Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Guess I can’t argue with that.” Not that she wanted to. She rested her head against his chest. “But first I have to know one thing.”

  “What?”

  “How did you get those guys to agree to sing to me?”

  A grin lit his face. “One of the advantages of being a veteran player is harassing the new guys. I gave ’em a choice of joining the chorus or washing all my jock straps.”

  She giggled. “Sounds like they made a wise decision.”

  That evening, Meg introduced him to a local park known for its trails. They strolled in silence until curiosity compelled her to ask him why he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Coach gave me some great news this afternoon.”

  Meg’s heart stuttered. Was he being sent up to the majors? She wasn’t ready for him to leave her yet. “What’s that?”

  His grin got even wider. “I’m definitely in the Condors’ starting lineup.”

  “You mean there was a doubt?” She squinted against the setting sun in an attempt to look into his eyes.

  He shrugged and looked away. “I’m not as young as I used to be. When they brought in the rookie, I had my doubts.”

  “But they put you in the ad campaign.”

  “I know. Still feels good to get the official word.”

  Being in the Condors’ starting lineup meant he’d still be in the state once training camp was over. That, at least, was great news. She leaned in to peck his cheek. “Then congratulations are in order.”

  He caught her before she could pull away and dragged them both to a dead halt. He locked his arms around her waist and rested his forehead against hers so their lips were almost touching. “That’s how you congratulate your lover? I don’t think so.”

  He settled his mouth over hers and kissed her until she didn’t have a coherent thought in her head. Her mind was spinning in a thousand different directions, all of them centered on the delicious sensations that swirled through her with the first brush of his lips.

  She could think of nowhere else she’d rather be. Kissing this man, in this park, with dog walkers and joggers passing them by, was her rightful place in the world.

  A whistle split the air and broke the spell Matt had cast over her. She looked in the direction from which it had come and saw a teenage boy grinning at them. He flashed them a thumbs-up.

  Meg felt her cheeks get warm. “I think you have a fan.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s probably staring at you. I’m just a guy. You’re the babe.”

  There he went again, handing out unnecessary compliments. She rolled her eyes. “And you’re the baseball player. I bet he recognizes you.”

  Matt shook his head and motioned at the kid, who edged closer to them, eyebrows lifted in an unspoken question. Matt asked, “Do you know who I am?”

  When the teen shook his head and ambled off, Matt grinned. “Told you he was admiring you.”

  “Or he was admiring your technique,” she shot back.

  Matt chuckled. “I am pretty masterful, aren’t I?”

  She refused to dignify that with a response when he was just fishing for another compliment, so she stepped away from him and resumed their walk. She welcomed the kid’s interruption. A few more minutes with Matt kissing her like that and she’d have ended up naked with her back against a pine tree.

  Matt still watched her, probably waiting for a response to his fishing expedition. She gave him her sweetest smile. “Promise me you won’t kiss me like that in public anymore.”

  “Too hot for you to handle, eh?” He grinned.

  She gave him a playful shove. “I just don’t want to end up with the arrest record for public indecency that’s sure to follow more of such kisses.”

  He chuckled again. “That’s my girl. Always thinking ahead.”

  She giggled and slipped her hand into his. “Someone has to. I’m about to become a mother. I can’t have an arrest record.”

  “Right you are.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll try not to let myself get carried away again.”

  She nodded. “At least not until we’re behind closed doors.”

  “It’s a deal.” He paused. “Now what were we talking about before you distracted me? I think it was something important.”

  She had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting that he’d been doing all the distracting. “Only your career.”

  “That’s definitely important.” He smiled again. “Now I can say for sure they’re not ready to put me out to pasture.”

  Meg’s eyes narrowed again and she pulled her hand out of his. “I wish you’d stop calling yourself old. You’re not even thirty yet. You have plenty of good years left.”

  “Not so many in baseball,” he muttered. Her withdrawal annoyed him almost as much as the age barrier in baseball.

  But she was unappeased. Her frown drained what was left of the laughter from her eyes. “You know I’m thirty-two, right?”

  What had happened to the light mood of moments ago? He supposed he should be used to pregnant women’s mercurial mood swings. His half sister sure had enough of them. Carrie’s he could tune out—but Meg’s were another story. For her, he wanted to smooth things out. He just wasn’t sure how.

  He tried to explain. “I don’t have a problem with being over thirty. But I’m not the powers that be.”

  Her eyes shimmered with tears.

  Well, hell. He hadn’t counted on making her cry. He cupped her face between his hands. “Don’t cry, Meg.”

  She blinked and sniffled. “I shouldn’t be sad that your career could be washed up before you hit thirty?”

  He shrugged. “I’m used to it.” Not many ballplayers made the leap to the majors, especially at twenty-eight. He was no longer a hot-prospect, rookie phenom.

  That did not, however, mean he was no longer good at his job. He planned to play as long as he was still at the top of his game.

  The thought reminded him of the twinge he still felt in his shoulder from time to time and he winced. Surely he should be recovered from that hit by the rookie’s pitch by now. He needed to talk to the team doc about it now that his place in the starting lineup was firm. He needed to stay at the top of his game, after all. He wasn’t ready to retire.

  Meg waved her hand in front of his face. “Earth to Matt.”

  He refocused his attention on her, only to find her watching him, her head cocked to the left. “Sorry. My mind went wandering.”

  “Whatever you were contemplating looked serious.”

  He sighed. “It was.”

  “Care to share?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to bore you to death.”

  She wandered toward the right side of the path. It put too much distance between them for his liking, so he followed her. When she looked at him, her eyes were again shiny with unshed tears.

  He dropped his arm around Meg’s shoulders. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Nothing.” The sniffle that punctuated the statement betrayed her.

  He pursed his lips together. Why was she being so difficult? “Then I’m the queen of England.”

  With her sense of humor, he half expected her to giggle and welcome him to America—so her sobs jarred him.

  Well, crap. If she wanted him to share his thoughts, he’d bore her from here to eternity and back. Anything to keep her from crying any more. Crying women made him feel helpless. And he hated feeling helpless.

  “You win, Meg. I was thinking about how I need to see the team doctor because my shoulder has been bugging me.”

  Her sobs slowed and then stopped. Her expression said she questioned his sanity. “What are you waiting for? Get yourself to the doctor.”

  Surprised by her insistence, Matt took a step back. Was she truly concerned about his health or just worried that her minor-league meal ticket would be invalidated?

  He gave himself a mental shake to clear the rogue thought. That wasn’t being fair to Meg. Aside from watching him practice, she showed litt
le interest in baseball—or any sports. She’d flat-out refused to watch the Lakers game with him the other night, tuning the TV to Twilight Zone instead. Not that he’d minded all that much. They hadn’t spent much time actually watching the screen anyway.

  “I will,” he promised. “First thing Monday.”

  ****

  While Matt was at practice Saturday morning, Meg used her time alone to do a task she’d been dreading: Calling her parents.

  She did everything she could to prepare herself. She showered, lotioned up and dressed in a red T-shirt and black yoga pants that made her feel like a million bucks. She even took the time to put on a full face, instead of just brushing on mascara and swiping on lip gloss.

  “I’ll need all the support I can get.”

  Meg retrieved her cell phone from her purse and sat, cross-legged, on Matt’s bed. She started to dial her parents’ number four times—and snapped the phone shut before it connected each time.

  She wrinkled her nose at her cowardice. “Stop it. You’re a thirty-two-year-old grown woman. Surely you’re mature enough to tell your parents they’re about to become grandparents.”

  Brave words coming from a chicken.

  She ignored the jab and punched the button one more time. This time, she let the call connect. It rang once…twice…three times. Meg was ready to hang up when her mother answered the phone.

  “Meg! How nice to hear from you.”

  Knowing that was her mother’s passive-aggressive way of saying it had been too long, Meg cringed. Yep. This call would go about as well as she expected.

  “Hi, Mom. Are you and Dad in the same room?”

  “He’s doing what he does every Saturday.” She sighed. “Watching golf in the den.”

  “Can you go get him? I think you’ll both want to hear this news.”

  Her mother drew a sharp breath. “Are you and that young man of yours finally getting married?’

  She cringed again. Apparently it had been too long since she’d called her mother. Now she’d have to break the news that not only was she was pregnant but also mate-less. Fantastic.

  After drawing a deep breath of her own, she said, “Mom, just get Dad, will you?”

  Moments later, a crackle filled her ear. It was followed by her father’s baritone. “You’re on the speakerphone. What was so important that I had to miss Tiger’s ninth hole? He was about to miss a par-three.”

  Her father would rather watch the slow descent of one of golf’s greatest than talk to his only daughter? Meg’s temper snapped—and anger freed her inner smartass. “Excuse me for thinking you might want to know you’re going to be a grandpa.”

  “What?” His surprised squeak made him a tenor.

  “I’m having a baby.”

  Her father was silent, but her mother seemed excited. “You mean I’m finally going to be a grandmother?”

  “Hush, Lois.” To Meg, he said, “With that no-good card sharp you’ve been living with, I assume.”

  “No, Dad. With the mailman.” She reminded herself that sarcasm got her nowhere with her father and amended her answer. “Of course with Tim.”

  “So you two will be getting married and moving out of your too-small apartment?”

  Meg closed her eyes. Why couldn’t he just be happy for her instead of trying to plan the rest of her life? “That will be difficult with Tim living in another state. He left a couple of months ago.”

  Her mother broke in. “Does he know about the baby?”

  This time, Dad didn’t silence her. “Yes, Meghan. Does he?”

  Meg held her breath. Did she tell the truth and risk her father flying out to Vegas to confront Tim? She could picture such a scene clearly. Her father would order Tim to “man up” and intimidate him into marrying her. A sullen Tim would comply. But eager to be anywhere but with her, he’d make her life miserable for the next eighteen-plus years.

  No thank you. She blew out the breath and did what she did best when talking to her father: She lied through her teeth. “Of course he knows. He doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

  Her father’s disapproval thundered over the airwaves. “You picked another winner, didn’t you, Meg?”

  “I don’t want anything to do with him, either. He wasn’t who I thought he was.”

  Her father grunted with disgust, no doubt thinking unkind thoughts about his flighty, artistic daughter. “At least consider moving out of that miniscule apartment. You’ll need more space with a baby.”

  Meg heard him leave the room, muttering something about stubborn daughters and their idiot boyfriends. Another crackle. Then her mother whispered into the phone, “Meg, dear, are you okay?”

  “Mom, I’m fine. As long as you don’t count the morning sickness, which has started to subside the last few days.”

  She clucked her tongue. “I had terrible morning sickness with you, too. Did you try crackers and 7Up?”

  Meg nodded. “And ginger tea.”

  “Well, keep trying to keep it at bay. It does go away—eventually.” After a pause, she added, “Darling, did you try to keep that boy happy?”

  “What?”

  “The boyfriend—Tom?”

  “Tim.” Her mother knew the name as well as her own. It was just another way of letting Meg know she disapproved. Well then, she ought to be glad he was out of the picture.

  “Tim. Did you cook for him? Clean for him? Keep him busy in bed?”

  “Mom!” Meg shuddered, more unenthusiastic about a “how to please your man” talk than she’d been about calling her parents in the first place. “You gave me the ‘birds and bees’ talk when I was twelve.”

  Her mother was relentless. “Meg, dear, there are certain things a woman has to do—sacrifices she must make—to keep a man’s interest. Why, your father insists—”

  Meg dropped the phone onto the bed and jammed her fingers in her ears. Before she disconnected the call, she shouted, “Sorry Mom, I can’t hear you. I’m driving past a mountain. You’re breaking up.”

  Childish? Probably. But there was no way she wanted to listen to her mother’s antiquated views on relationships, illustrated by personal experiences. She thought of how her mother catered to her father’s every whim and shuddered again.

  Nope. That just wasn’t her style. She wanted a partner in life, not another boss. She had enough of those at the office, working for three very different men, all with their own, often conflicting, ideas on how to run the agency.

  The mere thought of work wore her out—that or the talk with her parents had sapped her energy. As Meg leaned back and let her eyelids drift shut, she wondered whether being exhausted all the time was a normal part of pregnancy. If so, it was a wonder pregnant women ever did anything but nap.

  Chapter Nine

  First thing Monday morning, Matt did what he’d promised Meg he’d do. He went to see the team doctor. As he sat on the exam table, waiting for Doc Baker’s return, he thought about how ridiculous it was for him to be so on edge about a routine visit.

  Then again, there was nothing routine about soreness lingering for more than two weeks after getting hit by a pitch. Not for him, anyway. He always bounced back within a couple of days. Not that he routinely got hit by pitches to start with. His reflexes generally kept him safe. That rookie’s rogue throw had surprised the hell out of him, though.

  He wondered if surgery loomed in his future. He hoped not. He didn’t have a season to waste on recovery and then a comeback.

  When Doc Baker came back, his face was grim. Matt didn’t like the look of that.

  “I have bad news for you, Thatcher.”

  Matt gulped. Uh-oh. He felt faint as scenes of going under the knife danced at the edge of his vision. “What?”

  Suddenly, the doctor’s frown turned into a grin. “You, son, are getting old.”

  No doubt Baker wanted him to laugh—but that just wasn’t funny. “Don’t waste time telling me something I already know, Doc. What’s wrong with my shoulder?”
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  “That is what’s wrong. Or perhaps I should say nothing is wrong. At your age, injuries are slower to heal. That occasional twinge you’re still feeling is nothing more than your body working to repair itself.”

  Matt scowled. “I’ve been worried for nothing?”

  “Afraid so.”

  The doctor ambled out of the room, whistling a cheery tune. Matt stared at his retreating form.

  Well, hell. Of all the things he’d feared, a future containing shoulder work chief among them, the one culprit he’d never considered was his aging body.

  Sure, he was getting older. But at twenty-eight, he was far from over the hill. Meg had gone to great lengths to point that out Friday. Still, it was a reminder he wouldn’t be able to keep playing ball indefinitely.

  As if he needed another reminder of that with the rookie Jim hanging around. He knew he ought to be mentoring the kid, showing him the ropes, but he couldn’t help seeing Jim as more of a rival, just waiting for a chance to take his place in the starting lineup.

  “Okay, I’ll try to be nicer to the kid,” he muttered under his breath in an attempt to appease his suddenly vocal conscience. With the coach’s assurance that he, not Jim, would be in the starting lineup on Opening Day, he could afford to hand out some advice.

  Besides, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to be taking endless road trips ten years from now. Living out of hotels for a good portion of the year, never in one place long enough to get settled in, held less appeal every season. He wanted somewhere to hang his hat. Permanently.

  Matt suspected that was a big reason Meg was such a draw, even with a baby on the way. He wanted a place to call home. Flagstaff would make a pretty good one, especially since he had the resources to flee during the worst of winter, if he so chose. Being born and raised in Phoenix and spending his summers in California, he wasn’t a big fan of the white stuff.

  His imagination shifted gears and started to serve up a few ways he and Meg could pass the time during the nonexistent snowstorm. Still preoccupied by the scene in his head, Matt jumped off the exam table and took off toward the diamond. He didn’t see Greg until he bumped into the other man. He took a step backward.