Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel (8 page)

Rattled by that thought, he dropped his hand. Paige was dangerous, so dangerous, with her shining blue eyes and tempting mouth.

She rapped him on the chest, right over his heart.
Surprised, he dropped his hand from her chin. “No, Trevor Stark, I don’t just
think
you’re a good guy. I’d stake the future of the Catfish on it.”

With a saucy nod, as if that settled everything, she dashed back up the staircase toward the marketing department.

Damn it, once again she’d gotten the last word.

S
HE WAS NOT . . .
not . . .
going to let Trevor rattle her. She’d be a disgrace to the family name “Taylor” if she let that happen. She’d grown up around tough, driven, athletic, freewheeling, occasionally profane men. Granted, that was only when she was with her father, which was during school vacations and summer. But she’d learned early on that you couldn’t back down from a man like that. You had to hold your own.

She had her own way of doing that. Her tried and true method with Crush was to let him bluster and lecture, then simply go her own way. Sheer persistence could get you far. There was a Ninja kind of Jedi mind trick to it.

Take road trips. As a girl, when Paige stayed with her father during the season, he left her behind with a nanny when he went on the road. For years she’d begged and pleaded to go with him. He wouldn’t hear of it—too dangerous, too boring, too logistically challenging, too distracting. Then the summer she turned twelve, she showed up at Crush’s apartment with a four-ring binder filled with photos of landmarks from every city he’d be playing in. The St. Louis Arch, the Empire State Building, the Margaret Mitchell house in
Atlanta. School project, she informed him. If she wrote a personal essay for each city, she’d get extra credit.

He’d laughed so hard he cried. Instead of yelling or crying—which would always earn her a lecture about “no crying in baseball”—her sheer doggedness won him over. She’d traveled with him for several weeks that summer and loved every second of it. Her persistence paid off just in time; it turned out to be his last season, since he retired when she was thirteen.

From what Paige had seen of Trevor Stark, he had some similar characteristics, pigheadedness being right at the top of the list. Well, he could act as tough as he wanted, but she’d seen something in him that night outside the stadium. She’d seen how hard he tried to protect her. Even though she’d been annoyed when he tried to grab the wheel, she understood his reasons. And all those lectures about putting herself in danger . . . bottom line, he hadn’t wanted her to get hurt.

Trevor might be a badass, but he was a protective one who related well to troubled kids. He wasn’t a bad person, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone.

He definitely had Crush fooled.

“I don’t like you being involved with this ‘selfie’ campaign,” Crush told her after whisking her off to dinner at an Italian place near Kilby City Hall.

“It’s not just selfies. We’re going to do billboards too. And I told you, I want to really dig into something. I want to help you keep the team. Go Catfish. Down with the Wades.”

“I like that enthusiasm, it’s the company I’m worried about.”

“Let me guess. Trevor Stark.”

“Bingo.” Crush shook parmesan over his pasta with a violence that indicated all sorts of strong opinions about the left fielder.

“I don’t get it. He’s a ballplayer like all the others. What’s your problem with him?”

“He’s too good-looking.”

Paige took a large swallow of her merlot, remembering his powerful shoulders and crystal green gaze pinning her to the wall in the stairwell. And then that gentle, feathery touch on her cheek. What she wouldn’t do to feel that again . . . to stand so close to the molten volcano that was Trevor Stark. “That’s absurd. They’re all good-looking. That’s why they’re Baseball’s Hottest Outfield.”

“I’ve seen the effect he has on women. I don’t want you going near him. I’ve watched him watching you, and it makes me want to tear his head off.”

A thrill traveled through her. Did Trevor really watch her?
Good.

She decided to toy with Crush a little bit, while also prying some more information out of him. “I’m surprised, Dad. You always talk about how much you respect baseball players who have real talent. Is Trevor not actually all that good?”

Crush pushed his plate to the side, clearing a spot for his forearms, bowing forward with his intensity. “Let me tell you something, Paige. Hitting a major league fastball is the hardest thing in sports, I’ve told you that. I’ve seen thousands of players, millions of hits. More importantly, I’ve
heard
the sound of a bat hitting a ball countless times. Only four times in my life have I heard it sound a certain way. Like a fucking trumpet, like a call from God, like this ball is going to be obliterated and turned to dust because bigger forces are at work. One of those times was Bo Jackson. Another was Mark McGwire. Barry Bonds. And one was Trevor fucking Stark.
That’s
how good he is.”

Chills rippled up and down Paige’s spine. When
Crush Taylor displayed his passion for baseball, it was a sight to see. “Okay, so he’s very, very good. Why do you hate him?”

“Because he fucks himself over, again and again. He gets distracted by girls, by drinking, by being a big shot. Sometimes I think he’d rather be a big fish in a small pond than actually develop his gift the way it deserves. He’s so goddamn smart, it just about kills me. Do you know that the first time I saw Trevor play, he was nineteen or so, playing in an independent league up North. Michigan, somewhere like that. Buck O’Neil, great scout, calls me up and tells me I have to see this kid. I fly up there and rent a car, drive out to the town park. It’s one of those ramshackle teams of misfits, mostly just a chance to drink beer after the game. There’s a guy mowing the outfield during the first inning. Anyway, I see this blond kid out there, big, muscular, standing in left field,
reading a book
.”

“During the game? He was reading a book?”

“Yup. When a fly ball came his way, he’d put the book on the grass and chase the ball down. Then go right back to his book. I nearly got up and left right then. Disrespect for the game, I thought. Buck says, ‘Just wait, you gotta see him hit.’ Inning ends, he comes up to bat. Crouches over the plate like a junkyard dog on steroids. And there it is, that sound. Incredible bat speed, tremendous power, horrible form. I knew if he kept that up, he’d blow out his shoulder. I don’t know where he got his coaching, but if he was that good without any decent coaching, well . . .” Crush whistled.

“I called up an agent I trust and told him to keep an eye on this guy. Get him somewhere with a good hitting coach and a good manager. Then call me when he’s ready for prime time.”

Paige put down her forkful of spaghetti. “That was what, five or six years ago?”

“Something like that.”

“You’ve been following him all that time?” She felt a pang of jealousy, since nothing she’d ever done in her life had inspired that sort of interest from her father.

“In between other things, yes.” Crush shrugged. “That’s me, honey. Baseball is . . . I wouldn’t say ‘everything,’ but close to it. When I see a player who could be great, I take notice. But in the end, it’s up to the player. Trevor Stark has taken every opportunity and spit in its face. He’s been traded three times, and every time he gets on a major league roster he fucks it up. He should be anchoring the Friars lineup by now, but instead he’s here seducing local girls and getting chased by jealous husbands with BB guns.
That’s
why I don’t like him.”

Paige looked down at her plate, uncomfortable at the mention of the night she’d met Trevor. Someone had certainly been chasing him. But did anyone really know the full story? And what about the things he’d said in the stairwell?
I’ve done things and been places you have no idea about.
She stabbed at a black olive with her fork. “What if there’s more to the story, something we don’t know?”

Crush reached over and gripped both her wrists. “Oh no, you don’t. None of that counseling crap. Don’t go thinking you can fix Trevor’s problems because you took one class in college.”

“Excuse me?”
She tugged against his grip, but he didn’t let her go.

“Whenever you start spouting therapy crap, I know we’re in trouble. I usually zone out and let you go on. But if it starts leading you in directions I don’t like—”

Paige finally got her hands free. “Directions
you
don’t like? Do you even hear yourself?”

Crush set his jaw, muscles jumping. “You know what I mean. I didn’t like Hudson, but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

She slammed both hands on the table and glared back at her father. “You didn’t ‘know’ Hudson. I’m glad I married him. If he was here right now, I’d marry him again.
Double.
”

“Double? What the hell does that mean?”

Paige wasn’t exactly sure. All she knew was that her father was pulling his usual King of the Mound act. And that she needed to make a statement, right here and now, if she was ever going to get along with Crush. “It means, Dad, that marrying Hudson wasn’t a mistake, no matter what you think. We had three really fun years. I ate some great veal Milanese. I learned a lot about life.”

Crush’s forehead creased. “Veal Milanese?”

“Yeah, it’s got this delicious breading, we used to order it in every city he played in. The point is, I don’t regret marrying Hudson.” Even though she’d just this moment realized that fact, it felt true. She’d taken a chance with Hudson, and it hadn’t gone the way she’d dreamed. But she’d make the same choice again. “I also don’t regret meeting Trevor. You have no right to interfere in my love life.”

“
Love life?
You’re using the word ‘love’? That makes me nervous. Are you in love with Stark? Has it gone that far? I’d take ten Hudsons over Trevor Stark. I’ll bench him. I’ll trade him. I’ll—”

She jumped to her feet. “Stop it, Crush. You’ll leave him alone and let him do his job. Same applies to me.”

With the way Crush glared at her, there ought to have been sixty feet and six inches between them instead of the width of a tabletop. But Paige knew the drill. If she gave in, she’d get trampled. She held her
ground, giving thanks that Crush couldn’t nail her with a 95-mile-per-hour brushback.

A cool voice interrupted. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to talk to Crush Taylor that way?”

Paige spun around to see a blond woman pausing next to their table. Her hair was sprayed to Texas-big perfection and she wore a tailored black suit and a thin chain that disappeared under a thin pink shell.

“Mayor Trent,” Crush said, rising to his feet like the gentleman he occasionally bothered to be. “Must be my lucky day, I get berated by my daughter and scolded by my mayor all at the same time.”

“Your daughter?” The mayor turned to Paige with a curious smile. “I’m Wendy Trent, it’s good to meet you.”

“I’m Paige.” They shook hands. All of Paige’s life, even during the times Crush had been married, women had pursued him, and she knew the signs well. One of them was the way women looked at her—assessingly, as if to figure out if she was friend or foe.

Wendy Trent didn’t look at her like that, but there was something there . . . curiosity, surprise. “Crush must be very protective of his family, since I had no idea he had a daughter.”

Paige smiled winningly. “To be honest, I’ve been locked in the basement for the past twenty-four years.”

The mayor laughed, and winked. “Probably safer, knowing the type of people Crush hangs out with.”

“Those people are called ballplayers.” Crush looked back and forth between the two of them. Nervous? Alert? Something. Paige found the undercurrents fascinating.

“Indeed.” The mayor’s smile took the edge off her cool tone. “Well, Paige, welcome to Kilby, and if I can
do anything to make you feel at home here, you make sure to let me know.”

Some instinct told Paige to jump at this opportunity. “Actually, I’m looking for ways to volunteer while I’m here in town. Maybe you could point me in the right direction.”

“Well, sure. We love volunteers around here. How do you feel about slugs?”

Crush coughed into his hand as if hiding a laugh.

“Excuse me?” Bewildered, Paige looked from one to the other. They seemed to be in on a shared private joke.
Interesting.
“Actually, I’m more interested in working with troubled kids.”

“I see.” Wendy directed a sweet smile at Crush. “Have you exhausted the possibilities right where you are? The troubled kids with the catfish on their caps, putting Kilby in the news every time I turn around?”

“If that’s a dig at my players,” Crush said, “no go, Mayor Trent. The only thing they’re at risk for is gaining multimillion-dollar contracts. And the stray bullet now and then.”

Paige found it downright fascinating, watching their interaction. She’d never seen Crush outmatched by any woman before. Not even her mother.

Another man appeared at the mayor’s shoulder. Eagerly, he shook hands all around, ending with Crush. “It’s an honor to meet you. I happened to catch your perfect game in Austin. Unforgettable night, truly fantastic. Great day for the state of Texas all around.”

“It was a long time ago,” Crush said stiffly. Paige stared in amazement. He usually loved talking about his perfect game, or any game, for that matter. Apparently he didn’t want to chat with the mayor’s date. More and more interesting.

Crush seemed deep in thought as they drove back
to Bullpen Ranch. Paige wondered if he was thinking about Mayor Trent or about his wayward daughter. Or maybe he was thinking about his most troublesome player. Was it true what Crush said, that Trevor kept screwing up his own chances of making it to the Friars? And why was Trevor so worried about people learning about his work at the Boys and Girls Club? Why did he keep everyone away with his “don’t tread on me” attitude? The man was a mystery. One Paige intended to solve, no matter what Crush said.

T
he next morning, she waltzed into Catfish Stadium bright and early, excited for the first shoot. Not many people knew what ballparks were like first thing in the morning. At that hour, the stadium belonged to the groundskeepers, to the vendors and the cleaning crews, to the management staff and the trainers. It had the same atmosphere as a theater hours before the curtain rises, or a college campus while the students are on spring break. Giant beer delivery trucks backed up to the unloading ramp. The souvenir shops unpacked boxes of Catfish caps and bright blue T-shirts.