“Miss,” the lady closest to him said. “Miss O’Donnell.”
“Miss?” Something inside his chest did a skip.
“I should know. I’m an old friend of hers. My name’s Janey. I own Sweet Sensations Bakery.”
He dipped his head toward the cute blond. He’d seen her often enough in the bakery, but had never guessed she was the owner. “Greatest bear claws ever. Blueberry muffins are topnotch, too.” He nodded the compliment.
“Thanks.” She grinned, obviously pleased. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Well, sure. It’s true.” He grinned. “So.. . Miss O’Donnell, huh?”
“Miss. Just like me.” She preened.
Mac excused himself then snaked his way through the throng of volunteers toward Megan. Apparently having finished her conversation with the handicapped gentleman, she looked like she was pouring more energy—or was it frustration?—than was necessary into gathering up her papers and purse from the lunch table behind her.
Having already experienced the brunt of her wrath earlier in the evening, he suddenly felt a little apprehensive. Hard to imagine that a pretty, petite thing like her could stop all two hundred pounds of him with one direct glower, but she certainly could and did.
Halting momentarily, he took a deep breath and steeled himself, feeling as young and intimidated as a high school boy asking a girl to the movies. He inched closer. “I, uh, wanted to see if we could try to patch things up.”
“Since now we’re going to be working together?”
“Exactly.” When she continued to glare, he held out a hand.
“Look. I really am sorry about earlier. I was completely at fault. I’m glad my stupidity in driving that old truck didn’t hurt you or your son.”
She looked at his hand like it might bite. “Apology accepted, Mr. Hattaway.“
Feeling like a fool, he let his hand drop to his side. “I tried to tell you my name …”
“Yes, you did. You definitely tried to tell me that you were MacNeill Hattaway, world-famous pitcher.”
Now he was getting irritated. “Look, I’m trying to be friends here. And it’s Mac … just plain old Mac.”
“And my new co-chair, to boot.”
He could detect the agitation in her tone, and hated hearing it. Still, it wasn’t easy keeping the aggravation from his own voice as he answered her.
“Hey, I don’t know where Cammie came up with that. I really didn’t know about any of the press hoopla. Or some of the things she was saying. Honest. I didn’t.”
She finally looked at him. Really looked, and he could tell her mind was busy scrutinizing him, weighing what she’d heard in the past and what she’d seen tonight against what he had to say.
Doubt flickered in those big blue eyes of hers. She wasn’t buying it.
“You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m here—you think this is all a media stunt for me.”
She stared more intently.
“Seriously? That’s what you really think?” he prodded.
“Well, you have to admit …” She looked away from him, glancing toward the cafeteria door instead. “That was quite an entrance.”
“You can be sure that’s not what I’m looking for with this experience, Megan O’Donnell. I want this to be all about the kids.” That word seemed to bring her focus back on him. “The other thing—the media dwelling on me—I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”
“And that’s what I want. This needs to be all about the kids, Mr. Nei—” She caught herself. “Mr. Hattaway.”
“Mac,” he countered again. “So then … that’s good, isn’t it? We both want the same thing,” he said. But even as he was staring into her eyes and saying that, he felt a strange tug. As if maybe—just maybe—with this new co-chairperson there might be something more.
But Megan still wasn’t ready to concede. “I guess time will tell.” She looped her purse strap over her shoulder and was just about to turn away from him when the Janey girl appeared.
“Hey, can I get a picture of our co-chairs together?” A small digital camera surfaced in Janey’s hands. “I’m helping with some of the PR for the event,” she informed him as she waved Megan closer to his side. “You need to get a little closer, Meg. Here, let me take your purse for a minute.”
Janey grabbed Megan’s purse, setting it down by her own feet, and then with a free hand pushed Megan toward him.
He could feel the rigidity in her shoulder next to his. Could literally feel her reluctance instead of just sensing it. But apparently her friend didn’t notice.
“Okay, that’s way better.” Janey glanced into the camera. “Now, both of you, smile.”
Megan’s stiffness and aloofness was a bit of an ego bruising to be sure. Certainly, he wasn’t used to females not wanting to be around him—reacting to him that way.
But what bothered him even more was the idea that she didn’t believe him. Something inside him wanted Megan O’Donnell to take him at his word. The thought that she didn’t troubled him, made him start to frown.
Yet … he’d had plenty of years experience putting on a show for the camera. And as Janey snapped a handful of photos of them, Megan wasn’t the only one forcing a smile.
Chapter 4
The rain had let up by the time Megan made her way back to her parents’ house. Not that it mattered really. Rain or shine, the place she’d called home until she’d moved out on her ill-fated wedding day had always been a warm, cozy haven. That was especially true of the kitchen where her mom’s curio cabinets lined the walls, plants and knick knacks adorned the bay window, and where she found her parents and Sammy sitting at the round oak table for four—which could always fit six in a pinch.
“Back so soon, honey?”
Megan honestly thought her mother sounded somewhat disappointed.
In fact, she realized neither of her parents gave her barely so much as a glance when she walked into the room. But then, how could she fault them for that? Both Laura and Kurt O’Donnell had their eyes pinned on Sammy, watching him eat freshly-baked cookies—oatmeal cranberry walnut—Megan easily detected from the familiar scent lingering in the air. The grandparents gazed at their grandson adoringly, completely captivated as if they’d never seen such a charming creature eat before.
As much as she didn’t want to depend on them for anything, and as much as their love could be stifling at times, she had to admit she was lucky they were doting and devoted. They hadn’t been all that thrilled when she announced her engagement to Bryan; they thought it was too quick and their trip to town hall to be married by a justice of the peace even hastier. The doubt was always there in her mom’s eyes and forced smiles when Bryan was around. Megan knew he certainly wasn’t the match her matchmaking mother would’ve made for her. And certainly not the kind of stark, non-traditional ceremony her wedding planning mother would have helped her design either.
But after her parents once expressed their concerns about her decision to marry him, the two of them never said anything again. Not even a “we told you so” when Bryan walked out on her and Sammy just a few short months after it was determined Sammy had cerebral palsy.
In a way, it might’ve been easier if they had said something. If they had clucked their tongues or self-righteously reminded her they’d never thought Bryan was good husband and father material to begin with. It would’ve given her a chance to say it out loud, how wrong she’d been about him, instead of carrying around feelings of self-loathing about the bad choice she’d made in him—in men—years ago. But conversely, her parents acted like Bryan had never existed. Like marriage vows had never been exchanged.
Instead, through the entire Bryan ordeal, her parents’ focus remained steadfast on Sammy. Their eyes always twinkling at the sight of their newborn grandson. And glistening when Megan went to legal lengths to make sure Sammy carried the O’Donnell family name. Her parents thought Sammy was just perfect and poured their love into his heart and life from day one.
>
Or at least whenever Megan gave them the opportunity.
“It’s almost nine,” she countered. “The meeting actually lasted longer than I expected.” Although it hadn’t been all that much of a meeting, had it? With MacNeill Hattaway involved, it’d been more of a media event.
“Have a seat.” Her mom nodded to the empty chair at the table. “And some cookies.”
Her dad chuckled delightedly. “We were just sitting here watching Sammy chow down.”
“So I see.” Megan half-smiled at her parents’ usual fascination with her son. “This is a big night for you, Sammy O’Donnell. Paxton’s fries. And Nana’s homemade cookies. What a lot of treats!”
Cookie crumbs dotting his lips, Sammy bounced his head wildly, an over-the-top grin lighting his face. Megan walked around the table, kissing his crown of tousled hair before taking a seat herself.
“We can only stay another minute or so.”
“Oh Meggie, you have time for a cookie, don’t you?” Her mom scooted the platter toward her. “And a cup of hot tea? You probably need it after running around in the rain and lightning all evening.”
Before she could begin to protest, her mother was already on her feet, at the sink, filling the teapot. As if it were a given. As if Megan had all the time in the world to sit and sip a cup of tea. As if she didn’t need to drive home, get Sammy bathed and ready for bed, get a sandwich packed for the next day, and get herself ready for bed as well.
That’s why it was so much easier to have a sitter. That’s why she was going to miss Mrs. Biddle so, so much. The woman was loving, but efficient. She knew how to stick to a schedule. Just thinking about all the chaos and disruptions she might be in for the next few months made Megan want to groan out loud.
“Rain an’ lightning?” Sammy interrupted her thoughts, looking up from actively splashing his cookie in his cup of milk. “Bray maw-mee. You my bray maw-mee.” He repeated the compliment she’d paid him earlier in the evening.
His good-heartedness quelled her irritation immediately the way it always did. Well, maybe one cookie … Maybe they had time for one cookie and one cup of tea.
She picked a cookie from the pile, the largest one she could find, thinking that might prevent her from eating a second or even third one.
“So.” Her father leaned forward. “How did the meeting go?”
Something about his posture made him look overly anxious to know. Megan could feel her radar naturally turn onto alert, her words coming out hesitantly when she answered him.
“Good. Good, I think. I mean … We have at least twenty volunteers or so.”
“Oh honey, that’s wonderful.” Laura O’Donnell beat her husband to a reply, her voice a little louder than usual as she competed with the simmering teapot. “Did Janey and Maria come? They’re such nice girls. I love working down the street from their shops. I stop in to visit every chance I get.”
“They were both there.” Megan nodded. “And of course, lots of parents.” She broke her warm cookie in half, taking small savory bites.
“Great, great,” her dad replied, though he eagerly brushed off the information. “Was there anything else? Anything else happen?”
“Happen?”
A feeling of déjà vu crept into her bones. Oh, how many times had she sat at this same table in her younger days, lured by a plateful of cookies and lulled into such a complacent confidence that she’d said more than she’d meant to about a certain boy she liked or had given away secrets about the things she and her friends were up to.
Well, that wasn’t about to happen now. She was older and in control. Her parents weren’t about to get her going on and on about what was on her mind. Like Mac and his grand entrance. And his self-appointed co-chair position. And about his—her heart stopped for a moment thinking of his eyes, of all things. The way he stared at her so intently when he’d come over to give her his made-up story about how he didn’t know anything about the news reporter or cameraman.
An involuntary shiver coursed its way up her back, shimmying her shoulders.
“See, you’re shivering.” Her mother set a steaming mug down in front of her. “A cup of tea is exactly what you need.”
Before she could mumble a thank you, her dad kept prodding. “Yeah, happen. Did anyone else show up? You know, besides those girls you and your mom know. And the parent volunteers. Anyone else?”
Her light bulb might’ve been dim, but it didn’t take too long for it to go off.
“Oh, this town.” She shook her head. “This small, small town. Did you run into Ted or something, Dad?”
Her father nodded. “Sure did.” His grin was slightly comparable to Sammy’s ecstatic one moments earlier.
“And you didn’t warn me?”
“Warn you?” His head jerked back.
“What’s there to warn about, honey?” Her mother chirped in, a bit too quickly. “Hattaway—he’s—well, he’s very nice looking. And he’s—”
“You knew, too?” She’d been set up to be run over and no one had bothered to tell her? Stomach churning, Megan set the cookie aside.
“Oh yes!” Her mom settled back down in the chair next to her. “Can you believe it? Your wonderful idea—it’s going to be bigger than ever now! With celebrity backing. It’s so, so exciting.”
“What exciting, Na-naw?”
“MacNeill Hattaway, Sammy.” The look on her dad’s face as he answered his grandson shone with pride as if just being in on Ted’s secret meant he’d had a hand in things where Hattaway was concerned. “That all-star pitcher is going to help your mom with your special sports day event.”
“MaaNil?” Sammy’s eyes grew as round as the cookies he chomped on.
“That’s right, MacNeill.” Her dad turned to Sammy with his hand in the air. It took a struggled few moments before Sammy managed to lift his right hand and high-five her father.
Oh, great. MacNeill Hattaway was a name Sammy was familiar with. She should’ve known.
Even when Sammy didn’t have the chance to watch sports with his pappy, he wanted the television tuned in to the sports channels at home. And even though he couldn’t participate in the community’s organized sports, sports were his all-time favorite thing—even ahead of country music, Paxton’s fries, and his nana’s cookies. Hadn’t that been the reason she’d thought of the All-Stars Sports Day event in the first place?
“But Hattaway doesn’t even have kids.” Megan grimaced at the beaming faces surrounding her. “Why should he care?”
“Why wouldn’t he care?” her dad retorted. “You don’t need to father a child to care about one.”
“Besides, Meggie,” her mom added, “perhaps Mr. Hattaway wants to redeem himself.” She didn’t have to say why the pro ballplayer might be in need of redemption. Everyone at the table—well, excepting Sammy—had read or heard plenty about the questionable life and times of MacNeill Hattaway.
“Redeem himself?” Megan rolled her eyes. “You mean get good publicity is probably more like it.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh, honey?” Her mom put a hand over hers. “People do deserve second chances, don’t you think?”
For a moment Megan wondered if her mom would think Bryan deserved a second chance, too. Not that Megan would’ve given him one anyway. But then she realized her mom hadn’t thought Bryan worthy of a first chance. Once again, Megan wished she’d listened to her mother’s warnings back then.
“I just don’t want the focus to be all on MacNeill Hattaway and not on the kids.” She frowned at her parents.
But even as Megan said the words out loud, she knew there was something more she wasn’t saying. Thoughts she was keeping all to herself.
No, she didn’t want the spotlight off the special-needs kids. But she also didn’t want a man coming along to “save the day” like some Disney prince. Because not only was that such a non-reality in her non-fairytale world, but really and truly, she didn’t need some male doing that.
She could manage just fine, like she always had. All by herself.
As Mac made a slow turn onto his uncle’s property, the low, wide tires on the Corvette clawed at the nuggets of gravel lining the driveway, tossing them aside in every direction, threatening to nick the red glossy paint.
He let up on the gas pedal a little more. Even though the car wasn’t his, even though he was only driving it to be helpful since a friend of a friend had a father-in-law with a waning car dealership who wanted his endorsement, he still felt compelled to take good care of the vehicle.
Luckily he hadn’t been driving the sporty classic last November though. November sixth to be exact. The night of his near-fatal crash.
Inching up the drive, the fullness of the opal moon shed a forgiving light on the weather-worn boards of his uncle’s oak barn, making it appear almost unblemished under the redemptive glow. For more years than he cared to remember, he’d forgotten how awesome moonlight could be.
Instead, living in his high-rise condo in the city, he’d always been charmed by the sight of urban lights—the flickers of neon, the lit-up billboards. They always lured him. Jazzed him up. Made him want to prowl the streets, many, many times when he would’ve been better off home alone.
As he pulled the Corvette up close to the side of the barn, Bitty, the stray cat making its home there, froze and stared into the headlights before jumping off a bale of hay and skittering away into the night. Mac got out, and leaning against the car, felt like he wouldn’t mind disappearing into the night, too. The rain had stopped hours before, leaving the acres of grass and wildflowers smelling cleansed and fresh. The moon included him in its light, giving off a feeling of comfort that the city’s tempting glitter never held for him. Everything around him had a feel and smell of healing. He felt grateful for that.
Yeah … if he’d been driving the Corvette the night of the accident—the night he’d been under the influence, totally inebriated, he wouldn’t be standing in the moonlight now. He would’ve been a dead man for sure. But the Corvette had been in the repair shop that week, ironically. The loner car he’d been given was an SUV that protected him a bit more than the sports car ever would’ve when he lost control and ran into a brick building at top speed. Not that the SUV spared him injuries. Not by a long shot. From what he learned later, he was thrown from the crumpled vehicle and lay on the side of the road, unconscious, bleeding, and broken. He woke up in the hospital days later clueless as to when or how he got there.
Wedding Homerun in Loveland, Ohio Page 4