“Hey, I know a damn good muffin when I eat one.” He paused. “Did that sound slightly dirty?”
Her lips twitched. “Only if by muffin you’re thinking of something entirely different than…” she pointed to the pan, “…those.”
“I wasn’t.” He grinned. “But now that you mention it, I’ve tasted your muffin and I wouldn’t mind tasting it again.”
Angie’s eyes widened as a vivid shade of pink flooded her cheeks. “J.T., don’t…”
“Don’t what? Tell you that I want you? I think it was pretty obvious on our wedding night, don’t you?”
“You said you wouldn’t pressure me.”
“I’m not pressuring you.” J.T. set the remainder of the muffin on the counter. “I’m being honest. And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to know why you slept with me and then just disappeared the next morning without a single word, or even a note. I didn’t deserve that.”
Angie’s eyes glittered like chips of blue ice. “So it’s okay when you men do it, but if a woman does it it’s the crime of the century?”
“It’s never okay, Angie. I’ve never done that to a woman and I resent you lumping me in with men who do.” Her chin lifted defiantly as he moved forward to stand in front of her. “I don’t know who hurt you, but it obvious someone did. It can’t be Steve since you were engaged to him, so who was it? Who made you distrust men?”
“Scott,” Angie said with a sharp edge to her voice. “His name is Scott, not Steve.”
J.T. rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Was it a ballplayer? Kelly said you had a strict policy against dating ballplayers. Was that because you were involved with one and he treated you like shit?”
“I didn’t have to date an athlete to know they treat women like shit. I saw it up close and personal in my own home.”
It took a second, but her comment registered. “Do you mean…are you talking about…your father?”
“That’s exactly who I’m talking about,” she snapped. “My father may not have been the best player on the field, but he was a highly skilled player off the field. He cheated on my mother for years, long before I ever found out.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “And do you want to know how I found out?” She paused to take an angry breath. “I walked in on him and one of his cleat-chasers.”
“Walked in?” J.T. asked, fearing what was coming next.
“You got it.” She glared at him. “School let out early that day. But instead of hanging out with my friends, I went home. As I was heading to my bedroom I heard a noise in my parents’ room. My mom was out of town, visiting a friend back in Kansas City. I thought she’d returned earlier than planned so I went to their bedroom and found my father screwing someone who—surprise—wasn’t my mother.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve. I was twelve when I found out the kind of man my father was. Now you know the whole sordid story.” She slapped the towel on the counter. “Are you happy?” she said and brushed past him to run out of the kitchen. Seconds later, the slamming of her bedroom door only solidified what J.T. already knew.
Angie was pissed. And he was nowhere near happy.
* * *
Slumped on the window seat in her bedroom, Angie stared out the window to the backyard below. The neighbor’s orange tabby cat stealthily cut through the garden beyond the pool but its furtive stalking didn’t bring a smile to her lips as it usually did. She didn’t know which was worse—that she’d lost her temper with J.T. or that she’d told him about her father.
It would be easy to blame her outburst on her hormones but she couldn’t do that. Not this time. And what made it worse was that it appeared J.T. had been genuinely hurt by her fleeing his condo after their night together.
For months she’d believed the worst mistake of her life was making love with J.T., but it wasn’t. The worst mistake was running away afterward and then hastily agreeing to marry Scott when she knew in her heart she didn’t love him. Safe and predictable Scott was a means to an end. By marrying him she’d never have to face her feelings for J.T.
What was truly sickening was that she’d almost gone through with it. Thank God she’d listened to that tiny voice deep inside of her telling her she wasn’t being fair to Scott.
After ten minutes, Angie knew what she needed to do and left her bedroom. She wasn’t being fair to J.T. either. More and more he was revealing himself to be a man of character and compassion. She, on the other hand, possessed barely a modicum of either.
She found him in the empty dining room with a roll of blue painting tape in his hand. He turned when he heard her footsteps and regarded her warily. She didn’t blame him. For all he knew, she was going to go ballistic on him again. She smoothed her hands over the apron that covered thighs with shaky fingers.
“I’m sorry I went off on you like that,” she said, getting the apology out quickly. “You didn’t deserve it.”
“And I’m sorry you had a bastard for a father. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I told you I didn’t like to talk about him. Now you know why.”
“Not all men are like him, Angie.”
“I’m beginning to figure that out.”
J.T. tossed the painters tape onto a folded drop cloth on the floor. The Blaze baseball cap turned backward on his head was endearingly boyish. Not so the rest of him. The well-worn jeans and white T-shirt only emphasized the hard masculine lines of his body. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not defending all men. A few of my married teammates have no qualms about sleeping with cleat-chasers when we’re on the road.”
“I know. Kelly’s told me a few stories.”
“You’ll never hear my name in those stories.” He held her gaze for several long seconds and she so wanted to believe the sincerity reflected in his eyes. But despite what she was coming to know about him it was still so hard to trust. “Look, I think I get why you left that morning. You assumed I was one of those guys, or worse, that I was like your father.”
“I don’t know if there’s anyone worse than my father.” Angie’s stomach churned with revulsion at the memory of witnessing him in the act of having sex with some strange woman in the bed he shared with her mother and was forever grateful she’d only gotten a brief glimpse before running to her bedroom and locking the door. “He left us with almost nothing, J.T. My mother has had to work her fingers to the bone to provide for me and Livvie.”
A frown marred J.T.’s forehead. “What about alimony or child support?”
“He was ordered by a judge to pay both, but after a few months—when his contract was up—he got cut by the A’s and stopped paying. No other team wanted him and six months later he ended up filing for bankruptcy and shacking up with one of his mistresses. When he died, my mom tried to collect on his pension but she wasn’t able to get it. Years ago—when they were first married—he somehow conned her into signing a spousal waiver form. And when she asked about his life insurance she found out that he’d taken her name off of the beneficiary form after the divorce and replaced it with the woman he was living with. My mom will receive a survivor benefit from Social Security when she’s sixty-two because they were married for more than ten years before they divorced, but it probably won’t be much and it doesn’t help her out right now.”
Disgust flickered in his eyes. “How did he die?”
“Heart attack.” Angie pulled the blue and white gingham bandana she planned to wear when the painting started from the pocket of her apron. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep paint droplets from covering her from head to toe whenever she painted. “We heard it happened in his sleep so he probably never felt a thing. I know this sound callous, but a part of me wanted him to suffer. The way he made us suffer.”
“I think that’s a normal reaction when someone you love treats you so badly. Especially when it’s one of your parents.”
“I worshipped him,” she said and deftly covered her upswept hair with the bandana and tied it at the nape of her neck. “
When I found out what he was really like, the world as I knew it changed forever. I hated him for what he did to my mom, and what he did to our family. He cared more about himself than he did about us. I used to think it was cool when people fawned over him because he played in the major leagues. And then I realized that’s why he was able to get away with so much. He had women throwing themselves at him all the time and he took advantage of it.”
“Is that when you decided all ballplayers are scum?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you come back to the condo with me?”
Because I wanted you so much I ached.
“I’d had a fight with Scott that day. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Flustered, the lie slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
J.T.’s eyes narrowed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Does it matter why I slept with you? It happened and here we are. Married.”
“It matters to me.” The tense silence that followed was shattered by the ringing of the doorbell. As Grandma Sophia would say, she’d literally been “saved by the bell.”
Straightening her shoulders, Angie pasted on a smile. “The painting brigade is here.” She launched forward, intending to head to the living room to greet her in-laws but was stopped short by the strong grip of J.T.’s fingers around her upper arm. He pulled her close. So close she could see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. So close her senses filled with his clean male scent. Every bone in her body seemed to liquefy from the heat that ran like fire in her blood.
“Do you still love him?”
“Who?” she murmured, dazed from the primal urges running rampant within her.
A hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. “If you have to ask, the answer must be no.”
His smug tone irked her—even though he was right. “You’re wrong, I still love Steve.”
“Don’t you mean Scott?” J.T. asked with a satisfied grin.
Crap.
“That’s who I meant,” she said with a haughty tone, then jerked her arm from his grasp and left the room. Behind her, she heard his low chuckle and silently cursed herself for her slip-up.
There was no doubt about it. Her well-laid plans were going to hell in a hand basket. And Grandma Sophia had a cliché for every occasion. Wasn’t that just grand?
* * *
J.T. surveyed the living room with astonishment. “What a difference some paint makes.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Jake slapped him on the back. “Now you just need to get rid of that eyesore you call a couch.”
Offended, J.T. turned to his brother. “Hey, I like that couch. It’s comfortable.”
“That may be but I stand by my earlier statement. It’s an eyesore.” Jake put his hands on his hips and looked at couch they’d just pushed back into its spot against the wall. “That shade of green doesn’t go with Plantation Moss at all. You need some contrast.”
“Have you been watching that decorating channel again?”
Jake scowled. “You can learn a lot from those shows.”
“Quit bickering and get in here,” their mother called from the kitchen. “The lasagna is getting cold.”
J.T. cocked his head and narrowed his gaze on the couch. “Maybe you’re right. Is it my imagination or is it sagging in the middle?”
“It’s definitely sagging,” Jake said as they turned and headed for the kitchen.
“What’s sagging?” Angie asked as J.T. preceded Jake into the kitchen where, instead of fresh paint, the room was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of tomato sauce and oregano.
“Jake’s testosterone level,” J.T. said with a grin and then winced when Jake punched him in the arm. “Owww.” He rubbed his arm. “Mom, tell him to stop.”
His mother sighed and shook her head. Something she’d done a lot when they were kids. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that.”
“You’d be richer than Trump,” Jake said, and moved to stand by Sharon, who was cutting into the pan of lasagna with a knife. “J.T. was always such a wimp.”
“Was not.” J.T. met Angie’s amused gaze. “How are you feeling? You were going at it with that paint roller.”
“My arms and shoulders are a little sore,” she said with grimace. “I wish I could get in the hot tub but the pregnancy book warns against it. It’s not good for the baby.”
“What about the whirlpool tub?” Jake asked and looked at Angie.
“What whirlpool tub?”
J.T. shot Jake a warning look. “The one in our bathroom,” he said, swung his gaze to Angie’s and inclined his head. “Remember?”
Angie frowned and then a fraction of a second later, her eyes widened as she nodded. “Oh. Right. I forgot about the whirlpool bathtub.”
“She hasn’t used it yet,” J.T. said, looking at his parents before turning his attention back to Angie. “You can use it tonight. It should be safe as long as you keep the water temperature lukewarm.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Her wide smile took his breath away. The bandana covering her head and the paint splotches dotting her shirt and pants didn’t detract from her beauty one iota.
“As I recall,” his father spoke from the kitchen table where he’d been nursing a beer, “your mother was addicted to warm baths when she was pregnant with Josh.”
“That I was. The jets in our whirlpool tub were great for my legs and back. I also took an aqua exercise class at the Y. It helped keep me in shape during the pregnancy.”
“Angie, we have low-impact aerobics classes at the gym.” Jake plucked a black olive out of the salad sitting in a large wooden bowl on the counter and popped it into his mouth. “You should give it a try.”
“I’ve never taken an aerobics class,” Angie said as she turned to open the fridge and pull out a bottle of salad dressing. “What if I can’t do all the moves?”
“The instructor is easy to follow, you’ll pick it up pretty quickly. One of the members I’m training just started going so you won’t be the only newbie.”
“Would that be Melissa?” J.T. asked, motioning for Angie to give him the bottle. His fingers brushed hers as they made the exchange and as their eyes met, J.T.’s breath caught in his throat. Damn. It was just like the time he’d been taken down hard at home plate and had the wind knocked out of him. Just like then, he could barely breathe. His gaze lowered to her naturally pink lips and he had to force himself not to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
“Yes. She’s taking the class tomorrow afternoon. If you’d like, I can introduce you to her,” Jake said, and the scorching moment passed.
“I’d like that. Thanks, Jake.” Angie looked from Jake to J.T. “You know, I just noticed something.”
“What?” he and Jake said in unison.
“All of the Sawyer brothers’ names start with a J.”
“It’s a Sawyer tradition to give their babies names that start with a J,” Sharon said as she picked up the lasagna tray and moved to set it on a trivet in the middle of the kitchen table.
“What does J.T. stand for?” Angie turned her gaze on him.
“James Taylor. Like the singer.” J.T. set the salad dressing on the table.
Angie tilted her head and her dubious gaze darted to each Sawyer in the room. “Is that true?”
“It’s true.” Sharon nodded and then sighed. “J.T. was conceived the night we saw him in concert. It was a magical evening.”
J.T. winced. “Too much information, Mom.”
“I think you should name your kid after our great grandfather.” Jake leaned a hip against the counter and grinned. “Jebeneezer Sawyer has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Uh, that would be a big fat no.” Angie wrinkled her nose. “No offense, but that’s like the worst name ever.”
“Angie. Angie.” Jake shook his head. “You’re missing the point. Think of the cool nicknames. Jeb. Jebby. Neezy. Neezer. I’m telling you, you can’t go wrong with Jebeneezer Sawyer.”
“Are you crazy?” Angie braced her palms on the counter. “There is no way I’m naming our child Jebeneezer. The poor kid would be teased unmercifully. Besides, we’re having a girl, remember?”
“You are?” his mother exclaimed with excitement. “I didn’t realize you knew the sex of the baby.”
“We don’t know for sure. I have an appointment on Monday for an ultrasound. The doctor said we may be able to find out then if we want to know. We just have a strong hunch it’s a girl.”
“So Jebeneezer’s out,” Jake said glumly, then brightened. “Hey, how about naming her after our great aunt Jeraldine?”
“That starts with a G,” Angie said and shot Jake a wry look.
Jake chuckled. “Not in our family.”
* * *
Four hours later, J.T. was sprawled on the couch with his laptop resting on his thighs. Studying the league’s best and most feared hitters had been his nightly ritual since the season had ended. The grueling physical training Jake had been putting him through was only one part of his off-season regimen. If he wanted to be a starter, learning each player’s strengths and weaknesses at the plate was crucial. Tonight, however, his heart wasn’t in it. He found himself staring at the screen not seeing a damn thing.
All he could think about was Angie.
In light of what he’d learned about her father this morning, her contemptuous remarks about ballplayers now made sense. And while it wasn’t fair of her to assume that all ballplayers were womanizers and dead-beat dads, the trauma she, her mother and sister had gone through at the hands of her father explained why she’d initially refused his marriage proposal. She was probably scared to death she’d be tied to a man who would treat her the way her father had treated her mother. She was dead wrong and he planned to prove it to her. No matter how long it took.
J.T. was ninety-nine point nine percent positive the ex-fiancé wasn’t a factor, but even if he was, the way Angie had responded to him on their wedding night proved she wasn’t immune to him. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he could make her forget Steve, Scott or whatever the dude’s damn name was. He had two years to make it happen. He only hoped it didn’t take that long.
Catching Heat Page 15