Mendoza's Return (14 page)

“Why didn't you tell me about the betting pool?” she asked.

“I figured it would tick you off.”

“You decided I didn't need to know something that…infamous about myself?”

“I found out the day after we'd broken things off. I figured it wouldn't be relevant.”

“After
you'd
broken things off,” she said.

“I stand corrected.”

She couldn't get a handle on him. He didn't seem happy she was there, but he also didn't seem angry. She finally just ran out of steam. He hadn't responded in a way that furthered their conversation. Now she was stuck sitting at his kitchen counter with nothing to say. She dipped a chip in some salsa and ate, the crunch sounding cannon-fire loud. So did he. They went through the bowl of chips without conversation. Then she was at a loss.

“I guess I should go,” she said.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

She still couldn't figure out his mood. He hadn't touched her, but hadn't given her the cold shoulder, either. “Yes, I would, thanks.”

The tour didn't take long. He hadn't invested in dining room furniture yet, and had only a few pieces in the living room, wanting to wait until they'd finished repairing, staining and painting. His home office held only a desk and chair.

Upstairs, two bedrooms were empty and in sore need of fresh paint and window coverings. Another bedroom was furnished so that his father could stay overnight. Then came the master bedroom, which
was remodeled and spectacular, the headboard tall and hand carved, the bedding colorful and inviting.

“I tore down the wall between this room and a bedroom beside it to make the master bath and walk-in closet,” he said, letting her peek into both spaces. “Come see the view out the back window.”

From there she could take in his entire backyard, a sprawling mess.

“I've lined up a crew to relandscape,” he said. “They start next week. But picture this—a big deck with built-in barbecue right off the house. A swimming pool and spa over there. Lots of lawn.”

“A place for a vegetable garden?” she asked. “And a dog or two?”

“It wouldn't be a home without them.”

If Melina stayed in his bedroom for one more minute she would haul him off to his king-size bed and have her way with him.

He looked at his watch. “I've got a meeting I need to get ready for.”

Just like that her decision was made. Or rather, taken away. She should be grateful, but…

“I'll see you at the game tomorrow,” she said, even though the words hurt as they dragged along her throat. He'd been able to turn off the attraction switch way too easily.

They walked downstairs together. He opened the front door, held it as she passed by him. He didn't follow her to the car, but also didn't shut the door until she'd backed out and waved goodbye.

If his intention had been to let her know he was over her, he'd succeeded. He'd been nice—a horrible word, in this case. He'd invited her in, gave her food and drink, took her on a tour, then sent her on her way, all of it done in a nice, polite way.

She'd never been more discouraged in her life.

Sometimes what was broken couldn't be fixed—like this relationship. Giving up was foreign to her, but it looked as though she had to. He hadn't wanted to hear any details about Gramps. He'd already given up.

And there was no changing Rafe Mendoza's mind once it was made up.

T
he last day of March brought beautiful spring weather, the perfect start for the new baseball season. Seeing the stands filling up, Melina was torn between sitting in the dugout or on the benches with everyone else.

In the end, she was honest with herself, deciding that Elliot wouldn't care whether she was in the dugout or not. Plus the view was better from the stands.

People wandered into the complex, carrying hot dogs and popcorn, licorice and churros, the scents mingling in the air, adding to the excitement. Melina sat with Elliot's anxious parents. Soon her family arrived, then Rafe's father and brothers. Everyone
who'd had a hand in helping Elliot had made time to come and support him.

His team, the Orioles, took the field to much applause and whoops, the boys acting cool, as if they didn't hear the cheering, and looking sharp in their brand-new uniforms and caps. Melina pressed a hand to her stomach.

“Me, too,” her mother said, doing the same thing.

“Me, three,” Elliot's mother said, laughing.

Melina already knew Elliot wouldn't play in the field until the fifth inning of the six-inning game, but every boy was in the batting lineup from the be ginning to the end of the game. He would hit in the fourth spot, cleanup, which meant Beau counted on him to get base hits, to bring in the players on base ahead of him.

It was a lot of pressure. Elliot knew what hitting fourth meant.

The game started. Elliot stood at the chain-link fence of the dugout, watching, calling out support, with Rafe beside him, doing the same. There were hits and strikeouts, great throws and errors, shoe string catches and dropped balls. The sun was in the eyes of the left and center fielders, causing missed catches, missed opportunities. Nerves showed. Coaches encouraged but also used errors as a time for instruction.

Elliot came up to bat, swung at the first pitch and missed. He looked for Rafe on the sidelines, got his
it's-okay signal and stepped back into the batter's box. He hit the next ball over the shortstop's head, driving in the base runner at third to score, the stands exploding as people jumped up and hollered.

The game moved along, one team leading, then the other. Twice more Elliot came to the plate, getting two more singles, two more runs batted in. He went out to right field in the fifth inning but never had a ball hit to him.

Then came the bottom of the sixth and last inning. The Orioles were down by one run. There were two players on base. Elliot's batting average was .754, which meant he usually struck out or flied out once every four at bats. He was coming up on his fourth at bat. They needed him to connect now to at least tie the game.

The pressure intensified. Melina watched Elliot listen to Rafe, who was right in his face, before he headed to home plate. The crowd went quiet, too quiet.

Melina cupped her mouth with her hands and yelled, “You can do it, Elliot!”

Others followed suit—except his parents, who clutched each other and could barely watch.

“Strike one!” the umpire called.

Elliot backed away, looked at Rafe, got his signals.

Melina shouted, “Shake it off, Elliot. Shake it off.”

He looked toward her for just a second. And in
that moment she knew that
she
mattered to him, too, not just Rafe. She plopped back down and pressed a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed. She was so glad he'd come into her life.

And because of him, she'd had Rafe for a while, too.

“What's wrong, honey?” her mother asked.

“Nothing, Mom. Everything's good. All good.”

Another pitch. “Ball!”

Elliot stepped out but didn't look at Rafe, then he approached the plate again. “He calmed himself,” Melina whispered excitedly to Elliot's mother. “He didn't rely on Rafe.”

Debbie Anderson squeezed Melina's hand, knowing the importance of the moment. “We were blessed to find you and Rafe.”

Melina grinned. “I don't know. You've been adopted by our families. You may regret that. We're big and we're noisy, you know.”

“And Steve and I are grateful.”

Elliot moved into the batter's box again. He set himself. His bat waggled a little then went still. The pitcher threw. Crack! The ball flew right at the second baseman, hit the tip of his outstretched glove and kept going into the field between center and right. One run scored, a second run scored. They won the game.

The stands erupted. Elliot's teammates mobbed him. Melina looked for signs of it being too much for
him, but he was grinning and jumping up and down just like the rest of them.

Melina caught sight of Rafe watching the boys, a smile on his face, looking as proud as a father might. He lifted his gaze to hers, gave her a small salute, then dragged his cap down over his face for a minute, bringing tears to her eyes.

She wished she could wrap her arms around him and never let go.

Wouldn't that give everyone in town something to bet on? she thought, and finally laughed about it. Where else but in Small Town, America, could something like that happen.

And she was very glad she lived there.

Melina came to a decision—she was not going to give him up without a fight this time. If she was going to lose him, it wouldn't be because she hadn't made the effort. Time for one last hurrah before she called it quits.

Even if she had to do the proposing. At least then she would have answers.

 

Postgame pizza was a tradition after the first and last games of the season. After a little while, the noise proved to be too much for Elliot, whose parents decided to take him home before he was overwhelmed.

Rafe followed them to their car. “I'll see you at practice, okay, sport?”

Elliot nodded, then they did the seven-part hand
shake they'd made up. Steve and Debbie tried to thank him, but Rafe gave Elliot the credit and said he'd been privileged to give him some help along the way.

Rafe felt good. Worn out, but good. The game had sent him on a sentimental journey, especially hearing Melina yelling from the stands. It might as well have been him at the plate instead of Elliot, the memory was so vivid.

He headed back into the pizza parlor intending to tell people goodbye. He needed to make some phone calls, finalize some plans. The sooner, the better.

His cell phone rang—Ross Fortune.

“I figured you'd want to be kept in the loop,” he said. “My brother Flint came to town this afternoon. He's had his DNA test already, so we should know soon if he's baby Anthony's father.”

“Any word from Cooper?”

“No. He goes where the work is, and sometimes he doesn't get in touch for months. But the other big news is we just got a call from the Haggerty, Texas, police department. Seems they've got a homeless man with amnesia who may be William Fortune. Jeremy and Andrew are on their way now.”

“So Jeremy was right to keep the faith about his father. That's great news.” He saw Beau open the pizza parlor door and look out. Rafe waved him over. “Thanks for letting me know, Ross.”

Rafe slipped the phone in his pocket and waited for Beau.

“You were right,” Beau said seriously.

“So were you, Beau.”

“About what?”

“He wasn't fully ready, except for hitting.”

“But you're going to keep working with him, right?” Beau asked.

Rafe nodded. “You're a good coach, Beau. I've had my share of coaches, and you're one of the best.”

Beau cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“And you were right about something else, too. I
was
jealous that you went to the show.”

“You seem to have done okay,” Beau said, smiling. “Besides, I heard you had offers after college.”

Rafe didn't like to dwell on it. He'd stuck with his plan to go to law school, and most of the time could convince himself that he'd made the right choice. “A couple offers. I'm sorry about your injury.” He didn't add any platitudes, knowing it wouldn't help.

“Me, too. But what are you gonna do, huh? Life goes on.”

Rafe decided to change the subject. “I hear you started a betting pool on Melina and me.”

Rafe's old rival grinned. “Some harmless entertainment. She looked a little peeved when she found out.”

“You could say that.”

“I noticed she's been short on feistiness lately, Rafe. Figured she could use a boost.”

“Thanks.”

Beau laughed at Rafe's dry tone, then he turned
serious. “I'm thinking about bringing on a partner. Interested?”

Rafe wondered how much it cost Beau to ask. “Not in a partnership, but I've got a good head for business, and I'd be happy to do some consulting work for you. You've got something unique in how you're running the complex. I think I could help you grow it, maybe even franchise it. First thing you'd have to do is give up micromanaging. It'll take a lot of pressure off you.”

Beau stuck out his hand, but seemed incapable of speech. Rafe shook it, then watched him return to the restaurant and his noisy, victorious team. Before the door shut all the way, Melina slipped out.

“I wondered where you went,” she said, approaching him. Like many of the parents, she'd bought an Orioles T-shirt. The yellow color suited her. “Is Elliot okay?”

“He's pretty wiped out, I think.” He'd wanted to get away without talking to her. He had places to go and people to meet, and he was afraid he'd get swept up into something with her before he was ready to. “I am, too. I'm going to go.”

Her brows went up. “You can't even talk to me for a minute? I'm that repulsive to you now?”

“Repulsive? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You couldn't wait to get me out of your house yesterday. You didn't say one word to me after the game. And now you were going to leave without even saying goodbye or discussing Elliot for a minute—our
common cause who will continue to be one until baseball season ends?” She crossed her arms. “What else am I supposed to think? You can't stand to be around me.”

“You're wrong about that, but I don't have the time or energy to debate it with you right now. I have things to do, Melina. Important things.” And the clock was ticking.

Hurt settled in her eyes. “I see. Well, at least you admit I'm unimportant.”

He couldn't stand it. “You're important,” he said. “Too important.”

“How can someone be too important? I don't even know what that means. I don't see how the way you've been acting the past few days shows that I'm important in any way.”

Melina was goading him on purpose. She'd been sitting in the pizza parlor watching people look from her to Rafe and back again constantly. Everyone wanted to know where things stood with them, but even she didn't know. And she was tired of being left in the dark herself. She was losing sleep and losing weight. She wanted to know where she stood and be able to move on.

If she proposed to him, she would know, one way or another. Except she hadn't planned on starting an argument, hadn't planned on him not wanting to spend even a second with her.

He glared at her. “You don't think you're impor
tant, Melina Lawrence? I'll show you how wrong you are.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along, heading toward his car, unlocking it and waiting impatiently while she got inside. People were gathering outside the restaurant door, a hum of excitement running through the ever-enlarging crowd.

“You're ruining everything, you know,” he said, grinding out the words. “What happened to the patience you're so famous for? Two days. You only needed to wait two days.” He slammed her door shut, ran around to the driver's side and got in.

Melina decided not to say anything. It seemed she'd unintentionally interrupted a plan he'd made, and she was now going to pay for it. Once again, had she hurt her own cause?

Usually when he got mad, he got quiet. He would speak without emotion, always being logical. Now he was acting so irrationally she didn't know what to make of it. Except that she recognized she'd chosen the wrong moment to force him into some kind of action where she was concerned. Apparently he'd had a strategy in mind.…

He drove a few blocks, turned onto Main, pulled up alongside a rundown wooden-sided building. The old Crockett building.
Their
building.

“Recognize this place?” he asked.

“Of course I do.”

He stared at it. “This used to be our future.”

“At Angie's wedding reception you said you thought it should've been torn down by now.”

He frowned. “No, I didn't. I said I was surprised it hadn't been.” He angled toward her. “I bought it. Or more accurately, I'm in the process of buying it.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm opening an office in Red Rock. Right here.”

He got out of the car, so she did, too. He shook his head at her, probably because she hadn't waited for him to open the door, then he led her to a window and peered inside.

“If you'd been patient for a couple more days,” he said, annoyance in his voice, “I would've had it cleaned up, and a nice table set, and an elegant meal brought in. After dinner, I would've pulled out a black-velvet box, gotten down on one knee and asked you to marry me.”

She barely reacted to his words, not fully comprehending them, her own goal crowding out his. Her plans had gone awry, too. “Yeah? Well, I was going to propose to you, then I got scared, so I got mad.”

They faced each other like duelists.

“Wait. What?” she asked. “You were going to propose?”

“The right way. The romantic way.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “I can't believe I just let that happen. I should've walked away at the pizza parlor. Done things the way I wanted to, was planning to.”

She crossed her hands over her chest, which ached.
“I love you, Rafe.” She took a step toward him, happiness pouring into her, out of her. “I love you with all my heart.”