Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas

by Janice Thompson

  “I don’t hate you, either.”

  He nuzzled her ear and laughed. “I’m so glad to hear it.”

  From outside the restroom the handle rattled and there was a knock on the door. “Excuse me,” a voice called. “Are you going to be much longer?”

  “I think that’s our cue,” Dan said.

  They exchanged one more quick kiss, then stepped away from each other. Dan picked up both the bags while Joss double-checked herself in the mirror.

  “Ready?” she said with a grin.

  Considering Joss’s spontaneous, fun-loving spirit, Dan knew the only thing he could be sure of when they were together was that very little would go completely as planned. And that was fine by him.

  “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for just about anything.”

  The End

  For more great stories visit www.forgetmenotromances.com

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  About the Author

  Jennifer AlLee was born in Hollywood, California and grew up above a mortuary one block away from the famous intersection of Hollywood & Vine. Now she lives in the grace-filled city of Las Vegas with her British husband, the best cabbie in town. When she’s not busy spinning tales, she enjoys playing tabletop games, attending live theater and movies, and singing at the top of her lungs to whatever happens to be playing on Pandora. Although she’s thrilled to be living out her lifelong dream of being a novelist, she considers raising her son to be her greatest creative accomplishment. You can visit her on Facebook, Pinterest, or her website.

  More by Jennifer AlLee

  NOVELS

  Vinnie’s Diner

  Last Family Standing

  The Mother Road

  The Pastor’s Wife

  A Wild Goose Chase Christmas

  NOVELLAS

  Nutcracker Christmas – Christmas Traditions Collection

  Christmas Fire – Christmas Mail Order Angels Collection

  Mistletoe Memories – 4 novella collection

  Operation Scarlet Carnation – American State Flowers Collection

  Blue Ribbon Brides – 9 novella collection

  NOVELS COWRITTEN WITH LISA KARON RICHARDSON

  Diamond in the Rough – Charm & Deceit series #1

  Vanishing Act – Charm & Deceit series #2

  Curtain Call – Charm & Deceit series #3

  BATTER UP

  A Love’s Sporting Chance novella

  By Birdie L. Etchison

  Copyright 2016 by Birdie Etchison

  Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications.

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Early morning sunshine poured through the window. Rose rolled over and plumped the pillow under her head. She’d just had a terrible dream, the most horrible ever. She’d injured her ankle in two places. “No more catching for you,” the doctor said.

  But I have to play. The Blue Angels are set to win the fast pitch softball championship.” This would be the first time winning in the Multnomah Summer League. Rose threw runners out at all the bases and had a hit each time at bat.

  Rose opened her eyes. And the realization hit. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. Rose would never be a catcher again. Her ankle wouldn’t heal properly She’d never forget hearing the snap, the piercing pain.

  Two weeks before the season started, she practiced three times a week with the pitcher. They’d been playing softball since eighth grade. Yet nothing should be taken for granted. Sometimes you lose and there is a good reason for the loss.

  Rose relived the game as she lay in bed. She fell. The pain shot through her, as she tried to stand. It didn’t work as she crumpled over.

  The coach came. “This isn’t looking good,” he said. He dialed his cell phone and two adults helped Rose hobble off the field with her putting pressure on the good ankle.

  As if that wasn’t enough, the other heartbreak was her mother no longer could come to the games. She was in the hospital in the final stages of cancer.” It’s just a matter of time,” her doctor had said. “I believe in telling the truth so people can have closure. Mend fences, so to speak.”

  “Yes,” her father said in agreement. “Why build false hope? My wife’s been through so many treatments, but it lingers on.”

  Rose thought of the last time she had taken the wheelchair out of the trunk and then helped her mother into it. She’d roll it over the rough terrain to the bleachers. Her mother sat in the wheelchair off to the side where she could watch Rose.

  Sometimes she yelled, but usually not. Her mother was more quiet these days. Now her Aunt Bee – short for Beatrice – was noisy. Loud. She clapped. She yelled. She ran down and hugged Rose between innings. Rose could still hit, but she had to play left field. Not fun

  Chapter Two

  The phone call came mid-morning that Saturday. Rose’s hand was on the doorknob. The Blue Angels softball game started in 30 minutes.

  “Honey, come to the hospital right away.”

  Her father’s voice sounded intense. She knew he was with her mother. He only came home to shower, shave and change clothes. Her mother’s life was hanging on the edge. Rose understood, yet there was the tiny glimmer of hope that she would pull through as she’d done before.

  “God, please don’t take my mom. What will we do without her?”

  Rose took a deep breath and headed to the car – the one her mother used to drive. Rose wouldn’t be missed at the ball game. Not like when she was catcher. They could find a replacement for her position now in left field.

  Rose pulled into the hospital parking lot, saying the prayer she said repeatedly: “Lord help me to smile. Don’t let my mother see the fear…

  Her mother’s eyes were closed and Rose took a deep breath. Usually there would be that half smile, not like the one that used to fill her whole face.

  She leaned over and kissed the pale, sunken cheek. “Mom, I love you.”

  No response. Perhaps her mother hadn’t heard. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s too late, Rose.”

  “No! It can’t be,” but the mother she so dearly loved didn’t move and she knew her mother was gone

  She barely remembered going home, following her father. It was only ten miles, and her mind kept saying, no, no, no.

  Once at home, Rose heard her father calling relatives, friends and Pastor Joe.

  She sat in the living room, her mind still not accepting it. Her fingers touched a lace doily on the end table. Her mother had crocheted it years ago. She’d also made the placemats on the dining room table and the white dotted Swiss curtains at the windows. There were painful reminders everywhere she looked, things she’d never forget.

  ~

  That night after her shower, Rose thought back to when her mother played softball with a team from work. Rose was five and watched and cheered from the stands. When her mother came to bat, Rose yelled, “Mom, get a homerun!”

  It was such fun and Rose knew that she would play softball when she was old enough.

  It happened when she was eight. A teacher put together a team and asked a friend to coach.

  Rose learned how to hold the bat, to wait for the precise moment to swing. She hit the ball into center field and she remembered how her mother talked about the ball being caught more easily from that point. Sometimes she didn’t make it to first base, but more often she did.

  They had a game every Saturday, but practiced th
ree afternoons a week.

  Rose started hitting the ball the first time she swung. From then on she rarely missed and she was first in the lineup.

  “You’re so fast,” her best friend said. “You’re the best player ever.”

  The coach was complimentary, as well. “You have a talent for hitting the ball. Which position would you prefer to play?” he asked.

  “Catcher,” she said promptly.

  She really didn’t know, but it seemed there was more action with the catcher and pitcher. Rose’s mother nodded.

  Rose had the right stance as she crouched down and held the glove up. But the most important thing was that she threw a fast ball to the bases and put out runners as if she’d done this all her life.

  “Yes,” her coach said after the first practice. “You’re a great catcher, Rose.”

  Rose handled the ball right. She decided later that one anticipated what might happen and was ready. She played the rest of grade school, junior high and high school. The accident happened her third year of high school. She fell hard as she ran to second base. She knew she’d be put out so the person running to first would make it. Surely she would be able to play after the injury healed.

  The doctor pointed at the x-ray. “You have two fractures and your ankle will never heal completely.”

  “But it has to heal. It’ll just take time. I still want to be a catcher.”

  “I understand that.” He touched her shoulder. “But these are the facts, Rose.”

  She continued playing. At least she still came to bat and got a hit every time.

  As she thought back to those earlier days, her heart saddened when she remembered how her mother before the cancer, jumped up in the stands, shouting louder than anyone.

  “Let’s go Blue Angels! Time to swing! Hit that ball!”

  When her mother came home from the hospital that first time, she insisted on going to Rose’s games. She could no longer jump up, but her voice carried clear across the field and she clapped harder than ever.

  Now her mother was gone. She couldn’t believe it.

  Over the next few weeks, her father worked longer hours and often on Saturday.

  “There are medical bills to pay,” he explained. “I don’t like leaving you alone, but you have always taken care of yourself. Rosie, I’m so proud of you.”

  Rose hugged him. “I understand, Daddy. We don’t have Mom, but we have each other.”

  She knew how her father felt, so was surprised when he upped and married Dorothy, an old friend who was widowed.

  “But, Dad, how can you forget Mom like that?”

  “Seems like a good match,” her father explained. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll never forget your mother, but I’ve been lonely. Maybe you’ll understand one day Scooter.”

  Rose smiled. He hadn’t called her Scooter for years.

  Rules were enforced and Rose’s father went along with everything. .

  He stopped coming to her games, and she knew it was because of Dorothy. She wanted all his attention. Having him gone to work five days a week was enough time to be away.

  Chapter Three

  After her injuries, Rose came to all the games. She sat along the side of the bleachers where the view was good. She wanted to watch the catcher and also comment to the batters. She could keep the chatter going through the whole game.

  “Thank you, Rose,” Coach Andrews said. “You are a boost to the team’s morale.”

  Rose smiled. “I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

  He laughed and went back to his usual standing place while the first batter came up.

  “C’mon, Babe, you got it!”

  It was a strike. The batter shrugged.

  “Babe, you gotta be ready!”

  The girl turned slightly. “I closed my eyes.”

  “Don’t ever do that,” Coach said from the sidelines. “Keep your eye on the ball. Always.”

  The Blue Angels lost with a score of 10-6.

  “No sweat,” Coach said. “The season is early. You’ll all improve with daily

  practices.”

  The reporter from the local weekly paper, stepped up. “I think you are a great team and I took some good photos.”

  After they went down the line and shook hands, the Tacoma team piled into their bus to go home.

  “Next year we’ll beat them,” Coach said. “They were a bit too glib about winning.”

  Rose stayed and watched while everyone got their gear and ran toward a parent waiting in a car, or some just walked. Those were the days, Rose thought. They went by too quickly.

  Rose didn’t know what she would have done without softball. It gave her something to look forward to. Meeting old friends with the same interest. Nothing was the same at home and never would be She started playing left field, again. The ball never got past her and she put lots of runners out.

  Home now had new rules.

  Rose washed her uniforms. She never used to wash her clothes, but Dorothy said, “It’s high time you do.”

  Rose also cleaned the kitchen five days a week. Not just dishes, but sweeping the floor was part of the job. Mopping was done on Fridays. And Fridays there was always a softball game.

  It didn’t do any good to complain. Her father just shrugged.

  “Guess you should have been doing these chores earlier.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Rose grabbed him and hugged him hard. She so missed the closeness they once had.

  The Blue Angels won the softball game by ten points that day. Rose hit two homeruns - one in the first inning and the second in the third. It was a first.

  “Yeah, Rosie!” her teammates shouted. “Way to go.”

  Rose was breathless with excitement. It didn’t get any better than this. Of course she might not even hit the ball at the next game. So unpredictable. She remembered Coach Andrews’ comments.

  “Concentrate on hitting the ball, catching the ball, throwing it, or running. Don’t think about your date on Saturday night.” He shook his head. “You are a team. Your team is counting on you. Never forget that.”

  Concentration Rose wrote on the top line of her journal entry. This rule applied to everything in life. If she was baking cookies, she might put a sheet full into the oven and then get busy doing something else. She remembered the kitchen filled with smoke once when she left them in for 30 minutes. Her mother - real mother - had not been pleased.

  She wondered what Dorothy would have done.

  Rose wrote another word in the journal:

  Caring. One should show that they care.

  Concern. How could you not be concerned about your softball team?

  Consoling. That was important when a person almost made it to first base.

  Chatter. How could she forget that one? Chatter kept the team going.

  ~

  Rose remembered the first day she saw Baxter. He looked from one end of the bleachers to the other, and then came to sit beside her.

  “I’ve never watched a softball game,” he said, his dark eyes almost laughing. “Seems like it would be fun.”

  “Oh, and it is.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rose. I used to be the catcher on this team and then I broke my ankle and it didn’t heal right.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, well, these things happen in sports. One takes a chance I guess.”

  “So now you just watch it and cheer the team on.”

  As if in answer, Rose put her hands around her mouth and let out with a loud cheer. “You can do it. You know you can! Let’s get a homerun.”

  “Wow! You do get into it.”

  Baxter came back the next day and the next.

  “I just live across the way, so I can see when they’re setting up.”

  “I wish I lived that close. I’d be here more than at home.”

  Rose couldn’t explain it, but she found herself looking forward to Baxter being there. They chatted and sometimes he had a treat. After that first time, she took a few cooki
es she’d baked the night before.

  “Chocolate chip. My favorite!” Baxter exclaimed. “You can bring these anytime.”

  “Duly noted,” Rose said with a nod.

  Then one night Baxter didn’t come, but he was there the following night.

  “I missed you yesterday.” After Rose said it, she wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Missed you, too.” He grinned as their eyes met. “I had to go out of town for the day; got back around nine.”

  “Thought that was what happened.”

  It was a Saturday when they sat on the bleachers and watched The Black Cats run onto the field. It was Rose’s second favorite team.

  They were munching on popcorn when a foul ball was hit high and made a weird turn into the stands. The ball slammed into Rose’s head so hard she counted dragonflies floating over her. Then strong arms went around her and voices shouted in the background Coach Andrews was there.

  “Hey, are you ok? One of your eyes is spinning. Can’t believe it. How could this happen? Softballs never go into the stands. Never,”

  But this one had and Rose passed out momentarily.

  Baxter patted her shoulder. “Rose, look up. Do you see two of me? Any dizzy or stabbing pain?” Baxter’s voice faded in and out. “Can you say your name?”

  She strained to focus on the dark eyes.

  “Are you a doctor?” Rose croaked. Finally her eyes tracked together. Baxter sure didn’t look doctorish. Yet it sure was great to see his concern.

  Piercing eyes searched Rose’s face. Large hands probed her neck. She could see him better now. His wide grin lit his whole face.

  “I’m Rose,” she squeaked. “I’m supposed to be down there playing.” She still couldn’t

  think straight. “I could sit in my car for a bit.”

  It was a mild concussion. The doctor at the hospital sat back and looked at Rose. “I don’t like to be the one to tell you this, but maybe you shouldn’t try to play softball again. Maybe stay out of the bleachers.”

  “I can’t do that,” Rose said in protest.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, but you seem to be accident prone. Rose was taken to the car in a wheelchair. Baxter was there since her father was at work and her stepmother - that was another story.