Bottom of the Ninth: Seattle Skookums Baseball (Game On in Seattle Book 6)

by Jami Davenport

  He did what Karen would’ve done, though he rationalized his decision by telling himself that his carefully spun and crafted good-guy image would be severely tarnished if he left this woman and her bedraggled children to the mercy of the elements, including the city’s unsavory human elements.

  “You can come home with me. We’ll deal with this stuff in the daylight.” He was dragging butt, starving, and he couldn’t think straight right now.

  Paisley found her tongue. “I don’t know you.”

  “Do you have a better option?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “I have a huge old house up on this hill somewhere. There’s plenty of room, if you don’t mind sleeping on the floor. I haven’t unpacked.”

  “We don’t mind,” the boy answered for her.

  “It’s settled then.” Zeke motioned for them to follow him to the SUV. The kids didn’t hesitate. They ran for the warmth of the car. Paisley fidgeted and stared after them.

  “We still don’t know you.” She challenged him with a lift of her chin and drew herself up tall, as tall as a woman no more than five foot four could.

  “I’m perfectly harmless, I assure you, and if I’m not, you can use that pepper spray you’ve been gripping as if it’s your lifeline.”

  “Bear spray,” she corrected as she stared down at her white knuckles wrapped around the small canister. “I don’t know your name.” She was stuck on this knowing-him stuff. He’d gotten a woman naked many times knowing less than he knew about this woman.

  He held out a hand. “Zeke.”

  She refused his hand. “Paisley Madison.” She turned to the children. “That’s Sophie and Sadie, they’re five, and Brayden, he’s eight.”

  “Well, then, now we know one another.” He managed a smile. “Are they yours?”

  “They’re my sister’s.” She didn’t volunteer any more information. “This is so not a good idea.”

  He didn’t respond but turned to the car, leaving her no choice but to follow. He should’ve taken them to a hotel and paid for one night, then walked away. After all, he excelled at walking away from tough situations. He just couldn’t do it this time, and he didn’t have a damn clue why. Maybe it was Paisley’s tears of absolute resignation, or the little boy’s bravery, or maybe his give-a-damn wasn’t actually dead, but dormant.

  But most of all, he knew why he’d done it.

  Karen would be proud.

  Chapter 2—At Bat

  Paisley watched Zeke in a battle to the death with the rusty lock on the ancient door of his new home. Finally, after one particularly vicious twist, it screeched in protest and gave way. The door swung open on creaky hinges. The kids gathered behind Paisley, peering around her to peer into the gloomy darkness of what resembled a haunted mansion worthy of a slasher film.

  Even Zeke hesitated momentarily. Using his flashlight on his cell phone, he found a light switch and turned it on. Paisley half expected nothing to happen. No power, just like in the horror movies. Thankfully, an overhead chandelier covered in cobwebs lit up. Paisley suppressed a shudder and silently prayed a spider wouldn’t fall from the rafters to stake a homestead claim in her hair.

  Releasing a held breath, she calmed her drumming heart enough to look around. The entry hall had been grand once, an imposing two stories with that huge chandelier now dulled with dust and age. A grand staircase wound its way to a railed landing. The place had to be haunted.

  She felt like she was playing the part of a too-stupid-to-live heroine walking obliviously into the villain’s lair.

  “It’s been vacant awhile. Bank repo.” Zeke shrugged apologetically, swatting at a spider web.

  “A long while, but it’s beautiful.” Paisley forced herself to look beyond the obvious to the good bones underneath. She loved old houses, and she’d never been in one this grand, despite its need of TLC.

  “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting this. My agent got it for a steal.”

  Paisley nodded, wondering why he’d taken on a house in such a state of disrepair. “Do you buy old houses and fix them up?”

  “I’ve done that a few times.” His crooked smile made her feel light-headed and weak-kneed. She grasped the once-elegant banister, pretending to admire it.

  “My agent saved it from demolition. A tech millionaire wanted to bulldoze it and put up some ultramodern monstrosity with no character.”

  “Not much for contemporary design, are you?”

  “Nope.” His smile softened his features and made him look younger and boyish, but still drop-dead scalding hot.

  Zeke didn’t know where anything was, including the bedrooms and bathrooms. They stumbled upon the kitchen, and he opened the two boxes of pizza. The kids dug in, hunger tamping out their manners. Paisley didn’t have the heart to lecture them on proper etiquette.

  Zeke watched with an unreadable expression as he munched on a piece of pizza and leaned casually against the counter.

  “I think there should be bedrooms upstairs. You can take your pick. There might be a bed or two in them.”

  “Are you sure this is your house?”

  “I told my agent what I wanted, and he bought it.”

  “Agent? Are you an actor?”

  He snorted. “Hardly. A baseball player.”

  Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning from a stormy Seattle sky. “You’re that Zeke? Zeke Wolfe? The Mr. Clean of baseball?” She should’ve recognized him. Every female baseball fan lusted after Zeke Wolfe with his squeaky-clean reputation and easygoing personality. Bad boys might be fun for a while, but Zeke was a keeper, or so most women thought.

  “Yeah.”

  “You were just traded to the Skookums, right?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound happy about his change of team.

  “That bad?”

  “They suck. I went from a World Series contender to a perpetual basement dweller. I had very little choice in the matter.” He sounded bitter. “So, yeah, I’m hardly thrilled.”

  “Oh.” She knew her sports, and she knew about the Skookums’ reputation. She also knew the kind of obscene salaries these guys earned. Zeke had money, and lots of it. She recalled reading something about an eight-figure-a-year salary.

  Hmmmm. She rubbed her chin in thought as she glanced around. He could use some help, and she was a great helper.

  “The season starts in two days, and I just finished training camp. I haven’t had time to breathe, much less worry about buying a house or unpacking.”

  She nodded, and a plan formulated in her mind. Paisley had always been resourceful and made the best of any situation when it presented itself. Such a situation had just fallen in her lap. This man needed her. He needed someone to take care of the day-to-day things in his life. She was organized, industrious, and motivated. Even better, she loved old houses.

  She was just the woman for him—not personally, of course.

  As a child, Paisley had dreamed of a real house, one of those big old houses with a front porch and a backyard garden like so many other kids in school had. She’d taken her passion for old homes a step further and spent hours in the library poring over books on architecture and drawing up her own plans for a dream home. Her ideal job had been in a furniture store, but each time she’d managed to finagle an interview, they had looked down their noses at her cheap clothes and hadn’t given her a chance. Now she had a chance. Zeke needed her, and she’d convince him of that.

  Zeke stood and stretched, rubbing his eyes. “I’m heading to bed. Like I said, take any of the vacant bedrooms. I have some meetings in the morning; then we’ll deal with your car.”

  She nodded and raised her head to look at him. Their eyes met and sparks—seriously, sparks—arced between them, shocking her stupid.

  “Are you okay?” He stared down at her. He was so very, very tall.

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly. She had never in her life experienced sparks when it came to any man, not even with the guy she’d lost her virginity to at fourteen years old
. The twenty-eight-year-old construction worker hadn’t exactly been gentle and patient with an inexperienced girl claiming to be a worldly eighteen years old. She’d thought she was in love, but he sure as hell hadn’t been.

  Despite the lack of physical sparks, she’d fallen in insta-love with every guy she’d slept with since, which explained her recent bout of celibacy after the last love of her life used her and dumped her for the next best thing. She had crappy taste in men, and she fell too hard and too fast with blinders on when it came to their faults. Paisley was like her mother in that respect, and she so did not want to be like her mother. She didn’t have time for a man, anyway. She had kids to take care of.

  “Good night, Zeke. Thank you so much for your generosity.” She shot him a huge smile. He nodded but didn’t say much in return. In fact, he was staring at her a little strangely.

  Paisley gathered the kids together and climbed the grand, sweeping staircase, opening doors as they walked down the long wide hallway. They found a huge bedroom with a bed. The boxes stacked in one corner had been meticulously labeled by the moving company. She dug in the one with “Bedding” written on the side. She retrieved several blankets and a few pillows and helped the kids into their PJs. They were out in a flash, leaving her nowhere to sleep but the dusty, most likely spider-riddled hardwood floor. She opted for the rocking chair. Using her coat as a pillow, Paisley propped her feet on a box and closed her eyes. Tomorrow she’d pay for sleeping like this, but tonight being here safe and sound felt better than the best mattress money could buy.

  She was asleep before she knew it.

  * * * *

  Paisley startled awake early. She bolted upright and winced when her back protested. Ignoring her whiny body parts, she blinked several times and squinted, attempting to get her bearings. The morning sun cast beams of light across the room and over the sleeping children. Last night flooded back to her in a rush of confusion and hope.

  Being drenched. The hot baseball player. The old, creepy house. The pizza.

  Checking each child to make sure they were all still asleep, Paisley rose, stretched, and padded out of the bedroom in her bare feet. The place didn’t look so creepy in the daylight. In fact, despite the obvious neglect, it was beautiful. She took her time exploring each room, except the closed door to Zeke’s room.

  Zeke. Holy mother of all creation, he was hot. And he was wealthy. She wasn’t a gold digger by any means, but he had the money to pay her for a job well done, which had her wheels turning. She believed in making wine out of any beer that life threw her way. She’d keep her hands off and prove her value to Zeke. He needed someone to manage his life and battle the dust and spiders staking their claim on this grand old house.

  He needed her.

  Zeke’s house wasn’t just a house; it was a mansion by her standards. Much to her delight, it was perched on a hill among older homes overlooking Seattle and the water. She couldn’t wait to explore the stately old neighborhood. What she could see from the windows indicated the other homes were well kept, unlike Zeke’s. His yard needed as much work as the inside. She’d tackle that project, too.

  Yeah, the poor man really needed her, and she’d make sure he knew it.

  The house had seen better days and was in need of updating and TLC, but the potential shone through like an unpolished diamond among common rocks, and the view was priceless.

  Last night’s deluge gave way to a partially cloudy morning with patches of blue sky. Rays of sun bounced off drops of rain on the leaves of nearby trees. The sun lit up the large expanse of water below. She hadn’t a clue whether it was part of the ocean or something else.

  A few rooms in the house were stacked with boxes. Stray pieces of furniture were placed here and there. Zeke didn’t appear to have much in the way of personal belongings. She added shopping for furniture to her assistant to-do list. She’d create a design for each room with an overarching theme among them. Judging from the age of the house and the style, she’d opt for mission style, one of her favorites.

  Paisley rubbed her hands together in glee, excited and ready to get started with her day. The kids could help. On Monday, she’d need to enroll them in a local school despite their lack of an actual home. During her nosy explorations she’d found a temporary option. The daylight basement level of this house had been converted into an apartment. It had big windows looking into the backyard and down the hill.

  Perfect for her and the kids, and perfect for keeping them out of Zeke’s hair.

  Now to work on selling her worth to Zeke. Her strict adherence to maintaining a positive outlook in all situations—last night being an exception—would serve her well. Zeke was a busy athlete just starting the season. Baseball players played over one hundred and fifty games a year, not counting playoffs. He’d be gone a lot to away games.

  He absolutely needed her. Oh, yes, he did. She skipped up the stairs, singing a nonsensical happy song the kids loved. Cracking the door, she checked on them again. They were dead to the world. She couldn’t resist a glance into the room Zeke slept in. His suitcase was open on top of a rumpled comforter, but true to his word, he’d left early this morning. She’d heard his SUV as it backed out of the garage.

  With a big grin on her face and a bounce in her step, she started her chores in the kitchen, giving it a thorough scrubbing after finding cleaning supplies under the sink. Later, she’d unpack dishes and put them in the cupboards.

  The kitchen was beautiful under all the grime and dust. It’d been remodeled recently and had gorgeous wood cabinets, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances with a professional stove and oven. The previous owners must have run out of money during the kitchen remodel. The backsplashes were missing and the walls were unpainted, as if someone had stripped off layers of wallpaper, then left.

  She stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed her work. The kitchen was gleaming. Everything was in its place.

  Zeke would be pleasantly surprised.

  * * * *

  Zeke came home about 10:00 a.m. after a couple of interviews with local radio stations and a short talk with Skookums management. He’d met them before and wasn’t overly impressed. The entire organization wallowed in mediocrity and was perfectly satisfied with it.

  Zeke hated losing, hated failure, hated the thought that he’d been exiled to one of the perpetually worst teams in all of baseball. He couldn’t blame his former team. He’d been in a slump for a year, and they were paying him too much money. They passed his ridiculously huge contract off to the first team desperate enough to take a chance on him.

  Seattle.

  He pushed those negative thoughts from his mind. He tried hard to think positive, which he found difficult, but he gave it his best shot. Most of the time he succeeded, but lately, positivity had eluded him.

  He parked in front of the old house and sat in the SUV for a moment, hoping like hell his unwelcome houseguests would be nothing but an odd, somewhat disturbing, memory. Running late, he’d left this a.m. in a hurry and hadn’t seen any sign of them.

  Paisley was a cute little thing, but he recognized danger when it took a hunk out of his ass. He didn’t need Paisley & Co. mucking up his life with whatever drama dogged their heels. Obviously, there was a story there, or she wouldn’t be penniless and standing on a street corner with three little kids. If that scenario didn’t reek of drama, nothing did.

  There’d been something about her, something that stirred up long-dead feelings inside him, feelings that left him vulnerable and open to hurt. Feelings he’d banned from his life.

  Paisley was a risk, and he didn’t need risks. Being in Seattle and playing for this team was a big enough risk, especially considering two of the three people he avoided most in this world lived here.

  Steeling himself for the worst and hoping for the best, he unlocked the big front door, going another round with the rusty lock. The door stubbornly refused to budge. Zeke stepped back a few steps and rushed at the door, slamming his should
er into the solid wood. The thing gave way and sent him sprawling with the athletic grace of his father on one of his many benders. Muttering obscenities to himself, he struggled to his feet and rubbed his throbbing butt.

  Fucking damn door.

  He was going to strangle his asshole agent for picking this piece-of-shit house. He’d asked for an older home with charm, one that would impress people with its sheer size and elegance. This thing should be rented out to a movie company for the remaking of Frankenstein. He’d be spending a shit-ton of money before it was presentable.

  He walked through the house, really looking at it for the first time. He had to admit, the old girl had good bones. In fact, the woodwork and craftsmanship most likely couldn’t be duplicated. He felt a little thrill of excitement at the prospect of bringing it back to its glory days. Hell, maybe he’d even allow the transformation to be featured on one of those home improvement shows once it was done. As much as he valued his privacy, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to rub his success in the faces of those who’d always said he’d fail.

  Starving, he found his way into the kitchen, even though he knew he didn’t have any groceries. A drink of water would have to suffice. With his luck, the pipes were so old, the water would taste like that rusty coffee can he used to drink from as a kid when his father locked him out of the house.

  He paused in the kitchen doorway and took in the scene. His heart should’ve sunk, yet a rebellious part of him rejoiced.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  They were still in his house. Even worse, they’d made themselves at home.

  Shit.

  The place was a bustle of activity. Paisley flitted from one cupboard to another, putting away his dishes, an efficient whirlwind capped by blond hair in a sassy ponytail that swung back and forth as she zipped around the room.

  The twin girls, whose names he couldn’t recall, sat at the kitchen counter coloring in tattered coloring books. One of them kept up a steady chatter while the other concentrated on getting her picture just right. The quiet one met his gaze briefly. He almost staggered backward at the sorrow in her young eyes, feeling as if he were looking in a decade-old mirror. She ducked her head and concentrated on her coloring.