скачать книгу бесплатно
Not when it might be his last.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_81ee6340-2301-5ca1-8d17-60218131f8fe)
HEATHER SAT IN the Falcons’ former dugout and gazed at the sky. It was purple, almost watery-looking. The moon peered back at her over the tree line, and birds called their good-nights from the spreading branches. Scout, the family’s collie, bounded through the entrance and circled the bench before flopping down at her feet, exhausted from chasing who knew what...
She zipped her sweatshirt against the slight chill, thinking for the hundredth time that she should leave their old field and head home. Yet after two weeks of staying indoors, either in the hospital or by her father’s side, she needed this gulp of air.
And being here was peaceful. Even the rattling cicadas in the scrub brush sounded like a lullaby. She’d always escaped here during her mother’s addiction-fueled rampages. A place she could run to from home.
Heather wondered what would have happened if her mother hadn’t sustained the back injury that’d hooked her on painkillers. Although it’d happened when Heather was too young to remember, she’d always wished she could have done something to prevent the muscle sprain—or seen the signs of her mother’s medicine misuse, a habit that’d become a much bigger problem than her back. She glanced around at the peeling white paint on the warped walls, up at the sagging ceiling, and out at the shaggy field. Like all baseball fields, it was beautiful to her. Abandoned or not.
She stretched out on the gouged wooden bench, feeling completely alone. Scout nudged his wet nose into her palm, and she smoothed the russet crown of his head. Well, maybe not absolutely alone. But still...after enduring her father’s constant stream of remarks that the soup was too bland, that the air-conditioning was too high, that his pills weren’t crushed well enough in the jelly...the recriminations seemed endless...she needed this time to herself.
She brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. At least she’d heard that Alicia had won her second game today, the accomplishment bolstering her. It’d also felt good when her university’s operations director, Chris, had said he’d be glad when she came home. Yet California would never be a place she could settle down. She was appreciated there, but it wasn’t where she belonged.
This was home. She remembered the grouchy old third baseman who’d been a career Minor Leaguer. He’d bought her Pixy Stix at the snack counter after every home win. The team’s bus driver came to mind. He’d let her sneak on board for a handful of away games the summer she’d turned eleven. The year her mother was worse than ever.
Being a part of that year’s championship run had instilled her love for the game while helping her escape a hellish life. She and the players weren’t related, but they’d always been her family. North Carolina’s dense woods, distant mountains and numerous streams part of her DNA.
Like a migrating bird, flying home had settled the part of her that’d felt adrift since she’d left for college. Maybe she’d apply for a coaching position locally. Keep an eye on her father and help out with the Falcons...if he’d let her. She craved his approval, but there was as much of a chance of getting that as there was of her returning one of her mother’s recent calls.
A moth fluttered by her forehead and she shooed it away, staring up at the cobweb-covered ceiling. She’d heard her mother’s promises too many times to trust them again. That faith had nearly killed her when she’d climbed into her parents’ car and woken up, two days later, in intensive care. It’d been her thirteenth birthday, a day marked with a lit candle stuck in green Jell-o and the news that Mom had checked herself out of the hospital and left their family for good.
She pulled up the hem of her sweatshirt and traced the raised silver scar that ran along her stomach. It was a tangible reminder of how close that trust had come to ending her life. Her mother’s abandonment left wounds the surgeons couldn’t stitch closed...so she’d done it herself, shutting off the part of her that could ever believe in others again.
Whomp! The loud bang of a ball hitting the backstop echoed in the still twilight. She scrambled upright and peered into the purpling light, Scout already bounding for the field. A tall man stood on the pitcher’s mound, his chiseled profile outlined by the sun’s last rays. His strong jaw flexed and, in a blur of movement, he wound up and let loose another fastball, his biceps tense before he dropped his arms.
He was powerfully built with broad shoulders and a wide back that tapered to a lean waist and flat stomach. When he lifted the bottom of his shirt to mop his brow, she glimpsed a hard six-pack that sucked the air right out of her. The coach in her admired the physique that promised results on the field. The woman in her... Suddenly her sweatshirt was too warm over her tank top and she shrugged out of it, her eyes lingering on the strong play of his quadriceps shifting as he changed his stance.
Male, athletic beauty like his was undeniable. The symmetry of his features and body, and the animal grace of his movements, made it hard not to stare. She wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend. Needed to focus on her father and building her career. A romantic relationship would only distract her. Still, he was a pitcher, same as her. There was no harm in a little conversation about that... Besides, she needed to call off a barking Scout.
Oh, who was she kidding? It was hard to resist wanting a closer glimpse. And that’s all it could be, she told herself firmly as she sat up and left the dugout. How long had he played for the Falcons? She hadn’t seen him before. She would have remembered the tousled golden hair that grabbed the fading light and the intense eyes that suddenly swerved her way.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her hands rising to her ribs as if to contain her ferociously beating heart. “Sorry to disturb you. Scout, down.” She gave a silent thank-you to her unreliable tongue for not tripping up her words and watched, grateful, as her sometimes unruly pet lowered his belly and muzzle to the dirt.
A frown marred the man’s handsome face, a line appearing between his slanted brows. He looked down at her over a straight nose that stopped above a pair of full lips. “This is a closed practice.” His eyes stared directly into hers, causing an odd, plummeting sensation in her legs. So much so that she dipped a little at the knees.
She opened her mouth, but now her voice had run down her throat. Looking at him made it hard to think—or speak.
He gestured to the square he’d marked off with glow-in-the-dark tape on the backstop. “If you don’t mind, I need to continue pitching. Alone. And this is private property.”
Heather pulled words from her throat as if she was raising them from a well, determined to match his arrogant tone. Who did this guy think he was?
That was the problem with good-looking guys. They expected everyone in the world to be nice to them but didn’t bother to return the favor.
“I know. It’s mine. Or my dad’s. I’m Heather Gadway.” She strode forward and extended a hand. When he shook it, a rush of awareness exploded up her arm.
“Garrett Wolf,” he drawled, his voice dark, smooth and hypnotic. “Your father recently signed me.” He glanced at Scout. “Nice dog.”
Words collected in her mouth and lay there, irritation weighing them down. He was the reclamation project, the reformed alcoholic who’d caused his last Triple-A team lots of trouble with the media and on the field. And she’d almost let herself be attracted to him. Well, shoot. That was not going to happen.
She dropped his hand as if she’d touched acid and stepped back, a knot forming in her throat. At five-ten, she was a tall woman, but Garrett had to be more than half a foot taller. Six-four or -five, maybe.
“Welcome to the team,” Heather forced out, not meaning it at all. Why had her father signed such a high-risk player, anyway? Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but it wasn’t like they were putting up billboards. Her dad, of all people, should know they didn’t need former addicts on the Falcons. What if he relapsed? Always a real possibility. “I’m visiting while my father recovers from his heart attack.”
The stern lines of his face relaxed, and suddenly he was the all-American boy next door, the kind who broke every girl’s heart—every girl’s but hers. There wasn’t a chance she’d fall for his charm, no matter that his easy smile made her stomach jump and flutter. She’d seen what he’d been like before he’d found out she was the owner’s daughter.
Garrett tossed his ball in a gym bag and scooped up his sports drink in a sleek, fluid movement that mesmerized her. When he drew closer, she could smell his pine-scented aftershave and a fresh, masculine musk. “Your father’s a good man. I hope he’s doing better.”
Heather shifted her footing and cleared her throat. Garrett was getting under her skin in the worst way. His earlier arrogance needled her. Yet somehow, when the corners of his lips lifted and his deep dimples flashed, she had to catch herself before grinning back. Get a grip and be professional, she warned herself before saying, “He is. Chomping at the bit to get out more. I’ve practically had to tie him to the bed.”
A spark ignited in his blue eyes, and she flushed. What a strange thing to say. Provocative when she meant to be anything but.
“How long are you staying?” he asked, his deep voice lowering further, his unswerving, intent gaze on her.
She scuffed the dirt, her ears ringing with the staccato thrum thrum thrum of her rapid pulse. “Not sure. I’m a pitching coach for the Morro Bay Red Tails. They want me back. But Dad needs me.”
Garrett’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re a pitcher, too.”
“I was. Still miss that feeling of controlling the game.” She pressed her lips shut. Now why had she admitted that to a stranger? One she should be running from instead of hanging around like a groupie...
Understanding lit his eyes. “Me too. I like taking the lead. Being in charge.” He stepped closer and stared down at her before he tucked a strand that’d fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. She shivered, the caress turning her inside out as his hand lingered by her cheek.
Unable to look away, she returned his stare, wishing he was anyone else. Or she was anyone else. But whatever she might fantasize, the reality was that this magnetic pull had to be severed. After a moment, she forced herself to back away.
“I’d better be going. My father probably needs me.”
“Tell him I wish him well,” Garrett said. “Will he be at tomorrow’s game? Both of you?”
The way he said it sounded like a personal invitation. Like he wanted her there. But she had to be imagining this. Few guys dared make a move on the owner’s daughter. She doubted Garrett would jeopardize his comeback by screwing up like that. And besides, her dad would go ballistic if she even considered cozying up to this guy. Time to exit. Fast. Every time their eyes met, she felt light-headed.
“Maybe. I’ll be around. Let’s go, Scout,” she called and fled.
Just not around you, she added silently, looking over her shoulder and catching his stare.
Not if she could help it.
* * *
HEATHER SNUCK ANOTHER look at her father as they seated themselves at the boardroom table. He’d scolded her for fussing over him these past two weeks, but with the scare he’d given her, it was hard to leave him be. Sometimes it felt like if she looked away, he might just disappear. And despite her mother’s sporadic attempts to contact her these past ten years, she still felt as though her father was all she had in the world.
Though lately, ridiculous thoughts of a gorgeous pitcher had also kept her company. She needed a mental fly swatter to squash them. Was he the reason she’d already laid out her outfit—a sundress and wedge sandals—for tonight’s game? Usually she was content with shorts and a T-shirt that’d survived a mustard spill or two. When she got home, that dress was going right back in the closet. No way was she dressing up for Garrett Wolf.
“Mr. Gadway.” A man in a fitted, expensive-looking suit entered the room and extended his hand to her father, his thick gold ring flashing under the recessed lights. “It’s nice to meet you in person, though I hadn’t anticipated the pleasure of meeting your lovely daughter as well.”
Heather tried not to cringe visibly at the moist press of his palm against hers, still wondering what this meeting was all about.
If she hadn’t overheard her father confirming the time and location, she wouldn’t have known he had something important scheduled. Luckily, he’d grudgingly given in when she’d insisted on coming. Her reminder that he still needed someone to drive tipped the scales.
“I’m Sam Gowette, and this is my business partner and brother, Joe.” A slightly younger man joined them. He had the same wavy brown hair as his brother, his protruding eyes lingering on her a moment too long. Gowette? Realization sizzled through her. These were the media moguls who owned their Major League affiliate, the Buccaneers. Why were they here?
“Tomas Swarez, our attorney, is here as well.” Heather returned the distinguished-looking man’s nod, her nerves jumping higher and higher until they reached her throat and made her swallow hard. What was going on?
The attorney passed a folder to her father and looked at her apologetically. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have prepared a purchase offer packet for you as well, Ms. Gadway.”
Heather set down her mug. “Purchase offer?” Her heart raced. Were they selling the team? A sharp glance at her father showed him looking straight ahead, a slight tick appearing beneath his left eye. A sure sign he was unsettled.
The Gowette brothers exchanged a long look before the older one—Sam—faced her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, yes. It’s an offer we’ve been discussing with your father. Our purchase of the Falcons.”
A hot flush started in Heather’s gut and burned its way up to her cheeks. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” She turned to her father and said in a low voice, “The Falcons are not for sale.”
The lawyer straightened his tie and cleared his throat after a nod from his employers. “With all due respect, Ms. Gadway, this deal has been negotiated with your father, the sole owner of this property. We’d appreciate the chance to proceed with our discussion without further interruptions.”
“What is going on?” she whispered to her father.
“Heather. This has nothing to do with you,” he growled beneath his breath. His brown eyes slid her way and narrowed at the edges in a way that used to make her duck under her covers.
But she wasn’t a kid anymore. And this had everything to do with her. The Falcons were her family’s legacy. Sure, she wasn’t the son she imagined her father would have wanted. But there wasn’t anything a man could do for this team that she couldn’t. Her father needed to give her a chance to turn it around rather than sell. Believe in her instead of ripping everything she did apart.
She opened her mouth but closed it when her father’s index finger tapped the table in front of her. Fine. She’d listen, but he wouldn’t possibly sell the team without talking it over with her first. Would he?
“Shall we begin?” the attorney intoned, and all the men flipped open their folders in unison.
Heather leaned to the right and read over her father’s shoulder. The Gowette Corporation was proposing to purchase the Falcons for eight million dollars, a ridiculously low price. Her heart beat so loudly she wondered if her father could hear it. But he refused to meet her eye as he scanned the document.
A knock on the door sounded when her father reached the last page. The one with the empty signature lines.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” said Frank Williams, the Minor League’s director. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair clipped short around his square-shaped head. His eyes darted to Heather, and he smiled in recognition. His daughter was her high school best friend and former softball teammate. “I stopped by to check in on the Falcons and heard there was a sale meeting. Thought I might sit in if that’s okay.”
Heather breathed a bit easier. She knew Frank well and had always thought him a fair person. He’d never agree that eight million was a reasonable price. Not for a team that grossed half of that a year. Or at least, it used to before the fabric mills had all shut down. A lot had changed since she’d left home.
In fact, she’d hardly recognized Holly Springs when she’d driven through it the other day. Gone were the crowds bustling along the streets. Many of the coffee shops and local artisan spots were boarded up. Even the children’s bookstore had shut down. Worse yet, the people walked with their heads low, as though the pride they’d once had in their formerly thriving town had left along with most of its populace. It broke her heart.
The Gowettes and their lawyer nodded and grinned at Frank as if greeting royalty. His opinion held a lot of sway, and they obviously were courting it.
“The proposal is to purchase the Falcons for eight million dollars, a price previously negotiated between my clients and Mr. Gadway,” announced the Gowettes’ representative. When he raised his coffee mug for a sip, she noticed his hand trembled slightly. He had to know this was a terrible offer.
Frank cleared his throat and peered at her father. “And that price is agreeable to you, Dave?”
Her father paled and, for the first time since she’d seen him in the hospital, looked defeated. “I’m out of options. And the price is fair since they’re not going to use any of the Holly Springs facilities.”
Heather sucked in a harsh breath. “Why? We just built the new stadium ten years ago, and the old stadium is still a decent place for targeted practices.”
“Because we’re relocating the team closer to Pittsburgh,” the older Gowette brother cut in flatly, clearly losing patience with her.
“But the Falcons have always played in Holly Springs.” Heather struggled to raise her voice, yet the more upset she got, the more her brain muted her vocal cords. She turned to her expressionless father and put a hand on his arm, feeling the thin parchment of his skin. He seemed to have aged overnight.
“Your grandfather founded the team here in the ’30s. We have an obligation to this town. Its people.” Sure, the growing trend was Major League owners buying their Minor League affiliates, but she’d never imagined it happening to the Falcons. Her family couldn’t give up a tradition they’d started long ago.
“Joe, Sam, Tomas,” her father said, his voice filled with the gravel that came from shouting for most of his life. “I’d like a moment with my daughter. Alone.”
The men shot her disapproving looks and left. Frank remained, sitting quietly after her father nodded for him to stay.
The creases in her father’s broad face deepened when he turned toward her, his firm jaw showing the slightest droop. When had her dad ever looked his age? He gathered her hands in his, his familiar calluses chaffing her palm. “It’s time to be a grown-up, Heather, and that means making tough decisions.”
Disappointment stung her, but she wasn’t surprised. Criticism was his way of caring, right? She gritted her teeth and ignored the old hurts.
“I’m listening, Dad. And I can’t believe that we talk every day and something so important to you—and me—never came up. Please do bring me up to speed.”
Her father sighed. “Since the fabric mills shut down and the brand new Double-A stadium went up on the other side of Raleigh, we’ve lost money for five years straight. I’ve tried to keep it from you. Didn’t want you to worry, but the truth is, I can’t afford to keep going.”
“You should have told me. I would have come home to help instead of just visit.” She squeezed his hands, wishing he’d trusted her with the truth. But open communication had never been their strong suit. Living with an addict meant keeping secrets. It was a pattern they’d never broken free of, even after her mother had left and she and her dad had attended Al-Anon meetings together. Although the group was a way for friends and families of substance abusers to share their experiences, Heather and her dad had never talked about it outside of meetings.
Her father shook his head. “You’re doing just fine out there in California, and there’s nothing you could help with here. Pete left because I had to offer him a lower wage. Since I can’t pay the kind of salary that’d buy us a decent manager, we can’t turn the team’s record around and attract the fans. I’d do it myself, but with my health where it’s at, that’s not an option anymore.”
But she could help. Sure she loved coaching the Red Tails, but this team belonged to her ancestors, and Holly Springs was where her home and heart were. If the team left, there would be little to keep the town going.
“But you don’t have to do it yourself. I’m here. I’ll take a leave of absence from the university, manage the team for free and get the Falcons back on track while you recover.” Although she used her most confident “coach” voice, inside she shook at the idea. Could she pull it off? It’d been her dream, but she’d always imagined gradually easing into the position with time to learn from Pete. Now she’d have to figure things out on the fly. Sink or swim time.
Her father pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You don’t have the know-how for a job like this, Heather.”
“I grew up with the Falcons and know as much about them as anyone here. Even you.” She searched his eyes but saw only flat refusal reflected back at her. Her chin rose as she tried again. “I’ve worked my way up with the Red Tails and help out with their roster and recruitment. I can do this. Give me a chance.”
He swatted the air with his hand. “Out of the question. Besides, who ever heard of a woman managing a men’s Minor League baseball team?”
Frank put his elbow on the table and leaned in. “Actually, the MBA’s been trying to rectify that, Dave. Someone like Heather could help with that.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “We need to show that we’re equal opportunity employers.”
Heather’s heart warmed. Frank believed in her.
“But I can’t afford to lose more money, or spend time teaching her the ropes,” exclaimed her father. He pushed back his gray hair, his face turning red. “She’ll never learn fast enough.”
His cutting words threatened to shove Heather right back to her childhood and all the times she hadn’t been good enough. Not for him.
But he’d also said it was time to grow up, and she’d done that. He just didn’t see it. With this chance, she’d prove that she was capable and deserved his respect.
“I don’t need your help,” she said, forcing the dial up on her voice. “I watched a game the other day, and already have some changes in mind to improve the team.”
Her father snorted, but Frank steepled his fingers and regarded her carefully. “What would you do?”
She went through the mental notes she’d taken while watching yesterday’s game. “First, George Hopson’s a good hitter, but he’s slow. He clogs up the bases and could have scored a run from third if he’d hustled on that long fly ball. Defensively, your center fielder, Rob Vader, is plenty fast, but he’s wall-shy. He pulled up short yesterday and missed a catchable ball that hit the bottom of the wall. Two runs scored because of that. We need more effort on those kinds of plays. Finally, that new pitcher, the tall, blond-haired one...”
“Garrett Wolf?” her father asked, looking slightly stunned at her rush of words. It felt good finally to have the floor. To share her opinion. To be listened to. Taken seriously.
She nodded, trying to appear calm despite the leap in her pulse at Garrett’s name. “He’s a risk, and I’m not sure if he’s worth keeping. I didn’t see him pitch that game, but heard he’s got control issues. He’ll need help with that if he’s going to be an asset instead of a liability.”
She would definitely put the Falcons pitching coach on that task, not trusting herself to give the dangerously attractive new player the pointers he needed. That is, if she even got the opportunity to save the team.
Her father was already shaking his head. “Impossible.”
