Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 34

He was an awfully good nephew.

Her heart wobbled dangerously.

He glanced up, and Colleen looked away fast.

Savannah was coming up to bat. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. “Time!” Colleen called, and ran over to her sister. “Honey?” she whispered, kneeling down. “What’s wrong?”

Savannah’s pressed her lips together. “It’s my last at bat, that’s all,” she whispered, and a tear streaked down her chubby little cheek. She glanced toward the dugout, obviously afraid that her tears would be noticed.

Colleen squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ll talk to them. I told you that already. Don’t cry.”

“Do you really think you can change her mind?”

“Please. Who do you think you’re talking to? Does anyone say no to me?”

Savannah gave a watery smile. “I guess not.”

“Of course not!” Colleen glanced over at her father; he was standing, looking concerned. She’d take him aside later and force him to let Savannah stay on the team. Cheerleading was fine; in fact, Colleen herself had done a little in middle school. It just wasn’t for Savannah. “Now come on. I want you to knock it out of the park, okay?”

“Okay.” Savannah wiped her eyes once more. “Don’t tell anyone I was crying.”

“Gotcha. Here, let me pretend to check your eye.” Colleen examined Savannah’s eye solemnly. “It looks clear to me,” she said in a regular voice.

“Everything okay?” the umpire said.

“She had something in her eye. We’re all set now. You ready, Yogi?”

Savannah grinned. “Yeah. Thanks, Colleen.”

Coll ran back to her spot between second and third. She felt warm, suddenly, and the back of her neck prickled.

Lucas was watching her, his eyes steady on her, and for a second, it felt as if they were the only two people here.

“Stee-rike!” called old Mr. Holland, their home plate umpire.

Colleen smacked her fist into her glove and gave Savannah a smile. Big Frankie, the pitcher for Stoakes and a lug-headed jock, wound up and threw again.

“Stee-rike two!”

Lucas was still watching her.

He’d always had a way of looking at her that went right into her bone marrow, making her skin thrum and buzz.

The crack of the bat made her head snap back to the game. Line drive to the gap, Coll could catch it in three paces, but she’d be damned if she was going to. She took two strides and made a dramatic, full-out lunge for the ball, pulling up an inch short and hitting the dirt hard. The ball flew past her and into the outfield, rolling into no-man’s-land.

The crowd roared. Savannah rounded first and chugged toward second—hurry, hurry—and Shannon Murphy scored. Colleen picked herself up and watched as Lefty Moore streaked after the rolling ball. People were screaming and yelling as Savannah hit third and kept going, and Colleen’s toes curled—an in-the-park home run, that never happened, let alone to a nine-year-old girl.

Lefty fired the ball to Colleen. She caught it and threw it home, timing it so the ball hit Evan Whitfield’s glove just a second after Savannah’s foot hit the plate.

“Safe!” Mr. Holland shouted, and everyone on both sets of bleachers was on their feet, cheering and screaming and whistling. Connor ran out of the dugout and scooped up their sister, giving Colleen a subtle thumbs-up.

Savannah’s sweet face shone as the entire O’Rourke’s team swarmed her. Con hoisted her up on his shoulders, and the rest of the team—the fabulous Murphy girls, Bryce and Paulie, Ned Vanderbeek, everyone, all high-fived her, cheering and hooting. Con said something, and Savannah turned and tipped her hat to the crowd, getting another roar, and Colleen guessed this was pretty much the best day of her little sister’s life.

“So close, Colleen,” said Emmaline Neal, the third baseman, with a knowing smile.

“Quite a dive,” Robbie Mack added, slapping her on the butt. From the stands, Faith pointed at her and smiled, then continued clapping.

“Nice try, Colleen,” Jeremy called from first. She held out her hands in the “whatcha gonna do” gesture and grinned.

So, sure. She’d thrown the play. She was a good player, and Savannah’s hit had been catchable, especially by the town’s best shortstop. But it was worth it, and her teammates knew it. Just about everyone knew it except Savannah, and Colleen felt a rush of love for her town. No one would ever tell Savannah that she’d been handed that hit.

Then Dad ran over to home plate, and Savannah wriggled down from Connor and jumped into her father’s arms. “Daddy, Daddy, did you see that?”

“Are you kidding? It was amazing!” he said. “My little girl hit a homer! I’m so proud of you, baby!”

Colleen waited for him to glance over at her with that same fond smile she was getting from people on both teams.

It didn’t come. He only had eyes for Savannah.

Colleen’s happy bubble deflated a little. She looked away.

“Okay, okay, batter up,” Mr. Holland said, and Paulie picked up the bat and came to the plate.

Colleen assumed the position, bending her knees. But she kept looking over at Dad. Savannah was in the dugout, still accepting congratulations from the team, chattering in amazement, her eyes bright, gesturing wildly, completely at home with her peeps. Dad kept looking over at her, beaming and pointing—Who’s my girl?—and accepting some backslaps of his own for having raised such a little prodigy.

He still didn’t look at her.

Did he not know? She could’ve had Savannah out easily. Did he not know that she’d deliberately given the little girl a great moment to cherish, especially because his shallow trophy wife was fixated on some stupid idea of what a little girl should be like? Did Dad truly not get it? Did he—

And then there was a crack, and a thunk, and Colleen was suddenly down on her knees, and holy sphincter, her head! She clapped a hand to the spot that was just yelping in pain and saw the baseball at her feet.

She’d been hit in the head with a frickin’ ball.

“Ouch,” she said faintly.

What would Jeter do? Colleen picked up the ball and tossed it to Robbie, who fired to first. Runner was out.

And so was she. The dirt rushed up to greet her, and all was quiet.

BEING CARRIED OFF the field had a certain élan to it. A certain horrifying, embarrassing, completely unsexy élan.

Marian Field, the mayor of Manningsport, insisted that she go to the hospital, Jeremy concurred, and the volunteer EMTs, half of whom were at the game, couldn’t have been happier, as they loved pain and misery, especially the accidental kind, since it would give them something to brag about at O’Rourke’s.

So she was put in a neck brace and on a backboard, which was ridiculous and more uncomfortable than a baseball to the head. And now she was just lying here like that dead porcupine, Ned Vanderbeek holding an ice pack on her head and trying not to laugh.

Lucas was holding her hand.

It was a disturbingly wonderful feeling.

She kept jerking it away. He kept scowling and taking it back.

“Can we please get this show on the road?” she asked, pulling her hand free for the eighth time. Gurneys. So not her. She tried to get up, and Lucas gently pushed her back down.

“The patient is combative,” Ned Vanderbeek said, grinning.

“I’ll give you combative, little boy. Lean in closer.”

“Stop whining,” Lucas said, taking her hand again.

“I’m not whining. I’m demanding. And why are you acting all possessive and concerned? I got bumped in the head. Big deal.”

“You got knocked out cold. Second time this week.”

“Yeah, well, I also made the play, didn’t I?”

“Fine, you’re Derek Jeter,” Lucas snapped. “And you’re going to the hospital. The end.”

“Oh, so bossy and alpha male. I think I’m having an orgasm.”

Ned choked.

“You’re the one who’s always collapsing around me,” Lucas said. “Just come out with it. You want me to take care of you.”

“Jeez! The ego! How do you both fit in the same car?”

He grinned, and the orgasm became a possibility. She scowled, then looked around for help. “Jeremy! Please let me go home! I need a drink and my dog. Where is he, by the way?”

Connor appeared in her line of vision. He scowled at Lucas but didn’t punch him and looked down at her. “Nice play, Collie Dog Face.”

“Finally, someone appreciates me. Do you know where Rufus is?”

“Here.”

Her dog’s shaggy head appeared, and he began licking her maniacally. She scratched his ears with her free hand. “Who’s a good boy? It’s you, Rufus-Doofus! You’re the good boy! Yes, you are!”

“So that was kind of fun. You went down like a side of beef,” Connor said, because despite the fact that he was an adult, what was better than having your twin sister get hurt?

“Laugh it up,” Colleen said. “It will never top the time you sliced open your scrotum when we were six.” Connor, Lucas and Ned winced in unison. Good.

“Be right back,” Connor said. “I hear the ice cream truck.”

“Bring me a Mr. Nutty.”

And now Paulie was here, her face scrunched in concern. “Coll, I am so sorry! Really! You okay?”

“Oh, sure. Nice hit, by the way. Next time, I’ll try to catch it with my glove instead of my head.” She pried free of Lucas’s grip once more and patted Paulie’s muscular forearm. “No worries.”

“Hey, bud, can you hold this?” Ned asked, handing the ice pack to Lucas. “I see a girl I like. Sarah! Hey! How you doing?”

Lucas smiled down at her and put the ice pack back on her forehead, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look cute,” he said.

Her special places crooned. “You’re a pervert.”

“I could be.”

“You guys make the best couple,” Paulie sighed with gusto. “Totally romantic.”

“No, it’s not, Paulie.” Colleen closed her eyes.

It was. Lucas was the first person she saw when she woke up; granted, she’d been out all of five seconds, but his worried face was looking down at her, and she could’ve sworn he called her mía.

That nickname was dangerous.

So what if he was divorced now? He’d be leaving soon, and she’d be smart to remember it. No matter how good he was making her feel.

“Where’s my child?” Mom pushed through the crowd, the smell of Jean Naté foreshadowing doom and despair. “Baby! You poor thing!”

Colleen heaved a Catholic sigh. “Hi, Mom.”

“My precious girl! Oh, Lucas, hello, dear. How nice that you’re tending to Colleen. The new windows look fantastic, by the way.” And back to Colleen. “Are we going soon? I’ll ride with her,” Mom announced with great overtones of martyrdom. “I’m her mother, after all.”

Her twin was back, eating a Mr. Nutty ice cream cone. “Where’s mine?” she asked.

“Ran out of cash,” he said, taking a bite. “Hey, Ma.”

“I’m going to the hospital with your sister. Are you coming?”

“Connor, do not let her come with me,” Colleen hissed. “I will kill you in your sleep if you let her come with me.”

“Ma,” Connor said patiently. “She doesn’t want you to go. I’ll go.”

“Of course I’m going! You’re my daughter. You’re my first priority.” Mom was scanning for Dad, eager to win the Concerned Parent award, not that there was any competition. “Oh, and Stan had to leave. Ulcerative colitis, very messy.” Mom groped for her free hand, hitting her in the sore spot on her head.