by Pamela Aares
A nurse came in, almost tiptoeing. Chloe knew she’d been in a couple of times already, but this time she focused her gaze on Chloe.
“Miss McNalley, the undertakers are here. Your dad called them this morning. They’re ready to take him now.”
Chloe nodded. How long she would’ve sat there, she’d never know. Leave it to her dad to call the last shot.
Chapter Six
Scotty pulled into the parking garage of a condominium tower in San Jose. He couldn’t believe it. One day he was pitching for the Giants and the next he’d been traded to the San Jose Sabers.
Just like that.
He had exactly one day to find a place to live near the Sabers’ stadium. He cursed that it was just far enough away from his place in San Francisco that he couldn’t commute.
He should’ve listened to his agent and had a no-trade clause put into his contract, but he’d been so thrilled to play for the Giants that he hadn’t wanted to do anything to rock the boat.
The whole deal had been weird. He’d heard the rumor that the Sabers sweetened the deal with cash, lots of cash. The incentive bonus the Sabers had paid him wasn’t usual either. He liked the money, of course he did. But he’d rather be playing in the city he loved, on a team he loved.
Deep down the whole thing felt wrong.
He hadn’t been pitching well, had had worse than a rocky start to his season. So to be paid off like that made him feel like a fraud. Sure, he’d made the All-Star team his rookie year, but still, this deal didn’t make any sense. But that’s the way the game was going these days, and there was no predicting it. In the past week several of his friends had been traded with no warning, and now he knew how they felt. In three years, when he would become a free agent, he’d have better control over his life. If he got his game back.
He slammed the car door.
When he got his game back.
His agent, Tracy, had been just as astonished as he was. When she’d called him on the road with the news, he did the math and figured out that the deal had gone through two days before Chloe had helped him rescue the dog. Why that made him feel better, he wasn’t sure. He just didn’t want to think she’d had anything to do with it; having her involved in any way would be creepy.
He hadn’t spoken with Chloe since the day they’d shared lunch in his apartment four days earlier. The call she’d answered that afternoon had cut short what he was sure would’ve been more than just a meal and a kiss. But seeing her upset had wrenched his gut. If he contacted her, maybe she’d let him help her, maybe figure out where they stood.
Right. Who was he kidding?
They couldn’t stand anywhere.
Her dad owned the team he now played for. She might as well have a neon sign that said Do Not Enter hanging over her head.
To even imagine he could have a relationship with her would be insane.
He followed the real estate agent through the condo as she pointed out all the usual features. But his mind wasn’t on views and bathrooms and kitchen appliances. His mind was on Chloe McNalley. Right then he didn’t worry much about insane. The kiss they’d shared at his place could’ve lit half the West Coast. It’d shocked the hell out of him and from the look in her eyes, it’d had the same effect on Chloe.
He signed the papers for the condo and arranged for his things to be moved in at the end of the week. When he got back to his place in San Francisco, he called his buddy and now former teammate, Alex Tavonesi. Scotty leaned his elbow against the living room window and stared out at the Golden Gate Bridge. Damn, he didn’t want to sublet; maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d keep the condo and live there in the off-season. It’d be a small consolation, he groused as he waited for Alex to answer. He had to talk to someone, or he might just put his fist through a wall.
Sonoma was a longer drive than Scotty remembered. But he’d started out from San Jose; it wasn’t the quick jaunt it’d been from his old place in San Francisco. Tomorrow he’d pitch his first game for the Sabers and probably regret letting Alex talk him into driving all the way up to Trovare.
He pulled over and lowered the roof of his convertible. It was a beautiful day; he might as well take it in.
Fifteen minutes later he spotted the massive oaks flanking the turn to Alex’s place. At the top of the drive, the towers and spreading vineyards of Trovare came into view. It was more than the usual Sonoma winery. Alex’s father had built a medieval-style castle and winery, stone by stone. Though Scotty had become accustomed to the place since he and Alex had become friends, the grandeur still stunned him. But the grandeur and all the work it represented made Alex's life crazy. He managed to deal with the vineyard and stay in the game but juggling two separate, highly demanding lives took its toll no matter how Alex like to make light of the challenge.
“Whoa!” Alex waved him down as he approached the stone circle at the foot of the drawbridge. “Slow down, these are country roads. If you need advice that bad, I’d better call in Sabrina.”
“I don’t think even your sister could sort this one out,” Scotty said as he jumped out of his car. “I’ve come to reverse the spell from your damn gargoyle.”
“Told you it’d haunt you,” Alex said, extending his hand.
The previous year Scotty had teased Alex about the stone dragon perched over the drawbridge. Alex had joked that it was supposed to ward off the women who got off on having sex with players. Scotty had been aghast—he wasn’t into turning women away. That was the evening Alex told Scotty he’d sworn off women in an attempt to focus on his game—the same night Alex had met Jackie Brandon, the woman whose adventures with criminals had not only almost cost Alex the Triple Crown, but also his life. Only eight months after Alex and Jackie had met, Scotty had been best man at their wedding. So while the universe might not be sensitive to the timing of humans, it evidently had an ironic sense of humor.
Scotty didn’t want to believe that the gargoyle joke had jinxed him and that instead of making him want women who were more than willing to share his bed, he’d been bowled over by the one woman he had to stay away from. But the way he was obsessing over Chloe McNalley, nothing added up.
As they walked back up the drive, he told Alex about the night he’d met Chloe and the beach walk and rescuing the dog. He didn’t tell him about how she haunted his dreams or that since meeting her he’d been so distracted he’d actually forgotten several pitch sequences, sequences he had down pat.
“Find somebody to take your mind off her,” Alex said. “My cousin Alana’s still hot for you. Or you could take your own sage advice and just mix it up on the road.”
Scotty kicked at a branch that had fallen onto the drive. “I seem to have lost my appetite for road sex.”
Alex let out a low whistle. “The women on the last road trip must’ve been disappointed.” His grin faded when he looked at Scotty. “You sure you’re the same guy who just last year told me to stick with quick flings and then gentle and mutual toss-offs? The guy who told me to focus on my game and keep relationships on the back burner?” He raised a brow. “Maybe your body got switched with some sort of gentlemanly ghost when they traded you last week.”
“Don’t remind me.” When he’d given Alex that flip advice, he hadn’t known what it meant to be obsessed. Scotty picked up the branch and tossed it into the mulch in front of a row of vines. “The vineyard’s looking good.”
“If the weather holds, we’ll have a bumper crop.” Alex crossed his arms. “Kind of a long way to come to talk about the weather.”
“She’s a professor. Teaches cosmology. I Googled her.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “She’s mighty good at it. Maybe she doesn’t even like baseball.”
Alex shook his head. “The plot thickens.”
“I watched one of her classes online. There must’ve been a hundred students at her lecture. She’s like a poet, she makes the science come alive, she—”
“Enough,” Alex said with a dramatic wave of his hands. “You’re
right, this is way beyond Sabrina’s expertise. And way beyond mine. You don’t even know if she likes you.”
“She likes me.” He was relieved when Alex didn’t ask how he knew. A couple of ball-rocking kisses and a dance didn’t exactly add up. “But I haven’t told you the worst of it. She’s Chloe McNalley. Peter McNalley’s only child.”
Alex stepped back, giving Scotty a stare he wished he could perfect on the mound. No one could get a hit off a man with a stare like that.
“Has it registered that she’s the daughter of the man who owns the team you’re playing for?” Alex said. “Starting tomorrow? And maybe worse than a bad choice for a girlfriend?”
“That’s what’s weird—it doesn’t feel like a choice. It’s like I’m possessed.”
Alex looked somber. “Wish I could tell you that you weren’t.”
“Maybe I should make an offering to the gargoyle,” Scotty said with a nod toward the drawbridge. He was only half-kidding.
“I hear it likes BMWs.” Alex grinned. When Scotty didn’t laugh, he crossed his arms and leaned back against Scotty’s car. “Better just focus on your game.”
“I saw how well that worked for you.”
Alex shrugged. They both knew it hadn’t.
Chapter Seven
Chloe stepped into the sunny offices of her father’s attorney. Funny how, since Mike Thomas had been the family attorney since before she was born, she’d never been there before. She’d seen Mike at events and often when he’d ventured out to Woodlands, the McNalley family estate, but she’d never been to his office. She had fond memories of Mike and her dad talking in the chilly winter evenings, of curling up with a book at one end of the library and listening to their passionate discussions about baseball. She especially loved those nights when Charley Kemp, the Sabers' manager, and George Ellis, then the general manager, were there too. The group would gather and talk late into the night, often forgetting that Chloe sat listening in the comfy chair in a far corner. In their stories, the game took on an almost mythic quality, with heroes and bad guys and miraculous plays and strokes of fortune. Maybe that was when she’d fallen in love with the game. It was a love that had snuck up on her.
Maybe anything worth loving always did.
The cheery office was a stark contrast to the stuffy and dark funeral parlor and the dim cathedral where they’d held her dad’s memorial. That day she’d had to speak in front of a thousand people who had come to pay their respects. She was still numb from it all and couldn’t imagine ever feeling any better. When Mike’s receptionist led her through the door leading to his private office, she felt like she was drifting in a fog.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe. You must be exhausted.” Mike motioned her to an overstuffed chair facing his desk.
“Beyond exhausted.”
“Your eulogy touched all of us. Your dad would’ve been proud.”
To her horror, she started to cry. Mike handed her a tissue from the holder on his desk.
“I’d like to have waited a few weeks for this meeting,” she heard him say as she blew her nose, “but your father’s instructions were explicit.”
“I’m okay. Let’s do this.” She tucked the tissue in her lap and straightened her spine. “There will never be a good time.”
He slid his gaze away from her. What did that mean? What news could he possibly have that could disturb or hurt her any worse than losing her father? It wasn’t like she needed more money, so her dad could’ve left it all to the Humane Society and she wouldn’t have said a word.
Mike handed her a very thick stack of papers. “You can read through these later, but I’ll just give you the bottom line, shall I?”
It wasn’t really a question. She stared at his desk, and her eyes focused on the wooden box and key that sat to one side. That box had always sat on her father’s desk in their family home. Seeing it here, out of place, made his death all too real.
Mike cleared his throat. “Essentially, everything has been willed to you.” He watched her face.
She heard the words. Nodded. Then it hit her.
“Everything? What everything? You mean Woodlands, the estate and the collections and his investments. That kind of everything, right?”
“Everything, Chloe.”
“The team?”
“Especially the team.”
“Maybe he wasn’t in his right mind.” But she knew he had been; she’d been with him to the end.
“He drew this will up two years ago.”
She shook her head. “You know I’ll have to sell it to someone who can run it—I’m a university professor, for goodness’ sake.”
“Think about it carefully before you decide. Your father was one of the wisest people I know. He’d have a good reason for wanting you at the helm.”
She wanted to say that she’d never been at the helm of anything, unless you counted a classroom. “He always thought me better than I am, Mike, you know that. I'm not suited for anything like handling the team. Except for the past three years of teaching, I've been in school nearly my whole life. It's practically all I know.”
Mike peered at her over his reading glasses, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“I’m happy in my quiet life,” she added.
Maybe she was paranoid, but she thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile. He flipped through a couple of papers, then handed her several to sign. “He asked that you keep the ownership transfer quiet until the meeting next Monday. I’ll go with you.”
Chloe had practically grown up in the Sabers’ stadium, but as she walked into the field-level concourse, the familiar aroma of hot dogs and peanuts did nothing to settle the queasiness in her stomach. Mike Thomas had left a message saying he’d been detained and would meet her at the conference room at eleven. She had twenty minutes to blow. In his message, Mike had warned her that there’d be a brief press conference after the meeting. That had agitated the butterflies already spinning in her stomach. She had little experience with the press.
She reached the door to the clubhouse and paused. She’d gone in there exactly three times. The first time was on her fifth birthday. Her mother had died earlier that year and the guys on the team had become her family—she’d wanted to celebrate with them. Her dad had alerted the team and tipped off the clubhouse manager. He’d ushered her in to an enormous cake with five candles on it, her name swirled across the icing in bold letters. That year the stadium had become her home.
The second time she’d gone into the clubhouse was after a division win. She’d been escorted by Mrs. Larson, her nanny, and escorted out before she’d had her fill of the raucous, champagne-fueled celebration. One of the guys forgot himself and had dashed out of the showers naked. Mrs. Larson had told her it was no sight for a twelve-year-old’s eyes.
The last time she’d visited was with her dad two years prior, the night the Sabers won the World Series. They’d swept it, shocking everyone. Everyone except her dad and Charley Kemp, the team’s beloved manager. That time there’d been a special section taped off for press interviews and for family and friends. It was ceremony and pomp. The players had kept their clothes on. In the world of Tumblr and Instagram, it had been no time to show skin.
She stood, staring at the clubhouse door. She certainly wouldn’t be going in there now.
She turned up the tunnel and walked toward the field. She loved the sounds of the ballpark. Except on rare occasions, it sounded like joy and enthusiasm, delight and possibility. This afternoon it sounded like batting practice. The crowd was just beginning to filter in, and she heard the boisterous laughs of the players as they tuned up their bodies and prepped for the game.
If she hadn’t done her homework and studied the roster over the past few days, she wouldn’t have known much about the team. She’d had to review last year’s video footage just to get a sense of the season—she was teaching and hadn’t had time to watch more than a few games. Maybe her dad was right; maybe she had been buried too deep in he
r work at the university. Now she wished she’d made the time to sit with him and watch the games, enjoying what he so dearly loved. But regret was a nasty beast and wishing wasn’t going to change anything. She had a job to do.
She stepped out into the light and saw Scotty. She knew he’d be there; the news of his trade had stunned the Bay Area. But it couldn’t have stunned anybody as much as it had her. It’d been a surprise trade, just days before her dad died. Dick Fisher, the general manager, must’ve had his reasons. And the Sabers needed another starting pitcher, a pitcher who could pitch to both sides of the plate. What team didn’t?
She’d prepared herself for this moment, running it in her mind.
Scotty stood off to one side of the batting cage, talking with a man she assumed was the hitting coach. Scotty had told her he didn’t hit well. Even if he hadn’t, one look at the face of the hitting coach would’ve told her anyway.
Scotty looked her way, and a puzzled smile curved across his face. She saw him check it, flatten it, as the awareness of her presence spread through the players and created a stir on the field. She just wanted to watch, but she should’ve known the players would want to offer their condolences. Several of them joined her and shook her hand, tipped their caps and said kind words she knew she wouldn’t remember. She couldn’t take it; it was too fresh, his death and her grief. Too close to the surface so that everything and anything touched on her loss, stirring her emotions. The memorial the previous week had been hard enough, but Chloe wasn’t prepared for the little day-to-day reminders that punched a hole in her heart.
