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Single (Stockton Beavers #1)

Page 3

by Collette West


  Scratching my neck, I shoot her an apologetic grin, wishing my cheeks didn't feel like they were on fire. "Sorry, um… I didn't mean to disturb you…"

  I steal a quick glance at her. I've never seen her with her hair down before. Her dark curls look really nice. But it's the sleek, black athletic wear she has on that's fighting for my attention. It's a lot more body conscious than the bulky catcher's gear she was wearing before.

  She steps forward and glances up and down the hallway. "Yeah… Landry's not here."

  I raise my eyes to hers. Why is she acting so jumpy, like she's afraid to be alone with me? The girl's fearless. She's worked for Arnold Heimlich. She was just on the receiving end of one of the most dominating pitchers in all of baseball. Why would she be scared of—Mom's voice fills my head—little Lukey?

  "Uh, okay…do you know when he'll be back?"

  But I'm getting the vibe that she really doesn't want to be anywhere near me, since she's practically shutting the door in my face. And it sucks because I've admired her for so long. I bet she doesn't even remember the first time we met, my face probably blending into the nameless pool of minor leaguers who'd cycle through Arnold Heimlich's office every season. Who cares if my father was Mr. Beaver? It obviously meant nothing to her.

  I'm just about to tell her that I'll come back later, when she lets out a horrified gasp, "Oh my God, you're bleeding!"

  I look down. Christ, I am. I grit my teeth. I can't seem to do anything right around this girl.

  "I must've scraped my elbow when I fell on my ass earlier." I roll my eyes to get her to laugh with me, but of course, she doesn't. "Don't worry. It's nothing."

  I stand there staring awkwardly at the blood I just smeared all over my fingers. Not knowing what else to do, I start to wipe them on my shirt, but she grabs ahold of my arm.

  "Don't!" she commands. Casting one more furtive glance down the hall, she sighs reluctantly, "Come with me." She leads me into Landry's office, her fingers lightly slung around my wrist, but as soon as we reach his desk, she lets go, like she was only touching me because she absolutely had to. Hoisting a stack of heavy binders off a chair, she dumps them unceremoniously onto the floor. "Here, take a seat."

  I sit down, not knowing what else to do, and she tosses her bag onto the desk and begins rustling through it before pulling out, of all things, a first aid kit. I try not to stare, but from behind, I can't help but admire how her waist comes in over her hips. Her body's supple, strong. There's nothing delicate about her. The corner of my mouth turns up. She could probably kick my ass, and I don't know why, but I like that.

  She tosses me an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "Quit it."

  "What?"

  "Haven't you ogled my butt enough for one day?"

  My cheeks burn again. So she did catch me checking her out on the field. Crap.

  She lifts my arm and bends it at the elbow. It would have to be the arm, the one I couldn't move after receiving the blow to my neck. At first, the docs didn't know if I was partially paralyzed or not. Let's just say it was a scary four and a half days before I finally detected the first sign of feeling in it.

  I gaze up at her. But does she know that?

  "Now, sit still. This is going to sting a little." She applies a thin layer of antiseptic to my cut, and I try my best not to squirm. Over the past year, so many doctors and nurses have poked and prodded at my body, but her touch is gentle, reassuring. And if I weren't so darn attracted to her, I'm sure her bedside manner would be putting me completely at ease right now.

  Stepping back to examine her work, she asks, "So what are you here to see Landry about?"

  Her blue eyes are blazing. It appears she's gotten over her initial shock of finding me outside his door. Her timidness has vanished, and she's back to being the fearless girl I remember.

  I sit up straight and swallow past my hesitation. "I'm here to tell him I can't play."

  "Is that right?" She holds on to my arm while twining an Ace bandage around my elbow. I shift uncomfortably in my chair when she inadvertently squeezes my bicep. Boy, am I glad that I converted the basement into a workout space for myself since it's not like I can go to the gym anymore. Not with Mom…

  Mom… I glance around wildly for a clock.

  Roberta raises an eyebrow at me. "I said, hold still. I'm almost done."

  "What time is it?"

  She squints, looking over my head. "Two-thirty. Why?"

  I make a move to stand up. "I gotta go."

  But she puts both hands on my shoulders, pushing me back down. "I'm not finished yet."

  She reaches for the scissors and snips off the end of the bandage, tying it tight. "So you don't think you can play tomorrow…because of a little scrape on your elbow? Let me tell you, Landry's not gonna like that."

  I sigh. "No, that's not why. It's a lot more complicated than that."

  She lets go of my arm, but it's not like I can get up since her leg's still pressed against my knee. "Well, I can tell you what he's going to say." She deepens her voice, giving a pretty decent impression of his distinctive Texas twang. "You gotta git back up on the horse eventually, son."

  So she does know my sob story… I'm sure Landry's told her all the gory details. And for some reason, that irks me more than I'm willing to admit. I don't want this strong, beautiful, capable woman thinking I'm pathetic and weak.

  But I don't have a choice. Let her think I'm still haunted by flashbacks of getting drilled by David Nichols. It's not like I've overcome my fears by any stretch of the imagination. It's just better than having her find out about Mom because, if she did, she'd run right to Landry. And then he'd feel obligated to engage in the sort of do-gooder meddling I'd do anything to avoid.

  She leans back to observe me. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but there's something you should know."

  It's like I'm on fire under the weight of her gaze. "What…what is it?"

  "The Heimlichs are putting a lot of pressure on Landry to double the Beavers' attendance this year." Her expression quickly turns into a grimace. "I used to work for them. I know how demanding they can be."

  So she really doesn't remember meeting me before in Arnold's office…

  "Luke, I don't know if you know this or not, but Landry went out on a limb for you with the Heimlichs, and this isn't how I'd go about repaying him if I were you."

  There's no question that people are going to be interested in seeing if I can make a comeback or not. I'm a Stockton boy. I'm Mr. Beaver's son. I'm a draw. And now she's asking me to be her already supersuccessful boyfriend's financial salvation.

  There's no doubt about it now. She wouldn't be asking me for favors if she didn't truly care about him.

  Yet, for the moment, I like basking in her complete and undivided attention. It's insane, but I'd be willing to do almost anything to keep her thinking about me. She's not looking at me with pity. There's something else swirling in those big, blue eyes of hers, and I don't think my heart can beat any faster when Landry bursts into his office, surprising us both.

  "Bobbie Jo, you're never gonna… Oh, hey, Single… What are you doin' in here?"

  Bobbie Jo…he calls her Bobbie Jo?

  Roberta withdraws from me, and I'm immediately deflated. But it's the look they exchange that speaks volumes. Seeing them together, I feel like an outsider looking in, intruding on a private moment I have no business being a part of. I'll wait until I can talk to Landry one-on-one, like I'd originally intended, because right now, witnessing the bond they have between them, makes me realize I have no chance with her.

  "Luke, didn't you wanna ask Landry about tickets for tomorrow's game or something?"

  I freeze with my hands on the armrests of the chair. Whoa…what did she say?

  "Oh, yeah, Single? How many do ya need?" Landry asks, taking off his hat and hanging it on the door hook.

  When his back is turned, Roberta gives me a look that's meant just for me, one that clearly implies: shut up and go alo
ng with me on this, or else.

  And it's scary how much her influence is able to sway me. I guess I could play in one game, just to prove that I can still hit the ball—hell, that I can actually remain on my feet in the batter's box.

  When I just sit there, inwardly debating what I'm going to do, Landry smiles at me. "Spit it out, Single. Whaddya want your girlfriend to come see ya or somethin'?"

  Roberta's eyes dart to mine.

  "Nah," I laugh, getting flustered. "Probably just my mom…and her friend."

  "Yeah, no problem. I'll save two seats behind the dugout for 'em." He claps me on the back. "How's your mama doin', son? Sakes alive, I haven't seen Miss Carla in ages."

  "Oh, wow, would you look at the time!" I jump up and brush past Landry. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I gotta run."

  And that's when he notices the bandage on my elbow. "Jeez Louise, what's that, son?"

  "He's fine," Roberta assures him before positioning herself in front of the door. "I already took a look at it while we were waiting for you. It's just a scrape. It'll heal."

  Her eyes meet mine, daring me to contradict her.

  "Oh, that's good to hear!" Landry exclaims. "Single, we wouldn't want ya to miss opening day, now would we?"

  And all the extra ticket sales I'll bring with me, I think to myself.

  "I'll be there, sir," I mumble with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and then, and only then, does she finally step aside.

  I don't have a moment to waste as I bolt past her. I'm barely going to make it home in time for Mom as it is. But even before I break into a run, I'm already breathing hard, thanks to the scent of her shampoo, or perfume, or whatever it was that was filling my head and clouding my better judgment.

  Why in the world did I let her talk me into this? But more importantly, what the heck am I going to do about Mom?

  Chapter Four

  Roberta

  I pull my rental car to a stop and double-check the address Landry gave me—44 Cedar Crest Lane.

  I glance nervously at the front window. There's a flickering glow coming from inside. The TV's on, so I'm assuming he's home. But it feels weird to be doing this. After Luke rushed out of his office, Landry insisted I deliver the tickets in person. He could plainly see that Luke was spooked, and he didn't want him backing out at the last minute.

  Landry has nothing but good intentions when it comes to reviving Luke's career. He's more than capable of handling the Heimlichs on his own, and he'd never exploit one of his players in order to do it. In fact, he'd exploit himself before he'd ever sacrifice one of them. That's why he's here in Stockton for opening day, to draw fans to the ballpark. I just didn't know what else to do to make Luke stay. And guilt always tends to be a powerful motivator. That's why I'm here, sitting outside his house.

  I rest my head against the steering wheel and look out. It's a nice neighborhood, tree-lined streets, older yet well-cared for homes. But it's not somewhere I'd picture a young guy like him to be living. The atmosphere screams swing sets and school buses, not all-night poker games with the boys.

  I stare up the stone walkway to the flowered wreath hanging on the door and the white lace curtains adorning every window. Way too many feminine touches for a bachelor pad—which means he has to be living here with his girlfriend. It's not the kind of place he could afford on his own. Most players are forced to double or triple up just to lease a condominium for the season. His girlfriend must have a pretty decent job here in Stockton if they're shacking up in a big house like this… It's the only explanation that makes any sense.

  And one that has me none too eager to get out and knock on the door… It's bad enough having to face him, let alone having to explain to his girlfriend who I am and what I'm doing here. For some stupid reason, it hurts to see that some girl—some girl I don't even know—is living the life I never got to live—a secure, happy life with a man whose career is anything but stable.

  The sun's already starting to set, and unless I plan on finding my way back to the Sheraton in the dark, I need to quit stalling and get this over with. I'm not so good at following a GPS and having to drive on streets I don't know. It makes me nervous…and I'm already nervous.

  I fluff my curls and step out of the car. I half expect someone to peer out of the window when I slam the door, but no one does. Clutching the ticket envelope in my hand, I square my shoulders and march purposefully up the sidewalk, when I come across a child's handprints, captured in the cement.

  I've memorized his bio inside and out, and nowhere, in any interview or profile, was a kid ever mentioned. But, I remind myself, he's been out of the game for months now, and once that happens, a player's online presence isn't necessarily updated with the most current information, especially when it comes to his personal life. What if, in the meantime, he…?

  No. I refuse to believe it. I stride past the tiny set of hands and onto the porch. Luke can't be a new father. He can't be. My mind's spinning. It's too much to comprehend. No wonder he showed up today even though he was scared, that manly urge to provide for his family coming through loud and clear, his pride hurt at not being able to be the breadwinner anymore.

  And it eats me up inside now that I'm aware of just how much he's suffered on account of David, more than I ever imagined.

  With my hand shaking, I reach up and press the doorbell. And almost immediately, footsteps come running toward me. "After I told them specifically not to ring the…" I hear Luke grumble from inside the house. "I just got her to sleep…"

  Okay, who's he talking about? My heart lurches. His daughter?

  I hastily take a step back. Yeah, I don't want to see him give up his career because of what David did to him—but the last thing I'm capable of doing right now is cooing over his little baby girl.

  I already have one foot on the sidewalk when the light from the open doorway shines across my path. "I'm sorry, how much was the total, again?"

  I halt with my back to him when his footsteps follow me onto the porch. He lowers his voice to a whisper, "All I have is a twenty but…" He stops. "Roberta…? Is that you?"

  I cringe with my hand clutching the railing. Great. Now, I have no choice but to turn around and face him. I force myself to smile and offer him a helpless shrug. "Busted."

  But he, in no way, seems happy to see me when he hustles back to the door and quickly shuts it behind him before confronting me. "What are you doing here?"

  I shove the envelope toward him. "Just dropping off your tickets."

  But he doesn't take it from me. Instead, he just stares at it. "You didn't have to do that."

  I climb up the bottom step. "It's okay. I'm going to have to familiarize myself with the streets of Stockton eventually."

  "So you and Landry are moving here?" he asks.

  "No, just me."

  And for a minute, he seems stunned. "Why?"

  Before Landry approached the Heimlichs about buying the team, I helped him learn everything there was to know about Stockton. And while researching it online, it didn't take me long to realize it fit the three criteria I was looking for—a town that's small, quiet, and safe. Unlike what I led Landry to believe, I didn't come here to start over. Oh, no, I left the ranch in order to protect him, to protect his kids. It hurt my heart to have to leave Texas right when I felt like I had become a part of their family. But I didn't have a choice. There were circumstances beyond my control that forced me to go off the grid for a while. Blend in. Disappear. I chose Stockton because no one would ever find me here. But I can't exactly tell Luke that. Who I'm hiding from…that's something he can never find out.

  "Stockton's as good a place as any," I shoot back.

  He takes a seat on the top step and lets his hands dangle between his knees. "So you have a job, then? A place to stay?"

  I purse my lips together. "Not exactly."

  He nods slowly, bending his head to rub the side of his neck. I try not to stare, but he's running his fingers right over the area where he got hit. Is he
in pain? Is he…?

  He glances up at me, pinning me with his gaze. "You wouldn't happen to be looking to find work as a personal care aide?"

  He knows about me… What am I saying? Of course, he knows about me. All the players know who I am. And I can just imagine what they've been saying about me in the clubhouse after they saw me out in the pen with Landry. And I feel terribly uncomfortable all of a sudden, knowing that Luke's heard all the tawdry gossip about me, half of which isn't even true.

  "Yeah, well. It's what I do best." I take another step up and toss the envelope onto the porch beside him. "It was nice seeing you again. Good luck in the game tomorrow."

  "Hey, don't go," he says, picking up the envelope and tapping it against his knee. "Listen, I ordered pizza. Why don't you stay and have a slice?"

  I haven't eaten yet, and his offer does sound tempting. But do I really feel like intruding on the family dinner hour?

  "Uh, I don't think so." I give him a tight smile. "It's getting late. I really should be getting back to the hotel."

  "Don't be silly." He places his hand behind his head and slowly shifts it from side to side, and my eyes are drawn to the bandage on his elbow. "The Sheraton isn't exactly known for its food." He brings his head level again. "That is where you're staying, isn't it? The Sheraton?"

  I eye him warily. "Yeah."

  He chuckles. "Hey, don't look at me like that. It's just the only decent hotel there is downtown. It's where they book all the visiting teams." He scrunches up his brow. "I'm sure the Jacksonville Jackalopes are all checked in for the night. So beware if you decide to venture into the bar."

  "Thanks, but I don't plan on going anywhere near the bar."

  He smiles at me. Does this guy ever stop smiling?

  "Well, that's probably going to be the only place within walking distance that'll be open when you get back. Stockton's not exactly hoppin' on a weeknight."

  So those are my choices? Endure an awkward meal with one young ballplayer and his family or walk into a bar by myself and get hit on by a whole drunken team of them? Still, as far as I'm concerned, Luke's impromptu pizza party is the far more dangerous option.

 

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