by Pamela Aares
“Around these parts, kids see baseball as hope,” Jake told her, wishing his smooth tone hid his irritation better. “A hope for a future where they can provide for themselves and their families.”
Cameron drew her eyebrows together and frowned. “I thought making it in professional sports was like a one in a thousand chance.”
“More like one in a million,” Jake said as he watched her, fascinated. He could almost feel the effort of her mind churning, working to turn the conversation to her advantage.
“But my camps have an education component,” Aderro said, “so kids don’t give up on studying. They get to play and be coached, but they have to keep their grades up.”
Aderro was doing a damn fine job of pitching his program.
“Clean water is a basic need, essential to health. The batey project will teach hygiene, fund the building of latrines, teach communities how to protect their water supplies and provide important and needed basics.”
She sounded like she was reciting a brochure. Jake leveled his gaze at her. “Water’s important, I grant you that. But dreams lead. Baseball is all about keeping dreams alive.”
She drew herself up, and Jake could’ve sworn she transformed in front of his eyes from an unsure visitor to an all-knowing goddess. “Let me tell you about alive. This is a model project. Millions of people down the road could benefit. If it succeeds, the big banks will fund this project and others like it. But right now kids die from diseases that they don’t have to contract in the first place. All from not having clean water.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“Come with me out to the bateyes tomorrow,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’ll see what I mean.”
Jake wasn’t in the mood for being leveraged. What had Aderro told her that made her so keen to get his help in particular?
“We have kids to coach, dreams to tend to.” Jake stopped himself from tapping a finger to his heart. Some part of him really wished he could help her, but limits were limits, and he kept to his.
“You can’t dream if you’re dead.” She spun on her heel and stalked off the field.
“Nothing like pissing off a two-time Oscar-winning actress on her first day on the job.” Aderro chuckled.
“What?”
Aderro tilted his head toward the exit. “Cameron Kelley? Star of A Warrior’s Heart? Nice going. Now she’ll never help me get funding for my camps.” His teasing tone told Jake that he wasn’t truly angry.
“She’s just in a snit—you’ll bring her around. How could she resist the combo of you and kids playing ball? Impossible. But what the hell did you tell her I could do for her?”
“I told her you were going to meet with the President of the United States.”
“I’m not going. I do what I have to for the team, sure, but I hate that sort of glad-handing publicity. The front office let me off the hook since plenty of guys are dying to go.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re one principled and stubborn son of a monkey?”
“All the time. What’s a batey, anyway?”
“It’s where most of the kids in my program come from. Sugar mill camps at the border. It’s a good program she’s working on, Jake. I just can’t spread too thin. I have to focus—one kid at a time. And baseball and an education—that’s the path out, the road to a life. For the kids and their families.”
Jake sensed Aderro’s frustration. No man had the resources to buy justice for the entire world.
But as Jake rode with Aderro to the baseball camp at the edge of the city of San Pedro, he made a note on his phone to call his agent and have an anonymous donation wired down to Aderro’s program. It wouldn’t be as much as he’d like since his funds were tight, but it was the least he could do for pissing off Cameron Kelley.
Chapter Three
The next morning Jake opted for breakfast by the hotel pool. He wanted to be fueled up before taking on Aderro’s enthusiastic boys.
He settled in under an umbrella and opened the menu. A hand reached from behind and snapped it shut on his fingers.
“Hey!” He whirled around to come face-to-face with Cameron Kelley.
“I have something to show you,” she said.
He owed her; he had been brusque. But she’d pushed his buttons. Now she crooked a finger at him, pushing his buttons in another way. What harm could there be in following her? Maybe he’d get a date out of the effort.
She took his hand, and he allowed her to lead him toward the front entrance of the hotel.
“Want to tell me where we’re going?”
“You’ll see.”
Her voice was sultry. Intrigued, he followed her through the door. A limo sat waiting.
“I thought we could do a little wine tasting,” she said with a killer smile.
“Before breakfast?”
“Living large. We can start with champagne and orange juice if that suits you. I have mimosas.”
He slid into the car behind her, admiring the curve of her waist and the even more luscious curves of her hips and breasts. The throb in his groin had him considering the potential perks of the adventure ahead.
He’d no more than settled in before he heard the locks of the doors snap down—and saw no button on the armrest for releasing them.
“What the hell?” He tried the handle as the limo pulled away.
“I’m kidnapping you,” Cameron said, scooting as far away from him as she could. But the saucy smile she gave him told him she was enjoying his discomfort. “What’s the matter? Can’t go anywhere without your entourage and handlers? I promise not to bite.”
“I might not protest if you had promised you would bite,” he heard himself say.
Where had that come from? He felt like he was acting out a script she’d created and that some force was feeding him lines. But the thought of nibbling on the feisty Cameron had blood surging below his belt. He shifted. No need to let her know the full effect she had on him. He might need the element of surprise.
“Since you wouldn’t come voluntarily, I figured I’d use a little of your own bait on you.”
“My bait?” He was still getting his head around being abducted.
“The lure of the chase. It worked, didn’t it?”
He leaned back and studied her.
Though her words were challenging, he saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes. A batter showing that level of uncertainty wouldn’t stand a chance against a veteran pitcher. A sudden rush of empathy flooded him. She cared about what she was doing. Cared enough to take a risk. He could admire that. Especially coming from a spoiled Hollywood princess on a mission that was clearly over her head. Aderro had filled him in on the UNICAN project. It was an impossible task.
“Okay, you have me,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “What next?”
“We’re headed to the bateyes.”
“No way. I’m not game. I’m not one for people crafting plans for my life. Or surprises, for that matter. And I’m coaching Aderro’s kids later today.”
“He knows you’re with me. And you’re here now, so you might as well—what’s that phrase?—just do it. Besides, I really do have mimosas,” she said.
She pulled a bottle of chilled champagne from the cooler. The condensation dripped onto her just below the line where her shorts circled the most gorgeous legs Jake had seen in weeks. She saw him staring and tugged the hem of her shorts, moving the material maybe half an inch down her upper thigh.
He smiled at the futile, self-conscious gesture. If she didn’t want men noticing her gorgeous legs and appreciating them, she should’ve worn a different outfit.
“Bribing me already?” He really shouldn’t be baiting her, but she was the one who had kidnapped him, for Christ’s sake.
“Whatever it takes,” she said, her voice just a bit less confident. He liked it better when she had the tone that said she had the upper hand.
“In that case, I can think of a few things we could do that might help your cause...�
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“No,” she said quickly. “I have my limits. I’m only offering mimosas and”—she dug in her purse—“and energy bars. Breakfast of—”
“Breakfast of fools.” He reached for the energy bar, and his fingers brushed hers. She snapped her hand back as if she’d been bitten by a cobra. He smiled, and she scooted deeper into the corner, wedging herself against the limo door and the seat.
Cameron hadn’t expected Jake to love being hijacked, but she had expected a better sense of humor about it all. Maybe she was a dreamer. But she was determined to do her best for the project, and right then, she needed all the help she could get. Even if she had to resort to devious tactics to get it.
As they traveled through the rural countryside of Dominia, Jake wouldn’t say much about his personal life, but she managed to get him to talk about baseball.
She hadn’t known that a former dictator of Dominia had convinced sugar plantation owners to set up baseball leagues during the slow season in the cane fields. Since then, the game had captivated the hearts and imaginations and hopes of people from all levels of Dominian society.
Cameron shared with him the information from her UNICAN briefings and added some of the grimmer information she’d discovered online. The people of the bateyes had been neglected, forgotten in the massive growth spurt of the cities and resorts.
But as the limo driver turned onto a single-lane road that wound through the cane fields and she saw the huts lining the road, she knew that UNICAN had downplayed the poverty of the region. No photo online, no matter how good the photographer, could’ve prepared her for the poverty surrounding them.
They exited the limo into a sea of shouting children. Evidently word had gotten out that they were coming.
“I’m so sorry, Jake. I didn’t know it would be this bad,” she said as he surveyed the ramshackle huts.
To her surprise, several members of the press strode up, brandishing cameras. She felt Jake stiffen. Yet after a long moment when he didn’t move, he pulled her closer and smiled at the cameras.
“Hey”—he put an arm around her—“this is why they need you.”
“They need so much more than anyone led me to believe.”
“Ryder, you’re usually not one for public appearances,” said the reporter to Jake’s right as he snapped photo after photo. “What brings you way out here?”
“Miss Kelley can be very persuasive,” Jake answered smoothly.
He could’ve stepped away from her. He could’ve turned a cold shoulder. But right then Cameron gave thanks that the man whose arm and smile were making her just a little light-headed had chosen to do the right thing. At least, it was the right thing in her book.
“How long have you been a couple?” another reporter asked.
Jake released her. “We’re here to talk about water, Mr...”
“Henry White,” the reporter said.
A couple of children sidled up to Jake, brandishing battered notebooks. The smallest of them asked if Jake would autograph his notebook. Jake smiled and patted his pocket. Cameron handed him a pen from her purse.
Soon a crowd of children surrounded him. He signed scuffed-up baseballs, sticks, hats and even pieces of paper torn from paper bags. Each child held his or her autographed item as if they’d been given the Golden Fleece.
“You’re very good with kids,” Cameron said under her breath.
“As long as they’re not mine,” he said in a quiet voice.
He signed a headband for a girl who couldn’t have been more than five. She thanked him in rushed Spanish, then admired Jake’s signature along the chipped and faded plastic and placed the headband on her head as if it were a crown.
“UNICAN should’ve gotten you to help with this project,” she said with a light laugh. From Jake’s narrowed eyes she saw that her attempt at levity didn’t fool him. They were surrounded by poverty more destitute than any depicted on news channels. It was hard to smile and sound even remotely cheerful.
“See that dish right there?” He pointed.
She looked at the dented gray disk on top of a pole near the center of the village.
“They can watch baseball. They might not have clean water, and they sure don’t have access to new Hollywood releases, but they can watch games. I played down here for two winters before I got called up. I hit the game-winning run that took the San Pedro team to the Caribbean World Series.” He shook his head. “Never made it out here, though. Didn’t know places like this existed.”
They toured the village with a man who introduced himself as the local council arbitrator. At least, Cameron thought that was what he’d said. She had to rely on her college Spanish. If she had told UNICAN she was venturing into the bateyes, she would’ve had an interpreter. But she’d wanted to visit on her own, to see the places as they were, not trumped up for an official visit. If she was going to be successful in her mission, she needed to know the truth.
One of the reporters stepped toward her. Instinctively, she stepped back.
“I was going to offer to interpret,” he said.
“Thank you, I could use the help. But how did you know I’d be here? I didn’t tell anyone.”
The reporter looked down at the ground. The man next to him, the one holding a massive camera and with lens cases strapped to his belt, leaned in.
“Honey, we have GPS on your driver. That, and the maids in the hotel come from this village. They told us last night. We knew where you were headed before your driver did.”
Privacy was one of the basics she gave up when she was on the road for a gig like this. But being spied on by hotel maids? That was too much.
But as they reached the center of town and she saw the clinic, her anger dissipated. The council leader told them that over seventy percent of the homes in the batey didn’t have latrines. Diarrhea was a leading cause of infant mortality and a major contributor to malnutrition. When she and Jake followed him into the hut housing the clinic, her breath caught in her throat. The walls were lined with cots with children hooked up to IVs.
Jake put his arm around her, steadying her. And in spite of the voice warning her not to, she found herself leaning into his chest. The beat of his heart brought her comfort as she surveyed the room and listened to the reporter interpret the heart-rending scene in the makeshift clinic.
One of the children asked if she was a doctor. She’d never felt so useless as she replied that she was an actress. But the little girl’s face lit up, and the council leader told Cameron it was the first smile he’d seen from her in days.
“These are the lucky ones,” the council leader added. “Only a fully funded, holistic approach to water, hygiene and sanitation will make any difference. Deeper wells and a few water tanks alone won’t do the job.”
They headed back to the limo, and a few of the village women joined the crowd of men and children that had gathered. The limo had been her only choice that morning, the only vehicle that came with lockable doors and a driver who was willing to make the trip. But now, in the face of such poverty, she wished there’d been another option. Cameron gave away everything in her purse except her cellphone. But a few lipsticks, a hairbrush and a few hundred dollars wouldn’t get the people of the batey what they really needed. Only a reliable source of clean water would stop the unnecessary deaths. Clean water would also allow the villagers to grow kitchen gardens and have access to badly needed nutrition. And education was also critical, the council leader had said. They had to learn how to keep the water clean during transport and use, learn how to differentiate water use according to its source—to use surface water for animals and clothes washing and reserve pristine clean water for drinking, for cooking and for bathing babies.
How many other villages were there around the world that needed something so basic, so critical and yet so hard to achieve? Cameron’s heart dropped in her chest at the thought.
When they returned to the limo, Jake turned to her, his expression stony.
“Why me,
Cameron?”
“You happen to be the only guy I know who is going to meet the president face to face at the White House and who has seen this problem up close and personal. This project needs U.S. funding; the Dominians can’t do it on their own. The World Bank has already turned them down.”
“Someone told you wrong. I’m not going to the White House, and I don’t do press unless I absolutely have to. And even then all I talk about is baseball. End of story.”
“Then what was that performance back there?” It pained her to think that what she’d felt from him, the genuine man she’d seen in action, had been a figment of her imagination. It couldn’t have been. She was pretty good at reading people.
“You owe me,” he said, leveling a steely gaze at her. “I had no choice but to act the part of your willing accomplice. And honestly, I hope it helps. But I’m done. Done. Do you get that? I don’t like being used.”
“I had no idea the press would be there. I just wanted you to see the importance of the project.”
“I saw. And I believe you. But you still owe me.”
She didn’t try to draw him into conversation for the rest of the ride back to the hotel in San Pedro. She’d forced him to make a snap moral choice in front of the cameras; that hadn’t been right. But she’d do it all over again if it would help the people of the batey. Yet when they reached the hotel and he offered her his hand to help her from the limo, she was sure the spark she felt wasn’t just on her side of the equation.
Or maybe it was.
Maybe she was finally succumbing to her family’s greatest genetic defect—wishful thinking. Or maybe their greatest defect was choosing inappropriate mates. Her mother was already on wrong mate number five.
Chapter Four
Jake slammed the door to his hotel room harder than he should have and wished he could use a punching bag to let off some steam.
He’d been had.
He admired Cameron’s spunk but hated that she’d tried to manipulate him, good cause or not. She couldn’t have known how deep her actions sliced, and he wasn’t in any frame of mind to explain to her or anyone else. Some secrets were best kept buried.
