Okay, that sounded sarcastic. Marcia couldn’t help but glance at Brock to see his reaction.
He shrugged and put the truck in gear. “It might be fun having her along. Have you tried teaching her to fish?”
“A four year old? She’s liable to get a hook in her finger.”
“Four’s not too young. She can fish with hot dog slices. Catch a bunch of catfish that way.”
Marcia’s heart fluttered and warmth spread inside of her at the thought of Brock teaching his daughter to fish. Could it be he was thawing to the idea of having children? Or was he trying an angle on her since Jeanine had clued him in? Either way, it was a tempting proposition.
“How about we wake her and ask them to come along? I can drive the minivan,” she half-teased.
“Minivan?” Brock twisted his face and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in one.”
The air deflated from Marcia’s expectations. “Oh, well, it’s kind of necessary when you have a kid along. You know, all the paraphernalia. Stroller, car seat, change of clothes.”
Brock grabbed Marcia’s hand and smiled. “Next time we’ll go in a minivan, but this time, I want you all to myself.”
Leaning over, he kissed her deep and tender, dispelling all doubts and clouds from her mind.
# # #
Brock resisted every urge to swing by his place and take Marcia to his bed. After all, the last time they were there, they’d never gotten a chance to talk. Not that it was easy to talk when all he wanted was to love her and give her the most glorious feelings a man could give a woman. He’d reveled in her every moan, the way her fingers dug into him and her thighs tightened when she was about to climax, as well as her soft purring snores when she slept in his arms, all relaxed and trusting.
He glanced at Marcia who returned him a smile. After the initial shock that she was the one going fishing instead of her father, she’d accepted it and seemed genuinely pleased.
“You’re really something, Brock Carter.” She touched his arm, causing a tingling sensation to jump to his cock. “And here I thought you had a man crush on my father.”
“I want to be friends with your entire family.” He concentrated on keeping his eyes on the road. “Sorry about your mom. Your dad told me how she passed.”
Her grip tightened on his arm. “She left us too early. I miss her every day.”
“I know how you feel.” He blinked at the sudden onslaught of emotion roiling his stomach.
“Sorry about your mom too. I read it in the newspaper and thought about you.” Marcia’s voice choked and she cleared her throat.
“I should have been there for her.” Brock steered the truck onto the interstate. His father had returned a couple years back after he moved to Louisiana with his mother.
“You couldn’t have guarded her twenty-four seven,” Marcia said. “At least your dad’s behind bars.”
“Yeah.” The memory of the satisfying crack of his fist against his dad’s skull tightened his jaw. By the time the police had arrived, his father had too many broken bones to count. Brock had never been charged. His father told the police that burglars beat his wife to death and he’d been injured trying to defend her.
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. You were at a game.”
“I should have hired a guard.”
“Not on a farm team salary.” She quietly pointed out. “You did the best you could, really.”
“If I had made the big leagues five years ago, I could have married you and protected her. Were you disappointed I got sent to the minors?”
She rubbed his arm. “No. I would have gone anywhere to be with you.”
“You would?” That wasn’t how he remembered it, but he’d let her talk, especially since her entire demeanor seemed to be open to him.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“So, where did we go wrong?” He was finding it hard to drive, and yet, the act of driving kept the agony from boiling over. How in the world had they lost five years? “I remember you telling me distinctively to leave. You wanted to stay in Phoenix, and you didn’t want a long distance relationship.”
“That’s true, but when you left so easily, it hurt so bad. Like you didn’t even care to fight for us, to try and change my mind. I couldn’t believe I meant so little to you.”
“You meant the world, Marcia. But I’m not a man who intrudes where I’m not wanted.” His shoulders sagged with the weight of regret. “I’ve seen the way my father treated my mother. No respect. Stalking her and controlling her. Every time she tried to leave, he’d find her. He’d threaten her and charm her ’til her head would spin and she’d take him back.”
“I didn’t want you to stalk me or anything, but I thought for sure you’d try to talk me out of it. Maybe even beg or I don’t know, find out why. That’s not controlling, it’s caring.” Her light blue eyes were big with unshed tears. “You never wanted to know why I broke up with you?”
“I thought I knew.” His mouth was dry and his throat scratched. “You didn’t want to leave your family. Maybe it was because your mother was pregnant and she needed you.”
Marcia pulled away from him and turned her face to the window. The arm she’d been holding onto was suddenly cold, sprouting goose bumps.
He waited for her to speak—to let him know what he’d missed all those years ago. But several miles went by and she sat silently, chewing her lips. When she thought he wasn’t looking, she’d take a quick swipe of her eyes.
He straightened his spine and inhaled deeply. It was pretty obvious once he put his mind to it. She’d wanted children, which wasn’t fair. The entire time they’d dated, she’d agreed with him about not having children. Maybe it had all been a ploy to keep him interested until she’d hooked him. Jeanine had hinted as much, telling him Marcia could have waited until they were married before springing it on him.
He hadn’t been ready five years ago. He’d no money and a minor league job that barely paid enough for expenses down South, much less Phoenix, a more expensive metropolitan area.
He flicked on the radio, tuned it to a country station, and stared at the road. The longer she stayed silent, the more convinced he was that his stance on fatherhood was the crux of the breakup, and that she was still upset over his decision.
That was why she dated Conrad, the wimp with the gelled hair. He was obviously her safety net, a man who could afford to have lots of kids. Someone with business sense and real estate holdings. Someone who could give her a better life and leave her children an inheritance.
Dammit. Fire broiled in his belly as he exited the freeway onto North Bush Highway. If Marcia kept sulking and sniffling, this was going to be one hell of a miserable fishing trip.
Chapter Ten
Marcia trudged beside Brock to the river’s edge. The sun was climbing over the mountain range to the east. Tiny songbirds flitted and chirped among the featherlike leaves of the mesquite tree, while hummingbirds fed off the white puffy blooms of the cottonwood tree.
The morning air was crisp and fresh, and the sky was like a graded wash of watercolor, deeply blue overhead fading to warmth at the horizon etched with pale hills and bluffs.
Marcia didn’t want to fight with Brock—not on such a beautiful morning. Not after he’d taken such pains to spend the day with her. Unlike football or basketball where the games were a week apart, baseball worked its players daily with an occasional doubleheader. Players practically lived at the clubhouse, and so far, Brock had not invited her to his team sanctuary.
She slipped her hand into his while he spoke to the harbormaster at the marina about the boat he’d rented. He gripped her hand warmly, caressing her with his thumb and led her toward the dock.
The breath she didn’t know she was holding expelled from her lungs and she leaned against him, reassured that she hadn’t ruined the day with her tears and silence.
“Like this boat I rented?” Brock held her arm as she stepped onto the platform of what looked like a
half-trailer complete with front porch on a pair of cylindrical tubes.
“What is it?” Marcia’s mouth widened. “Is this a boat?”
“A forty-five foot pontoon houseboat.” Brock kissed her lightly on the lips. “This is going to be our home tonight.”
“Our home, I like that.”
“It wouldn’t be a home without you, sweetie.” He graced her with another kiss. “Come on, let’s take a look around.”
Marcia could melt into puddle at his feet. He was so romantic. Was it any wonder why resisting him was a losing battle?
Brock slid open the door to the cabin. Behind the pilot’s wheel and captain’s chair was a wood-paneled kitchenette, complete with stove, refrigerator, a standing bar, and dinette set.
“Wow, I can’t believe this. It has everything,” Marcia exclaimed.
“Top of the line. Don’t be fooled by the outside.” Brock walked behind her down the short hallway.
A small bathroom was on the left with the bedroom on the right. All the doors were pocket doors and the windows were covered with wooden blinds. Even though the space was tiny, there was a queen-sized bed in the bedroom and a ceiling fan above.
A sliding glass door led to the back of the boat where the engine resided, alongside a generator and propane tanks.
Brock pointed to a metal spiral staircase. “Up there’s the party deck where we can relax after the sun goes down. This boat’s also carrying two water lines. A tank of fresh drinking water for the kitchen and one for lake water for showering.”
“You thought of everything.” Marcia beamed and hugged him again.
“I want this day to be perfect. Just wish I could have had an entire weekend.”
“Me too.” She hooked his head and brought his face to hers for another kiss. “You’re full of surprises, Brock Carter. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
There. She said it. Her heart skittered like a grounder down the foul line.
Brock tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Are you telling me you love me?”
“Uh, sort of.”
“Just sort of?” He spun her around and marched her up the spiral staircase. “In that case, I’m getting the bed, and you’re sleeping up here tonight.”
The sun was already hot on the roof of the houseboat, but the view was fabulous. The lake shimmered cobalt blue, surrounded by dusty shrubs and sentinels of giant saguaros with their arms raised as an offering to the sun.
“No, amend that.” Marcia wrapped her arms around Brock. “I love everything about you, and we’re both sleeping up here tonight.”
# # #
The day was unwinding to be almost perfect. Brock cast his line and checked Marcia’s. They’d been fishing all day and hadn’t caught anything. Perhaps he’d lost his touch or was using the wrong bait.
“I thought you said this lake was full of fish,” Marcia said as she reeled in an empty hook.
“They’re stealing the bait. Or we’re not at the right depth.”
“Maybe it’s too hot.” She shielded her eyes and stared across the water.
“Probably siesta time,” Brock agreed. “Let’s take a rest.”
“But we haven’t caught our dinner.”
“Siesta fiesta.” He tugged her from the rail and licked his lips. “I’m ready for an ice cold beer and air conditioning.”
“This boat has air conditioning?” Marcia wiped the sweat off her nose and headed for the cabin.
Brock slid the door shut and flicked a switch. He grabbed two beers, guided Marcia into the bedroom, and turned on the ceiling fan.
Marcia had changed to shorts and was wearing a white tank top covered by an unbuttoned chambray shirt tied at her waist. She fanned herself and sank onto the bed, which was right where he wanted her.
This morning’s talk about his mother had drained him, and they’d spent most of the fishing time talking about mundane things like bait, hooks, lines, and rods. Brock leaned onto the bed and held his beer up for a toast. “Here’s to more fish this evening.”
“One fish will do.” Marcia clinked the bottle and turned her head up for a swig.
“I promise you at least one.” Brock dipped the bottle to his lips and drank.
Her eyes reminded him of the clear sky, and her face was radiant from the sun reflecting off the water. She was clearly enjoying herself after the awkwardness of the drive up. He’d showed her how to pilot the bulky houseboat and seen her joy at pulling up a clump of weeds, thinking it was a fish.
Everything had gone swimmingly and even though he didn’t want to dampen the mood, he needed to get behind her façade and figure out this thing they had between them.
“About this morning,” Brock said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You had your reasons for staying here. It’s not my business.”
She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Keeping your distance is exactly what bothered me. Of course it was your business. But you didn’t care to find out.”
He took a deep swallow of beer. The cold liquid chilled its way down to his gut. “I didn’t want to intrude on your life. Do you understand?”
Hurt speared through her face, and she stared at the half empty beer bottle. “I think we were raised differently. Remember how my mother was? Always into my business? Always into yours? My dad’s the same way. Haven’t you noticed him butting in all the time?”
“Exactly. That’s why you’re here instead of him.” He reached for her bottle and set both on the nightstand, then swept her into his arms and held her. “I do care about you. I just don’t know the boundary lines.”
She stroked his cheek and studied his face. “There shouldn’t be any. Not if we really love each other.”
“Then talk to me. Tell me what I need to know.”
Her eyes froze on a spot below his chin and she squirmed, clearing her throat. “Even if I tell you, it won’t change things. I’m getting to the age where I’d like to settle down.”
“You mean have kids?”
She bit her lips and nodded, still avoiding his gaze. “But you were so against it. You spat all over it when I hinted about it.”
“It’s true, but I guess you could have convinced me to see it your way. Instead you slammed the door on me.”
“I had no choice.” Marcia’s voice gurgled and her face contorted with pain. “You swore you’d never be a father. What was I supposed to do?”
Brock’s mind reeled and a knife twisted in his gut. She sounded so desperate, as if his decision not to be a father were a life or death situation.
Gripping her tightly, he rubbed her back and shoulders to calm her. “Maybe I wanted you to convince me to have children, to tell me you trusted me, knowing my background, to reassure me that you thought I’d be a good father. Maybe that’s all I needed. Your encouragement.”
“It’s not that simple. Nothing’s that simple.”
“Why? Why can’t you trust me?” Brock’s insides collapsed as if a jackhammer had punctured his stomach. “What have I done?
Panic seized his nerves and he withdrew from her side. Did she know the truth about what he’d done to his father? The retribution he’d extracted? But then, coming home to find his mother dead and his father busily concocting a story, asking him to beat him up to simulate a robber’s attack—that had played right into his hatred and sense of vengeance.
Oh yeah, he’d beaten his dad up all right. But right after that, he’d called the police and when the investigator interviewed him, he’d told the truth. His father did a plea bargain and was sentenced, and Brock was not brought to trial for the beating since the victim had requested it. The press never picked up the details, and his mother’s death had been a footnote in the long, sordid trail of domestic violence deaths.
Like father, like son, his father’s voice taunted him. All these years, Brock had run from his father, knowing he was rotting in jail. Could there be truth to that?
Marcia seemed to
think so.
Chapter Eleven
Marcia cast her line and sighed. The sun was setting and they hadn’t caught any fish. Brock was back to normal, almost, after she’d reassured him she was not afraid of him. He’d freaked out earlier before the siesta, but pulled himself together. They’d talked about their mothers and the things they missed, and the different ways they had been brought up. Eventually, they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms without making love.
“No fish!” She kicked the empty bucket and waved the landing net. “We’re going to starve tonight.”
“Not to worry, my dear.” Brock laughed. “Your father had you pack hotdogs.”
“That’s what we’re having for dinner?” Marcia scrunched her nose.
“No, silly, it’s bait.” He cracked open the cooler and pulled out a pack of wieners. “You can even hook these.”
“So why didn’t we try earlier? I thought you said even four-year-olds can catch fish.”
Brock shrugged and his face split with a crooked grin. “I wanted to save these for Bianca. I thought we’d do it the hard way, then she’d catch more fish than us.”
“Except she’s not here.” Marcia’s heart twinged at how similar Brock’s grin was to Bianca’s naughty smile.
“Your rules. Stay away from your sister. Why?”
Great. Was he going back to difficult questions and heart to heart talks? The Brock she’d known before never wanted to “talk.” He never used to let out his emotions, preferring to hide them behind a strong and silent mask.
This new Brock was so transparent—even sweet. What changed?
Marcia shrugged and grasped for a silly answer. “Maybe I’m jealous of her. She’s much prettier. I figure she’d wrap you around her little finger, and I wouldn’t even get a wink from you.”
“She’s adorable, I must admit.” Brock chuckled while he sliced the hotdogs into tiny disks. “Very determined too, just like you.”
Marcia’s spine bristled and she narrowed her eyes. “How would you know? Has Pappy been letting you hang around with her?”
Playing Without Rules: A Baseball Romance Page 7