“I’ll leave that problem to you, son.”
To him? What part of general manager duties involved coercing women to the ballpark? “Maybe we should let Kevin deal with this—”
“That kid has more important things on his mind. Like winning ball games.”
Sam bit back the snide comment on the tip of his tongue.
Zoom raised his finger. “We’ve got a corporate apartment—isn’t that in your building? She can come to the game and be my guest in the owner’s suite. Give her free donuts for a month. She’ll really like that.”
Free donuts would never sway a woman who would climb over a bar just to reach a remote control.
Sam’s secretary, Joanie, poked her head into his office. Her eyes darted back and forth, assessing the situation. Sam had hired her the week after he started with the Turbos. Not only was she trained in all the necessary computer programs, she had the wisdom that came with being a former stay-at-home mother of five kids. She ran the office with the multiplexing brilliance of every woman who understood a chaotic household. Quite simply, she was one of the best.
The unspoken rule between Sam and Joanie was that Charlie Zumaeta took precedence over all appointments. But when there were important customers, like the ones he was expecting now, the rules were fluid and they had to tiptoe around the dynamics.
“Hey, Zoom,” she said, apparently allowed to call the Donut King by his nickname. “Mr. Hunter, are you ready to see your two o’clock appointments?” Joanie’s question was well placed. The Donut King himself was fully aware that corporate America ran by the rules of promptness, no matter who was in the queue.
“I’ll let you get back to your work.” Zoom waved at Joanie, who stepped away. “Glad we had this little conversation, son.”
Sam sunk his hands in his pockets. “Even if she does come back to a ball game, Mr. Zumaeta, do you really think she would make the Turbos win more games?”
“Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?”
“I’ll try to contact her first thing tomorrow.” Sam couldn’t imagine what he would say.
“In person is always best.”
The Whammo account executive appeared in the doorway. “Oh, my gosh, look who’s here!” He shook Zoom’s hand, overjoyed to meet the Donut King in person.
Zoom made the man’s day by telling him all about his latest donut. Then he fished in his pocket and gave the man a coupon for two dollars off.
“Excuse us just one moment,” Zoom said, pulling Sam into the hall with him.
Tristan Staub passed, not even hiding the crooked smile that said, I know what you are talking about.
“I’m counting on you, Hunter,” Zoom explained. “My wife says the ladies think you’re hot. Use some of that charisma on the gal if you need to.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary—”
“Come on, women are much nicer when you lure them with compliments and smooth talking.” Zoom straightened his tie. “Take her to dinner. Buy her some chocolates. Hell, sleep with her if you have to. Just get her here.”
If Zoom only knew what those words did to Sam’s gut.
Chapter Five
Sam’s Cadillac ATS Coupe soaked up the tar on the open road as he finished his phone call and turned up the music. He couldn’t afford to take the day off. And he didn’t think he had a chance in hell of being successful. Even so, he was surprised at how much he was enjoying himself.
He opened the sunroof and tapped his hand on the steering wheel. He always told himself that one day he’d find time to get home to California and cruise up Route 1 in a convertible with a manual transmission, his favorite indulgence. For now, he’d be satisfied with a day trip, a sunroof, and a two-lane Indiana highway.
The sky was vast. The horizon was a full 360 degrees. And the gentle roll of the hills reminded him of the rolling swells of the sea, even though he’d rarely seen it growing up. It should have been soothing, but he found the limitless landscape slightly unnerving. Too much empty space that left him feeling exposed.
Sam shifted down as he passed a horse with blinders pulling a black buggy. He felt like a blowhard in his turbo-charged V6 luxury car with its four-hundred-plus horsepower engine. The man in the straw hat didn’t seem to mind.
Although his salary was lower than any other GM in the league, compared to what he’d grown up with, Sam was living the high life. The car, the apartment, and a wardrobe, all essential to looking the part of a major-league GM and executive vice-president, were the few luxuries he allowed himself. A large part of his salary went home to support his family or was invested. That kind of conservative financial behavior had been hammered home through many lean years.
His GPS told Sam that he was a mile from Maisy Gray’s hometown. He had a fleeting moment of regret when he thought about the feisty woman with the captivating dark eyes. The one he was about to manipulate into coming to the ballpark.
It hadn’t taken long to find Maisy Gray online. Kevin’s bio said he’d grown up in Comeback, Indiana. Sure enough, Maisy’s address was right where it belonged in the directory. He recalled her telling him she was a teacher. With a little more digging, he found out she taught at the local elementary school. Blurry online photos revealed a smiling face and a tendency to move too quickly when the shutter clicked.
Several articles mentioned her name in a fundraising event for school supplies. They had raised almost three thousand dollars the previous year.
The research had been easy. But the strategy had taken far more time to figure out.
He was going to start with Zoom’s plan first. He’d use whatever charm Zoom’s wife thought he had and make an offer. The G-rated version, not the part about sleeping with her. A friendly invitation to come to a game. A luxurious weekend in the apartment in his building. The one that was twice as big as his. If she accepted, Sam would usher her back to Indianapolis and then…
That was where his second plan started.
There was no way this lucky charm thing with Maisy Gray was real. The team was suffering, and Kevin and his contract were the reason. Tomorrow’s game was a lost cause. The Yankees’ hottest pitcher was on the mound against the Turbos and their bats were on fire. When Maisy Gray came to the game and the Turbos lost, everyone would forget about her. She could go back to her life in her small town.
If Maisy Gray didn’t fall for Zoom’s friendly plan, he would present his logical second plan to her and they could both wait for her lucky bubble to burst and the fans to forget her.
Sam adjusted his Ray-Bans and turned up the music. His Cadillac crested the top of a rolling hill, and Maisy and Kevin’s hometown came into view.
Comeback, Indiana. Odd name.
A large cluster of buildings and tall trees sprung up from the cornfields like an oasis in a desert of farmland. He passed a Walmart, an auto shop, and a Home Depot before entering the city limits. He slowed down as he passed quaint clapboard buildings in the center of town. Some were marked by black-and-white signs that read The Comeback Historical Society, The Comeback Public Library, and Comeback Town Hall and Municipal Offices. The town was like a movie set for small-town America. The only thing missing was Forrest Gump sitting on a park bench.
Sam lifted his sunglasses to see if things looked any less perfect in real color. Nope.
When he was young, his teachers always told him to use more color in his drawings. He didn’t understand why. To him, life was lackluster, washed out by the harsh LA sun.
If he were drawing Comeback, he’d use the whole box of crayons.
Following his GPS, he made a right-hand turn at a stoplight and headed west. He passed a medical center and a worn-looking elementary school with a pegboard sign that said, Have a Good Summer. Within minutes he was back on the open road. He shifted his manual transmission up until it reached fifth gear and enjoyed the ride again.
A sedan pulled out in front of him at a blinking yellow light, forcing him to downshift. For the next three miles, Sam impatiently focused on oncoming traffic as he swerved back and forth, waiting for the right time to pass the late-model Ford Taurus. His speedometer read forty-five miles an hour in a sixty-five-mile-an-hour zone. No one should drive so slowly, even in the country.
When the coast was finally clear, he moved into the left-hand lane and gunned it around the car, sparing a glance at the older woman behind the wheel. She sent him an exasperated look as if it was his fault she wasn’t driving any faster. As soon as he passed her, he eased up and let the tension leave his body when he hit seventy again. A minute later, his GPS told him to make a U-turn. Somewhere in his obsession to pass the slow driver, he’d missed Maisy Gray’s address.
“Damn.” His Cadillac spit up shoulder dust as he made a U-turn and headed east. Within seconds he pulled up to a mailbox surrounded by a bed of colorful flowers. A small wrought-iron sign lodged in the ground said, Gray Farm Est. 1975.
A charming buttercup-yellow farmhouse stood at the end of the gravel driveway. Orange and purple flowers flowed out of the boxes lining the railing of a wraparound porch. Beyond the house, a bright red barn stood out against the clear blue sky.
As he neared the house, Sam spotted a car at the end of the driveway and groaned. The familiar Ford Taurus was angled sideways near a porch. A trickle of regret crept down his spine.
He parked his Cadillac next to the sedan. Then, he stuffed his sunglasses in his pocket and smoothed his hair in the rearview mirror. This meeting required finesse and a wide smile. And most definitely an apology to the driver of the sedan.
Confident he looked presentable, Sam glanced to his left and froze. He’d assumed the driver of the slow sedan would be in the house by now. He was wrong. The woman he’d just passed stared through her open window with narrowed eyes and a pinched mouth.
“Shit,” he said under his breath as he waved and pasted the smile on his face. He opened the car door and stepped out. His Cole Haans sunk into a puddle.
“Hi there,” he said, leaning down to greet the woman through her open window.
“You sure were in a hurry to get here,” she said in a curt tone.
“You beat me anyway.” He smiled.
“I’m still trying to spit the road dust out of my mouth.”
So, this was how it was going to be. Sam sucked in his breath and moved around the car to open her door. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m more used to city driving, where we can’t get anywhere unless we pass everyone who stands between us and our destination. It’s a terrible habit.”
“And this is your destination?” She raised her eyebrow. “Or did you take one look at me and decide to turn around and admire me up close?”
“Both?” He used the self-deprecating humor that often worked with vendors. She flattened her lips.
He could see her face more clearly now. Her short brown hair was speckled with gray and curled around her ears haphazardly. Her makeup-free face had few lines. It was her dark eyes that gave her away. Not only were they flashing with a familiar spark, but there was a determination in her gaze that reminded him of her daughter as she tried to order a tequila from a disinterested bartender.
“Well, well, Mr…?”
“Hunter. Sam Hunter.”
She nodded as if he had confirmed something she already knew. “Andrea Gray.”
He held out his hand and she merely stared at it. She pushed her door wider and inclined her head to the backseat. “Why don’t you get those groceries out of the back for me? You can take them right through the side door into the kitchen.”
It didn’t occur to him not to do her bidding. He reached into the backseat and waited for her to lead the way.
The staff in the front office would have a field day if they saw him clutching seven bags from Walmart like an errand boy. Little did they know he had grown up doing this kind of thing for his mother and later when he started his own delivery service at the age of fourteen. He was musing over old times when he noticed it was taking a while for her to get out of the car.
“Can I help you?”
She reached for something in the passenger seat. “No. I’ve got it.”
After a long moment, she finally stood up. Her purse swung loose over her shoulder. She clutched two walking canes that wrapped around her forearms.
He closed the driver door, noting the modified steering wheel and hand controls, and followed at a respectful distance, tongue-tied for the first time in a long while. If he hadn’t felt like a dick already for leaving her in a trail of dust, he surely felt like one now. No wonder she’d been going so slow on the road. They climbed the porch and Sam opened the screen door for her.
She raised an eyebrow as she passed him. “Feeling guilty now, aren’t you?”
“Like a total bonehead,” he said truthfully.
She gave a satisfied snort. “I know I shouldn’t take any pleasure in making someone uncomfortable. Is it fair to say you deserve it?”
“Completely.”
“Good. Because you look like you want to jump in one of those grocery bags and hide.”
He was reminded again of a pair of laughing eyes looking up at him from the floor of the bar. The tension eased as he followed her into the kitchen. Fortunately, she didn’t look like the kind of woman who carried a grudge for long.
He offered her another apology. “I have a little problem when I’m behind the wheel. Anything under sixty-five miles an hour feels like I’m not moving.”
“Sounds like a person I know quite well.” She nodded toward the long counter in the middle of the kitchen. “You can put the bags right there.”
Sam did as he was told, taking in the inviting kitchen that opened up into a large family room. Despite the updated appliances and high ceiling, the massive space felt cozy.
“Can I help you unpack these?” he asked her.
She pointed to the stove. “No, but since you feel the need to help, can you make dinner?”
“How do you feel about eggs and toast? They’re the only things I can cook.”
That earned him his first smile from Andrea Gray. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to go find a job in the barn.”
“Uh…” He scratched his head.
She pointed out the window. “Maisy is in the paddock by the barn.”
Sam was surprised. “How do you know I came to see Maisy? Maybe I’m here to sell you a new set of windows?”
“Unlike my daughter, I still follow the Turbos. I’ve seen you on the news at least a dozen times.” She leaned forward and inspected him from head to foot as if she was considering something. “You’re younger and better-looking in person.”
“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Either way, I’ll carry your groceries anytime.”
She braced a hand on the counter and smoothed her short hair with a grin. “I’m a happily married woman, I’ll have you know.”
Maybe it was the easy, down-home feeling of being in this kitchen, or maybe it was the way Maisy’s mother was so frank — like his own mother — but Sam couldn’t help wishing he could stay for longer than an hour.
She pointed toward the back of the house. “The barn is that way. Just watch where you step. This is still a working farm.”
He put a hand on his chest and made a little bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Gray.”
“Andrea.”
Sam headed toward the door.
She called after him. “I suppose I should warn you. She’s not happy about the current situation. None of us are, to be honest.”
He paused. “Neither am I, ma’am— Andrea. I’m hoping we might be able to work out a deal.”
“A deal?” She stood up straight. For a frail woman, she had a backbone of steel. “Maisy already made a bad deal once, Sam.
So don’t assume those blue eyes and that cheeky smile of yours are going to get you anywhere with her.”
As he made his way toward the barn, he couldn’t help thinking that if Maisy was anywhere near as tough as her mother, this negotiation might be over before it started.
***
Maisy dodged around the naughtiest horse in Indiana. “No biting. I’m in no mood for your games, Faygo.”
He was crabby when he had to wait for dinner. He was also tired from a long ride in the muddy knoll. And filthy. Which explained why she was standing in the middle of the horse yard holding a hose.
She sprayed the water over his back and her boots sunk another inch into the grass. The early afternoon heat was high, and she wiped the hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
Faygo curled his neck toward her again and Maisy jumped away. “Oh, no, you don’t. Stay still or I’m turning you into dog food.”
He was a haughty quarter horse with more brains than his previous owner could handle. She and Henry, the manager who ran the Grays’ small farm, had persuaded her father to buy Faygo last summer. Henry was an excellent judge of horseflesh and said he would make a fine stud. Maisy’s reasons were different. From the moment she’d seen his intelligent eyes, she’d loved him. Foul temper and all.
Faygo must have sensed that her patience was wearing thin, because he stopped fidgeting and let her run the hose along his back.
She purred, “That feels nice, doesn’t it, big boy? If you’re really good, I’ll even scratch your ears when this is done.”
“Lucky horse.”
“You wish!” Maisy prepared to spray the hose on whichever one of her brother’s friends had snuck up behind her.
A man, standing mere yards away, ducked. Her heart jumped out of her chest. She shielded her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
Come Back to the Ballpark, Maisy Gray Page 6