Diva In The Dugout (All Is Fair In Love And Baseball)

by Hittle, Arlene

  She shook her head. “Nope. Maybe Mamma does.”

  “We’ll save it for her.”

  Dave finished his breakfast and helped Tara get ready for school. Hand-in-hand, they walked to the rental SUV. Once she was situated in the back seat, he crossed the yard to where Mel still stood, unmoving.

  “I’m dropping Tara off at preschool, then I have business in Amarillo.”

  “Fine.”

  That was all she had to say? He ground his molars on a curse. “I’ll be back in time to pick Tara up this afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  No questions about where he was going or what his business was? Damn. He’d figured her temper would start to cool after a few days of silent treatment. Apparently, he’d underestimated the extent of her anger. Or her stubbornness. “Aren’t you curious where I’m going?”

  “I don’t care what you do with your free time, as long as you don’t forget our daughter again.”

  “Not a chance.” It’d be a warm day at the North Pole before another drop of beer crossed his lips. Maybe someday he’d get her to believe that. Not today, though—not when she still looked at him like he was a pile of crap stuck to her shoe. “I have a meeting at the clubhouse.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged and turned back to stare at the passing traffic, which seemed to have tripled since he arrived.

  If that was how she was going to act, he didn’t have to feel guilty for misleading her about his “meeting.” A meeting with the Tornadoes’ management sounded a heck of a lot better than the truth. He was on his way to see a counselor.

  Jerry had arranged for him to speak with the Tornadoes’ psychologist. He wasn’t sure what good it would do, but he needed to talk to someone older than four—and with Matt two states away and Mel unwilling to engage in even the most basic conversation, a shrink was the best he could do. Lord knew he had enough baggage to keep one busy for not just years, but centuries.

  He strolled into the reception area in an attempt to project comfort he didn’t feel. He was in no way equipped to lie on a couch and talk about his childhood.

  A receptionist confirmed his identity. “Welcome, Dave. The doctor’s ready for you.”

  Dave pushed open the door to the doctor’s inner sanctum and froze. The woman sitting behind the desk looked nothing like the counselor in his imagination. Her exotic beauty belonged on the silver screen, not in a shrink’s office.

  “Dr. Donato?”

  “That’s me, but you can call me Dani. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  Dave glanced around. “Where’s the couch?”

  “I prefer my clients remain upright. Less chance of dozing off.” When she smiled, wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. The imperfection—and the realization that she had to be older than she appeared—relaxed him some.

  “No danger of that,” he grumbled, sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs in front of her desk. “Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

  The doctor glanced at the notes she must have gotten from Jerry. “Nightmares about what happened at the game in Vancouver?”

  “Nah. Sleeping on the floor.”

  “Why’s that?”

  That one question, coupled with the genuine concern on her pixie face, had him spilling his guts about everything: The one-night stand. The shock of learning he was a parent. The insanely intense love he had for both Mel and Tara, coupled with Mel’s mule-headed refusal to believe in that love.

  Talking with Doc Donato—with no desire to be on a first-name basis with his shrink, he couldn’t bring himself to call her Dani—was a lot like hanging out with Matt.

  “Doc, what do I have to do to make her understand?”

  She held up her hand. “Before we can analyze your current relationship, we have to look at your past. Tell me about your parents. What was your mother like?”

  “She was a saint.” He didn’t see how his parents figured in to this, so he kept his answer brief.

  “And your father?”

  “A traveling salesman and big womanizer.” He snorted. “When I first saw my daughter, I figured she might be a half-sister Dad hadn’t bothered to tell us about.”

  The doc nodded. “Then your male role model left something to be desired?”

  “That’s an understatement.” Although he always had food, clothes and shelter, he never had what he needed most—a father. He’d learned to play ball with the neighbor kids’ dad.

  “Do you know a man’s role in the family?”

  What a dumb question. Only one thing mattered. “He has to be present.”

  “As your dad wasn’t.” The doctor nodded again. “There’s more to it, though. A man has four roles—to provide, protect, lead and teach. You may not do all those things at once, but you damn sure should be doing one of them at all times.”

  “Provide, protect, lead, teach.” Dave repeated the words. They made sense. His own father had been a provider, but that was it. “So I need to teach Mel I’m going to be there to do all those other things? How?”

  “Teach through example. Come through often enough and eventually she’ll count on you.”

  Dave tented his hands in front of his face and studied his fingertips until the whorls started to blur. Try as he might, he could see only one way to achieve that. “You trying to say I need to find a new career that’ll keep me in one place?”

  “Only you can answer that question.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Long after Dave had driven off with Tara, Mel lingered by the fence with her now-cold coffee and watched cars stream past. Since he’d started camping out on her porch, the quiet country lane had become as busy as a superhighway. Everyone in Brannen was hot to sneak a peek at the spectacle.

  Even knowing she was grist for the town gossip mill again wasn’t enough to make her let him stay in the house. He still had a lot of making up to do before she’d believe a word he said.

  She was just about to go get ready for work when her brother’s Cadillac tore into the driveway. Almost before it came to a complete stop, Pete was out the door and in her face. “Dammit, Mel. If Boxer Boy’s arrest didn’t torpedo Father’s campaign, this mess sure as hell will.”

  She took a step back, away from the spittle flying from his lips, and saluted him with her coffee cup. “Nice to see you, too, Pete. I was about to get a refill. Want a cup?”

  “No.” He advanced on her again. “What I want is for you to stop thinking only of yourself and send that dumbass packing.”

  “You think he’s hanging around because I want him here?”

  Her brother’s eyes glittered with pure hatred. “You want him all right. You can’t keep from spreading your legs for that jerk.”

  “That’s it, Pete.” Instead of stepping backward again, she took a step toward her brother. Time to stand up to his bullying. “I’ve put up with enough of your insults.”

  He edged back. “Mel, I only want what’s best for the family.”

  “Bullshit.” She took another step forward and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from slugging the jerk. “You want what’s best for you. Running Daddy’s campaign is all about making yourself look good. If he wins, you score points with the state political machine and set yourself up for a run for attorney general.”

  “Nothing wrong with ambition. You ought to get some, instead of living off Father’s money while you dabble in interior design and let Joe Boxer screw your brains out.”

  Before Mel could stop herself, her hand darted out to slap the smug smile off her brother’s face. With almost five years of resentment behind the blow, its force knocked his toupee sideways.

  He stopped smiling, all right. He dropped his hand over the top of his head to keep his fake hair from migrating any further and tripped over his own feet as he scrambled backward. “You hit me!”

  “I’ll do it again, too.” She grew half a foot as the weight of Peter’s insults lifted. “So take that under advisement the next time you feel the
need to make some nasty crack about my personal life.”

  He stumbled again and landed on his butt with a thud. “But—”

  “But nothing, Pete.” She took a deep, calming breath in hopes it would slow her racing heart. This was the most excitement her poor ticker had seen since…well, since she and Dave had—as her brother so elegantly put it—screwed each other’s brains out.

  No danger of that happening again anytime soon.

  Since Pete was back on his feet and already halfway to his car, she called out. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Dave is here because it’s what’s best for Tara, not for me.”

  But as her brother’s Caddy roared away, Mel couldn’t help but wonder if that was true.

  ****

  Even with big questions rattling around her head, Mel tried to ignore the sexy annoyance sleeping on her porch. If she could stand up to Peter, she could surely withstand Dave’s gentler assault on her defenses.

  This was her future she was fighting for—hers and Tara’s. She refused to give in until she knew for sure he was here to stay.

  She managed to hold firm for another two days, through Tara’s ever-growing enthusiasm for all things “Daddy.” But her resolve started to waver when Tara fell off her bike Saturday morning.

  Her daughter ran to Dave to nurse her skinned knee, and, despite Mel’s concern, he handled the crisis the same way she would have. He took Tara to the bathroom to wash up and find a Band-Aid.

  She watched him take such good care of Tara, his big hands capably dressing her wound. Jealousy surged up her throat faster than the scene warming her heart.

  She quashed it, glad Tara trusted her father. So what if Tara’s obvious daddy-worship made her feel like the old, headless doll abandoned at the bottom of the toy box for a shiny, new Barbie?

  Mel rolled her eyes. She probably looked like a beat-up doll, too, thanks to all the sleep she’d been missing with Dave camped out on her porch.

  “At least with him taking care of Tara, I have time to myself.”

  She clasped her hands. She’d rather be her daughter’s first choice than have a whole month of Sundays to herself.

  The phone interrupted her pity party. She swallowed against another pang of jealousy as she answered it. “This is Mel.”

  “Melinda darling, you and I haven’t talked in ages.”

  Mamma. Her mother’s criticism still stung, so Mel’s response was terse. “I didn’t think you’d miss talking to your idiot daughter.”

  “Touché.” Her mother chuckled. “I owe you an apology. Let me take you to lunch.”

  “Just a sec.” She checked to make sure Dave and Tara would be okay on their own—a question to which he responded with a nod and a grunt, not bothering to look up from an apparently cut-throat came of Chutes and Ladders they’d started after doctoring Tara’s knee. With that settled, Mel agreed. She hated fighting with her mother.

  They set up a meeting at Dinah’s Diner, her mother’s favorite restaurant. By the time Mel walked through the door, Mamma was already in the corner booth.

  She jumped up and hugged Mel, enveloping her in a cloud of Estée Lauder. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You had your reasons for keeping Dave in the dark for so long.”

  She waited for her mother to take a seat and then slid in across from her. “Truth is I’m beginning to doubt them myself. Maybe I was an idiot.”

  Her mother waved off the criticism. “Nineteen-year-olds aren’t famous for smart decision-making. The important thing is you’ve corrected the mistake.”

  “But—” she began.

  Her mother fixed her with a piercing stare. “You and Dave are working things out, aren’t you?”

  That stare was guaranteed to get Mel to spill her guts. She hoped her mother would teach her the secret to that look, so she could use it on Tara when the time came. She forgot she was supposed to be mad…forgot everything but a desire to have someone else make everything right in her world again. “Kind of.”

  A waitress arrived to take their orders—a Reuben sandwich and fries for her mother and a chef’s salad for Mel. After the woman left, her mother’s dimpled smile disappeared. “What’s the problem, sweetheart?”

  Good question. Too bad Mel couldn’t provide an answer. “I wish I knew. It’s just a feeling I have.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “If I could put a name to it, I’d be able to beat it on my own.” She took a sip of water while she tried to collect her thoughts. “Maybe a ‘this is too good to be true’ thing.”

  Her mother reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Sounds like you’re scared.”

  “Scared? Of what?”

  “You tell me.”

  Mel sorted through the jealousy, disappointment, outrage, excitement and ecstasy of the last month and a half. She sifted through it all to uncover a nugget of—yes—fear. She was terrified. “Dave’s not being honest.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Her mother’s piercing stare turned her gaze inward. “I’m also scared I’m not good enough…that he’ll get tired of me the way Bud did.”

  “Dave and Bud are different animals, dear heart.” Her mother paused to thank the waitress. “Your fear is completely understandable, though. Love is scary.”

  The “L” word stopped Mel’s lettuce-laden fork halfway to her mouth. “What does love have to do with this?”

  “You love that boy, as sure as I’m sitting at this table about to bite into my favorite sandwich.”

  Her mother did love a good Reuben, but Mel remained unconvinced. She was fond of Dave, sure—and she loved the things he could do to her body. But love with a capital “L”? “How do you know when it’s love?”

  Her mother crunched into a French fry. “Do your knees go weak when you look at him?”

  “Do they ever.”

  “Do you steal glances at him when he’s sleeping, just so you can make sure he’s breathing?”

  “Mamma! We’re not sleeping together.”

  Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “You should be. He’s a fine-looking man.”

  Mel fanned herself to cool her overheated cheeks. “We did, a few times. And then he let Tara and me down. I won’t do it again until I know for sure he’s for real.”

  “Sugar, you never know for sure.” Her mother’s dimples flashed. “Love requires a leap of faith. You have to trust each other.”

  “That’s where I’m having trouble, Mamma. Does he deserve my trust?”

  “He made a mistake, Melinda. A big one, yes, but it was only one mistake. Think about it. Since y’all met up again, has he done anything else to make you think he’s not trustworthy?”

  “Besides almost getting arrested in Vegas?”

  “Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Everyone knows that.” Mamma stabbed the air with another French fry to make her point.

  Mel replayed their encounters in her mind. Dave came up blameless. “I guess not.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  “But Daddy’s campaign—”

  Her mother cut her off with a wave of her sandwich. “Whatever your decision, your father’s campaign will survive.”

  “It didn’t last time.”

  Her mother gaped as if she were seeing Mel for the first time. “You blame yourself for your father dropping out of the race when you were pregnant?”

  “Pete said—”

  “You know not to believe Pete.”

  “He told me no one trusted Daddy to run the town when he couldn’t even control his own daughter.” Even now, the accusation stung.

  The sandwich thudded back onto her mother’s plate. “You believed him.”

  It was more statement than question, but she nodded anyway.

  Her mother squeezed her hand. “Melinda dear, your father’s decision to drop out of the race had nothing to do with your pregnancy.”

  “Sure it didn’t.”

  “He left the race because he wanted to p
ursue mining partnerships and wouldn’t have time to devote to the office.”

  Even with her mother’s hand warming hers, she didn’t quite buy it. “The timing’s sure suspicious.”

  “We have the income to prove your father’s business sense is impeccable.” She dug in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “Call him if you don’t believe me.”

  Mel looked from her mother’s earnest expression to the phone in her hand and back again. “Would you mind?”

  “If it gets you to stop blaming yourself, not at all.” With that, her mother handed over the phone and picked up another fry.

  Her father answered immediately. “What can I do for you, Sara?”

  “It’s Mel, Daddy. I’m at lunch with Mamma and have a question.”

  “Shoot, Sugar.”

  “When you ran for mayor last time, did you quit because of my…er…condition?”

  She yanked the phone from her ear as her father bellowed like a bull. “Is that what Peter told you? That no-good son of a—I’ll tan his hide.”

  Mel winced. “Please don’t. Who’ll take Tara to Daddy-Daughter dances if you go to jail?”

  “Her father, I hope.” Her father’s soft chuckle sounded reassuring, and she hoped the same thing. “No, Mel, your pregnancy didn’t force me to leave the race. I was poised to make a pile of money on mining interests and had to strike while the iron was hot.”

  “Honest?”

  Her father growled. “Next time I see your brother, I’m going to straighten out his attitude.”

  Relief bubbled up in a giggle. “I already did that. Smacked that smarmy smile right off his face.”

  “You did?” His cough did nothing to hide his surprise, but when he continued speaking, his tone was full of pride. “Good for you, Sugar.”

  Her mother watched her closely as she hung up the phone. “Your father set you straight?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Then let me ask again. Why are you still holding that hunk at arm’s length?”

  The question took very little thought. She’d known the answer since age six. “Dave and I argue too much to have a love like yours and Daddy’s.”