Caught by You (4 page)

“Did you just say, ‘What the Jeter'?”

“Catchy, right? I'm trying to make it a new thing ­people say. ‘What the Jeter is wrong with you? What the Jeter did you do with the milk?' That sort of thing. A tribute to Derek Jeter, the best shortstop of all time. I'm working it into everyday conversation to see if it spreads.”

“You should put it on Twitter.” Mike looked around at the milling crowd. Denim jackets and cowboy boots, short skirts and long legs, plenty of lip gloss and teased hair, glimpses of cleavage, earrings dangling against bare skin, pretty girls flipping their hair, laughing, teasing, sexy, cute . . .

And not Donna.

He drained his club soda. “Mañana,” he said to the other Catfish, who stared after him with expressions of shock and betrayal. He never left the party early.
Too bad
. The Roadhouse without Donna was like a game without a hit. A dinner without steak. A shower without water.

It just wasn't worth the bother.

He strode out of the Roadhouse into the still-­warm night. Up above, stars bedazzled the blue-­velvet sky. The Wade kid had it right. Play well, get out of town. That was the plan. Definitely, for sure,
forget Donna
.

Unless, of course, she was standing right in front of him.

“Donna?”

He blinked, but she didn't disappear. On his way to the stadium for batting practice, he'd stopped at the Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and a cruller. Now his coffee steamed, forgotten, in his left hand while he drank in the sight of Donna MacIntyre. She stood next to a miniscule red Kia in the drive-­through, a little brown bag in one hand and a Big Gulp of coffee in the other.

She looked . . . different.

“You are Donna, right? Donna MacIntyre?”

She rolled her eyes with a Lord-­help-­us expression that confirmed her identity. “Solo. How've you been?”

“Great. What are you wearing?” It looked horrible, whatever it was. Boxy, boring blue, below the knee. Its only benefit was that it showed off her calves. Unfortunately, they were covered in beige panty hose. “Did you just come from Salvation Army band practice?”

“That's an extremely inappropriate comment.”

Yeah, it was, but he was rattled. “Sorry. I'm a little traumatized. Are you on a Mormon mission or something? What did you do to your hair?”

The state of her hair made him want to cry. All the curls had been flat-­ironed out of it; he knew the process because his sisters used it on their curly black mops. The color hadn't changed, thank the saints, but she wore a headband that hid most of the glorious red. A headband! And her hair was short too. She'd chopped it to shoulder-­length. All that wild, beautiful hair, sitting on a salon floor somewhere.

“Wait, let me guess. You're on your way to an encyclopedia convention.”

Looking extremely annoyed, she brushed past him. He caught the scent of fresh woodlands. At least that hadn't changed. As she peered into the Kia, he followed her gaze and saw a sleeping kid strapped into a car seat in the back. The window was halfway open, giving the child plenty of air. He had red hair and his mouth lolled open.

“Is that the Shark?”

For the first time, she looked kindly at him. “You remember about the Shark?”

“Of course. You're a nanny for a Shark. Hard to forget that. Or the rest of it.” He raised one eyebrow suggestively, but she ignored his double entendre. His suspicion grew that something was wrong in Donna's world. In the old days, she never let a chance to flirt pass her by.

“I'm not a nanny anymore,” she told him, circling around to the driver's side. “I'm a receptionist at a dentist's office. You should come by sometime. We're famous for our root canals.”

Cradling her coffee and paper bag against her chest, she put her key into the lock on the driver's side door. Damn. She was about to drive away, and he didn't know when he'd see her again.

“You know, I could use a good teeth cleaning. They look kind of green up on the Jumbotron. Where's your office?”

“Oh. Where? It's, um, at the corner of Twelfth and Forget I Said Anything.”

“Ouch. Now there's the Donna I remember.”

She fumbled with the lock. “Well, forget her.”

“I tried that. It wasn't any fun.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowed, and a
zing
shot between them. For the first time since he'd gotten back to Kilby, Mike felt completely happy with life. He bounded around the car and lifted her coffee out of her way. “There, is that easier?”

“You don't have to help me. I'm fine. Don't you have some balls to play with?”

“Ouch again. I think our Donna's back in business.” He squinted at her. “Are you wearing a football pin? Now you're just breaking my heart.”

“Welcome to Texas,” she said, all sassy. “Where football is king, and baseball is the nerdy neighbor boy your mom makes you play with.”

“Them's fighting words, Donna MacIntyre. You can't just say something like that and not give me a chance to prove how superior baseball is in every possible way.”

She turned the key in the lock and swung open the door. He stepped back to avoid getting a crotch full of South Korean automotive metal. In the car seat, the child's legs twitched, and a low wail began.

“Gotta go,” said Donna, suddenly in a big hurry. “Nice running into you and all. Have a good season.”

“Mama!!!” the boy cried. Mike could see it was a boy now. A boy with bright red hair the exact color of Donna's.

“Shhh, sweetie. It's okay. I'm here, and I got you some milk.” She stuck a straw in the cup and handed it to him.

Abruptly, the crying stopped. Donna shot Mike a complicated look—­he detected regret, warning, pleading, and probably a few more layers—­then closed the door.

He watched her drive away, speculation running rampant. So Donna had a kid. She'd never mentioned any such person. Neither had Caleb or Sadie. Not that it was his business.

Except . . . well, he kind of wanted to make it his business. How many dental offices could there be in Kilby, Texas?

 

Chapter 4

T
HAT WO
ULD TEACH
Donna to splurge on a Bavarian cream donut. Just her luck to run into Mike Solo after an overnight with Zack. Mike was even more tempting than the pastry. Sweet Lord above, he looked good. The same devilish green eyes, the same grin. His black hair was cropped closer to his head and he seemed to have gained a few lines in his face. Grooves along his mouth, hollows under his cheekbones, that sort of thing. He might have added some new muscles too. A little something in the shoulders, some extra bulging in the thighs.

Oh sweet heaven, he was one-­hundred percent trouble.

She pulled out of the drive-­through. “Drink your milk, Zack-­a-­doodle,” she told Zack over her shoulder. “I got you some donut holes too.” She fumbled in the paper bag for a nugget of donut and handed it to him.

“Where's the hole?” Zack turned it over and over, so puzzled she had to laugh.

“Good question, kiddo. Hey, while you were sleeping I heard on the radio that the zoo is getting a new tiger. A white tiger. Let's go see him as soon as he gets here, huh?”

“Yeah!!”

While Zack turned his straw into a pair of fangs and made faces in the mirror, she drove toward the Hannigans' house, her thoughts drifting back to Mike Solo. In his loose blue cambric shirt over a white tee and jeans, he'd looked casual and fit and so yummy she wanted to lick him.

No licking. No, Donna, no, no, no.

Ms. Griswold had been adamant about that. “Pretend you're a nun. I'm serious. No guys. No parties. You're a little angel who was taken advantage of four years ago. You've turned your life around and want only one thing.”

A big penis
, her devil side wanted to say. Instead, she smiled meekly. “All I want is my son.”

“Exactly. All you want is your son. Don't forget it.”

“Of course I won't forget it. It's true. But why do I have to act like a virgin saint to get Zack back?”

“Virgin saint. I like that. We can work with that. Here's the thing, Donna.” Her lawyer steepled her fingers and clicked her orange-­lacquered nails against each other. “You're the mother, so you have a built-­in advantage with the family court system.”

“That's good, right?”

“Yes,
however
. It also means you're a target. If the other side decides to play ugly, they have enough material to rip you into confetti-­size shreds. Your history of partying. That brawl at the Roadhouse. The fact that you had to be hospitalized when you were pregnant. They'll try to turn you into the Lindsay Lohan of Kilby, Texas. Oh.” She held up a finger. “Make sure you wear underwear at all times.”

The devil inside Donna rebelled. “Is edible underwear okay?”

“This is serious, Donna. No more jokes. You don't joke about bombs at an airport, do you? Same idea. Don't joke about edible underwear when you're trying to win custody of your son.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she'd said meekly.

Outside the Hannigans', she unfastened Zack from his car seat and sent him down the walkway toward the waiting Mrs. Hannigan, who no longer smiled at her as kindly as she used to. The struggle over Zack was taking its toll, and she hated that.

“Love you, Zack-­a-­roonie,” she called after him, as he did one of his crazy little dances down the pathway toward Mrs. H. He loved it when she made up plays on his name, but even her inventive brain was starting to run out.

Only three minutes late—­a miracle considering how hard it was to leave Zack—­she took her post behind the receptionist desk of the Dental Miracles office. She fixed her gaze on an anatomically correct diagram of an abscessed tooth. If that didn't distract her from thoughts of Mike Solo, she didn't know what would.
Bacteria entering the bloodstream. Inflammation. Antibiotics.

“I need to make an appointment,” came a warm, low, laughing voice. Her head shot up.

Mike Solo.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, looking around the office as if they'd been caught doing something illicit.

“Oh, nothing. Just looking for an unlocked closet.” He winked. Heat flashed across her nerve endings.

“Inappropriate. I'm working here. What are you, stalking me?”

“Excuse me? I'm here to make an appointment,” he said virtuously. “Hi,” he said to one of the patients on the waiting room couch. “I'm Mike Solo of the Kilby Catfish. How are you doing?”

“Leave the patients alone. What do you want?”

“As I've been saying for the last few minutes, I'd like to make an appointment, if that's the kind of thing you do here.”

“Of course we make appointments.” Donna flipped open the big calendar. “What do you want? Teeth cleaning, you said? X-­rays? A good spanking?”

Even though she said that last one in a much lower voice, he still caught it. Of course. Mike never missed the joke. “Now you're talking. But no. None of that. I was thinking of a private appointment. You and me. Catch up on old times. Fill in some of the blanks in each other's lives.”

“Not interested.”

“Liar.”

“Go away, Mike. This is a bad idea.”

“Why? What's the big deal? You know that Sadie and Caleb are going to get married one of these days. And we'll both be in the wedding. We're going to see each other, so wouldn't it be smart to get all that awkwardness out of the way?”

“What awkwardness?”

He raised his voice to a level more easily heard throughout the office. “Do you really want me to rehash everything that happened at Kilby Community Library? Not that I mind, because it's one of my favorite memories. Then again, I'm a guy, and we don't get embarrassed about that stuff. I'm thinking more of you. Girls can be funny about that kind of thing, as if it weren't perfectly natural and—­”

She stopped him, hissing through gritted teeth. “Fine. We'll make an appointment. When are you free? I know you have a busy schedule of Catfish games and stupid pranks. Wait, aren't you going on the road soon?”

“Checking the team schedule, are you?”

“No,” she snapped. “Just wishful thinking.”

At his wounded expression, she wondered if she was being kind of a jerk. Mike Solo hadn't done anything to her except run into her at Dunkin' Donuts. It wasn't his fault he was like catnip wrapped in the body of a Greek god. Not his fault she'd been fantasizing about him since that damn closet. And before.

“How's tonight?”

“I have a game tonight. Afterwards?”

“I go to bed at nine.”

“
Nine?
”

His incredulous look made her laugh. “Some things have changed in my life.”

“Fine, you tell me, what's the next available opening in your schedule? Can you take a coffee break right now?”

“Is that the quickest way to get rid of you?”

“For now, yes.”

“Fine.” After asking Ricki, the billing clerk, to fill in for her, she led Mike into the break room, with its distinctive scent of scorched coffee adhering to the bottom of the carafe no one ever cleaned. He filled the small space magnificently, his black curls nearly brushing the ceiling. Or maybe that was just her imagination inflating him to godlike proportions.

Her stomach fluttered with lust. Damn. Better to head this off before she got even hornier for him. “Remember how I said some things have changed in my life?”

“Yeah. That was about a minute ago. I can remember a lot further back than that.” He swept her with a heavy-­lidded look. She put up a hand, blocking his view of her. “This is one of the things. No more men.”

“Oh? Batting for the home team now?”

“What? No. No women either. No sex of any kind. I'm turning over a new leaf.”

His eyes narrowed a bit, the green darkening to the color of shadows in a forest. “Does this have something to do with the boy in your car? He's yours, right?”

“Yes. He's mine.” She couldn't help the pride in her voice. “Zack is my son. He's four. And yes, I'm turning over a new leaf for him.” She wasn't really interested in sharing more details than that. He'd probably walk away now and leave her alone. The connection between her and Mike was based on sexual chemistry, and now that sex was off the table, Mike would disappear off the radar. Especially now that he knew about Zack. What hotshot baseball player wanted to get involved with the mother of a four-­year-­old when no sex was on the horizon?

“Bring him to a game,” Mike said, digging in his pocket and pulling out a small folded schedule, on which he scrawled his number. “My dad took me to my first Cubs game around that age. Pick whichever date works for you and give me a call. I'll leave tickets for you.”

“But—­I just told you. No sex.”

“Perfect. Have you forgotten my vow?” He gave her a cheeky wink. Oh,
snap
! She
had
forgotten the vow. “You're perfectly safe with me, my little ice princess.”

“I'm not an—­”

“Hey, can I call you Frozen?
Let it go . . . let it go . . .”

With huge, earnest eyes, he flung one arm in an operatic gesture, the most ridiculous Disney princess ever, and she couldn't stop her giggles from bubbling over.

Safe with him? Yeah, right.

After Mike left, she texted Sadie.

Guess who I just saw
?

Santa Claus? Again?

Mike Solo. And he saw Z.

So? You should tell him everything. He's a good guy.

She selected for the emoticons for “cat” and “fish,” and added a frowny face.

Sadie sent back a string of hearts, flowers, smiley faces, and champagne corks. She was engaged to a former Catfish, after all. She ended with a little animated icon of two ­people hugging over and over again.

Donna tucked her phone away, smiling to herself. Thank God the Dark Ages of their friendship were over.

Sadie had been Donna's best friend since fifth grade, but in their senior year of high school, Sadie had started dating the high school quarterback, Hamilton Wade, while Donna had fallen for Harvey. Since Donna couldn't stand the Wades and Sadie couldn't stand Harvey, they'd stopped communicating. While Sadie had gone to college and earned an honors degree, Donna had partied, smoked, gone a little wild, and eventually . . . gotten pregnant.

Total cliché. Like she couldn't have seen that coming. Some pharmaceutical company had some serious explaining to do.

In her second trimester, the worst sickness in the world had grabbed hold of her. It had a medical term—­hyperemesis gravidarum, literally meaning excessive vomiting during pregnancy. In her case, really, really, absurdly excessive. After a few weeks of that, Carrie, her stepmom, had kicked her out of the house because of the constant smell.

Sadie was still at college, so Donna had gone to Harvey's, even though he'd broken up with her. She wanted to find her own place, but throwing up all the time made apartment hunting impossible. Not only that, but her case of hyperemesis came with severe depression—­completely unlike her usual bubbly personality. Harvey bundled her onto his bike and dumped her back home. Finally, her father had sent her off to her mother in Los Angeles, which he'd sworn he'd never do, even during her wildest high school rebellions.

Road-­tripping backup singers didn't normally make the best caretakers, but her mom had done the best she could, eventually checking Donna into a hospital where doctors had put her on an IV and prescribed anti-­anxiety, anti-­depressant, and anti-­nausea meds.

When the baby had finally arrived, Donna had been in such an overmedicated state that she could barely form words, let alone make plans. The baby's future had been decided for her, and when she finally came out of her dark depression, her baby boy, Zack, was with Harvey's parents. The Hannigans were a well-­off, conservative, churchgoing ­couple. They paid for all her medical expenses and offered to raise Zack in their stately Tudor-­style home in the best neighborhood in Kilby.

Donna wanted to object to the arrangement, but she was so weak, so exhausted, so depleted that everyone ignored her doubts. Her mother, her father, her stepmother, Harvey, everyone kept telling her it was for the best, that Zack would have the most promising future this way, that she should move on with her life, she was still young, blah-­blah-­blah. It felt as if she were trying to fight an avalanche.

And the worst was that everything they said was true. How could she raise Zack when she had no job, no place of her own, and worst of all, no clue about children? The Hannigans could offer Zack so much more than she could.

Recovering on the couch at her mother's Los Angeles condo, she'd sipped coconut water—­chock full of electrolytes—­watered the neglected spider plants, listened to the drone of leaf blowers outside, and concocted her plan. Simple, really.

Step one: Go back to Kilby.

Step two: Get a job.

Step three: Learn how to be a good mother.

Step four: Get Zack back.

Before she went home, she gathered her energy for one all-­important fight, and it worked, though it nearly killed her. The Hannigans agreed to let her see Zack every week. In return they asked her to minimize the gossip by keeping her connection to Zack as quiet as possible. Kilby loved a good juicy scandal, and the best way to keep down the talk was to
not
talk. That's why she hadn't dared to tell Sadie, especially when Sadie was dating Hamilton Wade. The Wade family couldn't be trusted.

In four years, Donna hadn't missed a single visit with Zack. And she'd finally told Sadie the whole story, which was tough because Sadie was incredibly hurt that she'd kept Zack a secret, but also wonderful because now Donna had someone to confide in.

But tell Mike everything? That was crazy talk. They didn't have that kind of relationship—­or any kind, for that matter.