The Heat Is On (2 page)

“Hey, Con Man, welcome aboard!”

Jake Baldwin, shortstop for the New Jersey Sonics, greeted him with a slap on the back as he entered the locker room.

It was a hot summer day in June, the kind that was perfect for baseball. Already the fans were filing into the stadium, grabbing a beer and a hot dog, and making their way into the stands. He wasn't surprised that a considerable number of people had shown up early to watch batting practice and the pregame antics. Trenton was a sports town, and Sunday afternoons at the ballpark were as much a ritual as any religious service.

“Thanks.” Connor opened his locker and removed his cleats. It felt so damn good to be home. “Glad to be here. Feel bad about Cody, though.”

“I know,” Jake said, glancing at the locker beside his. “A hand injury sucks. But he'll be okay. I hear we've got you for this season, and then you retire?”

“That's the plan.”

“Aren't you a little young for a rocking chair?” Brian McCauley smirked.

“I'll be thirty-seven. I'm sure you guys know as well as anyone that catching is hard on the body. I want to finish healthy and strong, and enjoy some of my life.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Jake said as Connor took a seat, ignoring Brian, who pretended to totter toward his locker like an old man.

The other players began to arrive, and he received greetings, Sonics style, from his new teammates. He knew most of them, having been in baseball his entire life, and having played the Sonics many times over the years. Chase Westbrook, their ace pitcher, sent him a welcoming grin, Derek Bartus gave him a fist pump, and Shawn Anderson gestured with something like a peace sign. But Connor's smile grew broad when his buddy Carlos entered the room, tossing a pitching glove into the air and catching it with his left hand.

“Hey, who let you in here?” Carlos smirked, and Connor rose to shake his hand, which turned into an embrace. “You guys let any redneck on this team!”

“Absolutely,” Jake said, shrugging. “We're like the Bad News Bears.”

The new catcher and pitcher were greeted enthusiastically by the players, and Connor turned to Gavin King, giving him a high five.

“Glad to see you here! We could use your bat. How did you finish last year, around .350?”

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “I have to admit it was an adjustment coming to the Sonics after the Dodgers, but it turned out to be a great move. Hope it works out as well for you.”

“I have a good feeling about this team and this year.”

When Connor reached into his locker for his jersey, he was stunned to see dozens of green packages of Depends for men falling to the floor. He sent Jake a knowing look as the adult diapers littered the floor of the locker room.

“Looks like word got out that you are retiring.” Jake smirked as the team broke into laughter. “I guess the boys want to make sure you play it safe.”

Connor shook his head as Brian guffawed, and even Carlos grinned as if in on the prank. “I've heard about this stuff with you guys. That you are all crazy.”

Jake put his arm around his shoulders as if in consolation as the rest of the team continued to laugh. “Welcome to the club.”

They were playing the Nationals, who in the past couple of years had developed into a contending team. With Ryan Zimmerman at first base, and Bryce Harper healthy, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Connor assumed his catcher's squat and signaled to pitcher Jimmy Riley for a curveball. Knowing that a trade was likely, he'd spent weeks reviewing videos and was up to speed on each starter's strengths and weaknesses. Jimmy had a good curveball, but he also had location problems. To his annoyance, Jimmy shook him off.

He repeated the signal, this time more forcefully; Jimmy's eyes met his and, like a rebellious teenager, he went for the heat and threw a fastball. Not surprisingly, the Washington batter nailed the pitch into left field and trotted easily to first base.

Damn.
Connor hid his emotions as the next batter approached. He knew better than to send Jimmy an “I told you so” look or display his frustration. Developing a relationship with a pitcher took time. He didn't anticipate this kind of issue with Chase; the man was too good, and too much of a professional, to let ego get in the way of the game. And, of course, he and Carlos would have no problem at all. Years ago when they played together, Carlos insisted that he catch him. They had developed the perfect pitcher-catcher chemistry, and Carlos entirely trusted him to call the game.

But Jimmy was young and immature. And he looked hung over. As he threw another fastball right across the plate, he was damn lucky that the batter chose to let the first pitch go and earned a strike.

They both knew he wouldn't get another gift like that.

Sure enough, the hitter tattooed the next one just over Jake's head, and the first runner advanced to second. With two men on and no outs, the pitching coach, Dick Dubell, came out of the dugout to have a word with Jimmy. The young pitcher seemed to take Dick seriously, and when Connor squatted once more, the curveball fell neatly into his glove.

“Strike!” the umpire bellowed.

Unfortunately, by the fourth inning, the rebel was back and Jimmy gave up a grand slam. No one was surprised when Pete took him out of the game, but they still lost.

The game over, Pete approached Connor in the locker room. “Sorry about what happened today. A veteran like you deserves more respect. Too bad your offense was wasted, too; you got two RBIs and a home run. I'll talk to Jimmy. If we want to play baseball in October, we need him to produce. And he's got to stop the partying, or there's going to be hell to pay.”

As Pete mashed his bubblegum, Connor had to smile. For all his folksy ways, Pete didn't miss much, especially when it came to his players. He'd taken the team pretty far in the past few years, almost winning a World Series. It took a lot of effort and focus to rein in these guys, but somehow he managed to do it, and for all their antics, the Sonics had been a contending team for the past three years.

“I'm sure you figured out that this isn't exactly an elite team,” Pete commented. “We have players who just came up from AAA, and this is their first time in the majors. And then we have guys we've picked up cheap because they are older, or a problem on another team. We don't have the kind of budget that New York has, so we have to make do.”

“Yeah, I know. The guys have a reputation for practical jokes, boozing, and fighting.”

“Right.” Pete blew out a pink bubble, and then popped it with his tongue. “I hired a PR woman, Nikki Case, a couple years back, to clean up their image. She did all that, and it was good for a while. But now they're back to their old tricks, and I realized we were just putting lipstick on a pig. What we need is a leader, on the field and in the locker room. Someone with experience. Someone who knows how to keep their cool. Someone like you.”

Connor's mouth dropped. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Nope.” Pete looked him right in the eye. “I've known you for a long time, know what you're made of. You have a good influence on the other players, and that's what we need here.”

Connor shook his head. “With all due respect, I didn't come here to babysit. A lot of these guys are very talented, but if they don't give a shit about themselves or the game, not my problem.”

Pete shrugged, unperturbed. “I get that. But you could make a real difference here. Even for guys like Jimmy. He needs to get used to other catchers besides Cody. Your approach is the right one, to build a relationship and earn his trust. You did that in Arizona—”

“That was entirely different,” Connor cut in. “Those were seasoned players. And I'd been with the team long enough for them to respect me. I'm here for a couple of months, and then that's it. If I tried to lead them, I'd have to go through all the rebellious crap, all the resentment, and for what? I just want to finish my career, hopefully win a Series, and then settle down at the Jersey shore with a nice girl and vacation in the Caribbean in the winter. That's my dream.”

Pete nodded and put a fond hand on Connor's shoulder. “I get what you're saying. But sometimes a man has to dig deeper to do something meaningful. To leave a legacy he can truly be proud of. Not just take the easy way out. Think about it.”

When he shuffled out of the locker room, Connor rose, feeling that someone had just won the debate, and it wasn't him.

If Pete thought he was here to act as a motivational coach, he had another think coming. For his part, he would give 110 percent the way he always did.

He hoped that would be enough.

Carlos was waiting for him at the bar, along with Jake and Gavin. Shoving a beer his way, his old friend grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So who would have ever thought we'd wind up back in New Jersey, playing for the Sonics?”

“I know,” Connor said, taking a deep swig of the beer, and returning his pal's look. “Kind of gets me right here.” He indicated his gut.

“So how far back do you guys go?” It was Jake who asked, noting the easy rapport between the pitcher and catcher.

“We played together in college,” Connor said. “Then this guy moved south.”

“Atlanta offered stability,” Carlos continued, unruffled. “That was important to me once I married and had a family. I was a good pitcher but knew I wasn't destined to be one of the greats. Unlike you.” He indicated Connor.

“How many children do you have?” Jake asked the pitcher.

“Three.” Carlos grinned.

“Wow.” Gavin's eyes widened as he glanced at Jake.

Carlos dug into his pocket for his phone and displayed a picture. “I miss them a lot when I'm on the road. But my wife was really happy to come back here.”

“I was, too, until I talked to Pete,” Connor said, reaching for the bowl of peanuts and pulling them closer. “He made it clear he wants me to reach out and mentor some of these guys, become some sort of leader for the club.”

Jake snorted. “Good luck with that. My girlfriend, Nikki, tried to do that year before last, and the team pranked her mercilessly.” He gave Connor a sharp-eyed appraisal. “Don't let management manipulate you into taking that on.”

“I can see why he'd suggest it,” Carlos said thoughtfully. “Someone with your experience could really help this team, especially when we get to the playoffs. Some of the younger guys lack focus.” He glanced at Jimmy, who scowled from the other end of the bar. “You could make a big difference.”

“No thanks,” Connor said firmly. “I've done my time. Jimmy I have to deal with. But the rest of these guys? They're on their own.”

When Connor got to the ball field early on Sunday for batting practice, he noticed that several of the players hadn't shown up yet. They'd had a late night at a bar outside Trenton, and more than one of them would be feeling the effects today.

Pete scowled as he surveyed his team. The professionals were there: Jake, Chase, Gavin, Brian, and a few others. But a couple of the new kids were clearly nowhere in sight.

A group of fans had gathered in the stands near the dugout, hoping to meet a couple of the players and maybe get an autograph. Chase was obliging a little girl who offered up a ball with both hands, and Brian autographed a photo. Glancing at the outfield, Connor saw that the hitting coach, Matt Leon, was helping Jake with his swing, so he joined Chase and immediately was asked to sign everything from a jersey to a woman's thigh.

“How about your arm instead?” He grinned as the bikini-clad girl wearing a banner that said
Baldwin's Beauties
sighed and handed Connor a marker, closing her legs and proffering the back of her hand.

“You're no fun,” the redhead said, batting her eyes at him.

“Yeah, I've heard that.” He signed her arm, and then handed back her Sharpie as she pouted.

When he looked up once more, his heart stopped.

Tracy
.

For an embarrassing moment, he froze. He couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't think.

Damn
.

His eyes slid over her, remembering. She had filled out a little, but otherwise looked exactly the same. She was dressed casually, wearing a baseball cap with a blond ponytail poking out through the back, a Sonics T-shirt, little makeup, and no jewelry. Yet she appeared adorable, with that same breezy girl-next-door appeal that had made him crazy fifteen years ago.

And apparently still did today.

“Hi, Connor,” she said softly, in that breathy voice that had always made him hot.

“Trace.” He couldn't stop the silly grin that broke out on his face or hide his genuine pleasure. He felt like he was a college kid all over again, working up the nerve to ask out a girl. But this wasn't just any girl; this was Tracy,
his
Tracy.

He shook off the emotions fighting within him. What the hell was wrong with him? He was a successful baseball player, not a schoolboy. He'd started from nothing and had spent the last decade carving out a place for himself in a highly competitive sport. And he'd made it. She had to be impressed by that.

Had to be impressed by
him
.

He cleared his throat. “It's good to see you. I was going to call you once I settled in, but this is even better, that you came to the game.”

“Yes, I'm here with my family…”

He couldn't catch the rest of what she was saying as the announcer began to speak. But he recognized her father in the growing crowd, and the older man returned his wave.

“Listen, I have to get going,” Connor said, glancing at the clock. “I've got to get in some batting practice before we start. Will you be around later?”

“I don't know if we'll stay for the whole game.”

“Can you send me a text then? So I can get your phone number,” he explained when she seemed hesitant, and displayed his cell.

“Um, okay,” she said, fumbling for her phone. He was surprised to see her pull out several bags full of what looked like popcorn, finally retrieving her cell from underneath. She sent him the message, pocketed the phone, and then handed him an autograph book.

“You're kidding, right?” he said as he saw the familiar scrawls gracing the pages.

“Nope.” She grinned, handing him a pen. “Can you make it out to Mason?”

His eyes shot to hers, narrowed. “Is that a boyfriend?” he growled, and heard her lighthearted laughter.

“Maaybee,” she said, her eyes twinkling as if at some private joke.

“Better not be,” he said, giving her a mock threatening look as he handed her back the book. “If I don't see you after the game, I'll give you a call.”

She nodded, and he had to resist the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly, claiming her as his own. But he hadn't seen her in years, and he was sensing something, some kind of hesitation on her part.

As he walked back onto the field, he decided it was probably just his imagination. After all, she was divorced, and most likely reluctant to trust a man again.

And even though the breakup between him and Tracy had been mutual, maybe she was afraid of getting hurt.

Afraid of him
.

Professional athletes, he knew firsthand, weren't always the most loyal. There was too much temptation, too much time on the road, and too many women throwing themselves at them.

But as he returned to batting practice, he was certain of one thing: Tracy Coleman was the woman for him. And whatever barriers he had to knock down, he was more than capable.

“So what did Connor say?”

Tracy saw the interested look in her mother's eyes as she pushed the stroller, while her father gathered up Chloe and Ethan. Mason was happily munching a hot dog as they made their way to their seats.

“Nothing much,” Tracy said, settling the kids in as the fans rose for “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “He signed Mason's book.”

She knew her mother wanted more but was grateful when the singer began the familiar song. Her thoughts about Connor were something she wanted to keep to herself, especially since she was surprised at her own reaction to him.

Crap
. It was just like that day years ago when she felt him looking at her in college. She was coming out of the library, buried in books, when his eyes seared into hers and he gave her that megawatt grin. The books promptly hit the grass, and she'd cringed in embarrassment as he stooped to help her pick them up.

What was it about this man, that his smoldering glance still made her weak in the knees?

She was still feeling it, that same crazy attraction, and she fanned her face with a napkin as the singer struck the high notes. When she got to the part about the bombs bursting in air, she had to hide a smile. It described perfectly what was going on inside her.

And that was just from asking for an autograph.
What would she do if she were in his arms?

The ache in the pit of her stomach returned as she reminded herself that he'd left her once before. Baseball had taken him away, had been more important. Even though she'd understood, the loss was like a gaping hole in her heart that nothing could fill, and certainly not something she'd like to experience again…

When the song was finished, Tracy took her seat, grateful for the few moments to pull herself together.
Nothing is going to happen,
she told herself firmly. Too many things had changed, too much time had passed. And if she needed any further convincing, all she had to do was look at the four little heads beside her.

Four little heads she hadn't mentioned to him
.

Guilt consumed her and she tried to rationalize. There hadn't been time, she really didn't want to explain all that in the few minutes it took to get the autograph. Yet she could have easily said that Mason was her son when he asked her directly.

Instead, she'd flirted with him…

What was wrong with her? She shook her head in disgust. She was acting like a teenager all over again. And although she didn't want to remember, as she fingered the gold heart necklace she still wore beneath her T-shirt, she couldn't help the images that flooded through her mind:

Snuggling in bed with Connor as he explained the game and his strategy.

Watching him play, going to his games, and cheering her heart out.

Making love to him in the backseat of his Chevy, shattering beneath him as he expertly brought her over the edge…

“Mommy, I have to go to the bafroom.”

She grinned. “Okay, let's go.” She reached for Mason's hand, and led him and Chloe to the family restroom.

So much for romance.

A thunderous cheer broke out as she helped Chloe wash her hands. “Hurry up!” She tried to usher the kids along. “Something good is happening.”

“Come on, Chloe!” Mason tried to rush his sister along, but she was determinedly rubbing her hands together under the dryer. The ragged
Frozen
princess costume got wet, and that had to be dried as well.

“Chloe!” Mason stamped his foot impatiently.

“All wight!” She rolled her eyes in resignation, and then wiped her hands on his pants.

“Hey!” Mason rounded on her, but Tracy stepped between them and deftly picked up her daughter, escorting them both back to their seats.

“You missed it,” her father said, taking Chloe and indicating the field. “Jake threw a bullet to first base for a double play.”

The crowd was still cheering. Distributing her plastic snack bags, she got the children settled and was able to once more focus on the game.

Connor squatted and signaled for a curveball. Chase sent the pitch over the outside corner of the plate, but the batter nailed it over the left field fence for a home run.

The next pitch was a slider, and Chase got the third out. But the crowd was merciless, and let the Sonics know in no uncertain terms that they were not thrilled to see a run posted by the hated Yankees.

“Tough break,” her father commented, shaking his head. “It was a decent pitch. Too bad the guy nailed it.”

Tracy and the kids lasted until the seventh inning. By then they had exhausted all of the weapons in her arsenal. Her mother had taken Mason, Chloe, and Ethan to the playground twice, and her father had treated them to ice cream and souvenirs. But by the time the crowd rose to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” the kids were done.

Lily, snuggled in her car seat, fell asleep immediately, while Ethan dozed. Mason fingered his new baseball cap, taking it off and putting it back on as Chloe giggled. Her father was in the passenger seat and turned on the radio so they could hear the final score: Yankees 1, Sonics 0.

“That's too bad,” her mother said from the backseat, shaking her head. “I hope Connor doesn't get the blame.”

“He shouldn't,” Tracy said. “After all, Chase got no run support. I guess it was an off day.”

Just then Chloe discovered her brother's head on her shoulder. “Get off!” She shoved Ethan, who woke up cranky. Immediately, he pushed her back.

“He's touching me!” Chloe glared at her brother, who sucked his thumb and returned her look, while Mason elbowed her.

“Stop it.” Tracy gave them her best mommy stare, to no avail.

“Looks like an off day for more than the Sonics,” her father said in amusement as the kids continued to torture each other.

Tracy gave him a wan smile. “I don't know. We made it to the seventh. A year ago, getting to the third was a major undertaking. I consider this progress.”

Yet as she glanced out the window, it was crystal clear to her that no man would go out of his way to take all this on.

Especially not a major league athlete used to the good life.