with baseball in the midst of a family crisis confirmed that Cameron McGrath was as unfeeling and uncaring as his father, who had forced his pregnant wife out of the house. A man who would be repelled by the idea of being saddled with someone else’s mistake. That’s why she picked this brother to approach with the papers. Amid news reports of his business success, she’d seen a pattern of brief romances with socialites, increasing her expectations that Cameron would be most like the man who’d cast out Christine. True, the fact that he was a lawyer unnerved her. But more important, he was the unattached McGrath brother, so he’d be the least likely to want a baby. And as the oldest, she hoped his signature would carry the most legal weight.
So far he’d done a fine imitation of unfeeling. Refusing to discuss his mother. Changing the subject. Not even asking how Callie had survived the earthquake. Dragging Jo through New York. Even flirting with her. But she sensed something under his smooth, polished surface. Something so powerful that it qualified as the polar opposite of unfeeling.
Until she knew what feelings he hid, it wouldn’t kill her to pretend to like baseball.
“This…” he interrupted her thoughts with a grand gesture toward the mountain of concrete stadium in front of them, “is the House that Ruth Built.”
Next to where they stood was a three-story-high replica of a baseball bat. She set her hat back to get a good look at it and nodded. “Mecca.”
He grinned and guided her toward one of the gates. “Don’t get me started on statistics and history. I’ll bore you to death.”
She doubted Cameron McGrath could bore her. He could probably infuriate her, he most certainly could fascinate her, and, Lord, he could surely arouse her if she gave him the chance. The man was a walking powder keg of masculine, seductive energy.
He led her toward a small crowd at one of the gates. The sensation of his hand on the small of her back sent a pool of warmth through her.
He greeted the ticket-taker, and guided her through a turnstile into the stadium. The sounds and smells of early summer evaporated as they entered what felt like the interior of a giant cement whale, replaced by a medley of foreign scents and noises. The entire place echoed with the din of raised voices and the clatter of feet on concrete. Without thinking, she took Cameron’s hand as he bounded through the labyrinth of horizontal ramps, his confident steps energized by an air of familiarity and a sense of urgency.
He paused long enough to listen to the muffled words of an announcer. “We’re up. Bottom of the first. Let’s go.”
He tugged at her hand and she had to stretch her stride to keep up with him, ignoring the vendors’ pleas for them to buy hot dogs, nachos or peanuts. She tucked her hat under her arm so it didn’t sail off in their wake, and inhaled the overpowering scent of grilled meat and onions. She hadn’t eaten all day, and the aroma made her mouth water.
But her overloaded senses obliterated the hunger. Sudden bursts of cheers and applause, flashes of blinding light and green grass through tunnels that led to the field, and the unnervingly comforting sensation of holding his hand all managed to make her a little dizzy.
Dizzy? What the heck was that all about? She hammered steel into submission for a living. She hiked mile-high mountains for fun. She was the original tough chick. How could one foray into Yankee Stadium on the arm of some maniacal fan make her dizzy? It had to be the documents that he held in his jacket pocket, the importance of her mission.
Somehow she had to get through this game and get his signature. Then she’d tear off to the airport and fly home to Callie. With her mission accomplished.
“Pray there’s no score,” he said to her as they approached a uniformed security guard. “It’s bad enough to miss the first pitch, but missing a run could kill me.”
“Cam, we were worried about you!” The guard held out his hand like a fist and Cameron knuckled it with a similar gesture.
“Eddie, my man. What’s goin’ on?”
“Three up, three down in the top of the first, and let me tell you Mussina’s slider looks friggin’ magical.” Eddie’s nasal New York accent was so thick, Jo had to concentrate to understand him.
“Who’s up?” Cameron asked.
“A-Rod.”
“Already?” He sounded crushed.
Eddie let out a disgusted snort. “Yeah, they’re screwin’ with the lineup. Loftin grounded out, and Jeter went down swingin’.” His gaze shifted to her, sweeping her up and down with obvious interest. A broad grin blared his approval. “I knew you had to have one helluva good cause to be this late, Cam.”
“Eddie, this good cause is Jo Ellen Tremaine. First timer, from California.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “California, huh? A’s or Angels?”
Hazy angels? “Excuse me?”
Cameron chuckled and put that way too familiar arm around her again. “Oakland A’s—Athletics. Or the California Angels. Who do you root for?”
“Sorry.” She made an apologetic face. “I don’t really follow the sport.”
This earned a belly laugh from Eddie and he waved a finger of warning at her. “Well, you will, or,” he pointed to Cameron, “you’ll have to kiss your new boyfriend goodbye.”
No use trying to correct him. She just shrugged as though the loss of that boyfriend wouldn’t matter any more than the loss of a game.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.” Cameron urged her into a narrow opening toward the lights of the stadium.
She nodded to Eddie, who continued to grin and shake his head, then she turned to face the sea of green in front of her.
It looked like a vast, luxurious emerald carpet textured with symmetrical patterns, bordered in red-brown dirt and surrounded by thousands and thousands of people cheering, hollering, eating, drinking and laughing. She’d been in baseball parks before, but this place had a mix of playfulness, attitude and superiority. Sort of like the man who’d brought her here.
Still holding her hand, Cameron tugged her down a few steps, into a row of box seats not far from the Yankee dugout. First base was close enough that she could see specks of red clay covering the canvas bag. A shower of greetings came at them, and Cameron responded with a series of “Hey” and “How ya doin’?” that included high-fives and more knuckle tapping.
They settled into seats and he dropped a casual arm around her, leaning close to her ear. “You do know who A-Rod is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” The name sounded more like a tool than a person, but he didn’t need to know that.
Suddenly a hollow whack propelled the entire stadium to its feet, including her, as Cameron pulled her from her seat and she instinctively squinted up into the blinding lights.
Then everyone moaned and sat down. By the time Jo saw a player in the outfield throw in the ball, they were seated again, too. Cameron’s arm took up permanent residence around her shoulders, the distinctive, delicious scent of him overpowering the smell of popcorn and humanity around her.
“You want that beer?” he asked.
