What a Woman Read online

  “Yeah, it was.” Sort of. There were times when Jared had felt less of a prodigy and more of an indentured servant. As if his parents had spent all the money as an investment and he’d better give them a good return. Which was why it was so ironic that they rarely came to see him play. Dad had his bragging rights and Mom had the cachet of being a celebrity’s mother; apparently that was enough for them.

  “So will ya? Help me, I mean? I got a good arm, but Dad says it needs work. He was helping me ’til he had to go back for his last tour.”

  Oh hell. Autographs were one thing, throwing a couple of pitches something else entirely. He wasn’t ready for this. “His last tour?”

  The kid nodded solemnly. “Afghanistan. It’s where he lost his legs in a roadside bomb. That’s why he can’t throw with me a lot. It’s hard for him to catch from the chair.”

  The wheelchair. Jared had seen way too many people in those during his stint in rehab, where he’d been angry that he might never play again, something that was now put in perspective by what this boy’s father had lost.

  No way could he turn this kid down. “So what’s your name?”

  “It’s Chase. Chase Williams. I’m the starting pitcher for my rec team. I beat out Dylan, but if I don’t practice, he might get it next year, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Mitch Weymouth was on his mound now and it sucked big time to see someone else where he was supposed to be. “Let me grab my glove and I’ll meet you out there.”

  He pointed to the clearing between the front porch and the street trees, trying to calculate how long it was going to take him to get up to his room, dig through the duffel bags Camille had thrown together while he’d been in the hospital, and hopefully find the glove she’d said she packed. He wouldn’t put it past her to have hocked the thing online.

  The kid jerked his head toward the step where Jared saw another glove. “My dad sent his over. He wasn’t sure you’d have yours.”

  Because no one was expecting him to play again. There’d been so much speculation in the media that he kept the TV off for just that reason.

  “I do have it, but I’ll use his if you want.” It’d save him a trip up the stairs, and Chase’s dad would talk it up that the Jared Nolan had worn his glove. Besides being the least he could do for the guy who’d given so much for their country, let the media get a hold of that info. Show them he wasn’t out for the count. “Okay, Chase, let’s go.”

  “Cool!”

  It actually was kind of cool for Jared. He still had his pitching form, though he wasn’t about to throw a ninety-miler at a kid, but the motion felt right—even if he had to prop himself up with a crutch. He’d always planted with his left leg and wound with the right, so the injury hadn’t affected that. The actual follow-through, however, was going to take some work. The physical therapist at the hospital had considered walking more important than keeping his pitching form . . . Jared hadn’t agreed.

  “Take a couple of steps back now, Chase,” Jared said after they’d warmed up. He threw the ball into his webbing while the kid hopped into place a few feet back and windmilled his arms.

  “My dad says I arc high when I go longer because I’m thinking about the distance.”

  “So we have to get you not to think about it and the only way to do that is by practice.” Easier said than done as Jared knew from personal experience. Learning to walk again had taught him the brutal lesson of focusing more than his old trainer ever had.

  “But what if I can’t throw the ball all the way to you? Won’t it be hard for you to get it?” Chase pointed to the crutch. “My dad has trouble sometimes.”

  “You let me worry about getting the ball. Your job is to pitch it.”

  “Okay, but Dad said to make sure I don’t tire you out or injure you any more than you already are.”

  What was he, an invalid? He could catch a damn ball for chrissake.

  Wisely, Jared kept his mouth shut. The way the kid said “Dad” told Jared all he needed to know. The guy was Chase’s hero. With good reason. Giving up two legs for your country was much more heroic than hitting a ball into the grandstand. He was Jared’s hero, too. Even more so because he was his son’s hero.

  Jared choked on the lump in his throat. He’d always wanted his father to be his hero . . . but he hadn’t been. Not when he let Mom control everything, practically worshipping the ground she walked on. His father’s existence seemed to be merely to give his mother whatever she wanted and taking her wherever she wanted to go. To Jared that wasn’t a marriage, it was a high school crush on the head cheerleader gone bad. That was never going to be him.

  “So how far do you think this is?” Chase asked. “Fifteen feet?”

  “Nah, more like twenty-five. Let’s see what you got from there.”

  “Okay, here I go!” Chase did his wind up and let the ball fly.

  It landed right in the webbing. The kid had a decent arm, though he could use some coaching. “Nice. That had some speed to it. Probably could go another ten feet.”

  Chase bounced on the balls of his feet. “You think? Can I try it now? What if my arm’s tired? What if I won’t be able to because I used up all my power with these last throws? My dad says I don’t want to burn out.”

  “You can keep second-guessing yourself or you can try it and see.”

  Those were the very words Dave, the physical therapist from the team, had said when he’d visited him in the hospital right after Jared had gotten word from the doctors that he’d probably never play again.

  Dave’s comment had hit home. Jared wasn’t a quitter. Never had been, never would be. No one told him he couldn’t do something, not his doctor, the team’s GM, or his therapist.

  Or even Mary-Alice Manley.

  * * *

  MAC looked out the window pane she’d just finished cleaning. Jared was still at it.

  Dammit.

  Why’d he have to be so nice to that little boy?

  She carefully pried the last piece of glass wedged in the wood casing around another pane that a tree branch must have broken. No wonder there were leaves and other debris strewn across the floor. Mildred should have called sooner; these windows were in bad shape—which was why Mac had a front row seat to something so sweet she wanted to cry.

  Seriously, why did he have to do this? It was easier to hold on to her anger when he was a pompous jerk, but being propped up out there on one crutch to play catch with a neighbor kid was undermining Jared’s pomposity.

  Especially when he almost fell over reaching for a pitch.

  She gasped and grabbed on to the ladder as if that would keep him upright.

  Why do you care?

  She didn’t. Jared had broken her heart so many times it was amazing it’d ever healed. It shouldn’t matter that he was playing catch with that boy; he was still the same Jared, right down to that stupid Princess. Condescending jerk.

  Who played ball with a kid he didn’t know.

  She gently raised the sash to clean the outside of the window. It’d take a lot more elbow grease than she could give it from the inside, but that would be a project for another day. Right now, she just wanted to clean it so the duct tape would have something to adhere to when she covered the broken pane.

  “Work on your follow-through, Chase. You want to keep your eye on the target the entire time. You look away, the ball’s gonna go the way you look. Stay with it.”

  Okay, so maybe a quick cleaning job to the outside of the window was an excuse to listen to what Jared was saying so she’d hear something to remind her of the condescending jerk he could be. And with the maple in front of the window, it wasn’t as if he could see her watching anyway.

  Unfortunately, the only thing she heard from him was encouragement, which didn’t help her cause. Nor did the fact that he still looked good out there, crutch and all.

 
Then again, when hadn’t he looked good?

  She groaned and swatted a cobweb. She’d wasted enough time on Jared; she needed to get back to work and stop spying on him for no apparent reason.

  Unless teenage crushes that had grown into full-on adult fantasies counted as a reason.

  Mac shook her head and swiped the paper towel over the glass, then pulled her arm back in and shut the window. She didn’t need a reason. Didn’t want one.

  What she wanted was to finish and go home. Get out of here with her heart intact.

  Then she reached up to get that one last cobweb and . . . the ladder buckled.

  * * *

  JARED double-hopped to stay upright, but his left leg was taking a beating. Too much standing and now too much fancy footwork; it was all he could do not to take a header as if he were sliding into home base.

  He managed to keep his foot under him with minimal assistance from the one crutch. He should have shelved his pride and brought the second one out because he was beat. But at least Dave would be glad to know his left quad was working well enough to do its job.

  “Hey, buddy, let’s call it for the day. Don’t want to overdo it, you know?” Jared underhanded the ball to Chase, and made it to the stairs before collapsing onto them in a semblance of taking a seat.

  Luckily, the kid was too excited to notice. “Thank you so much, Mr. Nolan. My dad’s gonna be so impressed. He said you know all about the game. Can I come over again?”

  Jared looked at the hopeful face. “Sure, but let’s give it a few days, okay? We don’t want to wear out your arm.” Or his legs, though he was happy with the way his left one had held out. “You’re going to want to ice it when you get home because it’ll be sore tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yeah, like you guys in the majors do, right? You have trainers and stuff.”

  Jared smiled and tapped the kid’s baseball cap visor. “Yup, we have stuff.”

  “Um . . .” Chase scrunched his face. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Playing ball wasn’t one?” He flicked the visor up.

  “I mean another one.” The kid looked nervous.

  “What is it?”

  “I was wondering . . .” Chase hopped off the second-to-last step and ran onto the porch, coming back with a permanent marker.

  “You want me to sign your glove?”

  “And my dad’s, too. I think he’d like that.”

  Jared took the pen, not bothering to answer. Autographs were no big deal, but giving one to Chase’s dad, who wasn’t able to do what Jared had just done with his son . . .

  Man, that almost did him in.

  He scrawled a quick Thanks for playing ball with me, Jared on Chase’s and Thanks for allowing me to play ball with your son. All the best to a true hero, Jared Nolan on his dad’s. The ironic thing was, the guy would think this was a treat, but all he’d have to do was look in the eyes of his son to see a real one.

  Jared held up the marker. “Anything else? The cap?”

  “Really?” Chase’s eyes lit up as he swiped the cap off his head.

  “Really.” He scrawled his name nice and big and handed it back. “Now don’t forget to ice that arm. We want you to be able to use it for a lot more years.”

  “Yeah, so I can grow up and be just like you someday.”

  A lump clogged Jared’s throat. He’d heard that for years from kids, but now, when he might be facing the end of his career, the words hit home a lot more.

  He cleared his throat. “You take care, Chase. I’ll see you again.”

  “Okay, Mr. Nolan. And thanks.”

  “Call me Jared.”

  Jared didn’t know it was possible for a smile to be as big as Chase’s was.

  “Thanks, Mr.—I mean, Jared!” The kid took off so quickly the cap went flying off his head. Chase stopped, ran back and picked it up, then headed for home, hollering, “Daaaaad!!!” the entire way down the block.

  He’d made the kid’s day, would make the dad’s, and felt a lot better about his prospects at making it back for next year’s spring training. Okay, so it hadn’t been a double header, but, damn, playing that little bit of ball had felt good. Life was looking up.

  But then he opened the front door.

  Chapter Five

  MAC shrieked from upstairs as something crashed.

  Jared hobbled to the stairs as fast as he could. “Mac? Are you okay?” Or was she going to need rescuing again?

  She groaned. “Don’t come up here.”

  Rescuing it was. Jared sighed. Some things never changed. “I’m coming up.”

  “I mean it, Jared. I don’t need your help.”

  “It’s my house and I can come up the stairs if I want.”

  “It’s not your house, it’s Mildred’s, and she’s paying me to clean it, so butt out.”

  Bossing him around again. Um . . . no.

  Besides, he knew for a fact that Mac wasn’t charging his grandmother. That’d been unexpected. And a very nice gesture. She’d surprised him.

  He hopped up the first step because he owed it to Liam to make sure his sister was okay. And because he was actually a good guy.

  Yeah and look where that got you with Camille.

  He winced when he landed on the next step awkwardly, his ribs—and his ego—protesting. Damn Camille and her boyfriend.

  “I mean it, Jared. I can hear you trying to sneak up here. Crutches aren’t designed for sneaking.”

  “I don’t have to sneak, Mac, in case you’ve forgotten. I live here.” And he wasn’t using his crutches.

  “As if I could forget.”

  She muttered it, but he heard it.

  It was stupid, really, that her tone could get to him.

  Oh get the hell over it, Nolan. Your ego’s bruised because she doesn’t worship you anymore? Seriously? So she’s hot; big deal. She’s still the same ol’ Princess in need of rescuing.

  Yet here he was going to her rescue once again. Old habits definitely died hard.

  He gripped the banister and hauled himself up the last step to the landing, giving him the perfect view into the front bedroom, Grandma’s sewing room, the room Mac had chosen to start with. Crap. There were way too many pointed things in that room. She could get hurt and, with her track record around him, probably had.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Do I look all right to you?”

  She was sitting cross-legged with her hands planted on her thighs in a pile of mannequins his grandmother had used to make dresses, looking both guilty and annoyed.

  The ladder by the window explained the guilt. She’d been eavesdropping and he, obviously, was the reason for the annoyance.

  “Hear something you didn’t like?” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. It took the weight off his leg. “You look like you could use a hand.” He tried not to crack a smile.

  He failed miserably.

  “Do not start clapping.” Mac half rolled over one of the dress forms and got to her knees, brushing her hands on her backside as she did so.

  His smile disappeared.

  Somewhere along the line, amid the ass-hugging green pants and curves that ought to be well hidden by the golf shirt but weren’t, Mac had grown out of the freckles, scraggly ponytail, frayed shorts, and secondhand T-shirts that’d made her look like one of the guys.

  What a woman Mac had become.

  “Oh my God.”

  He yanked his gaze off her curves and tried to focus on what she was saying. “What?”

  “Do you know what’s under here?” She tapped the dresser and brushed a strand of hair off her face.

  Another one remained on the bridge of her nose and either she didn’t feel it or she didn’t care, but Jared wasn’t going to tell her and risk getting his butt chewed for telling her how to do s
omething. “I’m guessing a colony of dust bunnies and a lost shoe or two?”

  “Not quite.”

  She leaned over, reached under the dresser, dragged out an old hat box, and pulled out a . . .

  . . . kitten.

  It was about the size of his fist, a bluish gray with a spot of white on its nose, and had a tail that curled all the way up to that nose and then some.

  A tail that twitched.

  “That’s not a stuffed animal, is it?”

  The little thing mewed. It wasn’t even old enough to meow.

  “And there are three more where this came from.” She tilted the box forward a little. “That explains the trail of debris from the broken window.”

  Another one with a spot on its nose, though the rest of it was black, an all-white one, and a calico with lopsided markings on its face.

  “Where’s the mom?” he asks hopefully. Jared shook his head. He had a bad feeling about this.

  Mac set the blue gray one down and picked up the calico. “I think she might be by the side of the road. I saw her when I drove in this morning.”

  “So she’s . . . dead?” He lowered his voice, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if the kittens understood him.

  “If that’s her. And if it is, these little things are in danger.” She set the calico back in the box with its siblings. “They need to eat regularly and their lethargy has me worried.”

  “So you’re telling me we have to take care of a bunch of newborn kittens?”

  She stood up and straightened her shirt.

  “Not we, Jared. You. You live here, remember?”

  “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of kittens, Mac.”

  “You feed them, show them the litter box, and pray they don’t like to scratch furniture.”

  “And then what?” Those things were tiny. “Seriously, Mac. I can’t take care of kittens.”

  She picked up the hat box. “Seriously, Jared, it’s not that hard.”