A League of Her Own

by Karen Rock

  “About your manager. She’s the first female manager in the Minor Leagues. How is that different for you?”

  For a moment he imagined Heather in his arms. Her body soft and pliant against him. Her lips tasting of honeysuckle. Spending time with Heather was special. She’d opened him up. Changed his outlook. He couldn’t wait to find her so he could tell her. He brushed his gritty hands on his shirt, stalling. Finally, he looked up into the camera.

  “We’re all professionals, and the main thing is that Ms. Gadway knows baseball and is respected for that. It makes no difference whether she’s male or female. We don’t see that on the field.”

  Andrew grinned like a cartoon character. His head bobbed.

  “You’re a bit of a Cinderella story yourself. Out of baseball for three years and now a serious Major League prospect. How do you explain that?”

  Again, the incredible woman who’d made that possible captured his imagination. He couldn’t wait to speak his heart to her.

  “I have new priorities in my life. My number one goal is staying sober. I always knew I had the ability to make it to the Majors, but my drinking got in the way. I also had some mechanical issues which, thankfully, our manager noticed and helped me to correct. I’m thankful alcohol is out of my life and Heather Gadway is in it.”

  Andrew shot him a puzzled look, then quickly recovered his professional polish. “And what are your expectations for yourself and for the team going forward?”

  That’s where things got murky. He knew what he wanted for the team. When he imagined leaving Heather for the Majors, his thoughts stalled. It was his lifelong dream, the way he’d ensure Manny had not died in vain. But what if his dream was changing?

  Garrett forced a charming smile, adding a laugh to sound less serious than he felt. “A championship for our team and a Major League position for me would be a good start.” His smile slipped. He was ready for this interview to be over.

  The sharp-eyed reporter gave his cameraman a subtle nod, then held out a hand to Garrett. “Good luck, Garrett, and thank you.” He turned back to the camera. “This is Andrew Layhee with WHCN.”

  Garrett raced down the tunnel. “It’s been a pleasure—” he heard the broadcaster say behind him.

  “Same,” he called over his shoulder with a wave.

  Though the pleasure he had in mind had to do with a certain green-eyed beauty.

  * * *

  CHAMPAGNE CORKS POPPED in the Falcons locker room. The teammates sprayed one another with liquid. Their cheers echoed in the space as trainers, coaches, players and local reporters jostled for elbow room. Heather watched from a corner, taking it all in. Where was Garrett? Tonight’s win guaranteed them a spot in the playoffs. The farthest the Falcons had gone in over ten years. Pride for her players filled her. They’d worked hard, and their efforts had paid off. They deserved this frenzied celebration.

  Hopson jumped onto a bench. His ankle healed, he did some kind of jig. “Woo-hooooooooo!” he called, dumping an entire bottle of champagne over Waitman’s head.

  Waitman, who’d scored the final homer that’d won the game, shook off the fluid. He grabbed Hopson around the knees, lifting him in the air and twirling him. “We did it!”

  “OW-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH,” the Falcons howled when Garrett strode through the door. Heather couldn’t tear her eyes away from the gorgeous man. He’d struck out thirteen players. Had given up only one run. An incredible performance. His move to the Majors would be a big loss for the Falcons...and for her. But she intended to do something about that. Soon.

  She watched as he pulled off his cap, damp blond hair falling across his forehead. His blue eyes swerved her way, catching her staring. Their eyes locked until someone grabbed his arm. Dean pulled him away. Perhaps he didn’t want Garrett around all the champagne? Funny how that hadn’t occurred to her... It proved that she was ready to trust him, just as she now had faith in her mom.

  As Garrett disappeared in the crowd, a cheer broke out in the back of the room, led by Valdez.

  “Let’s hear it for Skipper!” he called from atop another bench. He leaned forward, a hand cupping his ear.

  “To Skipper!” roared the other young players crowded around him.

  “Who?” Valdez hollered again.

  “To Skipper!”

  Whistles and whoops followed, making Heather glow like a lightning bug. A slim arm slipped around her waist. She started, still adjusting to her mother’s affection.

  “Congratulations, sweetie. I knew you could do it. Deep down, your father knew, too.”

  “Having the extra fans in the stands helped, Mom.” She held herself still, resisting the urge to pull back. Her dad wanted them to work this out. Now, she did, as well. “It really motivated the players. We couldn’t have had that great second half of the season without the momentum you built.”

  Her mother’s hands slid down and grasped hers. Her mom leaned back and smiled at Heather. “Honey, showing up to practice just a week after losing Dad, that showed the players how much you wanted to win. It proved it to me, also. Let’s call it a team effort.”

  “Whatever happens in the playoffs, I already feel like I won. I love you, Mom.”

  Her mom grew tearful. “I don’t deserve that.”

  Heather touched her mother’s cheek. “You’ve worked hard to get to where you are now. So, yes, you do.”

  A blinding flash interrupted their hug. They blinked up at a man wielding a large camera.

  “Jim Bosch with the Raleigh Telegraph.” He flashed a smile and held out a hand as his assistant took more shots. “I’d like a few comments on tonight’s win if you have a moment.” He shook Heather’s hand, then her mother’s.

  Before Heather could respond, her PR-conscious mother nodded. “Of course. Shall we step outside where it’s quieter?”

  The photographer snapped additional pictures of the exuberant team, then followed them into the tunnel. Above them, the whisking of brooms sounded, workers busy cleaning up the stadium. The only other noise was the occasional crash followed by raucous laughter inside the locker room.

  “I’d like to begin by giving you my condolences for the loss of your father, Dave Gadway.”

  The familiar ache at hearing her father’s name scoured Heather’s heart, but it was duller than it’d been in weeks. She could breathe through it.

  “Thank you.”

  “I understand you were hired as his general manager when he failed to offer a fair contract to your predecessor. Was that a planned move?”

  Heather gasped. “My father would never force someone out of a job.”

  “Not even to make way for his daughter?” The reporter’s friendly smile didn’t reach his sharp eyes.

  “We were in financial trouble, so I was taken on without salary. It was the only way to keep the team afloat,” she blurted, too incensed to think before she spoke.

  The reporter rocked back on his heels. His cheeks puffed out as if he’d just eaten a canary. His pencil flashed across his notepad.

  Heather’s mother stepped forward, forcing the reporter back. “My daughter has attended nearly every practice, advised and motivated this team to their winning position. Paycheck or not, she is the first female manager, and doing a better job than many other managers in the league who wish they’d made the playoffs.” Her mother straightened her spine and raised her chin. “Besides, the team is now firmly in the black and, although she is also co-owner, she will be offered a contract. I’d hoped to surprise her with the news tonight rather than reveal it this way, but that’s your answer.”

  Instead of looking cowed, the reporter’s expression grew pinched. It gave his narrow face a feral appearance as he looked up from his notepad. “Yes. I understand you are Mr. Gadway’s wife, Renee Gadway, or is it ex-wife? We haven’t heard much from you since your nasty car accident. Can you explain your whereabouts during the past fourteen years and how you came to own the majority share of the Falcons?”

  Heather felt her mot
her stiffen beside her. She leaped into action.

  “My mother had to travel for her job, but she was in regular contact with the family. Her dedication has been constant. As for her ownership of the Falcons, my father always had an eye for talent. He knew the right person for the job. My mother.”

  Heather wrapped an arm around her trembling mother to draw her close. “Any other questions?”

  The reporter backed away, shaking his head. “I think we have everything we need.” He signaled to his assistant to follow him back inside the locker room again.

  “We’ll have to rethink some of the press credentials we hand out,” Heather said.

  Heather’s mother snorted at her quip. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at Heather. “You didn’t have to cover up for me.”

  “Mom. You were traveling. And your job was to get better so that you could come home and I...” Heather choked up, emotion pressing her words against the back of her throat. “I am so glad that you did. Dad was right to make you an owner. I hope you stay on for as long as you want. I’m happy working with you and managing the team.”

  Her mother pulled her close. Heather buried her head in her mom’s neck, inhaling her familiar perfume, her heart full.

  “Honey, I’m thrilled. How about fifty-fifty ownership? Right down the middle.”

  Air expanded Heather’s lungs. Finally, she’d achieved her goals. She’d helped her hometown, saved the Falcons, and proved to her family and herself that she could lead them.

  Now for her next goal: Garrett. Her life was full. But as he’d pointed out on the bus, none of that mattered if she didn’t have someone to share it with.

  Before she saw him again, though, there was one final place she had to visit. A part of her childhood she needed to let go before she could embrace a future with Garrett.

  After everything they’d been through, would he still want her?

  * * *

  “SKIPPER? HAS ANYONE seen her?” A showered Garrett pushed through his partying teammates, his sneakers squishing on the damp, sticky floor.

  Hopson’s eyes were red-rimmed. Bleary. “Don’t know. She was over there.” He pointed to an empty corner.

  Garrett made his way farther into the crowd, searching. He bumped into Valdez. “Have you seen Skipper?”

  “She went off with some reporter. Didn’t even come back. Was hoping for a hug.”

  Garrett clapped him on the back, hard. “Keep dreaming, because it isn’t going to happen.”

  Valdez opened his mouth, then shut it at Garrett’s look. “Anyway, she went that way.” He pointed to the exit door, then backed into Waitman. The move spilled the veteran’s drink on his jersey. Waitman whirled, arm up. Garrett ducked out.

  Drinking and crowds were a bad mix. What started off as fun often ended in a brawl. Once he would have enjoyed working off excess energy by scrapping. Now, he needed to find Heather.

  Outside, he nearly ran into her mother as she finished talking to Andrew Layhee.

  When the reporter sauntered away, the new owner turned to face him.

  “Great work tonight, Garrett.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Gadway.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Have you seen Heather? I mean, Skipper?”

  Her eyes, so similar to Heather’s, bored into his. “You like my daughter, don’t you?”

  His restless movement stilled. “What do you mean?”

  She led him out to the empty parking lot where they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “No need to deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at each other when you think no one notices.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “How you feel?” Mrs. Gadway cut him off, waving a hand in the warm night air. “I doubt that. You seem like a man who knows his mind. Let’s face it, my daughter’s a good catch.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, more uncomfortable by the minute. She was right, but these were things he wanted to confess to Heather, not her mother.

  “She’s an incredible woman,” he said as neutrally as possible.

  “Yes, which is why I need to get this off my chest.” Mrs. Gadway crossed her arms. “I’m talking to you as a mother, not your team owner.” Her deep-set eyes met his. “Obviously you know my history.” Her voice lowered but remained strong. “We’ve listened to each other speak at AA meetings—although we haven’t spoken to each other.”

  He kept his face impassive and nodded. It’d been uncomfortable the first time she’d joined his group a month ago. They’d kept a respectful distance from each other, a pretense of being strangers—which they were, more or less.

  Mrs. Gadway’s head dipped slightly. “Then you know why we need to talk before things go any further.”

  He nodded. He supposed he did. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Heather seems strong, but she’s had a hard life.” Mrs. Gadway twisted her lips in a grimace. “She doesn’t deserve more hurt.”

  He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand, silencing his protest.

  “It’s obvious you’re committed to recovering. You’re at more meetings than I would have expected with your schedule.”

  When she paused for breath, he jumped in. “It means a lot to me. As does Heather. I would take myself out of the equation before ever causing her pain.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Promises like that are hard to keep for people like us.”

  Garrett nodded. “True. But she’s worth it. I care more about her than anything else, including alcohol.”

  “Even baseball?” Her quick question cut to the heart of the matter, one he still grappled with since advancing his career meant leaving Heather. “If you had to choose, who’s the winner?”

  “I suppose I’d work it out so that we both won. But that’s still hypothetical. What I know is that a life without Heather is no life at all. Not for me.”

  Mrs. Gadway’s eyes glistened.

  “May I ask you something?”

  She nodded.

  “Where’s Heather?”

  Mrs. Gadway caught him in a swift hug, then let go. “Take care of my girl,” she whispered gruffly. “She said something about going to her thinking spot...”

  Garrett remembered Looking Glass Falls but rejected the possibility. Too far.

  If she hadn’t gone there...then it hit him...

  The dugout.

  * * *

  HEATHER LAY ON the worn bench of the old field’s dugout, looking up at the ceiling, surrounded by gloom. The dugout was freshly painted now. The warped boards replaced. The cobwebs wiped away. But it still felt familiar. Comforting.

  After a tumultuous few months, she needed this quiet moment. Her heart was in a tailspin. She was falling fast for Garrett. Would she land softly? Or crash and burn?

  Her gut told her that she could trust Garrett. That it was time to believe instead of question. Yet she hesitated to take the final step. Lay her splintered heart bare. If she didn’t, however, she’d be as stuck in her past as this renovated dugout.

  Her fingers slid under the bench, feeling the grooves she’d once dug with her fingernails. How many hours had she spent here, wondering why she wasn’t good enough? Why her mother preferred pills to her? Why her father saw only her faults?

  But now she knew the truth. Her world looked as different as this dugout. Garrett was a recovering addict. A label he’d carry for the rest of his life. But he was also someone she could depend on. He’d vowed to work hard never to drink again. She needed to trust him. Knowing that she’d been loved had begun to heal her childhood wounds. She was strong enough to embrace a future with Garrett now. To believe that, like her mother, he cared enough to stay clean. Wouldn’t lie to her.

  She bolted to her feet, ready to knock on Garrett’s dormitory door. Tell him so. But he appeared out of the darkness, a flashlight bobbing by his side.

  “What are you doing here?” she gasped, both pleased and surprised.

  He stepped inside, the light illuminating his gold hair and tanned skin. “Looking for you
.” The deep grit in his voice made her tremble, despite the balmy evening.

  “I was going to find you.”

  He drew closer still. His strong hands wrapped around hers. “And what were you coming to say? ‘Atta boy’?” His full lips quirked at the corners, his dimples appearing. The smile transformed him from handsome and edgy to all-American cute. Her insides jittered when she met his eyes.

  His fingers laced with hers, and she breathed in his clean, outdoorsy smell. It was hard to think with him this close.

  “Let’s sit,” he said, leading her back to the bench.

  They settled close, their bodies touching from calf to shoulder.

  “So what were you going to tell me?” he asked when the silence stretched to its breaking point.

  “Atta boy,” she murmured.

  His deep chuckle sounded. “Do I get a reward?” He tipped her face to his. The passion in his eyes swept her breath away.

  “Garrett—” she pulled back. “We need to talk.”

  “That’s never a good start to a conversation.”

  “This time it might be. I hope.”

  Their eyes met. “I hope so too.”

  “You first,” they said at the same time. Their laughter trailed off into silence again.

  In the dim beyond the dugout, a lone bird trilled, then hushed, a flap of wings whispering in the night. The stars twinkled, diamond pushpins in black velvet. The sliver of moon carved out a white C in the sky. All was calm. Tranquil. Everything but her.

  “I spoke to your mother,” Garrett surprised her by saying.

  She glanced up at him, wishing his eyes weren’t in shadow, the flashlight no longer reaching them. “What did she say?”

  “That she noticed the way we look at each other.”

  Heat overran Heather’s face. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Maybe to a mother. But I don’t think the guys know. Definitely not Valdez. He’d probably call me out for a duel.”

  She laughed. He had a point. “What else did she say?”