by Meier, Susan
“Yeah, I guess.” Ellie sat back with a sigh, suddenly realizing she really was here to stay. Like it or not, she was part of this town and couldn’t turn Sandy down. “Have you asked Finn?”
“I wanted to get your reaction first.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll do it if Finn does it.”
Chapter Eleven
A haze of humidity hung over Harmony Hills the day of the fund-raiser. Across the street from the park, on McDermott’s front porch, Ellie could smell the butter and onions from the pierogis and haluski, the rich scent of pork roasting over an open fire, and sugar from cotton candy and homemade funnel cakes.
Already, a crowd of people milled around the grassy site. But with a hot dog and soft drink in hand, without something for entertainment, they could eat and leave—and not spend any more money.
Sandy was right. They needed entertainment.
“Perfect day to fall into a four-foot tank of water.”
Ellie glanced at Ashley. Dressed in white shorts and a flowery top, with her hair in a fat blond ponytail, she did not look like the mother of three. Even with a chubby-cheeked baby girl on her hip.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being dunked.”
“It’s going to be amazing. I’ll finally get a crack at extracting a little justice from Finn for hurting you.” She pivoted to face Ellie. “Are you going to try to knock him in?”
She hadn’t thought about it, but the vision that appeared made her laugh. She was done being upset over not believing him. They were competitors. Period. May the best person win.
“Yeah. Maybe I will.”
Even as she spoke, the sound of a motorcycle roaring down the quiet street echoed around them. Though they were poised to take the first step down the stairs and walk across the road to the park, they both stopped.
Finn cut his bike’s engine and pulled off his helmet. He stowed it and headed to the gazebo where Sandy had set up shop as ticket saleswoman.
Ellie just stared at him. He wore shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt, and flip-flops, as she did, because that’s what Sandy had told them to wear. But he looked so much better in his. The shirt showed off his tattoos and muscled arms—not to mention a well-developed chest. His cargo shorts caressed a perfect butt. His sunglasses hid his blue, blue eyes, but added an air of sexiness that more than made up for it. His white teeth gleamed when he smiled.
Still, none of those things held a candle to the swagger. He strolled to the gazebo as if he owned the place, stopping to chat with a person or two he met along the way. His gait easy. Comfortable. Sensual.
She swallowed.
“Oh, come on. He’s just a guy. I’ll bet you competed with lots of guys to get ahead at Great Expectations.”
Glad Ashley thought she was scared of the competition and not in near drool mode, Ellie said, “I did.”
“And you won.”
“Yes. Because I’m gifted with figuring out how to make people want to buy things.”
Ashley giggled. “You’d have to be to sell adult diapers.”
“Not really. Necessity pushes those.”
“Come on. You’ve beaten this guy before. And you’ll beat him today.” She headed down the steps. “Let’s go, Champ.”
They walked across the street, then parted company when Ellie had to check in with Sandy at the gazebo.
Finn had already signed his release and sat on the seat to Sandy’s right, behind a big jar already half-filled with one-dollar bills. Ellie walked up the two steps to Sandy’s table.
She lifted her chin. “Finn.”
He pulled his sunglasses down his nose. “Ellie.”
She tried not to react to the gleam in his baby blues, especially since she knew he now disliked her. But her efforts were useless. A wave of caring surged through her. Deep down, he was a really nice guy.
Reminding herself that was a moot point, she let her feelings for him ebb and flow, grabbed the pen, signed all the release forms Sandy had laid out for her, and took the seat on the left. The one in front of the empty jar.
“First of all,” Sandy said, turning from Finn to Ellie and then back to Finn again, “I want to thank you both for doing this.”
Finn grinned. “It’s our pleasure.”
Sandy, even though she was well past seventy, all but swooned.
“As you said.” He took off his sunglasses and gave her another smile. “We’re your biggest customers.”
Sandy giggled. “Yes, you are.” She took a breath and faced Ellie again. “The rules are very simple. Each of you sits in the booth on a chair suspended above the four-foot tank of water for three half-hour stints. While you’re in the booth, the people who have bought tickets get to throw balls at the bull’s-eye. But in between your times in the chair, you can walk around, selling tickets for when you’re on the hot seat. You can beg people to pay to dunk you. You can tease them into it. Or you can remind people that they might have always wanted a shot at you, and this is better than a fistfight because you can’t hit back.”
Finn snorted a laugh.
Ellie frowned. Nobody mentioned that she had to sell tickets. “So it’s like a reverse popularity contest?”
Sandy patted Ellie’s hand. “But it’s all in good fun.”
She grabbed the bullhorn and walked to the front of the gazebo where she announced that the Dunk the Clown booth was now opening, and Finn Donovan would be the first to sit above the tank.
“All you guys who had a girlfriend stolen by Finn, this is your chance for revenge. All you girls who got your hearts broken by Finn? Well, five bucks will get you six chances to dunk him.”
Sandy and Finn left the gazebo and headed toward the hot seat. As they walked, Finn took off his shirt. Washboard abs and perfect pecs were exposed to the entire town.
Ashley sidled up to Ellie. “Holy crap.”
Ellie swallowed. “I know.”
…
Finn ambled up to the ladder and climbed to the collapsible chair. He already had a line of guys, all waiting to get their six baseballs from Charlene Simmons in her straw sun hat and jeans, overdressed to protect herself from either the sun or the splash of water when he hit the tank.
Knowing the drill, he eased onto the seat. Jimmy Ferguson stood behind the white line, tossing his first baseball into the air and catching it.
“Hey, Jimmy, nice to see you.”
Jimmy said, “Right,” then hurled his first ball at the bull’s-eye. A miss.
“I see you still have the same arm you had when we were playing high school ball.”
The next ball sailed through the air and hit the bull’s-eye with a thud. The next thing Finn knew, he was in water over his head.
He straightened his legs and pushed himself up in the tank. But he realized something. If he harassed all the men who stood lined up, waiting to drop him on his ass in the water, he might win this competition, but he’d ruin the relationships he’d begun to build with the people of this town.
A good businessman first and foremost, he wiped the water from his face and said, “Now that was a throw. Always wondered why the pros never scouted you.”
He climbed up to the seat again, and Jimmy dunked him four more times before he walked away happy.
His half hour on the hot seat whipped by. For entertainment’s sake, he tossed his head to get rid of the water in his hair, and pretended falling into four feet of cool liquid on a hot day was a hardship. But right before his stint was over, he glanced up and saw Brent the bartender talking with Ellie.
His gut tightened. He told himself not to care, as little Ozwald Theys stepped up to the line to throw his first ball. He let his gaze amble over to laughing Ellie and in-full-flirt-mode Brent, then suddenly found himself submerged again.
He jumped out of the water. He shook the drops from his hair and wiped his hands down his face before he climbed the ladder. What did he care if Brent was flirting with her? She didn’t like him. And now he didn’t like her.
&n
bsp; Ozwald’s first throw must have been a lucky shot, because he missed the next five.
Sandy came over with the megaphone and announced that Finn was getting out, and Ellie would be getting in for the next half hour. Two disgruntled teenage boys displayed tickets, but Sandy told them they could come back for Finn’s next half hour.
The pretty blond girl he’d met at the American Legion sidled up to him. She handed him a fluffy white towel. “My mom told me to give you this.”
Relief washed through him. Not just because he was back—a woman was flirting with him, he was no longer obsessed with a woman who thought him a liar—but because he now had a way to figure out her name.
“Really? Where is she?”
The blonde giggled. “Over there, silly.”
Two feet away stood her mother, Marian Pringle, who waved.
Wow. He’d sort of made an ass of himself, but he now knew the blonde was Mackenzie Pringle.
He dried himself off and slid his hand across her shoulder. He didn’t really care about Mackenzie, but this was all about being back in the game. “Can I buy you a soda?”
She giggled. “Sure.”
And they walked away. He refused to watch Ellie climb onto the chair, but he couldn’t stop his ears from straining for the sound of the first bull’s-eye that would drop her into the water.
He listened for it, as he and Mackenzie strolled to the soft drink stand, listened as Karen O’Riley handed him two cans of cola, listened as he took his first long swallow.
Nothing.
Damn it. He couldn’t stop himself from turning around, looking to see what was going on.
Mackenzie placed her hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry about the competition. You have none.”
Sure as hell, there wasn’t one person in Ellie’s line. Hurt for her filled him. Granted, she wasn’t quite a boyfriend stealer the way he had been a girlfriend stealer. And, no, she hadn’t gotten into fights in the boy’s room at school. And, no, she hadn’t beaten any seniors out of a spot on the football team when she was only in ninth grade…but surely somebody should want to see her T-shirt wet.
Actually, he did.
Still, he could not go over there and lob the first ball. He saw the two boys who were disgruntled that they’d have to wait a half hour for him to get back on the chair, and inspiration struck.
“Hey, kids.”
The one turned.
He nudged his head. “Come here.”
Frowning, and hesitating, they walked over.
“You should be all over that Dunk the Clown game now.”
The chubby kid’s eyes narrowed. “We wanna see you fall.”
“Yeah. You think you do, but you’re what? Fifteen?”
“Fourteen.”
“You should want to see Ellie in a wet T-shirt a little bit more than you want to see me get water up my nose.”
It took a second for the reasoning behind that to dawn, but once it had, the two boys raced away, up to the gazebo to Sandy, to trade their unused tickets for baseballs.
Finn leaned against an empty bench, snickering.
“What are we doing?”
He glanced down and saw Mary…no, MacKenzie. “Um. We’re watching the competition.”
“It’s boring.”
And she sounded twelve. She might be old enough to get into a bar, but she didn’t act like it.
“I’m staying here. You can join if you want, but if you don’t, that’s cool too.”
She sighed heavily.
The first kid raced to the line. Ellie sat up nervously. Adrenaline pumped through Finn. She deserved this—for thinking he was a liar. For not cooperating until it was obvious she could beat him. For that stupid coupon.
The kid threw the first ball. A miss.
Finn yelled, “That’s okay. Good effort. Put your shoulder into the next one.”
Mackenzie sighed.
The kid threw the second ball. Another miss.
Finn clapped like a Little League coach and pushed away from the bench so he could inch closer. “You’ll get it.”
Ellie’s head snapped up. “No coaching from the sidelines.”
He took another step closer. “I don’t remember there being a rule that said we couldn’t coach the pitchers.”
“I stayed away from you.”
“What? Following imaginary rules—even when they hurt people?”
The kid threw his third ball. Another miss.
Finn sighed. Walked over. Leaned in and whispered in the kid’s ear. “Wanna see that tank top wet?”
The kid nodded.
“Give me the last ball.”
He handed it over without hesitation. Before anyone really realized what was happening, Finn turned, pulled his arm back, and threw the ball. Like lightning, it shot out of his hand and thwapped the bull’s-eyes with a resounding thud. It released the lock under the chair and, splash, Ellie was in the water.
She sputtered a bit coming up. But the two boys clapped for joy. Finn fought a ridiculous surge of pride. He could still throw a ball, and she could kiss his behind. He hadn’t lied. He’d confided, believing he had a kindred spirit in her, when all she really was was his competition. The rival for business he needed.
After that, the game began in earnest. When it was Finn’s turn on the chair, Ellie bought balls.
“You thought it was funny to see me go into the water?” She threw the ball and it barely hit the bull’s-eye, but it hit, and he went under.
He surfaced, tossing his head, spraying water. “You’re still a girl.”
She sniffed. “You’re still an idiot.”
He climbed up the ladder. “Really? I seem to one-up you a lot.”
This time, she wound up before she pitched, and the ball hit the bull’s-eye with a thud. He plunged into the water.
“Right now, it looks like I’m getting the better of you.”
A ripple of laughter sounded around him. When he got the water out of his eyes, he saw a crowd had begun to form.
She missed her next two shots. “Oh, poor baby!” he chided. “Looks like you’re not the hotshot pitcher after all.”
The men in the crowd laughed, but B.B. raced over to Ellie and handed her a little basket of balls.
“Here, sweetie. I think this guy needs to be taught a lesson.”
This time the women laughed.
Ellie looked up at Barbara Beth. “Thanks.”
Barbara Beth said, “Hey, we’re a team.”
Ellie faced him again with a grin.
And something inside Finn twisted, then shifted. This was what they did. Competed. For him it had always been fun. She was fun. That was what drew him. She wasn’t whiny or demanding or a prima donna like Mackenzie. She was up for a little competition. Up for a little fun. And she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty or her T-shirt wet, and right now it was molded to what appeared to be a very pretty pink bra.
Thwack. The ball hit the bull’s-eye and he was in the water. He bounced out with a laugh.
The crowd laughed.
She laughed.
The feeling inside his chest expanded, warmed. He liked seeing her relaxed, having fun—
He shook his head to clear the unwanted thought. They were fighting for business. If she beat him, he’d be bankrupt. He wasn’t supposed to like her. She wasn’t supposed to like him.
She missed her next shot, but hit the following two.
As she gloated, showing off her muscles, chatting with the ladies who’d conspired to buy her another six balls, he glanced at the clock.
“You might not want to be so quick with buying another batch of balls.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Scared?”
“Nope, I’m looking at the clock and my time on the seat’s up.”
The women groaned. Ellie tossed a ball in the air. “I’ll get you next round.”
Damned if she didn’t make him laugh again. He climbed down the ladder and slid into his flip-flops. Without a word to her
, he ambled to the gazebo and tossed a twenty on the table. “Give me four buckets of balls.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd. He dunked her twenty-four times.
But she didn’t get angry. She made faces. She made promises to dunk him so many times he’d think he was a fish. And when her time was done, there were ten buckets of balls waiting for her, paid for by the women in the crowd.
When Ellie was on her final thirty minutes in the chair, Sandy raced over to him.
“This is better than I’d imagined,” Sandy cried, her eyes bright with delight. “You two could be in Vegas, you’re so funny.”
“We’re not funny. We don’t like each other.”
But even as he said the words, he knew they were wrong. The truth was they liked each other. Or maybe they didn’t like each other as much as they were alike. Having someone who competed as fiercely as he did made him feel normal, made him forget his dad. Having to fight to beat her made him realize that as long as he pushed himself, he could be somebody, anybody he wanted to be.
As he thought the last, he saw his father edging his way through the crowd.
“Finn!”
“Crap.” So much for forgetting his dad.
Sandy turned and followed the direction of his gaze. “It’s your father.”
“Yeah. It is.”
Jeb pushed five people out of the way to get to him. “You son of a bitch.”
With a little gasp, Sandy stepped back.
All Finn’s marine training tumbled back as instincts. His muscles hardened, preparing to attack. His fingers curled into fists.
But he calmed himself. This was not the time or the place for this fight. “What’s the matter now, Dad?”
“I tried to visit your mother, and I didn’t get farther than your front stoop. She called the police!”
Sandy’s gasp was louder this time and blended in with the gasps of the people gathering around them. An odd hush fell over the crowd, broken only by one or two confused questions about LuAnn Donovan calling the police on Jeb. Jeb, of all people.
Finn laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Jeb grabbed his shirt. “You told her to!”
