No One Like You (10 page)

“Oh . . . Atlas,” Beth murmured, fighting a smile.

“Oh . . . Atlas is right. I gave her five hundred dollars.”

“Expensive date.”

“Atlas paid me back from his allowance.” Ry was joking, and Beth grinned.

Rylan finished with, “If Ava wants to see me again, she knows where to find me. It’s her move. I told her about the footprint event and Media Day. The Gallery Walk.” His expression mellowed. “Last night ended well. I stopped to visit Shaye and her husband Trace after Ava split. Aidan built their beach house. It’s enormous. My sister has the coolest Quaker parrot. Olive talks like a person. I chatted longer with Olive than I did with Ava.”

“You’re not disappointed then?” Beth needed to be sure.

“What’s meant to be, is. What’s not, isn’t. That’s my brother Zane’s philosophy.”

“Zane is the family hurricane hunter?” She’d seen his photo in the online album, standing next to a Lockheed-Martin WC-130J aircraft. Big and burly, he had a buzz cut. His expression was hard. His eyes piercing. His jaw granite.

“He’s the daredevil and lives each day as if it was his last.” That said, Ry slid off his stool, picked up his plate, and put it in the sink. “A quick shower and I’m headed to the stadium. The team has a full morning ahead.” He gave her further instructions. “I keep a running grocery list on the computer. You’ll need to stock up once a week. Best place to shop is Harvest Farms, north of town. Crabby Abby’s General Store carries my personal items. I have an account.”

“Got it.” She pursed her lips. “There’s no problem with me leaving the dogs alone while I do errands?”

“They’ll sleep while you’re gone. Be home by noon to feed and walk them. Otherwise Atlas will send up a smoke signal.”

She grinned. “I’ll keep an eye on the sky.”

“Keys to my Range Rover and the cottage are on a metal ring in the drawer below the coffeemaker. Drive my vehicle, there’s no need to put extra miles on your Cruiser.”

She nodded. Feeling grateful. She’d traded in her Mini Cooper at a used car dealership in Atlanta, then gone on to purchase the PT Cruiser. It was her third car swap since leaving Maryland. She didn’t want anyone following her.

The odometer had turned one hundred and twenty thousand miles on her trip to Florida. The car still ran well, but she didn’t want to push her luck. She didn’t need any red lights flashing on the dashboard.

“Have fun with your footprints,” she said as he turned to leave. “Fans will go nuts.”

“The stadium will be crowded. It’s Media Day. We’ll do a Q and A. Baseball stats soon take second place to personal info.”

“What kind of information?” She was curious.

“Drop by the park around ten-thirty and see for yourself,” he suggested. “There’s a player’s pass hanging from the rearview mirror on the Rover. Park in the team lot. Remove and clip the pass to your top. You’ll have full-access to the day’s events.”

Rylan Cates as a Richmond Rogue. Definitely worth her while. “I’ll see you there.” Afterward she’d shop for groceries. She didn’t want the fresh produce to sit overly long in the SUV.

Ry headed upstairs, and she finished her waffle, giving Atlas the last bite. The dog had a way of looking goofy and grateful at the same time. She collected their bowls and rinsed them at the sink, then stuck them in the dishwasher. She’d run a load of dishes later in the day.

She walked to the office. The dogs trailed behind her. She settled in to work. Turning on the computer, she pulled up the file for the picnic. First item on her list was locating the solar powered lanterns. Where to look? Hardware store, lamp shop, or party rental? She’d check out local business websites. Next came the outdoor furniture. Then she would plan the menu.

Eight o’clock, and Rylan stuck his head in the door, letting her know he was leaving. He looked handsome in a maroon and white Henley pullover and khakis. The dogs barked and Beth waved him on his way.

She worked steadily for an hour, making phone calls and sending e-mails. She approached Aidan Cates on fencing. He promised to send one of his crew to take measurements. The work would be done by the end of the week. Before the picnic. The thought of Atlas and gang having extra room to play pleased Beth greatly.

She soon discovered that no one in town carried the lanterns, so she ordered them online. They were expensive, but Rylan could use them again and again. She saw them as an investment. The company guaranteed two-day delivery, which fell within her timeline.

She jumped along with the dogs when a horn honked in the driveway. Someone leaned on it. Loud and insistent. The noise sent her to the front door with Atlas on her heels.

Halo Todd stood beside his silver metallic Hummer H3T pickup. A beast of a truck. His arms were crossed over his chest. He faced her in a T-shirt scripted with
To Be Continued, Babe,
jeans ladder-ripped over his right thigh, and a big, old smirk. He appeared proud of himself.

What had he done? she wondered.

Atlas nearly knocked Beth over getting to Halo.

The man greeted the Dane with the affection of the previous day.

Beth approached Halo more slowly. “What’s up?”

“I found a circular bench for the base of the banyan tree. Perfect for the picnic.”

“You did?” She was stunned with the delivery.

“The Cates name opened doors. I borrowed the bench from Porch and Patio. Rylan can buy or return it after the picnic.”

“How many pieces are there?”

“Six individual. It’s an easy set up. The redwood sections curve and lock. I’ll do it for you now.”

Now?
“You’re supposed to be at the stadium,” she reminded him. “Footprints and Media Day.” Rylan had left for the training facility an hour ago. Halo was late. “I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

He had the balls to laugh at her. “I appreciate your concern. Don’t worry. I’ll plant my footprints before the cement dries. Reporters always ask the same questions. I get bored.” He worked his jaw. “Fifteen minutes, and I’ll have your bench together.”

Halo was procrastinating. Big time. She narrowed her gaze on him. Tapped her foot. “Talk to me, Halo.”

“You’re sounding like Rylan.”

“I’m waiting.”

He kept her waiting while he dropped the tailgate on the Hummer and unloaded the bench section by section from the covered cargo area. He then hefted one curved piece onto his shoulder and headed down the driveway toward the backyard. She hurried to keep up with him. Atlas ran ahead of them both.

Halo broke his silence at the corner of the cottage. “I picked up a woman last night at a hotel bar. She’d had a terrible date and I consoled her. We later got a room. It was a night of little sleep. The sun rose and so did I. No man denies his morning erection. Twice.”

“Too much information.”

“Even running late I did you a solid,” he insisted. “I located the bench.”

His reasoning became clear to her. She wanted to punch him. “No way, Halo. I won’t be your excuse for being late.”

“Come on, be a sport.”

“No.”

“Rylan won’t be nearly as mad at me if he knows I’ve helped you.”

“No, tell him the truth.”

“That sex with Ava—”

“Ava?” Beth startled.

“Ava Vonn. Do you know her?”

“No, can’t say that I do.” She had, however, gotten an earful on the woman at breakfast. Ava had left Ry at the diner, only to hookup with Halo at the bar. However coincidentally.

She didn’t want Rylan caught off guard in the locker room should Halo brag about his conquest. She needed to avert the conversation. But how? She finally came up with a solution. She’d give them something else to talk about.

She waited until Halo connected the last wraparound section on the bench before she approached him. The spot looked comfortable and inviting. A conversation starter.

He met her halfway with enough strut for six men. “Cover my ass?” he questioned her a second time.

“I’ll have your back on one condition.”

“Conditions are never good. What’s yours?”

“I give you a haircut.”

“W
e’re fuckin’ twins,” Halo Todd cursed as he entered the Rogues locker room.

Not twins,
Rylan thought. But they had the same haircut. Both were bad. Halo’s hair was worse than Ry’s . . . if that was even possible. Ry at least had short spikes. Halo had a visible bald spot. He would’ve smiled had Halo not looked ready to kill someone.

Rylan finished buttoning his navy jersey and tucked it into his baseball pants. Then threaded his belt and asked unnecessarily, “Who’s your barber?” Somehow he already knew.

Halo stood two lockers down. He tugged his gray T-shirt over his head. His voice was muffled through the neck hole. “Beth took scissors to me.”

“You saw her this morning?”
When?
Ry wondered.

“I located the wraparound bench she wanted for your picnic and delivered it early.” Halo tossed his shirt on the floor of his locker, then heel-toed his athletic shoes. He stood in his socks. “You and I passed at the corner. Didn’t you see me? I waved.”

Waved?
His ass. Halo’s Hummer was hard to miss. It took up two parking places in the players’ lot. Rylan drove defensively. There hadn’t been another car on his street this morning, and only minimal traffic on the highway to the stadium.

“I only planned to stay a few minutes,” the right fielder continued, “but once I unloaded the redwood sections, Beth begged me to put the bench together. Right then, right there.”

“Begged you like she did yesterday with the yard work?”

Halo shrugged. “More or less.”

Ry figured less.

“She’s a hard woman to refuse.”

“The setup took two hours?”

“Time got away from me.”

Two hours was a lot to lose. Rylan didn’t believe for a second that Halo had spent that length of time at his cottage. “The reason for your cut?” He’d yet to figure that out. “Mine was a mistake.”

Halo winced. “Mine was on purpose. Beth mumbled something about ‘team unity,’ and that haircuts were better than tattoos. I had no idea what she was talking about.” He glanced at Rylan. “But now I do. She got to you, then came after me. The woman can’t be trusted with scissors. She’s not my favorite person at the moment.”

Team unity.
Ry’s chest warmed. He appreciated Beth looking out for him. She’d slipped up with his cowlick, yet deliberately sheared Halo. She’d taken the focus off him on Media Day. Her loyalty meant a lot.

Ry had received strange looks from his teammates when he’d first entered the locker room. There’d been a few raised eyebrows, but only one smirk. Landon Kane stared the longest, looking confused, but no one had questioned him. They’d waited for him to explain. He’d yet to do so.

Silence had held until the last uniformed man left for the plaza. The footprint ceremony was about to begin. Rylan had remained in the locker room, waiting for Halo. Where could he be? Ry had wondered.

Late and unconcerned, Halo had finally made an appearance. In his own good time—which was inconsiderate. And irritating.

Ry practiced patience.

Clubhouse manager Walter Atwater made the locker assignments. As a veteran player, Ry had seniority and was given two lockers so he could spread out and be comfortable. Space was important to him. He was adjacent to the lounge and food cart and had easy access to the showers.

Halo’s locker adjoined Ry’s. Walt had hoped by placing Halo next to him during spring training that Rylan’s stability would rub off on the rule breaker, even a little.

Ry had his doubts. He pitched his wallet and keys on the top shelf of the empty locker that separated them. Halo already coveted his real estate. Landon Kane’s locker was next to Halo’s. The starting lineup filled the row against the south wall.

Rylan was still curious about Halo’s whereabouts prior to his stop at the cottage. The truth lay in what had happened
beforehand
. Stopping by his home was a half-assed excuse. Beth knew the importance of today and wouldn’t have allowed Halo to linger. She would’ve broomed his ass.

The man’s personal life was his own, unless it affected team events. It had interfered today. Ry wasn’t aware of an all-night poker game. He usually got an invite. Or a dusk-to-dawn party under the city pier. He figured a woman was involved.

Rylan dropped down on the gray-enameled bench, pulled on his logo crew socks. His cleats came next. Contracted with New Balance, he had four boxed pairs stacked in his locker. Facing a grueling one hundred sixty-two game season, he sacrificed the metal grip and wore their plastic cleats. Plastic lessened the wear and tear on his joints. He chose the oldest and most scuffed pair for stepping in cement.

Several feet away, Halo unbuckled his belt, unsnapped, and unzipped his jeans. He dropped and stepped out of them. He wore his boxers low on his hips. He made a grab for his baseball pants, hanging on a hook.

Ry stood, stretched, and was about to ask Halo one final question, when the answer flashed before him. Wicked red scratches scored Halo’s upper butt. His lover had talons. Her fingernails had dug deep to draw out her passion. He would have scars.

Rylan’s jaw worked. The outfielder lived by untruths and ulterior motives. Beth hadn’t made him late, as Halo had sworn. Sex had. Halo knew the team rules. Those spoken and unspoken.

“Who scratched your ass, Halo?” asked Ry. “I hope she was worth the fine.”

Busted
. Halo contorted to check out his backside. Heat circled his neck. “Shit. Cut me some slack, Ry-man. It’s preseason.”

“This is a scheduled Rogues event.”

Halo swore beneath his breath. “What-the-fuck-ever.” He finished getting dressed.

The locker room door swung open. Landon Kane called to them. “What’s holding you guys up?” He blinked. “Damn. First Rylan and now you. What’s with the haircut, Halo?”

Halo rubbed his bald spot, grumbled, “Team unity.”

Still Land was skeptical. “We voted on tattoos.”

“Cuts now. Tats later,” said Halo.

Landon wasn’t convinced. He ran a hand through his hair. “I like one length.”

So did Rylan. Had he been Land, he would’ve headed for the door and not looked back.

Halo hedged a little more. “Unifying the team is a huge undertaking.” He made it sound as if he had the Rogues’ best interest at heart. “Call it preseason initiation. Cuts precede the first pitch of spring training.”

Landon shifted. Uneasily. “Have all the guys committed?”

Halo rubbed his chin. “Pretty much so.”

“Not fully.” Rylan had to be honest.

“Stand with us, dude,” Halo pulled Land in.

Reluctantly, Landon said, “Maybe later. There’s no time—”

“We’ll make time,” Halo said. “I have an electric shaver in my locker. What’s another five minutes?”

That was exactly how long it took Halo to trim Land’s hair. The two men were tight. What one man started, the other man finished. They always had each other’s backs. Even when it came to bad haircuts.

“How’s it feel?” Halo asked Land once he finished.

Landon touched the side of his head. His expression was pained. “Lopsided.” He glanced in the mirror set between the lockers. “I look like shit.”

“Edgy.” Ry recalled what Beth had said.

“Whacked,” Landon grumbled.

Three of nine starters were now buzzed. There were six players to go. Ry wondered how the remaining dominos would fall. No man would be pressured. He wouldn’t allow it, although Halo had a way of convincing people to do things they might not ordinarily do. He was a one for all and all for one kind of guy.

Rylan grabbed his baseball cap and moved toward the door. “Let’s go. We’re really late.”

“We?”
Halo caught Rylan’s eye. “Fines all-around then? Not just on me?”

Ry glared at him. “You held us up in the first place, remember?” How quickly Halo could forget.

“Yeah, but we’re three bad haircuts facing Media Day. You’re not alone, dude. That should count for something.”

It counted for little. “I’ll think about it,” was all Rylan would commit.

“Landon,” Halo called to the third baseman. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, your hair hasn’t grown at all. Move your ass.”

Land followed them out. They were met by two security guards who escorted them along the fan walkway toward the front of the facility. Jillian had initiated the winding sidewalk the previous year when the stadium was under construction. The promotional event had honored the fans and their continued support. She’d invited the ball players to leave their footprints for future generations. No other spring training facility had a fan walkway. It spread goodwill throughout the community.

Rogues Plaza was located near the entrance of the stadium. Dirt squares had been prepped for the event. A cement truck beeped as it backed up, pulling close to the concrete finishers. Once the ’crete was poured, the players would step up and leave their prints.

The crowd was enormous, Ry noted. Excitement shimmered like a mirage. A semicircle of collapsible bleachers provided seating. Several rows were roped off for media, city officials, and the Cates family. Fans squeezed together; it was standing room only.

Jill approached Rylan the moment she spotted him. “Where have you been?” she asked, her voice tight. She glanced at Halo; her mouth pinched. “I should’ve known he’d be the one to hold us up.”

Halo curled his lip. “It’s not always me.”

“Oh, yes, it is.” Jill knew otherwise. She ran her gaze over them. “Seriously?” she muttered. “Trend or angry barber?”

“Unity,” said Halo.

“I got roped,” said Landon.

“A long story,” said Rylan.

Jill let it drop. Taking Ry by the arm, she led him to the first prepared square. The masons had spread the fresh cement. They awaited his cleats.

“You’re up,” she said to him. “It’s quick drying, so make it fast.”

He left his prints for posterity. Jill then passed him a pencil to sign his name. Whistles and applause echoed on the air. News cameras zoomed in. Individual photos were snapped. A young boy held a garden hose nearby. Ry lifted each foot so the kid could spray off his cleats. The boy was all smiles when Rylan autographed the bill of his Rogues cap.

He walked to the sidelines and watched the festivities.

He avoided the spotlight, while Halo sought attention. The outfielder caused a roar from the fans when he hunkered down, ready to leave his butt print. Jill was quick to intervene. She tugged him from the square. And not too gently.

Ry rolled his eyes. Halo would’ve been taught a lesson had he sat down. The quick-drying concrete would’ve set around his backside. He’d have difficulty getting up. Chipping cement off his ass wouldn’t be pretty. It might have taught him a lesson.

The footprints took forty minutes. Rylan tipped back his ball cap and scanned the bleachers while he waited. He quickly spotted Dune and Sophie. His grandfather Frank. Shaye and Trace. Then Beth. He felt an unexpected relief that she’d made it. Shaye had made room for her in the family section, sitting next to his sister. The two women chatted like old friends. Ry liked the fact that they got along. He stared at her until Halo and Landon joined him.

The men were playing
hottest babe in the crowd
. Alternate versions of their game were hottest babe in a restaurant or at a bar. In a store or crossing the street. On the beach or at the movie theater. The guys just liked to play. Wherever.

Halo nodded left. “Behind the cameraman. Blonde in the white tank top.”

“I’d tap her,” Land agreed. “Bleachers, third row right. Redhead in the low-cut blouse.”

Halo moaned his interest. “Nice.”

“Hey, there’s Beth.” Landon was first to spot her. “She’s a contender.”

Ry again glanced her way. Her yellow top was as bright as the sunshine that streaked her hair. She was one of few without a tan. She talked with her hands and smiled easily.

He’d give her
cute,
but
a contender
? Were Halo and Landon humoring him? Possibly. They seemed to like Beth. Both men had wanted to ask her out. He stared at her a moment longer. She was even more animated than a second ago.

He watched as Shaye threw back her head and laughed at something Beth said. Beth was laughing, too. Rylan found that he was grinning for no apparent reason.

“Who are you looking at, dude?” Land asked, craning his neck. “Share her.”

“No one in particular,” was all Ry would admit. “I’m enjoying the day. Clear skies, big crowd, nice press coverage—it’s perfect.”

Shortly thereafter, Jillian directed clubhouse assistants to set up tall stools in the center of the plaza. As team captain, Rylan sat in the middle. Halo Todd and Landon Kane flanked him. The other players fanned out. First baseman Jake Packer, left fielder Joe “Zoo” Zooker, and catcher Hank Jacoby went right. Shortstop Brody Jones, second baseman Sam Matthews, and pitcher Will Ridgeway were seated left. They were ready to face the media.

National and local television stations were well represented, as were newspapers and sports magazines. Introductions soon followed. Jill detailed each man’s career. Rylan was the veteran and had the longest list of accomplishments. He was also the hometown boy, and was embraced wholeheartedly. The applause was deafening.

Halo leaned toward Rylan and spoke from the corner of his mouth. “You had a .321 batting average last year?” He feigned awe.

“I clubbed a few,” was all Ry would give him.

Jill may have read his numbers off a paper, but Halo knew Ry’s stats by heart. The man tried to best him at every turn and always came up short. But not by much.

“You sure you have three Golden Gloves?” Halo pressed him.

“Jill just said as much.” Rylan had posted three errorless seasons with the St. Louis Colonels.

“I think she padded your stats.”