by Hope Ramsay
Damn. Two nights in a row that she’d sneaked a visitor into her bedroom. But seeing as this room didn’t really have a good lock on the door, maybe bringing the dog was a better choice than the man. The man was hot as sin but unreliable.
Prince had the loyalty gene bred into him. In fact, right now the poor puppy was plastered to her chest as if his life depended on it.
A crack of lightning flashed through the dormer, followed a few moments later by more thunder. And another doggy whine. She hugged Prince a little harder, just as there was a knock on the door.
Great. She’d been found out. “Do you have the doggie in there?”
Jackie. Not Ashley, thank God. But then Jackie was supposed to be allergic. “No,” she lied.
The door opened. The kid had no shame, but then she’d been warned, which was why she mostly dressed in the bathroom across the hall.
He stepped into the room, looking like one of Peter Pan’s lost boys in his pirate pajamas. “You didn’t tell the truth,” he said.
“Nope. And you probably should go before—” Her admonition went unheeded as the kid launched himself onto the bed and at the puppy, who promptly forgot that he was scared of the storm.
Instead, a classic scene of puppy love played out on top of the bed’s quilt. Clearly this boy and this dog loved each other. Maybe she should give the dog to Ashley.
No. She searched her heart and discovered that she didn’t want to give Prince away, even if she could appreciate the fact that Jackie and the pup were infatuated with each other.
He giggled and laughed, and then he turned to her with eyes that were just a little old for his eight years. “The Captain told me you would bring Prince home.”
“He did, did he? Did he tell you why?” she asked, playing along.
“Cuz you needed a friend. And Prince is a good friend.”
The boy was intuitive; she’d give him that. “That’s very true. But your mother would be unhappy if she knew I’d sneaked him up here.”
The boy shook his head. “The Cap’n says Mom needs a friend too. You think that means she needs a puppy?”
Lia laughed in spite of herself. “No.”
“You’re probably right. Then who could be her friend?”
“I think she already has lots of friends.”
“The Piece Makers?”
Lia nodded.
The boy lay back on the bed as the storm broke over their heads and rain poured down, drumming against the old house’s metal roof. “I don’t think that’s what the Cap’n meant.”
“No? What do you think he meant?”
“I’m not sure. But I don’t think the Cap’n likes the Piece Makers much.”
“No?”
He shook his head while wrestling with the puppy. “He said he didn’t want to be a tourist attraction, and some of the ladies, Miz Bauman in particular, thinks Mom should advertise that we have a ghost.”
“So you know the Cap’n is a ghost?”
“Of course he is.” The boy sat up in the bed. “He’s not imaginary.”
“Okay.”
“And he says you should stay put.”
“He does?”
“Yup. He says the rovin’ life is a hard one and you’ve had enough.”
“Well, he’s got that right.”
“And there’s not much romance in spending months at sea.”
“He’s right about that too.”
“You’ve spent months at sea?”
“Yes, I have. I served on several aircraft carriers. I wasn’t a pirate, of course.”
“I don’t think it matters,” Jackie said with a thoughtful frown, right before he re-engaged with the puppy. Who decided that wrestling with Jackie was more fun than he’d had in his short puppy life. But when he barked again, Ashley Scott came sailing into the half-opened door looking exactly like a cross between an angry mom and a ticked-off innkeeper.
She was wearing an apron and looked as if she’d been up for quite a while. Since breakfast started at 7:30 a.m., she’d probably been awake since way before dawn. She might have arrived angry, but the moment she saw her son with the dog, her frown turned upside down.
She stood there for a solid minute watching Jackie as he rolled around the floor laughing with the dog.
“I guess he’s not all that allergic after all,” she murmured.
“Guess not,” Lia said.
“Hey, Lia,” Jackie said when he came up for air, “can Mom and me watch Prince while you play at the softball game?”
Lia glanced at the window, where the sky was actually getting lighter. Above their heads the downpour sounded as if it was coming to an end. “Sure.”
Chapter Twenty
The rain came to an end by 8:30 a.m., just as the weatherman had predicted. The clouds blew out to sea, and the sun appeared around nine o’clock, turning the day into a sauna.
Lia hitched a ride with Ashley and Jackie, and by the time they arrived the park was already a beehive of activity. Annie Robinson and her son Jamal were already there with a big drum barbecue that was perfuming the air with the tangy scent of smoked pork.
Two dozen crafters, local merchants, nonprofits, and a couple of local government offices were setting up booths for a street fair on the green opposite the ball field. Ashley joined their ranks, and Lia helped her set up a long card table where she could advertise her B&B and sell cakes and pies she’d baked for the occasion.
Harry Bauman, a member of the town council and the yacht club, arrived with a crew of middle-school kids from the sailing school who got to work draping the bleachers in American flag–themed bunting.
By the time team members started assembling, the park had been transformed into a red-white-and-blue-draped celebration of America, complete with an ice-cream truck and a stand across the street selling fireworks, which were still legal in South Carolina.
Jenna pulled her team together into the home dugout. Each member had been given a blue T-shirt with the names of the event’s sponsors on the back. “I know we got slaughtered at the scrimmage the other day, but I’m really proud of the way y’all have been practicing. Win or lose, just remember that we’re here to raise money for the town’s museum,” she said.
It was hardly a rah-rah speech but everyone nodded like they really believed her line about winning not being very important. And then Abby said, “Uh-oh,” and everyone turned to follow her gaze.
And there he was, Noah himself, wearing a fire-engine-red First Responder T-shirt, striding across the field like a man on a mission.
“Damn it,” Abby said. “I thought he’d decided not to play.”
So had Lia. Had he decided to make peace with his father? Oh, she hoped so because, if he could make peace, then maybe there was a future for them.
That thought made her heart race, right before it scared her witless. She had fallen for him. And if he left Magnolia Harbor, it would be hard not to follow him. And somehow that seemed like a bad precedent to set.
“We’re in trouble,” Jude St. Pierre said, giving voice to Lia’s innermost thoughts. But she wasn’t thinking about a stupid softball game.
“That kind of attitude will get us nowhere,” Jenna replied.
“He can hit anything I can pitch,” Abby said, her shoulders slumping.
“Then don’t pitch to him,” Lia said.
Abby turned and blinked. “If I did that…” Her voice trailed off.
“I guess you just have to decide if you want to prove something to your father or win the game,” Lia said, giving her a little shoulder squeeze.
Jenna smiled at everyone on her team. “And just remember, it’s not winning that counts. What really counts is your intent.”
“Oh boy, here comes the Buddhist BS,” Colton St. Pierre said under his breath, earning him a double-elbow whammy from both of his brothers, who rode the bench on either side of him. “Ow, you guys.”
“Shut up,” Micah said.
“Yeah,” Jude echoed.
/> “I mean it,” Jenna continued. “This is about raising money for the museum fund. We’re here to have fun and entertain the crowd. Winning doesn’t matter.”
“Except that it’s everything,” Abby whispered in Lia’s ear.
Jenna rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. Just know that, win or lose, I’m grateful to everyone who helped make this first-ever Independence Day softball game a reality. I hope we can make this an annual event.”
She finished her speech just as Harry Bauman strolled onto the pitcher’s circle with a microphone and proceeded to give a speech and then introduce the sponsors and players.
The First Responders were the visitors so they came up to bat first, and of course, Noah was batting in the clean-up position. When he strolled onto the field with two outs and a man on second, he wore a big grin.
“I thought you weren’t going to play,” said Lia, who was the catcher for the merchants.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Well, let’s just say I’m doing it for you.”
“For me?” What the heck did that mean? Was he really trying to make peace with his dad? The bottom of her stomach fell down to her knees. She really had it bad for this guy.
She settled back into her catcher’s crouch, slightly breathless as she gave Abby the signal for an intentional walk.
But Abby was still trying to prove something, so she reared back and threw one of her hand-breaking fastballs that no one could touch.
Except for Noah Cuthbert. And he laid into it. The aluminum bat pinged with a sound that seemed to say, “Sayonara,” and the ball took off.
The ball sailed really high, right into the wind, which had kicked up in the afternoon. The ball stalled, and damned if Kate Joyner didn’t track it like she’d been playing softball all her life. She camped out under it and put up her glove, using two hands.
And missed the ball entirely.
Damn. That had not been a hit.
It took Kate a few minutes to chase the fly, and then she made an errant throw to the short-fielder. By the time the ball came sailing in Lia’s direction, Noah was standing on home plate with a big smile on his face as he ogled her from top to bottom. “I like the way you fill out that uni,” he murmured, coming way too close for comfort.
Lia might have done something stupid like kiss the guy who’d just scored runs against her team, but just then, Bud Joyner’s voice sailed down from the bleachers. “That’s my wife out there,” he said. “She’s the Fire Department’s secret weapon.”
People laughed.
The moment Bud spoke, the grin faded from Noah’s face. He stepped away and glanced up at the stand, his face going hard as granite.
“Shut up, Bud,” Noah yelled. “She was looking right into the sun trying to field that ball.” Then he turned toward his little sister. “Just remember, none of those runs were earned. You made me hit under that pitch.”
And he walked back to the dugout while something in Lia’s chest expanded. Damn it, what she felt for Noah Cuthbert was more than lust.
She’d fallen in love with him. Probably before he’d told Bud to stuff it or tried to make his little sister feel better. But watching him do that now only sealed the deal.
* * *
“Damn, that little girl can pitch,” Daddy said, shaking his head, admiration softening his face. It was the top of the seventh inning—the last inning they would play—and the score was Merchants six and First Responders four.
Abby, who’d pitched well in the scrimmage, was pitching even better now. Probably because she’d held back her really good stuff for the game. Noah’s sister had been recruited by a couple of big-name NCAA Division I schools, including the University of Michigan. But she hadn’t wanted to move out of state and hadn’t been sure she’d wanted to make that kind of commitment. She’d opted to stay home and take care of Momma.
Sort of like he’d opted not to go into the major leagues.
He couldn’t blame her for her choices. But you put a ball in Abby’s hand and her competitive spirit showed through. No doubt about it, his little sister was determined to win this game.
“I had no idea a fast-pitch softball could be so dang hard to hit,” Daddy said, shaking his head. Too bad Daddy had never taken the time to realize that his youngest child was probably the best athlete of them all.
Noah wanted to bitch him out but he held his tongue. He’d decided to play today in order to test the waters. To see if it might be possible to tolerate Daddy for more than five minutes at a time. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that it wasn’t.
Daddy turned away from the game and gave Noah his special Daddy look through the chain links of the dugout. “We’re down, son. We’re going to lose this game because no one on our team can hit Abby’s pitches. Except you. You could tie it up. And then maybe Ethan could do something miraculous.” Daddy glanced down the dugout at Ethan, who was sitting, head in hands. Abby had struck Ethan out three times today.
Why did it always have to be like this?
It might be unkind, but the prospects of Ethan doing something miraculous were very low. And since this was a charity game, if the seventh inning ended in a tie, there would be no further play. Both sides would declare victory. Which might be nice.
But unfortunately Abby had just carved up Randy Wilson, so there were now two outs with Grant Ackerman standing on second base. If Noah hit a home run, the game would be tied. And then Ethan would come to the plate and probably strike out again.
Crap. Given the way Abby and Ethan had been fighting the other day, Noah had no reason to believe that Abby would go easy on him. And God forbid if Abby decided to intentionally walk Noah. Then it would all come down to Ethan.
And if Ethan failed, Daddy would say something.
And Noah hated that. He’d hated it all his life.
There was one way he could take the blame from Ethan. He could go up there and throw the game.
Like he’d done that day he was thirteen. The day Duke died.
He picked up an aluminum bat and took the long, almost agonizing walk to the plate. What was he going to do? Hit a homer so that his team could at least tie the game? Or intentionally throw the game so that Ethan wouldn’t be blamed for failing to be a last-minute hero?
He kept his gaze trained on the dirt as he walked, until the very last moment when he looked up…into Lia’s big brown eyes. And right then, it seemed as if she looked right through him. She backed away and let Harry Bauman dust off the plate.
Then she sidled up to him and whispered, “Don’t expand the strike zone, okay?” As if she knew he was planning to throw the game. She glanced at Abby and then back at him.
Damn. It wasn’t just about Ethan, was it? Abby had something to prove too. And Abby would know if he threw the game. He was trapped. Back in the same stupid cycle he’d been in as a child. He’d always been the golden boy, held up to his younger brother like a role model.
He shared a long moment lost in Lia’s big brown eyes before she turned to Harry and asked for time. The ump called time, and Lia trotted out to the pitcher’s circle.
Here it came—the intentional walk. There really wasn’t much he could do about it.
* * *
“You are going to walk him, right?” Lia said once she reached the pitcher’s circle.
And Abby shook her head. It was the last inning of the game. The last time she’d face her big brother and damn it all, she really wanted to strike him out.
Lia blew out a long breath. “You have to walk him.”
“Why? The worst he can do is tie the game. I mean, Ethan is next and he—”
“I know. But we’ve got the girls batting in the bottom of the seventh. If you want to win the game, you have to put him on first.”
Abby stood there face-to-face with Lia, who knew a crap-ton about softball tactics and who reminded her of Alice Leddy, the long-time softball coach at Rose Howland High. Coach Leddy would not have allowed her to pitch to Noah.
“Yeah, yeah
,” she said, blowing out a big breath.
“Good girl.” Lia clapped her on the back and then trotted back to home plate.
Abby turned her back on the catcher, which was maybe a mistake because Grant was standing on second grinning at her. “What?” she said to him.
“Not one thing,” he replied. “Except I think I’ve got the best view on the field.”
“Of what?”
He just smiled.
“Play ball,” Harry Bauman called.
Abby turned around and faced her big brother. He was a sight standing there at the plate holding the bat like he knew exactly how to use it.
“Bring it on, sis,” he said. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, her brother had his game face on, and it was pretty intimidating.
Abby wound up like she was going to give him one of her fast balls, but she pulled back at the last moment and threw a crazy pitch with a lot of spin that curved right in on him.
For once, Noah didn’t try to foul it off. He turned and let the pitch hit him between the shoulder blades. Since she hadn’t thrown it hard, it didn’t do any damage.
“Take your base,” Harry Bauman said, just as Ethan came slouching out of the dugout.
Well, this would be easy. She just had to strike her next-oldest brother out, and the game would be over. But then Lia asked for time and came jogging out to the pitcher’s circle again.
“What now? We’ve got the game in the bag,” Abby said.
Lia came real close and spoke into her glove so no one would read her lips. “You need to give Ethan a ball he can hit,” she said.
“Are you crazy? We got this thing won.”
“I know. But he needs a hit.”
Abby blinked a few times and glanced at her older brother, who stood at the plate looking slump-shouldered and worried. Then she turned and glanced at Noah, who stood on first base looking like the world was about to come to an end.
“What’s up with Noah?” Abby asked. “You think he’s pissed that I hit him. I thought that would be less bruising to his ego than intentionally walking him. And I threw a soft ball.”
“He’s not upset. He’s trying to tell you to pitch to Ethan.”