High Heat (Hard Hitters #1) (5 page)

Not her problem, though. Her problem was keeping him out of trouble for the duration of his stay. She couldn’t control what he did on the field, but maybe she could get some solid image-burnishing PR appearances out of this suspension. The Thrashers were a team, and as long as her father was in charge, they’d have a good-guy image. If she could get him to do some appearances, she could restore that luster and maybe boost the gate receipts for the Thrashers this summer as well.

Her dad would like that. Who knew, maybe it would boost his opinion of her enough that he would give her a shot at a job she really wanted. Something in coaching or scouting.

“That kind of attitude rubs some people the wrong way.”

He shot her a sidelong glance from beneath his surprisingly long lashes. “Some people? Like you, maybe?”

Yes.
She’d never had the chance to see how far she could go in baseball. She couldn’t understand someone who had everything and played so recklessly that he might throw it all away.

“No,” she lied. “What I think doesn’t matter, anyway.” Her denial had sounded convincing enough, and then she had to go and ruin it by being honest.

“In other words, yes, it does rub you the wrong way.”

She gave him a measuring look. Tom Cord was smarter than people gave him credit for, unfortunately. Smarter than she’d given him credit for. “My opinion doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “The people who matter are the White Sox front office, your coaches, the fans, your agent—”

“My agent, my ass. Like he gives a damn what I do as long as the check clears on time,” he scoffed.

“Okay, maybe he’s not the best example, but I have to believe you care about how you’re perceived, down deep. Maybe you don’t think the tabloids ought to write about your love life. Maybe they shouldn’t, but a big leaguer throwing at a twenty-year-old minor leaguer looks bad, and you know it.”

He didn’t answer. The lack of a snarky comeback was as good as an admission from Tom.

“Come on, Tom. You’ll have time on your hands. Come do the parade and let people see another side of you.”
A non-arrogant, non-hypercompetitive side of you. If there is such a side.
“We can do a clinic if you want, with some local kids who want to improve their pitching.” She held her breath, aware that might be pushing it, but to her surprise, his face lightened, like maybe that part didn’t sound so horrible.

After a long silence, he let out a sigh. “On one condition: that you come with me.”

A strange condition, but one he needn’t have made. Her lips curved in a small smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“This has got to be the weirdest thing I’ve ever been a part of.” Tom and Sarah watched the chaos from the staging area of the Plainview Fourth of July parade. “And that’s saying something.”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Sarah said. “I can’t remember the last time an out-of-towner was given such an honor!”

“Hmmm.” He sounded unconvinced. “I’m just not sure where I fit in, between the tiny cars, the people dressed as raspberries, and the guy spinning a basketball on the end of his toothbrush.” A man walked by in a donut costume—with sprinkles, of course. Tom nodded at him. “See what I mean?”

“That’s easy. You’re the big celebrity. Everyone’s excited to get a chance to see you in person.” With the ten-day suspension the league office had handed down, the locals would have more opportunities to get to know him than they’d ever dreamed.

“They see me in person from the mound every time I’m pitching. Why do I have to make an appearance alongside people dressed as baked goods?” He crossed his arms and leaned against a horse trailer. Inside, a pretty paint pony nickered, and Tom gave it the side-eye. Nearby, parade volunteers were affixing a “Grand Marshal” sign to a vintage convertible red Pontiac Firebird.

“Sure, but this gives them a chance to see another side of you. A more personal side.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Personal? Really? Because if you think this is what I normally do in my personal life, you’re nuts.”

“I have a pretty good idea of what you do in your personal life, thanks to TMZ, and it’s not appropriate for a family parade.” She didn’t trouble to hide her smirk.

“Fine. But the only reason I’m doing this is because my agent called again.”

Hah.
She’d
known
his agent would be on her side. “Not happy about the suspension, I take it?”

“He worries too much about what the press thinks. He thinks my image needs some rehabbing, and this is a good time to do it, before I start with my new team. Fresh start, and all that BS.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Why should people care what I do in my free time? I’m a grown-up.”

Knowing another argument about his image would go nowhere fast, she took another tack. “The parade won’t last long. When it’s over, you can do demonstrations at the pitching clinic.”

His face brightened. “Yeah, that part’s okay.”

The driver of his parade car, a geriatric volunteer from the Lions Club, appeared. “We’re ready for you, Mr. Cord.”

“Thanks.” He looked at her. “I hope you realize you’re coming with me on the parade.”

“Me?” Sarah clapped a hand to her chest. “Why should I come? You’re the star attraction.” This was another reason she wasn’t cut out for PR. She could organize an event all right, but being in the spotlight herself always made her feel exposed. “You said you wanted me to come to the parade, not be in the car with you.”

“You’re the VP of public relations. That means this kind of thing falls in your domain, wouldn’t you say? Besides, if I have to make an ass of myself following a walking bagel, I don’t want to do it alone.”

She exhaled slowly. “I think he’s technically a donut, but I see your point.”

Hand on her elbow, Tom guided her to the car, assisting her as she sat atop the small seat at the back of the car.

“The donut represents the Burnside Bakery,” she said. “They’re an important Thrashers sponsor.”

“Fine. Just don’t make me get my picture taken with a guy wearing sprinkles.” He cast a wary eye at the circulating team photographer. “That’s one PR debacle my image can’t stand.”

“Oh, if you insist.” She cast an eye down him. He looked good today. Nothing new about that—he looked good every day. For this occasion, he’d traded in his usual T-shirt and jeans or Under Armour gear for a pale blue, checkered button-up with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of crisp khakis, and Italian loafers. He looked surprisingly dapper when he took the trouble. Without thinking, Sarah reached up to smooth his collar.

She froze, feeling the warm ridge of tightly knit muscle and bone in his shoulder. The gesture was too proprietary, the kind of thing a woman would do for a husband. Or a lover. She withdrew her hand, letting it drop in her lap. “Sorry. Your collar was out of whack.”

His dark hair really was the perfect foil for those bright blue eyes. It set them alight. “Devil’s eyes,” her grandmother would have called them if she’d been around to see them.

“The devil is a handsome man,” Grandma Dudley had always said. That had always confused her as a child. Handsome? In all the kids’ Bible picture books, the devil had been a hideous thing with red skin, glowing yellow eyes, horns, and a forked tail.

As an adult, Sarah knew exactly what her grandmother meant.

“You can touch me anytime you want,” the devil said, a smile playing around his lips.

“I have a feeling you make that kind of offer to too many women.”

“Only cute ones,” he said with a smile. She lurched as the car started forward. This perch was more precarious than it looked. Tom grabbed her around the waist to steady her, and her inner teenager swooned. What wouldn’t she have given as a sixteen-year-old to have Tom Cord touch her and flirt with her?

“Thanks.” She pulled a few inches away and braced herself on the seat back, determined to hold steady without Tom’s help.

The car inched to the start of the parade route.

“You look nice.” His eyes ran up and down her in a way that was a shade warmer than friendly, but stopped well short of skeevy.

“Thanks.” She wore a sheer blue and white print cardigan over a sleek blue halter top and a pair of summery gray trousers. She’d taken the time for makeup as well, and had spent twenty minutes blowing her long hair out with a round brush and pinning it back with a couple of large combs. It was a change from her usual ponytail, but it suited her.

She was glad she’d taken some extra care now that she would actually be in the parade, but she had to admit that she’d had no such idea in her mind when she’d gotten herself ready this morning.

Instead, she’d only wanted to impress Tom Cord.

That didn’t mean anything. Any woman who’d been slighted by a man had dreams of making him regret passing her by. That was natural enough. It didn’t mean she was hung up on him.

Still, Tom’s eyes had lit up when he’d first seen her, and it had sent a zing to her heart.

The car made a tight turn onto Main Street. Crowds lined the street: the old, the young, families, and groups of kids. She’d known many of the people her whole life. Some she knew from school, Sunday school, or rec league baseball. Others she’d been seeing at Thrashers games for years. When your dad ran the only team in town, everyone knew you, even if the team’s popularity wasn’t what it once had been.

“This must have been some kinda town to grow up in.” Tom waved and gave a thumbs-up to a ten-year-old boy in a baseball uniform who was waving to get his attention. The kid jumped up and down at the acknowledgment, hugging his mom and high-fiving his dad.

“It was.” She smiled and waved at people she recognized: the town’s librarian. The woman who cut her hair. Her ninth-grade math teacher. An usher who’d worked at Dudley Field since before she was born. The first boy she’d had a crush on, and the homecoming queen he’d married.

He watched her point and wave to onlookers. “Do you know everybody in town?”

“Not everybody, but the Thrashers are the biggest claim to fame this town has. When I was growing up, most everyone went to the games. Not as much anymore. Paul always says, between the Internet and satellite TV, people have more choices. Still, the Thrashers are my family’s legacy. My grandfather founded the team and went to games until the day he died.” She could still remember him sitting in his customary seat behind home plate, frail and silver-haired, but still reading the riot act to any Thrashers batter who swung at a bad pitch.

“That’s great.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little wistful? Surely not. He had an eight-figure deal with a major league baseball team. He lived the kind of life most little boys dreamed of and very few achieved. A backwater like Plainview had nothing to offer him except a few rehab starts and a few nights of boredom until he went back to the big leagues, where he belonged.

“I take it you didn’t grow up in a small town.”

“We moved around a lot. I went to high school in Tampa.”

“Were your parents in the military or something?” Paul had never told her much about Tom’s history. He’d been the star of their college team, but she didn’t know anything about his past before that. She really had no idea where he came from.

“No.” Was it her imagination, or did his grin falter for the briefest moment?

Okay, so apparently he didn’t want to talk about his upbringing. Odd. She’d found a chink in his good-time party-boy armor.

A couple of PR interns walked alongside the car, launching Thrashers T-shirts and prize packs into the crowd with a giant slingshot. Behind them, the Plainview High marching band struck up “Crazy Train,” making conversation impossible.

The Pontiac cruised down Main Street, made a right, and cut over to Walnut to double back to the courthouse square. There, the driver pulled off of the road, back to the staging area. He turned around. “Sit tight for a minute until this jam clears. I’ll park the car behind the trailers and you can get out then.”

“That’s it?” Tom looked around.

“That’s it. Our downtown area doesn’t take long to cover. It’s not exactly the big cities you’re used to—like Chicago,” Sarah added with a wry smile.

He shrugged. “I haven’t even played there yet, except away games versus the Cubs when I was a Marlin.”

“How do you feel about your new team?”

“I’m happy as hell to be getting back to the big leagues and getting started on that World Series ring. If there is any justice, we’ll win it by beating the Marlins.”

She tilted her head. “Holding a grudge?”

He shrugged. “I gave them everything I had, and when I blew out my UCL, they decided they didn’t want to pay an injured veteran his market worth. No big deal. This is a business, not a social club. I’m off to Chicago and I’m going to make them pay dearly for the huge mistake they made when they let me get away.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a Marlins batter facing you in the World Series,” she said truthfully.

“Me neither.” He grinned, more predatory than mirthful.

They dismounted from the car. “Let’s walk to the pitching clinic. The Little League ball field is only a block away, and it will be faster than driving in all this traffic.”

When she’d come up with the idea to walk to the ball diamond, she hadn’t counted on the curious bystanders. They set out on foot, but were soon slowed by the inevitable admirers. Whether it was a PR event or a walk down the street, Tom drew fans.

He stopped a dozen times to sign autographs, always with a wink and a smile. When a busty blonde asked him to sign the tight fabric of her jersey, Sarah watched him closely, sure he would leer and ask for her number, but he simply signed, ignored her obvious interest, and moved on to sign a twelve-year-old girl’s glove.

The sight of the young girl in her jersey, holding a glove, made her heart ache. That had been her once, until her mom died and her dad decided it was time to crack down on her “tomboy” ways.

Hopefully the girl had a father who understood her love for the game more than hers did.

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you coming over to me and Mom’s house later for barbecue?”

Her heart sank as she recognized Rich’s voice. She turned to greet him, a smile plastered on her face until she took in his clothes: too-tight denim shorts and a red T-shirt with “USA” spelled out on it in blue glitter letters. Heat rose in her cheeks.

“Ah, I’m not sure, Rich. I’ve got some PR events lined up for Tom and I have to accompany him. Maybe another time?”

His face fell. “You
always
come over for Mom’s barbecue after the parade. She bought sparklers and everything.”

Oh, my word.

Hardly daring to breathe, she shot a glance over to Tom, hoping to see him too involved in autographs to pay any attention to her conversation. Instead, he stood unabashedly eavesdropping, a wide grin on his face.

“I know. I’m sorry. You didn’t say anything about it and I’m afraid that with as busy as I’ve been, I forgot all about it.” Yikes, that had sounded harsh, but she’d been thinking so much about this parade and the other PR events she’d planned, she’d hardly thought of anything else. Tom Cord was like a black hole in human form. He sucked all of her energy, attention, and interest into himself, leaving her none for anyone else.

“I didn’t think I needed to
remind
you of a tradition we’ve stuck with for three years, Sarah,” Rich said with a sniff.

“I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. Maybe we can do something together this weekend to make up for it?”

His face brightened, and she knew another wrestling match on his couch would be in her near future.

He left on the promise that she’d call him soon, and she bit back a sigh as she turned back to Tom, who had just finished signing the last autograph.

They fell into step on the way to the Little League diamond. Tom said nothing, and she’d begun to hope that he’d let the incident pass when he draped an elbow on her shoulder.

“Quite a boyfriend you’ve got there.” The laughter in his voice was obvious. She didn’t try to hide her scowl. Why had Rich blundered by just then? She wanted to crawl into the nearest storm sewer and hide. Or shove Tom into one and run away.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“How can that be? He called you sweetheart. You spend every Fourth of July at his mom’s house. Eating barbecue and lighting sparklers.”

Of course
he’d heard every mortifying detail. “What were you, taking notes?” She shot him a glare.

“I have a good memory for things that interest me.”

“Why Rich should interest you, I have no idea.” He barely interested her and he was her date.

“Oh, is that his name? No, he’s not interesting. I’m interested in you.”