Summer Love Puppy: The Hart Family (Have A Hart Book 6)

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Just get this crap out of here.” She attacked the Christmas tree, knocking the star from the top. “I will never, ever celebrate Christmas again.”

  “Whoa, whoa, don’t break anything.” Gabe pulled her from the tree and into his arms. “We won’t celebrate Christmas, but you need to get control of yourself.”

  “Let me hibernate all December and wake up after the New Year when all the trees have been composted and people are thinking income taxes instead of eggnog.”

  Juliette couldn’t help the sobs of another impending breakdown. The last few days of Jeremiah’s life had been full of fake holiday cheer. He’d made his Christmas wish list, been greeted by Santa and his elves, all of them wearing face masks, and was even allowed to pick one gift to open.

  He’d chosen a stuffed dog, a black and brown wiry one with pointy ears and large sad eyes.

  Juliette hastily wiped her eyes and pushed herself out of Gabe’s bear hug. He was right. She should pull herself together. And she would, if only she could stop the regret and the layers of guilt. She’d continued working at her law practice after Jeremiah was born, taking only a six-week maternity leave. Since Gabe’s schedule was filled with business travel, she’d left Jeremiah at an expensive extended daycare which allowed her to drop him off as early as six in the morning and pick him up as late as eight in the evening.

  Stomping out onto the snowy drive, she retrieved her purse and a large shopping bag from the car. A pickup truck drove up and a man jumped out.

  “Ma’am, I heard there was a problem with the Christmas tree?”

  “No problem. I don’t want it. We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

  “Okie doke. I’ll get it removed. Did you guys find all the food we stocked? Is there anything else you need?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to check it out, but I’ll let you know.” Juliette couldn’t wait to retire to the bedroom and soak in the jetted tub. “I’m going to unpack now.”

  “Sure, we’ll get that tree removed right away.” The man tipped his baseball cap, but she couldn’t help noticing the wry face he wore and the certainty that he thought her to be a Grinch to end all Grinches.

  If it takes being a Grinch to have people leave me alone, so be it. Juliette hurried to the bedroom while Gabe chatted with the man. She really should get her head together if she wanted to return to her practice after three years leave. For one, she’d have to stop the tears and settle her heart rate to a steady beat. She’d have to be able to sit still and go back to the orderly world of precedents and statutes. She’d need her composure to stand in front of judges and speak calmly to clients. And then there was Gabe. He’d practically threatened her with divorce to get her to come to this trip—this getaway which was supposed to mend their marriage.

  Juliette let her eyes adjust to the candlelit room. The four poster bed was covered with a homey looking quilt and enough throw pillows to start a fight. The room was equipped with a small gas fireplace dividing a jetted tub on one side and the foot of the bed on the other. Someone had filled the tub with water and sprinkled rose petals on it. No doubt, Gabe had arranged all of it. If only he hadn’t tried to sneak in the Christmas tree. He was a good man, though, and he’d stopped traveling after Jeremiah’s leukemia diagnosis, and took more than his fair share of the hospital duties. She owed him an apology and a genuine try at attending to his needs.

  A few minutes later, Gabe poked his head into the bedroom. “Here are your suitcases.”

  “Thanks. And about that tantrum I had, I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s try and have a good time.” He placed the suitcases on the rack. “Tree’s gone. They even vacuumed up the needles.”

  “It’s just that it triggers memories.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” Gabe patted her back. “Why don’t we unpack and then relax to some of that wine and cheese they left in the kitchen. The larder is stocked with fruits and vegetables, and we even have a whole Virginia ham. I also brought the best of our own wines.”

  “Let’s make sure we have everything in case we have to make a run to the drugstore.” Juliette unlatched her vanity case. “I guess I can endure one more round of ho, ho, ho’s and holiday cheer for a week of peace and quiet.”

  “Very funny, but I think we have everything. I checked and double checked before packing the car.” Gabe shut her vanity case and took her hand. “The caterers are bringing dinner in tonight, and I’m dying to open that bottle of Bordeaux I’ve been saving since our wedding.”

  Gabe always knew how to sweep her worries away. Yes, a bottle of wine with a man who still lit her sparks, despite the gloom of the past few years, was the right prescription for moving forward.

  Before leaving the bedroom, Juliette opened her suitcase and extracted the stuffed dog. She kissed his nose and set him on the pillow. She never slept anywhere without him.

  “You give him a name yet?” Gabe gave her a lopsided grin.

  “Not yet.” The image of Jeremiah too weak to name his puppy brought a lump to her throat. “Miah hasn’t told me yet.”

  To read on, please buy CHRISTMAS STRAY.

  Excerpt: Playing for the Save

  Pitcher Ryan Hudson has been everyone’s best friend. He hardly dates but loves to sit back and give advice. When Ryan hosts a family for a day at the ballpark, he becomes attached to an autistic boy, his brother, and his attractive single mother. [Winner of 2017 Readers Favorite Gold Award, Realistic Fiction]

  Playing for the Save

  Excerpt Copyright © 2017, Rachelle Ayala

  Chapter One

  Wham. Bam. No thank you, ma’am.

  And that, was exactly how Ryan Hudson closed the game.

  Pow. The ball slapped into the catcher’s mitt.

  “Strike three, ouuttt!” The umpire stuck his thumb straight up, then lowered his hand in a karate chop.

  Catcher Kirk Kennedy took off his face mask and jogged up to the mound.

  They did their customary high-five and shoulder slap, and it was back to the dugout with another save under Ryan’s belt.

  “Caught him with his pants down,” he joked about the batter who hadn’t even taken a swing.

  “Dude was supposed to swing at the bastard pitch,” Kirk groused.

  “He would have missed anyway.” Ryan swaggered with his teammates off the field.

  Okay, so this wasn’t the bottom of the ninth in the seventh game of the World Series, but a save was a save, and a great way to start off spring training.

  Maybe this would be the year he gathered enough saves to bring the Phoenix Rattlers through the playoffs and into the series. What a cap to his career that would be.

  At thirty-eight, he was starting to feel his age, especially since he suffered back-to-back injuries—a torn rotator cuff after a fractured cheekbone the year before when he was hit in the face by a line-drive.

  “Hey, old man, want to hit the bars? Pick up chicks?” Timmy Li, the young hotshot pitcher was always looking for wingmen.

  With more married than single men on the team, it was down to Ryan, Josh, and a couple of rookies to keep the various sport bars and clubs in Phoenix in business.

  “Not tonight,” Ryan said, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I’m looking forward to a hot tub, alone.”

  “You never score with the chicks anymore,” Timmy said. “You too old to get it up?”

  “Hey, I saved your ass. We won tonight.” Ryan turned toward the club house.

  He liked women just fine, but they seemed to get younger and younger each season, and it was always the same old drill.

  Buy them a drink. Flirt and fool around.

  Maybe he was getting old, but his team depended on him. As a closer, he was the ninth-inning wonder. If he did his job, he pitched three outs and ended the game.

  Sometimes, he was called in to close for the backup closer, which meant the other relief pitcher had left men on bases. He’d come in, under pressure, and clinch the game with a single pitch and force the ou
t.

  “Hey, Ryan,” his buddy Brock Carter, the third baseman, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You got picked to host a fan for a day at the ballpark.”

  “Me?” Ryan pointed to himself with his thumb. “Why would anyone pick me when they could have Timmy or Rodrigo show them their muscles?”

  Every year, Phoenix was home to fifteen off-season baseball teams, a big attraction for tourists and residents alike. Most of the fan activities were done to enhance the team’s reputation and reward fans for coming to spring training. Although lately, it seemed the only fans who signed up were young women more interested in dating a ballplayer than getting tips on how to pitch, catch, and bat.

  “It’s two boys,” Brock said. “A five year old and a seven year old. They want to grow up to be sluggers.”

  “That’s music to my ears,” Ryan said. When he was growing up, every kid had a sports hero he idolized and dreamed to be just like him.

  Nowadays, they were more interested in catching Pokemon or playing with their phone. It was a rare kid who wanted to hang out at a ballpark, going through drills the entire day.

  “Oh, and their mother’s kind of hot,” Brock added.

  Ryan let out a long sigh. “For the last time, I’m not interested.”

  He preferred his life quiet and peaceful.

  Women brought noise and chaos, and as far as Ryan was concerned, he had no need for trouble of any kind.

  Being alone was orderly and predictable. And it gave him the nerves of steel to pitch under game changing pressure—each and every night.

  Chapter Two

  Jamie Rush was thirty-two and a mother of two.

  A seven-year-old and a five-year-old.

  Both boys.

  And right now, she had to get them ready for a day with pitching star, Ryan Hudson.

  “I can’t find my glove,” her elder son, Ben, ran around their living room in circles. “Drew must have taken it.”

  “I’m sure you can borrow a glove.” Jamie packed five-year-old Drew’s diapers, snacks, headphones, and toys in a backpack. It had a camouflage pattern and was a lot more inconspicuous than lugging a diaper bag over her shoulder.

  “I want my own glove,” Ben insisted. “Do you think Mr. Hudson will play catch with me? I hope he will.”

  “He’s going to take us on a tour of the clubhouse after the game. I’m not sure he’ll have time to play ball with us,” Jamie said, tempering Ben’s expectations.

  Although, Ryan had volunteered his entire day to spend with her family, she was sure Drew wouldn’t last more than two hours before he threw a fit.

  She looked over at her son who was playing with her key ring. He was fixated on moving the keys around the ring and then dropping them on the table to watch them spread out.

  “Drew,” she called. “We’re going to baseball park. Have to get into the car in ten minutes.”

  He didn’t reply, but he heard her because there was a slight pause in the dropping of the key ring, before he began twirling them around.

  “I need to find my baseball,” Ben said, running to his room. “Do you think Mr. Hudson will sign it?”

  “I’m sure you could ask.” Jamie walked to coffee table where Drew was playing with her keys. “Got to get going, babe. Let me have my keys.”

  Drew turned away from her, so she walked around the table and put her hand out for the keys. “Mama needs the keys to go in the car.”

  Without looking at her, Drew left the keys and moved away from her.

  She called it a win and scooped up the keys. “Five minutes and it’s into the car.”

  Ben waved his hand in her face. “Did you find my baseball?”

  “Looking.” She pulled the cushions from the sofa.

  “I need my mitt, too,” Ben reminded. He bounced on his toes around the room, clearly excited, but not helping with the packing.

  “I can’t find your ball.” Jamie wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. “Maybe we can find one at the ballpark.”

  “Or I can catch one from the stands. I need my mitt!” Ben yelled a little too loudly.

  Clang. Clang. Clang. Drew had moved onto spinning a metal candy box lid and watching it topple. He was fascinated by the wobbling metal sound it made as it settled down.

  Another reminder was needed. “Drew, did you hear me? We’re getting into the car to go to the ballpark.”

  “After we play catch, I want to bat the ball.” Ben opened the coat closet and grabbed his aluminum bat. “I bet Mr. Hudson can throw a hundred miles per hour.”

  “I bet he could.” Jamie located Ben’s mitt and stuffed it in the backpack. “Found your mitt, but you’re going to have to leave that bat at home.”

  “But Mom, it’s my lucky bat.”

  “Okay, got everything. “ Jamie checked her watch. “Leave the bat and go to the car. I have to bring your brother.”

  She hoped the day would go well for Ben. He was one when Drew was born, and three when Drew was diagnosed with autism. She tried to divide up her attention between the two boys, but with Drew’s clinics, special education, medical appointments and all the things she needed to do to teach him daily living, Ben often missed out. Of course, Drew’s meltdowns could ruin an outing at any time.

  “Three minutes, Drew.” She gave him a nudge as she gathered sunscreen and baseball caps.

  “Do you think Mr. Hudson can go to the movies with us after we play ball?” Ben lingered next to her and gave her a sweet, wistful smile.

  What he was really asking for was a father figure.

  After a year of living with autism, Jamie’s husband divorced her. He dutifully paid his alimony and child support, and she was still on his insurance—for which she was grateful. But was it asking too much for her life partner, the one who claimed he still loved her, to stick around when the going got rough?

  Apparently sickness and health didn’t include an autistic son for some people.

  Jamie didn’t want to disappoint Ben, whose life was already chock full of disappointments. So she said, “Let’s ask him. Did you have a movie in mind?”

  Movies were another thing they never did—at least at a theater. Drew simply couldn’t sit still long enough, and the loud sounds and the way light flashed on the screen put him in full panic mode.

  “I want to see Lego Batman!” Ben said. “All my friends saw the movie. They had popcorn and hotdogs and 3D glasses.”

  If things didn’t work out with Mr. Hudson, Jamie would ask her mother to watch Drew, and she’d take Ben on a date herself. Of course, she hated asking her mother for more than she already did, especially if Drew gave her a hard time.

  “We’d better get going.” She looked over at Drew and prepared for the cajoling and battle of wills to get him into the carseat.

  Ben picked up his backpack and walked over to Drew. “Hey, bud, we’re going to see a baseball player.”

  “Baseball!” Drew clapped his hands and found his plastic baseball and pointed to the TV. “See baseball.”

  “Yes, but you have to sit in the car if you want to see him,” Ben explained.

  “No car. No car.” Drew grabbed the TV remote and turned on the TV.

  “Ben, start going to the car,” Jamie told her older son. “Maybe he’ll follow you.”

  “This is real baseball,” Ben said. “At the ballpark. With grass and dirt, and white bases, and real baseball players. Not like TV. If you want real baseball, you have to ride in a car.”

  Logic was lost on Drew. He loved watching baseball on TV, and even understood the game enough to count balls and strikes and runs. But getting in the car was unrelated to baseball in his mind. While Ben had been to a real baseball game with his grandparents, Drew had never seen a ballpark or stadium.

  “Car not baseball.” Drew puffed himself up as if Ben were misunderstanding something basic.

  “Ben, go ahead.” Jamie tried not to be exasperated. Ben meant well, but getting into an argument about cars versus baseball wouldn’t h
elp.

  “Drew, come to me,” Jamie ordered, but the boy wouldn’t budge. He flipped through channels trying to find the baseball game.

  Jamie firmly took the TV changer from him and pointed his face toward her. She stared into his eyes, but of course, he averted his gaze.

  She again got into his face. “Mama says to come with me, so you’re coming with me.”

  “Baseball,” he said.

  She held the baseball in front of her face so he would have to look at her and the baseball at the same time. “You are going to the car and so is your baseball.”

  “No car. Baseball.” Drew grabbed for the ball, but Jamie had always told Drew he had to be polite and mind his manners.

  “No grabbing. Baseball is going to the car.”

  Drew turned his face away from Jamie, determined to ignore her, so she calmly tucked the plastic baseball under her arm and picked him up.

  He remained stiff in her arms, like a board, but at least he didn’t fight.

  When she tried to put him in the carseat, he flailed his head back and forth and pushed at her. He hated the feel of the straps, but there was no negotiation here.

  Jamie let him stand in front of the carseat for a few moments until he relaxed, a little.

  “Mama wants you to sit in your special chair,” she explained as she picked him up and placed him in the carseat.

  “We’re going to see a baseball player,” Ben said. “He’s a pitcher. A real pitcher.”

  “Picture,” Drew repeated.

  “No, pitcher. Like the guy who throws the ball,” Ben said. “Strike one, strike two, strike three.”

  “You’re out.” Drew clapped his hands while Jamie tightened the strap and made sure the clip was in place to keep them together.

  “The count is three-two,” Ben said, pretending to be an announcer. “Hudson’s peering at the catcher, reading the signal. He winds up, and here comes the pitch. Strike!”

  “You’re out.” Drew squealed, as Jamie let out a breath of relief and climbed into the driver’s seat.