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Authors: Linda Morris
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since before she was born. The first boy she’d had a crush on, and the homecoming queen he’d married.
He watched her point and wave to onlookers. “Do you know everybody in town?”
“Not everybody, but the Thrashers are the biggest claim to fame this town has. When I was growing up, most everyone went to the games. Not as much anymore. Paul always says, between the Internet and satellite TV, people have more choices. Still, the Thrashers are my family’s legacy. My grandfather founded the team and went to games until the day he died.” She could still remember him sitting in his customary seat behind home plate, frail and silver-haired, but still reading the riot act to any Thrashers batter who swung at a bad pitch.
“That’s great.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little wistful? Surely not. He had an eight-figure deal with a major league baseball team. He lived the kind of life most little boys dreamed of and very few achieved. A backwater like Plainview had nothing to offer him except a few rehab starts and a few nights of boredom until he went back to the big leagues, where he belonged.
“I take it you didn’t grow up in a small town.”
“We moved around a lot. I went to high school in Tampa.”
“Were your parents in the military or something?” Paul had never told her much about Tom’s history. He’d been the star of their college team, but she didn’t know anything about his past before that. She really had no idea where he came from.
“No.” Was it her imagination, or did his grin falter for the briefest moment?
Okay, so apparently he didn’t want to talk about his upbringing. Odd. She’d found a chink in his good-time party-boy armor.
A couple of PR interns walked alongside the car, launching Thrashers T-shirts and prize packs into the crowd with a giant slingshot. Behind them, the Plainview High marching band struck up “Crazy Train,” making conversation impossible.
The Pontiac cruised down Main Street, made a right, and cut over to Walnut to double back to the courthouse square. There, the driver pulled off of the road, back to the staging area. He turned around. “Sit tight for a minute until this jam clears. I’ll park the car behind the trailers and you can get out then.”
“That’s it?” Tom looked around.
“That’s it. Our downtown area doesn’t take long to cover. It’s not exactly the big cities you’re used to—like Chicago,” Sarah added with a wry smile.
He shrugged. “I haven’t even played there yet, except away games versus the Cubs when I was a Marlin.”
“How do you feel about your new team?”
“I’m happy as hell to be getting back to the big leagues and getting started on that World Series ring. If there is any justice, we’ll win it by beating the Marlins.”
She tilted her head. “Holding a grudge?”
He shrugged. “I gave them everything I had, and when I blew out my UCL, they decided they didn’t want to pay an injured veteran his market worth. No big deal. This is a business, not a social club. I’m off to Chicago and I’m going to make them pay dearly for the huge mistake they made when they let me get away.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a Marlins batter facing you in the World Series,” she said truthfully.
“Me neither.” He grinned, more predatory than mirthful.
They dismounted from the car. “Let’s walk to the pitching clinic. The Little League ball field is only a block away, and it will be faster than driving in all this traffic.”
When she’d come up with the idea to walk to the ball diamond, she hadn’t counted on the curious bystanders. They set out on foot, but were soon slowed by the inevitable admirers. Whether it was a PR event or a walk down the street, Tom drew fans.
He stopped a dozen times to sign autographs, always with a wink and a smile. When a busty blonde asked him to sign the tight fabric of her jersey, Sarah watched him closely, sure he would leer and ask for her number, but
He watched her point and wave to onlookers. “Do you know everybody in town?”
“Not everybody, but the Thrashers are the biggest claim to fame this town has. When I was growing up, most everyone went to the games. Not as much anymore. Paul always says, between the Internet and satellite TV, people have more choices. Still, the Thrashers are my family’s legacy. My grandfather founded the team and went to games until the day he died.” She could still remember him sitting in his customary seat behind home plate, frail and silver-haired, but still reading the riot act to any Thrashers batter who swung at a bad pitch.
“That’s great.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little wistful? Surely not. He had an eight-figure deal with a major league baseball team. He lived the kind of life most little boys dreamed of and very few achieved. A backwater like Plainview had nothing to offer him except a few rehab starts and a few nights of boredom until he went back to the big leagues, where he belonged.
“I take it you didn’t grow up in a small town.”
“We moved around a lot. I went to high school in Tampa.”
“Were your parents in the military or something?” Paul had never told her much about Tom’s history. He’d been the star of their college team, but she didn’t know anything about his past before that. She really had no idea where he came from.
“No.” Was it her imagination, or did his grin falter for the briefest moment?
Okay, so apparently he didn’t want to talk about his upbringing. Odd. She’d found a chink in his good-time party-boy armor.
A couple of PR interns walked alongside the car, launching Thrashers T-shirts and prize packs into the crowd with a giant slingshot. Behind them, the Plainview High marching band struck up “Crazy Train,” making conversation impossible.
The Pontiac cruised down Main Street, made a right, and cut over to Walnut to double back to the courthouse square. There, the driver pulled off of the road, back to the staging area. He turned around. “Sit tight for a minute until this jam clears. I’ll park the car behind the trailers and you can get out then.”
“That’s it?” Tom looked around.
“That’s it. Our downtown area doesn’t take long to cover. It’s not exactly the big cities you’re used to—like Chicago,” Sarah added with a wry smile.
He shrugged. “I haven’t even played there yet, except away games versus the Cubs when I was a Marlin.”
“How do you feel about your new team?”
“I’m happy as hell to be getting back to the big leagues and getting started on that World Series ring. If there is any justice, we’ll win it by beating the Marlins.”
She tilted her head. “Holding a grudge?”
He shrugged. “I gave them everything I had, and when I blew out my UCL, they decided they didn’t want to pay an injured veteran his market worth. No big deal. This is a business, not a social club. I’m off to Chicago and I’m going to make them pay dearly for the huge mistake they made when they let me get away.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a Marlins batter facing you in the World Series,” she said truthfully.
“Me neither.” He grinned, more predatory than mirthful.
They dismounted from the car. “Let’s walk to the pitching clinic. The Little League ball field is only a block away, and it will be faster than driving in all this traffic.”
When she’d come up with the idea to walk to the ball diamond, she hadn’t counted on the curious bystanders. They set out on foot, but were soon slowed by the inevitable admirers. Whether it was a PR event or a walk down the street, Tom drew fans.
He stopped a dozen times to sign autographs, always with a wink and a smile. When a busty blonde asked him to sign the tight fabric of her jersey, Sarah watched him closely, sure he would leer and ask for her number, but
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