Chapter Five
Sam’s Cadillac ATS Coupe soaked up the tar on the open road as he finished his phone call and turned up the music. He couldn’t afford to take the day off. And he didn’t think he had a chance in hell of being successful. Even so, he was surprised at how much he was enjoying himself.
He opened the sunroof and tapped his hand on the steering wheel. He always told himself that one day he’d find time to get home to California and cruise up Route 1 in a convertible with a manual transmission, his favorite indulgence. For now, he’d be satisfied with a day trip, a sunroof, and a two-lane Indiana highway.
The sky was vast. The horizon was a full 360 degrees. And the gentle roll of the hills reminded him of the rolling swells of the sea, even though he’d rarely seen it growing up. It should have been soothing, but he found the limitless landscape slightly unnerving. Too much empty space that left him feeling exposed.
Sam shifted down as he passed a horse with blinders pulling a black buggy. He felt like a blowhard in his turbo-charged V6 luxury car with its four-hundred-plus horsepower engine. The man in the straw hat didn’t seem to mind.
Although his salary was lower than any other GM in the league, compared to what he’d grown up with, Sam was living the high life. The car, the apartment, and a wardrobe, all essential to looking the part of a major-league GM and executive vice-president, were the few luxuries he allowed himself. A large part of his salary went home to support his family or was invested. That kind of conservative financial behavior had been hammered home through many lean years.
His GPS told Sam that he was a mile from Maisy Gray’s hometown. He had a fleeting moment of regret when he thought about the feisty woman with the captivating dark eyes. The one he was about to manipulate into coming to the ballpark.
It hadn’t taken long to find Maisy Gray online. Kevin’s bio said he’d grown up in Comeback, Indiana. Sure enough, Maisy’s address was right where it belonged in the directory. He recalled her telling him she was a teacher. With a little more digging, he found out she taught at the local elementary school. Blurry online photos revealed a smiling face and a tendency to move too quickly when the shutter clicked.
Several articles mentioned her name in a fundraising event for school supplies. They had raised almost three thousand dollars the previous year.
The research had been easy. But the strategy had taken far more time to figure out.
He was going to start with Zoom’s plan first. He’d use whatever charm Zoom’s wife thought he had and make an offer. The G-rated version, not the part about sleeping with her. A friendly invitation to come to a game. A luxurious weekend in the apartment in his building. The one that was twice as big as his. If she accepted, Sam would usher her back to Indianapolis and then…
That was where his second plan started.
There was no way this lucky charm thing with Maisy Gray was real. The team was suffering, and Kevin and his contract were the reason. Tomorrow’s game was a lost cause. The Yankees’ hottest pitcher was on the mound against the Turbos and their bats were on fire. When Maisy Gray came to the game and the Turbos lost, everyone would forget about her. She could go back to her life in her small town.
If Maisy Gray didn’t fall for Zoom’s friendly plan, he would present his logical second plan to her and they could both wait for her lucky bubble to burst and the fans to forget her.
Sam adjusted his Ray-Bans and turned up the music. His Cadillac crested the top of a rolling hill, and Maisy and Kevin’s hometown came into view.
Comeback, Indiana. Odd name.
A large cluster of buildings and tall trees sprung up from the cornfields like an oasis in a desert of farmland. He passed a Walmart, an auto shop, and a Home Depot before entering the city limits. He slowed down as he passed quaint clapboard buildings in the center of town. Some were marked by black-and-white signs that read The Comeback Historical Society, The Comeback Public Library, and Comeback Town Hall and Municipal Offices. The town was like a movie set for small-town America. The only thing missing was Forrest Gump sitting on a park bench.
Sam lifted his sunglasses to see if things looked any less perfect in real color. Nope.
When he was young, his teachers always told him to use more color in his drawings. He didn’t understand why. To him, life was lackluster, washed out by the harsh LA sun.
If he were drawing Comeback, he’d use the whole box of crayons.
Following his GPS, he made a right-hand turn at a stoplight and headed west. He passed a medical center and a worn-looking elementary school with a pegboard sign that said, Have a Good Summer. Within minutes he was back on the open road. He shifted his manual transmission up until it reached fifth gear and enjoyed the ride again.
A sedan pulled out in front of him at a blinking yellow light, forcing him to downshift. For the next three miles, Sam impatiently focused on oncoming traffic as he swerved back and forth, waiting for the right time to pass the late-model Ford Taurus. His speedometer read forty-five miles an hour in a sixty-five-mile-an-hour zone. No one should drive so slowly, even in the country.
When the coast was finally clear, he moved into the left-hand lane and gunned it around the car, sparing a glance at the older woman behind the wheel. She sent him an exasperated look as if it was his fault she wasn’t driving any faster. As soon as he passed her, he eased up and let the tension leave his body when he hit seventy again. A minute later, his GPS told him to make a U-turn. Somewhere in his obsession to pass the slow driver, he’d missed Maisy Gray’s address.
“Damn.” His Cadillac spit up shoulder dust as he made a U-turn and headed east. Within seconds he pulled up to a mailbox surrounded by a bed of colorful flowers. A small wrought-iron sign lodged in the ground said, Gray Farm Est. 1975.
A charming buttercup-yellow farmhouse stood at the end of the gravel driveway. Orange and purple flowers flowed out of the boxes lining the railing of a wraparound porch. Beyond the house, a bright red barn stood out against the clear blue sky.
As he neared the house, Sam spotted a car at the end of the driveway and groaned. The familiar Ford Taurus was angled sideways near a porch. A trickle of regret crept down his spine.
He parked his Cadillac next to the sedan. Then, he stuffed his sunglasses in his pocket and smoothed his hair in the rearview mirror. This meeting required finesse and a wide smile. And most definitely an apology to the driver of the sedan.
Confident he looked presentable, Sam glanced to his left and froze. He’d assumed the driver of the slow sedan would be in the house by now. He was wrong. The woman he’d just passed stared through her open window with narrowed eyes and a pinched mouth.
“Shit,” he said under his breath as he waved and pasted the smile on his face. He opened the car door and stepped out. His Cole Haans sunk into a puddle.
“Hi there,” he said, leaning down to greet the woman through her open window.
“You sure were in a hurry to get here,” she said in a curt tone.
“You beat me anyway.” He smiled.
“I’m still trying to spit the road dust out of my mouth.”
So, this was how it was going to be. Sam sucked in his breath and moved around the car to open her door. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m more used to city driving, where we can’t get anywhere unless we pass everyone who stands between us and our destination. It’s a terrible habit.”
“And this is your destination?” She raised her eyebrow. “Or did you take one look at me and decide to turn around and admire me up close?”
“Both?” He used the self-deprecating humor that often worked with vendors. She flattened her lips.
He could see her face more clearly now. Her short brown hair was speckled with gray and curled around her ears haphazardly. Her makeup-free face had few lines. It was her dark eyes that gave her away. Not only were they flashing with a familiar spark, but there was a determination in her gaze that reminded him of her daughter as she tried to order a tequila from a disinterested bartender.
“Well, well, Mr…?”
“Hunter. Sam Hunter.”
She nodded as if he had confirmed something she already knew. “Andrea Gray.”
He held out his hand and she merely stared at it. She pushed her door wider and inclined her head to the backseat. “Why don’t you get those groceries out of the back for me? You can take them right through the side door into the kitchen.”
It didn’t occur to him not to do her bidding. He reached into the backseat and waited for her to lead the way.
The staff in the front office would have a field day if they saw him clutching seven bags from Walmart like an errand boy. Little did they know he had grown up doing this kind of thing for his mother and later when he started his own delivery service at the age of fourteen. He was musing over old times when he noticed it was taking a while for her to get out of the car.
“Can I help you?”
She reached for something in the passenger seat. “No. I’ve got it.”
After a long moment, she finally stood up. Her purse swung loose over her shoulder. She clutched two walking canes that wrapped around her forearms.
He closed the driver door, noting the modified steering wheel and hand controls, and followed at a respectful distance, tongue-tied for the first time in a long while. If he hadn’t felt like a dick already for leaving her in a trail of dust, he surely felt like one now. No wonder she’d been going so slow on the road. They climbed the porch and Sam opened the screen door for her.
She raised an eyebrow as she passed him. “Feeling guilty now, aren’t you?”
“Like a total bonehead,” he said truthfully.
She gave a satisfied snort. “I know I shouldn’t take any pleasure in making someone uncomfortable. Is it fair to say you deserve it?”
“Completely.”
“Good. Because you look like you want to jump in one of those grocery bags and hide.”
He was reminded again of a pair of laughing eyes looking up at him from the floor of the bar. The tension eased as he followed her into the kitchen. Fortunately, she didn’t look like the kind of woman who carried a grudge for long.
He offered her another apology. “I have a little problem when I’m behind the wheel. Anything under sixty-five miles an hour feels like I’m not moving.”
“Sounds like a person I know quite well.” She nodded toward the long counter in the middle of the kitchen. “You can put the bags right there.”
Sam did as he was told, taking in the inviting kitchen that opened up into a large family room. Despite the updated appliances and high ceiling, the massive space felt cozy.
“Can I help you unpack these?” he asked her.
She pointed to the stove. “No, but since you feel the need to help, can you make dinner?”
“How do you feel about eggs and toast? They’re the only things I can cook.”
That earned him his first smile from Andrea Gray. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to go find a job in the barn.”
“Uh…” He scratched his head.
She pointed out the window. “Maisy is in the paddock by the barn.”
Sam was surprised. “How do you know I came to see Maisy? Maybe I’m here to sell you a new set of windows?”
“Unlike my daughter, I still follow the Turbos. I’ve seen you on the news at least a dozen times.” She leaned forward and inspected him from head to foot as if she was considering something. “You’re younger and better-looking in person.”
“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Either way, I’ll carry your groceries anytime.”
She braced a hand on the counter and smoothed her short hair with a grin. “I’m a happily married woman, I’ll have you know.”
Maybe it was the easy, down-home feeling of being in this kitchen, or maybe it was the way Maisy’s mother was so frank — like his own mother — but Sam couldn’t help wishing he could stay for longer than an hour.
She pointed toward the back of the house. “The barn is that way. Just watch where you step. This is still a working farm.”
He put a hand on his chest and made a little bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Gray.”
“Andrea.”
Sam headed toward the door.
She called after him. “I suppose I should warn you. She’s not happy about the current situation. None of us are, to be honest.”
He paused. “Neither am I, ma’am— Andrea. I’m hoping we might be able to work out a deal.”
“A deal?” She stood up straight. For a frail woman, she had a backbone of steel. “Maisy already made a bad deal once, Sam. So don’t assume those blue eyes and that cheeky smile of yours are going to get you anywhere with her.”
As he made his way toward the barn, he couldn’t help thinking that if Maisy was anywhere near as tough as her mother, this negotiation might be over before it started.
***
Maisy dodged around the naughtiest horse in Indiana. “No biting. I’m in no mood for your games, Faygo.”
He was crabby when he had to wait for dinner. He was also tired from a long ride in the muddy knoll. And filthy. Which explained why she was standing in the middle of the horse yard holding a hose.
She sprayed the water over his back and her boots sunk another inch into the grass. The early afternoon heat was high, and she wiped the hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
Faygo curled his neck toward her again and Maisy jumped away. “Oh, no, you don’t. Stay still or I’m turning you into dog food.”
He was a haughty quarter horse with more brains than his previous owner could handle. She and Henry, the manager who ran the Grays’ small farm, had persuaded her father to buy Faygo last summer. Henry was an excellent judge of horseflesh and said he would make a fine stud. Maisy’s reasons were different. From the moment she’d seen his intelligent eyes, she’d loved him. Foul temper and all.
Faygo must have sensed that her patience was wearing thin, because he stopped fidgeting and let her run the hose along his back.
She purred, “That feels nice, doesn’t it, big boy? If you’re really good, I’ll even scratch your ears when this is done.”
“Lucky horse.”
“You wish!” Maisy prepared to spray the hose on whichever one of her brother’s friends had snuck up behind her.
A man, standing mere yards away, ducked. Her heart jumped out of her chest. She shielded her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
“You!”
Everyone had a doppelganger. Maybe this was his. Because there was no other reason why he would be standing across a horse yard from her, more than a hundred miles from Indianapolis.
“You remember me?” he asked.
“Y-yes. I just don’t understand—” She bit her lip to keep from saying anything else. Like, how did you jump out of my secret girl crush and into my horse paddock?
It was ridiculous, of course. She had started to think of him as imaginary. The man with blue eyes and strong eyebrows who’d helped her engage in petty thievery over a remote control. Yet…here he was.
He tilted up the corner of his mouth in a boyish grin. “I would offer you a tequila, but you don’t look like you’re ready for cocktail hour yet.”
Self-conscious of her gaping mouth and her dumbstruck stance, she put her shoulders back and stepped forward. But she was still holding the hose. The end snapped out of her hand and splashed her in the face before it fell to the soaked grass.
She kicked the hose away and cleared her vision to find he was closer. She raised her gaze to a square jaw and perfectly formed lips. She confirmed his eye color. Baby blue. In the dim light of Plato’s, she hadn’t known for sure. Highlights in his wavy brown hair blazed in the sun. And he was tall. Taller than she remembered. They had been sitting on stools then. And there was the tequila, which might or might not have contributed to a false sense of reality.
“I didn’t even give you my number. Not that I go around giving guys my number or anything. I don’t do that kind of thing.”
“As you mentioned. Because you’re wholesome.”
“That’s right.” God, she sounded like a geeky schoolgirl. “I mean, did I give you my number? I had more tequila than I should have.” She let her voice trail off. How embarrassing and totally unlike her.
He pressed his lips together and looked away. Oh, God, maybe she smelled like Faygo…or worse. Maisy double-checked her pits and was relieved that at least the moisture she felt didn’t show or smell.
When he glanced back at her with serious eyes, he seemed different. Less relaxed.
He held out his hand. “I’m Sam Hunter.”
She rubbed her wet palm down her jeans before holding out her own. “Maisy.”
“I know.”
Her pulse raced when her skin came into contact with his. She was still so dumbstruck that she held him in her grasp for a beat longer than normal. He pulled away politely, his face unreadable. She released a nervous laugh and gripped her fingers together.
The haze of surprise was clearing, and something wasn’t adding up. Not just the fact that he had driven all the way from Indianapolis to Comeback to see her, but his polished look and the overly optimistic tone of his voice. All of it set off a buzzing in the back of her mind.
“Uh, how did you find me?”
He shifted uncomfortably in the soggy grass and avoided her question. “I came to discuss something with you.”
She had a clear view of the driveway. A white Cadillac sat parked next to her mom’s. It wasn’t the testosterone-packed sports car she imagined a man like him driving.
Something on his front bumper plate caught her eye. A gray-and-blue Turbos symbol.
The back of Maisy’s neck tingled. She shook her head and flicked a hand over her ponytail to throw it off.
The tequila had affected her memory. She must have given him her name and number after all. Because the alternative scenario absolutely sucked.
“You came all the way out here?” She swallowed. “I don’t think I was drunk enough to give you my address.”
He played with the collar of his shirt.
“No? But I must have given you my name, right?”
“You didn’t.” He spit out his next words quickly. “It’s actually kind of funny. You see, I’m the general manager of the Indianapolis Turbos.”
It took her a moment to digest the words.
“I came here to talk to you about the situation with the fans—”
“Wait a minute…” She raised her hands and stared at the ground, trying to think. God, she felt like such a fool.
Maisy’s head shot up. “Were you stalking me at the bar?”
“No.” He took a step toward her, sending her backwards like a skittish animal. He paused and took a breath. “It was a coincidence that we met after that game. Later, when your picture was in the paper and I realized who you were, I was as surprised as you are now.”
She was only half listening. Sanity had returned with a bitter sharpness that hurt.
Had lightning struck twice or was she just stupid?
He was the first man she had shown the least bit of interest in since Kevin, and he turned out to be a creep, and not only that but a baseball guy. Not just any baseball guy, either, but a Turbos guy. What was wrong with her that she attracted men who used her?
He didn’t seem to notice her pain. Or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was talking and gesturing with his hands as if they were in a boardroom negotiation. All the signs of a salesman. And a user.
“…you’re the talk of Indianapolis. Turbos fans remember you and your special charm, especially after that no-hitter. That’s why I came here today. Charlie Zumaeta himself wants to invite you to be his special guest at a Turbos game.” His tone was velvet, and his words were practiced, as if he had rehearsed how he was going to calm her fears. He could have been the one talking Faygo into a shower just a few minutes ago.
Faygo. The horse was off wandering toward the barn. It gave her an excuse to move before she exploded. She stomped over and grabbed his bridle, yanking him back toward the grass. Faygo resisted at first, but he must have sensed her mood, because he picked up his pace and accompanied her back to the hose without further resistance.
The salesman was still selling his snake oil. “…can bring your friends or family and they would be welcome.”
“No.” She picked up the hose and resisted the urge to spray him.
Undeterred, he followed her to the middle of the paddock. “Before you say no, please hear me out.”
“I don’t have to hear you out to give my answer. No.” She studied him as she soaked Faygo’s back. Expensive-looking shoes. Designer sunglasses peeking out of his breast pocket. Linen shirt. It was all so calculated. He probably had a dozen bimbos lining up for free tickets to his fan club every day.
“Your mother warned me you might not be happy.”
Way to go, Mom. Giving away secrets to the other team.
She retrieved the nearby bucket and pulled out a soapy sponge, squeezing the water out of it as if it were Sam Hunter’s neck. With an efficient yank of Faygo’s bridle, she shifted the horse between them and started working on Faygo’s hocks.
His handsome face suddenly appeared through Faygo’s legs. “As the manager of the team, I—”
“A little young to be the manager of a Major League Baseball team, aren’t you?” she interrupted.
He disappeared from her field of vision. “If they thought I wasn’t capable, they wouldn’t have hired me.” His clipped tone told her that this wasn’t the first time he had answered that question.
She dunked her sponge back in the bucket. “Capable of what? The only thing I saw you doing was drinking beer and flirting at Plato’s.”
Then something struck her. She stood up and scowled at him over Faygo’s back. “Wait a minute. You didn’t want to watch the replay of the game on television, either. We both wanted that bartender to change the channel. Why would you do that? Your team just won and your pitcher had a no-hitter!”
“That’s a bit complicated to explain right now.”
Obviously, the man should hang out with more women who didn’t need help reading the bar menu. “I can handle adolescent girls and new math and translate Harry Potter spells. Why don’t you let me decide if my brain can understand complex issues?”
“I don’t want to discuss it.” He ran a hand through his hair. She resented the fact that it sprang back into place perfectly.
“You don’t want to discuss it and I don’t want to hear it. That means our conversation is over. I couldn’t care less about you or anything you have to say.” Faygo curled his neck and sent her a look of doubt.
Sam Hunter’s jaw had a rigid set as he stared at the barn behind her. He seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he said, “Let’s just say that Halderman’s no-hitter put a wrench into some plans I had been working on.”
She shook her head. “Honestly, you should have traded him when you had the chance.”
He went perfectly still. “What do you mean?”
“That old manager strained your budget with Kevin’s contract. It was a foolish amount to pay him — even when he was playing well.” She ran the sponge over Faygo’s back, her mind going back to the day Kevin had signed with the Turbos. “He was only in his second year. Even I knew a rookie like him wasn’t worth that amount of money.
Sam Hunter’s mouth opened and closed and she knew she had surprised him. “That’s a pretty quick deduction for someone who doesn’t care about the Turbos anymore. Do you really think Halderman should have been traded?”
“Look, Mr.—”
“Call me Sam.”
Maisy looked him straight in the eye. “No, thank you, Mr. Turbos Manager. I’ll save you the effort of pretending we’re friends, so you can get on the road. You’ll make it back to Indy by dark if you leave now.”
She heard him mutter something under his breath.
“Did you just say something about Zoom’s plan?”
His eyes grew dark. “No.”
She dipped her hand in the bucket again. “I’m not going back to the ballpark because of some asinine newspaper article.”
“It’s more than one article. People believe it. My analyst pulled up the stats—”
“Stop!” Maisy straightened and pointed the soapy sponge in the air as if it were a wand. “I am not a lucky rabbit’s foot.”
He put a hand on his chest where she had spattered water.
“I am not changing my mind because a few zealous fans want me to go back to the ballpark.” She stamped her boot to make her point clear, ignoring the fact that it sunk an inch in the mud and stuck.
Faygo, sensing her mood, imitated her.
Sam eyed the horse and took a step backward. “I’m sorry. It must be hard to be dragged back into Turbos business and have your name all over the news—”
“It’s not hard,” she barked.
“—paper,” he finished.
“I’ll handle it fine.”
“Maybe we can sit down somewhere and just talk?”
“No. Go back to your cave and leave me alone.”
She went to work scrubbing Faygo’s neck with perhaps too much vigor. The horse had never been so clean. His skin flickered in the sun and he shook his mane. Stepping toward his flank, she grabbed a piece of his tail and lathered it.
Sam Hunter wasn’t giving up. He followed her from the other side of Faygo. She could hear the squelch of his leather shoes sinking in the grass. “Maisy, I am just as tired of this nonsense as you are.”
“You act as if we’re on the same team.”
“We are.” He was so close she could smell that delicious musk that had made her want to lick him at the bar. The dangerous side of her wondered if it would be so bad to be on the same team with a man who smelled like salt and lime.
Then she remembered that negotiating was his job and she was just a rookie.
“We are most definitely not on the same team. I am not doing any favors for the Turbos. In fact, I hope they finish in last place this year.”
As for Mr. Sam Hunter, he was a…a what?
The word that popped into her head was disappointment.
When she’d first seen him standing there, she’d thought by some fairy-tale-like fate he had searched her out because he wanted to see her again. For one shaky moment, she had been willing to take a chance.
He put a hand on Faygo and realized what he was doing. He shook the suds off his hand. “This doesn’t have to be a losing situation for either of us.”
“That’s a joke, right?” Maisy blew hair out of her eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to—” She stopped herself. No way was she going to tell Sam Hunter how difficult it was to see Kevin pitch.
“To what? To be in the stadium again?” He cocked his head. “Why did you go to that game anyway? None of this would be an issue if you hadn’t been there.”
“No one was supposed to see me. And Kevin wasn’t supposed to be pitching that day.” She grabbed the hose and pointed it at his shoes.
“Okay, okay.” He stepped back. “I’m sorry. It must have been awful to see him again after such a public breakup.”
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.” Maisy sprayed Faygo. “I moved on from Kevin years ago.”
“I’m sure you did, a woman like you…” His voice sounded like warm honey. Was he seriously flirting? She looked like a cowgirl who had wrestled a slick pig right now.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Not at all.” His lids lowered, sending a blast of heat right to her solar plexus.
She lost control of the hose for a brief second. The spray hit the back of Faygo’s head by accident. Faygo was not like the other horses they’d owned over the years. He did not like to get his head wet.
“I don’t like this any more than you do, Maisy.”
“Then go away.” Please.
He stepped forward. “What if we start this conversation over? I know we can work together on this. Like we did at the bar.”
He was too close to Faygo.
“Watch where you’re going.”
What happened next was her fault. She should have realized that her horse was out of patience. Faygo jerked his whole body away, stamping his feet in protest at the intolerable treatment.
Unfortunately, Sam Hunter and his expensive leather shoes weren’t fast enough to get out of the way.