Love from Left Field (12 page)

“Chicago is windier and cold.”

“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”

She shivered lightly. He took off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders. “I don’t spend much time in Chicago, to be honest. I spend most of the time on the road, with other teams.”

“So you live out of a suitcase? Must be nice to settle in for a few months here, no traveling.”

He shrugged. “I’m with the teams for a few months most of the time. Not travelling weekly or even monthly. Most teams have apartments or short-term housing for players that I can stay at so I’m not stuck in hotels for the duration.”

“So where is home?” She asked.

He thought about the question for a moment, the empty apartment in Chicago, his childhood home in Georgia. “I guess I don’t really have one anymore.”

“Most people create their own home, their own families.”

He lifted her left hand, entwined with his, and peered at the fingers. “What about you? I don’t see a ring here. How have you created your own family?”

Just asking the question shot a stab of jealousy in his gut. Although he wasn’t ready to admit why he cared if she had someone, or had been married.

“A little late to be asking, Mr. Wainright, but no. There’s no one special. The team is my family.”

Her words shot straight to his heart, a reminder of what was at stake, what they were fighting for. Damn, the Knights were her family? What would happen if she had to leave them, if anything happened to the team? The weight of responsibility was a boulder on his shoulders, reminding him of the stakes. With other teams, it was easier. He could keep his professional distance, focus on the numbers and make the tough calls. With the Knights, with his father’s ghost lurking in every corner, resurrecting the past, haunting him with every step he took, every decision he made, it was completely different, meant something so much more. Could he make the tough calls now, knowing the stakes?

Miranda wasn’t a faceless team president, seeking advice and rescue from bad decisions and a difficult economy. No, she was Miranda Callahan, a scrappy, tough woman who oozed sex appeal and distracted him with every look she gave him. She’d been handed more challenges than most teams, personally and professionally, and, instead of crying or curling up in a corner, she was making tough decisions, trying to make a difference and save the team, even knowing her father might not approve. And yet she prevailed, that combination making her sexy and irresistible. A combination he’d have to resist, knowing the challenges ahead.

The realization made him stop dead in his tracks. Miranda turned at the jerk of his arm, a question on her face. Shit, he was getting in deep, breaking his own cardinal rule. Never get involved.

He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. “I think we should be getting back. Tomorrow’s an early day.”

She followed his lead, not questioning his words, but her feet almost dragged, a half step behind. The camaraderie and bubble that had surrounded them this whole night had burst, leaving them adrift without a tether. Even as he tried to give himself some space and remind himself not to get involved, he knew it was too late. He was in too deep with Miranda.

And it scared the hell out of him.

S
leepless nights were
becoming something of a habit for Miranda and she was damned sick of it. First her father, then the team, and now Lucas. She still didn’t understand what had happened the previous evening. It had started out promising, with a scorching hot kiss in the garage, and ended with a distance between them no bridge could span. Somehow she had to figure out what had happened.

Her phone beeped. “Miranda? It’s your father.”

Damn. Her mother had promised to keep him occupied. She was able to get rid of the phone in his hospital room and control the television and radio chatter, but now he was home and apparently he had slipped the leash. That didn’t last long.

She sighed. “Put him through.”

She steeled herself, sitting straight in the chair and donning her mental armor. She could do this. She’d stood up to the whole management staff and, while she still had opponents, she was winning them over. Now to see if her plans had any impact.

“Miranda? What the hell have you done to my team?” Her father barked through the phone, not quite a Doberman but not the tame lap dog he had been immediately post-surgery.

In a way, she was thrilled he was feeling better and not as drugged. Was it too much to hope he would be down a little longer, until she had a firm grasp on the reins? Did that make her a bad daughter? Probably.

She took a deep breath. “How are you feeling, Dad?”

“I’d be doing much better if you weren’t destroying my legacy. Trading for Prosser after I specifically vetoed that trade?”

“You didn’t veto it. We never finished the discussion and I made the call.” She swiveled her chair and looked over the empty ball field. “We made a deal, Dad. I run the team and you focus on getting better. I’m making really tough calls here to help our team escape the financial morass we’re in. Besides, you don’t need the stress with the team right now. Talking about business is getting you all worked up. Please, just focus on getting better. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Miranda! Are you sure? Because it seems like the team is being run into the ground.”

“Trust me to run it, Dad. You’ve trained me well and hired the right staff. We have this under control. I love you and want you to get well, so I’m going to hang up now before you get worked up. Talk soon.” She gently lowered the handset onto the receiver, not surprised to see her hand quivering.

Moments later, her intercom buzzed again. “Miranda? Cole, on line two.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath and picked up the phone. “Cole, how are things in Florida?”

“Fantastic.”

Even over the distance, she could distinctly hear the sarcasm. “I take it the coaching staff is reluctant to embrace change?”

“Something like that. To be specific, baseball is a game of heart and intuition, not numbers and statistics. Their words, not mine.”

“Really? So why do we have statistics on the back of every baseball card? Why do we determine the best players by batting average, earned runs?”

He sighed. “It’s not the numbers, but the change in strategy. No one likes small ball because it’s not splashy enough. They think if they hold out long enough, Mr. Callahan will come back and change it all back to the way it was.”

Her fist clenched around the phone. Damn that old boy’s network and the old way of doing things. If she was a man, and a former baseball player, she wouldn’t have to deal with this type of resistance. True, most people hated change but when they thought someone was temporary, they were mule-like in their stubbornness.

She consciously unclenched her fist and evened out her breathing. “What do you think, Cole? About the plan?”

A slight pause, then he spoke. “It was my idea, basically. I think they have a point that Mr. Callahan will come back and change everything, and they might be fired.”

Lucas chose that moment to peer in her doorway. She waved him in to a chair. He settled and waited for the conversation to end. “So their resistance isn’t anything other than lack of clarity around leadership? That’s good. We can work with that.”

“Not exactly.” The hesitation in his voice made her pause. “They’re not one hundred percent on board with the strategy, either.”

“Do you think it would help if I came down? Explain our direction?”

“The numbers guys aren’t having much luck on that front.”

Lucas wiggled his fingers to get her attention. “They’re not baseball guys. The coaches don’t trust numbers guys. Someone needs to speak on their level, talk baseball.”

Miranda nodded. “Lucas and I will be down there within the next few days. I had planned on coming down anyway, like my father always did, to meet the team. I think now is a good time. I’ll let you know our flight information.”

She ended the call and sighed. “Just once I’d like someone to stop fighting me.”

Lucas shrugged. “That’s to be expected. Change sucks for most people.”

“But this works. You know it.”

“Doesn’t mean they trust it. Would you mind if I called the guys and had them start gathering some additional information? We could all get together and look at the data and talk through it. It might help.”

“Do it. Whatever you think might help.” She stood and walked around the desk, pausing next to his chair. “I assumed you wanted to come to Florida with me. If you can’t, I’ll understand.”

“I told you, I’m here for the long haul. Let me know the timing. I’d like to see my mom. She’s been feeling a bit neglected and out of touch.” He stood also, but hesitated. “She’d love to see you.”

“Are you asking me to meet your mother? How so very high school of you.” She teased.

“You already know her. She just asked about you the other day.” He scowled.

She grinned and laid a hand on his arm. “Relax. I was only teasing. You need to take it easy or we’ll be visiting you in the hospital.”

*

Miranda looked at
the clock on her computer for the fifth time, wondering if she were nervous about the upcoming meeting or excited. This was her first weekly update session with Lucas and she wasn’t sure how it would go. She had some progress to report, but nothing concrete to show for success. He’d been involved in all of the discussions so she couldn’t help but think this was all a formality, a technique he used to keep himself in control and separate from the situation.

She had been observing him for the past couple of weeks. He was formal with most of the management team, polite but distant, and he had no interest in getting to know the regular staff. He barely remembered Maggie’s name, first or last, and during any hint of social time, Lucas was gone. Even during Maggie’s birthday cake earlier today, he had been scarce and only appeared after it was over.

A quick, rapid knock at the door came just before it opened. Lucas peered at her, so she waved him in.

“Want a cup of coffee or tea before we start?”

He grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. “I’m all caffeinated, thanks. So, how are things going?”

“Shouldn’t you be telling me that? You’ve been in every meeting, every discussion, every decision. We’re still in spring training, so I can’t point to a record to show progress or even ticket sales, not really. In other words, your guess is as good as mine right now.”

He nodded and pulled out a paper. “Your season ticket sales are still down, no real bump with pre-season.”

“Our record hasn’t been great in early games and our players aren’t doing anything to draw any attention. In fact, the number of errors and losses have brought us very negative attention from the media in particular.”

“Your fan message boards and social media sites aren’t very positive either.” He laid the pages down and fixed her with a stern look. “In fact, I have no idea how you can turn this around for the first payment.”

“True, things are still rocky. But you said these changes take time. Some teams had to have a couple of losing seasons before they fully rebuilt. What more can you expect from us?”

“Yes, you need time. But how can you make the payment?”

“Let me worry about that. You just help us find the right players and the right strategy to field a decent team.” She decided to change tactics, throw him off balance a little. “I noticed you didn’t come to Maggie’s birthday celebration.”

His expression never changed but remained carefully blank. “I make it a point not to get too personal with the people I work with.”

“So what was our dinner all about?”

“That was personal, nothing to do with business.”

“And our kiss?” She suppressed a smile at the confusion crossing his face.

“Again, personal. I don’t make a habit out of kissing people I work with,” he replied in a cool tone.

“That’s good because neither do I. And I’d hate to think you kissed me out of obligation.” She casually shuffled papers on her desk, keeping an eye on his reaction.

He leaned back in his seat, a smile crossing his face. “Obligation? Is that what you got out of that kiss?”

“Since you bolted from me like a teenaged boy who’d been told his girlfriend is pregnant, I’m not sure what to think.”

He grimaced and hunched his shoulders. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t you.”

She mock groaned and laid a hand against her head, pretending to faint. “Not the ‘it wasn’t you; it was me’ line. That’s the kiss of death!”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah I guess it is. But I’m over it now.”

“Really? So you think that I’ll be here, ready to kiss you whenever you want?”

The smile that crossed his face was one of pure male arrogance, confident in his own sex appeal. “Oh, yeah. No obligation here.”

He stood and stalked around the desk. Too late she realized she’d poked the tiger and he was deadly serious about his intentions. He swiveled her around so she faced him, her chair bracketed between his knees. He braced his hands on the arms, trapping her neatly so she couldn’t escape. Only she had no intention of trying to get away. That kiss had replayed in her mind several times in the few days since the event and she wanted to see if it was exhaustion that had made it so great, or something else.