by Honey
Her hands slipped up his arms. Through the moisture in her eyes, she gave him an exasperated glare. "You hard-headed man. I have nothing if I don't have you."
He looked at her and she knew he was looking deep, looking for the truth in her soul. "I love you, Alex Cordova. And if you don't ask me to go to Buffalo with you, I'll just pack my bags and follow you."
His long, drawn-out silence was sweeter than any words he could have given her. Because his mouth held the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. It was a smile of love. Of hope. Of promise. Of the future.
He swept her into his arms and lifted her off her feet, swinging her in a full circle. When he set her back on the ground, his mouth sought hers in a deep and wondrous kiss that turned her to fire. Her heart pounded; her skin burned. Everything inside her trembled.
"I'm asking," he said huskily. "Will you come to Buffalo with me, honey?"
"Yes," she said against his lips.
"Then we'll have to do something first."
She broke the kiss to look up into his face. "What?"
"Get married."
Epilogue
"You may be disappointed," Alex said, an easy smile on his lips. With his shirt hanging open and nankeen pants hugging his hips, he set a pair of beer bottles on the dresser in their hotel room. "I've built up the whole idea of drinking beer in the bathtub. It may not have the same appeal for you that it does for me."
"If you're in there naked, then it'll appeal to me," Camille assured him, her gaze roaming over her husband as he shrugged out of his shirt to reveal a muscular chest covered with crisp dark hair. She never tired of looking at his body. The way his arm movements were smooth and full of virility, his biceps well defined. His hands were big and square and tanned; he flipped open the buttons on his fly, then stepped free of his pants and drawers at the same time. She studied his long, sturdy legs that were lean and sinewy with a light dusting of hair. Perfect. He was perfect. She moved her eyes upward and froze on the part of anatomy that was nestled in his groin. Big and full.
He stood before her, devilishly handsome. Completely nude. Completely at ease.
She felt her self-control slipping. He was hers now and she could have him whenever she wanted.
Alex's grin was lopsided, as if he could read her thoughts. "Strip down, honey."
Giving him a smile in return, she began to unbutton her shirtwaist and pull her arms free, letting the silk billow to the floor in a cloud of white. She undressed with deliberate slowness, watching his eyes darken as he followed everything her hands did. Unhooking her skirt, the rose-colored voile glided down and over the taffeta of her petticoat. She worked the fasteners of her corset, then tossed the stiff whalebone on top of her shirtwaist. The batiste shimmy, her pantalets and her shoes followed, as did her stockings, but with a long, slow roll down her thighs, knees, and calves. Then she pulled the pins free from her hair, letting them scatter onto the carpet, not caring where they fell. She shook her hair and the curls tumbled over her shoulders.
He held out his hand for her. "Let's see if you like what I have in mind for you."
"I know I'll like what you have in mind." She grasped his hand.
His broad shoulders disappeared around the corner of the connecting bathroom, but she stopped just shy of the frame.
"The beer," she said. "I'll get the bottles. You warm up the water."
"The water will warm up when you sink your luscious body into it."
In spite of the fact they'd touched each other in every way and had kissed countless times, the comment made her blush.
She turned away, went into the suite, and grabbed the bottles of beer. Then she glanced at the open suitcases on the four-poster bed. They would be leaving tomorrow to go home. Back to Harmony. Where Alex would move his belongings into her house on Elm Street and she would spend her days in her garden while he worked at the wood shop. And come the spring, she'd manage the Keystones for the new season.
They'd been in Buffalo for a month.
Camille and Alex and Hildegarde and Joe were married in a double ceremony two days after winning the pennant. It had been a small service, with only immediate family and friends in attendance at the Harmony General Assembly Church.
It hadn't surprised Camille or Alex that Joe had asked Hildegarde to marry him. The pair had fallen in love, with a deep devotion for one another. Joe hadn't wanted to leave Harmony without Hildegarde by his side. As his wife.
Mrs. Plunkett wailed so loudly in the church when Hildegarde said "I do," she leaned over in a dead faint against Mr. Plunkett. He'd had to use smelling salts to revive her. Camille's parents sat in the front pew, hands clasped together as they watched her pledge her heart, her love, to Alex Cordova from that day forward. The following morning, the couples had left for New York.
Since they'd been in Buffalo, Joe had seen Dr. Denton daily. Joe had stayed in the hospital as a patient for the first week, then he'd moved into a small apartment along the river with Hildegarde when the doctor said his tests were completed. Alex had insisted on paying the rent.
Each day, Joe resumed more of his memory. Enough so that he'd told Alex to get on with his life, that he'd be all right without him. He had plans to return to Harmony as soon as the doctor told him he could.
The emotional steps the two men had taken to forge a bridge, from what had been the past to what was now, had been uncomplicated. Joe looked at life with the eyes of a man ready to get on living. Alex at long last tucked his memories away and let himself move on.
And Camille was the woman he'd chosen to be with.
The thought brought tingles over her arms. She was more in love with Alex today than she had ever been.
The beer bottles clinking in her hand, she joined her husband in the bathroom.
Alex lounged in a claw-footed enamel bathtub filled to the brim with a flurry of bubbles. His feet were propped up on the edge of the tub. When she quirked her brow at the foaming white suds, he simply said, "For you."
She smiled. "I think more for you." A hint of dubiousness played in her tone. "You're always telling me to put on my lavender perfume." She spied the empty bottle of bath soap. "You used the whole thing."
"Accident."
"Hardly," she said, laughing as she stepped one foot into the warm water.
"Now if you want to discuss something hard—"
She cut him off with a kick of her toe, splashing him in the chest. "You are horrible, Alex."
"And I'm all yours." Sudsy water dripped down his chest in tiny rivers; bubbles caught on his sun-browned skin.
The warm water eased her muscles as she sank down on the opposite end of the tub as Alex and entwined her legs with his. She settled in and all but purred her contentment as she stared across at her husband. Stretching out her arm, she gave him a beer.
"So now what?" she murmured.
He gave her a disarming grin. "A gentleman always opens a lady's beer bottle."
Camille was certain that wasn't in her deportment book, but she didn't beg to differ.
He took the amber bottle from her, settled an opener on the crown cap, and popped the top. A spurt of fizz shot over the rim. He handed the beer back to her. She lifted it to her mouth and took a sip. The taste was cool and mellow against her tongue.
"Now," he said, sitting taller and reaching over the side of the bathtub, "we read." He gave her a copy of the December Good Housekeeping while he picked up a different issue for himself. They set their beers aside.
She took her magazine and opened the pages. Her gaze skimmed over the pictures and words, but she didn't take a good look at them. She looked over at Alex. "You never told me why you read Good Housekeeping."
"I like to keep a clean house."
She couldn't help bursting out laughing, a spray of bubbles rising over the tub's porcelain rim. "I don't believe you."
"You think because I play baseball I have no other interests?"
"No. I just don't think a man of your masculinity would fin
d recipes for furniture polish interesting." She turned the page of her magazine but kept her eyes on Alex. The water's edge came to his flat nipples.
"I find anything written about making a woman happy interesting." A trail of water soaked the corners of his Good Housekeeping as he flipped to the next page. "Even something as simple as the right furniture polish."
Camille wasn't able to keep her thoughts from straying off the pages. She moved her foot a little, skimming her toes along Alex's outer thigh. The crisp hairs on his calf rubbed the side of her arm as he inched his leg inward. She shifted, her toes sliding between his legs; his foot rose slowly to the side of her breast. A shiver worked through her. She snuck a slow peek at him. Either he was engrossed beyond belief, or he was pretending.
She frowned, gazed back at the article on milkweed cream. Then a big thwack sounded in the tiny room. Looking over the top of her magazine, she saw Alex had thrown his on the floor. "Something wrong?" she asked, feeling a smile pull the corners of her mouth.
The heat in his stare melted her and made warmth pool between her legs. Alex said, "I'm having a real hard time concentrating on 'How to Arrange an Attractive Table.' "
"But maybe an attractive table would make me happy."
"Honey, I think arranging ourselves on the table would make you happier than a vase of flowers and the right placement of silverware."
As he leaned forward, she tossed her magazine with a plop on the floor. "Alex, you make me happy. No matter where I am."
He moved his face over hers. Slowly, downward, until she closed her eyes and all there was to think about was his mouth on her mouth. And the kiss that was in no hurry at all.
Dear Readers:
I've always been a baseball fan. My warmest regards to Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire for the 1998 major league season. I haven't had that much excitement as a fan since 1988 when the Los Angeles Dodgers played the Oakland Athletics for the World Series title.
It was October 15, 1988, when Kirk Gibson hobbled to the plate in the bottom of the ninth. The Dodgers needed to get one run to score and win the game. Gibson was a major long shot—he could barely walk because of leg injuries. Oakland's Dennis Eckersley pitched the ball and Gibson hit one of the most dramatic home runs in the history of the game. I watched in stunned amazement as Gibson limped around the bases, touching each bag with raw emotion on his face as the crowd cheered. Gibson's spectacular hit gave the Dodgers a 5-4 victory.
Not since that day have I witnessed such courage and determination in the game of baseball. Then came Mark and Sammy, who went at the home run record with unfailing sportsmanship. You three were my inspiration for Alex Cordova. Thank you, fellows. You bring baseball home to us, your fans.
Now, on to Honey.
In 1901, the American League was formed. The eight teams in this novel actually existed, as did the ballparks they played in, right down to the descriptions of the grandstands. The Somersets really had a toolshed in the outfield and would use rakes during the game. The manager and player salaries mentioned in this book are also accurate—amazingly low when compared with the figures of today.
Aside from the Harmony Keystones, the names of players on the other teams and the positions they played are authentic. Their personalities, however, have been fictionalized to suit my story. Joe McGill never played for the New York Giants, nor existed outside of my imagination.
Boomer Hurley, the manager of the Boston Somersets, is fictitious, as are all the other team managers. But his attitude was all too real the year Camille took on the position. Sad to say, she probably wouldn't be given any better reception a hundred years later.
The origin of the term bullpen is ever being disputed. Some claim it came about because of the advertising Bull Durham on the outfield fences; the pitchers warmed up in the shadows of those big, bull-shaped signs. Others say no manager wanted his pitchers shooting the bull on the bench so he put them in a kind of pen in the outfield to warm up their arms. The first documented use of bullpen came in 1915. I'd prefer to think that Camille Kennison came up with the idea some fourteen years prior.
Cy Young is presented in this novel as a competitive fellow. Between 1890 and 1911, he won 511 games. He's probably the most famous player in baseball. He was a tough pitcher to beat. But it wasn't until seven years after Alex Cordova that the Cyclone pitched the first real perfect game—May 5, 1904, Boston versus Philadelphia. Young shut out Philly 3-0. In other words, not one player advanced off a pitch he threw. He retired them in order. The Cy Young Award was first handed out in 1956 and went to the single best pitcher in the major leagues.
Candy-coated Chiclets were conceived of around the turn of the twentieth century, but they were not officially a product of the American Chicle Company until 1914. Still, I couldn't resist fudging a little.
I'd like to thank Rachel Gibson and Linda Francis Lee for their critique on this novel. Rachel keeps my heroes manly men and Linda makes sure the plot pieces all fit together.
I'm grateful to Gloria Dale Skinner, who read Honey chapter by chapter through e-mail because of my tight schedule. Her insight was invaluable. I went from not knowing the answers to the questions she asked me about plot and characters to knowing more than I ever thought I would about the cast in this book and the reasons they did the things they did.
I thank Katharine O'Moore-Klopf, my copy editor, who always takes time out of her busy schedule to answer my questions on grammar and punctuation. She not only is right on when she rearranges my sentences but is also married to a swell guy named Edward, who, as it happens, is a cabinetmaker. Thank you, Edward, for helping me along with some of my wood shop queries.
Well, what's next? The last in the Brides for All Seasons books will be Hearts. For generations, the Valentines have married on Valentine's Day—every Valentine except for Truvy, who doesn't have a prospective groom. Although it's disappointing to think that the tradition will stop with her, there's a part of Truvy that's exhilarated and feeling freed. She travels to Harmony to visit her college friend, Edwina Wolcott. Since Truvy is the tennis and basketball coach at St. Francis, the all-girl school where she teaches, she's not interested in big, brawny athletic types. She has her reasons. But who picks her up at the train station when she arrives in town? Tom Wolcott's friend, Jake Brewster, owner of the local gymnasium called Bruiser's. Clearly these two aren't meant for each other. But tell that to Cupid.
I enjoy hearing from my readers. Drop me a note and be sure to include a self-addressed stamped envelope. And when surfing the web, visit my site at:
http://www.paintedrock.com/authors/holm.htm
Best,
Stef Ann Holm
Stef Ann Holm
P.O. Box 5727
Kent, WA 98064-5727
While on her honeymoon at a resort in Kauai, STEF ANN HOLM watched the World Series in their hotel room while her husband surfed. After all, the home team, the Los Angeles Dodgers, were in the thick of things with the New York Yankees. Back in 1981, "Fernandomania" and Tommy Lasorda's boys of October had fans cheering—with the voice of Vin Scully commentating all the action. Baseball just couldn't get any better. Unless you were actually sitting in the stadium watching the game.
On one particular hot summer evening, Stef Ann and some friends went to Dodger Stadium. When the game let out, she couldn't remember where she parked her car. Seeing the endless miles of pavement at Chavez Ravine brings an understanding of this dilemma. But finding a gold 1974 Plymouth Duster with white competition racing stripes wasn't all that hard once the parking lot emptied.
Since then, she's gotten rid of the Duster, but not her passion for the all-American pastime.
While Stef Ann is working on her next installment in the Brides for All Seasons series for Pocket Books, she invites you to write her at P.O. Box 5727, Kent, WA 98064-S727.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue