High Heat (Hard Hitters #1) (8 page)

The call came as she was on her way into the office, slurping at her daily indulgence—a tall latte from the Ladybird Café. “Damn.” She shifted the giant cup to the cup holder and groped in her purse for her cell phone, never taking her eyes off of the road.

It was Tracy.

“Have you looked at TMZ lately?” Her assistant sounded worried.

Sarah frowned. “I never look at TMZ unless I can help it. Why?”

“Christina Caputo was arrested on a DUI yesterday. It’s her second and she’s looking at jail time.”

She rolled her eyes. Tom sure could pick ’em. “So? They’re broken up.”

“She’s going to do an interview on ESPN.”

“ESPN?” The only possible reason a sports channel would want to talk to Christina Caputo would be to get dirt on Tom. “God.”

“Yeah.” Tracy sounded sympathetic. “I thought you might need to do damage control.”

Her lip curled as she slowed to a stop at one of Plainview’s few traffic lights. God, Tom had showed some abysmal judgment where women were concerned. As soon as she started to take him seriously, something happened to remind her of what a playboy he’d been for years.

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll look into it.” Christina and Tom were a thing of the past, so she couldn’t see how this could affect the Thrashers too much, but still. Their names were linked publicly and someone usually mentioned him in any of Christina’s coverage.

If you had a job in baseball operations, say, as team president or in coaching, you wouldn’t have to deal with this PR crap.

That thought, and others like it, ran through her head around one hundred times a day on average, but as always, she pushed it aside. The Thrashers were her family’s legacy, and the legacy wasn’t what it used to be. The team needed her—her family needed her—and she wouldn’t desert either.

Her phone rang again, and she eyed the display. Southland Novelties. Probably calling about her order of five hundred bobbleheads for next week’s game. With a sigh, she answered the call.

***

Oh, dear God. If you are the merciful Lord I learned about in Sunday school, please kill me now
and put me out of my misery.

Sarah lowered her forehead to touch the cool rim of the toilet. She’d lost count of how many times she’d hurled since she got home after the game tonight.

She’d heated up leftover Chinese food in the office kitchen hours ago. Maybe that had been the culprit.

Her eyes drifted shut. She was too tired to think anymore. Her throat and chest ached from repeated vomiting. So tired. She could fall asleep right here with ease. A tall glass of water for her parched throat sounded good, but the effort it would take to walk to the kitchen was too much to contemplate.

Somewhere in the house, the doorbell rang.

“Go away,” she cried weakly, knowing whoever was at the front door couldn’t hear her. Thirty seconds later, the bell rang again.

Damn. Whoever it was wasn’t giving up.

She hauled herself up and gripped the edge of the sink as the room whirled around her. When it finally righted itself, she shuffled down the hardwood floor of the hallway, her stocking feet making her slip more than once. She flipped on the porch light and glared through the tiny pane of glass. Her body ached, she was exhausted, and she was pretty sure she had barf on her pajama top.

Who was bothering her at this hour?

“Of course,” she muttered.

Tom pushed back his cap in the bright light of the front porch.

She opened the door and leaned her forehead against the door frame, her eyelids at half-mast. “What do you want?”

“You look like hell.” He sounded shocked.

“Thanks. Can I go back to bed?”

“Can I come in?”

Only years of etiquette lessons from her late mother kept her from saying no and slamming the door in his face.

“You’d better not. I think I may be contagious.”

“I wasn’t planning on giving you a big kiss or anything. No offense, but I’ve seen you look better.”

“Did you come here to insult me?” She pried her eyes open enough to give him a dirty look.

“No, I wanted to check on you. I could hear the retching through the wall of our duplex. Thin walls. You need anything?”

She shook her head and pulled herself upright, ruining the gesture by swaying when the room spun. Like a flash, he pushed the door wide and grabbed her by both arms, steadying her.

“You okay?”

“I think we’ve established that I’m not,” she said, enunciating as carefully as any drunk. She paused. Good Lord, it had taken a lot of energy to say that. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Good idea. Let me help.” He pushed past her and shut the door behind him. “Which way is your bedroom?”

She would have argued, but she didn’t have the strength.

“Up there.” She nodded at the stairs, too tired to lift her arm to point.

“Aw, hell.” Before she could ask what he meant, he hefted her into his arms and started up the stairs.

“What are you doing? You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Oh, no way. You’re light as a feather.” She doubted that—she’d never been petite—but being sheltered in his strong arms felt too good.

At the top of the stairs, he followed her directions and did a U-turn to the door on the left.

He looked around the dimly lit room with its plush coral comforter, teak bedroom set, and array of throw pillows. “Nice room.” He lowered her to the bed and tucked her in like a dad, making tears come to her eyes. Her emotions always shimmered close to the surface when she was ill. That must explain why such a simple gesture touched her so.

Her head sank into the pillow, and her eyes closed in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” His grin flashed bright, and even in her misery, she was struck by how damn handsome he was. “Where’s your cell phone?”

Did he want to make a call or something? Who cared? The bed felt so good on her aching body. “I think it’s charging in the kitchen,” she muttered sleepily.

“Mmm-kay.” He disappeared. She struggled to stay awake. She shouldn’t go to sleep with him wandering around in her house, but she was exhausted, and apparently she trusted him, whether that made sense or not. As she was on the verge of drifting off, he reappeared.

He placed her cell on her bedside table. “Your phone. I programmed my number into it. You need anything, give me a call. Sit up.”

Her eyes opened wide at his commanding tone. He stretched out a palm with a few pills on it. “Advil. This will help your aches and pains.” He handed her an open bottle of water. “Drink it down.”

She followed his instructions, impressed despite herself. Who knew Tom was a nurturer? “Wow, you’re like a pro at this.”

“Puking’s no fun. I ought to know. I had way too many hangovers when I first came into the majors.”

“But not anymore?” Was he a reformed party boy, despite his rep?

“Not as many, that’s for sure. Too old for that crap.” He sat on the edge of the mattress and took the bottle from her after she took the pills. “If you can’t quit throwing up, you ought to go to the ER. How many times have you thrown up?”

She sank back down into her pillow. “Um, not sure. Three? Four, maybe?” Too many, that was for sure.

“Eh, well. Puking is like orgasms. After the first couple, you tend to lose count.”

She simply let her eyes drift shut. “I wouldn’t know,” she mumbled.

As she slid into a netherworld of exhaustion, she could have sworn she heard him say, “That’s a terrible shame.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. A tuxedo?” Tom stared at Sarah through his screen door. “In this town? What the hell?”

“Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry. He had a feeling she was enjoying this. “Dad has his standards. He throws a team party at the All-Star break and all team personnel are required to attend. Black tie for the gentlemen, formal dress for the ladies. I can recommend a local rental shop if you didn’t bring your tux.”

“No, thanks. I’m not wearing something the homecoming king wore to the prom last year and puked in.” She rolled her eyes at his snobbery, but she didn’t argue. “I’ve got something at my house in Chicago. I’ll have the housekeeper ship it to me. When did you say this thing is again?”

He pushed the door wide and came out to sit on the front porch swing. She took a small patio chair opposite him.

She had a look that he imagined a therapist would wear when dealing with a particularly demented patient, or maybe the expression a nursery school teacher used on the biggest brat in day care.

“Tuesday night. There are three Thrashers on the All-Star team this year. They’ll travel to Dayton on Wednesday morning after the party, and the big game is Thursday. Sorry, you didn’t make the cutoff in time to qualify for the team.”

“It’s okay.” He didn’t care about the minor league All-Star game. All he cared about was the inevitable day he got called back up to the majors. It would happen soon. He could feel it. Its nearness was making him ansty.

He stretched one arm along the back of the porch swing, and his shirt pulled tight across his chest. He caught Sarah staring and smiled. Ever since they’d kissed in the park, she’d kept her distance, but she didn’t fool him. An attraction simmered beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to erupt out into the open. Maybe this party would be that chance.

He’d promised Paul he wouldn’t go after Sarah. But if she went after him, all bets were off.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll need to let catering know the counts for the dinner. Will you be bringing a guest?”

His grin broadened. He’d have to move carefully to avoid scaring her off. She liked him, but she was still jumpy. She had a million reasons why she needed to stay clear of him running through her head. His job was to bypass that impressive brain of hers and get her to listen to a different decision-making apparatus, one located a foot or two south of her head. “What do you think? Any ideas for who could be my date?”

She gave him a poison-sweet smile. “I don’t know. Any reality stars or Victoria’s Secret girls available that day?”

He shook his head. “Temper, temper. Is this any way to talk to the man who nursed you back to health?”

She compressed her lips. “True,” she admitted. “Thank you very much. You went above and beyond the call of duty for a housemate.”

Tom had gone over to check on her several times, and had microwaved her a bowl of chicken noodle soup at her request. He’d found a box of old DVDs in her living room for her to watch while she recovered. On his off-day, he’d even stuck around to watch
Eight Men Out
with her after she’d finally stopped throwing up but was still too weak to go back to work.

Even with her pale skin and ratty, unbrushed hair, she’d been one of the cutest things he’d ever seen, but he’d been careful not to show any signs of interest. He didn’t want to scare her off.

“No sweat. I had to do something. All that retching was keeping me up nights.” He gave her a casual shrug. “Anyway, no, I don’t have a date. How about you? You going with your sparkler boyfriend?”

Ah, there they were. Those flashing eyes that came to life anytime he got under her skin. “He’s not exactly my boyfriend,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Whatever. You going with him?” God, he hoped not. If ever a woman had dated someone unworthy of her, it was Sarah and her mama’s boy, Rich.

“Probably. I haven’t spoken to him yet. We’ll go together if he’s free that night.”

“Oh, he’ll be free, unless he’s got a hot date with his mom.” He didn’t hide his smirk.

“Rich is a good guy. He’s very family-oriented.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, me too, but I send my mom flowers on her birthday and Mother’s Day, and I bought her a house. I don’t live with her. There are limits.”

She quirked a brow. “I’m sure living with your mom would cramp your style with the ladies a bit.”

“Yes, it would.” Nothing like sneaking your girlfriend past your mom’s bedroom on her tiptoes the next morning. God knows he’d done that a few times as a teen.

He looked at her for a minute, weighing his odds. “What do you say you act as my escort for this thing?”

“Me?” She looked astonished. “I always go with Rich.”

“Oh, come on, you said yourself you haven’t talked to him about it. You have the rest of your life to go with him.” He had to bite back a laugh at the look of despair that flashed across her face. He couldn’t blame her. The prospect of a lifetime with Rich would be enough to give any woman pause. “With me, you’ve got to strike while the iron is hot. I’m only going to be in town for a few weeks.”

“Thank goodness,” she murmured.

“Oh, come on. I’m not so bad, am I? Everybody says I’m awesome once you get to know me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I know what you mean by ‘getting to know you.’”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, as in biblically. And I have no interest in converting to the Tom Cord religion. I’m sure all of your girlfriends in the past were easily impressed by your bank account, but I have slightly higher standards.”

Oh, come on. He knew stalling when he heard it. He didn’t know why Sarah was so determined to keep him at arm’s length, but he didn’t buy for a minute that she wasn’t interested. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “I’ve seen the kind of guy you usually go for, and I have to say, I don’t think your standards are
that
high.”

Oooh, that pissed her off. Good. When she was pissed, she wasn’t thinking of all the reasons she shouldn’t be seen with him. “What you think of Rich doesn’t matter to me. He’s always my date for events like this. I’m sorry, I won’t be able to attend with you.”

“All right then.” Time to play his trump card. “I guess I’ll have to find my own date.” He leaned back. “I’ll give Christina Caputo a call. She’d probably do a favor for an old friend. Fly into town and stir up a little excitement. What do you think?”

“That would depend on whether she’s made bail or not,” she said in a tone that would draw even more bees than honey. “Perhaps you could help her with that. Nothing says ‘classy’ like posting bond for your girlfriend so you can escort her to a black-tie dinner.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” he corrected. “You bring up a good point, though. My agent hasn’t been too happy about her latest brush with the law.” Actually, Brandon had been livid about that DUI, for no good reason that Tom could see. How was he supposed to control what his ex-girlfriend did? Just because she still called him once in a while and wanted to reminisce about old times didn’t mean she listened to anything he told her.

“Your agent is right.”

“Who does that leave for me to take to this get-together? A local girl?” He snapped his fingers. “I know! The Bailey twins! One of them, anyway. Or maybe both. What do you think?”

Okay, he wouldn’t actually do it, but Sarah was so fun to torment.

“I think my father would murder you.” Her eyes darkened, face set.

He bit back a grin. Right now, he was in a little more danger from her father’s daughter.

“Me showing up with my fresh-out-of-jail ex-girlfriend to a Thrashers party sounds like the kind of debacle-in-waiting that you as a PR person get paid to prevent, wouldn’t you say? Or even worse, imagine the scandal if big bad Tom Cord shows up with two of Plainview’s most virtuous girls on his arm.”

She crooked an eyebrow. “Most virtuous? The Baileys? That’s a stretch.”

“The media won’t know that. I’ll be Tom Cord, spoiler of small-town innocence.”

He was right, damn him. If he showed up with the Baileys for a team event, it would be all over the blogs and Twitter within hours, and she’d be taking the heat from Paul and her dad for letting him get away with it. She could see the headlines: “Tom Cord Dating
Two
Small-Town Girls.” The fact that the girls were eager and willing wouldn’t matter. He’d still come off like a sleazeball, and it would embarrass the team and the town. He wouldn’t care, but her dad would go nuclear.

“Fine! I’ll be your escort, but this is the last time you’re pulling anything like this, understand?” She rose. “If you’ll excuse me, some of us have a real job to get to.”

He grinned. “No problem. Oh, and wear something pretty, will you? Do you own a dress?” He let his eyes run down her usual work uniform of a dark blazer and black dress pants. Today, in an unusual concession to style, she’d worn a splash of color: a bright purple, silky top under the blazer. His eyes lit with approval. “Not that I don’t like this, of course. I’m just not sure it’s right for black-tie.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she ground out. She fled to her crossover and slammed the door behind her, peeling out of the driveway with a squeal that left him smiling the rest of the morning.

***

At work, Sarah checked her email and made calls, putting the final touches on the plans for the All-Star party. She’d booked the Knights of Columbus hall and the caterer months ago, but she had a number of last-minute details to handle. All the while, she remembered Tom’s words. “Do you own a dress?”

What a question. Of
course
she owned a dress—the same sedate, high-necked, cobalt blue number she’d worn last year and the year before that. She’d bought it because she liked the color, and because it didn’t show much skin. It was perfectly appropriate, perfectly professional. Perfectly dull.

What’s wrong with that? You don’t have to go out of your way to impress anyone. If it was good enough for Rich, it’s good enough for Tom.

She grimaced. Rich hadn’t taken it well when she’d called him this morning to explain why they wouldn’t be attending the All-Star party together this year.

“But it’s the best food I get all year! I was looking forward to the beef bourguignonne you always have catered in from Louisville.” She’d been speechless. “Of course, I’ll miss you too,” he added after a moment.

The entire episode had wiped free whatever guilt she had about leaving Rich at home alone.
Looking forward to the beef bourguignonne. What a crock.

Dispensing with her erstwhile date still left her with a problem, however: What to wear? The party was just days away, which ruled out a shopping trip to a nearby city. Her work schedule would keep her occupied right up until the All-Star break. Maybe she could get something online? She’d never been good about ordering the right size when she couldn’t try it on first. Half the time she ended up with something that hung off of her like a sack or pulled too tight across the rear end. She may not have been blessed with a generous bust, but the good Lord had made up for it when it came to her butt.

What to do, what to do?

Tracy came in to deliver an armload of mail and caught her staring into space. “What’s up?”

Sarah shook it off. “Oh, nothing. You’ll think it’s stupid.” She fiddled with a pen. “Because it is stupid.” She caught Tracy’s perplexed look and shrugged it off. She explained her predicament, feeling like a fool the whole time. Tracy was her twenty-two-year-old assistant. Sarah was her employer. They didn’t do girl talk. She didn’t do girl talk with anyone: She’d grown up in an otherwise male household and she lived and worked in a man’s world. Why was she even confiding this “problem”? It hardly involved the fate of the world.

To her surprise, Tracy seemed to be interested, propping one hand on her hip. “I could alter your dress, maybe. I’m good at that sort of thing. My mom taught me to sew, and I make a lot of my clothes.” She gestured to her flowing skirt, a peasant-style linen affair with embroidered flowers at the hem. “I made this, for example.”

“Seriously? You made this? Yourself?” Anyone who could do something like that had Sarah’s respect. She’d been wretched at sewing in the mandatory home ec classes at Plainview High School. She’d been too much of a tomboy, better at wood shop and drafting. “That is impressive.”

“Maybe we can modify the dress you’ve got. It’s blue, right? I kind of remember it from last year. And the year before that.” Sarah winced, although she doubted Tracy meant it as a dig. “The details are fuzzy, though,” Tracy continued. “Do you have a picture?”

She hesitated. “I really don’t think it’s necessary. My old dress will be fine. It’s not a date.”

“Oh, come on. I’m curious. Let me see.”

Sarah pulled out her phone and scrolled through the pictures until she came to one of her and Rich at last year’s party. Rich stood next to her in a brown suit, smiling down at the full plate in his hands.

Hmmm, telling. Perhaps she should have noticed that earlier. Then again, to be fair, with the boring dress she’d worn, what else had there been for the man to look at?

Tracy took the phone and studied it for a moment. “This would be easy. I can remove some of the fabric from the bodice and give it a V-neck instead of this straight-line collar.” Her finger traced across the photo where a swath of beaded fabric covered every inch of skin up to Sarah’s neck. “I can’t see the back from this photo, but I bet I could cut it down as well, and raise the hem, of course. That’s easy.” Tracy’s eyes lit up. “We can make Tom’s eyes pop out of his head!”

Sarah took her phone back and tucked it away. “Oh, no. That’s not what I want. I don’t care about that. I just want something fresh, different. You know.”

“Oh.” Tracy’s face fell. “I’m surprised. You know how sexy all his girls usually are. I thought you’d want to—” She broke off, her face taking on an embarrassed expression.

“Want to what? Compete with them? Be brainless arm candy like Christina Caputo?” Her tone carried an edge.

“No, no.” Tracy’s face flushed. “It’s just that you’re so pretty, and I know you could look so much better than Christina. But you always dress so conservatively.”