by Roz Lee
Tony took a deep breath and stepped into the batter’s box. “I’ve got a bit of a problem. I’m hoping it won’t evolve into a public scandal, but there is a possibility it will. I thought I’d better give you a heads up, just in case.”
The older man sat forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “What sort of problem are we talking about?”
“I’m sure you’re aware of Bases Loaded, the not so secret club?”
He nodded. “I’ve heard of it. The members do a good job of keeping it quiet, but if you spend any time at all in the clubhouse, you hear things.”
“Yeah, well…I’m a member. I have been since my first year in the Majors.”
Doyle sat back, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. It was a relaxed pose, but there was nothing relaxed about the man. “Not news to me.”
Tony raised his eyebrows at the statement. He’d suspected Doyle knew of his involvement with the club since the night of Jason’s fundraiser when he’d warned him to be on his best behavior with Clare. Knowing now about their family relationship, Doyle’s comments made more sense.
“Apparently, you aren’t the only person in Dallas who knows. There’s someone else, and I’m not sure they’re going to keep it to themselves.”
“One of my players?”
“No. A fan. I’ve heard through a third party she’s been to one of the club meetings…and she insinuated the same to me while implying she knows of my membership. She’s not a nice person, and until I came here, I’d never seen her before, but she seems to have an agenda.”
“What kind of agenda?”
“I haven’t got a clue. She’s been…unkind…to a female friend of mine. I think seeing this woman with me has set the crazy woman off.”
“Jealousy?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. As I said, I’d never met the woman until I came here. She doesn’t like the woman I’ve been dating. That much I know for certain. If she does anything, it will be to hurt my girlfriend. Unfortunately, the Mustangs could become collateral damage.”
Doyle propped one elbow on the arm of his chair and stroked his thumb over his bottom lip. Tony had seen the gesture a million times. It was team manager sign language for I’m thinking.
The tension in the room seemed like a living, breathing thing. Silence stretched between them.
“This girlfriend of yours. Would she by any chance be Clare Kincaid?” Doyle asked.
Yep. He would be hawking peanuts and hot dogs for a living. It beat selling insurance in Brooklyn. “Yes, sir. I understand she’s your niece.”
Doyle’s eyebrows rose. “She told you that?”
“No. This witch of a woman told me. Recently, I might add.”
“How recently?”
“Last Sunday.” Tony related the official story—that he and Clare had gone skiing over the Thanksgiving holiday, ending with the scene at the airport.
“Does this woman have a name?”
“Jessica Roach. Clare says she attends most of the local charity events.”
Doyle stood and paced to the window overlooking the field. He crossed his arms over his chest, stretching starched white fabric across his shoulders and back. Tony remained where he was, hardly daring to breath. At least he was still alive.
“I know her.” Doyle turned, sat on the wide ledge spanning the length of the window. “She dated one of my players a few years ago. Traded him to Minnesota.”
Tony didn’t have a clue what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t mind cold weather, but Minnesota was beyond cold, and he did not want his career to end playing on frozen tundra.
“Before the trade, he dated Clare for a while. Not long. I think they went out a few times—nothing serious.”
“That could explain why she goes out of her way to make Clare’s life miserable.”
“It could. Tell me, Tony. What is the nature of your relationship with my niece?”
Here’s where it could get dicey, but he decided before coming to see her uncle, honesty was his only option. “I’m in love with her, sir. And I think she loves me, too, but at the moment…she isn’t speaking to me.”
Doyle smiled. “Pissed her off?”
“Yes, sir. I wasn’t as understanding as I could have been when I found out she was your niece.”
“She knows about this club you’re a member of?”
“She does.”
He nodded. Sitting there with his back to the field, his arms and ankles crossed, he looked every inch the formidable manager he could be during a game. He had a reputation for being fair on and off the field. Tony prayed it was true.
“What happens to her if Ms. Roach goes public with this knowledge she has?”
“She would be caught in the middle of a nasty scandal.” He scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion. “The thing is, all Jessica has is second-hand knowledge of my involvement in the club. When she…was there…I wasn’t. Without divulging what goes on within the club, I can say she and I were never in the same place at the same time. She seems to believe I’m a member, but she couldn’t possibly have proof.”
“Is there proof?”
“I have a tattoo.”
“The baseball field? Bases Loaded under home plate?”
“That’s the one.”
“Generic enough for a baseball player. It can be explained away.”
“That’s the idea, sir. We…the members…try to be discreet, but when there are women involved….”
“You can’t always insure they’ll keep your secret.”
“That’s the way of it.”
“I take it there are women who can vouch, with certainty, for your involvement?
“Yes, sir. Quite a few.”
Clare’s uncle fell silent again. Tony studied the bowl of baseballs in front of him. He could see autographs on a few. He picked one up, turned it over to see the signature.”
“Home run balls,” Doyle said. “I collect them.”
Tony nodded. “Nice collection. Some big names in here.” He placed the ball carefully back on top.
“I think I have one of yours from a few seasons back. It’s one I didn’t have to buy. You hit it into center field,” he said, pointing over his shoulder, “right out there. It landed under the scoreboard, out of reach of the fans. That’s when I decided I wanted you to play for us. I had to wait until you were a free agent, but I got you.”
He remembered that one. Someone brought the ball to the clubhouse for him to sign after the game. Now, he knew where it had gone.
“And I’m glad to be here. I want to stay here.” Tony stood. Perhaps he might walk out of here still employed, and alive. “I love Clare. I want to marry her. If I can get her to talk to me again, I think I know a way to keep this Roach lady quiet. It will take Clare’s cooperation, but I think it might work.”
“What kind of plan are we talking about?”
“I really don’t want to say, sir, given that Clare is your niece, but suffice it to say, it would mean the end of my involvement with the club, and elevate your niece to a position of strength where Jessica Roach is concerned.”
“Why are you telling me all this if you have a plan to fix it.”
“Because there is the very real possibility Jessica could go to the press before I can carry out the plan. And, I admit, the plan might not be enough. I’d really like to keep my job, sir, if there’s any way to make that happen.”
Doyle nodded. He remained on his window perch. “I don’t want to see my niece involved in a public scandal any more than I want the Mustangs to be. I understand the nature of Bases Loaded, and I’m not going to pretend I like the idea of my niece being involved with the club in any way. However, she’s an adult, and I wouldn’t presume to meddle in her personal affairs. That’s one of the reasons we’ve tried to keep our family relationship out of the public eye. I don’t know how this Roach woman found out, but that’s not the end of the world—unless Clare’s name gets dragged through the mud along w
ith yours. Then all this comes back on me and the team.”
“I understand, sir. That’s why I thought you should know what’s going on. In case I’m not able to stop the train before it leaves the rails.”
“If you fail, your career is over. You know that.” It wasn’t a warning, but a statement of fact Tony couldn’t argue with.
“I know. I can live without playing baseball, but I can’t live without Clare. I’m doing this for her, not to save my career.”
Doyle stood. “Then your plan better work, son.”
* * *
The roses were lovely. And every time she looked at them or caught a whiff of their soft scent, her heart ached. There were six so far, each one in full bloom with an accompanying note written in Antonio’s hand. The latest had been delivered to her apartment that morning.
Clare lifted the vase, swiped the dust rag across the table, and replaced the vase. This was housecleaning Saturday, the one day a month she reserved for the things she hated most—dusting, vacuuming, and cleaning out the refrigerator. None of them required much thinking, which left her brain free to reflect on Antonio and his daily pleas for forgiveness.
Against her better judgment, her resolve to cut all ties with him had begun to weaken. Maybe it was the roses or the handwritten notes. Or perhaps she was coming to her senses. She ran the dust cloth over a lampshade and let that thought sink in.
No. Her good sense was long gone, overpowered, and overruled by love. She was in love with Antonio, and no matter how hurt or angry she was, her love for him was here to stay.
She finished the dusting and moved on to the refrigerator. As she pulled container after container of fuzzy leftovers out, she wondered why she’d bothered saving them in the first place. Keeping them made as much sense as loving Antonio. Holding onto something she didn’t want or couldn’t have took up room in her heart or her refrigerator she could use for something useful, something nourishing.
She turned her face away to avoid flying spores and dumped slimy, green goo down the whirring garbage disposal. Gone. Flushed down the drain and out of her life.
If only getting Antonio out of her life and her heart was as simple.
She stuck her head back in the fridge and moved the filtered water carafe out of the way to reach the last of the questionable containers. The doorbell rang and she jerked, banging her head on the freezer door.
A glance through the peephole revealed a vase of red roses that obscured the face of the delivery person. But Clare knew those hands.
Antonio.
Her heart raced, and the fresh knot on the back of her head throbbed. Every cell in her body went on high alert.
She could pretend she wasn’t home. Yeah, that was best. She took a step back and stared at the door as if it might dissolve any second and reveal her for a liar.
“Come on, Clare. Open the door. I know you’re in there. Your car is out front and your blinds are open. I saw you in the kitchen.”
Shit.
She’d opened the blinds in order to dust them and forgot to close them afterward. Not a smart thing for a single woman living on the first floor to do.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Clare. Please.”
Maybe it was the breathless way he said her name, or perhaps it was the desperation she sensed behind the word please, but she gave in. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she opened the door.
“Thank God.” He held out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
She reached for the vase and, stepping back, allowed him to enter. “New job delivering flowers?”
“No, but it’s not a bad idea. It might pay better than hawking peanuts in the stands.”
The flowers were spectacular and artfully arranged. She made a mental note to use his florist the next time she needed to send flowers. They clearly knew what they were doing. She made room on the coffee table for them and went to the window to close the blinds. Lesson learned.
Her apartment seemed adequate for her, but with Antonio taking up most of the floor space, her living room felt crowded.
“Thanks for the flowers,” she said, inviting him to have a seat.
He sat at one end of the sofa, and she took her one and only chair. She could barely see him over the flowers. Thanks to good genes, she supposed, his face was normally free from worry lines, but today he looked both tired and worried. She knew the signs, saw them every time she looked in the mirror.
“Why are you here? Is something wrong?”
He fidgeted, scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion. “I came to see you and apologize. There’s no excuse for the way I behaved at the airport and on the way home. I won’t make excuses because we both know there aren’t any that would make it all right. I screwed up. I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, twisting her hands together in her lap. Her love for him felt like a river coursing through her, branching out in a million different directions, bringing life to every part of her body. It was all she could do to keep from leaping over the coffee table and tackling him. Her skin tingled with the need to touch him, to feel his body pressed against hers, inside hers.
“Apology accepted. Was there anything else?” she asked.
“Yes.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I talked with your uncle, and I have a plan.”
She sat up straight. “You what?” she shouted.
“I talked to your uncle. I told him about that Jessica woman, and…everything.”
Her head spun, and she gripped the armrest to keep from tumbling face first out of her chair. “Everything?” she squeaked. Please, God, no.
“Well…not everything, but I told him enough that he understands what’s at stake. I had to tell him, in case my plan fails. All kinds of shit could come back on the team, and him specifically, if my plan to shut that woman up doesn’t work.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t process what he was saying. He continued, and she did her best to keep up. When he wound down, she remained silent.
“So…what do you think? Are you willing to give it a try?”
“Can you give me some time to think about this?” Her brain still felt like it was a few sentences behind in comprehending.
“How much time? I’ve made all the arrangements. There’s a plane waiting for us at the airport.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She’d inhaled too many mold spores or it was the bump on the back of her head, but she was having a hard time keeping up.
“What do you say? We’ll be back in a few days, as soon as you’re…up to traveling.”
“My classes. Finals are in two weeks.” Was she seriously thinking about going to New York with him and…?
“Cancel them, or ask someone to take them for you. You’ll be back in plenty of time for finals week.”
She searched her brain for a response and came up blank.
“Oh yeah.” He stood and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
He was on one knee beside her chair in the blink of an eye. Capturing her hand in one of his, he held an open ring box aloft with the other. The biggest diamond she’d ever seen flashed fire around the room.
“I love you, Clare Kincaid. And no matter what happens, even if I end up delivering flowers or selling popcorn in the stands, I want you to be my wife. Forever. Please. Say you’ll marry me.”
She tore her gaze away from the ring that seemed to have the power to hypnotize and looked at Antonio. His gaze met hers and held. She looked for any hint he had another motive besides not being capable of living without her, but found none.
“You love me?” she asked.
“More than anything in this world. More than my career. More than my own life. If this whole thing blows up in our faces, we’ll go live somewhere no one knows us and start over. Even if I lose my contract with the Mustangs, I’ve got enough money for us to live on the rest of our lives. Please, Clare. You’re killing me. Will you marry me?”
“Wh
at if I don’t want to carry out this plan of yours?”
“Then we’ll just wait and see what happens. Maybe Jessica will forget about us. I don’t care. I just want to be with you for the rest of my life. This week has been Hell on Earth without you. I can’t go on like this. I can’t play baseball unless the organist playing my intro is you—my wife.”
Her heart felt like a balloon filled to bursting. She didn’t know if the hallucination was the result of mold spores or inhaling too much furniture polish and she didn’t care. The man she loved was asking the question she never thought she would hear from him say. She bit her lower lip, savoring the sharp bite of pain that meant she wasn’t dreaming. This was real. And there was only one answer.
A bead of sweat glistened on his forehead before it lost its grip and slid down his temple. The balloon inside her burst wide open, unable to contain her love for him. She’d brought Antonio Ramirez to his knees. Her. Clare Kincaid.
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes sparkled, but he wasn’t smiling. “Yes, what?”
“Yes. I’ll help you with your plan, and yes, I’ll marry you. Yes to it all.”
Antonio smiled. The hand holding the ring came up to her nape, urging her down. His lips captured hers in a kiss that promised a lifetime of love, and at least a few hours of immediate pleasure. His tongue plunged deep, freeing all the pent-up passion she’d tried to deny since they’d argued. Her nipples grew hard, begging for his touch. Between her legs, she was embarrassingly wet and ready for him. He ended the kiss a moment before she would have slipped off her chair and thrown herself into his arms.
“First things first.” He took the ring from the box and, lifting her left hand, slipped the diamond onto her finger. “The next time I make love to you, I want you to wear this.”
She could barely see it for the tears in her eyes.
Antonio used his thumbs to remove the ones spilling onto her cheeks. “I wish we could do this now, but we have a plane to catch.”
“Now?” she asked, completely thrown off balance.
“How fast can you be ready to go?”
Chapter Twenty-One
