by Honey
After signing autographs for fans and talking to the ladies who were now a regular part of the crowd, the players returned to the clubhouse with laughter and good cheer. They didn't bother dressing in their regular duds; they were going over to the restaurant for steaks and pie to celebrate. Alex didn't plan to go with them to sit around and rehash the high and low points of the game, as was the habit of players. He wasn't in the mood to relive the throw Cap had made.
As they walked out of the clubhouse, Camille called to Alex.
"Mr. Cordova," she said, causing him to turn at the unfamiliar sound of her voice speaking his proper name. "There's a matter we need to discuss, and it can't wait."
It was just the two of them. The door stood open, and Alex figured that was best. Because he wanted to take her into his arms in the worst way.
"What can I do for you?" he said, knowing full well that he'd done more than he should have last week in her kitchen.
Maybe if there hadn't been that tension between them, she would have made a quip about his comment, an innuendo that would have had them both smiling and melt away some of the friction that charged the air they shared.
But she said nothing to put him at ease. And what she finally did say pressed down on him like a steel weight.
"Captain's Joe McGill, isn't he?"
Chapter 23
Time ebbed slowly. As Camille waited for Alex to answer her question, she didn't back away from his stare. She held it, much like she wanted to hold him, for she knew the answer. There could be no denying the truth in Alex's eyes. She had watched his reaction on the mound when Cap caught the fly ball. She'd seen how he'd had to turn away to hide the true depth of his emotions.
At length, Alex said in a low voice that seemed to come from a long way off, "Yes, Captain is Joe McGill."
Her heart pounded.
"Why did you say you ended his life when clearly you didn't?"
"But I did. Joe McGill died on the playing field the minute I swung for that ball and hit him instead. He died as surely as if I put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger." A shudder rocked him. "Captain was born in his place. Same body, sure. But a different man inside."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, Alex." She wanted to hug him, but she couldn't move. She blinked, wishing she could make him feel better. "Why do you call him Captain?"
Alex pulled in a long breath of air. "It was Cap's idea." Alex sank onto the trunk of his locker and rested his elbows on his knees. He took his ball cap off, ran his hands through his hair, and dangled the hat in his fingers by its sweat-stained brim. "The day before the accident, some of the Giants rented a boat and took it out on the Chesapeake for the afternoon. The players who'd been with him said Joe really took to it. He decided then and there that when he retired from the game, he'd buy himself a boat and captain it. They thought he was joking, but that night at the bar, he said everybody should start calling him captain if they wanted a ride on his boat when he got it."
He stared at the laces of his athletic shoes. "When he woke up in the hospital, he couldn't remember what happened to him." Lifting his eyes to hers, he said, "The docs asked him if he knew his name. He said yes. His name was Captain."
She imagined the pain Alex must have felt when he witnessed the man he'd injured declare he was somebody else without any indecision. A somebody else who didn't even exist...
"Sandy Beecher, the manager of the Giants, didn't want me anywhere near Joe. But when it became evident Joe wasn't himself and looked like he never would be again, the visitors stopped coming. And with Joe not having any family, there was nobody. So I went. Every day. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to remember. I wanted him to tell me I was a son of a bitch for doing what I did to him." The ball cap in Alex's grasp went still as his eyes locked on the felt K emblazoned at its center. "But he never told me to go to hell. Never mentioned the game. Never talked about anything that had mattered to him. Because he didn't remember."
Camille listened as Alex told her about the two hospitals Cap had been in, the horrific treatments he'd received—the foot bleeding and probing. The restraints tied to his body. Daily routines that made him less and less the person he'd been. The medicine with arsenic.
Her pulse stilled. "Arsenic?"
"I found out the day we got back from Dorothy. The medicine Cap had been on since he was admitted to the hospital had small amounts of arsenic in it. If it hadn't been for Dr. Porter, Cap might have—"
She went toward him, but he shook his head.
"I don't want you to feel sorry for the way of things."
"Alex, you could have told me."
"It's hard for me to talk about it. I don't like to think about what Cap's been through. He was dying in that hospital." Averting his eyes from her gaze, he exhaled quickly. His brow had beaded with sweat. "In Montana, I was hoping Captain would come around without more doctors. But he's not going to. I'll do whatever it takes to make Cap get well." Then he looked at her with directness. "And I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."
"Of course you will." She desperately wanted to touch his cheek, to reassure him. But he wouldn't have let her, so she tucked those thoughts away— right beside the afternoon they'd spent in each other's arms.
She'd been devastated when he hadn't come back to her house the next day, even though he'd told her he wouldn't. She'd hoped, wanted him so badly to care for her in a way that went beyond a physical sharing. She wanted his love, his heart But he'd made it clear that he wasn't offering any commitments or bonds beyond the moment. She'd accepted that. But it was so hard to let go of the wanting anyway.
In the darkest hours of the night, she tried to convince herself it was for the best. Although she hadn't been thinking of repercussions, she didn't regret losing her virginity to Alex—not then, and not now. She just wished she didn't hurt so much inside and feel so lonely without him.
She thought she'd feel relief that she'd been right. That she'd put the pieces together about Joe and Captain. Instead, her heart broke for Alex, who had carried the real truth with him and lived with it daily, but for reasons she didn't understand. Nobody would have blamed him. It had been an accident. She sympathized with Alex and yet she felt hurt that he hadn't confided in her.
She masked the letdown she felt. She wouldn't bring it into the conversation. This wasn't about her. It was about Alex.
"I'm glad you told me, Alex," Camille managed to say with only a slight waver to her voice. She wouldn't let him see her cry; he'd think she felt sorry for him. "If there is anything I can do to help..."
"Ah, Camille... honey." He stood from the trunk and came to her.
She swallowed the thickness in her throat and kept her chin high. She didn't move, even when he was within inches of her. She could smell the sawdust and sunshine and the unique masculine scent that was his alone. When she looked into his eyes, she could see the various colors of brown, the thickness of his dark lashes. His jaw was shadowed by stubble, his mouth gentle. She thought of the times his lips had been on hers, and a bittersweet ache settled in her breast.
She felt hot tears in her eyes.
His hand lifted to her face. He was close to touching her when her father came into the clubhouse, his voice raised with animation.
"I got him! I got Nops on a vandalism charge!"
The intrusion put an immediate space between Alex and Camille that had her pulse dancing at her wrists. Taking quick hold of her composure, she absently smoothed the cuffs on her sleeves.
"Daddy, what about Mr. Nops?" She said the words, but she didn't hear them above the pounding of her heartbeat.
"I sicced Hogwood on him, since that Will White business was a bust." His expression was one big happy grin. "I've had Hogwood tailing Nops for a month, and the things my investigator uncovered about him," he said with glee, "are as solid as a padlock. Nops put pine tar on the bats, flooded the outfield, switched the uniforms, and was the one behind the itching powder. Hogwood has concrete evidence on all of it
, from mail receipts from Doctor Schmaenkmen's company to empty tar cans. Nops manipulated things to foil the team's potential because he couldn't be manager." He gave a big huff of excitement. "And wait until you hear this—as of nine o'clock this morning, I now own the entire caboodle once again!"
Camille had followed his fast words with dizzily, but the focal point of her feelings were for Alex. "What are you talking about? Entire caboodle?"
"I've got Nops on vandalism." The mustache on his lip curved. "The police have been brought in, and since it was up to me to press charges, I cut a deal with that lug nut. I don't send him to jail if he relinquishes his share of the team. He agreed. He loses his money and I get everything. It's been signed, sealed, and made a done deal this morning in Stykem's office." He gave Camille a hard hug that she was too stunned to return. "The Harmony Honeybees are the Kennison family. Father and daughter. Together."
"You just said Honeybees," she pointed out as she looked at Alex, "not the Keystones."
His brows lifted. "So I did... so I did." Then he laughed. "I don't care what the rags call us. We're a winning team! The Washington Senators lost again today and so did the Baltimore Orioles. Our club has just moved up to fifth place!"
Her father moved away and looked at Alex as if he'd just noticed him in the room. "Cordova! Great job. You've been pitching some fine innings. Keep up the good work!" Then to her, "Now, come on, Camille sugar, I want to show you the Spalding mitts that came in. They're top of the line and cut from the best leather. I've got them in the dugout."
And her father steered her out of the clubhouse before she could say another word to Alex.
* * * * *
"A glass of sangaree for the lady," Alex ordered, bending his elbow at the counter alongside men lifting their voices in laughter and tipping back drinks.
"Coming up." While the barkeeper opened a bottle, Alex turned to lean on the bar and hooked his foot over the brass rail. His gaze scanned the crowd in the Firedog Tavern. Nearly all men, except for the women moving from table to table, serving drinks. The Fire-dog was a respected pouring spot, its waitresses a virtuous link to the nonvirtuous dance hall and cathouse women who plied their wares up on 66th Avenue— the seamier side of Cleveland.
At one of the felt-covered tables along the back wall, Camille sat with the Keystones. Peanut shells scattered on the tabletop and pitchers of beer made for table ornamentation. A man couldn't miss her in the sea of dark-colored suits. She stood out in her apricot-colored dress. Her blond hair was curled and pinned in the right places to softly frame her face. The hat on her head was decorated with frosted fruits, peaches, and blushing cherries. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink as she laughed at a joke Yank must have told.
As her mouth widened, her lips curving into a smile that could melt a man, Alex thought back on the past weeks. August had been left behind and September heralded in opportunities. The Harmony Keystones played nine home games, and fifteen games on the road, losing six and winning eighteen. The latest win this afternoon capped off a four-game stand with the Cleveland Blues. And the victory moved the Keystones up in the ranks to third.
After today's game, the players called for a hurrah at the tavern next to the hotel and invited Camille along. He hadn't thought she'd agree, but she had. She added to everyone's enjoyment, making the Keystones envied as they kept her company. Alex hadn't failed to miss the stares in her direction and the gestures of respect as the men tipped their hats.
Camille Kennison had developed a reputation for delivering a baseball team who could go nine innings and come out on top. It was no small feat for a man, much less a woman.
Alex paid the barkeep and took the fruity drink to the table. "Here."
Cautiously, she studied the rose-hued liquid inside. "What is it?"
"It's the closest thing they have to punch. A sangaree is pretty tame." He extended his arm and she reached out to take the drink. Their fingers brushed as she connected with the glass, and she jumped. "Sangaree doesn't give the same glow as sipping whiskey."
"Sangaree," Cupid said as if it were a mouthful. "Isn't there rum in that?"
"No rum." Alex dragged out a chair and straddled it. "Wine. And fruit juice. Nutmeg on the top."
Noodles took a sip of beer. "I once knew a woman named Nutmeg."
"Why'd they call her Nutmeg?" Jimmy's grin was one big wide-gapped mouthful of teeth.
"On account of her—" Alex slammed his elbow into Noodles, knocking the wind from his story.
He archly reminded Noodles, "There's a lady sitting at our table."
When Alex looked at her, his brows rose in surprise. She'd drunk half the sangaree already and was gazing at him as if he'd brought her a lemonade rather than alcohol. The wine wasn't strong, but a woman who got a glow off of a thimble's worth of sipping whiskey had better take it easy on all kinds of liquor. But he wasn't about to point that out to her with the players sitting around. She'd take his hide off him for putting her on public notice.
Specs, who was short on eyesight and long on inexperience, pressed the subject. "On account of her what?"
Noodles scooted away from Alex before replying with a cleaner version. "Well, shall we say a certain part of her was the color of nutmeg?"
"I can guess that one. Something below the neck and above the navel."
All heads shot toward Camille's voice. She smiled at them. The glass in front of her was as empty as a burned out lantern. "I'll have another, Mr. Cordova, thank you."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so."
"I don't feel a thing. The barkeep must water the drinks down." She straightened the angle of her fruity hat and raised a brow. "If you won't get one for me, one of these gentlemen will."
"What gentlemen?" Mox asked, looking left and right
"Us, you numbskull." Cub rolled his eyes. "Mox, you have less smarts than a mule."
"I don't see us wearing suits," Mox explained, "like these other fine swells in the establishment."
Duke took issue and lifted his mug of beer. "We're fine swells, too. We may not wear the fanciest duds, but we're a winning ball team."
"That we are," Charlie said around the cigarette between his lips.
"Gentlemen, I..." Camille licked her lips as if gathering her thoughts; she ran a casual fingertip down the beads of water on the sangaree glass. The move jabbed Alex in the pit of his stomach. He barely heard her next words. "I wanted to say that regardless of what happens this week, each and every one of you should be proud of what the team has achieved."
A solemn silence momentarily held the table. Then Bones assured her, "We'll make it, Miss Kennison."
"I'd like to think so, but if we don't..."—her gaze went in turn to each player, not lingering on Alex, an intimacy he missed—"we'll come back next year and grab it."
Duke's crooked nose made his face seem lopsided, yet not unkindly so. He spoke in a soft tone. "You're going to continue to manage us?"
The clarity in her eyes didn't fade when she replied with unflinching firmness. "Nothing could make me quit"
"I speak for all of us, Miss Kennison, when I say we don't want you to quit." Yank's words were met with nods. "We've talked about it, and we like having you as our manager."
She smiled, her lips full and soft, yet delicate. Alex struggled to control the emotions running rampant inside him. With her white teeth teasing the curve of her lower lip and her eyes a dazzling blue, she seemed ethereal.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Cordova is right. I shouldn't have another." She rose and promptly wobbled on her legs. She quickly reached out to hold on to the back of her chair for support. "I'm going back to the hotel."
"You're not walking alone." Alex shoved out of his seat and went to her side. He thought she might argue with him, but she didn't.
The players said their good nights and Alex guided Camille outside to the warmth of the evening. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he turned onto the sidewalk. She didn't object. She was too busy
taking in deep breaths in an effort at unclouding her head.
The Lexington Hotel was around the corner, so they didn't have far to go. Buggy traffic had thinned to near nothing; there was only the occasional slow clop of shod hooves as a horse and dray rolled passed them. Darkness clung to the storefronts, the window displays in shadows. A lone cigar-store Indian stood on the corner in front of the tobacconist's shop.
Alex was keenly aware of the way the side of Camille's breast brushed his arm as they strolled. He could have walked around the block a hundred times just to keep her beside him.
"Did you get cut?" she asked, the question throwing him.
Thinking a moment, he finally shook his head. "Nope."
The game had been a close one. Cub had given one of the hecklers an old-fashioned nose thumbing that caused all the pop bottles and trash of any kind to come flying onto the field in the Keystones' general direction. Alex had been hit in the back of the leg with a bottle. But he'd gotten a fair shake when he'd hit a grand slam in the ninth to win the game.
He added, "Thanks for asking."
"Don't be so polite with me, Alex." Exasperation showed through her tone. "I like you better when you're not on your best behavior."
She let him mull that over, keeping her profile to him and slipping out of his arm. They reached the double doors of the hotel; he wasn't fast enough to hold one open for her. Making a point to let herself inside on her own, she strode over the lobby tiles and directly took the stairs to the floor of rooms. Down the hallway she went, with Alex at her side. Once at her door, she unlocked it, turned, and looked him fully in the eyes.
The pace she'd set had been so swift, he expected her to slam the door in his face. But she didn't. She did something totally unexpected.
She kissed him. Soundly on the mouth. Long enough to arouse him, short enough not to bring her arms around his neck and press her body next to his. Almost immediately, she stepped back as if she had to run from him.