“Whatever works,” Dustin said.
So his volunteer time wasn’t so much hands-on as it was say cheese. “Figures,” Clover said under her breath.
Jane ushered Dustin to the door, and Clover sucked in air like she hadn’t breathed the whole time he was here. Jane must have heard her Hoover-ing the oxygen, because she paused, her hand holding the door open. “You go on ahead. I’ll be right there.” She smiled as she let the door swing shut behind Dustin before rounding on Clover. “What is the deal?” she hissed to keep her voice down.
Clover threw her hand out to the side, pointing. “He’s a total fake. He doesn’t care about what we do here. He’s only here for, I don’t know, his image or something.”
Jane pointed to her chest. “I. Don’t. Care,” she whispered loudly.
“What?” Clover shook her head like it was one of those games that come in a kid’s meal with the BB that could only find home base if the player tipped the plastic board. “He’s not doing us any good. In fact, I’m behind.” She threw her arms over the prep table to indicate the lack of sandwiches.
“He’s doing us a world of good by being here. Our budget is always too small, and the kind of free publicity Dustin Colt can give us is exactly what we need right now. We can’t wait for Christmas donations, Clover. People need to eat 365 days a year.”
Clover pressed her cool palm to her warm forehead. “You’re right.”
“Can you please play nice with him while he’s here?” Jane’s earnestness tugged at Clover’s conscience. No matter what his contribution, Dustin was contributing. She should have been more gracious. And she would have been, had he not been a complete jerk the other night. Still, his misbehavior did not excuse her lack of grace.
“Yes. Of course.” She could do anything for an hour or two—especially for The Pantry.
“Thank you!” Jane blew her a kiss as she pushed her way into the guest area.
Clover shook her head at herself. She was usually so zen and love your neighbor and do unto others. Dustin Colt brought out the worst in her. She could admit her part in their disagreements. There were always going to be certain personalities that didn’t mix, and hers and Dustin’s were like vinegar and oil. She sighed, looking at the sandwich fixings before hurrying to get the ground beef out of the fridge. They were serving spaghetti tonight, and she needed to get the meat browning.
The ovens were behind a wall covered in metal sheets, and by the time she had the meat under way and rushed back to make sandwiches, Dustin and his photographer had moved into her territory. She huffed as Dustin made sandwich after sandwich while the photographer said inane things like, “This lighting is great for your skin tone,” and “The ladies love a man who is good in the kitchen.”
Dustin glanced up to see Clover watching, and winked. The effect was a total dry-out of Clover’s mouth. For the tiniest second, she agreed with the photographer—a man, especially one put together like Dustin, was hot in the kitchen.
The sizzle of ground beef yanked her out of her hormone-induced stupor, and she ran back to the stove where she did her best to ignore Mr. Baseball and his photo op until he finally left and she could relax. Being near him had her on edge.
She fanned her overheated face, thanking the heavens that encounter was over and hoping she’d never have to see him again.
Chapter Six
Dustin threw himself onto his stomach and blinked dirt. He heard the ball hit the second baseman’s glove and felt it come down on his forearms. His hands were firmly planted on the base.
“Safe!” called the second-base umpire.
Grinning, Dustin called time and hopped to his feet, brushing the red dirt off the front of his white uniform. Sweet! Two doubles and a single. I’m back on my game. He’d already been around the bases a couple times, earning two of the four runs on the board. Not too bad for the guy batting ninth in the lineup.
“That’s right, Gary. You’re sitting out another game.” He grinned, thriving on the competition with his teammate.
The Phillies’ pitcher waited for the sign from the catcher. The game was back on. Clapping his hands, Dustin sidestepped to the right and took his lead. Third base was empty and calling his name. They had an out to give, but he wanted a run, so he was careful.
Juan Castillo cracked off the first shot to left field. It was almost to the stands. Dustin wasn’t watching the ball; he was watching the third-base coach, who was swinging his arm like a windmill, sending Dustin home. The crowd cheered as Dustin’s size-eleven cleat smacked the plate.
He bumped fists and took smacks on the back. Andre Murphy rubbed Dustin’s bare cheeks and laughed. “You should have shaved two weeks ago, bro.”
Dustin shoved him off with a laugh and found his spot on the bench next to Brayden. They bumped elbows and then fists.
“Nice.” Brayden fanned Dustin like he was too hot. Brayden had pitched the first six innings and was cooling his heels in the dugout, watching the relief pitchers do their job.
Dustin laughed. “You know it.”
“What did you eat for lunch? Cuz I gotta get me some.”
Dustin shook his head, thinking of his crazy afternoon arguing with Clover. Learning her real name had been the only good thing to come out of their conversation. She’d been … prickly. “I had a PB&J at the soup kitchen.”
“You what?” Brayden screwed up his face for a second, and then he brightened. “Was the hot chick there?”
The batboy offered Dustin a water bottle, and he accepted it, downing half the liquid in an effort to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth before he answered Brayden. “First off, she’s not that hot. Second, she insulted pretty much the team and the MLB, and then she ignored me.”
Mattock struck out and cursed loud enough for the fans on the tenth row to hear. Tugging his hat down, he slunk back to the dugout. They still had one out to go and a guy on second. Dustin squelched the urge to reach for his mitt. He wasn’t going to curse Travis’s at bat by forecasting an out. For all he knew, Travis would be the first of seven hits, and he’d be up again this inning. If not, the game would be over, and they’d start the postgame circus of interviews.
“What’d she say?” asked Dustin.
“She called us eternal children who didn’t want to grow up.”
Brayden leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He took a moment to spit a mouthful of sunflower seed shells on the ground. “I take it you didn’t apologize for the other night.”
“Why should I apologize?”
“You embarrassed her.”
Dustin remembered the way color had spread across her cheeks. She’d been pretty in the black dress with legs that went on forever, but when her cheeks colored, she was breathtaking. She’d certainly stolen his breath away. So much so that he’d almost forgotten about the food he’d ordered and would have asked her to dance if Brayden hadn’t stepped in and introduced them.
The more he thought about her in the black dress, the less focused he felt. His hands grew moist, and he wiped them on his pants. “Change of subject.”
“Fine. You owe her.”
Dustin sputtered. “Do not.”
“She got you to shave, and you’ve hit better tonight than you have in a month.”
“Yep,” said the hitting coach from his spot by the bat stand.
Dustin eyed him for a minute. He was facing the field, watching with the eyes of an eagle for slight changes in the batters, from the way they pulled the bat to their hand position to foot placement. The dugout wasn’t that big; Dustin should have assumed someone was listening. He didn’t mind them hearing about Clover—there weren’t many secrets between the players when it came to women—but to have him comment on the improvement to Dustin’s hitting meant Dustin had been doing really bad before. He wondered how close they’d been to benching him, before glaring at Brayden.
“Wanna know what I think?” Coach Santacruiz spit out a mouthful of sunflower seed shells. Dustin clenched his jaw shut to keep it from
hitting the ground. Santacruiz never talked to him during the game.
He didn’t wait for Dustin to answer. “I think you’re working so hard to get this girl out of your head that you’re hyper-focused on the game.” He hadn’t moved from his sentry position with his arms crossed and a package of seeds within arm’s reach.
Dustin bounced his fist on the bench, trying not to be totally weirded out by the friendly, conversational tone from the man who’d once asked him if he’d “taken money from the other team to swing at the worst pitch ever thrown in the history of baseball.”
He stared at Santacruiz’s back, waiting to see if there was more before reluctantly saying, “Maybe.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Santacruiz. He turned back to the game and pretended to ignore Dustin and Brayden again.
Dustin widened his eyes at Brayden, silently asking, “What the heck was that?”
Brayden stifled his snickers with a handful of Big League Bubble Gum and cleared his throat a couple times. They took a mutual vow of silence for the rest of the game.
Dadds was on first, and Heath Darsey was at the plate. One strike, two balls.
Dustin grabbed a handful of bubble gum and got to work on it while his head worked over what Coach had said. Reluctantly, Dustin admitted Coach wasn’t wrong. He’d worked hard to put thoughts of Clover on the shelf. He’d had to. She’d gotten into his head this afternoon, and he didn’t have time to figure out why. So, instead of analyzing the situation with the team psychologist—because there hadn’t been time for a feelings-fest with the shrink, and he wasn’t the type to lay his thoughts out there anyway—he’d focused on the game.
Dustin couldn’t complain about his performance either. Tonight was the first night he’d felt love for the game in a long time. Before his brother picked up his family and business and moved them all to St. George, Dustin played every game with this much intensity. Now, he was pulled in so many directions that he couldn’t give his all to anything.
When he’d got up to the plate, he’d wanted to crush the ball. To show Clover baseball was work. He’d worked darn hard tonight, mentally and physically, and it had paid off.
Brayden grasped both ends of the bat and swung it over his head, stretching his shoulders. “She was cute, though. In a low-key way.”
Instead of agreeing, Dustin said, “You like low-key.”
“That I do.” Brayden had been dating a girl they’d met when Coach Wolfe took them all rappelling. Dustin wasn’t into the heights and stuck to a shorter cliff. Brayden was all over the thrill of hanging by a thin rope over possible death. Dustin suspected Brayden was exploring his new hobby and a more solid relationship with Tilly. He changed when she was around—lit up, acted more mature, more content.
Heath hit a single to the right and chugged it to first base. Safe by a nickel, he called time so he could take off his batting gloves and shin guards and give them to the batboy.
“You going back to the shelter?” Brayden asked, chomping away at his bubble gum like a kid on the playground.
“Have to,” Dustin grunted.
“Tell her I said hi.” Brayden grinned over his shoulder as he dug through the sports’ drink cooler and grabbed a fruit punch.
Dustin glared after him, a strange sense of unease making him itch all the way down his back. Brayden already had a girl; he didn’t need Clover, too. Dustin shifted in his seat. Clover wasn’t Brayden’s type with her long, wavy hair and big eyes. She was all hometown innocence and unknown beauty. She carried herself with confidence, and yet there was a hesitancy, like she wasn’t sure she fit in. She hadn’t fit in at the club. He’d spotted her the moment he walked in, zeroing in on her like she’d been standing under a spotlight. It was that darn innocence wrapped around her like a coat of jewels that made her sparkle—drawing Dustin under her spell.
Apparently, she’d caught Brayden in her net too. The pile of crap had a girlfriend; what was he doing checking out Clover? Dustin had no trouble telling the guy to keep his eyes to himself. He did have a problem playing matchmaker. Say hi for Brayden? Not on your life.
If Brayden wanted to date Clover, he’d have to go through Dustin. That didn’t sound right. Dustin shrugged, not caring how it sounded in his head as long as the result was the same.
Devin Capiro hit a line drive to the shortstop, and the game was over. Dustin exploded off the bench with the team, flooding home plate and bouncing off bodies in celebration. Redrocks won 7–4! The guys pounded one another on the back and used towels to make shaving cream pies, which they smashed in one another’s faces.
Dustin did a quick interview on the field for the local news and headed for the locker room. He loved the Redrocks’ locker room with freshly laundered uniforms hanging on wooden pegs and cleats tucked into the bottom of open lockers. Red benches and high-gloss paint on the walls gave the impression of shiny and new, and it stayed new—Harper Wolfe insisted on quality.
Coach Santacruiz winked as he walked by. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Colt.”
Dustin nodded, but his insides churned. He knew exactly what the coach meant. He wanted a repeat of tonight at their next game. What Coach hadn’t said, but Dustin felt all the way down to his slightly sweaty socks, was the “or else.”
Changing into an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt so he could Sheetrock for the next five hours had him in knots.
“Good game.” Gary Betts patted Dustin on the shoulder as he left, his clean uniform hanging in his locker.
Dustin chewed his lip. He was going to have to perform at the same level in the game tomorrow on only a few hours of sleep—the knowledge was like carrying a heavy pack.
He’d have to figure out a way to get pumped before the game. No matter what it took, he needed to lay it all on the field, or he might not have a spot on the team next season.
Chapter Seven
Clover pulled into The Pantry parking lot and rolled her eyes at the sight of the shiny red sports car parked in the corner. “He’s baaaa-aaack,” she said in a creepy voice.
No doubt Dustin would be full of himself after hitting two doubles and scoring two runs the night before. The game had been on in the lobby at the hotel where she worked. Okay, she’d turned the game on. It wasn’t like being on a first-name basis with people who were on television was normal for her. Not that Dustin was as cool as he thought he was, but still …
With a hearty sigh, she headed into the building, determined to be a little nicer to him today. The Pantry needed all the free press it could get. Most of St. George didn’t realize they were here. Spreading the word about The Pantry was the main reason she gave out the essentials bags. If people knew where to get nutritious food, she knew they’d come. And others would help. People were good. Yes, there were a few who were completely self-absorbed or miserly, but most were open to an opportunity to help their fellow man. They needed to know where to put their time and resources.
Clover stepped inside to find Dustin playing catch with Damarius. Her heart melted at the sight of the brown-haired, brown-eyed boy grinning from ear to ear. He was missing a front tooth and had a hole in the knee of his jeans. His right shoelace untied as he chased after a ball he missed.
Damarius’s mom, Serena, was answering the photographer’s questions, her eyes tight. Serena’s husband was a mean drunk. The last time he’d erupted on his little family, Serena took off. Not even Clover or Jane knew where she was staying, and her visits to the soup kitchen were at uneven intervals. She insisted that she only came to for Damarius. Jane always slipped in some scented body wash or ChapStick or a shirt for Serena so she felt taken care of, too.
The photographer showed Serena the screen. “See, I only got him from the back. No one will recognize him. Is that okay?”
Her forehead smoothed. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” He put the lens cover on. “I think we’re good here.”
Dustin hung on to the ball and hunkered down to talk to Damarius. He glanced over, and his eyes
caught Clover’s. His face brightened and her heart jumped. His smile couldn’t have been just for her, but it sure felt that way. He looked good in a pair of basketball shorts and a tight tee pulled across his very nice chest. His hair was damp, and she wondered what his morning was like and if he smelled like soap. She adored the smell of soap.
Clover rolled her eyes at herself and made her way over to talk to Serena. She had to pull her hands into fists and focus on her nails biting into her skin to keep from looking back at him. She swore she could feel his eyes on her like he had laser vision or something. “Hey.” She reached out and hugged Serena. “How are you guys doing?”
Serena smiled. “Fine.” Her smile fought to stay in place but wilted. “I’m tired. Tired of running away.”
“I know.” Clover gave her a side hug. “You’re so brave, Serena. It’s hard, but you’re a fantastic mom. When I watch you with Damarius, I know you were put in his life for a reason.”
Serena wiped at the moisture in the corner of her eyes. “I swear, Clover, you know exactly what to say to get me through another day.”
Clover hugged her again. “I’ll keep praying for you two, if that’s all right.”
“I’ll take all the help I can get.” Serena returned her hug. “I won’t keep you—I know you’ve got important work to do. “
Clover waved to Damarius, ignoring the handsome guy showing him how to grip a baseball. His little fingers barely covered the space from seam to seam. “Come see me before you go, okay? I have a treat for you.” She kept a box of Hostess cupcakes in the kitchen for such occasions.
Damarius nodded shyly.
“Do you have one for me too?” asked Dustin. His mouth twisted in a lopsided, goofy smile.
Clover nodded dumbly and stumbled through the swinging door. What she wouldn’t give to be able to sound normal in front of Dustin. Her whole face was on fire with humiliation. Thankfully, the kitchen was a ghost town.
Jane had put pork roasts in the slow cookers that morning, and the smell was incredible—light spice and a little sweet. Clover took a deep breath. She was in charge of the coleslaw and slicing buns. They wouldn’t have leftovers tonight, not when it smelled so good.
Caught Looking Page 4
