forward, Prince looking up at him with worshipful doggy eyes as he pushed up the sleeves on his compression shirt. Prince, it would seem, had found his alpha male.
“Daddy,” Noah said, “instead of arguing over the field, maybe we should invite them in for a scrimmage.”
The man in the MHPD hat turned around. “Why on earth would they want to—”
“Sounds like a terrific idea to me,” Lia said, cutting the idiot off. What the hell was wrong with him? Didn’t he understand the meaning of charity? And couldn’t he see that his son was trying to defuse a situation that might have gotten ugly?
Just then, out of nowhere, Micah St. Pierre came jogging up wearing a pair of athletic shorts, a University of South Carolina T-shirt, and carrying an old baseball glove. Beside her, Ashley Scott stiffened.
Whoa. What was up with that? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? It was definitely a thing. Like the atmosphere changed the moment Micah arrived.
“Did I hear someone say scrimmage?” Micah asked with that open expression that had made him such a good chaplain.
“Well, I don’t know about—” Noah’s father began.
“I’ll play,” Noah said, interrupting. I just need to take Prince back to the clinic.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” Ashley said. “I can look after him while y’all play. Maybe Jackie can help me.”
The little boy looked up at his mother. “But I’m allergic, right?”
Ashley’s face reddened. “Uh, well, yes, but I don’t think your allergies will bother you if we take the dog for a walk. You know, outside.”
“Really?” The little boy’s eyes lit up, and he scampered down the fence line to the bleachers and proceeded to make fast friends with the suddenly wiggly puppy.
All right. Maybe Lia had found a home for Prince. Maybe the whole allergy thing was just an excuse for not wanting to take on a pet. Who could stand in the way of the love fest happening between the puppy and the boy?
“So you’re not going to play?” Micah asked Ashley.
The innkeeper shook her head. “No. I’m only here because Jenna said we needed women players. But it looks like our team is mostly female, and besides, Lia said she’d happily take my place.”
Which was not exactly what Lia had said, but if it meant Ashley bonding with Prince, she wasn’t about to upset the apple cart.
“I didn’t say that I agreed to this,” Noah’s father said.
“Really, Greg?” Jenna replied, stepping out from behind her protective husband. “Are you afraid of playing against a team made up mostly of women?”
Noah’s father eyed Micah and Jude, just as another man who had to be a St. Pierre came striding across the park. “Not entirely female,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t see any girls on your team,” Jenna said.
“We’ll have ’em on game day. In fact, we’ll probably steal a few from your team.” He glared at Abby and then Kate Joyner. “I can’t believe y’all decided not to play for the first responders.”
“Maybe, if you’d asked me to play, I might have considered it, Daddy,” Abby said with a smile. “But hey, you have Noah on your team so you’re all set.”
Greg turned and looked over his shoulder. Noah had stepped onto the playing field.
What was the deal with Noah and baseball? There was something there, and the currents ran really deep. Whatever it was, he’d thrown it aside to make peace. And Lia had a thing for peacemakers. A little fissure opened in her heart. He was gorgeous and he was kind and he wanted people to be nice to each other.
Noah’s father chuckled, drawing Lia’s attention back to him. “I guess we do have a well-stocked team. I mean, y’all don’t have anyone who was drafted by the Tampa Bay Rays, do you?”
Jenna blinked. “Noah was drafted by the Rays?”
“He was. He chose to be a vet instead.” The scorn in Greg Cuthbert’s voice came through “Lima Charlie” as they used to say in the navy.
Damn. So Noah was a ringer, for real.
Greg chuckled again. “No way we’ll lose now, even if we have to field a few girls on game day.”
Jenna put her hands on her hips. “I tell you what, Greg, why don’t we increase the stakes? You can field an all-male team if you want to. We’ll take you on anyway.”
The smile on Greg Cuthbert’s face widened. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“You’re on. And we’ll get started by giving you a thumping right now.”
Chapter Twelve
The first responders clobbered the merchants’ softball team in their impromptu battle of the sexes. Even with the excellent play of Jude, Colton, and Micah St. Pierre and the ace pitching of Abby Cuthbert, no one could overcome the sheer dominance of Noah Cuthbert’s bat.
Half a dozen members of the merchant team, Lia included, hauled themselves off to Rafferty’s to drown their sorrows on Jenna’s dime. They settled into a table in the middle of the restaurant and ordered a pitcher of beer for everyone except Abby, who was still underage.
“I’m sorry, y’all,” Jenna said to her players as she poured beers for everyone but Abby. “I should have known better. I let anger get the best of me. And Noah Cuthbert turned out to be a perfect conduit for the karmic debt I incurred. I had no idea he’d been drafted by a major league team. Wow, that guy can play.”
“I don’t know squat about karmic debt, but whatever that is, you shouldn’t feel bad about it,” Abby said on a dejected
sigh. “I’m sorry I let y’all down. I’m kind of amazed Noah hit every single one of my fastballs. I never really saw him play, you know. I mean, I was just a kid when he was playing Division I baseball for University of South Carolina. But everyone said he could hit the ball, and they were right about that.”
“I’m so sorry, Abby. Is it harder to take because he’s your brother?” Brooklyn Huddleston, the owner of Bread, Butter, and Beans asked. “I never had any siblings.”
Abby shook her head and smiled. “No. Next time I’ll know not to pitch to him.” She grinned. “But dang, he really can play, can’t he?”
Abby could say that again. Not only could Noah pound the softball reliably over the fences every time, he looked like a dancer out there at shortstop, fielding grounders. Light on his feet, quick with his hands, fast on the bases, not that he had to be all that fast since he hit home runs every time he batted.
Plus he was in much better shape than some of the guys on the first responder team. It was amazing how many members of the volunteer fire department had beer bellies. But not Noah. And not the gray-haired dude that Lia had seen Abby with on Wednesday.
“Well,” Kerri Eaton said, “I’m glad Noah was there to defuse what might have been a bad situation.” Kerri owned a gift shop on Harbor Drive called Daffy Down Dilly. She was a beautiful woman, but she was also a disaster on the ball field. Jenna had put her way out in the outfield, and she hadn’t caught a single fly ball. But she had a nice smile, and Lia liked her a lot. She had a big brother in the marines stationed at Camp Pendleton.
Abby rolled her eyes. “I know. My daddy can be a total jerk at times. He loses perspective, you know?”
“Well, maybe we’ll beat him next Thursday when it counts,” Jenna said.
“So, what’s with Bud and Kate Joyner?” Lia casually asked. Something about Bud jangled Lia’s intuition. But then again, maybe her intuition was crap, and she was just suspicious of Kate and Napoleon’s injuries. And since Kate had begged off on the after-scrimmage get-together, it was a chance to probe.
