Stef Ann Holm

by Lucy gets Her Life Back

  “Come in.”

  No longer did thoughts of her run-down residence fill her mind. There was something wrong. She had women’s intuition.

  Drew stood in the kitchen as if he didn’t know what to do. He had that helpless-man look on his face, something she never thought she’d see there.

  Absently putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, “Sit down. How do you like your coffee?”

  “With cream, but milk’s fine.”

  “I’ve got vanilla creamer.”

  “That works.”

  She put everything out, let him pour the amount he wanted. Taking a chair next to him, she drank a sip of coffee, let the flavors wrap around her tongue, and tried to anticipate what he was going to say.

  “What happened?” she finally questioned when he didn’t start blabbing.

  Drew pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed the center of his forehead, then gazed at her through his fingers. “Mackenzie went a little nuts yesterday. I think she has that shit you call PMS.”

  However Lucy thought he’d word it, saying “shit you call PMS” hadn’t been part of the equation.

  “I figured you’d know about this teenage girl stuff, since you were once her age.” Drew dumped creamer into the black depth of his coffee and then stirred.

  Keeping her rampant emotions in check, Lucy tried not to think the worst, but she had a bad feeling. “What do you mean, she went a little nuts?”

  “I came home yesterday and she’d messed up the whole house with my stuff. She got into my baseball things, put the baseballs into the fruit bowl, framed pictures of Opal and Roger and put them on the mantel.” Drew shook his head. “Just some weird stuff. And she had Kleenex in all the rooms in case I cried. Hell, I think it’s so she can cry because she’s whacked out on hormones. She hasn’t been herself lately. She’s been doing things—almost as if to piss me off—and it’s working. She’s leaving dirty dishes out, crap like that. I’ve held it together because I don’t want to lose it with her. It’s a hard situation. I mean, she’s my kid, but I don’t want to parent her.”

  “Why not?” Lucy asked curtly, then pressed her lips together. “Why aren’t you being her dad?”

  He looked as if she’d just spoken a foreign language. “I am.”

  “Well, if she’s doing things in your home that are disrespectful, you have to tell her no.”

  “Yeah but, Lucy, she’s dealing with the death of her mom. She doesn’t know me. I just want to be her friend for now. You know, keep it even. No tension.”

  “It sounds like you’re having tension.”

  He sucked in a breath that hissed between his teeth. “You’re right. So what do I do?”

  Lucy toyed with the spoon in front of her, her eyes cast down. “Why were the changes in the house displeasing to you?”

  “I don’t know, they just were. I like things one way. Neat and organized.” Drew lifted his cup. “I’ve lived a certain way for so long it’s not easy to change.”

  Keeping her temper, she tried to speak without displeasure in her tone. “How do you know your way is the right way? What makes Drew Tolman think that living a sterile life without photos on the walls and personal objects in the kitchen is a way to live? What’s wrong with having the refrigerator covered with magnets and life—pictures, receipts, take-out coupons?”

  “I don’t like clutter on my fridge, okay? I just want—” But he stopped himself, scowled. “How’d you know about the fridge?”

  Lucy bit the inside of her lip, the truth weighing her down. No way out. “I was there. I helped her do it.”

  Drew tilted his head. “You did what?”

  “She was upset with you, Drew, so I—”

  “Upset with me? I haven’t done jack. I’ve been keeping my distance, haven’t tried to pressure her or make her talk to me.” A dark gleam landed in his eyes. “I’ve taken her places, done the father-daughter things and hoped she’d forgive me.”

  “Have you asked her to?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact. I did. This past February when I went to Florida I took her to a spring training game at Vero Beach. I told her I was sorry for everything.”

  Lucy’s dander rose and she spoke from personal experience. “Being sorry and asking for forgiveness are two different things. I could burn your dinner and tell you I’m sorry, but if I did wrong by you, that would require me asking you for your forgiveness.” The stirring of a headache built, and maybe she wasn’t as “done” with Gary as she’d thought….

  Sometimes, out of the blue, something got her worked up, and she remembered all too well what it was like to deal with a man’s ego. In this case, Drew’s was getting in his way.

  Playing with the spoon’s handle, she formed her words. “I told you that my ex-husband cheated, then walked out on me two years ago, and in that time, I have made my peace with him. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. Bitterness is a hard thing to let go. Gary has never once asked me to forgive him. And he was the one who wronged me. In his mind, he said he was sorry for how things happened, so he gets a clean slate. I can tell you, Drew, there’s a whole different playing field between those two words. You live for baseball. Think of being sorry as a foul ball and forgiveness as a line drive.”

  He stared blankly at her, as if he didn’t know what to say.

  In a strong tone, she advised, “I suggest you ask your daughter to forgive you.”

  Drew made a check of the time on the dial of his watch, then adjusted the band, looked at her and the surrounding room. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Nothing worth having ever is.”

  “She’s going to tell me to go to hell.”

  “I think you’ve been living in it for the last seventeen years.”

  He raised a brow. “I’ll have to tell her about the alcohol.”

  “She’s a smart lady. She won’t judge.”

  “She might.”

  “You’ll deal with it.”

  Clearing his throat, he uttered remorsefully, “She told me she wants to go home.”

  “It’s not too late to change her mind.”

  “She’s stubborn.”

  “I wonder where she got that from?” For the first time since Drew had come over, Lucy smiled at him.

  Drew made a face—at himself. A roll of his eyes, a grimace, a soft snort of self-disgust. “Yeah. Maybe.” He stood, tall and broad-shouldered, then dragged a hand through his hair and smoothed it away from his temple.

  She walked him toward the door, but he turned to her before they reached it.

  One minute she was behind him, the next she was in his arms and he was kissing her softly on the mouth. The move was sudden and unexpected, disarming and wonderful at the same time. She’d been too surprised to linger and taste, but the warmth from his lips caused her heartbeat to lighten, flutter. Her arms wound over his shoulders, her fingers cupping his neck.

  Against her mouth, he whispered, “Thanks, Lucy. I think you are amazing.”

  His words of validation brought the burn of tears to her eyes. For a long time after Gary, she’d thought herself unattractive and unworthy. It felt good to be reminded she was important. She’d come to that conclusion on her own, but it felt really great to be told she had worth. And especially by Drew.

  “Thanks.” She gave him an encouraging smile, one that she hoped he could carry with him and remember as he talked to Mackenzie. Part of her wanted to be there to mediate in case things got ugly; a part of her knew it wasn’t her place. Sometimes things had to get a little unpleasant before they could be fixed. This was one of those times where everything that either of them had ever felt needed to be spoken. Too much time had passed when things had been kept inside.

  Drew brushed his warm fingers over her cheek, then traced her lower lip with his thumb. “You’re a quality lady.”

  The affirmation warmed her to the core, heated her skin with a blush that threatened to overwhelm her. This was a side of Drew that she’d never seen, that probabl
y few people had seen.

  He had a huge heart. For the first time, she realized that even a big man could feel vulnerable. Fear rejection. Want to walk away from pain rather than face it.

  “I gotta go,” he said, and took the keys from his pocket.

  She watched him pull away, her heart swelling with a feeling she’d thought was long since dead. She’d known from day one that she had lust for Drew Tolman. No doubting that. But now something else flickered to life. She hated to even acknowledge it.

  So she didn’t.

  Caroline Taylor had never contacted Drew demanding child support or recognition for Mackenzie. Over the years, as Drew rode the elevator higher into the majors, she could have cleaned him out for some serious cash. A court would have made him take a paternity test, but she hadn’t been like that.

  When she told him she was pregnant, she’d knocked the hell out of his curve ball. She deserved a whole lot better from him, but the past was the past and he couldn’t change what had happened.

  In those days, he’d spent half his time in the bar and half his time on the ball field. After too many drinks, he reasoned that even if Mackenzie was his daughter, she’d be better off without him.

  But deep down in his core, the center of his soul, he’d known the truth from the very day Caroline had called to tell him she’d missed her period and the test strip confirmed her suspicion. He would always remember the tone of her voice, that helpless quiver to her words.

  Even to this day, recalling it made a stab of conscience and self-loathing spear his heart. Caroline wasn’t a liar. That’s why he never threw any of Mackenzie’s pictures away and hadn’t been fully able to talk himself out of having a daughter.

  To Caroline’s credit, she’d done an amazing job. Who Mackenzie was today, even the little rebellious streak in her, she owed to her mother. With all Mackenzie had been through, it was a wonder she stood tall and strong. Losing a mother, and even a stepfather, only to find out your real father denied you—nobody should have to deal with that.

  All Drew could do was thank God he’d had the opportunity to make things right with Caroline before she passed. When he’d started sending her money, she’d accepted it, but they hadn’t discussed their heated conversation so many years ago before Mackenzie was born. That night Caroline had told him and he didn’t own up, she’d left him without a backward glance.

  It wasn’t until two years ago that Drew flew to Florida, and he and Caroline met in private. They finally cleared the air about what had happened. She was a saint, never once raising her voice at him. The only time he’d ever seen her lose her temper was the time she’d told him to get off her porch.

  Drew pulled into his driveway, got out of the Hummer and headed toward the front door. The rapid-fire pop of the Iron Mike spitting out baseballs pulled his attention. He changed direction, and at the side of the house he saw Mackenzie inside the cage, helmet on, taking some swings. Holding back, he watched.

  She had a perfect stance, a good pivot on the balls of her feet. She held the bat at the right angle, took a swing and made contact. The ball flew into the cage with a metallic ring. Her smile was one of pure satisfaction.

  Pride surged through Drew, his pleasure intense. Seeing her determination, the way she held herself with an effortless grace and speed, reminded him of himself way back when.

  Readying for the next pitch, she kept her form steady. A ball sailed toward her and she sliced the air, chasing after leather and hitting it hard. If she had been in a Little League field, that one would have been a home run.

  He went to her, stood outside the cage with his fingers curled in the chain link. “You sure can hit a baseball.”

  Without making eye contact with him, she replied, “I can do a lot of things you don’t know about.”

  She missed the next ball, her concentration broken. Another pitch came and she threw her whole upper body into it, fouling the ball away.

  “Mackenzie. I want to talk to you.” When she didn’t acknowledge him, his confidence faltered and a natural reaction was to build up his defenses. He wasn’t sure if he had what it took to make things right with her.

  “It’s a free country.”

  Drew went to open the latch on the batter’s gate. “Let’s turn this thing off. You’re liable to get hit on the head.”

  “I can hit a baseball and listen to you at the same time,” she challenged, taking a swing and this time ripping one hard.

  “But I’d feel better—”

  “I’m sure you would. It’s always about what makes you feel better, isn’t it?”

  “That’s not the truth and I think you know it.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Sweat dampened her brows. The golden tan on her cheeks was enhanced with blush. A mottled line of perspiration showed on the back of her sand-colored tank top. She had on white shorts and white tennis shoes. She wore his wrist guards. When she gritted her teeth to take a bite out of the air, slicing a chopper, she looked just like him.

  It sort of freaked him out, put a dip in his blood pressure. But not in a way that made him want to run. He wanted to hug her in the worst way.

  “Mackenzie,” he said, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat so she could hear him over the noise. “I know I’ve been a shit to you for most of your life.”

  “You were a shit to my mom,” she countered.

  “Well, Caroline and I got things settled.”

  “I know. She told me. She told me to give you a chance.”

  “I’m glad she said that.”

  “I wish I’d never come—” she reached for a ball, took a swing, but missed “—out here. It was a bad idea. If Brad hadn’t two-timed me, I would have spent the summer in Florida with Aunt Lynette.”

  There were a few implications here: an unfaithful boyfriend. So did that mean Mackenzie had had sex with him and then he’d gone out and had sex with someone else? The scenario paralyzed Drew. He couldn’t think about his daughter making that choice, and he hoped Caroline would have talked to her about responsibilities. He’d bet his Cy Young Award she had. Something else struck him—her being here didn’t have anything to do with him, but rather she’d used him as an escape.

  That reality stung. But he had to own part of it. He’d done her wrong, and she owed him nothing. Even so, he recognized the hurt that nicked his heart.

  “Who’s Brad?” he asked, tempering the father-instinct in his voice. If the kid had even laid a hand on her…

  “Nobody.”

  “How come you ran away from nobody?”

  Mackenzie abruptly stepped out of the batter’s box and a missed ball slapped the wire of the cage, falling to the ground.

  Hand on her slight hip, she glared at him with hazel eyes. “He was my boyfriend and I never did that with him since I know that’s what you’re thinking. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have done it with Misty Connors, but I’m over him so I don’t care anymore.” Blowing the hair off her forehead, she wiped her damp skin with the back of her hand. “I shouldn’t have told ya’ll why I came. Momma said bad manners are no excuse to give bad manners in return. I didn’t mean to tell you that’s why I changed my mind, but now that it’s out, you know.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Of course not.”

  Ball after ball methodically hit the chain link. Drew opened the gate, went inside and turned the machine off. Facing her, he tried to form the right words. “Mackenzie, I have to ask you something.”

  Her chin rose, defiant and on guard.

  “I know I wasn’t around when you were growing up. I’m sure when you found out who I was, it was a shock to you.”

  She released the bat and it made a sharp noise hitting the ground. Her breathing seemed to catch in her throat. “When I saw your name on my birth certificate, I flipped. I knew exactly who ya’ll were—I’d been looking at your picture on the Wheaties box that morning when I was eating my breakfast!”

  Unsnapping the strap, she rem
oved the helmet and set it down. Her hands shook as she smoothed her hair from her face. “I don’t know if you know this, but my momma always encouraged me to love baseball, and she even told me she had known some baseball players when she worked at the motel. She especially pointed you out when Dodgers games came on the TV. She did that so when the day came and she had to explain you were my real father, I’d have good thoughts about you—like it would almost feel as if we’d been friends.” Her hair was flicked over her shoulder with a terse move. “When I was twelve and I saw you walking up our steps, it was like that Wheaties box come to life.”