Diva In The Dugout (All Is Fair In Love And Baseball) Read online

  Diva in the Dugout

  by

  Arlene Hittle

  All Is Fair in Love and Baseball

  Vintage Category Romance #106

  Classic Romance, Heartfelt Happily Ever After

  Copyright © 2013, Arlene Hittle

  Hittle, Arlene

  Diva in the Dugout

  Media > Books > Fiction > Romance Novels

  Category/Tags: romance, contemporary, baseball, Texas

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62237-207-2

  Digital release: October, 2013

  Editing by Suzanne Barrett

  Cover Design by Calliope Designs

  Photo by www.thinkstockphotos.com

  Vintage Category Romance #106

  Classic Romance, Heartfelt Happily Ever After

  All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC, PO Box 43958, Louisville, KY 40253-0958.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  ABOUT ARLENE HITTLE

  TURQUOISE MORNING PRESS

  DEDICATION

  For my mother. If she were still alive, I know she’d be first in line to buy ten copies—even though I’d give them to her for free.

  And for Eric, who believed in me even when I had a hard time believing in myself.

  DIVA IN THE DUGOUT

  Can the Condors bad boy step up to the plate and knock out a home run for fatherhood? And if he does, will his daughter’s mamma be ready?

  After a successful stint in drug rehab, Arizona Condors shortstop Dave Reynolds is still trying to outrun his bad boy reputation. When the team’s new owners tell him to shape up or be fired at season’s end, he vows to change. He doesn’t count on fatherhood playing a part in his transformation.

  Melinda Cline makes a rash decision: take solace in the arms of a sexy-as-sin ballplayer whose name she tells herself she doesn’t want to know. Big mistake. Now, a single mom to a four-year-old, Mel strives to live as cleanly and quietly as possible. But fate intervenes and she comes face to face with the man who insists on being included in their daughter’s life. The attraction between them is still strong, but it may not survive Dave’s reputation or his attempts to do the right thing.

  Chapter One

  Four-year-old Tara Cline raced up the sidewalk toward the gates of Twister Field, raring to start her afternoon as honorary bat girl for the Texas Tornadoes semiprofessional baseball team.

  Nowhere near as excited as her daughter, Melinda Cline nevertheless dried her sweaty palms on her denim shorts and jogged to catch up. Before she could take Tara’s hand, the child leapt over a small dog, leash and all, that loomed in her path and sped away.

  “That takes coordination.” Mel’s best friend, Luanne, reached Mel’s side and let out a whistle.

  Mel sighed. “Tara sure doesn’t get her athletic ability from me.”

  “Yep, that’s all her daddy,” Luanne said with a smile. “Now that you’ve hung up your cheerleading outfit, you’re at your most athletic at the mall’s Black Friday sales.”

  Mel shook her head. “I was a middlin’ cheerleader, at best, and you know it.” That was another in a long line of disappointments to her family—more specifically, her mother. She ignored mentioning Tara’s daddy, a visiting ballplayer whose name was practically the only thing that hadn’t come up the night they’d picked each other up at a north Texas bar. “Mamma expected me to be head cheerleader, date the captain of the football team and win class president. What’s that old song say? One out of three ain’t bad?”

  “It’s two. ‘Two out of three ain’t bad.’ By Meatloaf.”

  Mel cringed. “I’m an even worse screw-up than I thought.”

  She ignored the now-familiar sting of disappointing the ones she loved, focusing on Tara instead. She didn’t plan to let her down—and that included making sure her daughter stayed safe. She raised her voice and called out. “Slow down. Watch out for other people around you.”

  Tara loped back to her side, as graceful as a colt.

  “She doesn’t get that from you, either,” Lu muttered under her breath.

  A souvenir stand just off the walkway caught Mel’s eye, deflecting her mouthy retort. “Keep an eye on Tara, Lu. I’m going to pick her up something to remember today.”

  When Luanne nodded and took Tara’s hand, Melinda headed the few steps to the booth. She trusted her friend would keep Tara out of trouble, if need be.

  As she did you all those years ago?

  Mel tamped down the disloyal thought. Luanne tried to stop her the night she’d met the man she called Muscles. Mel was just too angry, drunk and needy to heed the warning. Reason had fled the minute she’d spotted her ex-fiancée making out with a Betty White look-alike.

  “What’ll it be?” A gruff voice interrupted her jaunt down memory lane.

  She scanned the offerings. Twenty dollars for a hat? Twenty-five for a T-shirt Tara would outgrow in three months?

  Mel pulled her Visa card out of the pocket of her denim shorts. Tara was worth any amount of money. Besides, she wasn’t a single, struggling mother. Her interior design business was good, and her parents covered any extra expenses on the rare occasions she had more month than money.

  One of the perks of having a rich father. The only thing he couldn’t buy her was the respectability she craved more than anything—for his sake more than hers, although it would be nice not to catch the nosy folks of Brannen looking down their noses at her.

  She pointed at a Tara-sized red, white and blue Tornadoes T-shirt. “That one.” She looked again, considering a purchase for herself, too. Was that—? Her heartbeat kicked up.

  It looked like the cartoon bird on the shirt Muscles had worn. She had no doubt. A lot of that long-ago night was a blur, but some things she’d never forget. Tracing her finger over that logo at the bar…making his pecs jump under her fingertip. That was when he’d hauled her hard against him, kissed her until she was breathless and suggested they take their party to his hotel room.

  “Who’s that?” She pointed to the bird and waited for an answer. Blood pounded in her ears.

  “Not much of a baseball fan, are you?” the concessionaire asked with a smirk.

  Still stunned that she’d spotted the cartoon bird, she barely noticed his rudeness. She merely shook her head.

  “That logo belongs to today’s visiting team, the Arizona Condors.”

  “Thanks.”

  She fidgeted while the concessionaire ran her card through the machine and then hurried back to Lu and Tara. She scooped her daughter into her arms. “Sweetie, let’s go find Coach Todd.”

  Luanne gave her a questioni
ng look.

  Mel hugged Tara close. “I don’t want Tara to miss anything, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Lu trailed behind them as Mel rushed to the rendezvous point, where Todd already waited with several of Tara’s teammates. With Tara safely in the coach’s care, she dragged Luanne to a secluded corner. “Hurry.”

  “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Not yet.” Melinda swallowed hard. “But the afternoon’s young.”

  “Focus, Mel. You’re not making any sense.”

  Mel tried, but it was tough to concentrate with the thoughts whirling through her head. “You know the visiting team?”

  “The Condors? What about them?”

  “It’s Muscles’ team.”

  Luanne’s jaw dropped. “No!”

  “I’m sure of it.” Mel held up her souvenir. “What if he still plays for them?”

  Her friend waved away the concern like a pesky fly buzzing the picnic table. “That was five years ago. By now he’s either dropped out of baseball or, if he’s any good, been called up to the majors.”

  “And if not?”

  Luanne grinned. “Then you should be ready to introduce Tara to her daddy.”

  Mel wished for the stadium floor to crack open and swallow her. When she remembered how she sneaked out on him—before dawn, leaving her panties wrapped around his big toe because grabbing them would have wakened him….

  She groaned. Finding herself pregnant and alone was a stroll through an empty mall compared to the thought of facing that man and telling him he was a father. That was more like attempting to sprint through Walmart on Christmas Eve. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  ****

  “Reynolds, a word.”

  By the set of his manager’s jaw, Dave Reynolds knew he wouldn’t be getting the standard “attaboy” before the Condors took the field. Well, hell. What had he done to piss someone off now?

  He hung back until his teammates filed out of the locker room.

  “What’s up, Coach?”

  “You’ve given the Condors some great years of ball playing.” His boss fixed him with a look that was half pity, half “straighten up and fly right.” “I know with the loss of your mom, this season’s been a rough one.”

  “I—”

  Jerry held up his hand, halting Dave’s protest that he was over it. Good thing, because he didn’t like to lie. He still missed his mother—not the hospital or endless rounds of chemotherapy, but her gentle laugh and soft voice.

  “Son, no more excuses. The team’s new owners want you to give up the carousing before the season’s out or it’ll be your last.”

  The manager’s words, an echo of his mother’s plea to settle down, hit him like a punch to the gut. “C’mon. I’m not that bad.”

  “You didn’t even show up for Game Two of that doubleheader last month.”

  “I know you don’t believe me, but I wasn’t out partying. It was the six-month anniversary of my mom’s death. I barely made it out of bed for Game One.” After the Condors lost, he retreated to his hotel room with a six-pack. “I fell asleep in my room—alone—and when I woke up, Game Two was history.”

  “Why you weren’t there doesn’t matter as much as the unauthorized absence.” Jerry waved away the attempt to explain.

  “You already docked my pay for it.”

  A crisp nod accompanied Jerry’s grunt of agreement. “The higher-ups have a problem with your overall behavior, Reynolds, not just that one instance. They plan to market the Condors as a family-friendly experience.”

  “I have a family!” His boss didn’t need to know his family consisted of a philandering father, a kid brother and a sister he hadn’t talked to in God knew how long.

  “You also have a reputation, son.”

  Dave snorted. He’d earned every black mark on that reputation. One of baseball’s bad boys, he never turned down a party off the field. “But I always deliver on the field.”

  “You used to. These days your fielding is starting to rival your weak batting average.”

  “A temporary setback.”

  “They’ve ordered me to lay down the law. Clean up your image, or your contract won’t be renewed.” The manager clapped him on the back. “Now get out there and play ball.”

  Seething, Dave followed Jerry to the field. He hated the new owners already. Who did they think they were? The morality police?

  Davy, you know you’ve been out of control lately.

  The admonition came in his mother’s voice, so he couldn’t dismiss it without consideration.

  His behavior was no worse today than before. Better, since he’d done his time in drug rehab. So what if he still drank once in a while?

  Once in a while? His oh-so-helpful conscience reminded him of the kegger in Wyoming last month. The cops raided it and arrested a half-dozen underage kids. Why was it his fault getting wasted was the only thing to do in Muddy Gap? It wasn’t as though he’d supplied the beer or touched any of the girls.

  Dave heaved a sigh. If the team’s new owners were hell-bent on him cleaning up his image, he’d have to party less. After losing his mother, he couldn’t lose his Condors family, too.

  ****

  Later, in the dugout, Dave squinted into the late-afternoon sun to decipher the scoreboard. Heat shimmered off the outfield, a reminder of why he hated Texas in mid-August.

  Actually, he hated Texas, period. It was just ten times worse in the summer. Fitting he’d gotten reamed here, in his least favorite state.

  His buddy Matt was on deck, then two more batters ahead of him in the lineup. His chances of stepping up to the plate this inning were pretty good.

  At the end of the inning came the seventh-inning stretch. Jerry had already warned them it’d be longer than usual. The home team had some big to-do planned to honor local Little Leaguers.

  Good. The older he got, the more his body appreciated extra down time.

  When he went to bat, Dave hit a pop-up to right field. He cringed when it dropped into the outfielder’s glove, giving the Condors their third out.

  The reality of making the third out walloped him upside the head. Maybe he did need to spend less time partying and more in the batting cage.

  He loped toward the dugout for his glove as he considered the thought.

  Nah. His batting skills weren’t the problem. It was this damn state. Texas always played hell with his concentration. Every time he visited, he wondered what had happened to the only woman ever to abandon him in the middle of the night.

  “Keep it together, man.” He needed to concentrate on the game, not a woman from five years ago who was nothing special. A prick of conscience told him that was a lie, but he ignored it. She was just one of many.

  Except she wasn’t. Before she sneaked out on you, you two made a real connection. She was a kindred spirit.

  Dave refocused. It was the bottom of the sixth. If they managed three up and three down, their break for the stretch would be here before his mind could wander any further afield.

  No such luck. The Tornadoes put three men on base and scored a run before the Condors ended the inning. At least his team still held a two-run lead when the announcer called for the Little Leaguers to take the field. Dave snagged a bottle of water and then kicked back in the dugout for some R&R.

  Problem was he couldn’t relax. Being in the same state as the blonde who’d pulled a disappearing act was strike one. Strike two was being surrounded by rug rats.

  Even though these rug rats were now gathered on the pitcher’s mound, several hundred yards away, their mere presence in the stadium made him nervous. He hated to think ill of the dead, but it was all his mother’s fault. The promise he made to settle down, intended solely to give her peace, had done a number on him anyway.

  On the field, little kids milled around, all of ’em knee high to a tall guy holding a microphone. Dave’s gaze kept returning to the same little girl. There was something fami
liar about that knee-high bundle of energy sporting red-gold pigtails.

  She reminded him of…of his kid sister, Michele. Ridiculous. Michele was childless the last time he’d talked to her…two years ago? Had it really been that long? He definitely owed her a phone call. Even if she had kids now, they’d be in Michigan—and not old enough to be standing on the field, receiving praise for Little League accomplishments.

  “Sure is hot out here.” Matt, Dave’s roommate on road trips and the team’s catcher, plopped onto the bench, took off his hat and shook the sweat off his hair.

  “Yep.” Dave nodded and pointed toward the girl on the mound. “That kid reminds me of my sister.”

  His buddy cleared his throat. “Not to be crude, but from what you’ve said about your dad, that could be your sister.”

  “Right on.” Dave’s father would never win Father of the Year. A lifetime achievement award from Skirt-chasers International, yes. But parenting was not his forte. Damn shame, with at least three kids to parent. More if the kid out there turned out to be a long-lost half sister.

  “Think I should introduce myself?”

  “Someone your age striking up a conversation with a toddler? You aiming for a guest spot on To Catch a Predator?”

  “Good point.” Dave sighed. He had no desire to clean up after his father, anyway.

  He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. When he refocused on the pitcher’s mound, the girl was stepping forward for her award. Best batter in T-ball, the guy with the microphone said.

  Matt jostled him. “Clearly not your family’s genes. You’re crap at the plate.”

  “Shove it.” Making the third out in the sixth still stung.

  Just then, a gust of wind blew the girl’s hat off. She started yelling and someone ran up from the baseline. That someone was a trim woman in denim cutoffs and a pink sleeveless top. Next time he spoke to his father, he’d have to congratulate the old man on nailing such a hottie.