Love from Left Field

by Megan Ryder

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. I got stuck with the new consultant, Lucas Wainright.” Miranda sank into her chair, groaning at the relief of being off her feet. She began opening desk drawers, looking for something for her burgeoning headache.

  “I heard Mr. Callahan wasn’t too happy.” A frown furrowed Stacia’s brow. She sat in one of the chairs and crossed one leg over the other and waited.

  Miranda grabbed the bottle of aspirin and slammed the drawer. “That’s putting it mildly. Damn, I should probably go and update him.”

  “I think he can wait a few more minutes. You look like you need a break.” Stacia reached across the desk and gripped Miranda’s hand in hers, providing the only comfort she really could.

  Miranda shrugged and downed the aspirin with a swallow from her morning tea that had grown cold in the intervening hours. “I need a long vacation and stock in a pharmaceutical company. This is going to be absolute hell.”

  “Lucas Wainright?” Stacia’s brow arched. “Is he related to the guy who used to own the team?”

  Miranda grimaced. “Yeah, well, he’s the league’s representative now. But, yes, his father was principal owner before my father.”

  Stacia straightened, expression carefully blank. “Well, that changes everything. How did that go?”

  “Not good. Bottom line, we have no choice. Accepting a loan from the league, then being in a precarious financial position opens us up for the league to step in. There are precedents for the commissioner to step in and appoint leadership and taking over troubled franchises. Look at Los Angeles a few years ago.”

  “Are we really in that bad of shape?”

  Miranda sighed and settled back in her chair. “Yes. My father has always played information close to the chest. But we don’t have the money for top players.”

  “We never did, honestly. The Knights are in a small market, not New York.”

  “Lucas suggested that the constant need for a big player is what sank us.”

  “What choice do we have?”

  “We need to find another way to succeed, assuming this is not the first salvo in the commissioner’s takeover of the Knights.”

  Stacia muttered a curse. “What can we do?”

  Miranda’s shoulders slumped. “I have no idea. But somehow we have to convince my father to work with new ideas. And I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “If you can’t do it, no one else can.”

  She snorted. “He doesn’t see me. I’m his mouthpiece, competent but never really allowed to do anything on my own without his constant direction, like everyone else on the staff.” Miranda arched a brow. “You know what I’m saying. Your father is the same way.”

  Stacia sighed. “We both have strong-willed fathers who are controlling and arrogant. That only means we have to work harder to prove ourselves.”

  “But you walked away. I can’t imagine your powerful senator father happy with his only daughter working public relations for a baseball team.”

  Stacia grinned, probably remembering the last event they had all attended with her father, who had looked ready to blow at the sight of his daughter and a reformed bad boy baseball player. “That’s the best part. He hates Jason, too. But it was time for me to break free and make my own way. Maybe that’s something for you to consider.”

  “Are you saying I should walk away?” Miranda couldn’t even think of a time without the team. She had been coming to the stadium since she was a little girl. She always knew she belonged here.

  Stacia shook her head. “No, but maybe you need to fight for it another way.”

  *

  A few hours later, Miranda relaxed into the strong, capable hands of Mei-Ling as she massaged Miranda’s shoulders. Knots seemed to miraculously appear after every meeting with her father, breeding in her shoulders and neck. Added to that stress was meeting with Lucas and walking him through the systems and the reports he required, scheduling meetings with department heads, and trying so hard not to be swayed by the seductive idea of new blood in management. She had to escape, needed a break from the tension in the office, from the conflict that was rapidly approaching. How could she convince her father to make the necessary changes to save the team, to work with Lucas Wainright?

  The disloyal thoughts only added to her tension and she groaned. Smells of acrylic and nail polish saturated the room. A dull roar of conversation carried on around Miranda but she paid no attention. The technician gestured to her nail for approval of the color. Shocking pink. The perfect color to brighten up the drab winter but it would probably only reinforce the image of an empty-headed woman. She sighed. Screw it. She loved color; when things got particularly rough, she could look at her nails and think happy thoughts.

  And just like that, she was back to thinking about Lucas and her shoulders tensed. Mei-Ling tapped her lightly. “Relax, Ms. Callahan.”

  She closed her eyes and eased into the moment, pushing all thoughts of baseball and the problems with her father out of her mind. Just as she was relaxing, her cell phone rang. The two workers frowned at her. Despite her being the customer, they still ran the show. Whoever said the customer was always right never met Mei-Ling and the girls at her shop. With an irritated sniff, Mei-Ling stalked away to work on another customer, switching on the chair massager as a poor second to her strong fingers.

  She shook her head when Tina gestured to the purse. “Let it go to voice mail. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  She leaned back in the chair and sighed, letting the warmth and the massaging motion of the chair seep into her back. The cell phone rang again and Miranda frowned.

  “Tina, grab the phone and check who it is, please.”

  Tina reached in her bag and turned the phone to Miranda. “Want to answer it?”

  Lucas Wainright

  How did he get her number? “No, just leave it on the counter.”

  The phone stopped vibrating and stayed put on the counter. Tina glanced up at her, a question in her almond-shaped eyes.

  “Problem with a boyfriend?”

  Miranda laughed, a dry bark that almost jarred the nail polish from the manicurist. “Not even close. He works with my father and me.”

  Tina arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, a playful look in her eye. Miranda shook her head. “Not on your life. Not my type at all. He’s too uptight and tense and stern for me. Too much like my father.”

  But he is crazy sexy. A tiny voice spoke from the inner recesses of her mind.

  “He’s the one calling you.”

  “True. Like I said, he probably has issues with reports or something. I needed a break and a manicure is relaxing.”

  Mei-Ling stopped at the table, eyebrows drawn into a straight line. She was a terrifying woman and no customer wanted to piss her off and be banned from the salon. Somehow, Miranda must have angered the small, Asian woman. “Phone call. I’m not running an answering service here. Make it quick. Customers call on that line.”

  Miranda glanced at her wet nails, then at Tina, then at the cordless phone on the table. Tina picked it up and held it out to Miranda. She grabbed the phone gingerly between her fingers, careful not to smudge the wet nails.

  “Hello?”

  “Why they hell weren’t you picking up your damn phone? I had to track down your assistant to find you.” Lucas Wainright’s voice shot out from the phone like a bullet, piercing her ear and her calm.

  Miranda resisted the urge to apologize. “I don’t answer to you.”

  “Everyone answers to me. Your mom asked me to call you. Get to the Savannah Medical Center. Your father’s had a heart attack.”

  The phone crashed to the floor and shattered in a fountain of plastic and metal.

  Chapter Four

  Miranda rushed into the ICU waiting room. Her mother, Gwen, sat in a chair, dabbing at her eyes. When she saw Miranda, tears started flowing again. At the far end of the room, near the door to the ICU and as far away from the family as he could be in the hospital waiting room, Lucas Wa
inright stood, arms folded across his chest, his face an inscrutable mask. When he saw her, he strode quickly across the room, disapproval radiating from every pore.

  “About time you got here.” He spoke softly, so only she could hear him.

  “I came as soon as I heard. It was rush hour traffic. Nothing is ever easy in Savannah.”

  His dark eyes assessed her, glanced down at her fingers then back up, accusation in them. “You finished your manicure I see. Always priorities, isn’t that right, Miranda?”

  She whipped out her other hand, the one not finished. “Wrong again, Lucas. Why are you willing to believe the worst in me? You barely know me.”

  “Prove me wrong.”

  At that moment, her mother glanced up with tear-filled eyes. She reached out a hand towards Miranda. “Randi, honey. I’m so scared. Your father…”

  Miranda shoved past Lucas and sat next to her mother. She hugged her mother’s shoulders. “Have you heard anything? Has the doctor been out here yet?”

  Lucas leaned against the wall, scrolling through messages on his phone. “He came out a short time ago and had nothing to report. He’s due back any time.”

  Miranda glared at Lucas. “Isn’t this just for family?”

  Lucas barely glanced at her. “I wanted to be sure your mother was okay.”

  “She’s fine. You can go any time. Or are you checking in on your investment?” She sneered the last word and had the pleasure of seeing him wince.

  “Miranda.” Her mother chided. “Lucas has been very nice, and even made the doctor promise to update us more frequently. Sometimes they listen better to strong, rational men than a hysterical woman.”

  Lucas shot her mother a gentle smile, showing more warmth and compassion than she had ever seen in him. “You had a reason to be upset. These doctors should learn better people skills.”

  “I’ll tell him to take the class you took.” Miranda spat.

  “Miranda,” her mother admonished.

  Cole chose that moment to step into the room, clicking his phone off. “The office is all set. No one will say anything until I notify them. That should keep the news crews at bay for a little while at least. Any updates?”

  “Nothing yet,” Miranda replied.

  Cole glanced at Lucas, suspicion in his eyes. “You’re still here, Wainright? I think we have it under control.”

  “Maybe,” Lucas drawled. “But I have a duty. So consider yourselves stuck with me for the duration.”

  “You’re worried about duty while my father is lying in a hospital bed, possibly dying?” Miranda asked, shocked at his casual behavior.

  “Seamus Callahan is too mean and tough to die. You and I both know it. The best thing we can do is ensure the smooth running of this business venture,” Lucas replied.

  Miranda jumped up and dragged the two men to the other side of the small waiting room. “How can you both be so insensitive? Do you think this could wait until we know if my father is going to be okay?”

  Cole put his arm around Miranda and awkwardly squeezed. “He’ll be okay. Lucas was right about one thing – Seamus is too tough to let something like indigestion take him down.” He shared a warning glance with Lucas.

  Before anything more could be said, the door to the ICU wing opened and a doctor stepped through. “Mrs. Callahan? Your husband is resting now but he had a very serious episode. We’re going to do an angiogram and determine the extent of the damage. We’re prepping him now.”

  Her mother took a deep shuddering breath. “Can I see him?”

  The doctor was already shaking his head. “Not yet. He needs this procedure as soon as possible. Every minute counts right now. The procedure won’t take long. Then you can see him.”

  Miranda laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder, grateful to see only minimal shaking. “We’ll be here.”

  Lucas leaned against the wall and stared at her, a steady and calming influence in the hurricane of emotions swirling around her. She frowned and straightened up further, willing herself to be strong. They settled into seats for the agonizing wait, wondering how the procedure would go.

  *

  The next couple of hours were the slowest and most excruciating of her life. Someone had tried to decorate the ICU waiting room in warm colors, providing comfortable chairs and a vending machine, along with potted plants, a television, and windows to the outside world. They had to space to themselves and for that Miranda was grateful. She’d hate for anyone to witness their family falling apart or to have anyone try to make small talk. Lucas had remained a silent sentry while Cole left to handle things at the office and keep the media quiet. It should have been her job but she was numb and could barely speak. Miraculously, Gwen had settled quietly into her chair, hands twisting in her lap occasionally, but she had stopped crying and seemed focused inward. Miranda, on the other hand, felt brittle, her skin pulled tight over her bones. One wrong move and she could shatter into a thousand pieces.

  A movement next to her jarred her out of her thoughts. A coffee cup appeared in front of her, steam wafting out of the sipping opening. She shook her head.

  “It’s tea,” he said quietly.

  She stared up at him, comprehension slowly dawning, along with gratitude. “How did you know?”

  “In my office. Your assistant brought you tea, not coffee.”

  She smiled and sipped the hot liquid. Perfect. She wanted to be angry at his presumption but she needed the tea. She glanced at her mom to see her sipping coffee and nibbling on a pastry.

  “She got a pastry and I didn’t?”

  He held up a bag. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted it.”

  She caught a whiff of chocolate. “Are you kidding? If there’s chocolate in there, I want it.”

  He grinned, looking more like the boy she remembered than the distant, controlling consultant. He settled in the chair next to her. She bit into the Boston cream donut and moaned as the flavors hit her mouth. He leaned back and stretched an arm behind her, lightly stroking her back. Her back tingled with the light contact of his hand and she tried to ignore it.

  “How are you doing?”

  She sighed, his warm hand stroking her back distracting her from her present situation. “Hanging in there. My mind is whirling with everything I’ll need to do in my father’s absence.”

  “Maybe he won’t be out too long.”

  She frowned. “He’s had heart issues before. He probably shouldn’t come back to the office for a while.”

  “Good luck keeping him down.” He gestured to her mother. “She seems to be doing okay.”

  “She is. I didn’t expect that, to be honest. She always seemed so dependent on my father, looking to him for direction.” She paused then spoke, the words sticking like peanut butter in her mouth. “I’m sorry I was rude before. Thank you so much for being here for my mom, for me.”

  “I understand. You were under extreme stress. And I shouldn’t have snapped either. My momma taught me better than that.”

  Miranda grinned, a faint ghost of a smile. “How’s your mom doing?”

  He sighed, his face taking on the look of a sad memory. “My mom’s a rock. When my dad got sick, I was away at college and my brother and sister were still in high school. She had to handle everything. She refused to let me come home at all and took care of everything. Honestly, I felt completely useless. She’s in Florida now, with a more active social life than I have.”

  Miranda looked at him, his strength radiating to her. “Sounds like your mom. Say hi next time you talk to her.”

  The doors to the ICU opened and the doctor stepped out. They all stood, Miranda going to her mother and taking her hand. Despite her mother’s show of strength, she gripped Miranda’s hand so tightly Miranda thought her fingers would lose all blood flow. Lucas came and stood next to her, a steadying presence, his hand low on her back, silently offering his strength. A stray thought tickled her mind. She could get used to his strength and she reminded herself why he was really there.r />
  “We finished the procedure and he’s resting now.” The doctor gestured to a few chairs and they all sat back down. “I’m afraid he has significant damage to his heart. We put a stent in and did the angioplasty, but he’s going to need a bypass, at least a triple, but more likely a quadruple.”

  “Why didn’t you do it now?” Miranda asked, trying to focus on the words and not the implications.

  “We need to let his heart recover a bit from this heart attack before we can do it. We’ll keep him in ICU for a few days then do the bypass.”

  “Doesn’t a stent have the same impact as a bypass?” Lucas asked.

  The doctor frowned at him. “There are studies that indicate that, however, with the damage Mr. Callahan has suffered, a stent may not be enough.”

  The doctor stood. “You can visit him now, but only for a short visit. He needs rest and no stress.”

  Lucas’s hand was warm against her lower back, pushing her towards the doors. He leaned in and said, “I’ll wait out here.”

  Miranda ushered her mother after the doctor through the maze in the ICU. The beeping of machines and hushed voices reinforced the almost church-like solemnity to the unit. She wrestled down the fear threatening to choke her, and focused instead on her mother who was leaning heavily on her. The doctor led them into a semi-private room where Seamus lay on the bed, tubes and monitors coming out of everywhere on him, his white face almost the same color as the sheets. As they stepped in, her mother let out a sob. Miranda grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and turned her around, not allowing her to bury her head in Miranda’s chest.

  “You’re not helping the situation. If you can’t control yourself, you won’t be allowed in the room.” She forced herself to speak almost harshly, breaking through the flood of emotions.

  Her mother straightened, wiping her eyes and taking a deep calming breath. “Of course you’re right. I need to be strong for Seamus, like he was for me all those years.”

  She walked to the bed and picked up his hand, cradling it in hers. Lightly stroking it, she whispered his name.

  Seamus opened his eyes and took in the two people by the bed. “Why the sad faces? I’m not dying. Where’s that vulture, Wainright? Thought he would wangle his way in here to see if I was dead or something. It’s his fault I’m in this boat.”