Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6 (18 page)

He’d expected Tony to assume yesterday’s comeback had something to do with Tricia’s research, and he was prepared to lie through his teeth. The truth was, he wasn’t sure how much her scientific theory had to do with him getting back on track and how much of it he could attribute to just being around her. Maybe what he’d needed wasn’t practical analysis, but to find a woman with a mind of her own to challenge him.

Tricia had helped him in both respects, he supposed. But she couldn’t do the same for every player. For her to be successful, her research had to stand alone, without emotional involvement. He had to convince Tony to continue in the program. He’d seen the two of them together. There were no sparks between them. The way it should be. It was just his fortune, good or bad that the two of them struck like flint from the very beginning.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Strikeout. I’m as happy as anyone on the team to have you back, but if Dr. Reed had anything to do with it, then we have a problem.”

“She didn’t. Trust me. I’ve been in a funk, you know, since Hannah left me. It just took me a while to get my head screwed back on right.”

The center fielder’s gaze remained steady, as if deciding whether he believed Royce’s story or not. He called on his years of appearing calm and cool under pressure to keep from squirming under his friend’s scrutiny. “You wouldn’t lie to protect her, would you, Royce?”

“Would you lie to protect Clare?”

Tony wasn’t stupid. He understood where Royce was going, dodging the question with one of his own. “Like a rug, my friend. Like a rug.”

“Then don’t ask me again. In the meantime, you continue with the program. She might have something, but we’ll never know if we pull the plug on her research now.”

“I don’t like it, but I’ll let her put those things on me for a while longer so she can get the data she needs. To tell you the truth, I don’t see how it will do any good.”

“If you’re asking me, you’ve got the wrong person. I majored in marketing. When she starts spouting scientific jargon, my eyes glaze over.”

Tony laughed. “
My
eyes glaze over,
yours
dilate. Big words turn you on. Don’t deny it. I’ve seen it.”

Royce chuckled. “Can’t deny she’s sexy as hell.” He pinned the bigger man with a death stare. “She’s mine, and don’t you forget it.”

“Or what? You’ll beat me up?” Tony’s smile took the edge off his words.

“No, I’ll tell Clare.”

Hand over his heart as if he’d been mortally wounded, the center fielder staggered backward. “Ouch. You don’t play fair, do you?”

“Not where Tricia is concerned. Keep your hands to yourself.” He jabbed his index finger toward his teammate. “You’ve been warned.”

“Okay, okay. I get the message. I’m in for now. Good game yesterday. I don’t give a shit how it came about, as long as it did.” With a wave, Tony headed toward the clubhouse door once more. “Gotta go. Some of us have to play
every
game.”

***

Sitting in the bullpen with nothing to do but watch the game, Royce had plenty of time to think. After trying several times to call Tricia, and all the attempts going straight to voicemail, he gave up on trying to reach her by phone. He’d asked the few people who knew of her association with the team, and none of them had seen her. Her absence, along with the message she left for Tony, led him to believe she had returned to Dallas. But, why?

It was frustrating, thinking of her so far away, and he had no way to contact her. What was she thinking? Did she have data linking his recovery to her work, and if so, was it something she could make public?

He doubted anything had changed in that regard, so there was no need to tell her team management had sent him to spy on her. The less she knew about his double role, the better.

After yesterday’s performance, he was certain it was only a matter of time before Doyle got around to asking him if Dr. Reed’s research contributed to his comeback. Telling Doyle the truth wasn’t an option. His best bet was to be noncommittal. He could say taking part in the project had forced him to pay attention to his mechanics, which was true, and as far as he was concerned, her project had little or no merit on a larger scale.

Throwing Tricia under the bus wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he had little choice. Telling Doyle her research was worthless would do less harm than admitting his comeback was based on data collected while receiving a blow job. Either way, Tricia wasn’t going to be happy about his report.

“Holy shit!” Jeff Holder jumped up. Royce, along with the other pitchers in the bullpen joined the Mustangs’ closer at the fence. “Did you see that catch?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Royce was in time to see Ramirez pop to his feet and make a throw to home plate. The runner on third base tagged up on the fly ball then made a break for home plate. He’d seriously underestimated the center fielder’s throwing ability. The player slid toward home. Jason fielded the perfect throw from his teammate, tagging the runner out smoothly.

Cheers rose all around him for the incredible double play to end the inning.

“Man, that guy is good.”

“He’s saved my ass a few times, too.”

“Glad he’s on our team now.”

Comments and praise flew as the pitchers returned to their seats. Royce remained at the fence, watching Tony walk, not run, to the dugout. A trickle of unease ran along his spine. Had the man been injured making the play? Or was he just savoring the memory with a slow walk off the field? Ramirez was one of their best players, offensively and defensively. Taking him out of the lineup would hurt the team.

Tony’s run-saving catch replayed on the jumbo screen. It was one of those amazing plays sportscasters around the country would remark on for years to come, but if Tony was injured on the play, the price of the runs saved was way too high.

Royce’s suspicions became certainty when a rookie, fresh up from the Minor League, stepped in to bat for Tony in the next inning. With a little luck, whatever was ailing the veteran player was something a good massage could cure, but Royce’s gut told him otherwise. There had been something telling in the man’s posture when he left the field earlier. The pitchers surrounding him were a quiet lot as they contemplated what losing Tony Ramirez meant to their individual Earned Run averages. The uninformed believed outfielders were nothing more than extras on the field, but every pitcher knew those three men were the last line of defense. Because they had so much ground to cover, outfielders had to be the fastest, and the strongest players on the team, and able to remain focused for nine innings while being far removed from most of the action.

Everyone, including Royce, glanced at Tony’s locker as they filed into the clubhouse, following their win against the Anglers. Word had traveled fast once he’d left the game. He’d pulled something in his arm or shoulder. No one knew the details, but the news quelled the usual exuberance following a win. Conversations were hushed, smiles were rare and didn’t make it to the eyes.

Royce had just slipped his suit coat on when Tony joined them in the locker room. He was still in uniform, minus his cleats and cap. A sling supported his right arm. Not good.

“Hey, man. What did you do?” He gestured to Tony’s injured arm as everyone began to gather around their friend and teammate.

“I have no idea.” Frustration laced the center fielder’s words. “One minute I was fine, the next, I wasn’t. Hurts like a son of a bitch, I can tell you that.”

Condolences came from all around. “Thanks,” he said, waving his good hand. “I’ll know more once I see the doctors back home.”

“You need help packing up?” Without waiting for an answer, Royce grabbed Tony’s duffle bag from the top shelf and began stuffing things inside. The sooner they got Tony back to Dallas, the better.

“Hey, leave my civvies out. I still gotta get out of my uniform.”

“They’re sending you back tonight, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. There’s a car waiting to take me to the airport. Can you help me get out of this?” Tony made an awkward attempt to free himself from the sling. “I need a shower.”

“Hold still and I’ll help you. It’s not as complicated as it looks.” Royce eased the strap over his head. “Call Tricia when you get home. This is the kind of shit her program is supposed to help with, for real. It wouldn’t hurt to consult with her.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You know how I feel about her research, but I saw what she did for you. It made me stop and think.”

“I’m not sure she did anything but help me get my head screwed on right, but your situation is different than mine. She might actually be able to help you.”

“Why don’t you come with me? You’re supposed to go back tomorrow anyway, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m pitching the first game of our home stand.” If he played his cards right, he’d have an excuse to see Tricia. “Take me with you when you see her.”

Tony raised one eyebrow. “I thought you two were tight.”

“Were. Past tense. She isn’t answering my calls.”

“I’m heading to the shower. If you can get a ticket on my flight, you can come along.”

***

She hadn’t expected the call in the middle of the night from Tony Ramirez. He was on his way back to Dallas to see a specialist, but he wanted to talk to her first. As she waited for him to arrive, she paced her small living room. With the team out of town, getting into the stadium would have been a challenge, so she’d invited him to her place instead.

Taking the red-eye from the West Coast, he was coming straight from the airport. While she waited, she put on a pot of coffee, as much for herself as for her early morning guest. She’d been up late, going over all the data she had from Tony, focusing specifically on the muscles in his right arm and shoulder area. According to him, the trainers and the doctor who traveled with the team didn’t have a clue what was wrong. An MRI hadn’t shown anything, yet his pain was real.

Her doorbell rang as she finished her first cup of the jolting brew. Setting her mug down on the short bar separating the kitchen from the living room, she made her way to the door.

Tony Ramirez was a big man. His shoulders and barrel chest filled her doorway, but she barely saw him. What captured her attention was the man standing beside him. Her heart kicked into an atypical rhythm that had nothing to do with the coffee she’d consumed and everything to do with finding Royce Stryker on her doorstep.

“Sorry to get you out of bed so early. Can we come in?”

Tricia mentally kicked herself for not taking more care with her appearance. After splashing cold water on her face, she’d pulled on a well-worn pair of sweatpants beneath the over-sized college T-shirt she used as a nightie. She ran a hand over her hair, wishing she’d done more than slap at it with a brush and corral it with an elastic band.

“Sure.” She stepped back so the men could enter. Her place was adequate for one, but the two new arrivals seemed to take up all the available space in her living room. She closed the door then edged past them to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“That’d be great,” Tony said.

“If it’s not any trouble,” Royce added.

She grabbed her empty mug off the counter, took two more from the cabinet and filled them. “Here you go. Make yourself at home while I put on another pot. Can I get you anything else? I think I have some cookies or something.”

She was rambling and she knew it, but seeing Royce in her apartment, just a few feet away from her bed had her nerves jumping. Her rational self knew the man was here to help his friend, not to see her. Her heart and her body wanted to believe otherwise, even though she’d seen him with another woman wrapped around him less than forty-eight hours ago.

“No. Don’t go to any trouble on our account.” Tony picked up one of the mugs and moved to the sofa, which looked ridiculously small once he’d sat.

“Coffee’s good.”

She risked a glance at Royce who remained standing while he sipped his coffee. If she reached out, she could touch him. “I’ll just get another pot started, then.”

Her hands shook as she measured the grounds into the paper filter. One of these days she planned to invest in one of the new style appliances you just popped a pod into. For once, she was grateful she hadn’t replaced her old model. Going through all the steps bought her a few extra minutes to get her conflicting emotions under control. She filled the carafe with water and dumped it into the reservoir then hit the brew button. After wiping the counter where she’d spilled grounds, she folded the dish towel and hung it neatly over the edge of the sink.

“You done in there?”

Royce.
She glanced up. Her gaze locked with his. She was tired, too tired to hide her feelings for the man, so she flicked her gaze to the other man in the room. “I saw your catch on the news. It was spectacular.”

“Not if it ends my career.”

Tricia sat on the sofa next to Tony. “What happened? Was it the catch? The hard landing? The throw?”

“I don’t know. It could have been either, or some combination of all three. When I came up to throw, my arm felt fine, but adrenaline can mask a lot of symptoms. I certainly had the power to make the throw, but afterward….” He massaged his upper arm. “I felt this dull ache. It started near my shoulder then went all the way down to my elbow.”

“How is it now?”

“My range of motion sucks. My arm still aches, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the injury or from being immobilized for this long.”

“You said the MRI didn’t show anything.”

“Nothing conclusive. They thought I’d torn something, but it wasn’t evident. They took X-rays, too. No broken bones.”

“What’s the next step?”

“More doctors. More tests, I guess. I don’t have a clue. That’s why I’m here. You’ve got all the data from before. I was hoping you could hook me up again, gather some information on what’s going on in there now. If I know what’s wrong, I can fix it. Right?”

“That’s the theory.”

“Then let’s give it a try. You fixed Strikeout, you can fix me.”

She dipped her chin to keep either man from seeing the heat creeping into her cheeks. “If he said I fixed him, he lied. He did it all on his own.”

“We both know I couldn’t have done it without you.” Royce stood over them.

The crisp creases in his slacks reminded her of the night she’d knelt at his feet. He’d done wicked, wonderful things to her—things she would never forget. Her clit throbbed with remembered ecstasy.

“I understand why you might think your work didn’t help me, but can we agree to disagree for now? All Tony wants you to do is see if your fancy program can detect what’s wrong. If he can point the doctors in the right direction, then they can decide on a course of action.”

Muffled music broke the tension. Tony stood, pulling a cell phone from his pants pocket. “Clare. I forgot to call her when we landed.” Moving toward the kitchen, he raised the phone to his ear. “Hi, babe. Sorry, I forgot to call.”

Deciding the only way to afford Tony any privacy in her small place, she looked up, intent on engaging Royce in conversation. His smile wasn’t a happy one. “I’m sorry I barged in on you this morning. Tony didn’t want to make the trip alone.”

“You’re a good friend to come with him, but won’t the team miss you?”

“I was supposed to fly home tomorrow…today…anyway. I’m scheduled to pitch tomorrow.”

“I never knew pitchers got special treatment.”

“Didn’t you?” This time, his smile was downright wicked. “You certainly know how to make a pitcher feel special.”

Tricia darted a glance toward the man in the kitchen. “Royce!” she hissed.

“Don’t worry. He might suspect, but he doesn’t know anything for sure, and if he did, he’d keep his mouth shut. If you had any idea the shit Tony has done, you’d faint dead away.”

“What kind of sh…stuff?”

He held a hand up. “Not my story to tell.”

Tony walked back into the living room. “That was Clare, my wife. I told her she could come over. I hope that’s okay?”

Oh Lord.
“I should put on some clothes.” She stood.

“You look fine,” Tony said. “Can you just hook me up, run the tests?”

“Let me get presentable.” No way was she letting the wife of a Major League Baseball player catch her in sweatpants and a sleep shirt. It was bad enough Royce and Tony had seen her at her worst. She made a quick dash for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Standing in the tiny walk-in closet, she stripped to her panties. She had just fastened her bra when her bedroom door opened. The closet door swung outward, and since she lived alone, she kept it propped open with a brick. With nothing between her and whichever man was in her bedroom, she grabbed for the first thing she could get her hands on.

Royce filled the doorway. Her foolish heart did a flip-flop before she remembered he wasn’t hers. Whatever reason he had for cornering her, it wasn’t the reason she hoped it was. It never would be.

“Nice shirt.” His gaze tracked downward. The corners of his mouth lifted in a genuine smile.

Gripping the hanger in a tight fist, she let her hand drop to her side. What difference could a shirt make? He’d seen more of her than was revealed by her bra and panties. “What do you want?”

“To thank you for what you did for me, and to tell you, you didn’t have to leave. I wasn’t going to tell the press about us.”

If he’d thrown a fastball at her heart, he couldn’t have wounded her any deeper. She’d done nothing but think about what happened between them since she left Seattle. He had no way of knowing she’d seen him after the game with another woman, and she wasn’t going to tell him. Let him think what he would about her reasons for leaving. He was partially correct in his assumptions. She had fled for the reasons he stated, among others he’d never know. He’d clearly moved on, and she’d been afraid he would tell the world what a fraud she was. But before her plane touched down in Dallas, she’d come to another conclusion, one she suspected was the real reason she’d run away in the night. She’d fallen completely in love with Royce. If she’d needed proof her feelings weren’t returned, she’d gotten it in that touching scene in the parking lot after the game.