by Pamela Aares
“And I’m a nosy, bossy sister-in-law. Want to tell me what’s up?”
“Not really.”
“Sabrina.”
No wonder her stubborn brother had found his true love. Jackie was impossible to resist.
“To be honest, I don’t know. I feel like every inch of my soul has been rearranged by a decorator who didn’t listen to me.”
“Got it.”
An awkward pause had Sabrina staring at her phone.
“Um, I was just going out for a run,” she finally said.
“It won’t help,” Jackie said. “You can’t run from love, Sabrina. I tried. Doesn’t work.”
“Who said anything about love?”
“Alex did.”
She wanted to say that her brother wasn’t an expert on the subject, but since he’d married Jackie, he fancied himself to be one. His attitude was irritating.
“Talk to me or I’ll come down there.”
Sabrina knew from Jackie’s tone that she wasn’t bluffing. So she pulled a stool up to the kitchen counter, where she could stare out at the rich blue water, and started talking.
She told Jackie about what happened at the farm, about her sleepwalking episode and about becoming lovers with Kaz. About discovering what it felt like to truly love, to be so unconcerned with what others thought that she could simply love unconditionally. Jackie laughed knowingly as Sabrina described how she’d fought to resist her feelings, how she’d tried to pretend that Kaz hadn’t rocked her world. And then, although recounting the events hurt beyond measure, she told her about the scene with the sheriff and Kaz at Stacy’s.
“I’m so sorry,” Jackie said. “Trauma’s a nasty beast. It can make you see things through a clouded lens. I have the name of a therapist who can help erase some of its tracks.”
“It’s not the trauma, at least I don’t think so. Or maybe it is—I don’t know. I just don’t know. But there was nothing clouded or disguised about what I saw in his eyes that morning. His eyes, his movements, told me all I needed to know. If you’d seen him with her, with Stacy, you’d know what I’m talking about. She was his first love—or at least his first important love—and now…now they’ve reconnected.”
Jackie didn’t say anything. Sabrina looked into her coffee mug, considered taking a sip, and then put the mug down. Her hands were already shaking; caffeine wasn’t going to be any help.
“I’ve heard you never get over your first love,” she said into the silence. “That it wraps memories around you so tightly that you can never separate them from your own nature.”
“Then you’re in real trouble, Sabrina. Alex said Kaz is the first guy you’ve really fallen for.”
“How would he know?”
“Siblings know these things. I’d know just from the tone of your voice right now. No PTSD therapist can deal with what you’re going through. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow, on my way back from Scottsdale. Chill a big bottle of Chablis. We’re going to need it.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Kaz rubbed at his chest. A week of working out hard with the team hadn’t distracted him from incessant thoughts of Sabrina; he’d taken a line drive in the ribs the day before because his thoughts had wandered while he was on the mound.
What he really needed before heading off to practice today was a long run, away from the clatter of the trolleys and the bustle of the city. Quiet time under a wide-open sky.
He drove to the nearby McDowell Preserve. Moving his body in the expanse of the Sonoran Desert might clear his head.
His legs pumped and lungs opened as he ran by giant saguaro cactus, some towering over his head as they reached into the bright blue sky.
He stretched his arms as he ran. He’d slowly built a strong physical base over the winter. Rushing muscles was always a bad practice. He’d seen guys with good arms blow them out by not listening to their bodies, by not letting their arms guide them, not letting them dictate the pace or the number and the distance of throws as they prepared for the season. He’d learned to throw through feelings, through sensations, and listen to pain.
If the feeling didn’t get better, he backed off. Knowing the difference between pain that signaled stop and a nagging soreness he could throw through in order to get to the other side feeling both stronger and more adept—that was where the real magic was.
Every pitcher brought his own style to the game—their own practices, what worked, what didn’t. But the key to success was in quieting the chattering mind and listening. Years of samurai practice had taught Kaz to listen to his body. To be in tune. It was as though his arm told his body what to do day to day, even which pitch to throw. Sure, numbers—the stats of hitters—came into play, as did game strategy. But his arm knew best.
His arm was his lifeline. Digging the irrigation ditch hadn’t been in the training plan. Hell, neither had chasing off drug dealers or falling in love.
He stopped running. Simply stopped.
How the hell had he let himself fall in love?
How hardly mattered. But putting a name to the feeling shocked him.
So much for him knowing to back off if a feeling didn’t get better, for him knowing when to stop and when to move through.
Sabrina Tavonesi had sent his normally ordered world into a wild spin. Like the desert plants surrounding him that had acclimated to harsh conditions, he also had some life-preserving adapting to do.
Two days later, Kaz was slotted to pitch the exhibition game against the Rockies.
His first pitch went wild, and Aderro swiped at the ball as it careened by him.
To Kaz’s dismay, the batter called for time and stepped out of the box. Kaz stood on the mound and willed his mind to stop chattering.
Damn, dead time gave players time to think, time for the mind to inhibit or sabotage performance. A trained mind could shut out destructive thoughts, and one of Kaz’s strengths was his ability to relax his mind in a game environment, to easily ride the wave between action and reaction mode.
But his training wasn’t working today. His confident, clear-minded concentration wasn’t there. What had happened to his natural, instinctive and joyous play? To his ability to drop into the zone? His erratic throws were a far cry from any sort of peak experience.
Peak experience?
What was a peak experience if not the feel of Sabrina’s body, the light of her smile, the sound of her laughter? Her fierce concentration as he’d shown her the protection sequences. The pure bliss of her body moving with his, the sexual power he’d never imagined was possible, the—
He stopped thinking and focused. His second pitch sailed in—it had good speed, but his control wasn’t there. The Rockies’ batter connected. If Ryan Rea, the Giants’ center fielder, hadn’t leaped up the wall to snatch the ball out of the air, it would’ve been a home run.
Kaz cursed under his breath. And that was part of his problem. He couldn’t focus on his breath.
All the physical practice in the world was of diminished value if the mind was vulnerable and unprepared in game situations, when the mind was tested the most. His mind was crowded, clattering with thoughts, his body flooding with emotions. No cadence and no peace. Power but erratic focus. And he couldn’t hear, not clearly, the messages of his arm.
Sabrina had taken up residence in his mind, in his body, and in his soul. In samurai training, the balance of the inner and outer worlds was crucial. But Sabrina had tilted that balance. More than tilted it, since he was now sliding off the edge.
His non-thinking state of mind wasn’t there for him. Thoughts that he could normally allow to flit, release and dissolve spiked into him like so many arrows, and the wounds bled out, swamping his clarity, his confidence, his ability to get into the zone.
The next hitter got a piece of his slider.
As if in slow motion, it sailed straight for Kaz. He tried to get a glove on it, but only tipped it into a careening spin into the outfield.
He should’ve let the ball g
o through to the second baseman. He should’ve trusted that his teammate could field the hit.
Baseball wasn’t a one-man show.
He had to get out of his head and sink into the game. He focused and got out of the inning, then didn’t let any more hitters reach base until he loaded the bases in the bottom of the third. Hal Walsh, their manager, called Scotty Donovan in to get them out of the inning.
Kaz gave curt answers to the first reporter who cornered him after the game. It wasn’t the reporter’s fault that he hadn’t performed, that he hadn’t had the debut he’d dreamed of and that he’d trained most of his life to execute. He ducked around a group of reporters clustered around Alex Tavonesi. But unlike in the minor leagues, the tabloid press was there too. He hadn’t prepared for them.
But they were ready for him. A player accused of murder was big news. Especially when a hot Hollywood star was in the mix. It didn’t matter that the charges had been dropped; no one seemed to remember that bit. Or if they remembered, they didn’t care.
If Alex hadn’t stepped up and cut them off, Kaz would’ve blown it and let loose with what was on his mind. A poor outing and questions from rude reporters did not mix well. Not for Kaz.
Alex was a pro. He had experience with questions about life and death. He’d had to field them when he’d been implicated in a man’s death a couple years earlier. Kaz had read the reports of his near-death battle to save Jackie’s life. And now the fact that Alex was Sabrina’s brother somehow made the reporters bend to him. Or maybe it was just Alex’s confident air and the fact that he’d been an All-Star for eight years in a row. Whatever it was, Kaz was grateful for the help, grateful to get the hell out of the fishbowl.
After the game, Kaz ducked under the stream of hot water in the clubhouse showers. But the pounding water didn’t wash away the tight web of tension binding him.
“Your velocity’s looking good,” Scotty Donovan said as he turned on the shower next to Kaz.
Scotty had thrown four near-perfect innings. The guy had pitches even the best hitters couldn’t get a bat on. But more than that, he was a nice guy.
“I know when I suck,” Kaz said. He wasn’t much in the mood for nice.
“It’s week two. We’re all just getting warmed up.”
When Kaz didn’t answer, Scotty gave him a long look. Kaz bit back his curt response and turned to let the water run over his face. The Giants were a tight team; pissing off one of their stars wouldn’t be a very good move. Besides, Scotty was reaching out. Kaz would do well to make a few friends. But after a bad game, he wasn’t in any mood for that either.
Kaz stomped to his locker and pulled out his phone. He’d text Sabrina. If he couldn’t clear his mind, perhaps he could clear things up with her and that would help him move on.
How could a few weeks of knowing a woman throw his carefully planned world into such a spin?
Snippets of his parents’ story rolled through his mind as he pulled up her number. His mother had come from a family of professionals, lawyers and doctors who loved city life. Her parents had picked out the perfect man for her—a businessman, a leader in the Japanese-American community in LA. Then she’d met his father. Within one week they’d shocked everyone and eloped. No one in her family had wanted her to marry a farmer. But no one in her family had married for love either. Maybe he’d gotten the quick-to-fall-into-love genes from her.
He looked down at his phone.
He’d typed the word love.
He was losing his mind. He deleted it, letter by letter. Then he deleted the whole text. Communicating with Sabrina wouldn’t change anything.
He had a text from Martin Erickson. He was in Scottsdale and wanted to meet up with Kaz. Maybe Martin was a closet baseball nut. Kaz deleted the message.
“Come out with me for a beer,” Alex said as he toweled off.
“No, thanks. I have some farm business to attend to.” It wasn’t a total lie. He needed to review the bids on the irrigation system that’d come in that morning. Not something he looked forward to. All the bids would be ten times more than the family could afford.
“Then come out with me and Scotty after. We have something to show you.”
He couldn’t very well refuse an outright invitation, especially after Alex had just helped him escape the clutches of the tabloid press.
“Will six thirty work?” Kaz said, hoping it wouldn’t.
“Pick you up in front of the hotel.”
Martin Erickson was waiting for Kaz when he reached the hotel lobby.
“I texted you,” Martin said as he strode over.
Kaz nodded.
“Join me for a drink?”
“I’m in training.”
“I’m not. I’ll buy you a lemonade.”
“Not in the mood, Martin.”
“You might be when you hear what I have to say.”
The outdoor patio off the lobby was crowded with tourists and fans. “Let’s sit at the bar,” Martin said, leading the way.
Kaz had been wrong about Martin—he hadn’t been involved with the drug gang. But the knowledge didn’t make him like the guy.
“I spoke with your father,” Martin said as he took a long draw from his beer. “He wants you to make decisions about the farm.” He took another swig. “But you know that.”
He didn’t. The brief conversations he’d had with his father had centered on a fix for the irrigation system and ordering a part for their old tractor.
Martin pushed back from the bar and crossed his arms.
“I want to help you start a marketing program,” Martin said, “a subscription service of sorts for your peaches. A CSA, the local grange guy called it. Your peaches are perfect for a specialty business like that.”
“Why do you care?” It wasn’t a gentleman’s response, but the twitch in Martin’s jaw told Kaz that Martin had come to talk about more than CSAs and marketing. With guys like Martin, there was always a hidden agenda. An agenda Kaz was pretty sure would flow only one way.
Martin shifted on his bar stool and faced Kaz square on. “Look, I know you don’t like me. And I haven’t helped matters any. I’m still learning the ways of the Valley, the pace and the people. But since I’ve moved to Valley Cross, I realize I like it. I like the way people work for a future that isn’t all boxed up and pre-packaged. I like that it’s a place people care about, a place where people have roots.”
Kaz wasn’t sure which shocked him more—Martin’s confession or the fact that he believed him.
“I want to start an eco-resort on my property. Reserve some of the land as wild, like your family did. But I need water for a project like that.”
Martin crossed him arms. If their discussion had been a sumo match, Martin would have just lost. The defensive gesture had surrender written all over it. But sometimes surrender was the path forward. And maybe the wily Martin knew that.
“Your family has water rights,” Martin went on, not stopping for breath. “If we join forces, I can develop my resort and help you in the process.” He did pause then, and locked Kaz in a determined stare.
“I can pay up front to put in a state-of-the-art water-conserving irrigation system that will rival any in the state,” he added. “You’d use less water—half the amount, if my engineer’s calculations are right—and I’d have enough to get the permits through for my project.” Martin tapped the side of his beer glass. “And your organic orchards and the CSA would give the place cachet. Slow peaches.” He smiled. “I like the sound of it.”
Few people surprised Kaz, but Martin had managed to shock him. After such a poor performance on the mound, having a backup plan for the farm would be a good proposition.
“What’s to keep you from turning your place into another Newport Shores?”
“You have little reason to trust me, but I’d like you to be on the board. I’m going to do the whole thing as a non-profit. You know—education, kids, demonstration gardens.” Martin took another sip of his beer. “I don’
t want to get to the end of my life and have just a garage full of toys.” He set the glass down. “Your parents liked the idea.”
His parents would like any idea that promised to save the farm.
“I need to think about it,” Kaz said as he downed the last of his lemonade, wishing it were a very cold, very tall martini. “I have an appointment. I’ll get back to you. Send the plans down, and I’ll think it over.”
“The plans are waiting at the front desk.” Martin stood. “There’s one more thing you should know. I’m marrying Stacy Kingston. Next month.” He offered his hand. “I’ll be forever in your debt for saving her life.”
“Congratulations,” Kaz said, and found himself meaning it. How he’d gotten tangled in a debt of honor with Martin, he’d have to track back in his thoughts later. That Stacy had a future with a guy who had his head on and who clearly loved her was a good thing. A very good thing. “Like I said, I’ll think about your offer.”
Kaz raced out to the front of the hotel.
Alex and Scotty Donavan were waiting for him.
“Go get your glove,” Alex said.
“My glove?”
“We’re about to deal with your pitching problem.”
No one else was around as Kaz, Alex and Scotty set up in one of the empty batting cages at the end of the Indian School practice field. Kaz had practiced there the year before, during his last stint on the Triple-A team. The irony that he was back on the field he’d played on in the minors—after trying so hard to get away from anything to do with the minor league—but with two All-Stars to coach him struck him hard.
Remembering his mistake handling the ball in the second inning hit him harder. He wasn’t used to relying on other people. At the farm, yes, but in the minors? Not even close. In the minors guys came and went and everybody was trying to get somewhere they weren’t. The unsettled nature of the system didn’t promote team cohesiveness.
Baseball was a game of paradoxes. Individual performance was measured within decimal points of accuracy, but once you got to the Major Leagues, the performance of the team as a whole took precedence, something he would do well to remember. The great teams had something special—Scotty and Alex and the guys on the Giants, they were better as a team than any one of them individually.
