From Left Field: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 7) Read online

  “There you go,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  She watched him slip into the guest room, the one that used to host her brothers’ bunk beds. He gently shut the door behind himself, and she took the chance to duck into the bathroom, to brush her own teeth, to splash water across eyes that were suddenly grainy.

  It was a ton of work to put on the Opening Day party. She’d cooked all weekend, getting things ready. She’d worried about the weather for twenty-four straight hours. She’d barely been able to concentrate on the afternoon game because she’d been thinking about timing, about making all the food come out in the proper order.

  She rolled her neck, trying to loosen her muscles. Adam had done a killer job on her feet. She could still feel his firm, confident fingers on her calves. She should have pushed for a back rub.

  She still could.

  Yeah, right. Adam had to be as tired as she was. More—he’d just gotten back from Florida the day before, and he’d played the game she’d watched with one eye. Played it, and been interviewed, and then come over and talked to everyone at the party. She should let the guy get some sleep.

  Shaking her head at her own selfishness, she went into the master bedroom, the one that still felt like it belonged to her parents. Leaving the door open a crack so patrolling dogs would know she hadn’t been abducted by aliens, Haley shimmied out of her clothes. She found her nightshirt under her pillow, the oversize T she always wore. As she slipped into bed, she pulled the blanket and comforter up close beneath her chin. This early in spring, it was cold in the old house.

  The guest room would be freezing. There was only a thin cotton blanket on the bed. What sort of hostess was she, inviting Adam to freeze to death?

  Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she climbed out of bed. Now, the house seemed more quiet than before. The door to the linen closet squeaked as she opened it, and she sounded like a marauding bandit as she excavated a quilt from the bottom shelf.

  She didn’t want to knock on Adam’s door, in case he’d actually managed to fall asleep. Instead, she twisted the doorknob with painstaking care, adding just enough pressure to ease the door open.

  Moonlight washed in through the pair of windows, supplementing the soft fall of light that barely made it down the hall from her own bedroom. She’d replaced the boys’ bunk beds with a single queen, making a decent room for visiting adults.

  Adam lay on his back when she opened the door, but he pushed himself up on his elbows when she hovered on the threshold. The sheet and blanket slipped down his chest, making him look like some sort of Roman statue. “Haley,” he said, his voice low and throaty.

  She was totally unprepared for the wave of emotion that hit her. Her belly swooped down to her toes—the same toes he’d been rubbing not an hour before. No, that wasn’t her belly doing the swooping—it was something distinctly lower. Something that hadn’t been involved with thoughts about Adam Sartain for fifteen years or more. She caught her breath in surprise at her body’s reaction.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing himself up further.

  But that only caused more of a problem, because it made the sheet fall farther, made the blanket drape across his lap. She caught herself looking at that lap, wondering if he was wearing underpants or if he’d stripped completely for a quiet night’s sleep. She didn’t know what type of shorts he wore. Her brothers had both switched to boxers as soon as they were able to voice a preference, so she assumed Adam had too, but maybe not. Maybe as an athlete—

  “Haley?” he asked, and this time, the growl was gone from his voice, replaced by naked concern.

  No. Not naked. She had to stop thinking of naked.

  “Here!” she said, barking out the word at full volume. Then she cleared her throat and said, like a normal person, “I thought you might be cold. It’s a quilt. You know. In case you’re cold.”

  Oh my God. She must be drunk. But she wasn’t drunk—she hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since that one beer with dinner.

  He started to push back the covers, but she wasn’t prepared to let him do that. Instead, she closed the distance between them, practically throwing the quilt onto the bed. She turned on her heel and fled back to the doorway, trying not to think about how hard her heart was pounding.

  “Thanks,” he said behind her, and she thought she heard him laughing.

  “No problem,” she said, and she hurried out the door, pulling it closed all the way and practically running to her own room. She hurtled herself into her bed and pulled the blanket up to her nose.

  No problem, she’d said. But she’d lied. There was very much a problem.

  Adam Sartain wasn’t one of the untrained puppies in the Thurman pack. He was a man. A man who might very well be lying naked in the next room. A man who had given her a foot massage and made her moan like Hollywood’s idea of a woman in love. A man she’d known all her life, but who she was suddenly seeing in a very new light.

  She told herself she was an idiot. It was absurd to tremble like she was. She’d drunk too much, or she’d put too much cayenne in the barbecue sauce, or she’d dumped too much sugar into the banana pudding.

  She was not going to have a crush on Adam Sartain, not now, not after all these years.

  But she wasn’t very good at listening to herself. And she had a hard time falling asleep. Because all night long, she listened for the guest room door to open. She waited for Adam to read her mind. And she fought to smother her disappointment when he didn’t.

  CHAPTER 2

  After a long, restless night, Haley had to make a conscious effort to brighten her voice as she spoke to her neighbor over her breakfast table. “Mr. Reeves,” she said, “Let me get you some cream for your coffee.” She managed to turn smoothly in her practical pumps. She was actually pleased with the outfit she’d chosen for this business meeting. Because that’s what today’s breakfast was—a meeting—even though Mr. Reeves was a neighbor she’d known for fifteen years.

  She’d debated what to wear that morning, trying on three separate outfits, all the time aware of Adam sleeping down the hall. She’d discarded her first choice—her usual work clothes of jeans and a T-shirt—as far too casual for what she needed to accomplish. She’d thrown out her second choice—a tailored skirt and fitted jacket along with requisite high heels—as much too stuffy.

  Like Goldilocks, she’d settled on her third outfit—slacks and a comfortable silk blouse, finished off with low navy pumps. The clothes made her feel professional, like she had every right to be discussing prime Raleigh real estate with a motivated seller. She couldn’t chicken out now. Not when Paws for Love needed her to be strong.

  Paws was the reason she’d gone out of her way to buy Peet’s Coffee, instead of the usual cheap stuff she swilled by the gallon. Paws was why she’d splurged on actual cream, instead of the skim milk she usually splashed into her own mug. She’d even stopped by the bakery on her way home, picking up a dozen petit fours, which she’d taken care to arrange on a serving platter and kept away from the ravening hordes at the barbecue.

  Now she pushed that plate closer to Mr. Reeves, and she took a seat at the table. “I really appreciate your coming all the way over here, sir.”

  He snorted. “I just climbed over the fence,” he said, belying his eight decades with the glint in his eye.

  “All the same, I appreciate it,” she repeated. She waited a moment so her next words would sound respectful instead of simply eager. “It’s a shame you have to sell the farm.”

  “Maggie and I knew we couldn’t stay forever when we moved in. Now that she’s having so much trouble with her breathing, we really need to move out to New Mexico. It’s just hard to think of letting go of a farm that’s been in my family for nine generations.”

  Haley reached out and patted his hand. “I can only imagine,” she said. “The place has looked better these past fifteen years than it ever did when you rented it out.”

  The old man took a healthy swallow
of coffee. “That’s part of the reason we’ve decided to sell it. Renters won’t keep it up the way we want it to be kept. We’d rather find someone new, someone who can really do the farm justice.”

  Haley tried not to smile too broadly, but she loaded enthusiasm into her words. “Well, Paws for Love is exactly that type of someone, Mr. Reeves.”

  “Tell me more about your group,” he said. “Oh, don’t mind if I do,” he added, as Haley pushed the plate of miniature cakes closer to him.

  She waited until his mouth was full of chocolate cake and ganache, and then she launched into her standard spiel. “Paws for Love is a no-kill animal shelter. We take animals who would otherwise be put down—strays found on the street, pets whose families can’t keep them for some reason, sick or injured animals whose owners can’t pay for treatment. We provide medical care to the ones who need nursing, and we work on socialization and obedience training for every animal that’s adoptable. We do our best to find them all forever homes, but we guarantee a future for every animal we accept into our system.”

  Mr. Reeves nodded, not bothering to seek her approval as he reached for another petit four. Before he popped the vanilla cream into his mouth, he asked, “What exactly do you want with a property like mine?”

  Of course, Haley had practiced her answer to that. “Right now, we operate out of a storefront in a strip mall. Zoning limits the number of animals we can have, and the building itself has severe limitations. We have a handful of kennels for dogs and a single room for cats, another for small companion animals like rabbits and ferrets, all kept in cages. But every day, we need to turn away deserving animals, good creatures who deserve a better chance. With a property like the Reeves Farm, we could expand every one of our programs. We could take in more animals, provide better medical care, socialize more dogs and cats so they can be adopted, and train animals who’ve already found their lifelong families.”

  She could see approval growing in Mr. Reeves eyes. He took another swig of coffee before he said, “There’s a tradition to having animals on the property. It’s the largest single parcel left in Wake County. You know we started as a dairy farm years ago. There’s still a stable and a barn and a passel of smaller structures.”

  Haley knew those buildings. She’d never admit it to Mr. Reeves, but she and her brothers, and Adam too, had sneaked over the fence countless times during their childhood. They’d dared each other to climb to the hayloft, and they’d played massive games of hide and seek around the old smokehouse and corn crib and dairy. She’d even spent hours in the stable, daydreaming of Black Beauty and Misty and the Black Stallion, all the horses in her childhood books.

  No reason to mention all that to Mr. Reeves now. Far better to move this meeting forward, to make herself face the hard part. “Let me be honest with you, sir. Paws for Love is an amazing organization. We’ve been prudently managed, and our books are in perfect order. But we’re not a wealthy group. It would be a stretch for us to buy any property. And a property as large as your farm, still inside the county limits, with so many structures still standing…” She trailed off with purposeful delicacy.

  Mr. Reeves was no fool. He planted his mug squarely on the table, earning an inquiring look from Darcy, who watched eagerly from his spot in front of the stove in clear hope that a petit four would spontaneously leap from its plate to the floor. “Well, I’ll be honest with you,” the old man said. “Money’s important to Maggie and me. We’re fully retired now, and we’re not seeing regular income any more.”

  Haley heard the words, and she understood their meaning. Buying the farm had always been a stretch for Paws, and now she knew it would be a greater challenge than she’d first hoped. But Mr. Reeves wasn’t opposed to the idea of the animal shelter buying his farm.

  She’d never backed away from a good fight before. And she wouldn’t give up now—not when her dreams for Paws could finally come true.

  ~~~

  Adam lurked in the kitchen doorway, reluctant to interrupt the conversation in there. Haley looked like she was dressed for some sort of boardroom meeting—navy pants and a soft white blouse that hinted at as much as it covered up.

  Shit. He shouldn’t be thinking about Haley that way. He wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t brought him that quilt last night. The light from the hallway had cut through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, outlining every inch of her body in a hell of a lot more detail than she’d ever shown him before.

  And he’d responded like he was still a teenager, like he was on some adolescent sleepover in her brothers’ room. He thought he’d covered his lap with the blanket before she’d seen. But there’d been nothing to disguise the way his throat tightened, the way his voice dropped about two octaves when he’d said her name.

  Jesus. This was Haley he was talking about. If he even thought about making a move on her, her brothers would kill him. Forget about her brothers—Haley would rip him a new one. Adam had been on the receiving end of her acid tongue often enough to know nothing would keep him safe if he was actually stupid enough to say out loud any of the thoughts that had kept him tossing and turning until morning.

  He should just back away from the kitchen slowly. Forget about Haley, at least forget about her like that, in her nightshirt. He should head upstairs, crawl back into bed, and pretend to sleep until she headed out to work.

  And he could have carried that off, too, if that damned dog Darcy hadn’t chosen that exact second to look up from his worshipful attention to the kitchen table. The beagle bayed a welcome that echoed off the room’s ceiling.

  “Darcy!” Haley snapped, but there wasn’t any heat to her tone. Her order seemed to remind Heathcliff that he might be missing out on some breakfast treat, and the living mop that was Killer wasn’t far behind. “Out!” Haley ordered all the dogs, pointing to the kitchen door. Adam barely had time to escape being bowled over by a couple of hundred pounds of canine starvation.

  So much for escaping. Old Man Reeves was staring right at him. Time to man up. “Good morning,” Adam said, walking into the kitchen like he hung out there every day of his life.

  Haley barely acknowledged his existence. “Grab yourself some coffee.”

  She wasn’t looking at him. Bad sign. The room must not have been as dim as he’d thought last night. Or he hadn’t been as fast as he’d hoped, covering his boner with the blanket. Jesus, this was worse than when he was thirteen. When he was thirteen, there hadn’t been Old Man Reeves sitting there, looking like he knew exactly what Adam was thinking.

  At least the other man broke the tension by saying, “Adam Sartain! Back home for the season?”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. As he shook, he said, “Haley was kind enough to let me sleep in her guest room last night. My water heater’s on the fritz.”

  Reeves glanced from him to Haley, looking like he didn’t believe a word of Adam’s story. And Adam had to admit, he wouldn’t have believed it either. He cleared his throat and said to Haley, “Thanks for the crash space. I’ll get out of your hair now, head over to my place and take a look at the damage before I get to that Foundation meeting.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She smiled as she said it, but her eyes still missed his.

  I’m sorry about what happened last night.

  Sorry about what didn’t.

  Right. Like he’d say either of those things, with Old Man Reeves sitting there, shoving bites of cake into his mouth like he’d never eaten breakfast before. Adam was saved by Haley turning a blinding smile on the old guy. “What do you think, Mr. Reeves? May I come over to the farm with you now, just to look around?”

  And this time, miracle of miracles, Haley did catch his eye but only to flash him a warning: Don’t mention all the times we sneaked onto Reeves’ property. Her voice was prickly as she said to him, “Mr. Reeves is thinking about selling the farm. I was just telling him it would be perfect for Paws for Love.”

  “Sounds great,” he said, backing aw
ay from the spikes beneath Haley’s words. Don’t let Reeves know we were all little juvenile delinquents. “Good luck with that.”

  And then silence settled back over the kitchen, thick and heavy. Reeves glanced between them, and the old guy obviously knew something was up. Haley seemed to remember she needed to turn that plate of little cakes around, just a little to the right, no, to the left.

  Adam shrugged. “Well, I’ve got to see how bad things are next door.” He nodded toward Haley. “Thanks again.” And he ducked out of the kitchen before he had to spend another second thinking about the bedroom upstairs.

  ~~~

  “Well,” Haley said to Mr. Reeves, bravely trying to breathe past the gaping hole in her chest. “Shall we?”

  She gestured toward the door Adam had just left through. Mr. Reeves obliged, pushing in his chair and carrying his coffee cup over to the sink. Haley told him not to fuss, and she led the way out of the kitchen, down the steps, across the damp grass of her back yard.

  She babbled as she walked, telling her neighbor about the great work Paws did. She wanted him to understand that he could be part of something bigger, something important in so many lives. But the entire time she chattered, she thought about that awful moment when Adam had walked into the kitchen.

  Awkward. She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if Mr. Reeves hadn’t been there. Part of her had wanted to blurt out the thoughts that had kept her awake all night. A wiser part, though, had told her to keep her damn mouth shut. She’d survived three decades of successful friendship with Adam Sartain. She wasn’t going to blow them now because of one crazy, overtired shot of lust.

  It was bad enough she was letting that soul-shattering swoop distract her from the business at hand. She shoved down her crazy fantasies and launched herself straight back on the road to normal. She was just in time to hear Mr. Reeves recite the history of the outbuildings.

  “There’s been some sort of stable here since 1829. This one was built in 1926, after a fire leveled the old one. There are twenty individual stalls, each opening off a central aisle, with a large tack room and a bunk room occupying the far end of the building. The stonework was completed by some of the finest masons in the tidewater area, and the carpentry was notable even in a time when handmade was the rule.” He exhaled and said, “Maggie made me memorize all that. We’ve been getting ready to show the place to real estate agents. But you don’t need me to tell you anything. Why don’t you look around inside, and then we can head up to the farmhouse?”