Love from Left Field (14 page)

Miranda sat in
the back of the conference room, listening to the presentation by the wonder twins and Cole, all designed to persuade the coaches to get on board. Lucas sat on her right and Jason on her left, silent observers to the dog and pony show. The data guys reviewed the statistics they all agreed would have the most impact on the team – pitch framing, ground balls versus fly balls, defense shifts. They also talked about strategy – getting on base, defense shifts to prevent runs, pitching for more ground balls than fly balls.

And the coaching staff closed up more and more. Their arms were folded in front of them, faces stony, no reaction in their eyes. Just cold, dead disinterest. Cole and the twins were getting more nervous, glancing at each other at the complete lack of response.

Time to show her new management style.

Slowly, Miranda rose from her seat, all eyes swiveling to her, and she walked deliberately to the front of the room, saying nothing. She had learned one thing from Lucas during her time with him. It wasn’t always what one said but how they acted. She replaced Cole and the twins at the front of the room. While they took a seat, she stood, arms hanging loose by her side, until all conversation had subsided and all eyes studied her cautiously and maybe with a little trepidation.

Finally, when all attention rested on her, she spoke. “Which teams have followed these strategies? Have they gotten into the playoffs?”

“Every one of them,” Cole answered.

“What about the teams that don’t follow this?”

“They have winning seasons some times, but rarely make it to the playoffs. They tend to be able to spend their way to wins.” One of the guys spoke up. “But almost every team uses some of these techniques. Shifting for certain batters. Pitching a little different depending on the situation.”

“Sam”—she turned her attention to the manager—“have we done some of these – the shift, pitching for a ground balls and double play?”

He shrugged, arms still folded against his chest, but he was relaxed, confident otherwise. Confident he wouldn’t have to change. An immovable boulder. “Sure, we use some of it. But these guys want us to shift more, for every player, based on numbers. Baseball is not predictable.”

“Really?” She arched her brow. “So a hitter can get up to bat and decide where to hit the ball? Doesn’t matter where the pitcher throws it?”

Sam was starting to look uncomfortable. “Well, sort of.”

“And they tend to strike out more if they try to do more with a pitch.” One of the guys pointed out.

“And strike outs mean outs, right? No runners on base. No runs scored. Losses.” She sat at the head of the table. “Gentlemen, how do we win games? By scoring more runs than the other team. It seems to me, there are an awful lot of teams having great success using some of these ideas. And the teams that aren’t are lucky enough to be able to afford the top players.”

“Bottom line. We can’t afford top players. We need to work with what we have and win with what we have. If these strategies have worked with other teams in our exact same situation, why the fuck aren’t we using them?” Her voice never rose above a conversational level but the tone grew stronger, harder until it sounded like it had been chiseled from granite.

Sam and the coaching staff flinched and exchanged glances but no one would look at her.

She took a page out of Lucas’s playbook and waited, arms folded on the table in front of her, while the staff tried to figure out a response. The clock ticked loudly, echoes from the practice field providing the backdrop to their discussion. And still she waited, resisting the urge to fidget, fill the silence, to let them off the hook.

“Well, I still don’t think this can work,” Sam said.

“Why not? Seriously, I want to understand why this won’t work, Sam. I can’t get you any more players. We have to win with what we have. How do you plan to win?”

He scowled. “We need more home run hitters.”

Before Cole could speak, she held up her hand, not even looking at him. “That’s one run. We need players to get on base to make that home run more efficient. And home run hitters tend to strike out more.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, Friar would know.”

Jason cleared his throat. “I hated the shift as a hitter. Most of my ground balls went to the right side. If they shifted, my average went down seventy-five points. And if I swung for a homer, well, Miranda is right. My strike out total was higher than a guy with a good on-base percentage.”

“You agree with this method?” Sam faced him, a hint of incredulity in his tone.

Jason shrugged. “We have to win somehow. Why not use the techniques of the teams that have been killing us? These small market teams are kicking the ass of the big money clubs. The world is changing. We either change or lose.”

Sam glanced at his coaching staff. “I guess we could try some of these ideas.”

Mel Bridges rubbed his jaw. “Patterson has been getting killed this preseason. His ball is up and they’re crushing it. We could change his angle a bit and have him throw more two-seamers.”

“That’ll give him more grounders. If we shift, we can get more outs.” Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Might also help the kid.”

“Prosser is a better defensive catcher. Good for the kid learning a new angle and pitch.”

Miranda smothered a smile and exchanged glances with Lucas. At least they were talking, considering the ideas. The coaches threw around a few more ideas, then Sam asked the million-dollar question.

“We have less than two weeks before Opening Day. Can we honestly do this?”

“We have no choice. We’re all-in, gentlemen,” Miranda stated, exchanging firm, even eye contact one by one with each person in the room.

Sam grunted. “I guess there’s our answer. I’m not completely sold on it, but we’ll give it a shot. How will this work?”

Miranda rose to her feet and everyone in the room stood. She tried not to look surprised at the show of respect, something she never got before. “I’ll leave the details to you and Cole. He has my full support. Gentlemen, we need to do this to succeed. I appreciate your willingness to try something new.”

She glided out of the room, feeling as if she were floating on a cloud of success, when in fact, she had only overcome the first hurdle. Now to make sure it actually worked.

The door opened and closed behind her. Lucas stood there smiling. She flung her arms around him, not caring who saw her. “We did it! We convinced them.”

“No.” He corrected, his arms tight around her. “You told them they were doing this. You accepted no disagreements and demanded obedience.”

“Well, fortunately, they didn’t quit. Oh, this is wonderful! We have a chance.” She danced away from him. “Time to meet our team.”

*

Lucas hung back
when Miranda entered the practice field and began greeting players, some of whom already knew her. She had some personal comment for each one, about their family, their hometown, their college. He leaned against a post and watched her charm her way around the field, with the players, the scouts, and coaches. The players were all respectful, despite her obvious sex appeal, and they avoided spitting and swearing. Miranda, for her part, looked like she was enjoying herself immensely, an enjoyment he saw with her every time she interacted with her staff – the average person who worked for the team. She had a way of making them all feel as if she cared and knew about each one and they all seemed to feel a valued part of the team. Not a ticket counter, a telephone sales person. A vital part of their success.

Yet, despite this nice side of her, she could be tough when needed. Just an hour prior, she sat across from a group of men who were determined to ignore her and wait it out until her father came back, or she gave up, whichever came first. She didn’t use her charm or try to persuade them. No, she demanded, ordered, and even used logic to convince them to give change a shot.

She was magnificent.

Just a couple of weeks on her own and she was proving him, and a lot of other people, wrong. She might have earned her position through working her way to the top, and her last name, but the last couple of weeks, and strain of the team, showcased her leadership ability. His doubts about her as a mouthpiece for her father might have been incorrect, or at least too simplistic. She hadn’t waited for her father or anyone else to tell her what to do. She had done the research and worked within the limitations she had, instead of crying and moaning about it.

Maybe the Knights had a chance.

“Pretty amazing, isn’t she?” Cole stepped next to Lucas and jutted his chin toward Miranda. “Most women in her position are ball-busters, intent on power and being equal. Miranda does her own thing and her staff loves her for it.”

“And you?” The words slipped out before Lucas could call them back.

“Nope, we never connected on that level. She’s not my type.”

“She’s everybody’s type,” Lucas said.

“Maybe so. But I respect her father too much to go there. What about you? Do you have any respect for the Callahans?”

Lucas slowly turned, a grin crossing his face at the sharp tone in the other man’s voice. “Are you warning me away, Hammonds? Have you appointed yourself her protector while her father is out of commission?”

“I’m just making sure that you’re not taking advantage of her fragile emotional state.”

Both men turned as Miranda’s laughter echoed in the dugout. He arched his brow at Hammonds. “She looks pretty solid to me.”

“It’s an act. She’s very close to her father. She always has been. Why do you think she’s working for the team, almost killing herself to save it? The Knights are more than an income source to her, more than a status. They’re part of her family. And you want to take it away.”

“I never said I wanted to take it away. I’m here to help save it. I’m on your side.”

“Are you? Why do I get the feeling that there is something else going on, something you’re not sharing with us?”

“Because you’re a suspicious and paranoid son of a bitch?” Lucas let his irritation shine through his words, tired of having his motives questioned every time he turned around. “Let me worry about my motives and you worry about getting the wins. Because if the team doesn’t win, nothing else will matter.”

He pushed off the wall and strolled onto the field where a young pitcher was showing Miranda a grip on a baseball. She had kicked off her heels and was standing on the pitching rubber in her bare feet.

“Like this, Cody?” she asked.

He grinned. “Yup, just like that. Now, try to throw it to Prosser. Snap your wrist at the end.”

Miranda got into a pitcher’s stance, did the wind up, and pitched the ball. It promptly bounced about twenty feet short of the catcher in his crouch. Her laughter rang out and the young pitcher also smiled, a little too interested in her for Lucas’s taste. The kid was young and tattooed and, even though he treated Miranda respectfully, he was skirting the line. Little touches on her arm and back. The teasing glances. The entirely too personal way he spoke to her and invaded her space. Jealousy reared its ugly, green head and he growled at the young guy.

Miranda turned, a surprised look on her face. “Oh, Lucas! This is Cody Patterson.”

“I know. Your star pitcher, who’s struggling a bit and should be working on his own grips and delivery, not teaching you.”

Mel Bridges chose that moment to step up there. “Ms. Callahan. Patterson, don’t you have pitches to practice? We want you to try a two-seamer. Let’s talk with Prosser.”

The cocky punk winked at Miranda. “See you, Ms. Callahan. And don’t worry. My arm will be fine for the season and we’ll bring home a title.”

The kid strutted away with his coach and Lucas scowled. “Damn punk.”

Miranda smirked. “Jealous, Lucas? He’s a sweet kid.”

Lucas stared in disbelief at the tatted up kid who had been looming over Miranda. “Him?”

She laid a hand on his arm. “You can’t always judge by appearances, right? Even beauty queens can be more.”

“Fine.” He grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “I think we’ve distracted the players enough for one day. How about checking in to our hotel and grabbing dinner?”

“I could be persuaded. What did you have in mind?” A car whizzed by with screaming college kids yelling obscenities out the window. “Please, somewhere quiet. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m too old for that shit.”

“Let me worry about that. I know just the place.”

L
ucas directed Miranda
to pull up by a gorgeous beachside house, a white three-story manor, redesigned to fit into modern, coastal living. How his mother ever lived there alone, Lucas would never quite understand. But it had touches of Savannah to remind her of home and she certainly seemed happy when he talked to her.

“This isn’t what I had in mind.” Miranda stared doubtfully at the house, her brow furrowed.

“I told you we’d have dinner with my mother. This is where she lives.”

“Yes, I know. But I thought we’d go to a restaurant or something. Not this.”

He shrugged and tossed off the seatbelt. “You said you wanted quiet. Her beach is private, no spring break kids, and we can relax.”