Reflection Point: An Eternity Springs Novel (10 page)

Before she could say any more, Sarah and Celeste arrived. “We saw your home run,” Celeste said. “What a great hit!”

“Thank you.” Savannah tried to smile at her greatest enemy’s clone, but she knew that what she offered was a sickly version. Intellectually, she recognized that Celeste Blessing and Francine Vaughn were two different people. Emotionally, she couldn’t see past the haunting kind eyes and familiar easy smile. The bottom line was that Celeste Blessing gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Sarah didn’t seem to notice Savannah’s awkwardness. “Oh, wow. You are awesome. With you on our team,
we’re gonna win. I just know it. So, how did it go with Zach today?”

Savannah bit back a sigh. Sarah was a newlywed. She obviously lived and breathed romance. “Let’s play baseball, shall we?”

Sarah frowned and looked ready to argue, but Celeste distracted her with a hand to her shoulder. “Sarah, I think you should take the pitcher’s mound so you have plenty of opportunity to warm up before the other team shows up for our practice game.”

“Practice game?” Savannah asked.

Sarah nodded. “Girls against the guys.”

Guys? Her stomach dropped. “Who are the guys?”

“Our husbands and friends. It’s a good time. We play by our own set of rules. The guys only get two outs per inning instead of three, and there’s a five-run cap per inning. Plus Jack Davenport and Mac Timberlake have to pitch left-handed. They’re too good otherwise.”

As Sarah jogged out to the pitcher’s mound, Savannah ground her teeth. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Zach Turner would be one of the “friends” who showed up to play. That seemed to be the way her luck was running.

She glanced toward the dog park and debated using Inny as an excuse to leave, but decided against it. She was enjoying herself. Be damned if she’d slink away and let him do his dirty work behind her back. Let him stand behind the plate and call her life like an umpire—a blind umpire. Or a heckler. A blind heckler who umpires.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“Yes, dear?” Celeste said.

Savannah frowned at the older woman. “Do you have relatives in Georgia, Ms. Blessing?”

“It’s possible. I’m from the Carolinas. You recognized my accent?”

“Something like that.” Savannah gave her a weak smile, then grabbed the glove and returned to the field of play.

Sarah proved to be a decent pitcher, but as practice continued, Savannah’s fingers itched to throw the ball. At ten minutes to the hour, the men began to arrive. Colt Rafferty showed first, his son in a papoose carrier on his back. Gabe Callahan arrived next, sans his twin daughters. “Your summer intern asked if she could babysit,” he explained to his wife. “I told her she’d regret it, but she insisted that if she could take a Rottweiler’s temperature, she could babysit our twins.”

Nic snorted. “And to think she’s near the top of her class in vet school.”

Cam Murphy and his son, Devin, showed up next and were followed shortly by Mac Timberlake and his sons, Chase and Stephen. That made seven players, enough for a team. Despite her better sense, Savannah’s hopes rose that the angels might smile upon her and Zach wouldn’t want to play softball with girls. He was a macho sort of guy, after all. Maybe he considered such activity beneath him.

By the third inning, she’d gotten caught up in the game and stopped watching for the sheriff. Her fellow players were a competitive bunch. She liked the way the guys didn’t go easy on their women—and the way the women used all the weapons in their arsenal, not only on-target throws but come-hither smiles and suggestive winks … and surely Nic Callahan hadn’t flashed her breasts at Gabe? Savannah must have imagined that.

She had just made a diving play for a pop fly that Ali had misjudged, stood up to her teammates’ cheers, and brushed the dirt off her shirt when she saw Zach arrive. He called a general hello and, with the inning over, loped out to cover second base. Sage batted first and struck out. Savannah batted next, and the way her luck had
been running, she hit a line drive just beyond Colt’s reach at shortstop; as it rolled toward the fence, she had no choice but to stretch the single into a double.

In the outfield, Mac Timberlake scooped up the ball. Running hard, Savannah judged the throw. She could make it. She simply needed to properly time her slide. She eyed the ball, then focused on the base and threw her legs out in front of her just as the sheriff squared up to catch the ball, blocking second with his body. Her feet caught him at the side of the knees, and he tumbled down on top of her.

Or maybe it was a mountain. He weighed a ton. Had he caught the ball? Had she touched the base? Broken a rib?

He rolled over and his big right hand spread out over her breast. And lingered. They both froze. He gazed down into her eyes, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze fell to her lips and seconds passed like hours.
No
, Savannah thought.
We are not doing this. Not again. Especially not in front of witnesses
.

She lifted her chin, narrowed her gaze, and declared, “Safe.”

He scowled. “Don’t begin to believe that.”

He finally moved his hand and rolled back onto his knees. “I tagged you. You’re out.”

“I got to the base first.”

“No, Peach. You were slow. You’re out.”

Suddenly furious, she scrambled to her feet. “Safe!”

“Out.”

“Safe.” She looked to her teammates for help, but their expressions weren’t encouraging. Sarah said, “It happened too fast.”

Nic shrugged. “Sorry, I had a bad angle.”

“Looked like a tie to me,” Rose offered.

Savannah pounced. “Tie goes to the runner.”

Zach shook his head. “Umpire, can we have a ruling?”

“The runner was out by a feather,” Celeste Blessing called. “So sorry, Savannah dear. You’ll do better next time.”

It was all Savannah could do to refrain from sticking her tongue out at the old bat. She’d bet a hundred dollars that at some point in time Celeste and Francine had hung from the branches of the same family tree—upside down.

Savannah walked off the playing field, but rather than take a seat on the bench, she stood off to the side and stretched her arms, mimicking throwing motions, warming up her muscles. When Colt struck out his sister-in-law for the final out of the inning, Savannah was ready. She approached Sarah, saying, “Let me pitch. I’m good.”

Sarah studied her face. “Zach will take a turn at bat now.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“This game is just for fun.”

“Oh, I intend to have fun.”

“Savannah …”

“I won’t hit him. I promise. I’m not just good, Sarah. I’m very good. The man deserves to be put in his place. He’s a pig.”

“Zach? Our Zach? He’s not a pig.”

“He used our collision at second base to cop a feel.”

“No … Zach’s not like that. It must have been an accident.”

Savannah could have told her otherwise. She had plenty of experience with law enforcement officials who used every opportunity that came their way to take advantage of a woman who had no power to defend herself. “All right. Maybe it was an accident. I still would like to pitch.”

“You won’t hurt him?”

“Maybe his pride.”

Sarah tossed her the ball. “Good luck with that.”

The chatter in the dugout slowly died when Savannah strode out to the pitcher’s mound.

Cam Murphy called to his wife, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. Our new team member wants to show us her stuff.”

That comment gave rise to good-natured whistles and catcalls, and Savannah played her part, smiling and waving and giving her hips a little jiggle.

“You gonna take a few practice pitches?” Nic asked, taking her place behind the plate as catcher.

Savannah glanced at Zach, who stood in the batter’s box, swinging the bat one-handed, then nodded at Sage. “A couple.”

The first pitch she threw slow and easy, a strike that thumped into Nic’s catcher’s mitt. The second pitch sailed across home plate similarly to the first. Savannah caught Nic’s return pitch, then nodded her readiness toward Celeste, who called, “Batter up.”

Zach stepped up to the plate. He took one practice swing, then another, then set his feet, drew back the bat, and awaited the pitch.

Savannah fired the pitch toward the plate. Zach swung and missed it by a mile.

“Whoa, what was that?” Colt exclaimed as Zach stepped out of the batter’s box and studied Savannah with a speculative look. Sarah chortled. Cam and Gabe stepped up to the fence, seeking a better view. In the outfield, her teammates whistled and cheered.

Zach stepped back up to the plate. He shot Savannah a challenging grin. She fired one of her own right back.

And then she blew a second pitch past him.

“A ringer,” Mac Timberlake marveled. “You’ve brought in a ringer.”

Zach got a piece of the third pitch, then she fooled him completely with an off-speed throw and struck him out. She resisted the urge to pump her fist and instead sent him a smug, victorious smile.

Everyone—except for Zach—cheered. Cam Murphy came up to bat next and started teasing her with challenges. She struck him out in three straight pitches. At that point the structure of the game disintegrated. All the guys wanted a turn at bat.

Savannah thoroughly enjoyed herself. She threw well, proving that muscle memory is a powerful thing. Some of the guys got hits off her, and the more times they faced her, the better they did. The women all wanted a chance at her, too, so Savannah’s arm got a good workout. It didn’t escape her notice that Zach never lined up for another turn. Neither did he leave. He stood watching her, studying her, and only when someone mentioned babysitters and people began gathering up their things to leave did he step up to the plate and ask, “How’s your arm? Do you have it in you to face one more batter?”

“You?”

“Yes. I think I can hit you, but I want to do it fair and square. If you’ve thrown too many pitches …”

No way would she back down on this challenge. Daring him with her smile, she said, “Batter up.”

It became a battle, with Zach getting a piece of the ball every time, though not enough of a piece to actually put the ball in play. Finally, on the twelfth pitch, he popped it into the air. Savannah took two steps back and made an easy catch.

The ballplayers, men and women alike, gave her a round of applause.

Colt Rafferty stepped forward. “So, Savannah, fess up. Where did you learn to pitch a softball? Did you play college ball? Are you an Olympian?”

Savannah glanced at Zach. He was watching her like a predator waiting to pounce.

So this was it, then. He was going to out her, spill her beans. All her new friends were here, and he would “protect” them with one grand announcement. She could read it in his eyes.

Well then. Fine. She’d just beat him to the stab to her heart. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and said, “Not an Olympian, no. I’ve played softball since I was a child, but I polished my skills while in pris—”

Zach’s voice boomed across the ball field, drowning her out. “Priscilla Hoskins. You’re from Georgia. I’ll bet Priscilla Hoskins was your high school softball coach. Didn’t she go on to coach at Georgia Tech? I’m right, aren’t I? You learned how to pitch from Priscilla.”

Savannah had never heard of a women’s softball coach named Priscilla Hoskins. She did, however, recognize a softball when one was lobbed her way. He wasn’t going to give her secret away, after all. Not here and now, at least. Why?

What was Zach Turner’s game?

SEVEN
 

The SARE meeting encountered a few bumps the following day. Zach was nursing bruises to both his ego and his ass as a result of his collisions with the Georgia peach. His colleague from Montrose had to leave halfway through the morning meeting due to a family emergency, and Ginger called Zach away from the afternoon meeting to work a single-vehicle accident just south of town. Nevertheless, they managed to get their work completed and plans finalized for the upcoming summer program.

Zach had thought long and hard before declining to serve as a program leader for a week in August. Two new deputies had accepted his job offers, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave a rookie department still in the midst of their first tourist season. Too many strange things happened in Eternity Springs during summer. He would miss his week camping with the kids, but maybe if today’s interview went well, he could make it up next year. Maybe volunteer for two weeks.

With that positive thought on his mind, Zach heard a laugh in the front office and he glanced up from his paperwork.

Well, well, well. His eleven o’clock interviewee had arrived early. Denver policewoman Gabriella Romano
and Ginger were chatting and neither woman noticed him, so he took the opportunity to study his visitor through the window in his office door.

She shared a family resemblance with her brothers, he decided. Her hair was dark, and she was tall for a woman, with a sleek, runway model build. He couldn’t see her eyes, but her smile was big and bright. She was a pretty woman. And single.