League of Her Own
Page 1
League of Her Own
Greenliner, Volume 2
Faith O'Shea
Published by Faith O'Shea, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
LEAGUE OF HER OWN
First edition. September 9, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Faith O'Shea.
ISBN: 978-1733571258
Written by Faith O'Shea.
Table of Contents
League of Her Own
Copyright
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
EPILOGUE
To My Readers
About Faith
Books by Faith O’Shea
Clutch Hit
League of Her Own
Geneticist Fiona Barrows was working below her pay grade as a dog walker, but she was only doing it until she could find a more appropriate job. It was taking more time than she’d anticipated but she’d come to appreciate the downtime as a respite after years of study, test tubes and analysis. Little did she know that the job would become more about handling the ball player who’d come to stay, than merely walking the Weim in the rain. The Brazilian was insufferable and arrogant, and more challenging than her doctoral thesis.
Enrique dos Santos had recently been traded to the Greenliners, one of Boston’s hometown teams. Known for his partying skills and his attitude, he’d been warned to change his behavior if he wanted to play ball, so he’d committed himself to changing his ways. Thinking the only way to do that was to settle down, he’d penciled in a trip to Brazil to search for a bride. He expected Fifi to keep him on the straight and narrow while he attended the mandatory two-weeks of practice under the infield coach.
What he didn’t expect was to find a woman so wrong for him, so right.
League of Her Own
Greenliner Series
Book 2
Faith O’Shea
Copyright
Copyright 2019 Sue Campbell/Faith O’Shea
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in all form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known of hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in an information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Sue Campbell writing as Faith O’Shea at faithworksnovels@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Jaycee DeLorenzo at Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs
Formatted by Woven Red Author Services, www.wovenRed.ca
League of Her Own/Sue Campbell writing as Faith O’Shea- 1st edition
Copyright eBook: 978-1-7335712-5-8
Copyright Print: 978-1-7335712-4-1
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my editor, Amy from Blue Otter Editing, for her expertise. She has become a valued partner in my writing life and I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Jaycee DeLorenzo form Sweet ̍N Spicy Designs has done it again. I want to thank her for her patience working with me on my covers.
I’d also like to thank Joan Frantschuk, from Woven Red, who not only formats my work for eBook and print but who has become a valued resource.
And of course, I’d like to say thanks to my family. Jeff, Kait, Juan, Justin, Kathryn, Jaiden, Jakob, Jon-Christopher, Dominic and Liam. They surround me with the kind of love necessary for creating novels that touch the heart.
And to all who read my books, I thank you for taking time out of your life, to journey with me.
CHAPTER ONE
Fiona Barrows sloshed along, trying to keep herself from falling flat on her face. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes or the right coat, but she’d left Hoover too long without a break and she hadn’t dared waste any time getting her out, not even to change. Her shoes were probably already ruined anyway. She’d never intended to leave the dog so long, but she’d underestimated the stop-and-go traffic in and out of the city and the interview had lasted much longer than she’d anticipated. In her defense, the sun had been peeking through the clouds when she left early this morning, unusual for January, and as she sat answering those hypothetical questions potential employers always seemed to ask about situations she’d never faced before, she’d given no thought to what was going on outside the ivy-covered walls. When she stepped outside the building, she’d gasped as the pelting rain assaulted her face. The meteorologists had gotten it wrong again. She was still bone-cold when she got back to the house but the Weimaraner was dancing around in desperate need of a walk. She’d hoped the dog would be content with a short one down the curling driveway, only to be disappointed.
The weather hadn’t improved and now, even her brain was soggy.
She shivered, as the raw wind just beneath the surface of the sleet reared its head, wanting the comfort of warm and dry. She snapped at the leash, commanding a change of direction for home. Whether Hoover sensed her distress or had gotten her fill of wet and cold, she did as instructed, but not two-feet later, found just the right spot to squat and got down to business. Fiona had forgotten all about Izabella’s warning that she take a poop bag and paper towels whenever they went out, and now she was stuck. After looking around guiltily, knowing she was going to leave the steaming pile right where it was, she slunk down the street, rounded the corner and headed up the long driveway just as a Maserati came whizzing by, splashing her in the process. She sucked in her breath as the cold spray covered in in grime, her face now dripping remnants of the puddle that had to be six inches deep.
She looked up and yelled, “Asshole,” but it fell on deaf ears, the driver no longer insight.
She swiped at her eyes, drew a hand down over her cheeks, inwardly seething.
She swore under her breath when she saw the offending vehicle sitting in front of the garage.
Who the hell had come calling? A friend of Reid’s? Izabella’s? Whoever it was, he obviously didn’t know they were not in residence.
Halfway up the winding drive, she noticed the man get out of his car, and race to the side door, phone to his ear. There was a moment when she felt triumphant. He’d be standing outside until she got there and would have to be almost as wet as she was. But when the door opened and he slipped in, a shiver of fear raced through her.
Who was he and what did he want?
She approached the door with caution and tried the knob. It swung open easily and she stepped inside. And didn’t move.
“Hello. Who’s here?”
Her voice cracked, and her nerves quivered as she strained to keep Hoover
from advancing.
Seconds later, a man came from the kitchen, a towel in his hand that he was rubbing against his scalp.
Hoover had started to dance which told her the dog knew the man. When she snapped off the leash, the dog went barreling over and was caught in an affectionate hug. Large manicured hands stroked the animal, and he allowed for some kisses.
When he looked up at her, her heart slammed against her chest. The man was gorgeous. Scruffy dark hair, black eyes, and a straight nose, and those lips…held a mocking smile.
“And who are you? One of Hoover’s friends? Do you know you are dripping all over the floor?”
He had an accent which only made him even more stunning.
She was fumbling, her brain singed from heat, her tongue tied in knots.
He chuckled at her ineptitude.
“Have you forgotten your name?”
“Yes. No. Izabella and Reid hired me to house-sit and walk Hoover while they’re away. My name is Fiona.”
“Ah, the dog walker. I think I’ll call you Fifi. It suits you. How did you get so wet?”
Irritation at his arrogance spiked.
“Some asshole went flying around the corner and—”
“Ah. That would be me, is that correct?”
She gave him a steely glare. When he chuckled, her eyes narrowed and her irritation with him went up a notch.
“Izabella didn’t mention anything about a houseguest.”
“That’s because she didn’t know I was coming. I told her I was going to stick around in New York for a couple more weeks, say my goodbyes, wait until she got back so she could help me find a rental. But when the coach called summoning me here for some practice, I hopped into the car as soon as I’d packed my most essential items and drove southeast. Being early will give me a chance to get to know the city.”
He was standing now in all his hunky gorgeousness. She tilted her head to take another look, one minus the lust that had taken possession of her body. There was something familiar about him and it hit her.
“Are you her brother?”
“I am. Enrique Paolo Goulart dos Santos. As of a week ago, a Greenliner. Now that we’ve been formally introduced, why don’t you get out of those wet things. I assume you have dry ones if you’re staying here. Then you can start dinner. I’m famished.”
Her jaw dropped. Was he kidding? He might look good, but the term asshole came to mind again.
“I wasn’t hired to be your maid, cook or bottle washer. I’ll let Izabella know you’re here and then go home. The house doesn’t need two sitters.”
“Foi mal. Sorry. My bad. I just figured you’d be eating yourself and you could cook for two.”
“I don’t cook. Never learned, never will.”
That wasn’t exactly true but let him think it was her own decision not to excel at that art rather than tell him how abysmal she was in that part of the house.
“How will you find a husband?”
Who was this guy? Had he time traveled forward from the nineteenth century?
“Not looking for one of those. Don’t need one, don’t want one.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but she was putting it off into the unseeable future. She had too many other things to settle first.
He’d crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her smugly.
“If this is your life, you might rethink that. A man could support you and then you won’t have to walk dogs for a living.”
She all but stuttered out, “That’s what I mean. Without one, I can do what the hell I please.”
And with that she waddled across the mudroom with as much dignity as she could muster, stopping only to take off the shoes that were squishing, before heading up the stairs. Her bedroom was the last one down the hall and she went directly into the attached bathroom. And stopped dead in her tracks.
She was a mess. Her curly hair was a mop on her head, her eye make-up was now a liquid trail down her cheek, and her clothes were wrinkled and damp. She didn’t own many suits and she wasn’t sure this one could be salvaged, the wool now smelling like wet dog.
The day had turned out less than promising, and now she had to contend with the man downstairs.
After stripping down, dropping everything in a heap on the floor, she turned on the shower and stepped in. The hot water felt good, her body still bone-chilled from the walk and the drenching.
She lathered her hair and rinsed it, scrubbed herself clean of grime and grit, and felt almost human once she was dressed in her jeans and sweater. It was her hair that would take time to put in some semblance of order. She yanked and pulled, working at the knots but the tight curls refused to behave. She sighed, put the brush down, and gave up the fight. She’d never be one of those beautiful people who caused heads to turn. She’d been given brains instead of looks and had been satisfied with that most of her life. Today she almost wished she’d been in a different line.
She reached for her coat. It was soaked through and she quickly lifted it from the bed where she’d thrown it, rifling through the pocket for her phone. Once it was in her hand, she looked around for a place to hang the sopping wet garment so it would dry and ended up hanging it from the closet door frame.
Then she plopped down on the bed, holding her cell.
She’d wanted this job, happy to be making some spending cash while she went through the interview process. Every job she’d applied for had been a long shot. There weren’t too many out there that sought her qualifications and there were dozens of applicants for every one of them.
Today’s didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. Even with all her credentials, she didn’t have the experience the people in charge were looking for and it undermined her chances of being hired.
Maybe the next one… she shook that thought off, not wanting her stomach to tangle itself up again. She hit the contact button. It took three rings before someone picked up.
“Hello, Fiona. How are you doing? Settled yet?”
Izabella’s voice sounded relaxed and happy.
“I have but I’m not sure you’ll want me to stay now that your brother is here.”
The voice shifted in tone and mood.
“Rique is there?”
“Yes. He was here when I got back from walking Hoover.”
“This is not good. He told me he was waiting to move until I got back, when he called about the trade. He is…” She paused as if not wanting to throw him under the bus, but she managed that anyway when she said, “You must stay. He is a slob and my house will never be the same if someone doesn’t rein him in. I will double the hourly charge if you agree.”
Fiona wasn’t sure she could rein him in. Wasn’t sure she even wanted to try. It wasn’t her usual challenge.
“I don’t know, Izabella. He’s kind of taken over.”
“Of course he has. My brother has been pampered and spoiled since the day he was born. I love him to death but…he acts as if everything should be handed to him on a silver platter.”
Fiona nodded in agreement and said, “He wanted me to make him supper.”
“Oh, meu Deus. I will call him, tell him he’s on his own. I will also remind him that he is a guest and you are the host. Please, Fiona. I must count on you being so far away.”
Izabella, her husband, Reid, the pitching ace for the Boston Greenliners, and their two children Melina and Alexander, were taking two-weeks of vacation in Turks and Caicos before the start of spring training. Reid would be in Florida until the season officially started and they’d wanted time as a family before he left.
Because she liked them so much, she was willing to give it a try.
“I’ll stay for a few days, see how it goes. But I can’t promise he won’t drive me out before you get back.”
He was not only nauseatingly arrogant, but he was so hot she was afraid of getting scorched.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Let me call him now and talk to him, let him know why you’re there and what you won’t b
e expected to do. Check back with me tomorrow, will you?”
“I will. I’m sorry. I have a feeling you’re not going to enjoy your stay with this up in the air.”
“He is the reason for that, not you. He does what he pleases no matter who it inconveniences. I should be the one sorry. You’re the one saddled with him.”
Saddled meant horse, meant ride, which lead her mind and body to sex.
She almost laughed out loud. Like he’d ever find her attractive enough to bed. He’d have his pick of all the beauties who clamored for his affection and she had a feeling they numbered into the hundreds.
“I will take care of things here.”
“And I will take care of him.”
“Talk to you tomorrow.”
And with that the conversation ended.
She looked around, not knowing where to put herself. She didn’t have the run of the place anymore, not as long as he was downstairs. She paced the room, unable to light.
CHAPTER TWO
Enrique answered his cell on the fourth ring, just before the call went to voice mail, engrossed in the video he was watching.
“Boa tarde, meu doce irmã.”
“Don’t sweet sister me. What are you doing there?”
He paused the video of himself mid-stride and sat back in the corner of the cushioned couch. There was a smile in his voice when he said, “Izabella, is that any way to speak to your brother?”
“What made you think you could just move into my house, without even asking?”
“What could I do? I got a call asking if I wanted to come out and begin training. I didn’t really think it was a courtesy call but an official summons. As you must know, I’ve been somewhat lax all last season.”
“Too many parties?”
“Too many mornings that found me hung over.”
It had only gotten worse since his last game as a Yankee.
He’d stuck around to watch the Greenies in their quest for a World Series ring, had a ring side seat, along with the rest of his family, to watch them lose four games to three before going home to Brazil for a couple of months. He’d enjoyed every minute of it. The women knew their place there and knew how to make a man smile. He was going back for a week before spring training to scout out the territory for something permanent. Since the trade that sent him to Boston, he’d begun to think it was time for him to settle down.