The Man For Me

by Gemma Bruce

  They doted on Tommy, obviously proud of him. And Tommy undoubtedly loved them. J.T. couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. The Coach never displayed those kinds of feelings, even for his sons.

  “You’re quiet,” said Tommy, bringing her back to the present. He was watching her speculatively. He’d been watching her all night. He didn’t trust her. She didn’t blame him. Yet she wanted to deserve his trust—which was stupid. He’d go back to the majors and not even remember her name.

  “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ll tell them you’re ready to go.”

  The two Mrs. Bainbridges saw them to the door. J.T. was acutely aware of them watching as Tommy walked her to her car. She wondered what they were thinking? If they’d liked her.

  Then the front door closed and she unconsciously moved closer to Tommy. Felt the warmth of his body near hers. After a second, she felt his arm slip around her waist. It was a friendly gesture, but the warmth that had been growing inside her all night twisted into a tight coil of desire, followed by a urgent stab of panic.

  They walked the half block to J.T.’s car in silence. Tommy stopped. He let go of her waist and took her by both shoulders. “My family is very important to me. I don’t want them plastered all over some newspaper.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said, trying to ignore the heat of his palms. But of course she would. It was her job. “I’d never print something personal that I didn’t get permission to use. I’m not that kind of a reporter.”

  But his loyalty to his family, his old neighborhood, would make a good angle to a story. Hometown boy makes good, never forgets his friends and family. Comes back to…to what? Why had he come back?

  She was in way over her head. Just being around him muzzled her thinking. She knew plenty of handsome ballplayers. She’d never felt this kind of excitement with any of them.

  Tommy B. excited her. Was someone she’d like to get to know a little—a lot—more intimately.

  Tommy leaned into her. So close that his face was a blur. Her nose was filled with the scent of his aftershave. He was going to kiss her. Her pulse kicked up and her heart skittered in her chest.

  “I know I’m nuts to get involved with you. But I can’t seem to stop myself.”

  She didn’t want him to stop.

  His lips touched hers. Lightly, then firmly, and his tongue was inside, their tongues fencing. The taste of apples and heat.

  The tabloid picture flashed across her mind. And the feeling crumbled away. That’s what happened when you got close to ballplayers. Trouble. She couldn’t afford to take any chances with this assignment. Skinny had made it clear that this was her last chance.

  She pulled away. Tommy’s hands dropped to his sides. And they stood face to face, both breathing fast.

  “I’m sorry,” Tommy said. He stepped away. “Just fell into the mood. Won’t happen again.” He turned toward her car.

  J.T. stood there. She’d fallen into the mood, too. Part of her was still ready to be tempted, even cajoled. Of course, she would say no…eventually. She hadn’t meant to put such an abrupt end to things. Again.

  She peered up at him, but his expression seemed remote in the streetlight. Stark planes and shadows. Dark. Unreadable. Even his hair was dark, except where the light captured a strand that had fallen across his forehead, turning it from blond to a rich gold.

  J.T. sighed. “I guess I’d better be going.”

  “Keys?” Tommy held out his hand. J.T. took them out of her bag and reluctantly handed them to him.

  He’d given up awfully easily. Too easily by far.

  Chapter 9

  The Night n Day was dark except for a lone floodlight at the far edge of the horseshoe. It was after curfew and all the rooms were dark.

  J.T. let herself inside, traded her skirt and top for sweats, and sat down at her laptop. She wanted to get the evening down before the details blurred.

  Not that she planned to submit anything about Tommy and his family.

  She wrote it anyway, capturing the close-knit family, the homey atmosphere, and the love a famous man felt for those he’d left behind.

  At the end of an hour, she read what she’d written. Nothing that would interest Skinny. He would want to know why Tommy was here. What was happening with his contract. Would he be on the starting lineup or would they sign Isotori to replace him.

  She’d been here two whole days, made out with him in a parking lot, sat with him on the bleachers, even had dinner with him, and she hadn’t gotten one pertinent comment. Instead, she had six pages of cuddly reportage.

  She closed the computer, gathered up the pages, and held them for a moment, enjoying the feel of the smooth white sheets of paper. She loved hard copy. If she had her way, she’d write her articles with a pencil. But that would take too much time. And in her business, time was money. She stacked the papers and put them in the three-ring binder where she kept the other articles she’d written but never published.

  There must be two hundred pages between those two pieces of cardboard. Hell, she almost had enough for a book. Except who would buy a book of girlie articles by an unknown?

  Nobody. She tossed the binder on the desk. She’d have to finagle the truth out of Tommy B. tomorrow…somehow.

  She dropped her sweats and climbed in between cold white sheets.

  Tommy paced in his kitchen along the same path taken by his grandfather and his father and uncles. The Bainbridges had been pacing in this kitchen for so many years, there was a worn oval in the linoleum. The Bainbridge men thought better on their feet.

  But Tommy couldn’t seem to get his thoughts to stay on one subject. They kept coming back to the one subject he didn’t want to think about. J.T. Green.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d invited her to dinner? To meet his family for shit’s sake. And then in a moment of mindless lust he’d kissed her. A few minutes more and he would have invited her in.

  Fortunately, she’d pulled away and he’d returned to his senses. If she knew he lived three doors down from his mother, she’d be on his doorstep the next morning with croissants and Starbucks. Except the Starbucks at the mall hadn’t opened yet. But there was a Dunkin’ Donuts, and women could always improvise when they wanted something.

  He couldn’t get distracted now. He had work to do and he was fixated on the feel of his arm around J.T.’s waist, imagined his hands slipping under her knit shirt, cupping those perky breasts.

  Shit. Tommy kicked at the chair leg. The chair fell over. He uprighted it and returned to pacing. His life was getting more out of control.

  When he’d gone back inside to say good night, his mother, grandmother, and sister were waiting. His mother and Gran were beaming. Grace was looking smug. They all liked J.T. He should bring her again.

  He would not under any circumstances ask her to dinner with or without his family. He would have to keep his distance.

  Maybe.

  J.T. awoke to thunder, then the pattering of rain on the roof. It was still dark. Hoping there were no leaks in her ceiling, she drifted back to sleep. When she woke again, it was morning and the sun was shining. Another workday for the Beavers—and her.

  She wasn’t the first to arrive at the field. There were two fire trucks, a police cruiser, and a huge white van in the parking lot. Firemen milled about in full gear and huge hoses ran from the white truck through the open door.

  J.T. pulled into a parking slot next to Tommy’s Beemer and jumped out.

  “What happened?” she asked a man wearing rubber boots that came to his thighs. She didn’t smell smoke. A false alarm? Another one of those “annoying” incidents that Bernie had brushed off? What was it with this team?

  “Pipe broke.” The fireman shook his head. “Flooded a whole bunch of rooms. Knocked out the boiler and God knows what else. We’re pumping it out now.”

  “Thanks.” J.T. bent down to roll up the cuffs of her jeans and stepped past him.
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br />   “I wouldn’t go in there, miss. It’s a big mess.”

  She smiled at him, then climbed over the closest hose; it was a foot in diameter. There were two other smaller hoses running alongside it. She picked her way down the hall and looked into the locker room.

  Most of the water had been siphoned off, but she doubted that the odor of dirt, sludge, and mildew would be as easy to remove. She could see the watermarks on the legs of the table and the damage to the lockers. The carpet was saturated and the workers squelched back and forth across the room as they repositioned the hoses.

  Newspapers lay matted together on the floor. Garbage cans were upended and sandwich wrappers and soda bottles littered the floor. A large laundry cart had turned over and its contents spilled onto the floor. Towels and uniforms were soaked and smeared with dirt and detritus. It must have been one hell of a break. It looked more like a flash flood.

  She squished across the room to Bernie’s office. The carpet was under a half inch of water. His garbage can was tipped on its side and a box of cigars lay in a puddle.

  She looked into the media room. The big flat screen and video equipment seemed to be undamaged. The legs of the couch were soaking up water, the cushions were on the floor. It looked like the room had been tossed as well as flooded.

  J.T. heard voices on the other side of the wall. She retraced her steps to the hall and saw a man with a toolbox coming out of a door several feet away.

  She went through the door and found the boiler room. An old furnace stood in one corner, a giant hot water heater in the other. The concrete floor was wet and the air held a faint smell of gas. The flood must have doused the pilot light.

  Tommy, Bernie, and Larry Chrysler were standing with a man wearing a gray jumpsuit with SULLIVAN’S PLUMBING stenciled across the back.

  She looked above their heads and saw the water pipe hanging in two pieces.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s some break.”

  Tommy, Bernie, and Larry swung around.

  “That pipe didn’t just break,” said the plumber.

  “Aw, shit, Jody. Don’t start with that, will you?” Bernie said, sounding exasperated as hell. “The pipes are old. Old shit breaks.”

  The plumber shook his head slowly. “’Fraid I’m gonna have to side with Mr. Harris on this one, Bernie. That pipe mighta broke next month, maybe next week, but it didn’t break last night. Someone beat the crap out of it. You’ve been vandalized.”

  “Vandals?” said J.T., automatically taking out her notebook.

  “Put that thing away,” snapped Bernie. “I got enough trouble without all this shit. And I don’t want to see any stories about broken pipes in Sports Today. Got it? We’ll look like damn fools.” He swung past her and headed for the door.

  “You got a problem with me writing about broken pipes?” she asked Larry.

  “Hell, no. Write about anything you want. Just be aware that by the time your article comes out there might not even be a goddamn team.” He nodded brusquely and followed Bernie out.

  “Who is Mr. Harris?”

  “The night watchman,” Tommy said, and he walked away. J.T. was left alone with the plumber. He was peering up at the pipe and shaking his head.

  “Looks pretty bad,” said J.T. sympathetically.

  “Yep. But I’ll tell you one thing. That pipe is old. I remember when my daddy installed it. He did all the plumbing here. I also know it didn’t just spring a leak. Someone took a sledgehammer to it.”

  “How can you tell?” asked J.T., peering up at the dangling piece of pipe.

  The plumber pointed midway down the pipe to several indentations. “They had to hit it over and over before it broke. Damn teenagers.”

  “Teenagers? How would they get in?”

  “I don’t know, but somebody sure did.”

  “Where would I find Mr. Harris?”

  “He left. Probably went home to dry off. He was soaked. Said someone pushed him down. Larry said he probably just slipped on the wet floor and was too embarrassed to admit it. But I don’t know. Well, I better get some new pipe out of the truck.” Grumbling to himself, he shuffled out the door.

  J.T. stayed behind and took a good look at the mangled pipe. Then automatically began looking for a place of entry. There was only the one door. She went back to the locker room.

  Tommy, Larry, and Bernie were standing in the center of the room, surveying the damage.

  “Tell Patrice to call Carpet World and have them bring something over today.”

  “Tommy, I can’t afford—” Larry began.

  “Damn it, I’ll pay for it. And while she’s at it have her call Bowman’s and tell them to deliver a table and chairs. And a new couch for the media room. Something in leather.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Well, I’m going to.” Tommy bent down and picked up a soggy newspaper. Tossed it into the garbage can.

  J.T. could feel his anger from where she was standing. A new side to Tommy Bainbridge. Mr. Unflappable had a temper.

  She picked up a crumpled, torn T-shirt. She tossed it toward the trash and began gathering up cups, sandwich wrappers, and stray soda cans. She carried them over to the trash. And met Tommy dropping his second load of newspapers.

  He started to speak, but changed his mind when they heard voices approaching.

  The team had arrived. They came to a dead stop and huddled in the doorway, looking dismayed.

  J.T. waited for Bernie or Larry to say something. For once they were quiet.

  “Broken pipe,” she said.

  Still nothing from the bosses. J.T. rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Just like men in a crisis. “So if you guys want to play, you gotta help clean up. Besides, you’re getting a new carpet. Bernie, get out of here before your cast turns to mush. Larry, you better get Patrice on those phone calls.”

  Larry threw up his hands and left the room. Bernie followed him.

  Tommy didn’t move. Just looked at her with a strange expression on his face. Certainly not gratitude. No longer angry. More like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

  J.T. put her hands on her hips. “Get hopping, Bainbridge, if you want to have this place cleared out in time for the new carpet.”

  He hesitated, touched two fingers to his forehead, and turned to help Lewis and Boskey carry the table outside.

  The fire department had just rolled up the hoses and driven away, when three workmen from Carpet World arrived. They set up three giant blowers and began to cut and roll up the sodden carpet.

  The players gathered up whatever belongings hadn’t been destroyed by the water and carried them down to the visitors’ locker room.

  J.T. began to look for signs of a break-in.

  There were no broken windows. The ticket gates were locked. Anyone could have climbed the fence, but the doors to the clubhouse and offices were locked overnight. Someone would have had to use a key. And wasn’t that just interesting?

  When she finally gave up her search, she went outside. Tommy and Larry stood on the warning track, deep in conversation.

  Just as she reached them, Larry threw up his hands and walked away. Tommy was scowling.

  “So,” she said.

  Tommy turned his scowl on her. “So what?” J.T. huffed a sigh. “Is this going to be like ‘Who’s on first’?”

  He smiled, then rubbed the side of her nose with his thumb. “Smudge. Thanks for pitching in. The guys really appreciate it.”

  “They didn’t find any signs of B and E, did they?”

  “Who knows? It doesn’t matter. The sheriff would just blame the eastside kids.”

  “And you don’t think it was kids.” She said it as a statement since it was pretty obvious he didn’t.

  “Let me tell you something about the kids in this town. There’s little enough future for them as it is. Nothing to do but get in trouble, if you ask the sheriff. And maybe he’s right. But I know one thing. They would never do anything to hurt the team. It’s their team. I
t’s their fathers’ team. Just about the only thing they can call theirs. They might break into a car, they might even rip off the 7-Eleven. But they would never hurt the Beavers.”

  For once in her life, J.T. didn’t have a follow-up question. She was awestruck. Tommy was constantly surprising her. Today he’d pitched in with cleanup, paid for new furnishings, and spoken so passionately about the youth of Gilbeytown that her heart grew just like the Grinch who stole Christmas. Stupid, but there it was.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re smiling.”

  Oops. Busted. “It’s just good to hear someone speak up for today’s youth.”

  “Forget ‘today’s youth.’ They’re not some class you can neatly lump them into. They’re individuals. They need some place to—shit. Never mind.”

  J.T. touched his arm. “You sound like a man with a plan.”

  He stepped away. His eyes shuttered over and J.T. thought, You do have a plan. Now what could it be?

  He’d turned back to watch the intra-team game, and she turned to watch him.

  Tommy Bainbridge was an enigma. Baseball icon, dutiful son, loving brother, generous, compassionate, caring. Damn. He was still her hero. She shook herself. Not the right mind-set for honest reporting. But for a few minutes, standing in the chill afternoon, she was more interested in the man than in the story.

  Bernie swung up to them and pointed with his crutch to where Kurtz was getting up from the ground.

  “Did you see that catch? Damn. If I had seven more of Bobby, I’d take this team to the championships.”

  Tommy didn’t say anything. J.T. knew he hadn’t heard a word, so she leaned past him and said, “Yeah, boy. What a play.” But she shuddered at the idea of seven Kurtzes on the field. He was just a little scary.