by Tracy March
Liza trembled a little, anxious and excited and amazed that she was in this moment with Cole. She imagined what he would look like, too, with his sculpted All-Star body bathed in moonlight.
He cupped her face in his hands, and sensuously smoothed them down to the vee of her blouse. With skilled fingers, he opened the first button, then the second, following with a trail of kisses as he went. The heat of pent-up desire swirled through Liza. She arched herself against him, his name escaping her lips on a sigh.
He peeled her blouse away and held her at arm’s length, drinking in the sight of her in her lacy lavender bra. The passion in his eyes melted away her self-consciousness. She tugged on the hem of his shirt. “Take this off for me.”
He obliged, enticingly revealing each ripped ab and well-developed pec as he pulled his shirt over his head. His tousled hair gleamed in the candlelight.
Sweet Lord…
Cole glanced at the bed behind her, flexing as he tossed his shirt aside. He raised one eyebrow. “A king-size bed?”
Liza remembered all the nights it had felt so empty. She looked at him demurely. “I know, right? It’s way too big for one person.”
“But it looks just right for two.” Cole swept her off of her feet, as if she were featherlight. He cradled her against his chest and walked over to the bed, kissing her with abandon. Liza quivered, responding to his intensity—the hardness of his body, the tenderness of his touch. She hadn’t known how much she missed this, or how desperately she wanted Cole.
“Mmm,” she murmured as he lowered her onto the bed. “I forgot how good this feels.”
Cole sensuously smoothed his thumb across her bottom lip. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than help you remember.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cole had figured he would always be single, because he never dreamed he would find a girl like Liza. She was settled, but sassy and sexy and sometimes complicated. And she came with parents like John and Sylvia, who’d accepted him again as if nothing had ever come between them.
He’d seen them several times since the night Frank had revealed he was Cole’s father, and they’d even made it to one of his league championship games. They’d picked up right where they’d left off years ago, making Cole feel like one of their own. Only now things were even better, with Liza at the center of it all. Poor Wes had really missed out, and given Cole the gift of a lifetime.
One Sunday, when they were all in town, Liza took him to the Sutherland family breakfast. Sylvia whipped up some mean French toast with crispy bacon. Cole gobbled it down, thinking how different things were since he’d ordered that Walk of Shame burrito at breakfast with Frank at Ted’s Bulletin.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked breakfast.” Cole rubbed his stomach. “Much less one so delicious.” He smiled at Sylvia. “I forgot what a good cook you are.” He grinned at Liza. “It’s a shame that Liza can barely boil water.”
She rolled her eyes, still managing to look beautiful. “I have other skills.”
Yes, you do.
After breakfast, he and John went out on the back porch and kicked back in a couple of rocking chairs with their coffee. The trees in the wooded, rolling hills of their property were tinged with orange, yellow, and red, and the sky was electric blue.
It said a lot for his and John’s healing relationship that they could sit without talking and be comfortable. Cole was thankful for that. Maybe one day he’d get there with Frank, too.
“I want you to know,” John said after a while, “that none of what happened is on your shoulders. Sylvia and I should’ve done things differently, but it’s easy to say that in hindsight.”
Cole nodded. “I’m starting to understand.” And he was, at least enough to say it truthfully. “All these years, I was angry because I figured you changed your mind and didn’t want me to play for the Orioles.”
John reached over, clutched his forearm, and looked at him ruefully. “I wanted you to play for me then, and I’ve wanted you every day since.”
Pressure built in Cole’s throat. He never thought he’d hear those words from John. “I appreciate that.”
“Sylvia and I are proud of what you’ve accomplished, even though we’ve missed so much.”
Liza had helped him see how John and Sylvia had suffered, too. They’d wanted Cole in their lives, but they’d also wanted him to finally have a father. Frank had made it clear that he didn’t want them around, and the last thing they could bring themselves to do was come between him and his father. They’d been hurt, too. “I admit that I didn’t understand…before,” Cole said. Over the years, he’d imagined saying lots of things to John, but none of them had been very sportsmanlike. The truth had taken the edge off his temper, and Liza had softened it even more.
“We didn’t either, son.”
And there it was again. Son. After an entire life without a father, Cole had two men who called him that now, even if it was a figure of speech. He liked to think there was more to it than that.
“Liza seems happy,” John said. “We’ve been so worried about her since Wes died.” He furrowed his brow. “What a shock that was, to lose him…and her too, really, for a time. It’s nice to see that sparkle back in her eyes.”
Cole wondered if John saw the same sparkle in his, but it sounded too girlie to ask.
A flock of birds came into view, flying south. Cole was fascinated by their formation—how they kept adjusting into an almost-perfect vee.
Maybe his life was starting to line up like that, too.
“To the National League Champion Nationals.” Liza toasted Cole with her longneck beer, amazed at how much she’d changed since their stilted first toast on their auction date.
“And to the American League Champion Orioles.”
They’d had an easy time giving each other props at this stage, but it would get a lot harder when their teams faced each other in the World Series. There had been plenty of celebrations, but this one was just for the two of them. It had been days since they’d been able to steal some time together, much less nighttime. Cole had made the arrangements and texted her earlier today.
Let’s go back to the storybook farm…
How could three little dots be so exciting? She couldn’t wait to get back to the farm, and this time they’d be all alone.
She and Cole had headed straight to the pond, where the logs and kindling had already been laid for a fire.
“Some pretty decent friends Mack’s got,” Liza said as they spread out their blankets on the ground. The Adirondack chairs were still there—with their curly-W cushions—but she and Cole could get a lot closer on the blankets, sitting with their backs propped against a couple hay bales.
The end-of-October nights were chilly and crisp, and this one was especially starry.
“You nervous?” Liza asked, snuggling close to him.
“About the Series?”
“Unless there’s something else to be nervous about,” she teased.
“Are you?”
“Sure. My loyalties are split. I want it for you because you and the guys have worked so hard.” She kissed him lightly and was tempted to linger, but she’d never finish what she wanted to say if she did. “And I want it for the Os, and for me and my parents. They’ve got so much of themselves invested in the team.”
He frowned like a little kid, and she imagined him as a four-year-old, begging to stay up past his bedtime. “But the Nats have never won one.”
She scrubbed her hand through his hair. “Now who’s looking for the sympathy vote?”
The fire sizzled and popped, the flames dancing as if Jason Aldean were singing in the embers.
“You must be nervous, too,” she said.
“Without a doubt.” He shook his head. “Man, there were times I wondered if I’d ever
get out of the minors.” He sipped his beer, seeming amazed at how far he’d come. “Then, when I was finally called up and stayed, I wondered if the Nats would ever be a winning team. But somehow we got it together—like voodoo baseball magic or something—and here we are…headed for the World Series. Now that I have you, and things are squared away with your folks and Frank, my confidence is at a whole new level.”
She smirked, trying not to laugh.
“What?”
“Did you just say voodoo baseball magic?”
His eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Yep.”
She traced her finger from his earlobe, across his stubbly jawline and under his chin. “You believe in that?”
“Sure. There’s always that elusive something that makes things click like they never have before. Maybe for you, it’s fairy dust.” He winked.
Liza rolled her eyes. “I wish I’d had buckets of fairy dust to sprinkle around over the years. Don’t you?”
“I’d have probably used it to make a few changes. But looking back, I can see how most things happened for a reason, and I wouldn’t have learned much by making it easier on myself. It sure sucked at the time, but I needed to play in the minor league—to get better…” He gave her an I’m-embarrassed-to-admit-this grin. “And to get my ego under control.”
She gasped playfully. “You had an ego problem?”
He lowered his eyebrows. “Come on, it’s been downsized.” And there was that stomach-flipping grin again. “A little.”
Liza kissed him, his sandpapery stubble tickling her lips. “I think you’ve managed to get it just right.”
Just right. The words resonated in Liza’s mind, but they were no longer attached to Wes alone. Things were definitely feeling just right with Cole now.
He tugged her into his lap, wrapped the blanket around them, and held her close. There was no place she would rather be right now, and no one else she would rather be with. Liza no longer cared about Frank’s donation—she’d find other donors the honest way. The only thing that mattered was being with Cole.
“Good or bad, everything that’s happened has gotten me to where I am right now.” His voice was deep and husky. “Here with the woman I love.”
Her heart skipped a beat, then took off racing. Cole loved her? He’d sounded confident and sure of it, giving her the certainty she needed. She wanted to tell him, too—right now—but he leaned in and gently kissed her. “So given the chance…” He rested his forehead against hers. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Liza swallowed against a rush of emotion. She had never expected to find love again, especially not with Cole. But here she was—finally all in—and eager to prove it to him. Her insides swirled with the heat and energy of the fire. She shifted herself off his lap and lay down, urging him to join her.
He tucked an extra blanket beneath her head and stretched out next to her, propped up on his elbow. She combed her fingers through his hair and kissed him once quickly. “I,” she whispered and gave him a longer kiss. “Love,” she said breathlessly. Passion built in their kiss, and she could barely get out the last words. “You, too.”
Under a blanket of fleece and a sky full of stars, she showed him how much.
Chapter Nineteen
Cole thought he’d experienced every kind of baseball stress—with injuries and trade worries and performance anxiety. But none of those compared to the pressure he and the Nats had put on themselves going into the World Series.
Fortunately, the National League had won this year’s All-Star game, giving the Nationals home-field advantage in the first game. The Nats had taken that one, then dropped the second to the Orioles. This Series was a big-time version of the long-standing “Battle of the Beltway” rivalry between the two teams, so the Nats had headed up I-95 to Baltimore for games three, four and five. Cole had hoped the Nats wouldn’t need that many games to take the Series, but the Os weren’t going down easy, and they’d led the Series three-two. He had to give John’s team a lot of credit, but the Nats’ sole focus right now was to crush them.
Back home at Nationals Park, the Nats had tied things up with an unexpected shutout, so tonight’s game was it. Expectations were high, and so was tension. Cole had never been so excited and nervous at the same time. His heart was locked in overdrive, all his systems running full out.
Two of the biggest moments in his life could happen tonight.
He’d had little time to spend with Liza, and he’d longed to have her with him. She was a little stressed too, with her loyalties divided between teams. He understood, and hated that he was helpless to fix it. But tonight, one team would win and the other would lose. They would deal with that and move forward together, just as they’d dealt with everything else.
Both teams came out swinging, but the pitchers were on fire and the game went scoreless through five innings. In the bottom of the sixth, the Nats’ leadoff man hit a single. Batting next, Cole took the lefty pitcher deep into the count, and managed to tattoo a triple into the right-field corner. The crowd went crazy and the leadoff runner scored. Cole took third standing, his heart beating faster than the heater he’d just hit. The Nats had a heck of a record of winning when they scored first, and that RBI had just put them on the board in the final game of the World Series. But one run was no insurance against any team, much less the Orioles. The Nats needed to score a few more, lots if they could.
The following two batters struck out—one looking, one swinging. With two outs, Cole’s scoring opportunities looked a little bleaker, but he always had hope when it came to the Nats. The next batter reached first by chopping one to the shortstop and beating the throw, but the play stranded Cole at third. He’d never been so amped, knowing what was at stake, and knowing that the seventh-inning stretch was staring him in the face after this inning. He couldn’t undo what he had planned—and he didn’t want to—but he couldn’t recall ever experiencing such a sustained adrenaline rush.
His right-handed buddy came up to bat, and Cole watched carefully as he took a ball and a strike from the slow-windup pitcher. Before the next toss, Cole got a decent lead. Distracted by the runner at first, the pitcher made his move to pick him off. Before the ball left his hand, Cole put his head down and tore toward home. He knew there’d be a play at the plate, and he knew it would be close.
As if in slow motion, Cole hit the ground, sliding headfirst at the bag as the ball streaked toward the catcher. The throw curved offline and the catcher shifted away from the plate to make the grab.
“Safe!” the umpire yelled, dramatically crossing and uncrossing his hands.
The crowd went ballistic, and shouts of “Crush, Crush, Crush” echoed through the stadium.
Cole jumped to his feet. He kissed his index finger, raised it high in a number-one sign and pointed straight to Liza.
He’d stolen home for her.
She cheered, even though Cole’s run had just put the Nats up 2-0. The guys in the dugout were on their feet, too, and they met him with back-slaps, low-fives, and fist bumps for making the hardest play in baseball in the final game of the World Series.
A fly ball to center field ended the sixth, and they were into the seventh-inning stretch. But this seventh-inning stretch was different from any of his career. Cole dashed to his locker in the clubhouse, opened the safe, and took out the box of Cracker Jack he’d put there before the game. He headed up through the tunnel and out toward home plate, amid questioning glances from his teammates gathered in the dugout.
The seventh-inning stretch at Nats Park always started with the crowd singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” But tonight’s version was going to be a little different.
Cole stood at the plate that he’d slid into just minutes ago, hoping to make an even bigger play.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed. “Please direct your att
ention to home plate and the scoreboard screen for Nationals All-Star first baseman Cole Collins.”
The crowd cheered and booed, depending on which team they were rooting for, but that was just background noise to Cole. All he could hear was his pulse pounding in his ears. A sound guy scrambled around behind him. He took a deep breath as the announcer continued.
“Joining Cole is Miss Liza Sutherland.”
John escorted Liza to the plate. She looked blindsided but beautiful, with the night breeze catching her hair and color rising in her face.
The crowd clapped and whistled, then became surprisingly quiet.
John nodded at Cole, smiling, and stepped away. Cole took Liza’s hand and gripped tightly to keep his own from shaking.
“Tonight’s lyrics for ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game’ have been revised for this special occasion and can be found up on the scoreboard,” the announcer said. “Ladies and gentlemen, please sing along.”
The organist played a few chords, and the crowd broke into song along with Cole, who was thankful everyone else drowned him out. What a time to debut his lack of singing talent to Liza.
Here we are at the big game,
Right in front of the crowd.
I bought you a ring and some Cracker Jack,
We’ve come so far we can never look back.
So I’ve got a question to ask you,
If you say no it’s a shame.
Liza, will you…marry…me…please!
We’ll play life’s…ball…game.
The crowd roared as Cole got down on one knee, then became mostly quiet with a random whistle here and there.
“Liza,” he said. Her name reverberated through the stadium, and he wondered how the hell he was going to get through this. It seemed like a good idea before his voice was amplified for over forty thousand people to hear, and all eyes were on him for a reason other than baseball. Shouldn’t he have done this at the farm? He’d thought of that but decided against it. He wanted Liza to know that this was forty-thousand-witnesses serious to him.