crowd let out their breath and clapped. “Jeffy! Jeffy! Jeffy!”
The pitcher glanced at third base, then threw the ball at the baseman. Rick shook his head. “Just pitch the ball, Stu.” He turned back to Jeffy. “Nice and easy, now. Just like practice.”
Jeffy nodded and tightened his grip on the bat.
The coach from the other team laughed. “No worries, folks. We’ve got the game. That trophy is as good as ours.”
Stu shook off the catcher’s first two calls. He nodded and threw the ball.
Crack.
Martha’s eyes opened. “He hit it?”
Elizabeth grinned and helped her to her feet as Rick flew toward home and planted his feet on home base. He then stood to watch Jeffy charging toward first base before the ball could get there.
His feet touched the base.
The ball hit the baseman’s glove.
“Safe!”
With a roar, fans rushed the field, carrying Jeffy away in their excitement. Elizabeth helped Martha down from the stands, but even his own mother couldn’t get to Jeffy through the crowd. Everyone was hugging him. Shouting and crying. All trying to get the chance to put their hands on the young man the other team said couldn’t play.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. This was better than anything on television.
* * *
MARTHAWALKEDUPto Rick and hugged him. “Thank you for believing in Jeffy.”
“Thanks for letting him play.” He patted her back. “You’re bringing him to the diner after?”
“He wouldn’t let us miss it.” She wiped her eyes and turned to find her son amid the crowd.
The opposing coach cleared his throat until Rick turned around and accepted the trophy. “Thanks.”
The coach shrugged. “We underestimated you.”
“The underdog has to win at least once.” They shook hands briefly before the coach walked away.
“Still tilting at windmills?”
At Lizzie’s voice, Rick turned to face the inevitable moment. It had been coming since he’d spotted her in the bleachers. She looked good. Too good. Despite the fact that she wore her power suit like armor.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
He started to walk around the bases, picking them up and slapping them together to get off the dirt. “Because they all say the same thing, Lizzie. And my answer hasn’t changed.”
“If you’d just listen—”
“I don’t need to. True Love was a onetime shot. I don’t need to relive that time of my life. I’ve moved on.” He bent and stuffed the bases into the equipment bags, zipped them shut and hoisted them over his left shoulder. He waved with his free hand to some friends. “See you at the diner,” he called after them when they honked their car horns.
“No offense, Rick, but it doesn’t look like you’ve moved much from when I met you five years ago.”
Rick turned to observe her. One of television’s top reality-show producers stood on a dusty baseball field wearing designer clothes that cost more than what most of the people in this town made in a month. Her haircut, though attractive and stylish, probably cost enough to pay the grocery bills. She didn’t have a clue about how his world operated. Yet here she was. Standing on his turf. Trying to convince him to make another mistake.
He opened his mouth, a smart retort on his tongue, but instead stalked off the field toward the parking lot, where two vehicles remained. He glanced at the rental that obviously belonged to Lizzie and shook his head.
“Something wrong with my car?” He could hear the smile in her voice.
He put the bags in the back of his truck but didn’t look at her. “It’s a convertible.”
“I know.”
He turned to face her. “In Michigan.” She didn’t get it. Probably never would, Rick was sure.
Lizzie’s smile faded into a frown. “And?”
Rick shrugged and sighed as if to say it was her funeral. “The weather changes every five minutes here.”
“But I look good in a convertible.”
He sighed. Some things really didn’t change. “Always going for style over substance.”
“Are you judging me?” She took her sunglasses from the perch atop her head and slid them over her eyes. “I thought we’d gotten past that. I thought we were friends.”
Rick swallowed and tried to fight the feeling that he’d messed up again. “Friends who haven’t talked or seen each other since I got dumped on television.” He took off his ball cap and hit his thigh with it once. Twice. “I apologize, Lizzie. It’s still a sore spot.”
“And it’s still Elizabeth.”
Rick grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Not to me.”
She strode to her car and took a sleek leather briefcase from the front seat. With a few quick snaps, she opened it and retrieved a thin envelope. “Our offer has increased.”
He glanced at the envelope, then at her. “You could offer me twice as much and my answer would still be no.”
Lizzie fiddled with the contents of her briefcase before placing the envelope back inside. “Rick, this is a chance of a lifetime.”
He swallowed. Yeah, like the chance that had made him a joke on every national newscast for a month. “I already had one of those, remember?”
Lizzie sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Could we at least discuss this over coffee?”
He chuckled. “At the diner we only have half-and-half, not that flavored creamer you like.” He finished throwing the equipment bags into the bed of his pickup truck before slamming the tailgate closed. Turning, he nearly ran Lizzie over.
“How did you remember the creamer?”
Rick shrugged. “How do I remember that Frank gets pancakes with butter and no syrup every day except on Saturday when it’s French toast? How do I know that Miss Maudie wants the crusts cut off her sandwiches and put into a doggie bag to take home to her Yorkie?” He flipped the keys in his hands over a few times. “It’s my job.”
“I’m not your job.”
“But I’m yours?” He glanced at the empty ball field and then back at her. “Why are you here? Why not send one of your interns? Backwater Michigan is a long way from Hollywood for a business call.”
“I needed to see you.”
