Holm, Stef Ann

by Honey

  Camille hopped to her feet and rushed the field. "What's the matter with you? Do you need spectacles or something? The first baseman wasn't even on the bag. He's safe!"

  Mr. Carpio pursed his fleshy lips, spit spraying from his mouth as he spoke. "I've had about all I can take from you. Lady or no lady, you've come out here one too many times to question my calls. You're fined two hundred big ones."

  Her mouth dropped open; her lungs fought for air. As soon as she started giving him a piece of her mind, she couldn't hold back. "Why don't you make it three hundred? You don't know the difference between a ball and a strike. You've been miscalling them all day. You couldn't flag down a wagon if it ran over you, much less make a judgment on a small white ball flying in the air. You don't know what you're doing you... you catfish-faced sourpuss."

  "You're out of the game!" His fist came down in one big swoop through the air, a sign of ejection.

  "You can't do that to me!" she cried. She was beyond being reasoned with. Tears had begun to roll down her cheeks and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. "It's not my fault you're blind."

  Mr. Carpio pushed his face up close to hers and yelled so loudly, her eardrums rang. "Get out of my ballpark, lady!"

  Completely losing her composure, she hollered back, "You can't make me!"

  "I'll have the coppers take you out by force," he shot back, spittle on his lips. "I can and I do have the authority to get my demands met!"

  Before she knew what was happening, strong hands held her beneath the arms and lifted her off her feet. Startled, she jerked her head to the side to see Alex, who was in the process of hauling her from the field.

  As she protested and tried to wiggle free, he only gripped her tighter. Several more attempts to rid herself of him got her as far as littering the grass with fruits that had flown off her hat. It was useless to fight him. He had the unbending strength of an iron fence.

  Once in the clubhouse, he set her on her feet. She scrambled away from him to catch her breath. She would have put the desk between them if it had been in the middle of the room. As it was, it sat in the middle of wide open space she didn't want to venture into. And when he took a step toward her, she halted him with a raised hand.

  "Don't come near me, Alex."

  "Camille—"

  "I don't want to talk to you. I'm upset about the game. I never lose my temper." Devastation spun inside her. "I got thrown out by the umpire."

  "You're not upset about the game." He moved toward her and she took a step back. "It's more than that, and we both know it."

  "Then there's no point in saying anything."

  The words hung between them.

  On a shuddering breath, she blurted, "You're leaving me." A stabbing hurt settled in her heart and she almost laughed at the revelation. "Is that what 'no promises' meant? You've known all along."

  His jaw visibly tensed. "Yes."

  "I never thought you'd walk out on your contract and... leave me." She couldn't face him any longer. She had to turn away so he couldn't see the fresh tears in her eyes she tried desperately to keep from falling.

  "I'm taking Captain to a special doctor in Buffalo, it's true." Alex's tone was low and pained. "Silas Denton is the best in his field. He can help Captain remember Joe."

  "Well, good then. I think you should go," she said with some bitterness in spite of the fact that Alex had Captain's best interests at heart. They came at the expense of breaking hers.

  She felt Alex draw up to her back. He stood so close to her, his breath touched the side of her neck and brought shivers across her skin. Thank goodness, he didn't touch her. She would have broken down if he did. "Camille, I don't want to leave you—"

  A burst of noise intruded on the clubhouse as Cub and Yank came rushing in. "Cordova! Come on!" Cub shouted.

  Yank hollered, "You're up to bat!"

  Alex looked at them, then at her.

  She fought hard not to start crying again. "Get out there," was all she managed.

  Then after a glance at her, he left.

  Chapter 24

  It was up to Alex.

  All of a sudden everything had come down to this. A 1-1 score. The Keystones up at bat with two outs. Jimmy Shugart on second and Duke Boyle on third.

  Alex stepped into the batter's box, but his gaze wasn't on the men waiting in their places for him to hit a ball that would either end this game or bring it to extra innings.

  Indecision sliced through Alex. Everything about the situation told him he should have stayed with Camille. She was more important to him than winning. But he knew what was important to her—proving to her father that she could manage a bunch of ballplayers and make them into a winning team. So he had to do everything he could to help her with what she wanted.

  Giving the Keystones the pennant.

  "Are you going to take a pitch, Cordova," came the needling voice of the catcher, Lou Criger, "or are you going to stand around all day, honeybee?"

  Alex shot his gaze over his shoulder, looking into the face behind the wire mask. The Somerset catcher crouched low, knees ups and legs wide. He popped his fist into his glove and gave Alex a sneer.

  "What are you waiting for, honeybee? An invitation?"

  The noise of the cheering fans amplified, rushing in on Alex. He could barely think above the screams and shouts that roared onto the field.

  In a quick glance at the soaring stands, he saw Captain in the first row amid the sea of hats and parasols. Though sitting, Cap stood out. Tall, wide-shouldered, with gleaming black hair and a body that emphasized his strength. Sunlight glimmered in Cap's gaze. He stared at Alex with an undefinable emotion in his eyes. The way he held himself was so much like Joe.

  Alex's heart hammered in his chest. He looked away, struggling with keeping his head clear. His grip on the bat slipped and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. He needed more time. He had to talk with Camille.

  Turning once more, he continued to search the crowd in the hope she'd taken a place among them. He sought a fruited hat and a dress that was as white as snowy clouds.

  He found neither.

  "Cordova, I'm going to call a strike on you if you don't get into the box and take a pitch," Carpio warned Alex from his position behind the catcher.

  Alex stepped back up to the plate, stared beyond Cy on the pitching mound, and narrowed his gaze down the diamond to the runners. Jimmy and Duke were counting on him. The Keystones were counting on him.

  Camille was counting on him.

  Lifting the bat in his grasp and digging his feet in,

  Alex nodded to Cy. Cy came after him with a fastball, waist high, right over the plate. Alex took a swing. And missed. The ball thudded into the catcher's glove.

  "Sttttttttttrike one!"

  Swallowing, he took his stance once more, the catcher riding up to his leg, bumping next to him, talking to Alex beneath his breath.

  "That was as dim as a headlamp, Cordova." Lou's laughter floated to Alex. "You took a strike on a ball that should have ripped Cy's head off and gone out into right center field."

  The truthful commentary had Alex gritting his teeth. He inched up on the plate so the catcher would give him some room. But the Somerset player crept forward with him, nudging his right leg with his shoulder.

  Undulating waves of heat radiated off the field, popping beads of sweat on Alex's brow. The dampness of his skin made his uniform stick to him. The underarms of his jersey were wet with perspiration. He tried to focus on the images in front of him, but he couldn't see clearly.

  And that's when he felt her as sure as if she'd touched him. Releasing his position, he took a step toward the stands and shielded his gaze with his hand. He raised his eyes, searching, wanting to find Camille.

  And there she was.

  Watching. Waiting with an expression that spoke every hurt she must feel.

  "Play ball, Cordova!" Carpio shouted, drawing Alex back toward home plate. The umpire stood with his knees bent, hands c
lasped behind his back, peering at the batter's box. Reluctantly, Alex stepped into it, shifted his feet, and lifted his arms with a grim grip on the handle of his lumber.

  The catcher butted up against him, glove out wide, waiting to catch the next strike.

  Alex choked up on the bat, his nerves stretching thin. "Get back, you son of a bitch," he cautioned in a low tone. "I'm liable to rip your head off when I swing."

  "Fat chance, honeybee. I'm a lot faster than you."

  Alex's arms crooked, his shoulders swung forward. In that fraction of a second it took him to get ready, Cy had already released the ball. Caught off guard, Alex took a slice at it, drawing the bat too far back. The tip connected with the catcher's shoulder, the jolt his body received knocking his mask off his face. Lou went down in the dirt, a spurt of dust coming up as his steel muscles collapsed. Laying beside him was the iron cage that was supposed to protect his head, banged up—useless.

  Oh Jesus. No!

  Tossing his bat, Alex was on his knees before he thought, leaning over Lou with a chill in his blood. Fright held him in it clutches, cold and icy. He began to shake as old memories came at him with a speed he couldn't shake. Captain out cold on the plate. Blood spilling from the side of his head. The umpires closing in. Sandy Beecher hollering for help. Chaos.

  Oh sweet Jesus.

  Seconds ticked by that seemed like minutes.

  Motionless, Lou lay there, his eyes closed. Alex gently laid a palm on Lou's shoulder, turned, and opened his mouth to call for a doctor.

  "Get away from me, Cordova."

  Alex jerked his face back to the catcher.

  Lou's eyelids had snapped open, and he struggled to sit. "I can get up myself, you damn honeybee."

  As the catcher went to his feet and dusted himself off, Alex stumbled to his feet. He took a deep breath and tried to relax; it was hard not to be caught in the cobwebs of the nightmare. He heard sounds around him—the jeers from the Somersets, the return taunts from the Keystones.

  The specifics of the taunts didn't register in Alex's head, but their meanings were clear in the tones of the voices. Alex's troubled spirit wouldn't quiet. He retreated a step, then another. He began to walk—to walk to the dugout, walk out of the game. He couldn't do this. He couldn't play.

  Everything around him had fallen apart.

  Reaching the bench, he threw his cap into the dirt and didn't meet the gazes of the Keystones who had stood and pelted him with their disbelief. They tried to shout over one another.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Go hit the ball!"

  "Are you crazy?"

  "You can't quit!"

  "Get your bat!"

  Crowding him and hollering over each other, they told him to get back out there. Amid all the uproar, only one voice got through to Alex.

  "It wasn't your fault."

  Alex spun around to find Captain standing in a slash of sunlight that tipped the edge of the dugout. His expression was sober, his eyes filled with depth. And understanding.

  "It wasn't your fault."

  Alex couldn't have heard him correctly. He thought Cap said...

  "Shut up!" Alex yelled at the Keystones harshly in a voice sharp with warning. "What did you say, Cap?"

  The discord in the dugout faded to mumbles.

  Captain continued with quiet emphasis. "Lou was leaning into you." He lowered his chin, shuddered, then raised his head—and Alex stared directly into the eyes of Joe McGill. "Just like I did."

  Alex stared at Joe; his thoughts spun in a hundred different directions. Joe knows me. He knows what I did. He has to know who he is. And he's not telling me I ruined his life.

  "I remember," Joe said.

  Clamping his lips together, Alex shook his head. He couldn't trust his voice.

  "It's okay, Alex." Joe went to him and comforted him with a pat on his arm. "I'm not mad."

  Hot moisture in Alex's eyes blurred his vision as he studied Joe's face. "But you should be."

  "I can't get mad at things I did to myself. And I don't think you should be mad at yourself."

  Joe bent down, picked up Alex's baseball cap and handed it to him.

  Alex took it but didn't put the cap on.

  "Go out there and play baseball." He turned to go back to the stands, pausing a moment to add, "Go kick some ass... busher."

  Alex stood there, shaken, knowing he'd cheated Joe—but Joe forgave him anyway. He'd even given him an out. He took the blame himself. The act was selfless, which disquieted Alex. Joe hadn't seized on the moment to take a piece out of him, to make him pay for a life left overturned these past three years.

  It had always been Captain who'd needed to be freed, but it was Alex who had been released by the man he'd hurt. The guilt and regret lessened, though lingered at the edges of Alex's mind. He would never fully let go. But Joe had said it was all right to move on.

  Lowering his head, Alex made his way back to the batter's box, picked up his bat, and took his batting stance.

  The crowd began to chant. Cheers of encouragement rose up to the skies, along with whistles and calls and the sound of clapping hands and stamping feet.

  Alex was behind by two strikes. This was it. Everything or nothing.

  Cy's tall form made an imposing picture on the mound. The red-gold of a sunset cast its colors over his dingy uniform. He clenched his teeth in resolution as he wound up.

  Kick some ass... busher.

  From the plate, Alex could hear the ball snapping off Cy's fingers as it left his hand and headed like a dart straight for him. Bulking every ounce of strength in his body, Alex hit the ball with a solid smack, driving it over the right fielder's head—over the wall and out of the park.

  Home run.

  The pennant belonged to the Harmony Keystones.

  The hometown crowd went wild as Alex tagged the bases. People rushed out of the stands and onto the grass, disregarding the ropes the Harmony police department had put up to keep fans from interfering with the plays.

  A commotion of goodwill ensued, but Alex crept away from it, away from the tight knot of fans and well-wishers, away from those who surrounded him, who touched him. He smiled; with each smile, he backed away from the press of people. As he walked, he searched.

  For the woman he loved.

  Camille saw Alex, watched him over the shoulders of the many who'd gathered around her to offer compliments and congratulations. Her father had given her a crushing hug, and her mother, a kiss on the cheek. And the players had shouted, "Three cheers for Miss Kennison," and would have hoisted her in the air if she'd let them. But her heart wasn't with the chants. Everything in her was focused on Alex.

  She excused herself from those around her and ran after him.

  "Alex," she called.

  He stopped and inclined his head in her direction. Meeting him, she stood close, searching his face— hoping to find a message from his heart written in his eyes. She saw a sadness that seemed impossible to touch.

  The moment stretched taut between them.

  She could stand the silence no longer. "Why are you doing this, Alex? I know that you care." A sob broke free from her throat. "But you're going to walk away from me."

  Conflict raged in his brown eyes as he took her chin in his fingers. The touch was soft and gentle. "I love you, Camille."

  The avowal wrapped her in velvet warmth. They were the words she'd dreamed of hearing these past weeks, but he didn't say them with a promise of happily ever after. "I know where you're going and why you have to go. I don't understand why you aren't coming back. Harmony's your home. If the doctor can make Joe better, you don't have to stay in New York. And if you love me, you should have asked me to go with you. I would... I will. I love you, too, Alex."

  He brushed his knuckles alongside her jaw before lowering his hand. His handsome features softened with the light that kindled in his eyes. She took small satisfaction that she had affected him; that she could break his resolve a little—if not crumble it
altogether. He had difficulty swallowing, keeping his gaze level as he struggled for his next words.

  "God, how I love you. But what you don't understand is the reality of a life spent in hospital hallways. A life of treatments and medication. A life with no guarantee that Captain will get better."

  "But Captain is better."

  "Yeah, he's better. But I still have to take him. To make sure he has every chance to fully recover."

  "Alex, I mean it. I'll go with you."

  "I can't ask you to sacrifice your dreams."

  "Sacrifice? It's not a sacrifice to be with the person you love." She put her fingertips on his lips; her hand trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. "My life is with you."

  He took her wrist in his fingers, stilling her caress. "Your life is here, Camille. In Harmony. Where you've achieved what you set out to."

  Desolation claimed her as he released her. She lowered her arm and clenched her fists in frustration. Bringing her arms to her sides, she gazed hotly into Alex's face. "You're right. I won. I fought to manage this team. I fought to have my father accept me. I fought to be independent and make my own way."

  She couldn't check the tears that ran down her cheeks as she reached out and touched his hair with her fingers. In a whisper, she said, "But I never fought for you—the one thing that means more to me than anything else in the world. I want to help you. I want to go with you. You never gave me a chance to answer, because you never asked me. You can't decide for me... unless you really don't want me..."

  "Want you?" His breath shuddered in his chest as his large hands took her face and cradled it. "Camille, from the first time I saw you with the sunlight spilling over you in that pale dress, I've wanted you. Wanted you so badly I could have turned my back on Captain and forgotten the vow I made to myself to see him out of the hell I put him in. It's been torture of the worst kind, holding you at night, kissing you, making love to you, knowing that it wasn't going to last. That I couldn't have you forever."

  She choked. "But you can have me forever."

  "I don't ever want you to feel like I cheated you out of what you could have had for yourself, like I did Joe." His voice broke, a strangled cry in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure. "I couldn't stand it. I couldn't."