Karen Rock - A League of Her Own

She would definitely put the Falcons pitching coach on that task, not trusting herself to give the dangerously attractive new player the pointers he needed. That is, if she even got the opportunity to save the team.

Her father was already shaking his head. “Impossible.”

“Dave. This isn’t my call, but if you’d like my advice, I’ll give it,” Frank weighed in.

At her father’s stiff nod, the man continued. “The season’s already begun, and the team can’t be relocated at this point anyway. This sale can be made in September if you still want it. In the meantime, give Heather a chance. I’ve watched this kid of yours for years. She’s levelheaded, hardworking and no quitter. She’ll motivate these guys. Besides, as the first Minor League team with a female manager, you’ll draw attention and may sell more tickets. Female baseball fans are a growing demographic. We need to get with the times.”

He winked at Heather, and she glowed at the praise and support. Frank had been a good father to her friend, and now he was her champion when she’d least expected it.

Her father rubbed the white bristles on his chin, his eyes half-closed. “This is a bad idea,” he grumbled after a long, tense moment.

“But you’ll try it,” Frank urged him.

“Won’t change anything,” her father sighed, giving her a pitying look beneath the unclipped hedge of his brows. “Just putting off the inevitable.”

Heather ducked behind her emotional shield before her father’s lack of faith wounded her further. She had four months to turn the team around and prove him wrong. And she had a few ideas of her own about how to put the Falcons back in the limelight besides wins and the novelty of her gender. One plan had taken hold when she’d fielded a request from a local group home for troubled foster kids who couldn’t live with families. They were eager for tickets and she was happy to give them, along with other opportunities if her father would let her.

Ideally, with a focus on positive change, her gender would become a nonissue—for her and all women who wanted a career in baseball.

The Gowette brothers knocked and confidently strode to their seats, their lawyer in tow.

“Shall we start over?” Their attorney seated himself, then flipped to the pages where signature lines lay empty.

Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “No need. Sale’s off.”

The brothers sputtered, one of them protesting, “We’ve been putting this deal together for months.”

“Then you won’t mind waiting a few more. The Falcons are going to finish their season before I revisit this sale option.”

“This offer won’t be around forever,” warned the older brother, pointing his finger.

“No.” Her father stood with a sigh. He looked down at Heather and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “And neither will I. But we’ll take our chances.”

After the Gowettes and their lawyer left, Heather flew into her father’s arms. “Thank you, Dad.”

“Don’t thank me. I was trying to save some inheritance for you instead of burning through it with another bad season, but if you and Frank think this is a good idea...well...we’ll give it a few months. After that, no more arguments. The team goes.”

“There won’t be any more arguments,” Heather whispered in her father’s ear before releasing him.

He harrumphed and walked out of the room with Frank as Heather lingered.

She looked out at the empty parking lot, imagining it full again. Holly Springs deserved another chance. And after a childhood full of hearing what she couldn’t do, she deserved this opportunity, too. Finally, her father would learn he could count on her, trust that she was capable. Believe in her.

She had one shot and wouldn’t mess it up.

CHAPTER THREE

“ANYONE KNOW WHAT the meeting’s about?”

Garrett looked up at George Hopson, who’d turned around in his foldout chair, the cherry smell of chewing tobacco accompanying his question.

Garrett shrugged when he caught Dean’s subtle headshake. It was one thing to speculate in private. But this was a formal meeting. No sense in getting everyone riled up about rumors until they knew the truth. From what he’d heard, it’d been a couple of days since the franchise owners had met with Mr. Gowette and speculation was rife.

On his own end, however, he was worried. After his conversation with Dean, he’d called his agent and already had a couple of teams lined up who might be interested in giving him a tryout if the Falcons released him. He was a risk as a reclamation project who now had a 0-1 record. If he let any more time go by and his record worsened, he’d be out of options completely. He was fortunate the teams even entertained the idea of looking him over. If his current team appeared to be in more jeopardy than he’d previously believed, he needed to move fast.

“Don’t know.” He lifted his foot and placed it on his jittering knee. “Change in schedule?”

“Is it true they’re selling the team?” jabbered the new shortstop beside him. His hair was slicked back and wet from a recent shower, his polo shirt pressed as neatly as the crease in his pants. Garrett looked at his own wrinkled button-down shirt and jeans. He’d put in some effort at least—he’d usually be in a T-shirt and shorts. Since practice started in an hour, there wasn’t much reason to get dressed up.

“Guess we’ll see.” He rubbed his jaw, wondering when the meeting would begin. He was as anxious as the rest, but his years of learning to keep his temper in check as a foster kid, then hiding his feelings during games altogether, made camouflaging his emotions second nature.

“They’re probably announcing our next manager,” put in Waitman, their left fielder. He shook a packet of raisins into his mouth and chewed as he watched the clock above the double doors at the front of the large team meeting room.

Murmurs of agreement erupted from the rows of seats around them. It was the most logical explanation. And a critical choice. The wrong manager would influence the entire season and, by extension, Garrett’s prospects of a strong record that could propel him to the Majors. If the team gave up trying, it wouldn’t help his stat line. He needed the Falcons to hustle, to execute plays well and get batters out. If they didn’t, it would mean more runs and more hits and fewer innings pitched, all stats chronicled on his record.

A pitcher usually only got around a hundred throws per game. If the guys backing him up couldn’t get the outs they were supposed to, it meant facing more batters per inning, burning through the number of throws allowed before he was pulled from the game.

With luck, the news would be good and he’d see the owner’s beautiful daughter at tonight’s game. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since they’d met. In fact, he’d looked her up online and discovered that she was one of the top collegiate softball players of all time. Impressive.

Looks and talent. She had it all.

Including a father who’d bench him if he so much as treated her to a stadium hot dog.

Not that he’d do anything that stupid. She’d be off-limits even if her father wasn’t the owner. He had to stay focused on his career, not women. Even ones as attractive as Heather.

She was pretty in that natural way he liked best. She wore no makeup, but freckles and a sunburned nose brightened her heart-shape face. Her large eyes, a color that reminded him of jade stones, were set beneath golden brows that matched the strands running through her long, wavy light brown hair.

Yes, she was gorgeous, and the wary expression in her eyes made him feel strangely protective. What he wanted to shield her from, however, he hadn’t a clue. Yet something about her reminded him, strangely, of himself. She seemed guarded, as if ready for whatever life was about to dish out next. Weird. As Dave Gadway’s daughter, she was rich and privileged. What had she ever suffered?