Love from Left Field (18 page)

*

Lucas paced the
owner’s box, impatiently waiting for the start of the game. Miranda was down in the tunnels, getting ready for the Opening Day ceremonies. Lucas decided to remain out of the way, upstairs, to let her work. Cole poked his head in the box, made a noise of frustration, then started to leave.

“Cole, who are you looking for?”

He reluctantly turned back. “Our mascot never showed up. I was hoping someone was here who could fill in. Maybe Mr. Leavitt or one of the other department heads. Leavitt is tall enough for the costume. Not many men are. Miranda doesn’t know yet. I was trying to avoid telling her.”

Shit. The mascot wasn’t critical to the game, but the kids loved the knight on the horse, and of course, who was part of the opening ceremonies but the youth group the team sponsored. Those kids were probably looking forward to pictures with the mascot.

“Haven’t seen him.”

A speculative look entered the other man’s eyes. “You’re what, six-two, six-three?”

“Yeah, about that,” Lucas said, suspicion growing.

“You’re perfect then. Come on.” Hammonds gestured to the hallway.

“Absolutely not. I’m only here to consult and advise, not wear a fucking costume. There has to be someone else here who can wear it. Even you.” Lucas crossed his arms and planted his feet.

Cole growled. “I don’t have time for your shit, Wainright. I have to get on the field. No time to find anyone else. Can’t you fucking do something without an argument, just once? We’ve done everything you’ve asked, changed everything for you. You owe us.”

“Bullshit. You made those changes to save your team.”

“And now Miranda needs you. Are you going to man up or wimp out, staying up here, safe and away from everyone?”

Cole stormed out of the box. Damn it. Opening Day was important and Miranda needed him. He flung open the door. When it banged against the wall from the force of his throw, he saw Hammonds leaning against the wall, waiting.

“She can never know this, Hammonds.” Lucas waggled a finger at the other man.

“I don’t give a shit what you tell her. Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Lucas heaved a sigh. Somehow he was being dragged kicking and screaming into this team. So much for his objective distance.

L
ucas felt ridiculous,
suited up like a reject from King Arthur’s court. The equipment staff helped him into the screen printed tunic and pants, sprayed metallic with a stupid heraldic insignia. They then strapped on metal shoulder, elbow, leg, and foot guards. And the coup de grâce? A helmet.

Honestly, that was his favorite part, except for the nasty, stale sweat stink that clung to every piece of equipment, worse than any locker room stench. But at least with the helmet, no one could identify him and, at this point, that was the most important part of this whole fiasco.

Hammonds walked in the small locker area and smirked. “Looking pretty, Wainright.”

“Screw you, Hammonds. I know you set this up. Didn’t you tell this guy to take a shower and clean his costume once in a while?” Lucas swore as he shifted to walk and the metal leg guard banged his balls. Now he knew why he needed the cup. He irritably waved the attendants away. With a glance at Cole, they slipped from the room.

“Wayne does Renaissance reenactments, so he believes in authenticity. I think he put it together himself, making allowances for the Georgia heat in summer.”

“There’s nothing authentic about this costume. I think I saw the price tag still inside.” Lucas grumbled, adjusting the leg equipment so he could walk.

“Well, think of it this way. Miranda will be so grateful. If she ever finds out.”

“If I don’t unman myself in this contraption.” Lucas glared at Cole through the slats in the metal helmet. “Are you jealous and hoping I’ll die in this thing?”

“Jealous of what? You and Miranda? Nope, but if you hurt her, that sword and shield won’t be enough to save your ass.”

“Sword and shield? Oh, shit. I have to hold that stuff, too?” He spied the sword and shield laying against the wall and groaned.

“Suck it up, buttercup. Wayne complains less than you do, and he’s in it for the whole game. Your role will be simple. Trot on out on the field, wave the sword and shield a little bit. Rouse the crowd; get them excited. Take a few pictures with the kids by home plate, and you can come in. Oh and ham it up a bit okay? Wayne has a good time with it and the crowd loves him.”

“Where the hell is Wayne anyway, if he loves this gig so much?”

“God, you whine more than those kids out there. Wayne’s home with food poisoning. He wouldn’t be able to get out of the suit fast enough if he has another attack, if you catch my meaning.” Cole clapped his hands together, the loud sound echoing in the small space. “Ready? Good! Let’s kick off the season. Oh, and if we win the game? We might need you to be our Opening Day mascot every year. Wayne was considered kind of a bad luck charm.”

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Lucas grumbled under his breath but followed the other man into the tunnel and towards the dull roar of the crowd.

He had to lift his feet high to walk or risk stumbling and looking like a clumsy oaf. The metal foot guards clanged every time he took a step, and his arm guards kept getting caught with the metallic sprayed tunic. He had to hold his arms out like a strutting peacock, or an overbuilt body builder, to be able to walk without looking like an idiot. Of course, only an idiot wore this get-up voluntarily.

“It’s for the kids. And Miranda.” The mantra he kept repeating with every step.

He was a consultant, not a team pet. Somehow, he thought his status had taken a tumble with this stunt, unless Hammonds could keep his trap shut.

The crowd roared as he stepped onto the field. He almost fell up the steps, still adjusting to seeing between the horizontal eye slits in the helm, or whatever this thing was called.

“Wainright!” A voice hissed behind him. A sword and shield were thrust at him. “Now go!”

Kind of feeling like he was a soldier facing mortal combat in the arena, he trudged onto the field, resigned to his fate.

“Look alive, Wainright!”

One voice shouted louder than any others and he whirled around to glare at Hammonds, pointed his sword threateningly. “No names!”

Miranda appeared in the dugout next to Hammonds, a group of kids lined up next to her. She wore a Knights jersey with her name on the back. He sighed then lifted his sword and shield to the crowd, shaking them both above his head. The crowd went wild, cheering and yelling.

Miranda and Cole escorted the kids out to the microphone at home plate. Hammonds glared at Lucas and motioned him into place behind them. Lucas obligingly settled in next to them, occasionally waving his sword to the crowd, motioning them to get excited.

A knocking on the metal leg grip had him looking down. A young boy, maybe eight years old, stood there looking up at Lucas, saying something. Lucas spread his legs and awkwardly bent down so he could hear the kid.

“Mister, can I hold your sword?”

Lucas hefted the metal sword. Yeah, probably not a good idea. The thing weighed almost as much as the skinny towheaded kid next to him.

“I think I’d better hang on to this. But have you heard of a knight’s squire? Well, he helps the knight out, holds his shield and stuff. So, you want to be my squire?”

The kid’s eyes were wide like a baseball, nodding cautiously. Lucas handed him the shield, showing him the straps to hold it. “Now, you be careful, okay? No waving this around, just hold it in front of you.”

The kid solemnly held that shield right in front of him, his face set in a scowl, probably meant to scare the bad guys away or something. Lucas stifled a laugh and looked up to see Miranda and Cole watching him, bemused, while the photographer snapped his picture. Lucas struck a pose, both of them looking fierce, and everyone laughed.

Finally, Miranda spoke about the value of the sponsorship and what the kids had been doing with the money. Lucas tuned out the speech, especially as it seemed the shield was a big hit. The kids passed it around, each taking turns standing next to him striking poses. Miranda shot him a dark look, which softened at how much fun the kids were having.

To be honest, he was having fun, too. He wasn’t Lucas Wainright right now, but the Georgia Knight, free to be silly and have fun, something he could have never done before today, so focused on maintaining a professional distance. One pose was an attack. Another was the kid fighting back, defeating him. The kids were all under ten and were laughing nonstop.

Miranda finally ended the speech with a laugh. “Since no one cares about what I’m saying in light of the play going on behind me, can we please have the photo op so the players can get on with the game?”

The kids all settled around Miranda with barely a complaint, a few kids on the ground and some of the older kids holding the donation check from the Knights. Lucas sidled up on the right side of Miranda, with Cole on the left. The cameraman motioned them to move closer and he shifted closer, placing a hand on Miranda’s low back. She jumped and glared up at him, trying to see through the eye slits. Her eyes widened.

“Lucas?” She whispered.

He nodded towards the photographer and the flash went off, temporarily blinding him. They had to remain in the spot while the anthem was sung. Miranda leaned into him.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed under her breath.

“Your pal Hammonds asked me to fill in for Wayne, your regular mascot. I’m getting involved. Aren’t you happy?”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

While her words promised a threat, the tone was pleased, and he smirked under the helmet. Maybe Hammonds was right. Nothing like having credit in the bank.

*

After the ceremonies
and anthem, they all filed into the dugout. Miranda shook each player’s hand and made a comment about the season, all personal to each player.

“Cody, good luck with the two-seamer. You had some good success with it at the end of spring training.” The cocky kid faked a grin but it didn’t quite cover the nerves for Opening Day.

She pulled Prosser aside, the new catcher, and spoke softly so no one else could hear, although Lucas was standing close enough to overhear. “Don’t worry about the papers or anyone else. You’re the cornerstone of this team. We need you to settle Cody and provide some strength for the other players. Can you do that for me?”

The young catcher, not sweating bullets in all his gear like Lucas was, nodded solemnly.

Lucas sidled up to her after the players had filed onto the field. “Don’t you think you’re putting a little too much pressure on the kid?”

“You’re the one who said we needed a strong cornerstone for the team and that Prosser was the one to do it.” She tilted her head and shot him a sidelong glance.

“Really? I think I said he was a good pitch framer, and could handle some young pitchers. Not the kind of player to build a team around.” He sounded a bit grumpy and didn’t like it.

With the kids gone, the players had scattered. Nine of them were warming up on the field and the remaining players wandered around the dugout, finding their spot for the season. Cole and the coaching staff had also wandered off, leaving Miranda and Lucas in the entrance to the tunnel, alone. She flipped the visor from the helmet up.

“Is it really you in there? How the hell did you get voted for this?” She laughed.

He grunted. “Well, your general manager ordered me to step up when your usual guy bailed. Food poisoning or something.”

Miranda shot a glance down the dugout to where Cole was standing with the manager, Sam, and she cracked up. “More likely his arthritis was acting up. Wayne didn’t want to retire as groundskeeper so dad offered him this position as mascot, a few years ago. It might be a little too much for an eighty-year-old man but Wayne likes being part of the team.”

“Really? Eighty, huh?” Reality was slowly dawning and Cole was edging further away, a smirk on his face.

“Yes, he wouldn’t be caught dead hamming it up with the kids or even for the fans. We can barely get him to lift his sword.”