* * *
It wasn’t the roar of the crowd Jack missed, it was the damn tire. Missed the hole, missed the rim, missed the whole damn thing. Hell, he was lucky to have hit the net.
Rubbing at his shoulder, he bent to pick up another ball, then straightened, found the rubber with his toe, and glared down the tire. He put his right hand behind his back and rotated the ball between his fingers, deciding on a pitch.
He lifted his Yankee cap with a push from his mitt, wiping his forearm on his brow, blotting away beads of perspiration that had come half from physical exertion, half from the damn anxiety that he couldn’t seem to beat down. He felt his T-shirt sticking to his back and thought seriously about calling the practice session short so he could go turn the garden hose on himself.
But, no. Tim and the scout were coming tomorrow morning. He had to keep working.
So what would he try now? Not heat, definitely. He didn’t have enough heat in his arm right now to warm a leftover taco. He’d worked the curve ball in his morning workout and didn’t want to chance aggravating his old elbow injury by throwing more curves now.
But those were his two best pitches. The fast ball, the sinking curve. Those were the pitches that had got him to the majors, had kept him in the majors.
So what was left? If you couldn’t blow the batter down with heat, you had to learn how to dazzle him with bullshit. Without speed, there was still finesse, variety, and luck. And wasn’t it Hall of Fame hurler Lefty Gomez who’d said he’d rather be lucky than good? Then again, Jack remembered, Gomez had also been quoted as saying he’d got a great new invention, a revolving bowl for tired goldfish.
Hey, everything a pitcher said couldn’t be profound, right?
Jack positioned his fingers, deciding on a slider. Still glaring at the center of the tire, as if it were really the catcher’s mitt, he went into his motion, stopping at the height of it, ready to fling his leg forward, come through with the ball.
“Yo! You—Babe Frigging Ruth! You just hold it right there!”
Jack stumbled forward, his concentration broken, nearly landing on his face on the driveway. “Holy, jumping—what in hell is the matter with you, lady?” he shouted, glaring at Keely.
She had called to him from about twenty feet away and now was advancing on him with all the determination of a pissed-off elephant looking for a village to stomp into splinters. “Me? What’s the matter with me? Did I just throw my innocent cousin straight into the jaws of a pierced, dyed, and lobotomized flake? I don’t think so!”
Jack pulled off his glove, tucked it under his arm as he walked off the makeshift mound. “You know, I’ve thought this about you. You’re just the sort of intense, overachieving, sure-of-herself kind of person who snaps sooner or later. What are you talking about?”
“I have not snapped—but don’t you tempt me, because I’d snap all over you. Petra Polinski—that’s what I’m talking about. How could you? God, Trehan, she has to glow in the dark! Worse, if you stuck a flashlight to one ear, you could use the beam coming out the other ear like a lighthouse lamp. And you expect me to turn Mary Margaret over to her, just because I get on your nerves, hit you with the truth, and the truth hurts? In a pig’s eye, Jack Trehan. In a pig’s eye!”
He stood his ground, amazed at how attractive Keely McBride was when incensed. Her huge brown eyes had turned almost black with rage, and her honey-blond hair was coming free from its pins, so that fairly tight, corkscrew curls kissed her flushed cheeks, her slim neck. All as she walked toward him on her long legs, her body moving straight up to her hips with each step, giving him a mind picture that would probably get him killed if she could see it. Not that she didn’t already look like murder was on her mind.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, backing up onto the mound a little, raising himself higher, even though she only came to about chin level anyway. “Oh. Wait. This is about Sadie’s pal Mitzi’s stepkid, right?”
“Ah,” Keely purred—the purr of a lioness pleased with just how the gazelle’s leg tasted, “so you do remember. Who said there’s only one male brain, and all of you have to share it? Guess you got it today, huh, sport? But you couldn’t have had it when you saw Petra Polinski.”
“Saw her? I didn’t see her. Why would I have to see her? Sadie said she was a good kid, and that’s enough for me. Besides, I thought you wanted to get this job done before Christmas. Dragging M and—Mary Margaret with you all over town can’t be making your job easier.” He spread his hands, palms up. “So now you have help. I think it’s brilliant, personally.”
Keely looked at him, her eyelids slitted, her jaw working even as she kept her lips closely shut.
“What?” he asked, starting to feel guilty, God only knew why. “What’s the problem? I’m not firing you. You still get to take me to the cleaners. And the kid can only be here days, because she’s taking some evening classes somewhere, so you’re still as indispensable as I hate you being.”
Taking a deep breath, Keely blew heated air out her nostrils. Jack tried not to put up his arms, ready to defend himself. First an elephant, then a lioness, and now a bull ready to charge. Probably bad comparisons, considering she was only about five foot six, couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, dripping wet and rolled in mud.
But he couldn’t help himself. The usual comparisons, when thinking about pretty women, were that they were graceful doves, or sleek kittens, or cuddly, fuzzy little something-or-others. Keely McBride was none of those. She might look the part, but Jack wasn’t stupid. She had all the soft, cuddly instincts of a hyena. And a mouth and disposition to match.
“Come... with... me,” she said at last, then turned on her heel and started back across the grass, heading up the hill, toward the house. It wasn’t a request, it was an order.
Jack put down his mitt and followed her, intrigued in spite of himself. Because something had sure set Keely off, and he kind of wanted to see what it was. If it was Mitzi’s stepdaughter, he’d give the girl a raise, even before she started the job.
He had to break into a trot to catch up with Keely, although he didn’t do that right away, rather enjoying watching her hips sway as she climbed the hill. Hey, a guy took his pleasures where he could get them!
“So exactly what’s the matter with Mitzi’s stepdaughter?” he asked when he fell into step with Keely about a hundred feet from the house. “I didn’t quite get what you were saying back there.”
“That’s because there aren’t enough words to describe her,” Keely bit out. “You’ll see soon enough.”
She moved ahead of him, skirting the in-ground pool, and hit the flagstone patio first, pushing open the door to the kitchen, then standing back, motioning for him to enter ahead of her.
“You’re weird,” he told her as he pushed the ball cap farther back on his head and stepped into the kitchen. “I mean, you’re really out there.”
“Hey, thanks,” came a voice from his left, behind the open door. “You’re kind of out there yourself. Especially if you like sweat, right? Because you sorta reek, you know?’
Jack’s head swiveled on his neck at the sound of a young, ridiculously cheerful female voice. “Pardon me?” he asked, right before his eyeballs froze at the sight in front of him.
It was a circus clown, it was a character stepping off a psychedelic Volkswagen bus, it was a public service ad for “Do you know where your children are?” It was... it was... it was holding M and M! “Sadie!”
His Aunt Sadie wandered in from the den, holding a cellophane bag of oatmeal cookies, the kind with white icing slathered on them and left to harden. “Yes, dear? I was watching my soap. You know, on your huge screen, those bedroom scenes seem to take on a whole new perspective. Is there a problem?”
Glaring at Sadie, he stuck his left arm out, pointing toward Petra Polinski. “This is your idea of a solution? Hey, Charles Manson might get out on bail one of these days. Maybe we should wait for him to take care of
M and M.”
“Don’t be facetious, dude,” Petra said, putting Mary Margaret into her jumper seat and walking over to stand in front of him. “I’m going through a phase, okay, and this one is about over anyway. Lighten up. I won’t hurt the kid. I’m certified in CPR, know the Heimlich Maneuver, the whole ball of wax. That was another phase, but I am so over that one. Thought I wanted to be a doctor. Granted, Daddy liked that phase better, but hey, I’m an artist now. An artist has to try new things, right? So why don’t you stop wigging out, like the little lady behind you is doing, and give me a chance?”
“How old are you?” Jack asked, stalling for time, as all brave hunters do until they can find a stick. Because he had to get Petra Polinski out of here before M and M was emotionally scarred for life.
Petra rolled her eyes. “Like, I knew I should bring a résumé? Jeez Louise. Okay, here goes: I’m seventeen.”
“No, you’re not,” Jack said. “You can’t be, because Sadie said you were a junior in college. I distinctly remember her saying that.”
“Well, duh,” Petra said, dropping her jaw. “You never heard of child geniuses? Because you’re looking at one, you know. I’ve been in college since I was twelve. I just don’t seem to ever graduate.”
Jack blinked several times, rapidly, then turned back toward his aunt. “Sadie?”
“She’s fine, Jack. Mitzi promised me. And this is just a phase. Last year she was tutoring other students in physics. Petra’s just a free spirit, investigating life. Besides, I think she’s colorful.”
Jack didn’t know how to answer and was happy to be saved by Keely, who pushed him to one side as she approached the teenager. “Okay, genius. What do you do if Mary Margaret’s choking?” she asked, leaning forward from the waist, her every muscle tensed.
Petra rolled her eyes. “Well, if she were a grownup, I’d use the standard method, but that would break her little ribs. So I’d lay her down, find the same spot on her upper belly, then give her a couple of quick pushes, like this,” she ended, demonstrating with her hands. “And, it’s like totally rad, I mean it, when that little piece of whatever comes popping right out of the doll’s mouth. We practiced on dolls.”
“A-ha!” Keely crowed, as if Petra had just admitted she’d done it in the library, with the wrench. “So you’ve never actually performed the maneuver on a real baby.”
Petra inspected her short, stubby, green-painted fingernails. An American flag was painted on her left pinky. “Yeah, right, girl. Like you have?”
Jack coughed to cover a laugh and went over to the cabinets, pulling out a glass he stuck under the dispenser in the refrigerator door, then emptied the glass in a few deep swallows. Then he reached inside the freezer, grabbed one of his ice bags, and held it to his shoulder as he leaned against the countertop to watch. This could be fun.
“What do you do if the house is on fire?” Keely persisted, and Jack remembered the titles on the stack of DVDs he’d found in the den, knowing one was on child safety.
“Oh, cool, we’re going to have a real quiz?” Petra asked, settling herself in one of the kitchen chairs. “Okay. I grab the kid, my cell phone, and my bottle of nail polish—in that order—and get out of the house. Call nine-one-one and break out the marshmallows. Next question?”
Jack could see Keely’s eyes beginning to glisten, as if—and who would have thunk it—she might burst into tears at any moment. He put down the ice bag, pushed himself away from the kitchen counter, and walked over to Keely, grabbed her by one elbow. “Okay, she passes the test, right? You’ve got yourself some help. Now, what do you say you go measure something while I shower, and then the two of us can go buy a couch. Does that work for you?”
Keely’s bottom lip began to tremble, but she bit down on it with her top teeth, nodding her
agreement.
“Fine. Great,” Jack said, wondering what had hit him, why he’d suddenly turned into Mr. Nice Guy, especially when he couldn’t stand the woman. And, hey, she knew M and M was just a job, just like decorating the house was just a job. She shouldn’t have let herself get so involved. M and M was a temporary problem, not a permanent fixture in either of their lives.
Right?