Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Ryan smiled. “I love you all.”

  Rayne’s eyes filled with tears. “And we love you. Go get her. We’ll be waiting at Destiny’s to meet you for the first time, all over again.”

  THE END

  About JC Wardon

  JC Wardon loves writing fantasy and spends her days weaving stories for those who love it as well. Though she has great appreciation for romance, a juicy and complicated plot is what she holds most dear. Danger, mystery, and magic are the life’s blood for her Mystic Waters Books. She hopes you are captivated and stimulated, and your hearts become engaged.

  BEAUTY AND THE BALLPLAYER

  Love and Baseball Series

  Arlene Hittle

  Spunky, independent graphic designer Meg Malone finds herself pregnant soon after her no-good boyfriend abandons her for the professional poker circuit. Glad to be out of that mess, she swears off relationships. Then she meets Matt Thatcher, a solid, stable man, who throws her plans a curve.

  Matt, an up-and-coming minor league catcher burned one too many times by women who see him as their ticket to the good life, carefully guards his heart against “baseball babes.” He’s drawn to Meg for many reasons, chief among them she has no clue what he does for a living.

  Will it be game over when their secrets come to light? Or is their budding relationship strong enough to win the World Series of love?

  Chapter One

  Meg Malone’s day began a slow, downward slide at 7:42 a.m., the precise moment she squinted down at the pregnancy test stick in her hand and hoped like hell she’d misread it.

  Now, exactly eleven hours and thirteen minutes later, she was sleepy, cranky and spoiling for a fight. And since the jerk she wanted to tell off had moved hundreds of miles away without leaving a forwarding address, the arrogant-looking guy who’d just plopped his denim-clad butt into one of the chairs at the bar table she’d been about to claim would have to suffice.

  Meg glared at the interloper, in no mood to fake civility near the end of a long day that had shaken both her personal and professional lives. “I was about to sit here.”

  Even in the crowded bar, her voice carried further than she wanted. She winced. Why’d she have to sound so strident? She wasn’t bitchy by nature. And even if she was, she shouldn’t vent her frustration on this golden-eyed table thief.

  Unperturbed by her tone, the stranger reached a well-muscled arm up to turn his baseball cap backward, obscuring the logo before she could recognize it. Then he tipped his head up to look at her. Meg felt his insolent gaze as it roamed over her, annoyed by her nipples’ response when his eyes lingered on her breasts. Anyone who ogled her like that—even with eyes the color of a perfectly browned croissant—probably did deserve her rudeness.

  He winked. “Looks like I beat you to it, little lady.”

  Meg narrowed her eyes and stood a little straighter. Yep. He definitely deserved it. At 5 feet, 9 1/2 inches, no one had ever dared call her “little” anything before. She opened her mouth to tell this jerk exactly that, but he didn’t give her a chance.

  “I’ll buy you a drink if you join me.” He used his foot to shove one of the other two chairs at the table toward her.

  She glanced from the chair to her coworkers, who were gathered around a pool table. They’d come to the bar to celebrate their continued employment at Tooley, Hamilton & Smith. They were luckier than the three-person sales/design team laid off that afternoon. Her friend Stephanie flirted with Perry the ad rep, and the other three were wrapped up in a game of pool.

  Meg really needed to get off her feet before she collapsed.

  “I might as well,” she agreed, irritated both with Stephanie, who hadn’t followed her as she’d asked, and this ball-cap-wearing seat stealer. He continued to eye her the way a starving man drools over a steak dinner, the corners of his lips quirking up into a mischievous half-smile. That grin hinted at a warm sense of humor. One of the first attributes she sought in a man.

  As Meg slid into the seat he’d so ungraciously offered, she ordered her unruly hormones to simmer down. A man was the last thing she needed tonight. Or maybe ever again. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?”

  “Sorry.” The word was an apology, but he didn’t look the least bit contrite. “I can’t help staring at beautiful women. It’s my biggest character flaw.”

  Beautiful? After the day she’d had? Confirming she was pregnant, fighting off morning sickness…all day long…and dealing with a fresh round of layoffs at the foundering ad agency she worked for… Even a blind man would know she looked like hell.

  Despite her bad mood and his too-obvious pickup line, Meg found herself smiling at the guy. After all, it took guts to tell such a blatant lie. And it’d be nice to talk to a brave man for a change. Her ex, who’d run off to Vegas last month to try his hand at the professional poker circuit, had certainly been lacking in that department.

  Besides, with her friends otherwise occupied, she had nothing to do but make conversation.

  After enduring his appraisal, she had no qualms about completing one of her own. She slid her gaze from the tuft of thick, chestnut hair poking through the back of his burgundy-and-white cap downward, over his golden-brown eyes, straight nose and smiling mouth. She took in his toned arms, broad chest, tree-trunk thighs and—oh my.

  Perhaps he had good reason for his arrogance. Meg jerked her eyes back to his face. After they’d mentally stripped each other, it didn’t feel right to not know the man’s name. She extended her hand. “I’m Meg.”

  He eyed her outstretched hand and his lips lifted again. She grinned back as she rescinded her offer. He was right. They already knew each other too well for a mere handshake.

  Awareness jolted through Meg when he rested a hand on her knee. “Matt.”

  “Well, Matt, I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but I can’t say that to the guy who took my table.” She shifted ever so slightly, hoping to break the strange hold he had over her.

  Matt chuckled. “Would it help if I told you I’ve had one hell of a day?”

  “Sorry.” Enjoying the banter despite her foul mood, Meg shook her head. How long had it been since she’d had a full-blown conversation with a guy? Her ex fancied himself the strong, silent type, so he hadn’t been much of a conversationalist. “Until you’ve had a day like mine, you won’t know what hell is.”

  “Now what could be bothering a beauty like you?”

  That adjective again? Maybe Matt needed his eyes checked. She examined him again. His expression indicated genuine concern, and for one crazy moment, she was tempted to spill her guts about everything: The flighty ex…the epic failure of finding herself pregnant and alone at an old-enough-to-know-better thirty-two. At her age, she should be over the moon about having a baby and sharing the experience with a devoted husband, not scared shitless and wondering how she was going to cope by herself.

  She might feel better if she shared the burden with someone. Who better than some random stranger she’d never have to see again?

  Sanity returned. Why would she spill her guts to a man? Another guy would probably think Tim was some sort of hero for getting out while he still could—not that she’d have wanted him to stick around. An unemployed “professional gambler” wasn’t prime father material.

  Then why’d you go out with him in the first place?

  Meg ignored her conscience’s question, preferring not to think about her reasons for dating the kind of guy her parents—especially her overbearing father—warned her about. “Because I could” was the answer of a spoiled teenager, not a woman old enough to know better. Besides, he’d worked in construction when she met him.

  When Matt waved his hand in front of her face, she realized he was waiting for some kind of reply. The desire to spill her guts safely quashed, she cast around her tired brain to come up with one. “Would you believe my hair stylist dumped me?”

  He looked at her hair, which sat in a rather untidy knot at the nape of her ne
ck. Then his mouth kicked up into a full grin. “Truth?”

  “Why not? We beautiful women are all about telling the truth, aren’t we?”

  “I know a guy who can fix that for you,” Matt replied, his tone as light as hers had been.

  She didn’t take offense. She had no illusions about her beauty—or lack thereof. She’d long since resigned herself to her hair being too curly, too dishwater-blond, too blah to be any guy’s ideal.

  “I may have to take you up on that.” She took another sip of her 7Up. Amazing. Since she’d been talking to Matt, she hadn’t felt ill once.

  Perhaps all she needed was something to think about so she wouldn’t have to dwell on how awful she felt. She glanced back at her coworkers again. With all of them still otherwise occupied, she decided to relax and enjoy talking with Matt. As long as she remembered that’s all he was, his broad shoulders and bulging biceps just might turn out to be the perfect distraction.

  ****

  Matt took advantage of the lull in conversation to study the woman in front of him again. In her current state, she wasn’t the vision of loveliness he’d implied. In fact, she reminded him of the zombies in those B movies his younger brother, Stan, wheedled him into watching when they were kids. However, behind the tired eyes and greenish complexion, something about this woman held strong appeal.

  Maybe it was what she wasn’t: She wasn’t petite, gorgeous and dumb—the main attributes of the women who threw themselves at him after every game. “Baseball babes” is what he called them—women who, if he didn’t catch for the semiprofessional Arizona Condors, wouldn’t look twice at a regular guy like him. But because he had mad skills behind home plate, they flocked to him the way a SWAT team swarmed a building full of hostages.

  Matt avoided girls like that as if they’d give him an STD—which, for all he knew, they would. Groupies weren’t all that picky about who they bedded.

  That was why he was here, at the Crazy Irishman, while the rest of the team hung out several doors down at a much trendier bar. As trendy as it could get in Flagstaff, Arizona, anyway. Unlike some of his teammates, he saw spring training camp as prime practice time, not as a chance to pick up willing women. He wanted to unwind while enjoying a beer or two, and then head back to his hotel room. Alone. At his advancing age, he couldn’t afford distractions.

  “It’s not too much to ask,” Meg was saying when he tuned back in to the conversation.

  “Pardon?” Fingers crossed she hadn’t said anything too important, or if she had, she wouldn’t mind repeating it.

  She flashed him a smile. “Well, you said you knew someone who could fix my hair—but then you clammed up. I was hoping your miracle worker’s name wasn’t too much to ask.”

  She was beautiful when she smiled. Matt stifled an urge to reach across the table and squeeze her hand.

  Something about this woman made him want to take care of her. That was new. He never got the feeling any of the baseball babes needed to be taken care of. Instead, he felt he needed to protect himself from them.

  “I was off in my own world for a second there.” He offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m glad to give you that name. In fact, he’d never forgive me if I didn’t—and I like to keep peace in the family. It’s my brother, Stan.”

  Meg eyed him with blatant disbelief. “Your brother is a hairdresser?”

  “It took him years to get me to stop calling him that. He’s a ‘stylist.’ Why is that such a surprise?”

  “Truth?”

  “Sure,” Matt replied easily. He could guess what she was going to say. Even he sometimes had trouble believing his brother, who’d been just as much of an all-American kid as him, was now making a living as a stylist and living with a guy named Raul.

  “You don’t look like the kind of guy who has a hair stylist for a brother.”

  “I’ve said the same thing myself.” He chuckled. “But he’s good.”

  “How good?”

  “He swears he cut Halle Berry’s hair the last time she was in Phoenix for a movie shoot. And I know for a fact he styles all the Suns’ wives.”

  “But if he’s down in Phoenix—”

  Eager to have an excuse to see Meg again and explore the attraction simmering between them, Matt was ready with a quick reply. “I can convince him to drive up for a visit. Maybe even this weekend.”

  “Really?” She twirled a finger in a lock that had escaped its untidy bun. “Because you can see I’m in desperate need of an emergency snip and style.”

  He chuckled again. He liked that she was down-to-earth enough to laugh at herself. A baseball groupie would never do that. “Give me your number and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Several hours and a couple of beers later, Matt bade Meg goodbye and caught a cab back to the Radisson. Wanting her to like him for himself, not his earning potential, he’d been careful not to let her know what he did for a living. But he’d divulged other details, from his favorite color (orange) to his favorite brand of beer (Guinness).

  She, in turn, had told him about her less-than-ideal job at an ad agency in town and her dream of opening her own bakery. Meg loved to bake—though she wasn’t the least bit plump. She was down-to-earth, funny, smart…even pretty when she wasn’t looking like death warmed over.

  Briefly, Matt wondered why she’d appeared so ill when they’d first met. Because she’d perked up as they talked, he chalked up her pallid appearance to having a bad day.

  There was a lot of that going around. His day hadn’t been the most stellar, either. The Condors’ manager had decided to put a little heat on him, bringing in another catcher, fresh from college, and telling him the two of them were going to have to compete for the chance to start.

  At twenty-eight, he was getting a little old to play minor league ball. It was time for him to move up to the majors or get out. He hoped the coach was grooming his replacement because the call was imminent, not because they were ready to kick him to the curb for a new, improved model.

  He sure hoped Meg wasn’t contagious. He couldn’t afford to get sick now, when the Condors opened their first spring training series in three days.

  Sighing, Matt flipped open his cell phone to dial Stan. At just ten o’ clock, he knew his night-owl brother would still be up.

  When Stan answered the phone, Matt didn’t bother with a greeting. “Am I old?”

  “Matty? Of course you’re old. Two years older than me.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  “No problem. Why are you asking?”

  Matt gave him a brief rundown of the day’s events, wrapping it up with his meeting Meg. “She needs your expertise, bro. Her hair’s what you would call a hot mess.”

  If Stan agreed to help, he’d have an excuse to see her again. Because she hadn’t left his head for even a minute since she’d strolled up to his table and into his life, he needed to see her again. He needed to confirm she felt the same pull of attraction he did.

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to drive two-and-a-half hours to Flagstaff to cut the hair of some girl you just met?”

  He didn’t care that his brother couldn’t see his nod. “That’s the long and short of it.”

  “So you really like her, huh?”

  “I do. I think we’ll get to know each other well.”

  “Really well?”

  Matt balked at his brother’s tone. Even if that was the direction of his own thoughts, he didn’t want Stan to make the assumption. “She’s not like that.”

  “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, Matty. If you like her, I’m sure she’s a very nice girl. And if she has fantastically bad hair, I’m sure I’ll like her, too. You know how much I love a challenge.”

  He stopped holding his breath. “So you’ll come up here?”

  “I’ll use any excuse to escape the Valley when things start to heat up. And for you, big brother, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  Matt smiled. Even if his brother flaked out sometimes, his support was so
lid. “Make it Friday. I’d hate to seem too eager to see her again.”

  Even if the thought made his heart pump as it did when his team won a playoff game, he couldn’t let Meg know that—not yet. First, he had to be sure she wasn’t like Lana. Or Lisa. Or Lila. So many disappointments. He’d actually planned to propose to Lana before—.

  His brother’s voice saved him from having to relive that nightmare. “Friday it is, then. I’ll close up shop early and be there by six.” Stan paused for a breath, and Matt pictured the finger wag that accompanied the rest of his speech. “Just don’t wait too long. If she’s as fabulous as you seem to think, she has men beating a path to her door. You snooze, you lose.”

  Chapter Two

  Meg perched on the edge of a chrome-and-canvas chair in her doctor’s reception area. Having taken the morning off from work to confirm the results of yesterday’s home pregnancy test, she managed to pee in a little plastic cup without getting it all over her hand, or the floor. Now she awaited the doctor’s diagnosis.

  “Ms. Malone, Dr. Banks is ready for you.”

  Meg grabbed her purse off the floor and followed the nurse down the hallway. They stopped long enough for Meg to face the dreaded scale, which, she noted thankfully, hadn’t changed since her last visit. It would start to climb soon enough. No point in packing on any more pounds than necessary.

  Then they entered an empty exam room, where the nurse checked her blood pressure and felt for her pulse. Though Meg usually had trouble finding her pulse, even she could feel how fast it was racing. “You might want to wait to do that.”

  The nurse smiled at her and made a note in her chart. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

  Yeah, right. Figuring she had at least a ten-minute wait ahead of her, Meg hoisted herself onto the exam table. She sat swinging her feet and gnawing her thumbnail while she wondered why those tables were always so hard to sit on.