The Man For Me

by Gemma Bruce

  He dropped the equipment bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out two red caps that matched the ones the kids were wearing. He handed one to J.T., then pushed back his hair and put on the other one. “Okay, let’s see what you got.”

  She lined them up at first base. “Remember, bend your sliding leg.” She shrugged at Tommy who had broken into a glorious full grin.

  Carey Junior was standing a few feet off first base, knees bent, his gaze trained on her.

  “Go.”

  Carey took off, slid with only one little bounce, and jumped up. “See?”

  Tommy gave J.T. a thumbs-up and jogged over to give Carey a high five.

  You’d think she’d just won the world series the way that gesture made her feel.

  “Next,” she called.

  Once they all had several chances to practice their sliding, Tommy divided them into two groups. J.T. took the larger group to practice long throws while he took the smaller group to the mound. The session ended with Tommy pitching and J.T. working on batting stance and swing.

  When practice was over and all the kids were gone, Tommy pushed the visor of her baseball cap over her eyes. “Nice work, hotshot.”

  “You, too.”

  “Now will you have dinner with me?”

  When she hesitated, he said, “I gave you a red baseball cap. I don’t do that for just any girl.”

  “A bribe?”

  He flashed teeth. “You bet.”

  “Then in that case, I’d love to.”

  A black Cadillac was parked next to Tommy’s BMW when he and J.T. returned to the Beavers parking lot. The mayor was standing next to the Caddy, his arms crossed, his feet planted. He did not look happy.

  “I guess Charlie heard about the sale.” Tommy walked up to him. “Charlie.”

  The mayor’s eyes narrowed. “So. You went behind my back to get the mill property.”

  “This has nothing to do with you, Charlie. My agreement is with your mother.”

  “She’s not competent.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ll—”

  Tommy leaned toward him. A slight movement, barely noticeable. She’d seen him do it hundreds of times on the mound, just that little shift of weight, that steely eyed gaze that could intimidate the most seasoned batter.

  Mayor Wiggins took an involuntary step backward and came up against the car door. “I’ll have the transaction canceled. She didn’t know what she was doing. You took advantage of her.”

  “Stop right there,” said Tommy. “Thelma and I have been in negotiations for months. I’ve had a cadre of lawyers on the project just in case you pulled some dumbass thing like this. It’s legal and it’s binding and your mother is considerably richer. And happy to have helped keep the Beavers alive.”

  “My mother. She’s a crazy old lady. You’ve coerced her into undermining the future of this town. You may own it, but the town needs it.”

  “Like it needs the plague,” said Tommy.

  “The property is an eyesore, unsafe. People won’t be happy when they hear what you’ve done.”

  “Your people will be unhappy. My people will be relieved that their taxes won’t skyrocket.”

  “New jobs.”

  “Like the little league field? A few hot dog vendors and parking attendants? A grounds service from Pittsburgh. A security service from Pittsburgh.”

  “The town needs that property and if you won’t cooperate, the town will take it back by eminent domain.”

  Tommy sank into one hip, a sneaky tactic that made opponents feel they had the upper hand, until Tommy ripped one over the plate. J.T. wouldn’t want to be the mayor right now.

  “And you’ll find yourself in the mother of all court cases. Do you know how many lawyers I can hire? Do you know how much money I can pump into a lawsuit? Give it up, Charlie.”

  “But the town. I have a plan for jump-starting its economy. Putting it back on the map.”

  “On the backs of residents who can barely make ends meet. I have a different plan.”

  The mayor snorted. “You’re going to build the new stadium yourself? Give the Beavers a new home? That’s a laugh. You’ll go under the first year. Nobody gives a shit about that team.”

  Tommy shook his head. “I give a shit about that team. And so do the people who grew up going to the games. I’ll help them upgrade the stadium they have. But it’s time the mill started serving the people again. I’m going to build a community center. Recreation, medical care, social services. Things you should have been taking care of during your last two terms instead of pushing fancy stadiums that we can’t afford.”

  “This isn’t over, Tommy.”

  “Oh yes, it is.”

  The two men stood staring at each other. J.T. prepared to jump between them if it came to fists.

  But the mayor broke eye contact, reached for the door handle. “We’ll see about that. When the voters find out what you’ve done, you won’t be able to hold your head up in this town. I’ll smear your name all over the county until it won’t be worth the signature on that deed.” He climbed into the Cadillac and sped away.

  “Whew,” said J.T. “Can he really take it back under eminent domain?”

  Tommy shook his head. “A few years ago maybe. But too many shady dealings have made it more difficult for the government to confiscate property. I can outlast him. But if he does anything to hurt Thelma, I’ll finish him.” He smiled. “Seven o’clock?”

  Tommy was busy for the two hours between practice and the time he was to pick up J.T. He’d gotten a lot accomplished thanks in part to the adrenaline rush from the confrontation with Charlie Wiggins and arrived at the Night n Day fifteen minutes early.

  He wondered if J.T. was dressed yet. If he should knock on her door and hope to get invited inside.

  Of course she’d probably freak and worry about what the players would think. He shook his head. She was so weird. Most women would kill to be seen with him. That would change soon, he guessed. But it didn’t matter, the only woman he wanted to see was J.T., preferably naked.

  He’d told her he was taking her someplace small, casual, where they would be able to eat undisturbed. He’d been pretty sure where he wanted to take her, but he also wanted to keep his options open.

  He got out of the car, unable to sit and wait. He knocked on her door. Waited. Finally it opened a crack.

  “You’re early.”

  “Yep. No hurry. I’ll just watch the sports news. Take your time.” He managed to slip past her before she realized what he was doing. “Actually, you look pretty ready to me,” he said, taking in her wet hair and short terry bathrobe.

  He pulled her close and kissed her, taking her completely by surprise. Which was odd. They’d made fast and furious love twice now. She should be expecting a hello kiss, a good-bye kiss, and everything in between.

  “Dinner?” she said, and pulled away.

  She was going to drive him nuts. She was attracted to him, but obviously didn’t want to be. He couldn’t figure that one. Why not? He was a good lover, or at least women told him he was. And the chemistry was definitely working between them.

  He sat down on the bed, fluffed up a pillow, and stuck it behind his back. The comforter was much newer than the rest of the decor, but the carpet was…better not to think about it. He didn’t like to think of her in this seedy room. She should be staying at…don’t even go there. He found the remote, flipped through the channels, noticed a blue vinyl binder on the bedside table.

  He glanced toward the bathroom, but J.T. had closed the door.

  What the hell. He’d just take a peek. Check out her writing style. See if she said anything about him.

  He slid it off the table and opened it. Manuscript pages. A collection of some sort. The first one was about his kids. He started to read and became immediately engrossed in the way she’d captured them, their foibles, their quirks, their need, that he almost missed the sound of the bathroom door opening.

  He q
uickly shut the notebook and returned it to the nightstand. When she came out of the bathroom, he was staring intently at the television, which he now realized was tuned to a shopping channel. Some guy was running a vacuum cleaner while a perky blond woman gestured and exclaimed how she couldn’t believe it.

  J.T. looked at the television, looked at him.

  “I need a new vacuum,” he said, and flipped off the remote. J.T. was wearing some kind of clingy knit pants, cut below the navel, and a navy-blue stretch top that left an enticing sliver of skin in between.

  He felt the same stirring that he felt whenever she was nearby. Maybe a quick one to take the edge off. He stood up. Crass, Tommy. Really crass. Besides, if things worked out the way he planned, they’d have lots of time for making love.

  If things went as planned. With J.T., plans were a crap-shoot.

  “You look great,” he said, following her to the door. She sure was in a damn hurry to get out of here.

  “Thanks.”

  And smell great and would feel great if you’d just slow down a second.

  “Shall we go?”

  Chapter 20

  “Where are we going?” J.T. asked as Tommy drove through the darkened streets of Gilbeytown.

  “You’ll see.” J.T. started getting qualms. They seemed to be heading toward Tommy’s mother’s house. Maybe he’d decided to celebrate with them after all. What would they think when J.T. showed up for a second time?

  That their son is just being friendly. You worry too much. She tried to relax, but when they turned onto Melrose Street and Tommy started looking for a place to park, panic welled up again.

  “Tommy.”

  “There’s a place.” He pulled the Beemer alongside a battered Ford and neatly parallel parked behind it.

  “Welcome to Chez Tommy.” He got out of the car. J.T. was still sitting when he opened her door.

  “Come on. It isn’t fancy, but the chef knows his stuff.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. She was being ridiculous, but still she tried to hide in Tommy’s shadow as he led her down the sidewalk and up the steps of a house that wasn’t his mother’s.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my house.”

  “You have a house here?”

  “Yeah. I inherited from my grandfather. Ever since Gran moved in with my mother, I’ve lived here.”

  He was taking her to his house. His house.

  She tried not to think ahead. Of how dinner would end. If she’d make a hash of it again. Old hit-and-run Green. Her mouth felt dry and her appetite, which had been growing steadily sharper since the sandwich she’d bought for lunch, shriveled up and disappeared.

  She took a steadying breath. Don’t read too much into this. He was watching a show on vacuum cleaners. Maybe he’s a domestic kind of guy.

  She cut a look at him. He didn’t look domestic, he looked like someone who could tear her life apart.

  “Relax, will you? I can be a gentleman. And I can cook.”

  He could cook. She smelled the spicy aroma as soon as he opened the door. But her interest was immediately arrested by what she saw. Tommy’s house was an exact duplicate of his mother’s. All the houses on the block were probably built on the same pattern.

  Even the furnishings were similar. If she’d had time to think ahead, she would have guessed Tommy to be a leather and glass man, but the living room was filled with depression veneer furniture. A Queen Anne couch in a brocade fabric, two club chairs. The hardwood floor was covered by several braided rugs.

  “I haven’t had time to do much decorating,” he said. “Most of the furniture was my grandmother’s. Just the stuff she didn’t want.”

  He stepped into her. He felt warm and a little overpowering. She knew he was going to kiss her and she wanted him to.

  “The bedroom is brand new. It has a wide screen HDTV and a really big bed.” Then his lips found hers.

  “Aren’t you afraid dinner will burn?” she asked, pulling her lips from his.

  “I’m more afraid I will if I don’t touch you. A lot. Everywhere.” He stepped away. “Sorry. I meant to wine and dine you and then come on strong when you were too giddy from champagne to run away.” He smiled sheepishly. “But you know guys. Only one thing on their minds. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.”

  She followed him down the narrow hall and into a cozy kitchen, feeling a little let down. He hadn’t scared her away. Just the opposite.

  He uncorked a bottle of champagne, poured out two flutes, and handed her one.

  “To the Eugenia and Michael Bainbridge Community Center,” she said, and lifted her glass.

  They clinked glasses and sipped. It was fabulous champagne. Expensive. She kept forgetting how rich Tommy was in spite of the fact that he’d just bought the equivalent of four city blocks.

  His home, his manner, the way he interacted with the Bucks and all the townspeople made him seem like an ordinary man. Not a sports legend, not her childhood hero, but just a man. A man with plans.

  “I hope you like chicken.” He put down his glass and took the top off a red casserole dish. Steam rose in the air and the rich aroma of spices and chicken filled the room.

  “Love it,” she said, breathing in the heady aroma. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Nope. Just enjoy. I did all the prep work this afternoon.”

  She took another sip of champagne, reminding herself that she was proceeding exactly to Tommy’s other plan, to get her giddy and take her to bed. Well, why not? Her Mustang was parked in the motel parking lot and she doubted if any paparazzi were skulking the bushes outside.

  She choked on her champagne. Tommy took the glass out of her hand and patted her back. The pat became a rub, the rub a caress, and he was kissing her again.

  The man must be oversexed. Which made her oversexed, too. Because she was ready to cast the chicken to the wind and pull Tommy right down on the old linoleum floor.

  “I’m all right. The bubbles.”

  He smiled at her and the bubbles spread down to her toes.

  “You’re something else.” He tugged at a piece of her hair, then turned back to the stove.

  She looked around for something to take her mind off the path it was hurtling down. But all she saw was Tommy in an old-fashioned kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. She laughed.

  “What?” asked Tommy, looking over his shoulder. “You’re not thinking up a story about me in an apron, are you?”

  “You’re not wearing an apron.”

  “But I should be. I’ll probably be wearing half the sauce by the time I get it off the stove.”

  “No articles tonight,” she promised. Just a quiet dinner tête-à-tête and then? Que sera, sera.

  She offered to set the table, but the table was set. Not in the dining room, but on a screened-in back porch. A small table had been set with gold-rimmed white china and crystal glasses. A bouquet of flowers graced the center, and two chairs stood at right angles to each other.

  The backyard was dark except little garden lights that winked from what must be a perennial border. Tommy gardened? The man was full of surprises.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Gran left what furniture she didn’t want, but she still comes to tend her flowers. She grows the most outstanding roses in the county. Even though the weather can be unpredictable. She can make anything grow.”

  The affection and pride in his voice brought J.T. close to tears as she remembered those pitiful impatiens she and her mother had left behind. “They’re beautiful and they smell heavenly.”

  “They’re old-fashioned roses. They only bloom once a season but they actually smell sweet. Unlike the new hybrids that are showier but don’t smell at all. She has some of those, too, but they won’t bloom until later in the summer.”

  But J.T. wouldn’t be here to see them. Would he miss her when she was gone? She was afraid she was going to miss him. Actually she knew it for a fact.

  She shook her head. �
��Cooking and gardening. I would never have guessed.”

  “I like cooking. And like I said, Gran does the real gardening. She lets me carry the pruning to the compost.”

  “You have a compost?”

  “Gran did for as long as I can remember. I’m not about to stop now.”

  “She’s pretty cool, huh?”

  “Yeah. She liked you.”

  “I liked her, too. And your mom and Grace and the kids.”

  Dinner was everything that Tommy said it would be. Quiet, no one bothered them, and the food was excellent. A chicken-and-sauce-over-rice dish, Tommy called Le Coq Milliken after his great aunt Bridgett. “Nouveau French-Irish,” he explained before giving her a smile that surpassed the champagne in its effect on her nervous system.

  There was salad, too, dressed with a vinaigrette that she’d watch Tommy mix from scratch. And crusty bread, “from the Polish bakery” and more champagne.

  Tommy lit candles and they flickered in the night breeze.

  When they’d finished, Tommy made her sit while he cleared the table and put on coffee. When he came back he was carrying a dish with a molded dessert swimming in a clear sauce that hinted of rum.

  “Tell me, you didn’t make that.”

  “Nope, I got it from the German bakery, I forget the name, something nouveau French-German.” He placed it on the table. “Better sit back. I’ve never done this before.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches.

  “Tommy, I’m not sure—”

  There was a whooshing sound and the nouveau French German dessert burst into flame. The look on Tommy’s face made her laugh out loud. But after a few seconds the flames diminished and finally went out altogether.

  Tommy shrugged. “It works better at Maxine’s.”

  Over coffee and the German pudding—which was delicious—Tommy told her more about his plans for the community center.

  “I’m still fighting with Ma over the name. She wants it named the Michael Bainbridge Center. She says she’s still alive and doesn’t need a memorial. Besides what would her friends think?” He chuckled.

  “Does she care what other people think?” asked J.T.