Out of Her League

by Lori Handeland

  The game continued while Evie did her job, though no one watched the ball in play; they all watched Evie. Upon her return to the bench, Hoyt informed her that Toni had thrown a wild pitch, but Adam had tagged out the lead runner when the kid tried to steal home.

  “You’d better get that little girl and bring her on in,” Hoyt advised.

  Evie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “She’s gonna blow a five-run lead!”

  “Then she blows it.”

  “You know, sometimes I wonder if you want to win that dang bet or not.”

  “I only want to win if I win doing things my way.”

  “Sinatra? I don’t hear him.”

  Evie sighed. Sometimes Hoyt got on her nerves as much as the twins did. Though his hearing wasn’t the best, his eyes were as sharp as a fifteen-year-old’s. He could tell if a pitcher pulled up too soon, or if a batter swung too late. Evie depended upon Hoyt to watch when she could not.

  “Never mind Sinatra,” Evie said, as Toni walked her second batter.

  “You gonna go get her, or should I?”

  “I guess I’d better talk to her.”

  “Talk? You wanna win this game or not?”

  “Not if it means I take out a kid who’d be better off in. You know, Hoyt, I think today just might be Toni’s man-or-mouse day.”

  “Huh? Whatcha talkin’ about?”

  “You know—what are you, a man or a mouse? Woman or wimp? I think she’s a woman. You wanna make a bet on that?”

  He considered her for a long moment. “No, ma’am,” he finally said.

  Evie called time and walked toward the mound, waving Adam off when he would have followed. Before she even spoke, Toni handed her the ball.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Do you want out?” Evie asked.

  Toni glanced up, surprised. “Don’t you want me out?”

  “No. But it’s up to you. If what just happened has thrown you too much to keep going, I’ll let Todd finish. He’s been whining about it enough.” Like father like son, Evie added silently.

  Toni gave a small smile, which encouraged Evie. “I’ll tell you what my father always told me. Kids are mean. It’s sad, but it’s true. And I don’t know why.”

  “Adam’s not mean.”

  “No. But then, Adam’s never been much of a kid.”

  “I want to win,” Toni whispered.

  “That’s fine, if that’s what you want.”

  Toni’s glance from beneath her baseball cap made Evie frown. Seemed she’d hit a nerve.

  “Coach!” The umpire warned Evie her time was up. She would need to explore that winning-losing nerve at a more opportune moment.

  Evie tossed the ball in the air, then held it in front of Toni’s nose like a prize. “In or out? Your choice.”

  Toni took the ball. “I’ve never been much of a kid, either.”

  Evie resisted the urge to kiss her. Just barely. She gave a thumbs-up to Hoyt, who returned the gesture with a sweet smile of confusion. Before Evie gained her seat, the guttural shout of “Strike!” erupted from the umpire.

  Evie smiled. She absolutely loved it when she was right.

  *

  Chapter Twelve

  Joe was fit to be tied. How dare Evie convince Toni to stay when she was obviously done in? After those rotten little brats had hurt his baby’s feelings, he’d wanted to go and haul her out on his own. He’d restrained himself. With difficulty.

  The rest of the game he spent in anguish for Toni, but she seemed to come through fine—earning the save, slaps on the back from her teammates and an annoying, too-familiar whirl in her catcher’s arms that made Joe grind his teeth.

  While the kids were occupied with their celebration dance, Joe stalked over to Evie. Her slight smile of welcome became an openmouthed expression of confusion when he asked for a private chat.

  “Why didn’t you take her out?” he demanded as soon as they stepped away from prying ears.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She was obviously upset, and you convinced her to stay in the game. Why?”

  “I didn’t realize you possessed super-hearing powers.”

  Her sarcastic tone brought him up short. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You heard what I said to her? All the way from the stands to the pitcher’s mound?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how can you be so sure I convinced her to stay?”

  “She’s your best pitcher. Why wouldn’t you?”

  He’d seen Evie blush, but he’d never seen her flush with anger. She looked ready to slug him. Joe cast a glance at her hands and found them balled into fists. What had he said?

  Though she was visibly furious, she didn’t shout at him. Come to think of it, he’d never seen her shout, either, and with the twins around that was pretty talented. Instead, when she spoke her voice was so low that Joe had to lean close to hear her.

  “Regardless of what you believe, I’m a mom first and a teacher second.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Obviously, I never had you. Ask Toni what I said, then you can convict me.”

  She turned on her heel, but almost immediately whirled back. “You aren’t doing her any good fighting her battles for her and hovering about making sure she never falls down.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I have a father, too. A big, bad cop of a father, who did the same thing to me.”

  “You’re calling me overprotective?”

  “Aren’t you? Let her grow up. Stop babying her.”

  “But I never got to.” All the anger went out of Joe in a rush of sadness for what he’d lost and could never get back.

  Her face softened. “That’s your problem, Joe. Not Toni’s.”

  She walked away and left him alone with his thoughts.

  A half hour later Evie’s anger had waned and the guilt had set in. She didn’t want anyone telling her how to raise her boys; she had no business telling Joe how to raise Toni.

  The way he’d said But I never got to had nearly made her cry. All parents harbored guilt about things they’d done—be they right or wrong. Parental guilt was as common a malady as hangnails, and as much of a hazard to child raising as drugs. People did a lot of stupid things to make up for the stupid things they’d done.

  The twins had gone to the DQ with the neighbors, and Evie was left with Adam and Toni. Joe had tromped off in a snit almost immediately after she’d walked away from him. Evie decided to take Toni home for a change, and then have another, calmer, chat with Toni’s dad.

  Toni and Adam climbed in the back of the car. Every few minutes Evie peeked in the mirror. She couldn’t help herself. Thus far she hadn’t come upon the two of them making out. Was the relationship only friendship? And if so, should she be happy or concerned?

  Adam was seventeen years old and he’d never had a girlfriend. A date? Yes. A second date? Rarely. A third? Not that she could recall. Once she’d gotten over the shock, Evie had taken the courting of Toni as a good sign. Adam was behaving like a normal kid, instead of a responsible semi-adult.

  Had Adam been permanently scarred by his parents’ mistakes? There was that parental guilt again. And what should she do if that was the case? Evie had no idea how to explain “guy” feelings, since she’d never had any. She’d studied the biology, even the psychology, but those classes wouldn’t do her one bit of good with her son. What was he feeling? How could she help him? Should she ask? Or keep her big mouth shut?

  Upon reaching the Scalotta house, Evie shelved those questions for the time being. Lights blazed inside and outside. Joe’s car sat in the driveway. She pulled in behind and shut off the engine.

  “Toni, I want to talk to your dad.”

  Toni’s wide eyes appeared in the mirror. “Did I mess up, Coach?”

  Adam snorted. “You won the game, Toni. Relax.” He put his arm around her neck, pulling her close and rubbing her head with his knuc
kles—just as if she were one of the guys. Evie frowned. His technique left a lot to be desired.

  But Toni giggled and squirmed and looked at Adam as if he were the most amazing man next to Mark McGwire. Evie just shook her head and got out of the car.

  “I’ll let you in.” Toni led the way. Adam sat down on the porch and waved for them to go ahead without him. He avoided Joe whenever possible, and Evie couldn’t say she blamed him. No sense running after trouble, especially with a man the size of Joe Scalotta.

  Evie and Toni stepped inside, but the front of the house lay strangely silent and completely empty. “He doesn’t have another car, does he?” Evie asked, concerned that Joe wasn’t there at all. She didn’t think she’d have the guts to come back another day.

  “No. He’s probably in the kitchen. He fools around in there a lot.” Toni grinned over her shoulder as she led the way toward the back of the house. “I don’t understand it, but he’s a pretty good cook.”

  The place was spotless, though without three boys and a truckload of their friends, hers could be, too. Yeah, right. “Your cleaning lady is good,” she observed.

  Toni stopped in the narrow hallway and turned. “Dad does it.” She shook her head. “He says he likes it! And you know what else?” Evie shrugged. “He asked me to show him how to sew.”

  “Sew?”

  “Buttons. Ripped pants. That kind of stuff.”

  “Hmm. I figured him for a ‘throw it out and get a new one’ kind of guy.”

  “Me, too.” Toni tilted her head and pursed her lips, considering. “I guess I don’t really know him as well as I thought.” She glanced into the kitchen, then stepped back out of sight. “He’s in there,” she whispered, before scooting down the hallway, leaving Evie alone in the semidarkness.

  Now, why had the girl acted as though they were on some secret spy mission? If Evie didn’t know better, she’d figure Toni didn’t want Joe to realize anyone was in the house. But why would that be?

  Evie walked into the brightly lit kitchen and saw Joe. But not the Joe she thought she knew. No, this was a Joe she wanted to know a whole lot better.

  He had his back to her. A good thing, because she probably drooled. The kitchen was steamy with mist and ripe with the scent of fresh tomatoes, real garlic and sautéed onions. And it was hot. Perhaps that was why he cooked without a shirt.

  Evie had admired him in a myriad of colored T-shirts, but without a shirt—oh, boy. He had the smooth, olive skin of his Italian ancestors pulled taut over an exceptional physique. She’d considered his muscles well defined in royal-blue cotton. They looked much better in nothing at all.

  But the thing that really did it to her was the bare feet peeking out from beneath black cotton pants. He’d planted them wide on the floor and curled his toes against the ceramic tile, as if trying to draw the coolness into his body from the ground up.

  The scene was a sensual delight, something out of a painting she might hang over her kitchen table—someday when she didn’t have to be concerned about water spots from low-flying cups.

  Evie couldn’t move or speak; she could barely breathe. What was it about this man that called to a person within her she had never known existed until he stepped into her life? Seeing Joe like this made her think of dark red wine, Italian crystal, black olives and blistering sunshine on the water.

  As if in answer to her fantasy, Joe reached over and brought to his lips a goblet of bloodred wine. The stem of the glass looked ludicrously small in his huge hand, but he held it as if born to do so. When he tilted his head back and drank, a tiny gasp of arousal escaped her throat before she could stop it.

  He spun toward her, swallowed the wine with a gulp and stared. She stared, too, since his front was nearly as good as his back. Though the hair on his head was silver-blond, the hair on his chest was golden. Not too much, not too little, and a perfect complement to the shade of his skin. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, stomach rippling with muscles. He even had the top button of his pants undone, as if he’d thrown them on in a hurry after making love on the kitchen table.

  Evie blushed, and the spell broke. She could speak and stutter. Lucky her. “I’m s-sorry. I—I brought Toni home and she let me in. I didn’t mean to disturb your…”

  What? He was cooking. So why did she feel as if she’d walked in on an erotic bit of foreplay? Maybe because his body made her bothered. His lips looked as though she could taste the wine if she kissed them— Uh-oh, she was so out of her league here.

  “You got any more of that?” She poked her finger in the direction of his wine. The top of her mouth seemed glued to her tongue. Adam could drive home.

  Joe glanced at his hand, and his face creased, as if he was surprised to see the glass there. Shrugging, he reached into the cupboard for another glass. Evie was unable to tear her eyes from the sight of his arm stretching upward, pulling all the muscles of his back into a different, yet equally fascinating, pattern.

  He poured garnet-red wine into a glass and crossed the room. The way he approached made her think of a tiger she’d seen once at the zoo, pacing his cage, lean hips swaying, eyes on his prey, so close to her, yet so far, far away.

  Joe held out the glass, and his eyes met hers. He hadn’t spoken, and his silence only added to the tension between them. When she accepted the glass their fingers brushed, and she started so badly at the jolt his touch caused that she feared she would drop the beautiful crystal goblet.

  That fear, combined with the heat in his eyes and the steam in the room, made sweat break out on Evie’s forehead. She didn’t have any glasses half so fine, and it surprised her a man would take the time to buy wineglasses, let alone use them while drinking alone.

  She put the glass to her lips. His gaze held hers. The wine tasted different from anything she’d ever had, and she licked her lips so as not to lose a drop.

  His gaze went to her mouth, and she shivered despite the heat.

  He stepped closer, crowding her in the doorway, looming over her, his chest so near that she could touch him, if she wanted. She definitely wanted. Evie moved forward.

  The hiss of water on a hot stove made Joe curse and whirl about, then hurry across the room to attend the pot that had boiled over. Evie remained where she was, her body still thrumming with all that could have, would have, been.

  He turned back, picked up his wine and had a sip, watching her with eyes the color of ice in a face hot with hunger. Why didn’t he say something and end this odd spell created by the heat and the approaching night? For that matter, why didn’t he put on a shirt?

  “Don’t you have any air-conditioning?”

  He lifted a brow. “In an old house like this? Sacrilege.”

  “How do you sleep at night?”

  “Naked, beneath a fan.”

  Evie groaned; she’d had to ask. Next topic?

  She raised her glass. “What is this?”

  “Merlot. Ever had it before?”

  “My wine preference tends to jugs and boxes.”

  He winced. A connoisseur.

  “Nice glasses,” she observed, making polite small talk until her body quit humming. She might have to exhaust several more inane topics before that happened.

  “Thank you. It seems a shame to put something this rich into a jelly glass.”

  She shrugged. “Wouldn’t it taste the same?”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  She wanted to bite his tongue. Evie gulped more wine before she said something stupid. This small-talk idea was not working at all, but she had to keep trying.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked to cook.”

  “Why would I kid?”

  “Where did you learn about wine?”

  “My father. Italian, you know. He used to make wine. Learned from his father, who came over right before the war.”

  “Which war?”

  “WWII. Mussolini sent a lot of folk scrambling out of the country.”

  “Can’t say that I blame them.”


  The wine was going to her head. Though she’d gone grocery shopping, she hadn’t eaten. She wasn’t used to wine without a splash of white soda as a complement, and the scent of this stuff alone was enough to make her tipsy. Combined with Joe Scalotta in a steambath, it set her nerves on edge, caused her skin to tingle. She’d come to… What?

  “So what brings you here?” He took the question right out of her mind.

  “I thought we’d better talk some more about Toni.”

  “I have to apologize.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not why I came.”

  “Still, I jumped to a conclusion. An insulting conclusion.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  He sighed, picked up his wineglass and the bottle, then walked over to the kitchen table. He poured himself another glass and tilted the bottle in her direction with a question in his eyes.

  “No, thanks,” she said. If she had a refill, she’d do more than fantasize about that kitchen table. She had to remember two teenagers were hanging about somewhere outside the house. And one of the rules of parenting was that as soon as you even contemplated doing anything you didn’t want them to know about—they would show up. Though with Joe still walking around half-naked, she was having a harder and harder time thinking of anything but him.

  He leaned his exceptional rear end against her fantasy table and stared into his glass as he swirled the ruby liquid around and around. “You said I was overprotective.”

  “I apologize. It’s none of my business.”

  “I wish you’d make it your business. You know about kids. That’s your job, right? I’m trying, but I don’t seem to be succeeding. Toni doesn’t know me. I don’t think she wants to. Hell, she still calls me ‘Joe.’”

  “I noticed that.”

  He shot a glance at her, and in his eyes was a despair that beckoned to her soft heart. Before she could offer any kind of sympathy, he looked away and returned to his wine-swirling exercise. “She stopped calling me ‘Dad’ a long time ago. It’s like she doesn’t want to need me.” His shoulders slumped, and he took a sip of the wine he’d been staring at. “Or to love me.”

  “I’m sure she loves you. But you might be right about not wanting to need you. She lost her mother only recently.”