Sit, Stay, Love

by Dana Mentink

  Tom gripped the wheel. “No way, Crawford. Gonna get lots of new followers with these photos. Nothing you can do about it.”

  Cal banged a palm on the locked door. “These are kids, not photo ops.”

  “So noble, Cal.” Peterson’s eyes went hard and flat. “You’re living the life I was meant to have. The least you can do is share some of the fame.”

  “Not at the expense of these kids.” Cal yanked again on the door handle, but Peterson stomped the gas, forcing a tight turn that made the wheels squeal. Cal’s mouth went dry. Tippy stood directly in Peterson’s path, tail wagging as she stared at the vehicle that was about to run her down.

  “Move, Tippy,” Cal hollered.

  Tippy remained, tail whipping back and forth, sides heaving with excitement.

  Nerves on fire, he leapt forward, but he could not get there fast enough. Wheels squealed and he lost sight of Tippy. The van surged forward. She would be crushed, the old dog. Panic filled him. He stumbled on, though he knew he would not be able to save her. Through the dusty windshield he saw someone run out from the warehouse.

  His stomach dropped as Gina darted into the path of the oncoming vehicle.

  “Gina,” he shouted over the roar of the engine. Then he almost tripped, catching himself before he fell. Plumes of dust filled the air. With a roar and ping of gravel, the van sped away down the dirt road.

  He staggered forward, throat thick with fear. Had he heard a bump? A cry? Or was it the pounding of his own heart? Dust swirled in choking clouds before it began to recede.

  “Please, God… ” he said.

  Slowly, the billows subsided, inch by inch.

  Silhouetted by the sunlight Gina stood there clutching Tippy, panting as tears spilled down her face.

  He ran to her. “Gina!”

  She only cried harder, sobs that wrenched out of her. He scanned for blood, bruises. He saw only a rip at the knee of her jeans, the skin scraped underneath.

  “Please,” he said, catching her face in his hands. “Please, Gina. Tell me. Are you hurt?”

  Green eyes shimmered back at him, so full of life and emotion. He stroked the satin skin of her cheeks, calming her, calming himself. “Are you hurt?” he repeated.

  Gulping, she shook her head. “He… he almost ran us over.” Another swallow. “I only just got Tippy in time.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers, letting the relief soak in, Tippy wriggling under her arm, poking her cold nose under his chin. They were unhurt, both Gina and Tippy. “I’m sorry, Gina,” he whispered. “Oh honey, I’m sorry.”

  “Why would he do that?” Her lower lip trembled. “Why?”

  He pulled them to his chest, Tippy taking the opportunity to nuzzle his ear.

  “He’s crazy,” Cal murmured. “But you’re safe. You and Tippy are safe.” Thank You, God. He held her closer to reassure himself that he spoke the truth, smoothing his hand along her back and shoulders, traveling the length of her silky ponytail.

  “Why am I crying?” she sobbed.

  “Just the shock of what happened. It’s okay. The crying will help you feel better.” It was certainly making him feel better to have her tucked in his arms, warm and safe. He wanted to keep her there, he realized, with a sudden lurch of his unreasonable heart. He should let her go, but what kind of man would he be to push away a distraught woman? So warm, so soft.

  She cried on his shirt until people began to spill from the warehouse.

  “What happened?” Oscar demanded.

  “That crazy guy in the van almost ran Gina and Tippy over,” Sweets said. “I saw it all through the door.”

  Oscar’s mouth cemented into a tight line. “He’s lucky he got out of here when he did.”

  “Here now.” Sweets reached out. “Let me take that annoying dog and you go sit on the bench for a minute, Gina. Take her over there, Cal. Right now. I’m going to get a bottle of cold water and a Band-Aid for her knee.”

  Cal led her to the bench, arm around her shoulders. She sucked in deep breaths and he dried her tears with the sleeve of his shirt. He wondered what he should say, but since he couldn’t decide on anything he stayed quiet, keeping her in his embrace, feeling rather than seeing the tempo of her body slow, her breathing calm.

  How close she had been to the front of the bumper. His stomach clenched. Too close.

  “Tippy’s an okay dog,” he finally said. “But I don’t want you getting hurt to protect her.”

  Gina sighed. “I know. It was dumb. But she was just standing there with that silly look on her face and I couldn’t let him run her over, could I?” She beamed him an indignant look.

  He squeezed. “No, I guess you couldn’t, but still… you scared me.”

  “I scared myself. I didn’t think I could run so fast. I mean I eat doughnuts and walk dogs. I’m not exactly an athlete.”

  He could not help pressing a kiss to her temple. “You were today. Champion sprint. Never seen better.”

  Sweets arrived with a small first aid kit and a bottle of water. “I’m going to have them start serving lunch to get us back on track.” She patted Gina’s cheek. “I’m so sorry about that nutty man. He’d better not come back because I see the same look on both Oscar and Cal’s faces, and both of them know how to use a baseball bat.” She shivered as she hustled away.

  Cal didn’t know what exactly his aunt saw in his expression, but he knew Peterson had better not come within spitting distance of Gina or Tippy. Ever again. Something very close to fury bubbled in his gut. Cal was not a man easily angered. His mother used to say his temper was like Halley’s Comet, infrequent but hard to forget. And now, in the space of two days, he’d gotten angrier than he’d been in years. Maybe it was time to sell the ranch. It was stirring up all kinds of emotions, including a warm tug in his heart he didn’t understand when he looked at Gina. She was the dog sitter, and not long ago she was ready to throttle him. What had changed?

  To cover his confusion, he took a cotton ball from the first aid kit and squirted on some disinfectant while she rolled up the leg of her jeans.

  “It’s gonna sting.”

  She held up her chin. “I can take it. I cry a lot, but I’m tough.”

  “That’s true.” He dabbed the scrape clean and applied the bandage, carefully smoothing it into place. “Better?”

  She nodded. “I feel silly for crying. I mean, it turned out okay. I can’t understand how someone could run over Tippy. How could someone hurt a geriatric dog without a menacing bone in her body?”

  “There are some not-so-nice people in the world, Gina.”

  She bit her lip. “I’ve never been very good at realizing people have bad intentions. I always assume they mean well. I’m naive. I’ve got to get more cynical.”

  He sat back on the bench and offered her the water. “You’re you. My mom would say you’re just supposed to be the best you God made you to be.”

  She smiled and he saw one tear glimmering on her cheekbone like a fallen star. “I think I would have liked your mother.”

  He reached out and brushed the tear away. “She would have liked you, too.” He leaned forward, toward the pink perfection of her lips. They would be soft and warm and connect him to this woman who whirled into his life like a wild fast pitch. So close, her eyes were on his, so green. Another inch closer.

  What are you doing? his brain screamed. But he could not stop himself. His mouth almost touched hers when she put a hand on his cheek, stopping him. He blinked, disoriented. Of course she was right. Back off, right now.

  He did, bolting to his feet. “Looks like the hot dogs are ready. Are you hungry?”

  She nodded, standing up.

  What did she think of his attempted kiss? A friendly gesture? A friend comforting a friend? He swallowed hard, trying to come up with something to say. “Eggs for breakfast and hot dogs for lunch. This isn’t exactly the regimen of champions.”

  “Babe Ruth ate three hot dogs before every game,” she said.

&nbs
p; Cal’s eyes went wide. “How’d you know that?”

  “I read it in a book in your room. Baseball Heroes On and Off the Field.”

  “You’re boning up on your baseball knowledge?”

  “Yes, and did you know that Pitcher Jim Abbott was born without a right hand and had a ten-season baseball career, including throwing a no-hitter for the New York Yankees?”

  Cal was out and out staring now. “I forgot about that one.”

  “Page ten in Baseball Brainbenders. Tippy and I have been studying, but I am a better student than she is because I don’t fall asleep mid-chapter.” She stood and waved at Sweets, who was calling them over to the picnic table, wincing as she flexed her scraped knee. “Man, those hot dogs smell good. Ready to get one with me?” She stood there in the sunlight, ripped jeans, hair mussed, cheeks still pink from crying.

  He found that there was nothing else in the world he would rather do than eat a hot dog with Gina Palmer. Just keep your kisses to yourself and everything will be okay. He tucked her arm in his and headed toward lunch.

  In spite of the Peterson intrusion, Gina enjoyed tossing beanbags and inflating balloons for the kids to play with while simultaneously keeping Tippy from popping them. She was sorry when the parents began to pack up and load their kids back into their cars in the late afternoon. Tippy was too tired to do much more than snore in her lap on the way back to the ranch, legs twitching as she dreamed about the fun she’d had. Cal was quiet and for that, Gina was grateful. Her stomach still fluttered, not over what had happened with the van, but on the bench, after. Cal had leaned in to kiss her. The idea filled her with a battery of conflicting emotions—tenderness, trepidation, anxiety, and angst. Did she want him to kiss her? Yes. And no. Her attraction and feelings for Cal were definitely growing every moment, but his life was not hers, his world a universe away. She was going to be a teacher, and besides, after Bill, she wasn’t in the market for a romance. Was she? Her thoughts bumped along with the ride.

  This time, Sweets allowed Cal to grill some steaks, though she insisted on fixing fried potatoes and her top-secret coleslaw recipe to go along with the meal. Cal stuck with the steak and mournfully passed on the coleslaw. Gina had no such reserve and enjoyed every bit of the fare. Cal again abstained from dessert, this time peach ice cream which Sweets procured from their freezer at home.

  When the dishes were dried and Sweets and Oscar gone home for the night, Cal sat on the floor while Tippy ate her kibble.

  “You know we can’t keep this up, right dog?”

  But Tippy did not look at all worried about losing her dining companion. He stayed until Tippy had gobbled the food and licked the bowl clean.

  They wandered into the parlor, chatting easily about the day. Cal sprawled on the sofa, Tippy jammed against his muscular thigh. Gina settled in the chair next to the sofa and pulled her feet up underneath her.

  “Did you know your uncle was coaching a beep ball team?”

  “I didn’t even know there was such a thing as beep ball. I’m blown away.” He chuckled. “Not surprised he’s involved. They need a better place to practice, though.” He sighed. “Don’t suppose Uncle Oscar is going to let me help out with that.”

  “Because he’s proud?”

  “Stubborn.”

  “Almost as stubborn as you?”

  He grinned and then it faded away. “Got to get the study packed tomorrow. Almost time to head back to San Francisco.”

  “Would it help if I finished boxing up your mother’s bedroom? There isn’t too much left, really. It would be easy for me to do.”

  He looked out the window. “I should do it.”

  “I don’t think she would’ve minded if you had help.”

  His gaze swiveled back to her. “You think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “She has a ton of shoes. I didn’t see her in much besides her old boots, but she collected a mess of shoes. I don’t know why.”

  “It’s okay. How about I box them and then you could send them out for donation, or keep them for a while until you sell the ranch.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  Such a soft syllable, tender and longing.

  “Because we’re friends.”

  Now it was his turn to give her a wondering nod, brown eyes quizzical. “I thought I was a heartless egomaniac.”

  “I thought you were too, but I’ve reconsidered.” She was not sure exactly how the shift had come about. Was it the moment when he had not been able to leave Tippy at the pound? The way he’d treated the children at the beep ball game? Tried to comfort her after the van incident? Or all the up and down moments in between?

  He reached for her hand and grazed her knuckles with his lips. Then he rested his cheek there, his stubble tickling her fingers. “Thank you,” he said, in a voice so low she almost didn’t hear. “I don’t deserve a friend like that.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. She allowed him to keep her hand there for a moment, before she remembered. He was a man, a famous athlete, dealing with pressures and stresses she could not hope to understand. She would serve him as an employer, support him as a friend, but that was all. Her heart had too recently been flayed open to allow for anything else. Remember Gina? Not in the market for a romance. Gently, she pulled away.

  “I’m going to fill up Tippy’s water bowl in case she gets thirsty tonight.”

  He nodded, watching her go.

  Her knee stung as she bent to replace the filled bowl. She remembered the feel of Cal’s forehead pressed against hers, the tingle of his touch on her face and the worry in his eyes.

  Was that the touch of a friend?

  Yes, she decided. A friend.

  Oh, honey, I’m sorry. She’d heard that before. Recently.

  She walked to the parlor to say goodnight and found Cal asleep, one arm thrown over his head as if he was winding up for a pitch. The lamplight blurred out the bruises and the blackened eye, gentled his mouth and the worry lines on his forehead. Tippy was curled up on his stomach now, eyes closed, snoring softly. She could not resist. Gently she leaned over and pressed her lips to Cal’s forehead. One kiss. That was all.

  Tiptoeing, she pulled a blanket over them both and turned out the light before she left.

  Eleven

  He packed with stoic determination. Files for the lawyers ready to be faxed in one stack. A box of trinkets, Mom’s Bibles, a pair of fuzzy green socks and framed photos in the other. He approached it like a pitch, mechanical, precise, no room for emotion, a job to be done. Sweets and Oscar stopped by to help and fix breakfast, both of which he politely declined.

  “You’re going to be too skinny to throw a fit, much less a baseball,” Sweets said. “I’m leaving you a meatloaf sandwich in the fridge for your lunch.”

  He thanked her and soldiered on.

  His cell rang at a little after one, as he finished the last bite of meatloaf sandwich.

  “Are you still at the ranch?” Pete said, skipping the customary pleasantries.

  “Yeah. Are you going to let me…?”

  “No,” Pete said, cutting him off. “You’re still not pitching until the docs have checked you out.”

  Cal huffed. “Why are you calling then?”

  “You haven’t been online recently?”

  He looked up to find Gina standing in the doorway, eyes wide, holding up her phone and pointing. “I haven’t been looking. Why?” He took the phone from Gina and glanced at the pictures. There he was again, the subject of a trending Tweet, this time the photo capturing him on his back after sliding into the beep ball goal, Tippy slurping him under the chin. Tom Peterson had made good on his word.

  He groaned.

  “It’s been retweeted over ten thousand times,” Pete said. “You and Tippy are a sensation.”

  Cal could hear the laughter in Pete’s voice. He could not find words. It was official. He was now the laughingstock of Major League Baseba
ll.

  Gina was mouthing something.

  “What?”

  “The comments are really nice,” she whispered. “And you’re smiling and everything.”

  Swell. Now Pete was outright laughing into the phone. “Skipper said he didn’t think you knew how to smile.”

  “I’m glad to be the source of all this amusement. You called to laugh at me then?”

  Gina must have realized the call wasn’t going well because she stepped back out into the hallway.

  “Not at you, with you,” Pete said, “and to tell you to bring Tippy along to Scottsdale next week.”

  Cal shook his head. He’d heard wrong, or he was actually dreaming the whole scenario. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. The PR people think Tippy is just the thing to draw a crowd to spring training.”

  “Pete, listen carefully. I am not putting that dog on a plane and taking her to training camp.”

  “Fine. Then have Gina come and bring the dog. Gina’s easier on the eyes anyway. You need all the positive press you can get and the fans want to see Tippy. You’ll do some meet and greets together. Let the kids pet the dog while you sign autographs. It will be a hoot.”

  “But… ”

  “See you when you get back into town.”

  “But… ” He found he was talking to no one. Had he really been ordered to bring the nutty dog to training camp? Could they make him do that?

  Gina stood hesitantly in the doorway. “Umm, I’ve mostly finished packing the bedroom.” She paused. “I’ll just… come back later and you can tell me how you want the boxes sorted out.”

  He let her go.

  Spring training was his chance to regroup, to reestablish himself as the best pitcher in Major League Baseball. It was time to put his redemption in action. Was he expected to bring two of the biggest possible distractions along with him for the sake of some publicity shots? No, he decided. He would not comply. There was nothing in his contract that said he was required to make appearances with an animal. And as for Gina… he felt again the satin of her skin on his fingertips, the delicious tension in his gut whenever she beamed that smile on him.