by Caryl McAdoo
Gij waited until she disappeared inside her apartment then made himself get in his truck. He’d acquired what, at one time, was his biggest dream ever, pitching for his beloved Texas Rangers, the team he lived and died with for all those years. From his earliest memory, he and Pappaw watched, played, and lived baseball.
And now, he pitched for the Rangers.
But now, he wanted something ever so much more. More than anything, and she’d just slipped out of sight into that apartment. But he was forbidden to have her, not yet, and not until.
Oh Lord, make a way.
He forced himself to leave, demanded that his hands steer his truck west. Once inside the locker room, he noticed it immediately: the shift in attitude. He’d seen it before. Right after he sniffed out an all-in bluff from one of the best Hold ’Em players ever and won his first tournament.
Not one rookie comment stung his ears.
And not a one of them tried to get his goat either. His one-hit shutout closed a lot of big mouths. Baseball players sure were a superstitious lot. Don’t jinx it.
Yeah, right. Didn’t they know all good things come from the Lord?
He dressed and made his way to the bullpen, did a little long toss, then got in his running. It all seemed so right, as though he hadn’t wasted ten years of his life sitting at a poker table, hadn’t blown out his arm at fourteen and moved to third where throwing sidearm was natural.
If only he could get back his stroke, that sweet sing he had in college. How could he have been so stupid to have given it all up? Especially for the adrenaline rush of high stakes poker.
Well, he did have a pile of cash. If only Pappaw could have lived to see it, enjoy it with him. But then, if the old man never got sick and took to his deathbed, Gij would still be in Vegas chasing the pasteboards. Why couldn’t he have had both? He looked skyward.
Does he know, Lord? Is he in that great cloud of witnesses?
“Hey, Johnson, Banister wants you.”
Through his opened blinds, the manager glanced up and waved. Gij still knuckle knocked once, then eased the door open. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, come on in G.H. Take a seat. How you feeling? How’s that arm?”
“Good, all good.”
“Be sure to take BP, work on your bunting. Scouts tell me you can’t hit your weight.”
“Yes, sir. Once upon a time, back with the Longhorns, I had a decent stroke. Can’t seem to find it.”
The older man smiled. “Keep throwing BBs, won’t matter.”
“Yes, sir, still bothers me though.”
The man nodded like he understood. “I don’t care or want to know why you insisted on that weather girl, but we’ll respect it. Anything else bothering you? Fears, phobias, superstitions?”
Gij laughed. “No, sir. Well, it isn’t a superstition or anything, but I do better on three days’ rest instead of four.”
“That’s good to know, anything else?”
“No, sir.”
Sammi Dan tapped up Gij’s number. “We’re here. Can you open the gate for us, please? And what about the garage door? Can you open that, too?”
He could and did, all from his iPhone. April went on and on, said she couldn’t believe it. The shabby, overgrown entrance and front gravel drive turning into such a beautiful, manicured lawn. Then she went ape over the house. Her producer took the grand tour, except for Gij’s room which was locked.
That disappointed Sammi Dan, but she did love secrets, and his inner sanctum would be opened to her one day. For some odd reason, that was for sure.
April pushed on the double bed in Sammi Dan’s new room. “Why are you bunking in here, and why is his door locked?”
“He wants to wait, get to know me better.”
“What? That’s kind of sweet and scary at the same time. Is he some kind of freak or something?”
“No, but I think I’ve got it figured out. It’d make sense if he’s a Mormon, and that could be why they called him The Deacon in Vegas.”
“Wait a minute, aren’t those the guys who have like six wives?”
“No, well, yes. Some of them do, but most don’t from what I heard. Anyway, if I’ve got it right, they don’t drink, neither does Johnson.” Sammi Dan mentally patted herself on the back for remembering not to call him Gij. “He doesn’t smoke, and he asked me to pray for him before yesterday’s game.”
“So you figure he’s a religious nut then? That could explain a lot.”
“No, he’s not any kind of nut. He’s about the sweetest man I’ve ever been around, barring my dad.”
“Well, I overheard Joe this morning. He thinks George, I mean Johnson, must be on something. Said it isn’t natural to throw as hard as he does any time, much less in the late innings. He did strikeout the last six batters last night.”
“Well, there’s no possibility of drugs. Is Joe crazy? The Rangers surely tested him for PEDs. Wouldn’t they automatically do that? Of course, they would. I’m sure. We’ll ask someone today to be certain. Besides, I know for a fact that...um…well, it doesn’t make sense.” Sammi Dan shut her mouth.
A promise was a promise, and she’d given him her word not to repeat what he said in private. But even with his reputation being questioned?
“What do you know for a fact? You were about to say.”
Sammi Dan pressed her lips together and turned an imagined key. “Call me Barney Fife. Tick a lock. Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”
“Come on. You’re scaring me, Sam. Moving in here when you barely know him, and he’s swearing you to secrets. Best watch it. Don’t forget Waco and that crazy Branch Davidian guy.”
“No, Johnson is nothing like that pedophile psycho. Shame on you for even thinking such, much less saying it aloud.”
“Okay, but if you come up missing, I’m bringing the cops here first thing.”
“Oh, puh-lease, don’t be silly.” Sammi Dan waved off her new best girlfriend. “Come on, I’m getting hungry, and we’ve got a meeting with Johnson at four to talk about interviewing him here. We best get going.”
Her producer turned and led the way, but Sammi grabbed her arm. “And April, please don’t go around blabbing about this. There’s already a lot of heat over him naming me in his contract. And he really is a private kind of guy.”
“Well, hey. He named me, too.”
“No one knows that though, or cares. Everyone’s got to be thinking stuff. Just please don’t say anything about me moving in. Besides, it’s only for a few days, until we go to California.”
“Yeah, right.” She headed for the door again. “All I’ve got to say is wow on your new digs, Sam. I won’t mention it to a soul. It’s nobody’s business anyway.”
The meeting went about like Sammi Dan figured, no shots or mention of his gate or gravel drive or any hint of the location. It surprised her that he had his lawyer present with an agreement he wanted signed by Joe and Mr. Yancy, as though her and April’s word wasn’t good enough. Then again, maybe that was a smart move.
But whatever, she got the go on her interview, and that’s what mattered from the powwow. Tomorrow or the next day, once all the paperwork got signed, sealed, and delivered, April would come over and shoot it.
Once all the other meeting attendees vacated, April too, she smiled. “My car’s in the last spot. My toothbrush is in my new bathroom, and well, I was wondering…did you send Pujols any hate mail for costing you the no-no?”
He shook his head. “Never. You don’t know me at all.”
“There’s one thing you’re right about.” She laughed, and he joined in. Exactly as she figured, he remained kind and good-hearted even if it did cost him a cool million. “Well, the win is money in the bank.”
He leaned in. “Maybe, but the Rangers put in a clause of their own.”
Cool, another secret coming on. “So my ears only?”
He nodded. “The win money is to be paid at the end of the season, minus any losses.”
&
nbsp; “No! That’s not fair.”
He shrugged.
Her heart throbbed in her ears. She stared at him, but he didn’t elaborate on why he agreed to that particular clause. Then it hit her like a tailing slider to her gut. “Is that what you gave up for them to agree to me?”
He shrugged again. “What’s the difference? I don’t plan on losing.”
“April’s got us a couple of pre-game interviews, so I should git.” She stood. “See you later.” She took a couple of steps backwards and looked around. With no one in the close vicinity, she threw him a kiss.
Gij caught it, but it wasn’t enough, not near enough. Was he being a fool? And how much and how soon should he tell her? First thing he probably needed to do was some research on exactly what Catholics believed. He’d heard some things, but never really discussed anything in depth with one.
Oh, Lord, make a way.
He loved watching the game from the dugout, except he hung on the rail the majority of it. Irked him a bit that his teammates plated eight runs, but he kept his poker face on and high-fived with all the others each time someone scored. He tried to keep Samantha Danielle out of his thoughts, but wormed way too deep into his subconscious; she refused to be ignored completely.
Before, she’d been unattainable. One of those words you hear and hope maybe, but now, since the day she’d shown up in Mexico City—that still blew him away—it all seemed to be coming true. He could hardly believe all God’s blessings. His arm had not only healed, but day after day proved better and stronger than ever.
And the Lord sent her to him. Now if only the Rangers…he couldn’t let himself think that far ahead. He had the Dodgers to face next, not October and what came after that.
CHAPTER
sEVEN
Sammi Dan was disappointed that Joe didn’t use any of her footage, but it still might show up at six, or even on the five o’clock tomorrow. Surely sports sometimes needed filler. Weather certainly did. A girl can say hot and dry just so many ways. She hated having to interview some poor farmer with his burned up crop and cracks in his fields big enough to lose a calf in as the backdrop.
She scooted out on the couch and faced Gij. “Your lawn sure is lush. Isn’t there a watering ban?”
“I’ve got several wells feeding an underground drip-irrigation system, and we are in the river bottoms. I get a lot of run-off.”
Of course he had wells. He had to do something with all that money he’d won playing poker. “You’ve really fixed the place up so beautiful. I just love it.”
“Thanks, so do I. Hate it that my Pappaw couldn’t have enjoyed it longer, but no one’s guaranteed their next breath.”
“Are you a Mormon?” Where had that come from? She didn’t mean to just blurt it like that, but okay. Now it was out there, and she definitely needed to know. She didn’t ever want to have sister-wives.
“No. Are you Catholic?”
She moved backwards and puckered her face. “No. Well, once, but then my two-timing, no good mother ran off with Fred. For a while, Aunt Rachel would make Daddy take me to Mass at least once a month, but that didn’t last too long. We moved to Dimple, and Auntie still lives in Garland.”
“Where’s Dimple?”
“Far Northeast Texas, ten miles or so from the Red River, just north of Clarksville. Out in the country for sure. So if you’re not a Mormon, what are you?”
“Christian.”
“Okay, so Protestant, right? But what kind? There’s like a zillion churches. Which denomination do you go to?”
Gij grabbed the remote and clicked off the wide screen. It disappeared back into its hidey-hole, and he faced her. “I was sixteen, and a friend took me to an old-fashioned tent meeting in south Grand Prairie. The next day, I talked my Pappaw into going. We both got saved that night.”
Interesting, but exactly what did he mean by getting saved? “You weren’t baptized as a baby?”
“No, ma’am, but getting sprinkled as an infant doesn’t get you saved.”
“Hmm. Okay, if you say so. So which church had the meeting?”
“Oh, that was only a traveling evangelist. We tried several churches. Pappaw had been raised Baptist, but they’re not full gospel, and the Pentecostals are… well…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t identify with any denomination. There’s a home group in Vegas I attended regular, and…” He shook his head. “I’ve visited a few churches here and several in Mexico, but so far…well, just haven’t found one that fit.”
He wasn’t helping. Not that she’d paid much attention to religious stuff. When a kid, going to mass seemed okay, but mostly she came to see it as a waste of time. “Have you ever been to a Catholic Mass?”
“Couple of times in Mexico with some of the guys.”
“So, you’re a Christian. Are you a real deacon?”
“Yes, I’m a believer in Jesus Christ, and no, I’m not ordained.”
She hated it that she didn’t understand the churchy lingo. So her sprinkling didn’t save her. Exactly what did it mean? To get saved? Sounded like something everyone should do. Really, who wouldn’t want to get saved? And what were the differences between Baptist and Pentecostals? She needed to do some research.
Maybe April knew about that stuff, but she didn’t seem too religious either.
Reaching across him, she grabbed the remote. At least he wasn’t a Mormon. She definitely would never go for sharing him with even one other female, much less a half a dozen. She clicked on the TV and checked the favorites list. A hundred and fifty channels, but nothing to watch.
She handed him the remote then stood. “Want anything from the kitchen?”
Gij nodded. “Sure, I’ll take some grapes and a plum.”
She returned with a plate full of grapes, plums, little cheddar cheese chunks and some Ritz crackers. “I haven’t eaten this healthy in—never.” She eased down next to him then bumped her shoulder into his. “You’re good for me, Gij. Got me eating right and praying. I want you to know I said four Our Fathers and three Hail Marys for you, so some of last night’s win belongs to me.”
Gij slapped on his poker face. He for sure didn’t want to laugh at her or get into a debate about the Catholics’ reverence of Mary. Yes, the mother of Jesus, blessed among women, but… He wanted to get Samantha Danielle saved, not score theological points. There would be plenty of time to discuss details.
“Okay, I’ll tell Jeff to give you ten percent of that win, but I get all of the money.”
She bumped him again. He loved her touching him. But man, sure did make him want to wrap her up and smother her with kisses. Resistance got harder and harder.
“You’re no fun.”
As much as he wanted to be, he didn’t take the bait. “So, is everything set for tomorrow morning?”
“Yep, April’ll be here at ten. She’s bringing a sound man and a lighting guy.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, she promised to blindfold ’em at the city limits.”
“Good.”
Again he ignored her attempt at getting him to come out and play. She found a chick flick, and he watched with her until the fruit and cheese were gone, then extracted his arm and pushed himself up. “It’s getting late, and this movie is…well…” He shrugged. He hated Hollywood’s portrayal of romantic love. “You won’t hold it against me if I turn in.”
“As in these droids are not the ones you’re looking for.” She paused Meg Ryan on a silly face. “No, of course not. Go to bed.”
“Will you need a wake up call?”
She set the plate aside then jumped to her feet. “I packed a flannel gown. You know, the kind my granny used to wear.”
“Want me to turn the AC up?”
“Naw. What I want is to keep on snuggling with you. I mean, what’s the difference between the couch and your bed?”
Made sense in a weird sort of way, but no. That was not going to happen. Not now. “Interesting argument, but I’m thinking I need to make another rule. We’ll discuss it when we ge
t back from California.”
Sammi Dan wanted to tackle him and tickle him until he said yes. She could sleep in his bed and cuddle without anything else happening. “Okay fine, go on then, leave me out here all alone. I’ll be alright. I’ll be in a strange house in a strange bed, but that’s fine. Go on, go to your big ol’ king size bed. I can find my way to my room.”
Backing away a step, he blew her a kiss then ran upstairs like she’d transformed into the devil incarnate and carried a hot pitch fork after him. She loved the effect she had on him, but his goody-two-shoes attitude…it got old, real old. She wandered into the kitchen.
She’d forgone her nightly glass or three of wine on purpose just to show him she could, but since he’d called it a night, no reason not to have a nightcap. Half a bottle later—he’d know in the morning now—she resisted starting another movie and made herself go to her new room.
The bed was just right, but with him down the hall, she couldn’t go to sleep. She closed her eyes and tried to picture his room, his bed with him in it, but it wouldn’t come to her. Had he recreated his childhood room, and that’s why he wouldn’t even let her have a look?
Could he really be so sweet? So kind? So pigheaded about his religion? What was with the guy? Was he really going to wait until…forever? Did she even want to get married? Her daddy would say yes in a heartbeat, but she certainly would not rush blindly into something that she might regret just because the guy was sweet and kind.
What if her Fred came along after? What if Gij’s true colors proved him to be a closet jerk who loved playing sick games? That’d make more sense. But how could he? Unanswered questions set her adrift, and then she slept.
Wait…She wasn’t in her bed.
Consciousness sharpened. Zucchini, not good! One eye peeked. Where was she? Oh yeah, at Gij’s house. It would never be her house. She’d love that though, if it could. Guess she’d made it through her first night living in a guy’s house, with him staying down the hall. How absurd.