by Sykes, V. K.
He struck out the second batter on three pitches and gave a little fist pump when the umpire called the third strike. It was a bush move so early in the game, but he couldn’t help it. He figured people would understand how he felt. When the third batter hit a popup that the second baseman ran down for the out, Nate jogged off the field, every cell in his body humming with satisfaction. Cheers filled the cozy little stadium.
The next four innings went almost as perfectly. Only one ball was hard hit—a line drive that whizzed past him on its way to center field, missing his head by maybe two feet. The close call shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. He wondered if the injury to his shoulder was making him a little gun-shy. Lack of confidence had never been a problem for him, but so many things in his life had gone wrong in the last little while. So many things that made him wonder who he really was.
He gritted his teeth and struck out the following batter.
After he’d pitched five complete innings, the Ottawa manager pulled him out of the game. He was on a maximum pitch count of seventy, as ordered by the Patriots head office, and he left the game after throwing sixty-seven. He’d staked the Cougars to a 4-0 lead.
In the Spartan but fairly new clubhouse, Nate started to strip off his uniform. Despite the narrow miss with the line drive, he felt great. He’d been sure his arm was fully healed and ready to go, but that hadn’t stopped a few doubts from nagging away at him. Getting back on the mound with a hugely successful outing had been exactly what he needed to lift the boulder of doubt off his back. Nate Carter was going to be just fine again. One more start in Ottawa and he’d be back with for the Patriots, healthy and ready to help the team take a run at the National League pennant.
That’s what counted. That’s who he was. That’s what he was meant to do with his life.
After icing his arm for ten minutes, he decided to shower and dress but not leave the park. He had nowhere to go other than his hotel room. Better to stick around and spend some time with the Cougars. But as he stood in the shower, letting the hot water stream over him, the all-too-familiar black mood started to resurface.
Holly.
He’d managed to force her completely out of his mind when he was on the mound, but it hadn’t taken long for his thoughts to turn back to her. Even in the middle of his own element, a baseball clubhouse, he still missed her with an ache that felt like a punch in the gut.
It surprised the hell out of him. He’d told himself over and over that it wouldn’t be long before she faded from his mind. But it was actually getting worse, and that was making him crazy.
No woman had ever affected him like Holly Bell. Not even close, and Nate hadn’t a clue how to deal with it. Over and over, he replayed their last conversation, remembered the tears in her eyes and the sorrow on her beautiful, sensitive face. It made him feel like the worst jerk in the world that he had treated her the way he did.
Get over it, idiot. You did the right thing. He told himself that every day in the hopes that it would eventually stick.
By the time he’d toweled himself dry and put his street clothes on, the other players had started streaming into the clubhouse. The game had ended 4-2 and he’d been awarded the win because he’d left with the lead after five innings. A minor league win shouldn’t have meant much at all to him, but somehow this one did. It was an affirmation that he still had life in his arm and a future ahead.
A couple of reporters—one from the local paper and the other from a TV station—cornered him looking for quotes. He obliged them, and then signed autographs for most of the Cougars—bats, balls, caps, programs, and anything else they could get their hands on. When some of the players told him they were heading out for beer, he didn’t hesitate in saying he’d tag along. The last thing he wanted to do was to go back to his hotel room and sit around moping about Holly until he could finally fall asleep.
Ten guys piled into three cabs. When they crossed the Ottawa River, a sign in the middle of the bridge told him they were entering the city of Gatineau, Quebec. The Cougars’ starting catcher, Pedro, who he’d played a few games with in the majors, told him the guys liked to party in the clubs on the Quebec side. They stayed open later, and had smoking hot French girls who really had game. That last expression garnered the usual laughs from the other players, but Nate couldn’t seem to work up any enthusiasm. Maybe when he actually saw those smoking hot girls he’d muster some up.
He had barely pushed through the club’s door when he understood what Pedro meant. He swept his eyes around the room, settling on one hottie after another. The girls really knew how to dress—or not dress. Short, tight skirts and flimsy, spaghetti-strap tank tops were everywhere on the pulsating dance floor.
But there was too much glitter. Too much make-up. Still, those girls knew how to shake it.
They were hot for damn sure and…well, tacky.
Tacky? Where the hell did that thought come from?
Muttering to himself, Nate headed over to the bar. A couple of beers, and maybe even a few dances, might help him to get his head screwed back on straight.
He was still working on his first Molson and avoiding eye contact with the babe standing next to him when his pants pocket started to vibrate against his thigh. Pretty late for a call. He pulled out his cell phone and saw Jake’s ID.
Maybe Maddie had gone into labor a bit early. He hustled toward the door since the volume of noise in the bar drowned out any hope of conversation. “What’s up, man?” he asked, a little worried. “Something wrong?”
“Where the hell are you?” Jake yelled back. “I can hardly hear you. The background noise is awful.”
“Just a minute.” Nate flicked a salute to the bouncer, pushed through the door and headed a few feet down the sidewalk. A panhandler was sitting huddled against the side of the building, a paper coffee cup beside him. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of U.S. dollar bills. The panhandler gave him a nod and a thumbs-up when he stuffed the bills into the cup.
“Is this better?” he asked as he walked a bit farther down the sidewalk.
“Much better. Well, it sounds like you’re enjoying yourself.”
He shrugged, even though Jake couldn’t see it. “I needed something to distract me for a while. We’re at a club on the Quebec side of the river. Loud music, lots of hot babes. You know the drill.” God, even to his own ears he sounded pathetic.
Jake snorted with derision. “Yeah, I know. Well, I hate to ruin your fun, but I thought you should know that Holly got another phone call from that Arnold guy. She’s pretty upset about it.”
Nate’s mind seemed to contract with a pinpoint intensity, then fury exploded from deep within, expanding outward in a red wave.
“Shit!” He kicked the newspaper box at the curb in front of him, sending it rocking on its base. The panhandler grabbed his cup and scurried off in the opposite direction.
Nate drew in a deep breath, trying to calm down. “What did the bastard say?”
“I don’t know exactly. But I can tell you that threats were involved.”
Fuck. He would kill the guy when he got his hands on him. “How did you find out?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Holly told Maddie. She also asked her not to tell you about it, but I said the hell with that. I knew you’d go crazy if you found out we’d kept something like that from you.”
“Damn right I would,” Nate said. In fact, he was pissed that Holly hadn’t called him right away, but he would deal with that later. “Thanks, bud. Maddie and Holly are both going to be mighty ticked off at you.”
“Don’t worry about it. It won’t be the last time.” Jake paused a moment. “Holly’s too proud to admit it, but I’m betting she needs you right now. I was thinking it would be a good idea for you to get your ass back here and be with her. Maddie said she’s trying to hide it, but she’s pretty scared.”
Nate’s mind leaped ahead, thinking through the obstacles. He could feel the sweat seeping through his linen shir
t, even though it was a lot cooler outside than it had been in the club. But the thought of Holly alone in that house scared the hell out of him.
“I’ll be out of here tomorrow,” he said, already trying to figure out how he’d explain that to the Patriots management.
“Good. But you know you’ll have to do some fancy talking to the front office about that,” Jake cautioned.
“No kidding. They want me to pitch another game here on Sunday. But all I know is that I have to get back home and be with Holly. I’m sure as hell not sitting around here twiddling my thumbs until Sunday night.”
“Call me when you get in, then,” Jake said, the concern in his voice obvious.
“Sure.”
“And Nate? Anything I can do to help, just call, okay? Day or night.”
“Absolutely. I’ll call you tomorrow after I get in.”
As soon as he hung up, Nate hurried back into the bar and told Pedro he had to get back to the hotel. Though the catcher gave him a puzzled stare, he didn’t ask any questions.
In the cab, he thought hard about calling Holly but decided against it. He knew she’d pooh-pooh the danger, even if she was scared shitless. She’d put down her stubborn little foot and try to talk him out of coming back. Then they’d have another stupid fight.
No, he had a better idea, and it didn’t matter whether Holly liked it or not. She wanted commitment? Hell. He was just getting started.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Holly jumped at the chime of her doorbell. Then she swore under her breath for being such a wimp, reacting badly to every little thing.
“Just a sec,” she yelled toward the front door. Only minutes had passed since she’d arrived home. Exhausted from lack of sleep—she’d been up most of the night, startling at every noise and repeatedly checking the locks—she’d left the hospital early to catch up on paperwork and reading at home. In the middle of changing out of her work clothes, she quickly pulled on shorts and yanked a tank top over her head. Barefoot, she hurried to the door.
Her over-active imagination pictured Lance Arnold on the other side, but she banished the frightening image. There wasn’t much chance the lunatic would be standing on her porch at four in the afternoon, politely ringing the bell while Holly’s next door neighbor weeded her flower garden.
Still, she peered carefully through the peephole before touching the latch. What she saw made her take a quick step backward, almost losing her balance.
Oh, God! What’s he doing here?
She took a deep breath and unhooked the safety chain with trembling hands.
Nate, looking fierce and determined, brushed past her into the living room before she had a chance to react. “We have to talk. I tried the hospital and they told me you’d gone home.”
Holly stood frozen, dumbfounded. Not only had he shown up unannounced at her door after no contact for two weeks, he’d barged straight into her house and started ordering her around! Her initial, instinctive reaction of relief gave way to irritation.
“Well, hello, Nate. How are you? I’d invite you to come in, but that’s clearly unnecessary now.” Planting her feet apart and crossing her arms, she glowered at him. She must look like she was ready to strangle him, because that was how she felt.
Well, she also wanted to leap on him and rip his clothes off, but that was just her body being stupid. Belatedly, she noticed he’d brought a sports bag with him, which he now dropped with a thump onto the floor.
Nate looked like he wanted to laugh at her retort, but then caught her expression and stopped himself. “I heard what happened with Arnold. How he’s calling again. I couldn’t sit up there in Canada wondering if he was really going to try to get at you.”
Her heart started to flutter, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “How did you find out?”
“Doesn’t matter. Listen, babe, I’m not going to let you face this guy alone. I was awake all night, thinking hard about it.” He pointed to the sports bag. “I’m moving in with you until the cops nail the bastard, and don’t even try to tell me no.” He mimicked her gestures by planting his feet wide and crossing his arms, looking much more intimidating than she ever could.
Holly’s legs almost collapsed out from under her. She managed to steady herself by leaning against the archway to the living room. Speechless, scared, thrilled, all she could manage was a shake of her head.
He wagged his index finger at her. “No, don’t go shaking your head,” he said firmly. “You know damn well you should have somebody around to watch out for you. The cops can’t do it.”
True enough. But that didn’t mean she could let him stay. Even though it felt right on so many levels, she knew it was wrong.
He grimaced and his eyes pleaded with her. “Let me do this for you, Holly. You need my help.”
She’d dreamed of someday living with Nate. The last two weeks, more than she cared to think about, she’d wept over the death of that dream. Now here he was, suitcase and all, ready to move in. But this wasn’t the stuff of dreams. Lance Arnold had made it the stuff of nightmares.
Holly couldn’t seem to find the right words to explain it. Nate must not have been expecting a lengthy silence, because he tilted his head and gave her a puzzled look.
She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you. I don’t need a bodyguard. Or a babysitter. And I’m sure you have lots going on in your own life.” Knowing him, he probably even had a new girlfriend by now.
That nasty little thought stiffened her spine, and she glared back at him.
Nate’s mouth thinned into a hard, determined line. He looked as if he’d like to pull her onto his lap and spank her. Somehow, the thought didn’t alarm her as much as it should have.
“Come on, Holly. You’re smart and capable and tough. You’ve got nothing to prove. But if that creep gets a chance, he’ll grab you, and I don’t think you’ll be able to do much about it.”
When he took a step toward her, she backed away. More than anything, she wanted to collapse into his arms, but there was too much at stake for self-indulgent weakness. He couldn’t stay forever, and then what would she do when he left again?
Nate threw up his hands in frustration. “Jesus, woman! Just let me help you, okay? I can’t stand by and do nothing when you’re in danger.”
Holly shook her head again, but she could feel her resolve start to erode. “I can’t do it, Nate. I just can’t,” she pleaded.
Now his eyes gleamed, as if he sensed her weakening. “Sure, you can,” he said in a coaxing voice. “Because if you kick me out of here, I swear I’ll sit on your sidewalk all day and sleep in my car out front all night.”
She stared at him, all six-feet-five inches of rampant masculinity, hard as a rock, his jaw set with a determination she knew meant he’d stop at nothing to keep her safe. It made her feel all gooey inside, but it also scared the hell out of her. If he stayed with her, they’d end up in bed at some point as sure as the sun rose every day in the east. When it came to him, she was that weak.
On the other hand, her head told her that accepting Nate’s protection was the smart thing to do. If Arnold was going to do something, it would probably be soon after the court order was issued. Having Nate around for a few days would help her get through the crisis.
Not that she wanted to admit it to him, at least not yet. That felt too much like caving.
“You are so full of it,” she said in a snippy voice. “You couldn’t fold your lanky self into that DB9 to save your life.”
Nate grinned, and she actually felt sunshine in her heart.
“Damn. I hadn’t thought of that. Okay, then I guess I’ll have to pitch a tent in your front yard.”
“All right, all right. ” Holly grabbed the sports bag at her feet and tossed it across to him. “You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”
His eyes narrowed on her.
“Yes, the spare bedroom,” she said firmly, determined
to at least make the effort to resist him. “And let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Nate Carter.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that you are my house guest and my bodyguard. Period.”
Nate’s mouth lifted in a knowing smile that she recognized. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her a snap salute. “But my repertoire of services does go beyond protection, if you ever happen to be…”
“Forget it, Casanova. Been there, done that. Didn’t get the tee shirt. Too many other women already have them anyway.”
Ouch. She wanted to take the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth.
Nate’s face darkened as he dropped his bag and propped his hands on his hips.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Holly jumped in before he had a chance to speak. “That was stupid of me. I apologize.”
He nodded, but still looked annoyed. “Apology accepted. But you really should get over that stuff. I’m not perfect, but I’m not the same guy I was before I met you, either. But I guess you haven’t figured that out yet.”
Suddenly, weariness overwhelmed her. She needed some space. “Look, Nate, I’ve agreed I need your help, and I’m grateful. But it’s not going to work if we keep rehashing past mistakes. I’m sorry I said what I said. Can we please just leave it at that?”
Nate rolled his eyes and headed toward the steps. “God, you’re stubborn, but I’ll concede the point.” He glanced back at her. “For now.”
She drew in an exasperated breath but he cut her off before she could say a word. “I could use a shower, if that’s all right,” he said in a much-too-cheery voice. “It’s hot as hell out there.”
Jerk.
“Of course,” she answered in her most polite southern belle manner. “I hope you brought your own shampoo, or you’ll have to use my girlie stuff. It smells like roses.” She glanced pointedly at her watch, hoping he’d get the message. “I’ll make us some dinner in an hour or so. Right now, I’m going out to the back yard with a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I can use a drink after this. Help yourself to whatever you can find. There’s beer in the fridge.”