He wasn’t opposed to marriage and family. Some of the players on the team were married with kids, but most of the guys were single, not wanting to settle down because their lives could change in an instant.
Dustin opted for avoidance. “You’re nowhere near dying, Mom.” He shook his head. His mom had the same soft black hair she’d had since the day he was born, and her skin was plump and soft with nary a wrinkle. He prayed he aged as well as his mother, because next to her, his dad looked like a raisin.
The choir began the opening song, and Dustin settled in to listen and get a little peace in his week. He had a lot more downtime when the team traveled, but when they were at home, he hardly had time to breathe. This moment was a gift, and he intended to enjoy it.
When the sermon was over, he stood with his family and exchanged hugs.
The phone rang, taking Dustin away from the ribbing his dad was giving his brother. His agent’s face beamed up at him from the screen. With a quick check of the time and a wave goodbye to his family, he hurried to the back of the room and answered with, “Either you’ve got good news or I’m in big trouble.”
Reed laughed. “You’re a barrel of monkeys, man.”
“What’s up?”
“It just so happens that I do have good news. Your social media pages are exploding.”
Dustin headed toward the parking lot, loosening his tie as he walked. He had an hour to get to the stadium. Their last game against the Phillies started at five. “Home runs are big news.”
“No, man, it’s these pics of you at the homeless shelter.”
“It’s more of a soup kitchen.” Dustin paused at his car, not sure why he’d bothered to correct Reed.
“Whatever. You should look into donating to them. Monthy. The tax benefits are substantial, and it’s doing good things for your image. Get lots of pictures. The better you look now, the easier it will be to get a contract with a new team next summer.”
Dustin threw his tie into the back seat and shrugged out of his jacket. He knew there were politics involved in getting on a team with a bigger payroll, but the idea of using The Pantry to further his career didn’t sit right. What would Clover think about that?
He rubbed his face. Clover wasn’t part of this, and yet he had a hard time separating her from The Pantry. “Let me think on it.”
“Don’t think too long. The fiscal year is almost up.”
“Okay.” He said goodbye and tossed his phone on the passenger seat. He had a game to play today and he wasn’t feeling it. Try as he might, he couldn’t put himself on the field mentally. His head wasn’t in the right place. He needed Clover and the fire in her eyes to bring out the fight inside of him.
He checked the clock. There was no time to stop by The Pantry and verbally spar with the beautiful brunette. He’d have to take this game on his own. He could do this. He’d played well enough to get into the Majors without Clover, and he could continue without her, too.
He hurried to change his shirt, breaking off a button in the process. He shouldn’t be changing in the car, but he didn’t want his suit to sit in the locker room all day. He picked up the button and stared at it. The little round disk sat heavy in his palm. Like an omen. The buckle fell right off his belt, broken beyond repair. Another omen. He bit back a curse. No swearing on Sunday.
Forget about changing.
Slamming the keys in the ignition, he dialed Reed’s number and put the phone to his ear. “Let’s do The Pantry donations. Just make sure I get to show up a couple times a week.”
Reed agreed to his terms and conditions, sure that The Pantry would take whatever Dustin wanted to give, be it time or money. He promised to have something set up by the time the team got back from Cincinnati. They flew out Monday morning and played that night. Thursday was a travel day. He could pop into The Pantry and tell Clover the good news.
His mood brightened. Yep. He’d see the firecracker in a few short days. The thought was enough to get him out on the field with a bounce in his step.
Chapter Eleven
Clover made her way into the hotel with slow steps. She was ten minutes early for the night shift, and there was no need to rush. Evening in the desert was an experience she appreciated. The colors were vibrant, especially the faded blue of the sky as it changed to gold, then red, and finally denim blue before black. Stars weren’t shy, hurrying out to say hello. And the temperatures, which were scalding during the day, became a pleasant warmth—like a blanket that had just been pulled from the dryer.
July 4th was a mixed bag of a holiday in Clover’s life. Her mom would spend the day panhandling on a street corner, easily collecting enough money to get them to the next town. She never let Clover beg with her, and she never explained why. Clover liked to think that her mom was protecting her from the embarrassment, but that may have been giving her mother too much credit. Rainbow liked to work alone.
Alongside the muddled memories of her mother were the celebrations. It didn’t matter what city they were in over Independence Day; there was always something for a child to do. When she was young, she’d find a friend and they’d share cotton candy and giggles. As she got older, friends were harder to come by, but boys grew more interested. She’d had more than one kiss under the fireworks, happy to be someone’s somebody special for the occasion.
Looking back, the stolen moments were hollow. What was a kiss if there wasn’t love behind it? She’d become much more selective since then about who she shared her lips with on any occasion.
Which meant she hadn’t kissed a guy in a while.
Which would explain why—on the Fourth of July—she found herself thinking about Dustin’s lips.
Which was ridiculous, because the guy was in Cincinnati, and she was stuck at the front desk making sure the guests who’d had too much to drink didn’t smash a hole in the big-screen television. Even though it was different guests each year, somehow, someone managed to put the television in jeopardy. She considered leaving it off in hopes that no one would notice it if the screen was dark, but she wanted to watch the Redrocks game.
Brayden hadn’t pitched in a couple games, and she wondered if Dustin’s friend had done something wrong. The starting pitchers always looked angry when they were taken out of a game. But then, there was a different starting pitcher each game, so they could take turns. She’d have to ask Dustin. If she ever saw him again. He may be a jerk, but he was the only link to baseball she had, and she was falling in love with the sport. There was something poetic about the game that spoke to her.
She flipped the television on and found the baseball station with the commentators who were fast becoming her mentors. As they made their way through the pregame show, she rearranged the furniture in the lobby to create an alleyway for guests that would keep them far away from the screen. If the television was damaged, she’d lose the chance to watch games at work.
Once done, she brushed off her hands and smiled. She may not be getting kissed tonight, but her romance with baseball was just beginning.
The camera panned over the team, and her breath hitched at seeing the number 26 on Dustin’s jersey. He wasn’t facing the field, but was talking to one of the coaches. Fireworks exploded inside her chest. Not the big ones that fill the night sky with color, but a smaller fountain that popped and sizzled. She shook out her arms and then allowed herself to appreciate the way Dustin looked in his uniform. He wore the knicker-like pants with the long socks. She liked that he chose those pants instead of the long ones. He looked more like a player from the past, and baseball’s history was as romantic as any paperback novel she’d read.
They cut to the bullpen. She squinted, trying to make out Brayden. He was harder to find because she didn’t know his number. He was standing in the corner, talking to the catcher who never got to play in the game.
The desk phone rang, pulling her away from the screen and her admiration of the players. “Stick to admiring the game,” she told herself as she rounded the desk. “He’s
not what you want him to be.”
With that, she started her shift and did her best to keep thoughts of Dustin Colt and fireworks far away.
Chapter Twelve
“We’ve got a new donor.”
“Who?” asked Clover as she kicked her feet up on the small stool next to Jane’s desk. Kids used the stool to get into Jane’s candy jar.
Jane spent a good portion of her workday fundraising. Clover could never do that part of the job, and she was grateful Jane was willing and able to bring in the funds that kept The Pantry running. She didn’t have to keep Clover up to date on the financial side of things, but when something went right, she liked to celebrate with her only employee.
They were celebrating now, sharing a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels in Jane’s office. The wall behind Jane’s chair was covered in multicolored sticky notes. Clover didn’t even try to make sense of Jane’s organization system. There were at least three levels of color coding going on over there.
“Dustin Colt.” Jane lifted her arms and wiggled her backside, making her rolling chair go side to side. “I finished going the rounds with his agent.”
“Going the rounds?”
“Dustin wants to promote his involvement with The Pantry on social media, and we needed to hash out the legal aspects. They should be here soon to set up a photo shoot.” She lifted both palms in the air. “It will be an inconvenience today, but I’m happy to say we’re going to be able to feed a lot more families this winter because of his donations. If we can get another big sponsor or two, we might even be able to expand.”
Clover folded her arms.
“Why the grumpy face?” Jane giggled at her own joke. She tossed back another chocolate pretzel and smiled.
Clover worked to put her feelings into words. Honestly, so many emotions vied for attention when she thought of Dustin that she hardly knew where to start. “This is a good thing for a lot of people.”
“Buuuuuut,” Jane prompted.
“But I don’t like him using The Pantry to improve his image.”
Jane got to her feet and came around the desk. “This is how the world works. It’s not always pretty.” She placed an arm over Clover’s shoulders. “You’re assuming he’s only doing this for personal gain.”
“I’m calling it like I see it.”
She shook her head. “But are you seeing the whole picture?”
“I—” Clover paused. After several years living and then working with Jane, she knew better than to assume she knew the woman’s innermost thoughts. Jane wasn’t one to drill her ideas or beliefs into another’s head. She had sound advice, and when Clover followed it, her life was better. So, she put the lid on her mason jar of protests and prejudices against Dustin and waited for Jane to continue.
Jane squeezed Clover against her side. “I’m afraid you do this a lot, believe the worst in people until they prove you wrong.”
Clover lowered her eyebrows. “No, I don’t.”
“That way they don’t let you down.”
Clover’s defensive reply died in her throat. She thought about her small circle of friends. She loved each one of them as if they were family, because they were the closest thing she would have to a family. But beyond that, she approached people with a small amount of mistrust. Growing up on the streets, she was never sure who was out to take something from her. Trusting too easily could have set her up for emotional and possibly physical pain.
“You might be right.” She one-armed hugged Jane back. “Because right now, I’m thinking you’re trying to set me up for a big change, and I don’t like it—or you.”
Jane laughed and let her go. “You’ve got good instincts. I’m challenging you to say one nice thing about a person for every bad thing you say. And if you think something bad, you have to think something good.” She nudged Clover. “Start with me.”
Clover shrugged. “That’s easy. You care about people and sacrifice for others without a thought.”
“See. That was easy.”
Clover hugged her arms around her middle. She’d understood that her upbringing was less than ideal and that she didn’t always see things as others saw them. This little exercise might be the exact right thing to help her trust people, or at least trust in the good she believed lived inside each person. “Thanks, Jane.”
“No problem.” Jane opened the office door. “Now, go out there and spread some sunshine.”
Clover hopped out the door and ran into a man carrying a microphone. “Sorry,” she mumbled at the same time he did. The Pantry was dotted with television cameras and microphones. Thick black wires ran across the floor. Their normal Thursday patrons stood outside, watching through the window as The Pantry changed from a refuge to a circus. As a general rule, the people who came in for a meal were shy. They didn’t want to be on camera. In the middle of all the crazy activity stood Dustin Colt.
Her heart leapt and then beat out a steady mantra: He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.
A woman with a hairbrush stood in front of Clover, blocking her view and shaking her out of the trance.
Jane shut the office door behind her and nearly ran into Clover.
Clover took one look at Dustin and his perfectly tousled hair and smooth chin and flipped on Jane. “How about I start thinking nice things next week?” she asked out of the side of her mouth.
Jane patted her back. “Nope.”
Shoot!
Chapter Thirteen
Clover waved at John, the man staring in through the front window. He had on a pair of severely wrinkled cargo pants and a dingy tank top, his chest hair poking straight out of the neckline. His bald head was covered with a red baseball hat. He lifted a couple fingers in response. She motioned for him to come inside. There was a box of granola bars in the back, and he looked like he could use a snack.
John shook his head sadly and turned to leave. Clover’s heart ached on his behalf. He’d obviously come for a reason, and now he was leaving because the camera crew was here. Too many people inside who might make big circles as they walked by and refuse to look him in the eye.
Clover dashed to the door and ran down the sidewalk to stop him. He had a habit of disappearing into thin air for weeks at a time. His sunken cheeks said that he didn’t have weeks to wait for a good meal. “John!”
He jerked his chin over his shoulder and tensed at the sound of his name. When he saw Clover, he relaxed, and his worn shoes came to a halt. He ducked his head, waiting for her to talk first.
“John.” She lightly touched his sleeve. “It’s so good to see you. Would you like to come in?”
He worked his mouth for a minute. “Looks crowded.”
Clover silently cursed the need for private sponsors and their personal agendas. “Only for today,” she assured him. If he took The Pantry off his list of stops, he could be in big trouble. “Why don’t you go around back, and you can sit in the kitchen with me where it’s quiet. I made stew today.”
John finally took his eyes off the ground and looked at the front door. “It’s just today?”
“Yes, sir.” Clover beamed, hoping to reassure him that The Pantry was still a haven for him and anyone who needed a meal.
“I’ll come back tomorrow, then.” He dropped his chin to his chest and shuffled off.
Clover watched him go, feeling as though she’d failed him. With a quick prayer on John’s behalf, she stomped back into The Pantry, her anger at the situation simmering under the surface.
“There she is,” said Jane, pointing at Clover. The woman with the brush grabbed her arm and propelled her across the floor to the backdrop they’d prepared. Dustin held a giant check on one side, and Jane held the other.
“Here,” said brush girl, “stand right next to Dustin.”
Clover did as she was told, but she leaned away from him. She had no desire to be caught up in his delicious smell or the heat coming off his body. He didn’t have any team gear on today. She glanced at the check and saw that it had his
personal signature on it. Yep. This was all about him.
“Smile, Clover. You’re on camera,” Dustin said without moving his lips. His teeth were perfectly white and straight and beautiful. She licked her lips and smiled without showing her teeth. They were clean and bright, but one of her bottom teeth twisted. She’d never been self-conscious about it before.
“I don’t want to be on camera.”
“Make the best of it.”
The photographer snapped a couple pictures. The flash made Clover blink. “Fine, I’ll blame you.”
“If that will make you feel better.”
“It does.”
“Good.”
Clover moved to step away, and the brush girl wagged a finger at her. She growled. “I have things to do.” And the sooner we get you all out of here, the sooner our patrons will come inside.
“Just a few more.” Brush girl moved her to the middle of the check and placed her hands on the top as if she were the one holding it up. “There. Perfect.” She trotted back to her place, and the photographer stepped forward once again.
“You’re doing great,” said Dustin.
Clover mentally rolled her eyes.
Jane poked her in the rib. “Think nice thoughts.”
Clover pressed her lips together. It’s nice that he wants to help people. There! One nice thought.
“Little more happy in the middle there,” prompted the photographer.
“She’s not used to smiling,” teased Dustin.
“Not when you’re around,” quipped Clover.
Jane cleared her throat.
This time, Clover did roll her eyes. She searched for something to say that wouldn’t come across as too personal or make it sound like she’d stalked his Instagram account. “You look better without the beard.” She smiled at Jane, pleased that she’d been able to get the words out without a trace of sarcasm. Because she was feeling a tad sarcastic this afternoon. She might as well go ahead and blame Dustin for that too.
Caught Looking (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 2) Page 6
