Sit, Stay, Love

by Dana Mentink

  “You’re our ace, like I said.”

  “After last season… ”

  “You’ve got it back, Big Shot. Congratulations.”

  Pete wrapped him in a bear hug and he clung to his mentor. He’d done it. Redeemed himself to the point where he’d been given the matchless honor of being the starting pitcher on Opening Day. Shocks of pleasure jolted through his nerves.

  “So,” Pete said, letting him go. “We’ve got reserved seats for your uncle and aunt and Gina and Tippy. You tell ’em to rest up for opening day, huh?”

  Cal’s stomach squeezed, pinching off the elation. “Yeah. I’ll tell them.”

  Pete slouched off back to the game. Cal had the odd sense as he stood there that he was being pulled between two worlds. Down the tunnel led back to the ranch, his family, his duty. In the other direction was the ball field, his pleasure, his nemesis, a place to show off his God-given talent. If God had given him both, as he knew his mother would have said, why was he so torn between the two?

  Gina stood waiting at the end of the tunnel wearing a backpack, leash in one hand connecting her to a wriggling Tippy who pawed at Cal’s shins when he approached.

  He dropped to one knee and stroked the dog. He noticed gray hair on her muzzle and some rigidity in her back legs. “She’s stiff. What happened?”

  Gina cocked her head. “She’s been that way since I’ve known her. It’s arthritis. We’re giving her medicine for it. I’m going to write it all down for Mitch.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  As they made their way to Gina’s banged-up Volvo, he told her about the honor Pete had bestowed on him.

  “That’s awesome, Cal. The Falcons’ people asked me and Tippy to be there on Opening Day, but I didn’t know you would be starting the whole season.”

  He felt a tingle of pleasure. “Will you come then?”

  She shook her head, not meeting his eye. “I’m sure I’ll have a job by then. Maybe your aunt and uncle can bring Tippy.”

  When he didn’t respond, she stopped and took his hand. “It means a lot to you, I can tell. I just know your aunt and uncle will be there to cheer you on.”

  Would they? The message had been concise.

  Sweets fell and fractured her ankle. Pneumonia set in. They didn’t want to tell you because of training. I’m staying at the ranch to drive Oscar back and forth. I know you won’t like it, but there’s no one else. Didn’t want you to be surprised. Mitch

  “She’s weak from all the treatments,” Cal said.

  “I’ve been praying for her.”

  She looked at him with those green eyes, the sweet mouth, sincerity and faith twined together in one incredibly lovely face. He pulled her to him, and then he found himself pressing a kiss to her lips. The feeling inside was like nothing else, like his mouth had been born to kiss hers, his arms made to embrace her delicate shoulders and all of his senses coming to life because of Gina. Different feeling from baseball, when the roar of forty thousand fans made the ground vibrate under his feet. This sensation was something gentler, deeper, permeating every cell in his body.

  His brain shouted out a cease and desist, but his heart would not obey and held her to him until she pulled back, eyes wide, lips parted.

  “Cal… ”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, quickly releasing her. “I… don’t know why I did that. I apologize.”

  “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You’ve got a lot on your mind and your heart.”

  They continued their walk to her car, his mind reeling from what he’d just done. Why? How? What had he been thinking? She was leaving, walking out of his life. There was no feasibility or logic in kissing Gina.

  He walked on in silence and when Tippy began to tire, he snatched her up. The solid warmth of her comforted him. They’d decided Gina would take Tippy back to San Francisco, and he’d figure out the logistics of handing her over to his father later after Sweets was released. Gina promised to write down all the instructions for Mitch, everything from where to get baby socks to the necessity of keeping car keys out of her reach.

  Would Tippy miss Cal and Gina? Did dogs miss people? He remembered Tippy’s mournful howl when she’d settled onto his mother’s bed.

  Oh yes, he thought, they do. He hauled in a breath. “Do you think her collar is too tight?”

  “No. It’s just right.”

  “Her nails seem long.”

  “I just trimmed them yesterday.”

  “Maybe we should wait until after Opening Day to return Tippy to my father.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s used to being with you. You need time to explain it to her and all that.”

  Gina’s mouth quirked.

  Explain it? To a dog? Had he really just said that? He was losing his mind.

  “Then who will take care of her when I get a teaching job?” Her eyes narrowed. “I am going to get a teaching job, Cal, without Bill’s help or anybody else’s. I have to be prepared to start at a moment’s notice. I could get a long-term sub job at any time.”

  He nodded, determined not to say anything else that might brand him as a halfwit.

  They finally arrived at her car.

  She opened the passenger side door. “You’ll have to ride with Tippy on your lap. There’s no room for your long legs in back unless you stick them out the window.”

  “I could drive,” he suggested hopefully.

  “No, you can’t,” she said calmly. “This is my car and I’m driving. Besides, you need to ride shotgun and keep an eye out for stalkers, right? We’ll be at the airport in no time. You’ll make your flight, don’t worry.”

  “Right,” he said dubiously, folding himself into the front seat while Tippy wriggled to find a comfortable position on his lap. His knees skimmed the dashboard.

  Gina’s phone rang and she answered. “But I paid the bill,” she said after a moment. “No, I most certainly did not rent any movies of that nature. Listen to me… ”

  Five minutes later, she stabbed the phone off. “I have to stop at my hotel. They’re implying I’ve been having wild movie parties and dialing Tibet or something. They’re going to charge my credit card.”

  “It’s on my credit card,” he said. “I’ll eat the charges.”

  “You most certainly will not, Mr. Crawford. It’s the principle of the thing.”

  He wouldn’t mention it, but he found her flared nostrils and the proud tilt to her chin adorable.

  She pulled into the hotel parking lot. The temperature had already climbed. “Can you let Tippy sit in the shade while you wait? This will just take a minute.”

  With some effort, he extracted himself from the car and took Tippy’s leash, guiding her to a shady seating area. He tucked the handle of the leash around the leg of a lawn chair. Tippy waggled her behind and set off to commence the sniffing. He pulled out his cell phone to see if there were any messages from Oscar or Sweets. Nothing. He had not told them he was coming and he did not know what to expect when he showed up.

  Anger for intruding? Fear in Sweets’s face that she would not recover?

  Didn’t matter what he’d find. He’d missed too many visits with his mom until it was too late. Besides, he thought, teeth grinding, he had to arrange for someone else to care for them—someone besides Mitch Crawford.

  Tippy crept along the edge of the grass as Cal stood lost in thought. She snuffled, ears perked. “Don’t get too excited, old girl. We’re getting back into the car in a minute.” Tippy suddenly barked, yanking the leash from under the chair. She raced around the corner of the building where a tangle of shrubs shaded the stucco. He put away his phone and jogged after her.

  “Tippy, come here,” he grumbled. “It’s too hot to chase squirrels.”

  He heard the jangling of her collar up ahead as he pushed past some purple flowering plants. “Come, Tippy,” he tried again. “Well behaved dogs come when they’re called, you know.”

  He listened for the sound of her return and heard nothi
ng. “So much for well behaved.” He elbowed past the branches and they caught at his shirt. Emerging into the front parking lot, he blinked, brushing the leaves off his shoulders. “Tippy,” he called again. The crazy dog was going to get herself run over by a car. He called louder. Where had the dorky dog gotten to?

  And then his feet caught on something.

  Tippy’s collar and leash, lying on the cement outside the lobby door.

  Seventeen

  Gina was pale as milk as they sat in an empty reception room talking to a cop.

  “He took her,” she said. “Tom Peterson. I know it was him. He called and pretended to be the hotel desk. It was a ploy to snatch Tippy.”

  Cal looked up from his helpless pacing and nodded. “The guy’s been stalking me for years. He’s obsessed with Gina and Tippy.”

  “You have to find her,” Gina said to the cop. “She’s old. And a picky eater. And she has no common sense whatsoever. She snatches car keys and chews on hairbrushes. She’s not street savvy at all.”

  To his credit, the officer, who had introduced himself as Sergeant Flores, did not crack a smile. “We’ve got people looking already from PD and animal control and we’ll watch the pound, too, just in case she managed to get her collar off by herself and someone turns her in.”

  “She didn’t take off her collar,” Gina insisted, near tears. “It’s a Bowser Built Special LightWeight Leather Superdog model with a handmade, sturdy buckle. I picked it out myself. I can hardly get it unbuckled and I have fingers. Cal had to help the first time.”

  “If somebody did take her… ” Flores said.

  “They did,” Gina insisted. “You’ve got to believe me. Please. This is a dog abduction.”

  Flores’s pen paused over his notebook. “What would the motive be? Ransom?”

  Cal held up his hands, stomach in knots worse than before his first major league start. “I don’t know, but I’ll pay to get that dog back. She’s… ” He cleared his throat. “Well, I want her back, that’s all. The only person I know who actively despises the dog is Harvey, the Falcons’ mascot, but he wouldn’t take her.”

  “We’ll check anyway.” Flores took a few more notes and gave them his cell number after taking theirs.

  “We’ll keep you posted,” he promised as he left. “We’ll do everything we can to bring Tippy home.”

  Marg, the manager, wrung her hands. “I can’t believe this. A dognapping. Please stay here until the situation is resolved. On the house. My bellman is already printing flyers to put up all over town. We all love that dog.”

  Gina thanked her.

  “Should I have a room prepared then?” Marg said.

  Gina shrugged helplessly. “I guess so. I can’t bear to go back to San Francisco if I don’t know… until we get her back.”

  She looked at Cal. He took her hand and they returned to the shady nook where he’d lost Tippy. She held the leash in her shaking fingers.

  “It’s my fault,” he said. “I should have been watching her closer.”

  “Why did you let go of her leash?” Gina asked.

  “Because I… ” He groaned, guilt crashing over him. “No excuses. I was careless.”

  She gripped his hand as they walked back to the car. The whole disaster had taken so long he’d missed his flight. He got a message that he was expected to make a statement to the press back at Scottsdale Stadium, so he and Gina dutifully returned.

  “Awww man,” Pete said, as he walked with them up to the cameras. “Who would snatch Tippy? Man, oh man,” he said and Cal heard a catch in his voice. “A nice dog like that.”

  He gripped Gina around the shoulders. “Don’t you worry now, honey. Cal has a million fans. One of them will spot that dog and we’ll get her back. You’ll see.”

  Gina nodded, but Cal saw her lower lip quiver.

  They stood in front of a microphone and a sea of reporters with cameras flashing. Gina shrank behind him. He’d forgotten this was not the kind of attention she was used to. In truth he’d never quite gotten used to it either. He read the prepared script that he’d hammered out with the Falcons’ PR person and thanked the media and public for their help. Hands immediately shot up.

  “Do you think this is an effort to throw you off your game, Mr. Crawford?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What about you, Ms. Palmer?” a reporter called out. “Do you have any idea why someone might have snatched the dog?”

  They had already been told not to mention Tom’s name, so Gina settled for a nervous head shake. Camera flashes continued to go off.

  “Has there been any contact from the dognappers?”

  “No, not at this time,” Cal said.

  “How will this affect your pitching, Cal?” a reporter in the back said. “Any worries that you’ll start to slump again?”

  “I don’t know what other people are worrying about. I just want my dog back.”

  “Are you concerned that the dognapper will hurt Tippy?”

  The question seemed to hang in the air. He heard Gina suck in a breath.

  A man in the back stood up and fired off a question. “Is this retaliation from someone who was angered that you were ready to leave Tippy at the pound not long ago?”

  The accusation sent a pain through his gut. Could he have really been thinking straight when he planned to dump Tippy? How had the animal gone from an “it” to a “she” that made him smile even when she was taking off with his car keys or chewing his hoodie to shreds? “That was a mistake,” he said finally.

  “But… ” the reporter continued.

  “Look. Tippy never did anything to anybody. Whatever mistakes I’ve made, she doesn’t deserve to pay for them. I want my dog back. That’s all I’ve got to say.” He looked right at the camera. “Please just give Tippy back,” he said.

  He took Gina’s hand and pulled her through the throng and out the back door. Inside he heard the hubbub of voices, the calm pronouncement of the team manager referring questions or tips to the hotline the police had set up.

  He wasn’t sure where he was going except that he had to get out of there before he lost control. Gina was sniffling and he did not want to see her break into hysterics on national television, where the clip would find its way into soundbites and Internet sports sites. They didn’t stop moving until they got to her car. This time he didn’t hesitate, getting behind the wheel, racking the seat back as far as it would go, and taking off at a speed approaching reckless.

  He watched her profile, hair flying in the breeze from the open window, her lips twisted in worry, sweet, sincere. He wanted to kiss them again, to take her sadness on him where it belonged.

  “What are we going to do, Cal?”

  “I’m not sure.” He realized he was scouring the bushes as they drove, expecting Tippy to waddle out from underneath the nearest clump of foliage. The sun was mellowing into the horizon, leaving the sky a swirl of sherbet orange. It was getting late. “Let’s sort it out in the morning. I’ll take you back to your hotel for tonight and then I’m going to do my own search.” He felt a rush of irrational fear, as if she too would vanish out his life just as abruptly as Tippy had done. Don’t lose your mind, Cal.

  A mile later, Gina’s phone rang. It was Marg.

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Palmer, but we’re surrounded. There are reporters camped out in the front parking lot and the back, too. I think they’re hoping to get a quote from you or something. I’ve asked them to leave, but they just move across the street and start filming with their zoom lenses.”

  “Thanks, Marg.” Gina groaned as she hung up. “I just can’t face that, Cal. I’m going to start blubbering. I just know it. I’m the world’s ugliest crier. My face gets all blotchy and my lips swell. I look like a blowfish.”

  Hiding a smile, he pulled over to the shoulder of the road, let the engine idle, and took her hand until a thought dawned on him. The perfect solution, albeit a temporary one.

  “Let’s drive to the ranch. Ther
e won’t be any reporters there and you can stay until we hear something about Tippy.”

  Her eyes were wide pools of emerald in the late afternoon sunlight. “Drive all the way? Right now? Don’t you want to fly?”

  “I’m not going to fly unless you are.”

  She shuddered, blanching. “I can’t.”

  “Fine. We’ll drive.”

  “I can drive myself. I’ll be okay. You can fly if you want to.”

  “I don’t want you driving alone, not when you’re upset.” He quirked a smile at her. “You’re not that good a driver even when you’re not upset.”

  He earned a laugh then and a slow nod. “I’m going to the ranch anyway, so it makes sense.”

  “Well, okay. I guess that’s the best option right now.”

  He pulled onto the road again and headed for the freeway.

  “Cal?” she said in a very small voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t think anyone would… I mean, she’s an old dog and a gentle soul. No one could possibly… ”

  He gripped her hand. “We’ll get her back, Gina. Don’t worry.”

  As the miles passed they fell into silence, and he found himself praying that his words could be true.

  They took turns sleeping and driving. Gina fell asleep after they stopped for gas on the last leg of the trip and didn’t wake up again until the car bumped up the steep drive to the ranch in the early Wednesday morning hours. She sat up, dazed, as Cal opened the door for her. Trying to unkink her neck, she got out, his steadying hand on her arm. It took her a moment to remember that Tippy had been snatched. Her heart lurched. Where was she? Had her captor made sure she’d been fed? Been given water? She imagined Tippy left outside chained in the sun. With Arizona temperatures…

  “Have there been any calls?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.” They headed into the kitchen and Cal stopped dead. Mitch sat at the table, eating a bologna sandwich. He did not look surprised to see them.

  “Hello. I wasn’t sure if you’d come, or when.”

  Gina’s heart squeezed. “Mr. Crawford.” She shot a look at Cal, but he was staring moodily with no sign of engaging in conversation. “You need to know. Someone has taken Tippy.”