Cutter Mountain Rendezvous (29 page)

“Great. The pitch felt hot from the get go.”

“Now that the knuckleball is back do you think you can stay healthy long enough to take the Bullets to the playoffs next year,” Allison shouted over the noisy fans. Their eyes locked. He knew she meant would he get on a dirt bike or do other foolish thing over the winter.

“No, ma’am. I intend to stay healthy even if it kills me.” He gave her a dimpled grin as an onslaught of reporters pushed their microphones at him for a turn.

“What’s your relationship with the little girl in the Skybox?” a reporter asked.

“Is she a niece?” another asked.

“She’s my lucky charm.”

COL-TRAIN. COL-TRAIN. COL-TRAIN.

The scoreboard replayed the fastball. Then the knuckleball. Everyone cheered. Cartoon graphics mimicked and fueled the fans. You would have thought they won the pennant not a season closer game with no playoffs in sight. Which was why he loved the true-and-blue Chicago fans.

Colton lifted his cap to the fans who responded in like to their hero. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. Familiar pain burned an inferno in his throwing arm. He tried not to wince when a reporter jostled him.

Denton Hayes caught pain in Colton’s eyes and shouted, “Clear a path.” He opened a corridor with his broad shoulders.

They hurried off the field to jog down the tunnel to the locker room. Allison Brant was hot on his trail with questions about Lindsay. An unguarded grimace came when she bumped his arm. “Did you hurt your arm on that last pitch?” She shoved a mic toward his face.

No. The fastball, he wanted to say.
Shit.
Denton seeing the pain on his face was one thing—Allison Brant another. The few sports reporters close enough to hear Allison’s comment swarmed them with rapid-fire questions.

“Shoulder’s never been better.” Colton aimed his voice at the Wham Sports microphone and made his way into the locker room.

Coach Sawyer blocked immediate entrance to the locker room to speak with the pile up of reporters. He answered questions. His none-too-subtle reminder that there were other players on the Bullets’ bench besides Colton Gray was standard. His blunt criticism toward favoritism always brought a chuckle from the press who loved the color he added to their stories.

****

Mason snapped his cell phone shut. “Mom, you and the girls will take the limo to the restaurant. I’ll come later with Colton.”

“What’s going on?” Kate asked.

“The usual. They want to ice down his shoulder.”

Kate doubted Mason’s casual spin. There was too much palpable tension in the air.

As for Lindsay, she was too ecstatic with her Silly Bandz having flashed across the jumbo screen to sense the concern. Colton’s mom reveled in her excitement as they went to find their limo driver.

Kate glanced over her shoulder. Mason had hold of Allison Brant’s arm, the Wham Sports reporter she’d met in Beulah’s and seemed to be everywhere. He backed her into a wall. It was clear the exchange was heated.

This wasn’t a good sign.

Mason was running interference for Colton. Kate wondered if Allison would have put up with Mason’s aggressive handling had she not gone to college with him. Colton’s mother was right. Allison Brant did have a thing for Mason Gray.

****

Since arriving at O’Hare that morning, she and Lindsay had been chauffeured from one place to the next with Colton’s mother at their side. Dinner was no different when plans changed, and Colton had to bow out for icing and an MRI. Maggiano’s was the name on the menu that Kate stared at, disappointed Colton would not join them for dinner. She hadn’t seen him all day, except on the pitcher’s mound.

Grandmotherly and upbeat, Marian entertained Lindsay, while Kate fretted over a delicious pasta dish. Her stomach dipped when Mason walked into the restaurant without Colton. Marian’s brow furrowed as she whispered to Kate, “Here comes bad news.”

Mason moved so much like Colton her heart ached. Blake Gerard was a three-sixty in physical appearance from the Gray brothers. She hoped it wasn’t why she’d accepted a date with him upon her return to Nashville.

“Where’s Colton?” Marian asked as Mason sat in a chair next to her.

“At home on heavy meds to quiet the shoulder.”

“And?”

“Surgery. Torn ligaments.” He turned to Kate. “I’ll bring him to your hotel for lunch tomorrow before you leave. Hey, Lindsay, Colton sent you this.” Mason held up a baseball. “Remember the pitch where they showed a butterfly on the big screen?”

“That was funny.”

“That pitch is called a knuckleball and this”—he held out the ball to her—“is the ball he used. Colton wants you to have it.”

Lindsay’s bright blue eyes studied the ball in her hands. “Can he put his name on it like my Barbie picture? The fire burnt it.”

Kate heard Marian’s small intake of breath. Her eyes softened when she looked at Lindsay. “He sure will, honey, but right now his arm is sore. He’ll sign it once his arm is better. Okay?”

Lindsay beamed at Kate, who was glad she didn’t understand what was going on. “You need to write Colton a thank-you note when we get back to our room. You can give it to him tomorrow at lunch.”

The day ended on a high note for Lindsay, who was sleeping with her baseball when Colton called. “Sorry I missed dinner. Was Lindsay disappointed?”

“Lindsay’s the kind of kid who goes with the flow. She’s had a great time. Thank you. The baseball is beyond special. She’ll really appreciate it when she’s grown and understands its special meaning.”

“Did you enjoy the game?”

“It was amazing. You’re quite a pitcher,” she said in all sincerity. “Will you pitch next year?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So the prognosis is good.”

“Yup.”

“This is normal?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Don’t feel you need to come to lunch. Take care of yourself.”

“Why? Am I slurring? I’m pretty drugged up right now.”

“No. You sound fine.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Lindsay will be pleased.”

“You won’t?”

She sighed. “Thanks for calling. Sorry Lindsay’s asleep and can’t talk to you. Good night—”

“
Wait.
Kate. Let’s talk a minute.”

“Colton—”

“Give me a chance. There’ll be no privacy over lunch with Mom and Mason.”

“It’s not—”

“Hear me out. I’ve done nothing but think about you since coming back to Chicago. We could have fun together if you want to make it work.”

“Work in what way?”

“Come on. You know what I mean. We could talk on the phone. Get together whenever possible. Make love. Have fun. Take Lindsay places.”

“No thanks. I’ll not expose Lindsay to that kind of relationship.”

“That wasn’t ego talking, Kate. I care about you. A lot.”

“I know. I care about you too. A lot. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“It’s all I can offer at the moment. Come Tuesday, there’s surgery. Then rehab. Same old same old. My future is uncertain. I can’t make any kind of commitment beyond getting healthy and negotiating a new contract.”

“It’s okay. I understand. We’re two people whose paths happened to cross at a difficult time for both of us. You shouldn’t feel like you owe me. It’s over. I get it.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve no idea how hard it was to drive away. Or restrain myself from getting on a plane after I learned about the fire. How damned hard it was to walk away at LAX, but the press would have made a field day out of it and made more out of it than it was.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not what I meant. Hell, Kate. Don’t make me work so hard at this. I’m laid out here like a buffalo with a tranquillizer dart in its ass. Let me make it up to you.”

“I’m done making mistakes. I’ve survived the fire, and I’m back writing. I thank you for that.”

“
You
put your life back together. No one else.”

“Now it’s your turn. Good luck.”

“So I can’t change your mind.”

“No. I’m sorry. I’ve moved on. I’m dating.”

“Who?” he blurted.

“Get some rest. Good night, Colton. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hung up with her heart hammering in her chest. For all her brave talk, she knew she still loved him. He just didn’t love her back.

How many times had that
sad song
been written?

Blake Gerard was quiet and smart. He would help her get over her heartbreak and start living again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Margaritas and Mexican fair in a casual atmosphere was what she and Blake decided upon for their first official date. Although they held hands walking to her door, there were no sparks in their touch.

“Would you like to come inside?” Kate asked.

“Next time. Don’t need Trace’s crap.”

“Trace isn’t your typical sitter, that’s for sure, but he offered to watch Lindsay so I took him up on it. Thank you for a nice evening. I enjoyed myself.”

“Me too. I’ll call you.” Blake stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek.

Kate watched him retreat along the lighted path through the trees to the pool. He turned to wave. She went inside wondering what the heck she was doing. He’d hardly said a word the entire night. And when he did speak, conversation turned to Colton: the ballgame in Chicago, the baseball he’d given Lindsay, the injury. All conversation seemed to circle back to the very person she was trying to forget. It made her wonder if Blake could see Colton held a large place in her heart when she denied the fact. It was feasible he was treading with caution before getting too involved, which suited her fine.

What a shock when he called a couple of days later for a second date. A movie and drinks at a downtown Nashville bar they both liked. They had gotten good at holding hands but Kate still stiffened at the door. “Would you like to come in?”

“How about I walk the sitter home?” he quipped.

“Good one. I’m working on getting a sitter other than Trace. Do you have a recommendation?”

“My ex uses a college girl she swears by. I’ll call you tomorrow with the number.”

“Thanks.” She shrugged. “Well, thank you for another great evening. I had fun.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Of course.” Blake slid his hand down her arm. It was all she could do to keep from pulling away.

“You seem uptight all the time. Like now. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want, Kate, but I feel like I need permission from the Pope to kiss you.”

“I’m sorry. This is all new.”

“What? You never kissed when you were married?”

“Good night, Blake,” she said too stern. “I’d better get in there and relieve Trace.”

“Sure. Would you tell Trace I’ll be in the studio tomorrow?”

They said good night and Kate rushed inside not waiting to watch him amble his way back to the drive of the main house. Her heart was beating fast but not from desire. There were no romantic sparks firing off, and it didn’t bode well for a third date or call tomorrow with a sitter’s name. She was leaning against the door when she realized Trace was giving her a strange look.

“I’m not sure it’s wise to date someone in your band,” she told him.

“Blake’s a good guy. Give it time. He moves turtle slow in everything he does. By the way, Colton called. He wanted you to know his surgery went well, and you should give him call. He wants to sign that baseball he gave Lindsay.”

“Does he want me to mail it to him?”

“I don’t know. Give him a call.”

“Sure. Okay. He really is fond of Lindsay. It’s so sweet.”

“I can see why. She’s a great kid. Well, I’d better go get my beauty sleep. I won’t be getting much once we’re back on the road.”

“Blake told me to tell you he’ll be in the studio tomorrow.”

“Great, good night.”

Kate checked on Lindsay and considered calling Colton. She was dying to know if Trace told him she was on a date. To ask outright would have shown too much interest in Colton, when she was supposedly dating Blake.
Eeuw-hew!
She had gotten herself into a fine fix. Let Colton stew, she decided. See how it feels to be ignored.

Much to Kate’s surprise, date three did materialize along with a reliable sitter. They would go two-stepping at a popular Nashville dance club. Kate also had to give Blake credit for a date that insured getting his arms around her. It turned into a fun evening of dancing and visiting with two other couples, both married and very nice. Like Blake.

When they reached her front door, she invited Blake inside. After things were squared away with the sitter, Kate busied herself by straightening up stray dishes on the kitchen counter and found a note saying Colton had called. She crumpled it with a toss into the garbage.