Authors: Kaylea Cross
The crowd murmured as Dani grounded out to shortstop.
“Next up for White Rock, number nineteen, Christa Bailey.” The announcement brought another round of cheering as she made her way to the plate from the on-deck circle.
“Come on, Christa,” a girl in a little league uniform shouted. “You can do it.” Her friends joined in with encouragement, clapping excitedly, a dozen grade schoolers all sporting inside-out hats backwards like rally caps.
Christa settled herself into the right-hand batters box, holding up one hand toward the umpire until she was ready. The pitch smacked into the catcher's glove, outside and low. “Strike!” yelled the umpire.
She returned to the box, awaited the next offering from the opposing pitcher, who shook off two signals before agreeing on a pitch. It zoomed in high and tight, causing her to jerk back to avoid being hit in the head. The crowd booed.
“Go get her, Christa!” her number one fan shouted.
Coolly she climbed back into the box, set comfortably into her stance and took a big cut at the next pitch, smoking it over the shortstop's head, and zoomed off in a dead sprint. The crowd went crazy as the throw home came too late and the runner on third scored. Christa went into overdrive, heading for second base.
The catcher wound up and hurled the ball down to the second baseman, who whipped her glove down in a sweep tag. Christa executed a hook slide and managed to grab the edge of the bag on the way by.
“Safe,” called the base umpire, and the crowd roared as Christa called time and dusted herself off.
The next batter struck out, leaving Christa stranded at second base. The teams cleared the field and White Rock assumed their defensive positions, a back-up catcher taking the first few warm-up pitches while Christa hurried to get her gear on. She jogged onto the field and crouched behind the plate, taking the last pitch and launching it down to second.
“Be a leader out there, Christa! You're the best they've got.”
The stalker's voice. She gritted her teeth. If her head had been locked into the game properly, she would never have heard him. She honed her focus as the inning started.
With two out, a runner was at second when the hitter pounded a line drive between the right and center fielders. The runner's base coach waved her on, and she rounded third in a spurt for home. Christa had thrown off her helmet and was standing at the plate, directing the first baseman into position for a possible cut-off play. The center fielder hurled the ball into the infield, but it was offline.
“Cut home,” Christa yelled above the crowd, bracing herself over home plate as her first baseman caught the ball and whirled to throw it home, the runner only a few strides away and not slowing.
She caught the ball and dropped to her knees to block the plate, bracing herself for the inevitable impact.
Oh, man, this is going to hurt.
The runner attempted a late slide and barreled into her, sending her flying. Her head slammed into the ground, blinding lights exploding before her eyes. She lay flat on her back, gasping to breathe. The ball... Had she managed to hold onto the ball? Voices murmured and blurry faces stared down at her before fading into swirling blackness.
Rayne shot to his feet. Christa lay unmoving in the dirt, curled on her side, while the umpire gestured for the coach and first-aid attendants. The base runner wobbled to her feet and with the help of a teammate limped off toward her dugout, favoring her right leg.
“Oh, God, Chris... ” Teryl had also jumped up, one hand over her mouth as the trainer rushed onto the field and bent to speak to Christa, then shook his head at the coach. Rayne's heart thudded in his chest. How badly had she been hurt? The trainer was checking her neck and spine, and when they turned her onto her back, her lips moved. He let out a relieved breath.
“She's conscious,” he told Teryl, holding her arm.
“Oh, thank God.”
“What the fuck was that?” The guy who'd been yelling comments at Christa throughout the game— presumably her stalker— pounded on the chain link fence. “What was that bitch trying to do, kill her?” A chorus of voices added to his tirade. “Yeah, you'd better hide in your dugout, lady. You're dead meat, do you hear me?” His face was a mottled red as he screamed at the shaken base runner, huddled amidst her teammates with an ice pack on her ankle.
“Sir, that's enough.” The umpire approached on the other side of the backstop. “We have everything under control.”
“Bullshit! She deliberately ran her down, we all saw it. What are you going to do about it?”
“I've called the runner out and the inning is over, that's what I've done about it. Any more outbursts like that and you'll be asked to leave this park.”
“She should be charged with assault for that stunt. Maybe she needs a taste of her own medicine, huh? Maybe I should show her how it feels to be knocked out.” The crowd gasped.
“That's it, you're out of here.” The umpire's face was crimson as he pointed to the outfield.
Rayne was about to offer assistance in removing the crazed fan when a couple of security guards made their way into the stands and escorted him away. He continued to shout all the way out of the park, everyone staring at him.
“You were great, Christa, do you hear me? She won't get away with this.”
Rayne was definitely worried now. The guy had serious issues.
In the wake of the outburst the park seemed quiet, every eye riveted to the inert form lying on the diamond. Finally, after an agonizing wait, Christa struggled to her knees amidst the roar of applause, wiping a smear of blood from her mouth. With a wave of reassurance to the crowd, she allowed her coaches to carry her from the field.
“Thank God,” Teryl breathed again and pulled out of Rayne's grasp. He followed her to the third base dugout, wondering if Christa would be taken to hospital. He hung back as Teryl made her way to the trainer and then to Christa's side. She waved him over so he hurried through the dugout, past her milling teammates, and hunkered down beside her and Teryl.
She stared up at him with dazed blue eyes. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself. You okay?” He studied her face as the trainer ran his hands over her ribs and stomach, glad she didn't give any indication of pain.
“Yeah. She rang my bell pretty good, though,” she admitted shakily.
“She lost consciousness for a few seconds,” the trainer told him, “but since she refused to have an ambulance called, she should go to the hospital for an exam.”
“I'm fine,” she protested, her speech slurred from her swollen, bleeding lip. She smiled sheepishly up at Rayne. “At least she was out. It always hurts less if they're out.”
“Oh, shut up,” Teryl snapped, helping to undo Christa's shin pads and cleats. “Only you would talk like that when you're lying there all smashed to hell.”
Christa winced. “She just knocked the wind out of me.”
“Whatever,” Teryl huffed, then regarded him. “I think we should take her to the hospital, just in case.”
“Sure.” He looked Christa in the eye, fighting that tug of awareness in his belly. “You okay for me to carry you?”
“I can walk— ”
“You can't,” Teryl interrupted and shot him a glower. “Hutch, this is vintage Christa you're witnessing. ‘No no, just because I got knocked unconscious, don't worry about me. I'll just crawl off somewhere by myself to pass out so I don't bother anyone.'” She angled a fulminating glare at her best friend and stuffed the last of her gear into her bag. “C'mon, tough girl, let's go.”
“I'm fine, really,” Christa insisted.
Rayne reached to scoop her up in his arms and felt her stiffen. He tightened his hold, a primitive part of him thrilling at the curl of her warm body against him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung there, rigid. “I'm not exactly a light weight,” she mumbled.
He smiled down at her dirt-streaked face, started for the parking lot. “To me you are,” he said simply.
He moved quickly, Teryl dogging his steps and peppering questions at Christa: “Are you sure you didn't break anything? Are you seeing double? Are you nauseated?”
“No, but you aren't helping my headache.”
Teryl narrowed her eyes at her but fell silent until they rounded the outer fence. “Oh, and the hits just keep on coming,” she remarked as they came face to face with Christa's obsessed fan. He catalogued the facial features. Medium height and build, dark blond hair, clean cut. A regular enough kind of guy on the surface, but those were often the ones you had to be wary of.
He caught sight of them, his eyes all for Christa, but when he saw Rayne carrying her he went still. His face crumpled and he seemed to take a moment to collect himself. “Are you all right, Christa?” he asked, trailing after them.
She tensed and pressed tighter to Rayne, and he gathered her closer against his chest. “I'm fine, thank you,” she called out, keeping her eyes downcast. Why couldn't the guy take a hint? Rayne wondered. She wasn't interested. End of story.
But the stalker stood there as they loaded Christa into her truck. “Is she going to the hospital? Because I can come up there and— ” He took a step back when Rayne closed her door and leveled his gaze right at him. He made sure it was a possessive look, one that warned him to back off and leave her the hell alone.
Rayne stared the guy down, hoping he wouldn't have to get physical to get his point across. “She's fine,” was all he said, and rounded the cab to slide into the driver's seat. He started the engine and pulled out of the parking space without looking back.
A few minutes before midnight they pulled into her driveway with Christa slumped in the passenger seat. She would have driven herself home if the dizziness hadn't made it impossible.
Rayne surveyed her. “I'll come in while you get settled, okay? I could even stay and wake you every hour like they said at the hospital.”
“No way,” she cried, dread flaring. God, imagine her waking up to see Rayne beside her bed all night. “You've already gone to too much trouble as it is. I'll just ice my leg, then go to bed.”
“You wouldn't let Teryl stay with you either, but I'd feel much better if I knew you weren't alone.”
Her heart stuttered. “Why, do you think something might happen?” She'd let him drive her home instead of Teryl because after the stalker's persistence at the ballpark, she felt safer with Rayne.
He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the contact giving her goose bumps. “I would just feel better if I was there in case you needed anything.”
His non-answer didn't reassure her. “Because you're my friend, or because you're a cop?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Both. And let's not forget you've got a mild concussion.”
She chewed her tender lip. She
was
pretty banged up. And if Rayne seemed concerned about the potential for overnight encounters with her crazed fan, maybe that was reason enough to have a cop in the house. But what was she thinking? He'd had dinner with her last night for the first time, and now she was debating letting him stay over?
“You could help me inside, if you don't mind,” she finally relented, and let herself out of the truck. Her head pounded like someone was playing a kettle drum in her skull and her neck was so sore she couldn't turn it without wincing. When she let them into the house they were greeted by an ecstatic Jake, who seemed thrilled his mistress had brought company home. He wagged his tail and gazed up at Rayne with adoring brown eyes.
“You're a suck,” he told him, but reached down to stroke his velvety ears anyway.
“I need a quick shower,” she said from the bottom of the staircase. “If you insist on babysitting me, you might as well make yourself at home.”
“Okay, but call me if you get dizzy or anything, all right?”
“Sure.” And then he'd come charging in to the bathroom while she was naked in the shower, and she'd have heart failure for sure. Those big hands sliding over her wet skin...
Stop that
.
The hot shower helped relax her battered muscles, and she threw on a top and shorts under her robe before heading back downstairs. Rayne was on the couch watching the sports highlights. She liked that he seemed so comfortable in her house. After finding a bag of frozen corn from the freezer she wrapped it in a dampened tea towel and joined him, propping her feet on the coffee table and placing her makeshift ice pack on her swollen, discolored thigh.
“Feel any better?” he asked.
“By better do you mean has my head stopped feeling like it's about to explode? Or have I stopped seeing double?”
“Both.”
“Then yes. Thank you.” She pushed aside the nerves that skittered through her stomach at his presence in her house, his nearness. He had seen her inside and made sure everything was secure, so now she should ask him to leave. But the prospect of spending the night alone tied her stomach in knots.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked instead. What in the world was she doing? She must have hit her head harder than she realized.
“I'm fine, thanks.”
She settled deeper into the couch, making sure she kept some distance between them. “So, while I was conscious, did you think I was intimidating out there?”
He stretched his long, muscular legs out in front of him. “I have to admit, I was impressed. You've got one hell of an arm. And you were like a general, leading from the front. Sort of scary to watch, actually. I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it.”
She laughed, adjusting her ice pack. “After people see me on the field for the first time, I'm suddenly Jekyll and Hyde.”
“That's probably because the rest of the time you don't seem capable of throwing your weight around like that.”
“Adds to my mystique.”
“Too bad you won't be able to play for a while.”
A hot spurt of alarm hit her. The final cuts to the national team were about to be made, and she needed to be out where the scouts could see her. “Oh, man. Why did this have to happen now?”
When she met his intense gaze, she stilled. Whatever he was thinking about, it was even more serious. “What?”