Caught by You (6 page)

Mike didn't look as amused as she thought he would. “Not exactly. He was being a dick and I had to straighten him out.”

“Really? That sounds juicy. Drama on the baseball field?”

“You have no idea. We have more drama than a freakin' sorority. That was Yazmer, and he thinks he's king of the world. Decent curveball, change-­up, fastball starts strong but fades by the fifth inning. He'll never make it to the bigs like that. He needs to start switching up his pitches in the fifth inning, if not earlier. The guys will figure it out and start waiting for the fifth, then walk all over him. Not only that, but he needs to pick up the pace. I've been whipping the ball back to him in 1.5 seconds to get the point across, but do you think he pays attention to me? No, because I'm just some loser who's been catching for the Kilby Catfish too long.”

The hint of bitterness in his voice caught her by surprise. “What's too long?”

“It depends.” He shook his head, as if flinging off his moment of moodiness. “The Friars have two great catchers on their roster, so they're in no hurry to call me up. I'm the guy they count on to work with superstars like Yazmer, who'll be pitching in San Diego before the ink is dry on his contract. God, does that sound bitter? It's not. I'm not. That's baseball, and I love it. I just don't like Yazmer.”

“Me neither,” she said instantly. “Mi enemy es su enemy, that's one of my mottos.”

He threw his head back and laughed, low and gravelly, like extra-­smoky barbecue. “I think I knew that already.”

Zack was tugging on her hand. Shockingly, she realized that she'd forgotten where they were, standing at a fish tank in a small-­town seafood restaurant in Kilby, Texas. She could have been circling the moon on a spaceship, or sailing a wooden ship across the Caribbean. The only thing penetrating her awareness was the presence of Mike Solo. Cripes, she'd almost forgotten about Zack!

Guiltily, she knelt next to him. “What is it, Zack?”

“Can we take him home with us? He doesn't have anyone to play with.” He held up his baseball and rolled it against the tank. “Here, lobster.”

Gently, she tugged his hand away from the tank. “We can't take him home, hon. Where would he live, the Hannigans' bathtub?”

“Yes! I can take baths with him!”

Donna tried to imagine Mrs. Hannigan going along with that, and failed. “I'm going to say that's a no, Zackster.”

He muttered something about Bonita, and she blanched. Oh no. Did he have some kind of crazy idea that perfect Bonita would let him get a pet lobster? Nerf football, maybe. Pet lobster, no. “You can ask Bonita. May the force be with you. Hey, are ready for a cheeseburger?”

Mike, of course, had overheard all that. “Who's Bonita?” he asked in a low voice.

“You don't want to know all the complicated family dynamics.”

“Yes, I do. I'm curious that way. It's the next best thing to sex.”

“Hey, watch it. There's a kid here.”

“Fine. Better than baseball.” He put the word “baseball” between air quotes and added a wink. “Better than running the bases, if you know what I mean.”

“Bonita”—­she gave him a severe look—­“is Harvey's fiancée. Harvey is Zack's father. Zack lives with Harvey's parents. For now.”

After that, she refused to say any more. If that little thumbnail sketch of her life wasn't enough to scare him away, there was plenty more where that came from.

Mike helped Donna strap Zack into his car seat in the back of the red Kia. How that car fit the three of them, he had no idea—­call it cozy and intimate. Donna drove him back to Catfish Stadium, where he'd left his car, and he spent the whole drive trying to think of clever ways to get her to go out with him again. She seemed freakishly determined to keep their relationship distant. Was she embarrassed to have a child with someone she wasn't married to?

True, his parents wouldn't be impressed, but he didn't judge things like that. He definitely wanted to know more about this Harvey, and why he hadn't stepped up and married the mother of his child. Must be a weasel. But Donna didn't want to talk about it, and he had to respect her privacy.

As they approached the big concrete structure with the blue Catfish pennants flapping in the wind, Donna looked over her shoulder at Zack. The kid had nodded off on the drive. “Do you mind if we circle the stadium a few times?” she whispered. “He could use a little nap. That game wore him out.”

“Sure.” Would it be embarrassing to admit he was happy to circle around the stadium in this tiny car, with Donna's hair gleaming in the glow of the dashboard lights and Zack's soft snore rising from the backseat? He wasn't ready to say good-­bye to Donna; he still had too many questions. While they were trapped in this car by Zack's need for sleep, why not take advantage?

“So, Donna, I couldn't help noticing that you wore a pantsuit to the game today. A dark blue pantsuit. Very . . . sobering. Like a bucket of ice water over the head.”

A dimple appeared in her cheek. “Yes, well . . . there's a lot of blue in my closet lately.”

“I still remember what you were wearing when I first met you. Snakeskin pants and a white top. Sexy as freaking hell.”

“Hey!”

“He's asleep.”

“I don't want any bad words filtering into his unconscious. The last thing I need is him repeating things to his grandparents. Guess who'd get the blame for that?”

“Sorry. I'll watch it. But you're changing the subject. What happened to the Donna I knew way back last season? That crazy, wild chick in the Roadhouse?”

“Look.” She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on Zack. “If you're looking for crazy, wild Donna, forget it. I'm not that person anymore. I'm a mother, I'm a responsible, taxpaying,
football-­loving
citizen of Kilby, Texas. I won't take it personally if we say good-­bye now and you find someone else to party with.”

“That's not what I meant, Donna. It's a pretty radical change, that's all. I'm wondering what's behind it. Seems like you're trying awfully hard to be something you're not.”

“How do you know what I am or am not? We never knew each other that well.” She yanked the wheel and sent them lurching around the corner, then immediately slowed down and checked on Zack.

“Good point. I didn't even know you had a kid.”

“Well, don't take that personally. Even Sadie didn't know.”

“Seriously? Your best friend?”

“Believe me, I got enough grief about that from Sadie. She understood, in the end. She's a hundred percent behind me now.”

“Maybe you just need to give ­people a chance, Donna. Maybe I could help. Take Zack to some games. Play catch with him.”

“Why?” They were circling around the back entrance of the stadium again; he saw the upper edge of the Jumbotron peeking above the outer walls, blotting out a block of stars. “Why do you want to do that?”

“He's a cool kid. Why wouldn't I?”

“What exactly are you up to, Solo? It's not sex. It's not partying. You'll be off to San Diego, if what they're saying is true. I don't get it. I'm a dull, boring dental receptionist who wears navy-­blue suits and granny underpants. I couldn't possibly be your type.”

He gave her a long, level, sideways look. “You expect me to believe that?”

“You saw where I work. Why wouldn't you believe me?”

“I believe that part, but nothing you say will convince me you're wearing granny underpants. You want me to believe that, you'll have to show me.”

She laughed. Just a little, at first, maybe from shock. Then it grew into a gurgling, rolling belly laugh, open and free and joyous, as if she hadn't really laughed in far too long. “I'm not showing you my panties, Solo.”

“Mama?” Zack's sleepy voice interrupted.

She pulled over next to one of the entrance gates. “You should go.”

“Maybe I'll call you later.”

“Maybe I'll answer, maybe not.”

Deciding that a true gentleman let the lady have the last word, he extracted himself from the mini-­car and crossed to the sidewalk on the driver's side. He waved to Zack, then dug through his pockets for his keys. As she put the car in gear, Donna rolled down the window and leaned out.

“Red thong,” she said in a whisper, then drove away.

Damn
. Of course he was going to call her. There had never been any doubt.

 

Chapter 6

D
ONNA PUT HER
chances of withstanding Mike at about sixty-­two percent, based on her strong motivation to clean up her act, versus the incredible temptation he represented. The vow definitely helped. She knew he took it seriously. She wasn't afraid of slipping into bed with him. It was the distraction that worried her, and what other ­people would assume if they saw her with him.

Just to double-­check, she called Ms. Griswold and outlined the situation.

“You say he's sexy? That is, most objective observers would consider him such?”

Ms. Griswold was definitely an odd sort of lawyer. “Off the charts.”

“But he's known for his Vow of Celibacy? Is this an official vow, witnessed by a member of the clergy?”

“I believe so.”

“And you've slept together in the past?”

“No, it never went that far. We didn't even get horizontal.”

“There was intimacy?”

Man, she'd hate to be on the witness stand being interrogated by Ms. Griswold. “Yes. No one knew about it. Although the librarian gave us a funny look when we came out of the closet.”

“Is there any chance this could become serious? I'm talking legal here. Marriage contract, pre-­nup, that sort of thing.”

“Good God, no.”

“Too bad. Now that scenario could have some potential.” The lawyer let out a huff of disappointment. “Here's the thing. We're talking risk versus benefit here. Risk of misinterpretation if you're seen is high. No one's going to believe that ‘vow' crap. This isn't the Middle Ages. On the other hand, the benefit of being with him is low.”

“How do you figure that?” From her perspective, she saw plenty of benefit in being with Mike. Being with him felt both new and familiar. She could talk to him as if they'd been friends forever, and yet he made her feel wide awake, as if she didn't want to miss anything.

“If the vow is real, there's no sex, right? Your reputation could be damaged, yet you get no sex to compensate for that.”

Donna's head was starting to spin. “Is this serious legal advice or are you pranking me?”

“I don't make the rules here. This is a lose-­lose situation. Stay away from him. That's my official recommendation as your lawyer. Now, how's the volunteering at the pet shelter going?”

“Hypocritically. Can't I volunteer at a place closer to my heart? Something with kids or seniors? I'm great with kids and old ­people. Pet dander makes me sneeze.”

“No. Pet shelters are hot right now. Everyone's doing it. Junior League's all over it. Take my advice, that's what I'm here for.”

“I'm not exactly Junior League material.”

“We're working on that, aren't we? Now, do you have your outfit for the hearing tomorrow?”

“Sackcloth and ashes, check. Still trying to decide if I should shave my head.”

“Mouth, Donna. Watch that mouth.”

Oh cripes, it was impossible. The process of de-­Donna-­fying herself was excruciating. But for Zack, she'd try her best.

The hearing was supposed to set a visitation schedule pending the outcome of the case. The next day, she sat primly, hands folded in her lap, while Ms. Griswold argued for three visits a week to prepare Zack in case he went to live with Donna. Brilliantly, she managed to drop news of Donna's new position at the dental office, her work with abandoned pets, and the football-­themed furniture that filled her apartment.

On the other side of the courtroom, Bonita hung on Judge Quinn's every word, taking notes as if she was in class. She wore her long black hair in a high ponytail that somehow managed to look superior. Even when Ms. Griswold spoke, she refused to look at Donna's side of the courtroom, as if it would give her cooties. Harvey looked bored, his legs stretched out in front, crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest. Donna wondered what they saw in each other, since they seemed like complete opposites, the overachiever and the slacker. But maybe that was it. Bonita needed someone to boss, and Harvey needed someone to boss him.

After hearing both sides, Judge Quinn ruled that Donna could see Zack two times a week, and set the next hearing for late June.

Bonita shot to her feet. “June twenty-­sixth is our wedding date.”

“Yes, the court is aware. You are not required to attend the hearing, of course, if it poses an inconvenience. The presence of your representative is enough.”

“No, no, that's not what I meant. I meant . . .” She sat down abruptly, tugged by her lawyer. Donna knew what she meant. She wanted the hearing to happen after the wedding. Once they were married, Bonita and Harvey would be a picture-­perfect ­couple. A family court wet dream.

Afterward, in the courthouse hallway, Donna stopped at the water fountain for a drink. As she straightened up, she jerked in surprise; Bonita stood over her, looking down her nose from what seemed like several feet. “Nice try, Donna MacIntyre. I see what you're up to with the new look. But you're not fooling anyone.”

“I'm not trying to fool anyone. I just want my kid.”

“You've lived in Kilby all your life, do you think anyone's going to forget who you really are?” Bonita radiated complete confidence, as if everything she said was automatically true, just because she said it.

Donna gripped the edge of the water fountain. She'd never felt so short before. “You don't know me.”

“Sure I do. You're a party whore and always will be.” One slim eyebrow went up, while her disdainful gaze skimmed down Donna's outfit. “And I'm pretty sure I saw that suit on the five-­dollar rack at the church bazaar.”

Donna's hackles rose, all her good intentions flying out the window. “Well, there's nothing wrong with repurposing someone else's secondhand goods, is there?”

The jab hit home with unfortunate timing; Harvey was just strolling to Bonita's side.

“Hey,” he protested, as Bonita went white.

“Do you see what she's like?” Bonita murmured to Harvey, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “She's a bad influence on Zack, honey bear. She's too impulsive, too mouthy. This is why we can't agree to joint custody.”

Donna clenched her fists, cursing herself for rising to Bonita's bait. “I apologize,” she made herself say. “I didn't mean any offense.”

“You have to think before you just blurt things out,” Harvey told her in a patronizing tone that made her want to scream. “We have to set a good example for Zack.”

“So true,” Donna managed, her voice cracking. How had she let Bonita outmaneuver her like that? “That's exactly what I'm trying to do.”

“Well, I'll be watching like a hawk. And so will my family.” Bonita tilted her sleek head and pinned Donna with a pointed look. “We still talk about that night in the Roadhouse last year. The Wades have long memories.”

Apparently everyone in Kilby still talked about that brawl. For cripes' sake, she'd been standing up for a friend! “This isn't the Wades' business. The ruling is up to Judge Quinn.”

“And you think
that's
going to win him over?” Bonita gestured at the Texas A&M pin on her collar. “Like you ever cared about football before. Weren't you hanging out with that Catfish player last year? That's what I heard.”

“I wasn't ‘hanging out' with a Catfish player. You really shouldn't listen to gossip, Bonita.” Lifting her head, Donna brushed past her. “It's bad for your immortal soul.”

All things considered, Donna knew without a doubt that seeing Mike again would be criminally stupid. So when he called the next day, as she was painting her toenails a shade of puce that would have made the old Donna ill, she told him flat-­out that she couldn't be seen in public with him.

“No problem. I can be your guilty secret. That sounds kind of hot.”

Why did his voice have to curl through her insides like warm butterscotch? “It won't be. You're wasting your time.”

“Hey, it's my time. I can do what I want with it, at least before batting practice and after the games. What if I just want to talk? Get to know you better?”

Her phone started to slide off her shoulder. She clamped her lower jaw onto it, trying to pin it in place. “There's nothing . . .” The words came out funny, since she couldn't close her mouth without losing her phone. She grabbed it with her right hand, the one that held the nail polish wand. “ . . . to know.”

“Everything okay over there?”

“Yup.” Well, except for the nail polish she'd just gotten on her cheek. Could you put polish remover on your skin? Was that safe?

“Well, Red,” Mike was saying, “I don't want to call you a liar, but that sounds like an untruth to me. Tell me this: How did you meet Zack's father and why aren't you with him?”

“Wow, you really go right for the jugular, don't you?” She rose to her feet to check the damage in the mirror. Yup, a slash of puce right across her cheekbone.

“I believe in swinging for the fences. Going for broke. Sports metaphors of all kinds.”

Donna scowled at her reflection. Maybe she should dye her hair puce to match the nail polish. Better yet, dye it maroon and white, Texas A&M colors. “How about going down for the count?”

“Nice one. How about this. I'll tell you one big thing if you tell me one big thing.”

“What makes you think I care about your big thing?”

A loaded silence followed. Donna tried not to laugh, tried really hard. She bit her lip until her face turned red, the streak of puce standing out like a scar.

“Now that's just mean, Donna MacIntyre. You don't care about my big thing? You really know how to hurt a man.”

She gave in and let out a laugh. It seemed as if she never laughed anymore. Only with Mike. “Fine, I give up. We'll exchange big things.”

“Excellent. You first, since I asked first. And I really want to know about Zack, because he seems like a great kid.”

The one sure way to her heart was by complimenting Zack. Donna settled herself on the toilet seat and crossed one leg over the other.

“Zack's father is Harvey Hannigan. When I was a naïve eighteen-­year-­old, I thought I was in love with him.”

“You weren't?”

“To be honest, it was mostly about his Harley, and pissing off my stepmother, and the way his hair kinked at the hairline.”

“The old Hairline Kink. Get the girls every time.”

“Yeah. I thought it meant he was sensitive and poetic. Like Edward in
Twilight
. Anyway, I got pregnant, and yes, I was on birth control. Sometimes things just happen. He broke up with me right away.”

“Why?”

“He didn't want a baby because he was right in the middle of rebuilding his bike. And no, I'm not making that up. He wanted me to get an abortion, but the thing is, as soon as I did the pregnancy test, the name Zack popped into my head. A blue plus sign
 
. . . Zack. That quick. I always knew it was a boy too. Sounds crazy, huh?”

The fumes of the nail polish must be going to her head. She'd never told anyone this, ever.

“I don't think so. I've made lots of decisions based on gut instinct. So obviously you chose to have the baby anyway. Why doesn't Zack live with you?”

She wasn't ready to tell that part of the story. “No way, buster. That's big thing number two. Your turn first. Cough it up, Solo. What deep, dark secret are you hiding from the world?”

“Well . . .” He hesitated for a long moment, long enough that she started to think he was about to weasel out of their bargain. “I had a kidney removed. I donated it. To my brother.”

“What?” She paused, her nail polish wand suspended in mid-­air.

“I'm a one-­kidney wonder. Don't worry, my other organs are still intact.”

“Don't make a joke out of this. When did it happen? Are you okay?”

A rumble of laughter rolled across the phone line. “You worried, sweet cheeks? Want to come empty my bedpan?”

“No jokes! Seriously. Are you okay?” An image of Mike taking punches for her at the Kilby Roadhouse flashed through her mind. What if he'd gotten hurt?

“I'm fine. I'm fine. It was four years ago. It's nothing but a scar now.”

“Oh, Mike.” Tears came to her eyes, which made no sense. Why was she crying over Mike Solo's kidney? Mike, whom she barely knew? But maybe she knew him better than she thought, because it didn't surprise her that he'd donated a kidney to his brother. “Is that kind of surgery risky?”

“You're really concerned.” He sounded touched, which made more tears come to her eyes. She jammed the brush back in her bottle of nail polish and swiped the wetness off her cheeks.

“I'm
concerned
,” she said sternly, “on behalf of the Kilby Catfish. Isn't it hard to play baseball with only one kidney? Are you going to cause a problem for my hometown team?”

“You don't fool me, Donna MacIntyre. You were crying, weren't you? I heard a tear fall. You were crying because you like me.”

“Well, you did stand up for me against the Wades. So there might be a bit of a soft spot going on.”

“I'll take it. Bit of a soft spot is better than a hole in the head. Or the gut.”

“You really do make a joke out of everything, don't you?”

“You know how that goes, don't you, Ms. Hairline Kink?”

She got up off the toilet seat and stashed all her nail polish supplies in the medicine cabinet, all while cradling the phone against her neck. She'd figured out a long time ago that if you made enough jokes, no one saw you crying. Not that she was crying over Mike. Okay, so maybe she was, a little, because he was a good guy and she
hated
seeing him hurt.

“I should go, One-­K.”

“I thought my nickname was Priest.”