Come Back to the Ballpark, Maisy Gray

by Cynthia Tennent

  “You!”

  Everyone had a doppelganger. Maybe this was his. Because there was no other reason why he would be standing across a horse yard from her, more than a hundred miles from Indianapolis.

  “You remember me?” he asked.

  “Y-yes. I just don’t understand—” She bit her lip to keep from saying anything else. Like, how did you jump out of my secret girl crush and into my horse paddock?

  It was ridiculous, of course. She had started to think of him as imaginary. The man with blue eyes and strong eyebrows who’d helped her engage in petty thievery over a remote control. Yet…here he was.

  He tilted up the corner of his mouth in a boyish grin. “I would offer you a tequila, but you don’t look like you’re ready for cocktail hour yet.”

  Self-conscious of her gaping mouth and her dumbstruck stance, she put her shoulders back and stepped forward. But she was still holding the hose. The end snapped out of her hand and splashed her in the face before it fell to the soaked grass.

  She kicked the hose away and cleared her vision to find he was closer. She raised her gaze to a square jaw and perfectly formed lips. She confirmed his eye color. Baby blue. In the dim light of Plato’s, she hadn’t known for sure. Highlights in his wavy brown hair blazed in the sun. And he was tall. Taller than she remembered. They had been sitting on stools then. And there was the tequila, which might or might not have contributed to a false sense of reality.

  “I didn’t even give you my number. Not that I go around giving guys my number or anything. I don’t do that kind of thing.”

  “As you mentioned. Because you’re wholesome.”

  “That’s right.” God, she sounded like a geeky schoolgirl. “I mean, did I give you my number? I had more tequila than I should have.” She let her voice trail off. How embarrassing and totally unlike her.

  He pressed his lips together and looked away. Oh, God, maybe she smelled like Faygo…or worse. Maisy double-checked her pits and was relieved that at least the moisture she felt didn’t show or smell.

  When he glanced back at her with serious eyes, he seemed different. Less relaxed.

  He held out his hand. “I’m Sam Hunter.”

  She rubbed her wet palm down her jeans before holding out her own. “Maisy.”

  “I know.”

  Her pulse raced when her skin came into contact with his. She was still so dumbstruck that she held him in her grasp for a beat longer than normal. He pulled away politely, his face unreadable. She released a nervous laugh and gripped her fingers together.

  The haze of surprise was clearing, and something wasn’t adding up. Not just the fact that he had driven all the way from Indianapolis to Comeback to see her, but his polished look and the overly optimistic tone of his voice. All of it set off a buzzing in the back of her mind.

  “Uh, how did you find me?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in the soggy grass and avoided her question. “I came to discuss something with you.”

  She had a clear view of the driveway. A white Cadillac sat parked next to her mom’s. It wasn’t the testosterone-packed sports car she imagined a man like him driving.

  Something on his front bumper plate caught her eye. A gray-and-blue Turbos symbol.

  The back of Maisy’s neck tingled. She shook her head and flicked a hand over her ponytail to throw it off.

  The tequila had affected her memory. She must have given him her name and number after all. Because the alternative scenario absolutely sucked.

  “You came all the way out here?” She swallowed. “I don’t think I was drunk enough to give you my address.”

  He played with the collar of his shirt.

  “No? But I must have given you my name, right?”

  “You didn’t.” He spit out his next words quickly. “It’s actually kind of funny. You see, I’m the general manager of the Indianapolis Turbos.”

  It took her a moment to digest the words.

  “I came here to talk to you about the situation with the fans—”

  “Wait a minute…” She raised her hands and stared at the ground, trying to think. God, she felt like such a fool.

  Maisy’s head shot up. “Were you stalking me at the bar?”

  “No.” He took a step toward her, sending her backwards like a skittish animal. He paused and took a breath. “It was a coincidence that we met after that game. Later, when your picture was in the paper and I realized who you were, I was as surprised as you are now.”

  She was only half listening. Sanity had returned with a bitter sharpness that hurt.

  Had lightning struck twice or was she just stupid?

  He was the first man she had shown the least bit of interest in since Kevin, and he turned out to be a creep, and not only that but a baseball guy. Not just any baseball guy, either, but a Turbos guy. What was wrong with her that she attracted men who used her?

  He didn’t seem to notice her pain. Or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was talking and gesturing with his hands as if they were in a boardroom negotiation. All the signs of a salesman. And a user.

  “…you’re the talk of Indianapolis. Turbos fans remember you and your special charm, especially after that no-hitter. That’s why I came here today. Charlie Zumaeta himself wants to invite you to be his special guest at a Turbos game.” His tone was velvet, and his words were practiced, as if he had rehearsed how he was going to calm her fears. He could have been the one talking Faygo into a shower just a few minutes ago.

  Faygo. The horse was off wandering toward the barn. It gave her an excuse to move before she exploded. She stomped over and grabbed his bridle, yanking him back toward the grass. Faygo resisted at first, but he must have sensed her mood, because he picked up his pace and accompanied her back to the hose without further resistance.

  The salesman was still selling his snake oil. “…can bring your friends or family and they would be welcome.”

  “No.” She picked up the hose and resisted the urge to spray him.

  Undeterred, he followed her to the middle of the paddock. “Before you say no, please hear me out.”

  “I don’t have to hear you out to give my answer. No.” She studied him as she soaked Faygo’s back. Expensive-looking shoes. Designer sunglasses peeking out of his breast pocket. Linen shirt. It was all so calculated. He probably had a dozen bimbos lining up for free tickets to his fan club every day.

  “Your mother warned me you might not be happy.”

  Way to go, Mom. Giving away secrets to the other team.

  She retrieved the nearby bucket and pulled out a soapy sponge, squeezing the water out of it as if it were Sam Hunter’s neck. With an efficient yank of Faygo’s bridle, she shifted the horse between them and started working on Faygo’s hocks.

  His handsome face suddenly appeared through Faygo’s legs. “As the manager of the team, I—”

  “A little young to be the manager of a Major League Baseball team, aren’t you?” she interrupted.

  He disappeared from her field of vision. “If they thought I wasn’t capable, they wouldn’t have hired me.” His clipped tone told her that this wasn’t the first time he had answered that question.

  She dunked her sponge back in the bucket. “Capable of what? The only thing I saw you doing was drinking beer and flirting at Plato’s.”

  Then something struck her. She stood up and scowled at him over Faygo’s back. “Wait a minute. You didn’t want to watch the replay of the game on television, either. We both wanted that bartender to change the channel. Why would you do that? Your team just won and your pitcher had a no-hitter!”

  “That’s a bit complicated to explain right now.”

  Obviously, the man should hang out with more women who didn’t need help reading the bar menu. “I can handle adolescent girls and new math and translate Harry Potter spells. Why don’t you le
t me decide if my brain can understand complex issues?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it.” He ran a hand through his hair. She resented the fact that it sprang back into place perfectly.

  “You don’t want to discuss it and I don’t want to hear it. That means our conversation is over. I couldn’t care less about you or anything you have to say.” Faygo curled his neck and sent her a look of doubt.

  Sam Hunter’s jaw had a rigid set as he stared at the barn behind her. He seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he said, “Let’s just say that Halderman’s no-hitter put a wrench into some plans I had been working on.”

  She shook her head. “Honestly, you should have traded him when you had the chance.”

  He went perfectly still. “What do you mean?”

  “That old manager strained your budget with Kevin’s contract. It was a foolish amount to pay him — even when he was playing well.” She ran the sponge over Faygo’s back, her mind going back to the day Kevin had signed with the Turbos. “He was only in his second year. Even I knew a rookie like him wasn’t worth that amount of money.

  Sam Hunter’s mouth opened and closed and she knew she had surprised him. “That’s a pretty quick deduction for someone who doesn’t care about the Turbos anymore. Do you really think Halderman should have been traded?”

  “Look, Mr.—”

  “Call me Sam.”

  Maisy looked him straight in the eye. “No, thank you, Mr. Turbos Manager. I’ll save you the effort of pretending we’re friends, so you can get on the road. You’ll make it back to Indy by dark if you leave now.”

  She heard him mutter something under his breath.

  “Did you just say something about Zoom’s plan?”

  His eyes grew dark. “No.”

  She dipped her hand in the bucket again. “I’m not going back to the ballpark because of some asinine newspaper article.”

  “It’s more than one article. People believe it. My analyst pulled up the stats—”

  “Stop!” Maisy straightened and pointed the soapy sponge in the air as if it were a wand. “I am not a lucky rabbit’s foot.”

  He put a hand on his chest where she had spattered water.

  “I am not changing my mind because a few zealous fans want me to go back to the ballpark.” She stamped her boot to make her point clear, ignoring the fact that it sunk an inch in the mud and stuck.

  Faygo, sensing her mood, imitated her.

  Sam eyed the horse and took a step backward. “I’m sorry. It must be hard to be dragged back into Turbos business and have your name all over the news—”

  “It’s not hard,” she barked.

  “—paper,” he finished.

  “I’ll handle it fine.”

  “Maybe we can sit down somewhere and just talk?”

  “No. Go back to your cave and leave me alone.”

  She went to work scrubbing Faygo’s neck with perhaps too much vigor. The horse had never been so clean. His skin flickered in the sun and he shook his mane. Stepping toward his flank, she grabbed a piece of his tail and lathered it.

  Sam Hunter wasn’t giving up. He followed her from the other side of Faygo. She could hear the squelch of his leather shoes sinking in the grass. “Maisy, I am just as tired of this nonsense as you are.”

  “You act as if we’re on the same team.”

  “We are.” He was so close she could smell that delicious musk that had made her want to lick him at the bar. The dangerous side of her wondered if it would be so bad to be on the same team with a man who smelled like salt and lime.

  Then she remembered that negotiating was his job and she was just a rookie.

  “We are most definitely not on the same team. I am not doing any favors for the Turbos. In fact, I hope they finish in last place this year.”

  As for Mr. Sam Hunter, he was a…a what?

  The word that popped into her head was disappointment.

  When she’d first seen him standing there, she’d thought by some fairy-tale-like fate he had searched her out because he wanted to see her again. For one shaky moment, she had been willing to take a chance.

  He put a hand on Faygo and realized what he was doing. He shook the suds off his hand. “This doesn’t have to be a losing situation for either of us.”

  “That’s a joke, right?” Maisy blew hair out of her eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to—” She stopped herself. No way was she going to tell Sam Hunter how difficult it was to see Kevin pitch.

  “To what? To be in the stadium again?” He cocked his head. “Why did you go to that game anyway? None of this would be an issue if you hadn’t been there.”

  “No one was supposed to see me. And Kevin wasn’t supposed to be pitching that day.” She grabbed the hose and pointed it at his shoes.

  “Okay, okay.” He stepped back. “I’m sorry. It must have been awful to see him again after such a public breakup.”

  “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.” Maisy sprayed Faygo. “I moved on from Kevin years ago.”

  “I’m sure you did, a woman like you…” His voice sounded like warm honey. Was he seriously flirting? She looked like a cowgirl who had wrestled a slick pig right now.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Not at all.” His lids lowered, sending a blast of heat right to her solar plexus.

  She lost control of the hose for a brief second. The spray hit the back of Faygo’s head by accident. Faygo was not like the other horses they’d owned over the years. He did not like to get his head wet.

  “I don’t like this any more than you do, Maisy.”

  “Then go away.” Please.

  He stepped forward. “What if we start this conversation over? I know we can work together on this. Like we did at the bar.”

  He was too close to Faygo.

  “Watch where you’re going.”

  What happened next was her fault. She should have realized that her horse was out of patience. Faygo jerked his whole body away, stamping his feet in protest at the intolerable treatment.

  Unfortunately, Sam Hunter and his expensive leather shoes weren’t fast enough to get out of the way.

  Chapter Six

  Who knew a horse could weigh so damn much? One minute he’d been thinking about Maisy Gray and how he wanted to do much more than talk with her, and the next minute two tons landed on his foot. He’d swear the damn horse had done it deliberately. It still hurt like hell.

  “It could have been worse. You could have broken one of the bones in your foot instead of fracturing your toe.”

  Sam sank back on the Grays’ leather couch and frowned at his left foot resting on a pillow. His fractured third toe was taped to the second toe. An ice pack wrapped in a towel balanced on top. The last time he looked, his toe was turning an interesting and multicolored shade of yellow and blue.

  “And another thing. You are lucky my dad is a doctor. He got you an X-ray immediately.”

  He had an early-morning meeting with an agent about signing a much-needed relief pitcher who was currently playing in the minors in Toledo. He also had a makeup rain-out game to schedule. Too many spring showers had backed up his calendar. Then there was the luncheon with the Millennial Fan Club. A group of seniors who had once played minor-league ball were being presented with an award from the Turbos organization. They expected him to be there for the photo op.

  Sam dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Damn that horse! And damn him for not being quick enough to get out of the way. And while he was at it, damn Maisy Gray for going to that no-hitter game to begin with. If she had just stayed the hell away from baseball after she broke up with Halderman, he would never be stuck with this mess.

  “My brother’s old clothes almost fit you.” Maisy was being ridiculous now.

  “Are you laughing at me?�
�� he asked.

  Her smile tilted and those dark eyes glittered. “Not at all.”

  He screwed up his face, trying to stay immune. But damn if she wasn’t contagious. “Your horse has a bad temper.”

  “He doesn’t like men who try to con me.”

  “I wasn’t conning you.” He meant it. When he first saw her standing in the sunlight, her face glowing and her eyes flashing while she talked to her vicious horse, he had been enchanted. She was prettier than he remembered. Startling, actually. It pissed him off. A woman with no makeup wearing farmer clothes had no business messing with his libido.

  This deal was going to be much more complicated than he’d planned.

  “Here, sit forward.” Maisy added several pillows at his back. She had changed out of her boots and work clothes and was wearing a yellow scoop-neck T-shirt and white shorts.

  A delicious smell drifted from the kitchen, competing with the sight of Maisy and her bare legs. His mouth watered, but he wasn’t sure if it was the food in the oven or the woman by his side.

  “Have you gotten hold of this short, skinny brother of yours yet?” he asked, feeling stupid in the faded sweat pants that came to his calves. He had been forced to change into her brother’s old clothes when he returned from the hospital still wearing his mud-caked pants.

  Maisy picked up her cell phone and shook her head. “He hasn’t returned my text. But I am sure he can drive you back to Indianapolis tonight. I’ll follow and take him back home in my car.”

  “And if he can’t?”

  “Don’t look so worried. You aren’t stranded here forever. We’ll take care of you.”

  Her words sounded strange to him. No one took care of him. It was always the other way around. He managed his family’s finances. He paid for his sisters’ education and their weddings. Even his father’s hip surgery, although God knows he didn’t deserve it. Even more staggering was the list of things he oversaw for the Turbos. Taking care of things was what he did best.

  So far, the only thing he wasn’t handling was Maisy Gray.

  He should have followed his gut and skipped Zoom’s suggestion to invite her to a game and a fancy weekend in Indianapolis. Maisy Gray was no country bumpkin who could be lured by glitz. She wouldn’t be the least bit interested in the owner’s suite or a luxury apartment. In fact, the Grays seemed fairly well off. The “farm” might have been a working farm for some family many years ago, but it was a doctor’s hobby farm now.