Then, very slowly, Steven lowered himself onto the bench, just another spectator who had come to watch his Little League team play—and win.
When the crowd finally settled down, Mike came over to them and smiled at his idol. “The team’s really glad you could make it. They wanted me to tell you that they’re playing this game for you.”
“Tell them to play it for themselves,” SOS replied, then flashed one of his very rare, shy smiles. “It’ll make victory sweeter.”
Mike nodded. It was all he could do to keep the secret he’d been carrying around for the last few days to himself. The secret that involved SOS and, by association, Miranda. A part of him was uncertain how it would be received, because he had used the information Miranda had given him, the letter that Wes Miller had written to SOS in the wake of the scandal.
He knew that as far as the man was concerned, Shaw would have just left the story buried. But his own sense of justice wouldn’t allow Mike to ignore it. He would have gone ahead even if the former pitcher had died. Shaw’s surviving the surgery made it that much more imperative that he rectify the wrong that had been done.
Mike threw himself into the game, sealing the secret away for a little while longer.
He couldn’t keep quiet another moment.
Steven’s pint-size Cubs had played their hearts out for him and they had won. Win or lose, Mike had arranged for a season’s-end celebration to take place at a nearby pizzeria. Between him and Miranda, they had managed to coax Steven into attending.
While they waited for the pizzas to come out of the ovens, Mike picked up the microphone ordinarily used by management to make announcements. He had an announcement of his own to make. One that he knew would catch SOS by surprise. Although he’d known about it for a week, Mike had even kept it out of his column until he could tell the man in person. Shaw deserved to be the first to know.
Mike winced as the microphone squawked to life. “Before we start celebrating the Cubs’ well-deserved victory, I have an announcement to make about another well-deserved victory.”
He saw Miranda looking at him quizzically and his smile widened. If anyone was responsible for this, she was. Not because she’d provided the information, but because her faith in her father had never wavered.
“Year after year, there has been a grave injustice perpetuated in Cooperstown at the hall of fame. Because of circumstances believed to be true at the time, Steven Orin Shaw was barred from being nominated, much less voted in. Those circumstances have since been reviewed and found to be false. The commission in charge of voting was eager to correct their mistake and I now have the honor of informing the greatest living pitcher—” he turned to face Steven “—that, come the end of July, he is going to be inducted into the baseball hall of fame.”
Though he was known for his poker face, surprise was evident in Steven’s eyes as he turned to his daughter. “You know anything about this?”
Her pulse pounded. If she hadn’t loved Mike up to this point, she did now. “No, I swear. I had no idea. But it’s a damn good thing.”
The expression on her father’s face told her that he didn’t share her opinion. “You gave him that letter, didn’t you?”
She hadn’t lied to her father yet, she saw no reason to start now, even if it would make her the target of his anger. “I wanted him to start a grassroots campaign to get you in—but I wanted that even when I thought you’d done what they said you had.”
His voice was low, steely, as he said, “You tarnished Wes’s memory.”
“Wes tarnished Wes’s memory,” Miranda corrected adamantly. “He never cared about the game the way you did. He cared about the money. His ex-wife wasn’t the only one who spent it like water. So did he. And his kids are spoiled brats who never appreciated him to begin with, so let’s not worry about them. Mike covered the funeral in Florida,” she reminded him. “He said that only one of Wes’s kids showed up—and he’d had too much to drink even before the ceremony took place. Dad, it’s time you stopped worrying about Wes and started thinking about yourself.” And then she grinned, moving closer to him on the bench as the pizzas arrived. The server placed theirs right in front of them. “Besides, I deserve a father who’s in the hall of fame, don’t you think?”
Anything he might have said in response was curtailed as suddenly both sides of his table were filled with well-wishers. Getting up, Miranda stepped away to let her father have his moment—the first of many.
And it was about time, she thought.
Scanning the restaurant, she looked for Mike. He stood in one corner next to an old-fashioned pinball machine, and she crossed to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?” she asked.
He shrugged, trying to downplay his role. “I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off for this year. Didn’t want you to be disappointed if I didn’t.”
Everyone had shifted over to the other side of the room to gather around her father. She nestled in closer to Mike. “I wouldn’t have been disappointed. I would have been thrilled that you tried.”
“It’s not about me,” he reminded her. “It’s about him.”
“But it is about you,” she insisted. “It’s about what a really nice guy you are.” She saw him wince as she said the words. “What?”
“Is that what I am to you?” he asked, abandoning all semblance of trying to play the pinball machine. His mind definitely wasn’t on the game. “A nice guy?”
“Yes.” He looked far from pleased. “Why?”
He quoted the old adage from baseball. “Nice guys finish last.”
“Last isn’t so bad,” she told him. “As in my last lover. And my first.”
The furrow in his brow told her that he wasn’t following her logic. “How do you figure that?”
“You’re the first one who ever counted.” All her life, she’d been schooled by example to keep things to herself, never to say too much. And here she was, pouring out her heart to this man. She flushed ruefully. “Or is that admitting too much?”
“Nope, definitely not too much.” He glanced over toward her father. A sense of pride and accomplishment filled him. “He looks happy.”
“I forgot what that looked like on him.” Miranda surprised him by taking hold of his shirt, rising on her toes and brushing a quick kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”
He automatically closed his arms around her, drawing Miranda closer to him. He noted that her father was looking their way for a second, and then nodding, as if silently giving his blessing. Mike couldn’t have asked for more.
“For?”
“For everything. For managing the team for him, for fighting the good fight for him. How did you manage to get him not just considered but voted in?” She’d made it her business to know a little something about the process. “Nomination season was over in January.”
“I’d like to thump my chest and say I have pull, but really, once I showed them the letter—and they had it authenticated,” he added as a sidebar, laughing. “Not the most trusting bunch of old men. Anyway, once they realized that your father took the fall for someone else and kept quiet about it all this time, despite the cost to him, they couldn’t fix the situation fast enough. They actually voted in a temporary amendment and opened up the nominating process for thirty minutes. That’s all it took. Your dad got every vote.”
It didn’t surprise her, but she was in awe because she’d been waiting for this to happen for such a long time, worrying at the same time that if it did come about, her father might not be alive to savor the honor. “Wow.”
“Yes, wow.” It was easy to see that Mike was directing the single, loaded word at her, not the voting outcome. “Now that I’ve taken care of this, I’m sending my superhero cape to the dry cleaners.” His grin faded and his expression turned serious. Something in Miranda’s stomach tightened in fearful anticipation. “With everything that’s been going on, we haven’t had much time to talk lately.”
Oh, God, here i
t comes. He’s leaving. He’s tired of me and he’s leaving. Why else would he want to “talk”?
“No,” she agreed, “we haven’t.”
And she desperately wanted to avoid a conversation now, but he had her cornered. She might as well face up to what he wanted to tell her. No matter what, she’d always remember him as the man who fixed her father’s life—and brought joy into hers.
Miranda raised her chin, bracing herself. “What’s on your mind?”
Mike slowly ran his hands up and down her arms, his eyes on hers. “You.”
Rather than admit that she knew he was trying to break up with her, that he wouldn’t be there anymore to wrap his arms around her, Miranda decided to make this difficult for him. If it was too difficult, she could have him for just a little while longer.
“What about me?”
Mike didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, he laughed at himself. “You know, I never prepared for this moment, never thought it would actually come.” He toyed with a strand of her hair. “For a guy who makes his living with words, I’m experiencing a strange, overwhelming shortage of them right now.”
“We could do charades,” she offered, congratulating herself that her voice hadn’t cracked. If she kept him off base long enough, the crowd around her father would disperse and then she’d rejoin him. Mike wouldn’t tell her he was leaving her in front of her father.
At least she hoped not.
But Mike was shaking his head. “I don’t think you want to remember your proposal that way.”
That pulled her up short. “My proposal?” she echoed. “What proposal?”
He pointed out the obvious. “The one I haven’t given yet.”
Her head began to spin. She wasn’t able to process anything he was saying. “What kind of proposal?” she heard herself asking dumbly.
Mike shrugged. “Funny, serious, romantic. Take your pick.” He slipped his arms around her again and drew her closer—loving the way they fit together. “In other words, you tell me.”
She looked at him, numb. He didn’t mean what she wanted him to mean—did he? “Are you…?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
A lack of air made her push the words out. “Asking me—”
Mike’s eyes crinkled as his grin only continued to grow. “Yes.”
“To—” She stopped to get her bearings. “Why are you saying ‘yes’ so much? I haven’t finished asking the question.”
“Because I thought if you heard the word yes often enough, you’d repeat it in the right place.”
Excited, Miranda took a deep breath. “Then you’re going to have to ask me the whole thing.”
“Okay, here goes.” His eyes were on hers and somehow, the rest of the room with its noise and its tantalizing pizza smells, seemed to fade away. “Miranda Shaw, will you marry me?”
Even though she was expecting it, somehow hearing the words left her completely stunned. “You want me to marry you.”
Nerves danced through him, making him uneasy. She could still say no. “Glad there’s nothing wrong with your hearing. Not that I wouldn’t love you if you had the hearing range of a stone,” he assured her.
More new information she was having trouble processing, Miranda thought. Did he realize what he’d just said? “You love me?”
Mike nodded, doing his best to keep a straight, serious face. But his grin kept getting the better of him. “Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“I like you. I lust after you. I respect you.” He stopped enumerating and looked at her, waiting. “Want more?”
Bursts of sunshine filled her. She was still celebrating that he wasn’t looking to break up with her. She grinned, this time lacing her arms around his neck. “I think I already have more.”
He arched a quizzical eyebrow. “More than you can handle?”
“No, not that much more. Just enough,” she told him. Mike kissed her then, in front of God, the pinball machine and her father. Miranda sighed. “I love you, too, you know,” she whispered against his lips.
“I do now.” He drew Miranda back to look at her face. His eyes searched it for his answer. “So, will you marry me?”
There was only a tiny bit of her insecurity still alive and well. But it made her uneasy. She needed assurances. “Only if you promise to love me forever.”
“Can’t,” he deadpanned. “But I can definitely give you the next eighty-five years,” Mike promised. “After that, we’ll see.”
She laughed then, realizing that without looking for it, seeking only justice for her father, she’d discovered the love of her life. And it felt very, very good.
“Deal,” she told him, just before he kissed her again.
Much to the pleasure of her father, who was watching them from across the room as he signed autographs.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1913-1
DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH
Copyright © 2008 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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