Playing for Keeps (Feeling the Heat Book 6)

by Alison Packard

  “If it was, she would have waived it for you. She told me she was going to marry you long before she ever got you on that horse.” Merilee sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but it’s getting easier to talk about her.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I’m sorry for breaking down at the cemetery.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” He turned from the spectacular view and moved toward the kitchen. “As hard as losing her was for me, it had to have been twice as hard for you and Grady.”

  “I know you don’t need my blessing, but I’m giving it all the same. You’re a good man and you deserve to be happy. If and when you find someone you want to share your life with, I hope you’ll let us know. Grady and I only want the best for you.”

  “Thank you, Merilee. That means a lot to me.”

  “You mean a lot to us. You made our girl happy and we’ll never forget that,” she said, her voice cracking a bit. After a few seconds, she continued, “Once we get settled, I’ll send you our new address.”

  “Sounds good. I’d like to keep in touch.”

  “We’d like that too. Okay, I’d better hang up now before I start bawling. You take good care, son.”

  “You too,” he said, relieved that Merilee had begun to find a way through her grief.

  Rick set the phone on the counter, then took the stairs to the bedroom and entered the walk-in closet that held his clothes and a stackable washer/dryer unit. For several seconds he stared at the small cedar box on the top shelf. He’d placed the box in that spot the day he’d moved into the loft and hadn’t touched it since. But now he was ready to face what was inside, and there was one final item he needed to add to its contents. He pulled it from the shelf, brushed away the thin layer of dust with his hand, then carried it into the bedroom and sat on the bed.

  Shifting on the mattress, he placed the box on the bed and lifted the lid. The fragrant scent of cedar filled the air, reminding him of the wood chest where his mother stored her special linens and keepsakes.

  The photo sitting on top of the items in the box was one of three he’d chosen from the many photographs he’d gone through when he’d moved out of the house he and Jill had shared. The three images represented the major milestones in their relationship.

  The first was taken on the front porch of Grady and Merilee’s ranch house before senior prom. They’d been posing for Grady for what seemed like hours, and when Grady was satisfied he’d taken the perfect shot, Rick was so relieved he’d plopped down on the porch swing and pulled Jill with him. She’d laughed and landed haphazardly on his lap, kissing him on the cheek just as Grady took one last shot. The candid photo was perfect, capturing their goofiness as well as their affection for one another. Several hours later, after the dance, he and Jill had made love for the first time.

  The photograph underneath it was taken three years later, at their wedding. He lifted the photo out of the box and unlike the last time he’d looked at it, his heart didn’t twist with unbearable pain. More than a few folks in Lockhart had claimed they were too young to get married; they’d said there was plenty of time. But he and Jill hadn’t listened. They were in love and wanted to spend the rest of their life together. They’d been inseparable since they were freshmen in high school and he’d come to believe that subconsciously they’d known their time together would be short.

  He laid the two photos on the bed and gently picked up the third one. He stared at it and the memories it invoked caused hot tears to prick the back of his eyes. He’d seen the image first on the ultrasound monitor. Jill had reached for his hand and together they had gazed in wonder at their baby. They’d hoped to learn the baby’s sex that day, but the baby hadn’t been in the right position. The doctor at the hospital where Jill died had asked him if he wanted to know the sex of the baby and he’d said no. Somehow it was easier not knowing and he had never regretted his choice.

  Swallowing past the hard lump in his throat, he set the sonogram on top of the other two photos and reached for the last item in the box, a small black velvet pouch with its drawstring pulled tight to seal it closed. He loosened the string, pried open the top of the pouch with his fingers, then spilled the contents onto the palm of his hand.

  The night Jill died someone on the hospital staff had given him her engagement and wedding rings. That had made it all the more real that she was gone. He would never again hear her laugh, or see her smile, or hold her in his arms. He’d lost her and the child they’d created together. His world as he knew it was over, and in its place was only darkness.

  Now that darkness was gone. It had been a long, hard road, but he’d made it to the other side. After quitting drinking, he’d made the commitment to a grueling training regimen. Then he’d made the decision to return to baseball and reclaim his career. He succeeded, but hadn’t realized how empty his life was until Amy came along and showed him that there was space in his heart for someone other than Jill.

  He returned the rings to the pouch, then tugged off the wedding band Jill had placed on his finger on their wedding day and dropped it into the pouch. Lifting his hand, he stared at the pale skin on his finger that the sun hadn’t touched in years. He would always treasure the time he had with Jill, and he would never forget her. But he was ready, finally, to put that time of his life behind him and move on.

  17

  Early Thursday evening, Amy checked her reflection in the mirror and gave herself a mental high-five for managing to do the impossible. For as long as she could remember she had no patience for hot rollers or curling irons and the like. Tonight, though, she’d made an effort, and by sheer luck she’d been able to backcomb and tuck her hair in an updo that made her hair appear thicker and longer. She’d even borrowed Jade’s curling iron to add a few soft waves to the shorter front parts of her hair to soften the look.

  Rick had treated her and Danny to pizza last night after she’d picked up Danny at the youth center, and upon questioning him further, she’d managed to ascertain that the benefit he’d invited her to this evening was actually a cocktail party fundraiser. Money raised by ticket sales and a silent auction would be distributed by the Blaze organization to programs dedicated to the needs of Bay Area children and their families. Per Rick, the annual event was usually well-attended by city leaders, the team’s owners and executives, and wealthy San Franciscans who enjoyed mingling with politicians and players while racking up another tax write-off.

  That information had caused a return of the apprehension she’d managed to keep at bay since Sunday. An event like this one would no doubt be covered in San Francisco society columns and blogs. And not only was Rick one of the stars of the team, he was also drop-dead gorgeous. Any photographer worth his or her salt would be all over him, and as his date, her.

  Her first thought had been to cancel. All she’d have to do was call Rick and tell him she was sick, or that Danny wasn’t feeling well and she wanted to stay home with him. She had no doubt he’d believe her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was already withholding information from him, information she planned to tell him soon. A premeditated lie was another story, and even thinking about it made her slightly nauseated.

  “Mom, you look pretty.”

  Amy turned from the mirror to find Danny standing in the doorway with a crooked smile on his face. “Thank you, sweetie.” She smoothed her palms down the dress she and Jade had found at a small boutique on Union Street during their lunch hour. Shorter and much more figure hugging than she was used to, the black sequined dress with its plunging neckline and cap sleeves had been marked down sixty percent, and after she’d tried it on and fallen in love with it, she’d forked over the money.

  Danny leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she turned toward the dresser and put on her earrings. “Is Mr. Taylor your boyfriend now?”

  Amy met his curious gaze in the mirror. She’d been anticipating Danny’s question and had prepared an answer she hoped wouldn’t get his hopes
up too much. “We like each other a lot and we’re dating.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “Dating is what you do to determine if you’re going to be boyfriend and girlfriend. You can’t decide something like that without getting to know a person.”

  “But we do know him, and I like him a whole lot. He’s not mean like Bryce. I think he should be your boyfriend. He makes you laugh.”

  Touch by the sincerity in Danny’s voice, Amy turned and moved to stand in front of him. “I like Rick a lot too, but right now you’re the main man in my life. And you...” She ruffled his hair and grinned. “...need to wash your face and brush your teeth before Lucia gets here.”

  Thirty minutes later, Amy sat next to Rick in the backseat of the sedan limo that was whisking them to the Golden Gate Club and tried to ignore the knot that had formed in her stomach. As soon as she’d settled on the luxurious leather back seat it dawned on her that Kirby Ferrara, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the city, could possibly be at the fundraiser. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier when she still had time to cancel? If Kirby was there, would she recognize Amy without the wig and makeup she wore at Stylus? Maybe not, but then again, if Kirby had hired a private investigator, then unearthing a photograph of what she really looked like wouldn’t have been difficult. Clutching the soft, royal purple shawl Jade had loaned her, she stared unseeingly out the window. It was her first time riding in a limo and she couldn’t even enjoy it.

  “There’s nothing to worry about.” Rick placed his hand on her knee and squeezed gently.

  “I know.” She angled her head and gave him a wan smile. “Did you tell Trey about me?”

  “Yes.” Rick chuckled. “His jaw dropped about a foot. And he promised not to say anything about your job at Stylus.”

  “That’s good.” And one less thing for her to worry about. “I’ve never been in a car with a chauffeur before,” she said, looking at the tinted partition separating them from their driver. “Can he see or hear us?”

  “Not with the partition raised. Why?” Rick nudged her knee with his. “Do you want to make out?”

  Amy laughed at his unexpected comment and turned her head to meet his playful gaze. “Maybe on the way home. I worked too hard on my hair to mess it up before the party.”

  “You look amazing,” he said. “Did I tell you that already?”

  “Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again.” She snuggled against him, the knot in her stomach easing a bit. “Danny was right.”

  “About what?”

  “You do make me laugh.”

  Amy’s lighter mood lasted until the driver pulled up behind several other limos waiting to deliver their passengers at the front entrance of the Golden Gate Club. The historic white building with its terracotta tiled roof, tucked amidst the sloping hills of the Presidio, was beautiful, but its charm was lost on her. As she’d feared, several photographers were stationed along the brick pathway that led to the main entrance, their cameras trained on the guests making their way into the building. A frisson of apprehension slithered up her spine and it was all she could do not to bolt from the limo and run in the opposite direction.

  Someone who hadn’t endured the humiliation she had might say she was overacting. But that someone probably hadn’t been fired from her job for no reason, or had neighbors who’d once waved and smiled at her suddenly stare at her with suspicion or deliberately turn their backs on her when she walked by. And they certainly didn’t know what it was like to be dragged down to the police department as a person of interest in a murder investigation to answer the same questions over and over again.

  As the driver inched the limo closer to the drop-off point, the lump in Amy’s throat grew larger. She stared out the window, forcing herself not to tremble. If she could get past the gauntlet of photographers, she’d be fine. It wouldn’t be easy, not with Rick looking movie-star handsome in a charcoal suit with a light gray dress shirt and tie. Even if he wasn’t a professional athlete he’d draw their attention. All she could do was hope that all eyes would be on him and not her.

  Unlike a few of his teammates, Rick had never sought the limelight. Natural talent and a lot of hard work had made it possible for him to play professionally, and while fundraising events for the team were necessary and he was happy to support the Blaze, they tended to be boring affairs filled with people who knew nothing about baseball or who wanted nothing more than to get their picture taken with an athlete.

  Tonight had been no exception. After he and Amy, who had practically buried her face into his chest, had made it past the photographers and they’d checked Amy’s wrap at the coat room area, he’d taken her arm and escorted her into the party. Like most cocktail functions, the large, rectangular room was set up with an open bar at one end, with tall conversation tables covered with white tablecloths and flickering votive candles in the middle, and a stage at the other end of the room where a live band was currently playing easy-listening instrumental music. The difference between this room and the others he’d been in before was that this room had a large bank of windows which, in the daytime, afforded guests a spectacular view of the grounds of the Presidio and the bay beyond. Tonight though, the Golden Gate Bridge was barely visible through the thick layer of fog that had rolled in from the ocean.

  Standing next to Amy at one of the conversation tables, he sipped his club soda and watched across the room as Trey conversed easily with Blaze manager, Tom Morgan, and his wife, Katherine, who was the VP of media relations for the Blaze. Like Rick, the couple was from Texas and had now made San Francisco their home. Trey had become especially close to them after they’d supported him when he’d been falsely accused of attempted rape the season before Rick had rejoined the team.

  Other than the players and the personnel from the front office, Rick didn’t recognize a soul. Several guests had approached both him and Amy, and although she’d been extremely nervous before the event, she had visibly relaxed once they’d entered the crowded room and, most likely because of her tenure at Stylus, she’d had no problem with the usual cocktail party small talk.

  Rick didn’t mind leaving most of the chit-chat to her. He’d never been any good at it anyway, and it gave him an opportunity to appreciate how gorgeous she looked tonight. A shiny black dress hugged her curves and showcased her killer legs. She’d worn her hair up, exposing the graceful slope of her nape, and for the last twenty minutes he’d imagined pressing his mouth to her skin and breathing in her fragrant scent. Maybe he’d be able to do exactly that in the limo after the party. He shifted as his groin tightened in expectation.

  “You may have to do more of these once the foundation is established,” Amy said, then sipped her wine.

  Rick set his glass on the table. “I’m hoping we’ll have more creative ideas than cocktail parties. But I like the silent auction they’re doing tonight. They have some unique items up for bid.”

  “Like what?” She peered at him over the rim of her wine glass, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

  “A luxury vacation trip to Lake Tahoe, for starters. Along with some rare sports and music memorabilia,” he said as Trey joined them, beer in hand, at the table and stood next to Amy.

  “Don’t forget the four tickets to one of the luxury skyboxes at Blaze Field for our first home stand against the Dodgers this coming season. There’s already a list of names a mile long on the bid sheet.” Trey set his bottle of beer on the table, flashed a grin toward Amy, and then looked at Rick. “How about a friendly wager on the final bid?”

  “Define friendly?” Rick asked, used to Trey’s penchant for odd bets every now and then.

  “Loser buys the winner dinner at his favorite restaurant.” Trey angled his head toward Amy. “That’s friendly, right?”

  “It depends on where the winner’s favorite restaurant is.” Amy smiled. “It could get expensive.”

  Trey’s grin widened. “She’s good. I’ll amend it to the winner’s favorite restau
rant in San Francisco. Are we on?”

  “You’re on,” Rick said, then pulled his phone from his suit jacket pocket. “Text me your guess, and I’ll text you mine. We can get the final bid amount from Katherine tomorrow.”

  While he and Trey texted each other, Amy sipped her wine and watched them with amusement. After they’d put their phones away, Trey studied Amy’s face for a few seconds. “If Rick hadn’t told me you work at Stylus, I never would have guessed it was you.”

  Amy’s quick smile lit up her eyes. “That was the plan. And thanks for agreeing to not say anything about it to Adam.”

  “Adam doesn’t need to know everything.” Trey cocked his head. “I’ve seen you with Jade at Logan-Johnson. Are you friends?”

  Amy nodded. “We went to school together. She’s my best friend.”

  Trey’s brows lifted. “And you’re still talking to me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? I respect Jade’s opinion, but my experience with you at Stylus the night I was almost fired showed me what kind of person you are. You helped save my job and I’m grateful for that.”

  A scowl clouded Trey’s expression. “Speaking of that. The blonde who instigated it is here tonight.”

  Amy gasped and set her glass on the table so hard the wine splashed onto the tablecloth, staining it red. “What? Kirby Ferrara is here? Are you sure?”

  Trey nodded. “She’s with her father, Granville Ferrara. They stopped to say hello to Tom and Katherine while we were talking. I’m sure Kirby recognized me, but she pretended like she didn’t know me when we were introduced.”

  “Why does the name Granville Ferrara sound familiar?” Rick asked, certain he’d heard the name before, but he wasn’t sure in what context.

  “He founded a tech company about twenty-five years ago then sold it for a ton of cash. After that he started buying up real estate in San Francisco and became a property developer. You’ve probably seen some of his company’s signs on buildings and houses around the city. Not surprisingly, he’s made a fortune in the last few years.” Trey frowned and shook his head. “You have to be a billionaire to buy property in this town. Even a one-bedroom condo costs a mint.”