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“All right, if you say so. But what’s an iron pig?”
Will thought about this for a moment. “Well. Iron pigs are what they poured steel into? Or maybe it’s a twist on pig iron? I know the name has something to do with the local Bethlehem Steel Works plant, back when steel was the largest industry around here, instead of the casino that’s operating on part of the old plant grounds now.”
“In other words, Counselor, you don’t know what an iron pig is?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” Will answered truthfully. “Does it matter?”
“To you or me? Maybe not. But do you remember being a seven-year-old boy, Will?”
Will considered this for all of five seconds. “I’ll find out. But I’m betting I’m not going to be able to discover why the mascot is a huge fuzzy brown pig named FeRROUS, and they’ll probably ask me that, too, right?”
“If they don’t, I know I will.”
“Thanks for the warning and, I hope, for accepting my invitation. The game starts at seven, and there’s always a lot of entertainment for the kids between innings. What do you say?”
“I … um …” She looked into the backseat, where the twins were using their new mitts in a sort of duel with each other. “I suppose so. They really don’t seem to have a single idea of what baseball is all about, do they?”
“It doesn’t look like it, no,” Will told her in all honesty. “But that’s not your fault.”
“Because I’m a woman,” Elizabeth said, “or because I don’t have a husband to teach them?”
Will mentally kicked himself. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. That didn’t come out the way I meant it. Not that I’m sure I know what I meant. I don’t have kids, but if I did, and they were girls? I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be up on all the … girl stuff.”
“So baseball is boys’ stuff? Didn’t you say there are three little girls on the team?”
Will sighed. “You’re doing this on purpose, right? And I’m moving too fast. Do you want me to take back my invitation?”
She bit her bottom lip as she shook her head in the negative, those entrancing thick ribbons of blunt-cut curls moving with her and making his palms itch to run through her hair. “I haven’t been on a date since … but this isn’t a date because Danny and Mikey are going with us, so … so I don’t know why I’m being so obnoxious. We’d love to go see the IronPigs with you.”
“Great,” Will said, belatedly realizing that he really cared about the answer Elizabeth gave him. Him, the guy who saw women as pretty much interchangeable—and always replaceable. But he wouldn’t think about that right now. “Let me get the boys their shirts and caps from the back of my car. They can wear them tonight.”
Chapter Three
Elizabeth left the twins with Elsie, Richard’s housekeeper, in the kitchen, where they were proudly showing her all their purchases, except for the bat their mother had insisted remain outside a house filled with antiques and lamps and other treasures that probably should not come in contact with a seven-year-old and his new toy.
She ducked into the powder room just off the kitchen to wash her hands, splash cold water on her face and make use of the toothbrush she kept there, as she felt fairly certain she had pepperoni breath.
Then she went in search of Richard, who was most likely in his study, killing somebody.
She knocked on the door and poked her head into the large, cherrywood-paneled room that overlooked the swimming pool, the tennis court and a seemingly limitless expanse of well-designed grounds. “Richard? We’re back.”
Her employer, friend and possible fiancé looked up at her blankly for a moment before his busy brain hit on the “Oh, it’s Elizabeth” switch, and then returned his attention to the computer monitor in front of him. “Home from the baseball wars, are you? That’s nice, Elizabeth. Tell me, what’s another word for incomprehensible? As in, she experienced an incomprehensible reaction.”
“Inconceivable? Unfathomable?” She thought about Will Hollingswood—why, she didn’t know. “Inexplicable?”
“Yes, that last one. Definitely containing more of a hint of sexually motivated confusion. That’s perfect,” Richard said, his fingers flying over the keys for a moment before he sat back, smiled at her. “I’d use the thesaurus that comes with this incomprehensible new computer program, but you’re faster and less likely to have me crashing the machine.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Elizabeth said, walking over to the huge U-shaped desk that had been custom-built for Richard, and subsiding into the chair she sat in when he wanted to watch her face as she read his work. “You had to change programs to be compatible with the new operating system.”
“True enough. But in my next book I think I’ll devise an untimely and considerably messy end for some software mogul. Remind me, all right?”
“Wasn’t it enough that you dropped that cheating tax collector off a conveyor belt and into a vat of hot latex meant for condoms?”
“Ah, yes, the Triple-Ripple Extra Sensitive Deluxes, weren’t they? Only barely enough, Elizabeth. Nothing is too undignifying a death for a tax collector.” He pushed his computer glasses up high on his head, where he would soon forget they were, just as Chessie had said.
“I don’t think undignifying is really a word, Richard.”
“No? It should be,” he said, rubbing at his jaw, shadowed a bit in a mix of brown and gray day-old beard. “Didn’t shave this morning, did I? Well, I’ll do that before dinner, I promise. I’ve, well, I’ve been on a roll today. So, tell me. How did the boys enjoy their first day of baseball?”
As she told him about the field, and the boys throwing balls and then chasing them because nobody seemed able to catch them, and recounted their shopping trip and pizza lunch—leaving out mention of Will Hollingswood for reasons she wasn’t about to examine at the moment—Elizabeth looked at Richard, telling herself yet again that he was a very handsome man. A very nice, gentle, sweet and caring man.
His sandy hair was always too long and a bit shaggy, but she couldn’t imagine him any other way. He may be getting just a little thicker around his waist, but he was still a very fit man. He played golf twice a week and had his own fully equipped exercise room he used … well, when he remembered to use it.
His eyes were brown, like hers, but rather deeper-set, the lines around them a sign of too many hours in front of the computer but flattering in the way that wrinkles made a man more interesting while they only made a woman look older.
Yes, he was a handsome man. If he was, again, a woman, he’d be described as a well-preserved forty-five. As a man, it would more probably be said that he was just entering his prime. And she was twenty-eight, not exactly a teenager. That wasn’t so terrible, was it?
Chessie had seemed to think so. Or were her reservations centered more on what she saw as other problems?
“Richard?” she asked when he didn’t smile as she finished telling him about Mikey’s horrified reaction to learn that there would be yucky girls on his baseball team. Girls and seven-year-old boys were like oil and water, it seemed. “Have you been listening to me?”
“Yes, of course. The boys bought mitts and gloves and shoes. And bats! Let me reimburse you for those. God knows you’re grossly underpaid. Your employer should be shot.”
His eyes kept drifting toward the monitor. Elizabeth stood up and walked around the desk, placing a kiss on his cheek. “You will not pay for their equipment, thank you. You’ve already paid for their registration. And now I’ll leave you alone because obviously I’ve interrupted you at some crucial moment in your story. But, first, may I see?”
“I don’t think it’s quite ready for prime time, Elizabeth,” he said, moving the mouse to one of the corners of the monitor, so that the screen went black. “I’m trying something new, you understand.”
“But … but you’re in the middle of a book.”
“That can’t be helped. Sometimes a writer has to take a voyage of discovery, follow his muse where it leads. Or at least that sounds important, doesn’t it? Truthfully, I’m pretty much stuck on how to work the next scene in the current manuscript, so I’m playing with an idea I had the other day.”
“A new character?”
“No,” he said, looking somewhat sheepish. “A new genre. James Patterson does it. Others have done it, are doing it. Why shouldn’t I? I’m writing … trying to write … a love story.”
Elizabeth was dumbfounded. “A love story? You mean a romance?”
“No, my dear. When women write such books, they write romances. When men write them, they’re love stories.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Respect. Men get points for sensitivity and women get slammed for being sentimental and encouraging their readers to believe in fairy tales. Equality may be written about in books, but the publishing industry, or at least the critics and reviewers, are pretty much the last to acknowledge the fact.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Enough that John and I are going round and round about this book, if I do write it, if he can place it,” Richard said, referring to his agent. “What do you think of the pen name Anna Richards? My mother’s maiden name.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You really plan to publish this book as a woman? Why?”
Richard pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. “Why, so I can have it announced two weeks after publication that I, Richard Halstead, darling of the critics, am the real author.”
“Because you don’t think the reviews will be as good as they are for your other books,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “But, Richard, what if they are?”
“Damn. I hadn’t thought of that one.” He pulled her toward him and gave her a kiss on the forehead before slipping his arm around her waist and guiding her toward the doorway. She could have been his daughter, or his collie, Sam The Dog. “See why I need you, Elizabeth? Now I’m going to have to rethink the entire thing, aren’t I? Oh, and I have some news.”
“Really? I’ve only been out of the house for a few hours, and already you’re writing a roman—a love story and changing your name while you’re at it.”
“Not anymore. I think I’ll stick to my own name. I’m sure John will thank you for that. And I’m not even sure I’ll finish the book. I’ve only just begun it, and I’m honest enough to tell you that it isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Killing people is much less complicated than dealing with all these emotions. But, no, my real news is that I’m leaving tonight for my tour, heading to New York to do the Browardshow.”
“Richard!” Elizabeth hugged him in genuine joy. “I know how you’ve longed to do that show. What a coup.”
“There was a cancellation so I’m a second choice but not too proud to grab at it. But now I have to ask you to pack for me. Only enough for two days, and you can forward the rest of my luggage on to Detroit, my original launch city. Do you mind?”
“Mind? Of course not. It’s why you so grossly underpay me, remember?” she said with a smile, beating down a selfish and probably dishonorable little voice inside her that was saying, Now you don’t have to tell him about Will. Not that there’s anything to tell him. Really.
“I should have you writing my dialogue for me,” he said as he paused at the door, clearly escorting her out of his sanctum so he could get back to his love story, but doing it in such a tactful way that she really couldn’t mind. “John’s arranged for a car to pick me up at four, and he and I will have supper at my hotel. I’d hoped we could dine together tonight, Elizabeth, perhaps talk a bit more about … my proposal.”
“That would have been very nice. But we wouldn’t want to be rushed about things, would we?” Elizabeth said, clutching at straws.
Richard frowned as he looked down into her face. “I should take you to Rome. Or Paris. Be more romantic.”
Elizabeth raised her hand to his cheek. “You have a deadline. You have this book tour. I understand.”
“I’ll always have a deadline, Elizabeth,” he reminded her. “I’ll always have half my head living in a world filled with my own creations. There’s a part of me that’s still a selfish child, playing inside my own imagination. I’m not offering you a lot, am I?”
“You’ve offered me everything you can give, and I’m more grateful than I can express. If … if I could just have a little more time …”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “That’s precisely what she needs to say to him, and in just that way.” He gave Elizabeth a quick hug. “What would I do without you?”
“I have no idea,” Elizabeth said quietly as she watched Richard hurry back to his computer. How strange. This morning, she would have been flattered and taken his words as yet another reason she should accept his proposal. But now? Now she felt no real satisfaction in being Richard’s assistant, Richard’s muse, Richard’s very good and comfortable companion. And she hated herself for that lack.
And then she tilted her head to one side, watching him as he attacked the keyboard. Why was Richard suddenly writing a love story? A week ago, before his proposal, he’d been deep in his book, racing through the pages as if there weren’t enough hours in the day to get all of his ideas down.
So why this switch? Was he feeling the same lack she was? Was he still, in his own way, searching for something more? Something that, for all their compatibility and friendship, he knew he hadn’t found in her?
And if she hadn’t met Will Hollingswood this morning, would she even be asking herself any of these questions?
Elizabeth checked on the twins, was assured by Elsie that they were fine with her, helping her mix up a batch of peanut butter cookies, and then she went upstairs to pack Richard’s suitcase.
“Oh, my,” Elizabeth said as they walked into the ballpark and the field opened up in front of them. “I had no idea there was anything like this in the area. Boys, look over there,” she said, pointing to the large scoreboard above center field. “There’s the IronPig.”
They’d entered the ballpark through gates that led to a wide concrete area wrapping around the field above the main seating area that stretched from where they were, right field, to behind home plate, and then stretched out again along the left field line. It was as if they were standing on the rim of a bowl, with the rows of seats ahead of them leading down to the natural grass field itself.
Will stepped up behind them, looking across the outfield at the huge pink snarling pig head that made no sense, yet somehow seemed to make perfect sense … if you didn’t mind wearing shirts and hats with steroid-strong cartoon pigs on them.
“Pig iron, boys,” he said, “is a sort of in-between product that’s a result of smelting iron ore with coke and … some other things. It’s used to make steel, like for bridges and buildings. At one time, the Bethlehem Steel Works plants in, well, in Bethlehem, which is right next door to Allentown, made some of the best steel in the world. Bethlehem steel was used, for instance, for the Empire State Building and the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and even in the reconstruction of the White House. You know, where our president lives.”
Danny, or maybe it was Mikey, turned his head to look up at Will as if he had been speaking Greek. “Uh-huh. Can I have some cotton candy? Some of the blue kind?”
“What? Oh, sure, no problem,” Will said, leading them all toward the kiosk displaying bags of pink and blue cotton candy. “I thought you said they’d ask,” he said quietly to Elizabeth. “I’ve got the whole story, mostly. Although I didn’t think I’d mention the part where the molten iron was poured into a long channel and then these forms sort of branched off all along the sides of the channel, and somebody decided the whole thing looked like a litter of piglets, you know, feeding from the mother sow. Pigs, iron—pig iron.”
“You were probably wiser not to get that involved,” Elizabeth said, clearly trying to hold back a smile but not succeeding. “You really looked up the definition of pig iron, and all that information about the steel plants? That was very sweet of you.”
He pulled out a ten-dollar bill to pay for two bags of cotton candy and got four ones back in change. At least somebody was operating on a pretty hefty profit margin these days. “But not entirely helpful. I couldn’t find anything about how pig iron got turned around into iron pig, and I still sure as hell don’t know why anyone would name a baseball team the IronPigs.”
“Well, I’m beginning to think it’s rather cute. And you have to admit he’s a pretty ferocious-looking pig. Oh, look, they have a store. Is there time for me to take a look around before the game starts?”
“If you let me stay out here and wait for you, sure,” he told her, already eyeing the line in front of the beer stand. “Would you like me to get you something to drink?”
“Thank you, yes. I’ll have a lemonade if they have any. And apple juice or something for the boys? It might help wash some of that sugar off their teeth.”
“You’ve got it,” he told her, looking at the boys, who were both already sticky with cotton candy, their fingers, cheeks and definitely their tongues turning a deep shade of blue. “Uh, I shouldn’t have let them have that, should I?”
“Cotton candy wouldn’t have been my first choice, no. But they both ate all of their supper, so it’s all right. At least they’re not asking to go home. But you know what? I don’t think I should take them into the store while they’re all sticky like that, do you? Could you watch them for me? I want to get them each something with the pig on it.”
Panic, swift and fairly terrible, kicked Will in the midsection. He suddenly remembered why he’d always made it a point to never date women with children. “Me? Watch them? Oh,” he said, attempting to look, if not fatherly, then at least reasonably competent. “Sure, no problem.”
“Thank you,” she said, rummaging in her purse. “Here’s some wet wipes in case they finish their cotton candy.” Elizabeth’s smile strangely made his sacrifice seem worth the effort, and he held out his hand as he mutely accepted the wrapped packets. He then watched her disappear into the crowd milling along the walkway behind the right field seats, feeling only slightly desperate.
“Okay, boys, let’s go get Coach a nice cold one.”
“A cold what? Can we have one, too? Where’s Mom?” one of them asked, the one who had somehow gotten cotton candy on his elbow. How the hell did you get cotton candy on an elbow?
“You’ve got to be Mikey, right?”
“Yeah. So where’s my mom?”
“She went to buy you guys some Pigs stuff. She’ll be right back.” So please don’t cry.
“Cool,” Mikey said, licking his fingers. “I’m thirsty. Hey, Danny, are you thirsty?”
Danny, who had wandered off without Will realizing he was gone, walked back to them wiping his hands together after tossing the empty plastic bag in a garbage can. At least they were … trained. “Sure. I saw a kid with a hot dog. We could get hot dogs. Or maybe pizza? I saw some pizza, too.”
Will was beginning to sense that Elizabeth’s sons were going to eat their way through their first experience at a baseball game.
“Here, hold out your hands,” he told them, ripping open one of the packets. With memories of his mother scrubbing at his sticky face and hands with a washcloth, he started by wiping their faces and then opened two more packets and gave them each a wet towelette so they could clean their own hands. He reserved the last packet for himself, to clean himself up after cleaning them up.
“Will? Will Hollingswood? Is there something I should know?”
Will shut his eyes for a moment, recognizing the voice, knowing who would be standing behind him when he turned around.
“Hi, Kay,” he said grabbing the used towelettes the twins were shoving at him and stuffing them in his pocket before turning to look at the tall, stunningly beautiful brunette. “I didn’t know you liked the Pigs.”
“Well, then that makes us even. I didn’t know you had children.”
“Very funny. They’re not mine, Kay.”
“Are you sure?”
