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  The top of the sixth and only two fly balls had come in his direction. It was kind of a kick to know he could still catch the suckers and his arm wasn’t nearly as sore as he’d feared it would be if he’d been involved in too many plays. Of course, tossing the ball to the second baseman wasn’t the same as winding up from the mound.

  Next batter was up. Zane took his position, cast a quick glance at Callie on third, and once again thought how fun life would have been if she’d been the third baseman on his high school baseball team. The score was tied three to three and he was ready to call it a night and head home for a hot shower and a bite to eat. The cracking sound of ball striking bat brought him out of his menu ruminations. Damned if the thing wasn’t flying over his head, way over his head, and clear back into home run territory.

  Anyone would have thought by now that he’d know better than to lose focus when Deidra was at bat. He also would have thought the science teacher would know better than to pitch her a fastball. Things were not looking good. The kid’s team was ahead four to three now with no outs and two of their stronger hitters on deck. Sure enough, it took four more batters before the third out, and the students were now ahead five to three.

  In the dugout, he chugged a drink and almost choked on the water when Callie ran her fingers along his shoulder.

  “Ted Sanders, the American history teacher, is up. Then me, then you. How’s that shoulder doing?”

  “So far so good.” Crushing the paper cup in his hand, he smiled at her and tossed it into the large trash can in the corner. After all these years he thought he’d forgotten baseball. Didn’t need it. Now he was reminded of how much he loved the game. Not that he hadn’t watched it on TV and cheered on his friends or former teammates. But there was something about actually being in the game that he’d almost let himself completely forget.

  First batter up hit a fly ball over the bleachers. Zane watched and smiled at Callie when she looked his way. Everything was so much better because she was a part of it. Next pitch and the history teacher sent the ball flying between two fielders and made it to first. Then, Callie wiggled her hips through a warm-up swing and he bit back a groan. First pitch and she sent the thing flying to left field where it bounced once before the fielder scooped it up.

  Two men safely on base and Zane’s turn. First pitch was low and out. Second pitch was the same, and Zane bit down on his back teeth when the umpire called it a strike. Next pitch and he felt that ball connect with the sweet spot of his bat and knew no one was catching that baby. He made his way around the bases and joined his teammates in the dugout rejoicing over the new lead. The students changed pitchers. Deidra was now on the mound and the next three batters went up and down. But the old fogies still had the lead. So far.

  Eighth inning came and went with no change in score. Deidra had done her part. Three more batters had come up and three had gone down. Now it was up to their tired science teacher to hold the lead and they’d be home free. First batter up and the ball skipped past the pitcher, landing the player on first base. Two more pitches and two more batters on base. Several teachers were huddled around the pitcher. The guy was exhausted and should have been pulled long ago. Going nine innings was tough on an arm.

  Scanning the bleachers, he spotted his buddy up on the last row by left field. Then he zoomed in on a couple more overly dressed men in button down shirts with their sleeves rolled up. Baseball caps hid eyes shaded by reflective sunglasses. None of them fit in with the casual family crowd. Odd. But there was no time to contemplate the bystanders. Callie was walking his way and his gut told him he wasn’t going to like it.

  “Hi,” he mumbled.

  “Hi.” She cast her gaze to his glove and then stole a quick peek over her shoulder at the teachers still gathered at the pitcher’s mound. “I know you didn’t want to do this. Or maybe couldn’t. But the only other teachers who can pitch are two of the ones out with the flu. You’re our last hope for bragging rights.”

  He shook his head and unconsciously brought his left hand up to rub an arm that didn’t hurt. Yet. “I can’t.”

  She hefted a shoulder. “I told them that, but this means a lot to them. You know, men and their bragging rights.”

  Unfortunately, he knew exactly what she meant. And he also knew from overheard conversations the last few days how much playing in this game meant to everyone, but more so he’d picked up from a few guys how sweet it would be to just once beat the younger team. As much as he hated to consider it, he was their last hope. She was several yards away from him when he called out, “I’ll do it.”

  Her wide eyes reflected as much surprise at hearing his words as he felt. “You sure?”

  “No. But I’ll do it.” And if those beautiful lake stars were shining on him, he wouldn’t regret his brash decision come morning.

  Her smile widened. Some things were worth the pain. She ran back to the mound with him only a step behind.

  On the mound, he looked to the catcher. This might be the dumbest thing he’d done since he was actually in high school himself. Squeezing the ball in his hand, he tossed a few easy throws to the catcher. Nothing too fast or too hard. The shortest warm-up he’d ever done. It was time.

  Ball in hand, he nodded to the umpire. The next batter came up and, winding his arm back around, he said a small prayer as the ball left his fingers and flew across the dirt, past the batter, past the catcher, and slammed into the end stop post. The wild pitch ricocheted from there into the stands. Several fans jumped to their feet and made a play for the ball seconds before it slammed into some poor parent with a tray full of nachos and colas. Closing his eyes, there was no maybe about it; this was the dumbest thing he’d done since high school.

  Taking in a deep breath, he barely dipped his chin, did the standard wind up, prayed a bit harder, and watched the ball whiz across the long patch of dirt. The slap of the ball in the heart of the catcher’s glove almost had him jumping for joy. The umpire’s call of strike was music to his ears. Two more pitches, the batter was out, and his arm felt great. Really great.

  Another kid came up. Zane recognized him as one of the better players on the team. If he remembered correctly, the kid was a junior and would probably fill Deidra’s spot of star player in his senior year. Zane went through the motions that were now feeling as natural and routine as brushing his teeth, and watched with immense pleasure as three balls sailed from his hand, and the umpire repeated the words strike each time, sending the player packing.

  This was it. If he could keep his mojo going, the faculty were going to win the competition for the first time in over a decade. Feeling a bit of numbness in his fingertips, he wiggled and stretched his hand and looked up to see Deidra at bat. He really would have preferred not facing her. His gaze rose to the last spot he’d seen Dave sitting. He wasn’t there anymore.

  Had he seen enough? Made up his mind? Hopefully nothing serious had dragged him away before tomorrow’s chance to see all Deidra could do. To be sure she had the stuff over and over.

  A smile tugged at one side of his mouth. Clamping down, he focused on his target. His fingers gripped the ball and the only thought crossing his mind as he whipped the ball across the field was not today.

  “Strike.”

  That’s what he wanted to hear. Sorry Deidra, but there was no being nice in baseball.

  “Strike two.”

  A twinge pinched at his shoulder. Doing what all good ball players did, he sucked it up and let the next ball fly.

  “Ball one.”

  Blast. He wasn’t going to rub his shoulder. There was no room for showing weakness. All he needed was one more pitch. One more throw and he’d have done it. Again. Leaning back, raising one leg, he came down and whirled his weight into the throw. Almost like slow motion, the pitch made its way across the diamond and pop, he’d hit his mark. The game was over. Three up, three down. They’d won. And his arm was killing him.

  “You did it!” Running up to him, Callie’s arms flew aro
und his neck and her legs circled his hips.

  He wobbled backward before wrapping his arms around her waist and, ignoring the pain in his arm, squeezed back.

  “You were phenomenal!” Dave slapped him hard across the back. “Still got it. Amazing.”

  Blushing at her public display, Callie slid away, standing beside him.

  “I’ve got to admit, that felt really good,” he told his friend, but kept his gaze on Callie, missing the feel of her up close to him.

  “Looked good too,” Dave said. “You should do it more often.”

  “Yeah,” he flexed the fingers of his right hand, “maybe I should.”

  “Great job.” A man Zane had never seen before came to a stop beside him and reached out to shake his hand, then swung to face Dave.

  “What the heck are you doing here?” Dave looked at the overdressed fan and then slid his gaze over to the man approaching from a few feet away. “And you?”

  The other fellow extended his hand and shook. “My assistant got wind that you were boarding a plane to Manchester. I figured whoever got you off your butt at this time of year had to be worth checking out.”

  “Same here.” The first guy’s gaze trailed over to the dugout where the students were sullenly moving about. “Took a bit of work to narrow the choices down.”

  Dave waved an arm from his friend to the guys beside him. “Zane, let me introduce you to the head coach from UMass.”

  “How do you do?” The first guy shot out his hand.

  “And BC,” Dave added.

  “Pleasure.” The man leaned forward. “Nicely done.”

  “Thanks.”

  From the side, another familiar face approached. Wearing the local high school team hat, a matching jersey, carrying a letterman jacket—which was completely unnecessary this time of year, even in New England—a bag of popcorn almost as big as he was, and Lucy from Hart House to one side of him, and another woman Zane had never seen before who was ready to fall out of her top any second now. “Craig? What are you doing here?”

  The words, “I’m here to see you” came out at the same time as Lucy and the other gal announced, “He’s here to see Deidra.”

  Craig turned to Lucy. “Why exactly is everyone so obsessed with this Deidra?”

  “She’s the player that batted in most of the runs and pitched the last couple of innings for the student team.”

  The other two visiting coaches were already halfway to the students’ dugout.

  “Oh. She’s pretty good.” Craig nodded and smiled at him.

  “Pretty good,” Lucy huffed. “What kind of scout are you?”

  “A bad one.” Craig shrugged. “Mostly because I’m a database specialist.”

  Lucy’s jaw fell open and the clingy woman bounced off his side so fast, Zane wondered if she had springs on those spiked heels. “Database?” Lucy repeated.

  “I thought you were the scout from California.” The woman with a top two sizes too small took a wobbly step back, ignoring her spike heel sinking in the dirt.

  “That,” Dave smiled at the chagrined woman, “would be me. And not only can I use a player like that girl on my roster...” He turned to face Zane. “If you meant what you said about doing baseball more often, I can use a man like you in California. Interested?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Any entertainment Callie was getting from Brenda’s antics and the apparent confusion over who was the actual college scout evaporated at Dave’s offer of a job.

  “Wait a minute.” Lucy held her hand out and then whirled around to Craig. “Why did you tell us you were the scout?”

  Narrow brown eyes suddenly widened. “I did no such thing.”

  “Yes, you did. You said you were a friend of Zane’s here.”

  “And he is, Lucy.” Zane smiled at the family housekeeper. “We work together. Or we did until a few weeks ago.”

  “So you’re saying we’ve been butter—uh—showing the town’s hospitality to the wrong man?”

  Zane scanned his buddy from head to toe and Callie was pretty sure the guy hadn’t come to town with all the fan gear. “Looks like it,” he said.

  “I see.” Lucy whirled around to face Dave and waved a finger at him. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  “Here.” Craig handed Dave the jacket and hat and a water bottle and dug into his pockets. “I believe all this is yours.”

  Dave stared at the key rings, and rabbit feet, and business cards, and other colorful souvenirs that Craig poured into his hands. “What is all this?”

  “Gifts from folks in town,” Craig managed to say with a straight face. “I also suspect the Home Run Pot Roast was named for you.”

  “Home Run Pot Roast?” Dave repeated.

  “Long story.” Craig chuckled.

  “The folks from town have been giving you all this stuff?” Zane asked.

  Craig nodded.

  “And you didn’t suspect something was up?”

  “They kept saying since I was your friend. I had a feeling you were up to something but who was I to question your behavior, or theirs. I never imagined they thought I was someone else.”

  “No. I guess not.” Zane’s grip on Callie’s waist slid away and the cold rush of air where his warm hand had been reached deep inside her. His arm might not be the only thing slipping away from her life.

  “Honestly,” Craig chuckled at Dave, “I’ve never been so relieved to not be in professional sports in my life. That Brenda woman is something else.”

  “You get a few of those from time to time.” Dave laughed and twisted to face Zane. “I meant what I said. If you are even a tiny bit interested, we need to talk. But first I have to see a girl about a scholarship before someone else snaps her up.”

  “Oh, my.” Grams came rushing up to the huddle of friends. “Lucy tells me we’ve made a terrible mistake. I hope we haven’t unsettled you?”

  “Me?” Craig stabbed himself with his thumb.

  Looking absolutely stunning in white slacks with a tunic length floral silk top, her grandmother was the only person brave enough to wear white linen to a ballfield. Linking her arm through Craig’s elbow, she maneuvered them ever so slightly to face Zane. “I do owe you an apology, but if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to make proper introductions. We won’t be long.”

  Craig looked a tad dazed, but didn’t seem to mind going along for the ride. Grams was good at charming anyone into a good mood. Not that Craig had seemed all that upset by the mix-up, but a few minutes with Grams would set everything right nonetheless. Practically carried away, Craig looked over his shoulder at Zane and hollered, “We’ll talk later.”

  “So you enjoyed that last inning?” Callie wasn’t sure what answer she wanted to hear. Most of her so very much wanted him happy. Another growing part of her didn’t want that happiness taking him to California.

  “More than I thought I would.” He reached for her hand, threading her fingers with his, and started walking. “And I owe it to you. Without you, I may very well have gone my whole life without helping a kid get her shot at her dream. Without playing even a casual game of ball again.”

  Somehow that didn’t make her feel much better. Not if rekindling his love for the game took him away from here, from her. And wasn’t she being presumptuous. Ridiculous was what she was being. She was thinking and feeling like a teenager. “How does the arm feel?”

  “It could be worse.”

  She dug her heels into the ground, coming to a stop. “What do you mean, worse? How bad is it?”

  “The two teams are shaking hands without us.” He waved his free hand in the direction of the middle of the field.

  “They’ll forgive us. How is your shoulder? I’m not kidding. Do we need to ice it? I’m sure there’s ice in the gym. The teacher you replaced has probably already got bags of it strapped to his arm.”

  “Trust me when I tell you it’s not that bad.”

  Something told her that his opinion of not bad and her opi
nion might not be the same. “Just the same, I think we should get you into the locker room.”

  He tugged at her hand and swirled her around to face him. “My arm is fine. Nothing a long hot shower and a day’s rest,” he chuckled to himself, “or five won’t help.”

  “See. You are hurting.” And was this something new, she was hurting for him.

  “Of course I’m hurting. My shoulder will never be what it once was. It’s sore. But it was worth every minute. Every minute.” The corners of his mouth tipped upward and the glint in his eyes showed no sign of regret.

  And that could be a good or bad thing, and as far as they were concerned, she didn’t have a clue which it was.

  ***

  Something wasn’t right. Callie should have been delighted with the outcome. Not only had she convinced him to play, not only had they won the game, but Dave was impressed enough with Deidra’s performance to talk scholarships already. That in itself was amazing.

  Since he knew she wanted this scholarship for Deidra almost as much as Deidra wanted it, he didn’t get the pained look in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “But something is bothering you.” He wasn’t asking a question. Now he hoped if they’d grown as close as he thought they had, that she would tell him the truth.

  Her attention drifted toward the cluster of people surrounding the players. He squeezed her hand and she leveled her gaze with his. “Is coaching something you would like to do?”

  Working with Deidra had opened a new door. He really liked making a difference in a person’s life and seeing the rewards. He’d come to consider that tutoring or teaching kids, older kids, athletes, was something that he could see himself doing more for satisfaction than for money. But he hadn’t considered adding the aspect of coaching. “Maybe.”

  “I see.” Her gaze drifted away.

  “What are you not telling me?” This was like pulling teeth. And they said men didn’t like to talk. “What am I missing?”

  “Are you telling me maybe to coaching in general, or maybe to coaching with Dave in California?”