Chapter Seven
Dave smiled to himself when his bat hit the ball with a satisfying crack. It sailed to the back of the batting cage, where it landed with dozens of others he’d sent flying.
“Nice hit.”
He accepted Matt’s praise with a nod. Why couldn’t he hit that well when it counted?
Easy. He wasn’t always riled by a pretty blonde with a heart of ice. Every time his bat connected, it was like another assault on Mel’s doubts.
“She had the gall to tell me I wasn’t father material.”
It wasn’t the first time Matt had heard the complaint, so his buddy’s lack of reaction didn’t faze Dave. The team bus left Amarillo three days ago and he had yet to get Mel’s insult out of his head. He couldn’t forget her order to stop Ted, either. As if he could. That ass had it in for him, and as long as she was dead-set against taking control of the flow of information, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Dave reassumed his batting stance, ready to take another swing. Matt dropped a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve hit enough.”
Three hours at the batting cage wasn’t nearly long enough. He wanted to keep smacking balls around until he no longer saw the doubt in Mel’s big, green eyes. Until he forgot the mother of his child had so little faith in him. If she doubted his skills as much as he doubted himself, he didn’t stand a chance of succeeding.
But Matt was persistent. “Let’s grab some brews.”
He knew, as sure as he knew his own name, Matt wanted alcohol a lot less than he wanted to talk Dave out of a foul mood. But that was okay. After three days of brooding, he was sick of himself, too.
He dropped his bat into his duffel and zipped it shut. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, they were in a bar around the corner from the batting cages and a short walk from their hotel. Dave thumped into an empty chair, sliding his gear underneath the seat. He’d be glad to get back to his own place when the road trip from hell ended later this week.
Matt returned from the bar with three pints of whatever was on tap. Dave took one off his hands and sipped.
Matt plunked a second one onto the table in front of him and pointed. “Drink up.”
Dave complied, gulping down most of beer number one.
“You good?”
He nodded and continued drinking. If Mr. One Beer’s My Limit actually wanted him drunk, he must be about to deliver one hell of a punch.
“Good.” Matt paused for a swig himself. “You keep saying Barely Legal didn’t think you’d be good father material.”
“That’s what she said.”
More of Matt’s pint disappeared before he pinned Dave with The Look. “She was right.”
Whoa. There it was. Dave took another, shakier drink. “Bullshit.”
“Maybe not now…but five years ago? That guy would have made a terrible dad. Partying with a different girl every night…and drinking. Not to mention the recreational drugs.”
Dave blinked. Hearing it laid out like that, maybe Mel had, as she kept insisting, made the only choice she could. He wouldn’t want to expose his child to that crap, either.
Good sense quickly clawed its way through the guilt. “Fine for you to say, but you know me. Mel and I knew each other for about thirty minutes before we went back to my room.”
Matt snorted. “You think that’s a ringing endorsement of your fitness for fatherhood? You bang a girl’s brains out after knowing her less than an hour and she’s bound to think you’re a slimeball.”
Only the fact that Matt was his best friend kept Dave from slugging him. He merely grunted and started in on beer number two. “Doesn’t say much about her, either.”
“So you both got around. Puts you on a level playing field.”
Matt, far above earthly pleasures, could talk. Dave couldn’t recall a single time where Matt took advantage of the bounty laid out for him by baseball bunnies. How had he ever become best buds with a straight arrow like Matt?
Oh yeah. Coach had made them roommates, probably thinking Matt would have a calming influence on the Condors’ wild child. Worked, too. It took five years and a promise to his dying mother, but Dave finally saw the appeal of plenty of sleep and extra practice.
Hell, he was even more boring than Matt nowadays. He took another swig before conceding the point. “Neither one of us should be throwing stones, so why does her assessment make me feel like shit?”
“No guy wants to be measured up and found lacking.” Matt grinned at him. “You just have to prove to her you’re not the same jerk who screwed her, then screwed her over.”
“I didn’t—”
“She left you.” Matt dismissed the argument with a wave of his almost-empty glass. “Ever think that was self-preservation? She walked before you could leave her.”
Dave bit back his protest. Mel had told him the same thing. The hell of it was, they both had his number. Hadn’t that been his plan? To disappear before Mel opened her eyes?
He drained the rest of his second pint and signaled for another. When Matt put it like that, he didn’t much like himself, either.
****
“Eat up, Tara,” Mel ordered her daughter, who’d been dragging the same McDonald’s French fry through ketchup for five minutes. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Tara shook her head and dropped the fry. “Not hungry.”
“You have to eat, sweetheart.”
“You’re not.”
Mel glanced from Tara to Luanne to the almost-untouched grilled chicken sandwich in front of her, cursing her lack of appetite. And her daughter’s perception. Then she uttered a few choice words for the man at the root of both their ruined appetites.
Four days had passed with no word from Mr. “Give Me a Chance to Prove You Wrong.” So far, he was doing a bang-up job.
“Tara, if you’re not going to eat, go play.”
Her daughter scrambled toward the slide that dominated the McDonald’s play area. When Mel was sure Tara was out of earshot, she turned to Lu. “Why hasn’t Dave called?”
Luanne shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t know what goes on in his head.”
“Me, either.” Mel wished she did, though. She’d pay good money to know why he was ignoring them after insisting he become a part of Tara’s life. “Surely he can’t blame me for the article in the paper.”
Lu arched an eyebrow. “From what you said, you were pretty hard on him about that.”
“You know what dealing with Pete does to me.” Her cheeks warmed and she dropped her gaze to the tabletop. “I might have been a touch bitchy with Dave.”
Mel shoved her sandwich aside. In the grand scheme of things, Dave’s inattention didn’t much matter. Tara’d been fatherless for four years, so she’d soon forget a daddy only around for a few days. She started preschool in the morning, so there would be plenty of distractions.
“You could call him,” her friend said.
“What?” Lu’s suggestion caught her off guard—but not for long. “Thought you were on my side.”
Lu shook her head. “This time, I’m on Tara’s side. That girl needs her daddy. If he’s not calling you, you need to call him. Remind him what he’s missing.”
Mel sighed. She supposed she owed it to Tara, and to herself, to give Muscles the chance he’d claimed to want.
She dug her phone out of her purse and dialed Dave’s number. When he didn’t pick up, she counted to five and left a voicemail message she hoped didn’t sound too needy. “Our daughter starts school tomorrow, and she’d really like to hear from you.”
When she hung up, she scowled at Lu. “Happy now?”
“I will be when he calls back.”
Me too, Lu. She didn’t dare voice the fragile hope that Dave was the kind of guy he claimed to be.
****
“Thanks, man.”
Dave accepted the package from the UPS deliveryman and tore into it. Yep, his cell phone—deader than his slumping batting avera
ge. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for leaving it at that Albuquerque bar.
“No one knows how much they depend on their phone until they lose it,” he muttered as he dropped it on its charging mat. When it came on, he scrolled through the calls. There was one from Matt, who’d called the phone when Dave realized it was missing. His father’s number popped up, too, along with a couple of unfamiliar numbers. Probably telemarketers.
With a sigh, he dialed his voicemail. His dad planned to be in Phoenix at the end of next week and hoped they could meet for dinner.
Dave hoped not. As many times as his father hadn’t been there for him over the years, he had no desire to make time for the old man. He was mentally running through his schedule to see if he could avoid dinner with dear ol’ Dad when Mel’s voice came through the speaker.
“Our daughter starts school tomorrow, and she’d really like to hear from you.”
What? He matched the number with the call log and then checked his watch. Yesterday.
“Shit.”
Getting drunk enough to not notice when his phone fell out of his pocket at the bar was dumb—but he’d been willing to forgive himself because drinking was his only vice. He needed something besides batting practice to help him blow off steam.
But if it caused him to miss important moments in his little girl’s life, he might have to rethink his leisure-time activities—or at least get a belt clip for his phone.
Cursing again, he dialed Mel’s number and plopped onto the couch.
She didn’t even greet him. “Nice of you to finally call back.”
“Sorry.” This time, Dave accepted the ice in her voice as his due. He was failing at fatherhood—big time. Just like his old man. “I left my phone in Albuquerque on Wednesday and UPS just delivered it this afternoon.”
Mel was silent, obviously unimpressed by his explanation. Well, tough. It was the truth. “Is Tara home from school yet?”
“At five-thirty? I’d worry if she wasn’t.”
“It’s only three-thirty here. Truce?”
She sniffed. “You’re not doing much to live up to the promise you made me the other night.”
He gritted his teeth. He supposed he deserved that, too. Hell. That’d be the last time he got that drunk. “I’m still learning, Mel.”
This time, she sighed. “I know. You’ve been a daddy for all of two weeks. I’ll try to cut you some slack.” Her voice grew distant. “Tara, come here. Phone call for you.”
He waited a moment for Tara to get to the phone.
“’Lo?”
“Tara, it’s Daddy.” He held his breath. Would his daughter give him the same cold reception he got from her mother?
“Daddy! Hi.”
She sounded happy to hear from him. Good. Dave started breathing normally again. “How was your first day of school?”
He found himself smiling as Tara told him all about getting a prized top-row cubby to stash her school gear. “Sounds like you had a good day.”
“Uh-huh.”
His daughter kept chattering about a new friend she’d met that day. Her voice became less chipper as she described another girl who didn’t like her. “She said I copied her coloring paper. Just ’cause I decided to use purple too doesn’t mean I was copying her.”
“Sometimes people won’t like you, sweetheart. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.” Dave wished he could give her a hug.
“That’s what Mamma says, too.”
He felt better knowing that Mel was of the same mind. “Your mother’s smart.”
Except where he was concerned. She was still reluctant to believe he, too, wanted what was best for Tara. As long as he didn’t pull any more boneheaded moves, she’d come around.
“I know.”
Tara chattered for a few more minutes before asking, “You comin’ back soon?”
Good question. How much of his presence would Mel take without trying to stab him in his sleep? “Not for a while. My team leaves on a road trip in the morning.”
“Oh.” A long, strained silence ensued. “I miss you.”
A lump formed in his throat. He choked out, “I miss you, too, sweetheart.”
Wanting to end the call before he lost control, he rushed on. “Mind your mommy, Tara. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Daddy. ’Bye!”
He hung up. Tara’s excited chatter and disappointment rattled around in his head until he jumped up and paced the living room of his Phoenix apartment. Even though he’d moved in six months ago, the space was nearly empty. A couch sat against one wall, opposite a giant flat-screen TV that wasn’t even hooked up to the satellite yet.
Then again, hooking up his TV would be pointless if he just disconnected it again to move—and moving sounded mighty fine, provided he moved closer to Tara.
Mel might be more than capable of parenting their girl, but he wanted to be able to hug his daughter when she needed comforting. He needed to be a part of her life every day, in a way his father had never been present in his.
And he was going to be there whether Tara’s mother wanted him there or not.
Chapter Eight
Mel stood on the steps of her parents’ home—a mansion by Brannen’s standards, with its twelve rooms and wrap-around porch—and waited for Tara to fetch her doll from the car. With the doll tucked under her arm, her daughter skipped back to her side.
“Not like Grandma and Grandpa don’t have an entire roomful of toys,” she muttered.
But this week, Tara was attached to this particular doll. She refused to go anywhere without it.
Tara slipped her hand into Mel’s and, together, they climbed the massive staircase. Each step topped up Mel’s dread. She loved her parents dearly, but she so did not want to have dinner with them today. The first time Tara mentioned her daddy, all hell would break loose.
Maybe she should instruct Tara not to say anything. Nah. That was guaranteed to make sure “Dave” would be the first thing out of her mouth.
Maybe she’d get lucky and Tara would get distracted by her parents’ hound, Hardy. Tara loved that dog, and chased him around the house whenever she got a chance.
Preferring not to summon the housekeeper with the doorbell, she pushed open the door and let herself in. Tara immediately went off in search of Hardy.
So far, so good. Mel headed for the library where her parents always relaxed. Sure enough, they were both there. Her mother was curled up on the couch with a book on her lap while her father sat beside her. Her feet were in his lap and he massaged each toe.
Stifling a pang of envy at their closeness, she perched on a chair by the door and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “Hello, Mamma. Daddy.”
Her father glanced up from his task and beamed at her. “Melinda, good to see you. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
Mel did a double take. Judging by her father’s warm reception, Peter hadn’t told him about Tara’s photo in the Dallas Morning News. Huh? Maybe he wasn’t such a prick after all. She’d try to be nicer to her brother next time she saw him.
Her mother swung her feet to the floor. “Where’s Tara?”
“Running after Hardy. You know how she is.”
“You ought to think about getting that girl a dog of her own.”
Mel shook her head. No way did she want a dog in her house. “She has enough doggy playtime when she visits y’all.”
Her mother’s ice-blue gaze was piercing. “My granddaughter is lonely. You remember what it was like growing up here, all by yourself.”
She did. With Peter so much older, she might as well have been an only child. She remembered roaming the yard, climbing trees and playing for hours with Luanne, whose parents lived just across the creek that ran through the back yard. They’d been friends since before kindergarten. “I did all right.”
“Because you had someone to play with. There are no children Tara’s age near you.”
Mel refused to let her mamma guilt her into g
etting Tara a dog. Dogs were smelly and left hair all over everything. “She started preschool this week and hit it off with one of her classmates. We have a playdate tomorrow after school.”
With that, she stood. “I’ll go round up Tara so we can wash up for dinner.”
She strode from the room before her mother glimpsed her angry tears. She loved both her parents, but she hated it when Mamma second-guessed the way she raised Tara.
Mel composed herself before finding Tara in the playroom. She’d stretched out beside Hardy, scooting a Matchbox car over the carpet. The dog watched her movements with one eye, his ear twitching every time Tara made a “vroom” sound.
Her baby was well-adjusted and happy. Yes, she was doing just fine, no matter what her mother thought.
“Sweetheart?”
Her daughter looked up from the car. “Time to wash up,” Mel said.
Tara patted the dog’s head and sprang to her feet, all in one motion. Mel recognized Dave’s athletic grace in the movement and another pang of guilt stabbed at her for not trying harder to find him.
She dropped her arm around Tara’s shoulders and squeezed. “I love you.”
Tara giggled and put her dimpled hand on Mel’s leg. “Love you, too, Mamma.”
Ten minutes later, they sat at the dinner table with her parents. While her mother tried to restart the conversation, Mel took small forkfuls of the tender beef brisket. Too bad it tasted like sawdust. Something her mamma said would trigger Tara to utter the D-word, she knew it—and the waiting was making her crazy.
She choked down a mouthful of beef. “Tara sweetie, why don’t you tell Grandma about your first week at school?”
When Tara started chattering, Mel smiled to herself. If she was busy talking about the fun she’d been having at school, she’d have no reason to mention Dave.
Her mother looked at Tara. “Your mamma says you met a new friend.”
Tara nodded. “Uh-huh. Shelli. She doesn’t like Jenny either. Jenny told Teacher we were both copying off her. But we weren’t. Jenny just hates us. Daddy says there’ll always be someone who doesn’t like you. What’s ’portant is to like yourself.”
Diva In The Dugout (All Is Fair In Love And Baseball) Page 7