The Reluctant Bachelor. Syndi Powell

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      CHAPTER ONE

      FIVEYEARSSHOULDbe enough time for people to forget. In a world of thirty-second sound bites and high-speed internet, one person’s fifteen minutes of fame should be a distant memory in a few months at most.

      But Rick didn’t live in a world of shoulds. If he did, he’d be happily married to Brandy. And Lizzie wouldn’t be sitting in the stands at the annual Pickle Play-Off game.

      Get your head in the game, Allyn. This is for the championship.

      He clapped his hands and crouched into a running stance at second base. His line drive had been good enough to get him there, but he needed one more solid hit to get him and the guy on third home to win the game. The young man with Down syndrome up to bat might dampen anyone else’s enthusiasm. But not Rick’s. Because tonight was his night. He could feel it down to his cleats.

      Rick cupped his hands around his mouth. “C’mon, Jeffy. Hit me in, buddy.”

      Jeffy looked up at him and nodded. He bit his tongue as he got into position in front of the catcher.

      The first pitch. “Ball.”

      Rick stood and clapped his hands once more. “Good eye, Jeffy.”

      Jeffy swung at the next ball. Missed. “Strike one.”

      “Wait for your pitch, buddy.” Rick put his hands on his knees, rubbing the left one to ease the ache—a remnant of a car accident five years before—then returned to his running stance, ready to make a dash for third if the opportunity arose.

      The next ball floated across the plate. “Strike two.”

      The crowd got to their feet. They could be one pitch away from winning it all. Or losing. They stomped. Shouted. Cheered. Jeffy’s mom hid her head in her hands and turned to the well-dressed brunette in a purple power suit beside her.

      Why was she here?

      Rick shook his head. Stay focused. “C’mon, Jeffy. Hit her out of here!”

      He held his breath as the next ball pinged off Jeffy’s bat and rolled toward first base.

      “Foul ball!”

      At third base, Tom saw his opportunity and sprinted toward home before the opposing team could react. He slid safely into home plate and tied the game as Rick reached third base.

      One hit was all they needed. One solid hit to get Rick home.

      He held his hands up. “Time-out.” He started walking toward Jeffy. Time for a pep talk.

      * * *

      THEOLDERWOMANsitting beside Elizabeth on the bleachers covered her eyes. “I can’t look.”

      Elizabeth looked from the woman to the young man talking with Rick at home plate. “Is that your son?”

      The woman turned and smiled at Elizabeth. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

      “Afraid not.” She gripped the handles of her Kate Spade bag tighter. “I’m here on business.”

      And business was exactly what she should be doing rather than sitting on a hard wooden bleacher, waiting for a chance to talk to Rick. He looked good. Better than good. But five years hadn’t changed him. Same brown hair that looked as if he’d run a comb through it sometime that week. Same warm grin that could make a girl’s toes curl. And if she could get close enough to see his brown eyes, she knew she’d see the familiar twinkle that played with his good-guy image. Five years and he still didn’t see his potential beyond this hick town. Good thing she was there to change all that.

      The woman next to her held out her hand. “I’m Martha. Otherwise known in town as Jeffy’s mom.”

      Elizabeth turned her attention back to Martha and shook her hand. “Elizabeth.”

      “Jeffy loves the game, but because he’s slow, coaches won’t let him play.” She turned adoring eyes back to the two men standing at home plate. “Except for Rick, bless him.”

      Rick walked back to third base as Jeffy returned to the batter’s box. Swung the bat a few times. Hunkered down, ready for his pitch.

      Martha squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, I can’t watch.”

      Elizabeth СКАЧАТЬ