by Box Set
The Charmings were hosting a barbecue at the Methodist Church out by the turn in the road. Funnily enough, the prairie-sized church building was another historical A frame and one of the town’s few remaining original structures. The expansion of Sherwood Point in the late nineties to include a large chain shopping store and one of the fancy west coast coffee joints inspired the congregants to move their church—as in the whole damn building—a few miles outside of town.
One of their members donated land and the church moved over one arduous summer, but in addition to adding to their parking and creating a serene space, they'd also invested in the land around them to build new baseball diamonds and park equipment. No one thought about giving small town kids a real park. Why did they need it? They had fields, woods, and ponds and plenty of open land to get into trouble in. During his early days with the Charmings they used to host their practices in the empty lot between Pete's Feed Store and the shoe place on Main Street.
It probably had a coffee shop there, too, or maybe one of those fancier stores. His mom told him, in her last letter, that they'd expanded all kinds of things to the area and they were seeing something of a growth boom as the oil companies restructured and a couple of new manufacturers opened plants. Sherwood Point even got their very own emergency room—granted it was a Doc in the Box emergency room, but when the nearest hospital was over an hour away, it mattered.
And I can sit here and keep wasting time on this mental tour of the differences between the past and the present or I can drive on out to the church and put in the appearance I promised.
An appearance he could handle like the hometown boy he was without managers, agents or handlers to run interference. Not in Sherwood Point. Hell, he'd dressed for the occasion with a nice button down and a tie. His suit coat, however, he left at the hotel along with the rest of his things. The hotel was his buffer; the place he could escape to as needed.
After raking his fingers through his hair to make sure it was neat then checking his tie knot, Zeke ran out of delaying tactics. He put the truck into gear and pulled out. The steady rain tapered to a sprinkle, then retreated to a spatter by the time he followed the thin trail of vehicles toward the First—and only—Methodist Church of Sherwood Point. He parked the truck at the end of the row, choosing the grass rather than the gravel. Other cars trickled into the already full lot, and with the crowd gathering around the picnic benches and covered eating area adjacent to the ballfield, he imagined there might be more.
It was also a good excuse to buy him time to scan the lot for...well, he wasn't sure for what. Liar. Why would she even have the same car they'd had at graduation? He certainly didn't. Maybe, like most suburban moms, she drove a minivan.
His gut clenched. She might not live there at all anymore. His mother used to seed her conversations with news about Charity. He'd shut down every line of inquiry though. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his ex, her life, or God help him how well or terrible it was going. A growl rumbled in his chest...hearing how well she was doing would have torn at his heart. If he'd heard she was in trouble?
Refusing to follow that line of thought to its conclusion, he slid his hands into his pockets and began the slow walk toward the gathering. A car slid into the last open space and a laughing girl spilled out of the backseat. Her blonde ponytail bobbed at the back of her baseball cap as she dashed toward the field. A sharp, very feminine reprimand from the woman pushing open the driver's door halted her—and Zeke—in her tracks.
“Andrea, do not make me say it again.”
He'd know that voice anywhere.
***
“Sorry, Mom.” Contrition rimmed both words, and the kid pivoted to face her mother. At the same time, her gaze collided with Zeke's. The woman in front of him stiffened. He was still fighting to keep his breathing normal with the kiddo let out a shriek and dashed toward him. “Zeke Thompson! Oooo!”
One minute, he stood in the trickling rain and the next he had an enthusiastic child wrapped around him as the woman who'd haunted his dreams turned slowly. Her soft brown eyes hadn't changed one bit. A donkey kick to his chest would have been less painful.
Charity.
God damn, she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and the girl hugging him...realization crystalized through him and turned his racing heart into dull, painful thuds. The little girl pulled back and beamed up at him. “I am so happy to meet you, Mr. Thompson. Or can I call you Brother Zeke? Or maybe Coach?” Terrific excitement bubbled out of the girl, and he stood there like a jackass who'd just been struck by a flying bat.
Stunned.
“Andie,” Charity said, admonishment echoing in every syllable. She took three steps toward them. Dressed in blue jeans and a cotton top, she was a vision of gentle curves and softness.
“Sorry, Mom.” The girl repeated over her shoulder without an ounce of remorse. “But it's him—it's Brother Zeke. And he's here!”
Shaking off the stupor, he dragged his gaze away from Charity and focused on the four-foot powerhouse bouncing with enthusiasm before him. Kids like her were the reason he was here, dammit. Sticking a hand out toward her, he forced the stiff muscles in his face to ease into a modicum of a smile. “Zeke is fine. Andie, was it?”
“Yes, sir.” She clasped his hand like a professional, utterly unabashed. “Short for Andrea, but I prefer Andie. I'm a pitcher, too.” Her cap declared her a member of the Charmings.
“I see. Are you a starter or a closer?” Don't look at Charity. Focus on the kid. She had no skin in the game, and he got his breathing under control.
“I'm a benchwarmer.”
“Andie.” Shock and horror punctuated the aggrieved voice of her mother and he glanced at her. He hated it when she sounded hurt, hated it more when she was hurt.
Surprisingly, smiling at the woman who'd backed over his heart on her way out of his life proved a hell of a lot easier than he expected. “It's quite all right Mrs...?” Crap, what the hell was her last name these days?
“Charity is fine.” She swallowed hard, and Andie looked from him to her mother then back. Something in the strangled way she pushed out the words drew his attention and he glanced at her left hand, but he couldn't see her fingers clearly. She was carrying too much stuff. “We should let Mr. Thompson go on in, Andie.”
“But, Mom, this is my chance. I get to talk to him before the others and, if he has them put me in, then they have to, right?”
Well, he gave the kid credit. She didn't shy away from a challenge. Temper flashed in Charity's familiar dark eyes and Zeke took a page from Andie's book. Running into them could be his opportunity, too. “Good call, slugger.” Then he nodded to her mom. “Let's give your mom a hand shall we?”
Using the kiddo as a bit of leverage, he approached Charity and took possession of what turned out to be cases of bread, sliced tomatoes and lettuce. She could hardly argue with him, though he didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed or her lips compressed. Unfortunately, he still didn't get a look at her hand before she reached into the back of the car to claim more items. Suppressing his impatience, he glanced at Andie who bounced from foot to foot. Good kid—although she wanted his attention, she wasn't pressing the conversation since he'd offered her mother assistance.
Maybe talking to her gave Charity time to get used to his presence and him time to acclimate to hers... “So, they haven't started you yet? What's the issue?”
“I'm a girl.”
Straightforward enough. “Can you throw?”
“Yes. Better than Puck the Schmuck—sorry, Mom—but he can't even do a curve ball. I can.” Not laughing at her very direct and amusing observation took all of Zeke’s effort. “They always stick me in the outfield or sometimes short stop, and they don't let me pitch, but I can throw to any position.”
“Huh. Outfielders and short stops don't get enough credit for what they do.” He adjusted his stance when Charity added another item to the top of his stack before she closed the door. A littl
e crowd had begun to form at the edge of the pavilion, but no one rushed out to interrupt them. “If a team doesn't have a good base defense, then we can't control how many runs the other team gets.”
“But you strike them out so the outfield doesn't have to work.” For such a half-pint, she definitely had a grasp of the situation. “That's what I want to do, too.”
“Let's help your mom, then I have to meet a few people, but afterward—why don't you show me what you can do?”
Andie's eyes lit up, and she let out another squealing shout. Okay, so he impressed one of them. Charity didn't say anything as she led them toward the gathered folks. A ripple of applause passed through the crowd. Was her husband already there? Was he running late? Before he could figure out the answers to any of those questions, though, he had to greet the masses. Someone scooped away what he carried and another man gave him a fierce handshake, followed by a third and then a fourth.
Charity made her escape, but every time he looked, he found Andie hovering close by as if afraid he might forget his offer. Not that he had any intention of doing so.
Man, he was so going to hell. Using a kid to make sure he got to see her mom...but damn, Charity had looked good. Real good. Maybe Stone was right. Maybe he had known it was time to come home.
Despite the rain, at least two hundred people turned out for the barbecue. Charity had never been so grateful to see overwhelming numbers. The fields were muddy, but it didn’t slow any of the kids from darting out to show off their ball skills, especially the hometown celebrity in their midst. Andie ducked away as soon as they’d offloaded their food onto one of the long tables.
Charity must have spoken to a dozen other parents, maybe more. She couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone watched her. As ridiculous as it seemed, the sensation wouldn’t go away. Of course, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself, she kept looking at Zeke. He looked so good.
Sure, she had watched him on television plenty of times, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. Still tall, and charming. How did he manage to stay so damn charming? If he had a flaw, it was that he seemed to have no flaws. His smile revealed dimples in his cheeks.
She had always loved those dimples. Ridiculous maybe, yet at the same time how could she not love them? Pain cramped her stomach. She shook her head and pulled her gaze away from him. Someone called her name from across the field. She turned and a fresh wave of panic swamped her. What was her mother doing there?
“Charity!” With her high-octave, nasal voice, Mrs. Lane’s call carried even over the hum of so many different people.
Suppressing a groan, Charity rushed to meet her. “Mom.” The last thing she needed was her mother mucking everything up when he only just arrived. Seeing Zeke had been difficult enough. Her mom? Just no.
“Charity,” her mother said with a knowing look in her eyes. “Is he really here?”
“Yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “He's right there, so keep your voice down—please.” Tacking on the please cost her, and she tried to relax her jaw. Too many people could notice their reaction—especially tension between the Lane women. Her mother had a lot of friends.
The older woman glanced around her towards the field. Her eyes, so similar to Charity’s, only served as a guilty reminder of all her personal failures. “What does Andie think of her hero?” Judgment heaped onto the sentence like a too-generous portion of ketchup on a burger.
“She’s over the moon.” Folding her arms, Charity shook her head. “Mom you promised.”
“Years ago, after you let me think the worst.” Disappointment salted every syllable and defused Charity’s anger.
Sighing, she closed the gap between them and threaded her arm through her mother’s. Lydia allowed the subtle request for comfort and solidarity. Walking towards the cars, Charity checked her daughter’s location and angled their path so she could keep Andie in her line of sight. Andie and Puck were throwing a ball back and forth to each other. Despite her earlier insult, she and her fellow second grader must be in the on again portion of their friendship.
Even though she hadn’t decided to check where Zeke was, her heart squeezed at his presence at the edge of the field. Men and women alike surrounded him—talking, laughing, and touching his arm now and then with the proprietariness that came from living in a small town. Sure, he was Zeke Thompson, The Friar of Baseball, all-star pitcher… But to us he’s Zeke. Our Zeke. My Zeke.
Not that she had the right to claim him.
She’d surrendered that years ago.
“Baby girl, talk to me.” Her mother’s voice softened. When Lydia gentled, it always crumbled Charity’s defensiveness. Sensible and strict, her mother had also been kind and raised her with a hand driven more by compassion than conflict.
“I don’t know what to say to him.” Folding her arms, she wasn’t sure whether she needed to hold herself back from running to him or running away.
“The truth is always a good place.” Lydia rubbed her back lightly. “He’s watching you.”
Suspecting the awareness skittering over her came from Zeke’s gaze had been bad enough. To have her mother confirm it sent heat to her cheeks. “Don’t stare at him.” For her part, she kept half her attention on where her daughter was at all times. Small town, check. Small congregation, check. Did she know everyone? Check. At the same time, however, she refused to be complacent. Andie toddled away from her once in a grocery store…that horrific feeling never went away nor did the profound relief. She’d rather be paranoid and know where her daughter was…
“Charity.” Her mom sighed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?” Pulled from her distraction, she glanced at her mother.
“Fretting. Playing out every horrible thing that could happen.” Kindness tempered her words. “So you’re trying to work yourself up to telling him?”
How her mother could sound so serene about what essentially added up to the single worst decision she’d ever made, Charity didn’t know.
“I have no idea what I will do.” A chill coiled in her belly. “I still think that I was right—” She held up a finger when she heard the distinct cluck of her mother’s tongue. “You disagree, and you’ve made yourself clear about it.” Going over the who, what, when, where and why served no one.
“Baby, I’m on your side.” Her mother gave her a squeeze. “But… I’m also on Andie’s side. I won’t pretend to understand the decisions you made, although I’ve tried to respect them.” To her credit, her mother had done exactly as she said. Lydia Lane was the kind of mother Charity wanted to be. Stern, but fiercely loving and protective, while also encouraging her to take risks. It couldn’t have been easy. Charity had been a military brat prior to settling back in the town that had given birth to Lydia—but the death of Charity’s father during a training exercise meant Lydia used her benefits to create the kind of home she thought her kids deserved.
Not dwelling on the past, she glanced at the field. The kids were still setting up and racing around. No one seemed to care about muddy shoes or legs. The baseball diamond had almost dried out, and one of the dads spread fresh sand before raking it to help absorb the damp. Charity lasered onto where Andie stood facing Zeke. His sober gaze focused on her daughter, his expression intent. Or maybe he simply squinted because of the sunlight shining in his eyes? Yet whatever her daughter discussed, he paid her very specific attention.
The thud of her heart against her ribcage hurt. The pitted feeling she’d fought all week at the prospect of seeing him again flooded her with a different kind of need. “Have you ever wanted to go back in time and change something, Mom?”
“Everyone has, baby, but I’ll tell you what my momma told me—we are the product of our decisions. To change one would be to change them all.”
She supposed the statement possessed wisdom. “Can you take Andie after the barbecue?”
“And tell her what?”
“That
you wanted a night with your granddaughter?” Swinging around, she stared at her mother. “Please?”
“I don’t mind taking her, Charity—but what are you going to do?”
Heart sinking, she curled her fingers into her palms. Whatever she did, it would involve talking to him. Standing near him. Breathing the same air as he did. Whatever choice she made, she would have to face her greatest fear and deepest regret in the same moment as facing her first and only love. Overhead, the clouds continued to clear away, leaving the day a dazzling blue. The warmer it grew, the more likely they would have all day to spend with their baseball hero.
It was as though even Mother Nature taunted her.
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 3
Arriving at the barbecue provided Zeke with the cover of dozens of people wanting to talk to him while it also hampered his ability to spend time with the one woman he wanted to see. Awareness of her looped around him. He knew where she was at any given moment. Ridiculous, maybe, but each time he tested the theory, he found her.
First, she was near the food tables. Then she spoke with a small group of other women. Later, he spotted her walking with her mother. Distress seemed to tighten the line of her features, and her mouth compressed. Distress? Irritation? Sadness? The need to identify what went through her mind struck him as odd. A part of his mind assigned her the status of ex-girlfriend. Ex-high school-girlfriend.
So why would her mood be so important to him?
“Mr. Fwiar…”
“He’s Mr. Thompson,” Andie said in an imperious tone while elbowing the boy next to her. “The Friar. Not Mr. Friar.” She huffed out a little breath, then rolled her eyes as though impatient. “Sorry, Mr. Thompson. Puck’s not all about the game.”
Not smiling proved the most difficult challenge of his life. The little girl had her mother’s spunk, and more, she had her sassy attitude. Squatting down in front of the two, he tucked his glove beneath his arm then rested his forearms on his knees. When he had their full attention, he spread his hands palm upward. “Are you listening to me?” At their solemn nods, he considered them both for another long moment. “There are three things in life you can be certain of…there’s always someone out there who is better than you are, your mom will always know what’s best, and life isn’t just about the game.”