Karen Templeton - Playing For Keeps

Dale wrestled the ball out of the dog’s mouth and lobbed it clear to the back of the yard. It felt good, throwing again. Even if he couldn’t do it over and over the way he used to.

“I didn’t expect you to bring out the set yourself,” Joanna said. Dale turned, somewhat disappointed to note that her expression wasn’t nearly as hospitable as the dog’s had been.

“Somebody got sick. I’m filling in.”

“Oh.” She swiped at a couple of loose curls that were fluttering around her face, the rest of her hair being stuck up on top of her head with a pencil rammed through it, of all things. “You can just leave the store like that?”

She sounded kind of annoyed, for some reason. “It’s my store. I can pretty much do whatever I want. But since you seem so concerned—” he turned and motioned to Jose to go ahead and start unloading the truck, then turned back to Joanna “—I’ve got a couple part-timers minding the place…”

His not-quite-full-out-flirting grin faltered slightly when a man a few years younger than Dale, shorter but more sturdily built—like a pit bull, Dale thought—came out of the house to stand behind Joanna. Despite sharp features that should have made him intimidating, the grin that split the man’s features as he approached Dale, his hand outstretched, told a whole ’nother story.

“Bobby Alvarez,” he said, his words tinged with that slight Spanish accent Dale had come to realize often clung even to Hispanics whose families had been in the area for generations. The grin widened. “Otherwise known as ‘the ex.’”

Since this fact did not seem to particularly perturb Bobby, Dale figured he needn’t let it bother him any, either. So he returned the grin, and the handshake. “Dale Mc-Connaughy,” he said, bracing himself for the reaction. Not that there always was one these days. But it happened often enough, especially with a mug that had adorned a million Wheaties boxes not all that long ago.

“Dale McConnaughy? Damn, I thought you looked familiar! Hey, babe—” he turned to Joanna “—you know who this is?”

“Yes, Bobby. Dale McConnaughy. We’ve already met.”

“No, I mean, do you know who this is? Atlanta Braves? Pitched a shutout in the last game of the World Series against the Yankees a few years ago?” He let out a whoop of laughter, then took Dale’s hand again and pumped it for all it was worth. “Man, I cannot tell you what an honor this is!” Then he frowned. “But what the hell are you doing setting up kids’ swing sets?”

“I own a toy store now, since I retired. Bum arm.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bobby said. “I remember readin’ something about that.” He looked like he had more to say on the subject, but changed his mind when he saw Jose lug the first round of materials through the gate. “Hey—you guys need some help?”

Dale felt a prickle of annoyance. An ex-husband did not fit in with his plans. Except then Joanna said, “No, they do not. You told me you had a one-thirty appointment, remember?”

“It’s that late already?” Bobby said, checking his watch. “Damn.” He shrugged. “Don’t know why, but I can never keep track of time. Used to drive her nuts,” he ended on a chuckle, fishing his keys out of his back pocket. “Okay, I guess I’d better go.” He leaned over and bussed her on the cheek, then said, “You’ll call me when it’s time to bring the kids over, right?”

After Bobby left, Joanna stood frowning at the space where her husband had been until Dale said, “So…where you want us to put this?”

Her head whipped around, her eyes a little glassy-looking. “What? Oh. Over here.”

Still barefoot, she tromped toward the back of the yard, pointing to a spot underneath one of the tallest cottonwoods. “I don’t know if the roots might be a problem, though…”

“You got an ax?” Jose said. “We can take some of them out, it won’t hurt the tree.”

Joanna told him there was one in the shed; with a nod, Jose loped off, the dog trotting along to keep him company. Dale was about to ask her which end of the set she wanted closest to the tree when she suddenly said, “Honestly. I’m surprised he didn’t pee around the perimeter of the property.”

“Who? Jose?”

She looked at him, eyes wide. Then laughed softly. “No. Bobby.”

“Oh.” Dale shrugged. “Maybe he still has feelings for you?”

“We’ve been divorced for more than three years. I somehow doubt it.”

Her curls were bouncing in the breeze and her mouth did this cute, kinda three-cornered thing when she smiled, and because he was as territorial as the next male animal he thought about moving closer, staking his own claim. Maybe leaning one palm on the tree trunk, right over her head.

Oh, yeah, this was definitely a game to him. One of his favorites. One he hadn’t felt much like playing in a long time. And wasn’t all that sure he should be playing now.

Because, unless he was sorely mistaken, Joanna Swann played by a whole different set of rules than he was used to. If he wanted to set this one up to win—should he decide that’s what he wanted to do—he’d best remember that. So he didn’t move closer. In fact, he crouched by the pile of four-by-fours, going through the motions of checking them off on his parts list, even though he’d checked them three times before loading them into the truck. “Don’t see as time has much to do with anything.”

“Time?” She hooked her thumbs in her pockets in a way that managed to be sexy as all get-out and childlike at the same time. On closer inspection, she wasn’t near as skinny as he’d first thought, although far as he could tell underneath the sweatshirt, she didn’t have much in the way of breasts. But this was one instance where size did not matter. “Nothing,” she said. “But I sure hope you’re wrong. For his pregnant fiancée’s sake, if nothing else.”

“Oh. That puts kind of a different spin on things, huh?”

“That would be my take on it.”

“Still and all, maybe he figured he made a mistake, walking away from you.”

After a moment she said, “He didn’t walk away. I did.”

Dale looked up. That hadn’t been regret in her voice, not that he could tell. But there was something that niggled at him, anyway. “Because?”

“Because I saw no point in sticking something out that wasn’t working anymore.”

“I see.” A pause. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you got any idea why you’re telling me this?”

Her gaze met his, cool as a freshly cut lawn on a summer’s day. “None at all.” Then she tilted her head. “So you were a ball player?”

To hide his smile, Dale got up and crossed to where she wanted the set, nudging the roots with the toe of his shoe. Nice tactic she had there: if the conversation wasn’t going the way she liked, she just moved on to something else.

“Yep,” he said. “My entire adult life, up until a nasty case of pitcher’s arm ended my career a couple years back.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It happens. I…take it you’re not a fan?”

“Of sports? No. Paying a bunch of grown men millions of dollars to chase, kick, bat or otherwise torture a ball never made a whole lot of sense to me.”

“Don’t hold back now, tell me what you really think.”

She laughed. “Okay, so I’m not going to wet myself because you were a sports star.”

“So why’d you say you were sorry?”

Her smile faded into a faint blush. “Because…I can imagine how hard it must have been for you to give up something you loved. Assuming you did.”

It was the weirdest thing. With most women, he had no trouble keeping track of whether he was making points or not. Not with this one. Damn, it was unnerving, the way she managed to be aloof and sympathetic at the same time.