Mendoza's Return (6 page)

“Thank you for saying that.” He picked up a taquito and scooped some guacamole onto it. “I saw him wasting away, too. It about killed me.”

“Well, he seems to have a purpose now, which always helps.”

“I invited him to move in with me, but he hasn't agreed.”

“Give him time.” She took her first bite of food. “Oh, man. Best. Chile. Relleno. Ever.”

He caught glimpses of her as they ate without carrying on much conversation. He'd forgotten how much he liked just watching her, how gracefully she moved, how her blond hair fell over her shoulders, leaving a curl over her breast. She wore her Wranglers like a second skin, and her deep turquoise shirt turned her eyes the same color.

For several years he'd been mingling in circles where the women wore a lot of black, whether dressed casual or elegant—edgy, sometimes fascinating women who were smart about business and capable of creating software to change the world.

Melina seemed mostly interested in changing the life of one boy.

As his father had noted, she didn't even know how beautiful she was, how wholesomely sexy.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking uncomfortable at his long silence.

“Sorry. Just enjoying the food.”
And the view.
“Marcos says hi, by the way.” Rafe opened a foil packet containing one slice of cake and slid it toward her. “Don't look at me like that. I didn't tell him. Apparently we are the subject of speculation from having talked at the wedding and, as of tonight, from someone seeing me come here. Marcos guessed that we were having dinner together.”

“I shouldn't be surprised. As much as Red Rock has grown, it's still a small town.”

“Particularly when your families have been here for so long.”

“Which can be both good and bad.” She took a bite of cake, closed her eyes and savored it. “So,” she said after a long exhale of satisfaction. “Give me the details about what happened with Beau, please.”

“Bandero rule number one—I'm to be Elliot's coach at every practice and game.”

“Every one? That's a big commitment.”

“Rules are rules, as Beau says. Rule number two is that the same applies to you.”

She sat back, looking perplexed. “I understand about being there for the practices, but why do I have to attend all the games? By then parents can be in the stands.”

“But not in the dugout.”

“What?” She was stunned. “I'm supposed to sit in no-woman's land?”

“Amazing, huh?” Rafe had been just as surprised as Melina. “Rule number three—toughest one—if Beau doesn't think Elliot is ready when the season opens, he will have to leave the team.”

“No.” Shaking her head, she put her fork down. “Rafe, that would be worse than denying him from the beginning. To work with him and get his hopes up then destroy them? No way. Absolutely not.”

“There's no choice, Mel. And I plan on having Elliot ready to play, even if we have to practice every day. I've got enough family to get some scrimmage games going, give him some team experience. And Elliot also needs to learn how to work with a coach, not just his father. It'll be good for him in the long run.”

She sat back and stared at him for a while, then a small smile spread across her face. “You're looking forward to it.”

“I— Yeah. I am. I used to get into some pickup games with friends in Ann Arbor, but as I worked longer and longer hours, I stopped making the time. I've missed it.”

“I can see why. It was a big part of your life for a long time.” Melina started wrapping up the leftovers while Rafe gathered the trash. “What do you think Beau's motives are in setting the rules?” she asked.

“It's a power play.”

She considered that. “Okay, I get that by him making
you
get involved. But
me?
”

He didn't look at her. “Either he's playing matchmaker or he's planning on it creating friction between us—for his entertainment. Which do you think?”

“The latter.”

“Me, too. Let's not give him that satisfaction.” He caught her gaze, held it. “Do you think we can manage that?”

“I don't
want
to be at odds with you, Rafe. But we have a history, and it's not going to be easy.”

“Especially since the attraction is still there.” Might as well put that on the table, he thought.

She hesitated then nodded. “Being attracted isn't the issue. It's what we do about it.”

He knew what he'd like to do about it. For the first time since they'd met, they had their own homes, which offered privacy, a place where they could spend a whole night together, where it was comfortable and clean, where they wouldn't have to check out by 10:00 a.m. They could shower together in the morning, linger over breakfast wearing only robes, easily disposed of.

The silence escalated between them. He wondered if her thoughts were headed down the same path as his.

“I need to get going,” she said abruptly, reaching for her jacket and backpack. “Thank you for dinner. And for everything else you've done.”

He followed her to the front door, waited while
she locked it behind them. “I'll get a copy of Elliot's practice schedule to you, so you can plan. I know you weren't even consulted on this, and it's probably going to be a hassle.”

She shook her head adamantly. “I'm happy to do it. Seeing the way his face lit up when you told him he could play. He's— Shoot. There's my dad. He's pulling up. Maybe you should take off while you can.”

“I'm not a coward, Melina,” Rafe said quietly.

Big, brash Jefferson Lawrence got out of his truck and swaggered over. “Daughter.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Evening, sir. How are you?” Rafe asked offering his hand.

“Good, thanks. Real good.” He faced Melina then. “Your mother sent me to track you down. She's been calling for a while.”

“I had the phone off,” Melina said, which wasn't entirely true. She'd had it on vibrate and had ignored it. “We were in an important meeting.”

“She wanted you to come for dinner.”

“I've eaten, thanks.” She glanced at the bag of leftovers Rafe carried.

Jefferson eyed it as well. “Then come keep us company, Mellie. We'll catch up. Your sister's coming, and your grandfather is going to be there.”

“Steph's working for me, remember? I see her every day. And I'll see Gramps tomorrow morning,
Dad. Every Wednesday morning, as always. We go for a drive.”

“Does he drive or do you?”

“He does. That's part of my job. To evaluate driving skills and see if someone should resume or continue. You know that.”

“I'm surprised you haven't been in an accident.”

He didn't know how many close calls there'd been in the past four years with various patients. Nor would she tell him. “You know why I'm riding with Gramps. He's doing okay. I'll probably turn him loose soon.”

Her father cursed a blue streak, making Rafe laugh.

“Yes, it's funny until you have to live with it,” Jefferson said.

“I hope my father lives long enough for that to be a problem, sir.”

Jefferson looked into the distance for a few seconds then nodded. “Well, we've both lost our mothers, haven't we? Not in any hurry for our dads to go.” His voice was raspy with emotion.

“No, sir.”

He cleared his throat. “So, you coming home, girl? Your mother misses you.”

Which was code for “your father misses you” or “your father wants you to get the hell away from Rafe Mendoza.”

“Sorry, Dad. I can't,” she said. “I'll check with her on coming over another night.”

“You got your car?”

She smiled. “It's a five-minute walk home.”

“Hop in. I'll drive you.”

She figured he'd thought Rafe was going to take her. “I want to walk, but thanks. See you later.”

He aimed a “so long” toward her and got into his truck as she and Rafe watched. He pulled out slowly. She could see him looking at his rearview mirror.

“You know he was stalling, waiting for me to give up and leave,” Rafe said.

There was a lot she could say to that. Her parents had watched their daughter's heart break. Parents weren't very forgiving of such things. “My dad has never been subtle.”

Rafe laughed. “Yeah. But he does what a father should. He loves and protects you. My dad's always been a good role model for me, but so was yours.”

The words hung between them.

“Can I walk you home?” Rafe asked.

She was tempted. Over the past few days she'd been drawn back into his world, a world so unlike what they'd expected to have together. How very differently their lives had turned out—as a couple and individually.

He'd changed, was more self-assured and confident. He'd handled the situation with Beau without rancor, even though they didn't like each other at all. It took a persuasive man to do that with someone as stubborn as Beau.

“If you hadn't come along, Rafe,” she said finally,
“I'm sure I would've picked a fight with Beau, which wouldn't have accomplished anything. I probably would've threatened him with a lawsuit, too.”

“Which also wouldn't have accomplished anything, since he hasn't done anything illegal. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Let's take it a day at a time, Mel. Let's try to work together as a unit, not let Beau goad us into losing our tempers.”

“I can't even picture you losing your temper anymore.” It was true. The Rafe from years ago, yes. He'd been passionate and emotional. This Rafe was smooth and controlled.

“I'm not as calm or patient as you might think. I've just learned how to channel my energy differently.” He leaned a little closer, his voice softer, quieter, but somehow more intense. “I'm a man with normal needs, Melina. Normal wants. Even I lose patience when I'm denied for too long. Don't you remember that about me?”

She remembered. She'd loved when he'd let loose of his control, making her feel desired and cherished. He'd had a single-mindedness about him when making love that she hadn't appreciated then, not knowing any different. Now she knew.

However, he was being patient now, just standing and watching her, waiting for her to speak. Instead she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. After the barest surprised pause he kissed her back, feeling familiar
and yet new in rediscovery, the taste of him tinder to the dry kindling of need stored inside her.

Can you go home again?
she wondered, pulling back, touching her fingers to her lips, then briefly to his, seeing hunger in his dark eyes.

She felt the hunger, too, the need she was afraid to show. But deep inside, her heart spoke to his again. If only his would answer.

“Yes, I remember that about you,” she said softly, then she turned and walked away, knowing he was watching her, wanting him, and knowing she couldn't take that chance again. She'd grieved for him before. A second time would be even harder maybe even impossible to survive.

Y
ears of practice kept Melina from slamming her foot against the floorboard while her grandfather was driving down Sycamore Avenue the next morning. He was scheduled to renew his driver's license in two weeks—if she gave the go-ahead.

“Next week, I want to drive my truck, not your dinky car,” he said.

“I think that's a good idea, except how do you propose to do that since you can't get into the driver's seat without a stepladder? And then what do you do with it?”

“I'll figure out something. I'm eighty-six, missy, not a hundred and six. I still have a working brain. And I live by myself just fine.”

“You know they can make you take a road test if they think it's necessary.”

“So you've said. More than once.”

“Because you seem to forget.”

“I don't forget anything.”

He wasn't an easy person most days, but he was more belligerent than usual today. Although she'd spent a lot of time at her grandparents' house as a teenager, she hadn't really gotten to know him well until the year she spent living with him and Grandma Rose after her stroke, caring for her. The year that had forever changed Melina's life.

The year she'd decided not to go back to Michigan but become an occupational therapist.

The year she'd lost Rafe because of her decisions. Although maybe it would have happened anyway.

“Seen Rafe lately?” her grandfather asked.

“Yes. He's been helping me with some issues regarding one of my kids.” She scanned the street looking for potential hazards. “Thank you for talking to him at Angie's wedding, by the way. I think Mom and Dad ignored him.”

He snorted. “I was a captive audience, wasn't I, stuck in the wheelchair for the day, as I was. Couldn't avoid him.”

“You were more comfortable in the chair, and you know it. How come you're so ornery today?”

She grabbed the dashboard as he made a left turn in front of an oncoming car, the driver honking several times.

“Guess I should've waited a bit longer,” he muttered.

“No ‘guess' about it. What's going on?”

He didn't answer right away, then finally said, “Got up on the wrong side of the bed. My empty bed.”

Ah. “Do you ever think about dating?” She tossed the idea out casually, although she'd given it a lot of thought. “You'd be prime real estate in the senior market.”

He sort of laughed. “Real estate, huh?”

“All it would take is a little renovation, and you'd be good as new.”

“You don't miss a chance, do you? I'm too old for surgery, and too old for dating folderol. I've had my share of casseroles delivered since your grandma died. None of them held a candle to her tamale pie.”

His voice shook enough that Melina took her eyes off the road to study him. He was wearing his usual Western gear but looked fragile. “You're lonely.”

“Hell, yes, I'm lonely. Any fool who says otherwise in the same circumstances is lying. She was the fresh air I breathed for fifty-two years. It's been like inhaling smog since she died. It hurts.” He gave her a quick glance. “No more talk about dating, okay? I'm not
that
lonely.”

“Okay.” She patted his shoulder. “I could use your help with something.”

He sat up a little straighter. “Shoot.”

“Pull over in front of Howard's, would you?”

“You planning on taking up some kind of sport?” he asked, parallel parking the car easily.

“Maybe.”

He laughed. “That'll be the day. You almost flunked P. E. a few times.”

“It wasn't from lack of skill but lack of interest,” she said with a sniff.

He grinned. She was glad to have changed his mood. And she really could use his help.

After all, an experienced captain could make all the difference when someone was about to sail into uncharted waters.

 

Rafe had just arrived at the ballpark that afternoon and was making his way to the dugout to leave his backpack when his cell phone rang. He didn't see Melina and Elliot yet, but he was early. With time to kill, he answered the phone. “Rafe Mendoza.”

“Rafe, it's Ross Fortune.”

“Hey! It's been a long time, Ross. Since Isabella and J.R.'s wedding. How's the private investigation business?”

“Booming. Which says a lot, doesn't it?”

Rafe laughed. “Yeah. What's up?”

“My cousin Jeremy said he talked to you about this baby-on-the-doorstep business. He said you advised him to go to the police and report the found baby.”

“That was my advice, yes. Did he?”

“The short version—he and Kirsten did, plus they
got engaged, plus they were given temporary custody of baby Anthony. Lots of questions here, Rafe, and things are getting complicated. No one seems to be who they say they are. In the meantime, I'm out of ideas about how to search for the birth parents. I can't believe the baby was left without even a note.”

Rafe saw a woman kicking up dust as she jogged across the diamond, a kid beside her. Rafe squinted, focused…

Even expecting her, he had to stare for several seconds before he realized it was Melina. He'd never seen her like this—wearing a baseball cap with her hair threaded out the back in a ponytail that swung as she moved. She also wore sunglasses, a Rangers jersey, black pants and shoes. Not cleats, he didn't think, but something athletic looking. And the jersey didn't hide the sway of her breasts as she jogged, either. He remembered how they felt in his hands, heavy and firm, and the texture of her nipples when he ran his tongue around—

“So, what do you think?” Ross asked in a way that sounded as if it hadn't been the first time.

Rafe tipped the phone back up to his mouth. “About what?”

There was a long pause, then, “What we've been talking about since you answered the phone—do you have any ideas where to look for answers about who baby Anthony is and where he comes from?”

“Not off the top of my head. As I told Jeremy, this isn't exactly my area of expertise. But if you and
Jeremy would like to meet with me for dinner and do some brainstorming, I could do that. Regardless, I'd like to catch up with you.”

“Sure. I'll tell you, Jeremy could use some answers. Between opening a new private practice here in town, the baby and his father's disappearance, he's got a lot on his mind.”

“How long has William been gone?”

“Three months. Most of us have given up hope, but not Jeremy. He's sure William's alive.” Ross sighed. “Well, give me a call after you've talked to him. Anything you can say or do to help will be greatly appreciated, Rafe.”

“I will. Bye.” Rafe ended the call and cradled the phone while he continued to stare at Melina as she neared, having slowed as she'd gotten closer, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she breathed a little harder than usual.

She wore a glove—an unscarred, brand-new baseball glove she was working a ball inside of, forming a pocket.

Peripherally he was aware of Elliot walking beside her, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Last night after she'd kissed him, it had taken him more than a few seconds to gather his thoughts and make his way to his car. The kiss had been delicate yet hungry, soft and yet intense, triggering needs and wants he'd hoped to keep tamped down.

No such luck.

He'd driven home to an empty house and sat in a
darkened living room, trying to figure out how he would be able to spend concentrated time with her when one small kiss could destroy his equilibrium so completely.

“Hi, Rafe Mendoza!” Elliot said as they reached him.

“Hey, sport. Are you ready to play?”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

Rafe looked at Melina. Her cap brim and sunglasses did a good job of hiding her expression. “You look official,” he said, wanting to tug on her ponytail. “Are you, um, planning to…play?”

“I thought I would help rather than just sit on the bench waiting for a ‘what if' to happen.”

“So, not only have you learned to swim, you've also learned to play baseball?”

“How difficult can it be at this level?” She kept throwing the ball hard into her glove.

She was adorable. Rafe was sure he'd never used that word in his life before, but nothing else described her at the moment. Innocence and enthusiasm danced across her face.

“Can we go play now?” Elliot asked.

Several kids were already out on the field tossing balls back and forth. Beau and three other men, probably his assistant coaches, strode up. “I'll catch up with you. Start the boys off. Pair them up for tosses,” Beau said to one of the coaches, all of them looking like high school students. He glanced at Elliot. “Well, what're you waiting for? Go get with your team.”

Elliot's eyes opened wide. He looked at Rafe.

“I'll be there in a minute, sport. You can do this. They're just tossing the ball back and forth. You've done that, right?”

“Right.” He took off slowly, looking back frequently. Melina wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be okay.

Beau eyed her. “Interesting getup, Melina.”

“Thanks. I thought I should dress the part.”

“And what part might that be?”

“Assistant-assistant coach.”

His laugh started low then grew to a guffaw. “Good one.”

Her back stiffened. “I'm not kidding. I want to help.”

“I have strict standards, you know? People bring their kids from miles away to train here. Somehow I don't think you'll inspire confidence.”

She crossed her arms. “Well, first of all, since no parents are allowed at the practices, how would they know? Second, how do
you
know I wouldn't inspire confidence? Inspiring is something I'm really good at.”

“Your lack of athletic skill was legendary in high school. Have you improved?”

“Why don't you just let her help?” Rafe interrupted. “What's the harm?”

Melina bristled. “I can handle this, thank you.”

Rafe gave her a good, long look. “You got it,” he said, then loped away, heading toward Elliot.

Beau glanced from Melina to Rafe and back again, a speculative twinkle in his eyes. She swallowed her irritation and thanked him for allowing Elliot to play. “I know you didn't have to. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised how quickly he grasps the rules.”

“I've done a little studying on my own about his situation, Melina, and while you may be right about him grasping the rules, learning the skills isn't going to be an overnight thing.”

“None of these boys learned overnight. Nor were they expected to.”

“You're right. Their parents started them in T-ball when they turned four, then kept moving them up the ranks every year. They worked hard to get here.”

“And you have a reputation to maintain.”

“Damn straight.”

They reached an impasse. She swallowed her pride. “Rafe said you want me in the dugout?”

“During the games. For practice you can sit wherever you want.” He started walking backward. “I always admired you, Melina. You've got spunk. But here? In this place? I'm the boss.”

“Got it.”

He joined his team.

Disappointed, Melina made her way to the dugout to twiddle her thumbs. She kept working the glove the way her grandfather showed her as she watched Rafe and Elliot. Rafe didn't leave his side. She couldn't hear everything he said, nor could she see Elliot's expression, but his body language conveyed when
he was nervous or pleased, tentative or excited. The other boys weren't talking to him, but they were also busy every second doing a drill of some kind or an other, and Elliot wouldn't strike up a conversation with them. They needed to do the talking first.

Then batting practice started and everyone seemed to be holding their breath as Beau threw the first pitch. Elliot smacked ball after ball. Finally after a long string of hits, Beau said, “See that, boys?
That's
hitting. You could learn a thing or two from Elliot. He keeps his eyes on the ball.”

“That's an expression,” Elliot said. “It means I watch it real close. My batting average is .754,” he added, which probably didn't endear him to his teammates, who didn't understand that he wasn't bragging but just being honest.

“Well, you're batting a thousand today,” Beau said.

By the time practice was over, Melina was bored and hungry. She wanted to help. She wanted to play. She even admitted to herself that she wanted to be good at it, not have Beau laugh or Rafe patronize her.

“Good practice, sport,” Rafe said as they all walked to the parking lot, where Elliot's parents would pick him up.

“I didn't catch any fly balls,” he said, kicking at the dirt.

“You will. It just takes practice. Tomorrow night
we'll work on that and on picking up grounders, okay?”

He nodded glumly.

“It was fun watching you hit,” Melina said.

“That's easy.”

“I'm a grown-up, and I can't do that.”

“You're a girl.”

Rafe laughed.

“Girls can hit balls, too, Elliot,” Melina said, giving Rafe the eye so that he stifled his laughter. “We should watch one of the girls' games someday.”

“There's only guys in the major leagues.”

“Maybe it's time to change that,” she said. “There are professional basketball leagues for women. And golf.”

“Not football. It's hard. People get hurt a lot.” He spotted his parents getting out of their car and took off running to them. “I hit a thousand!”

“I'm sorry for interfering with Beau,” Rafe said to Melina as they followed Elliot more slowly. “He was being a jerk.”

“What's new?”

“He's more of a jerk now than when we were in high school,” Rafe said. “
Then
he was just relentless to get to the majors.
Now
he's fallen off the pedestal of success. It's a long fall, and a painful one.”