Marriage On His Mind
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Two
Okay, his pride was stung. He admitted that much to himself. Jack glanced at his watch again and frowned. Ten after six. He’d made assumptions from a minuscule amount of contact. Assumption number one, she was gutsy. Two, she genuinely wanted to help improve his game. Three, and he acknowledged this as wishful thinking, she was drawn to him in a way she could neither understand nor control.
Over the past four days, he’d gradually come to feel flattered at her interest. Now—at eleven minutes after six—he realized his mistake. He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his generic gray polyester baseball pants and ignored the unfamiliar feel of cleats under his feet. A pair of lightweight leather gloves burned through his back pocket. He had invested time and money preparing for his lesson, and she had the nerve not to show up?
He crouched at first base, or rather where first base would be if a game were on. Scooping up a handful of dirt, he rubbed the gritty stuff between his fingers as he debated how long to give her.
Plop! He looked up as a heavy white square cushion with a rigid tube attached landed beside him, shooting up a halo of dirt.
“Ram that into the pipe at second,” she called. “Can’t practice without a base.”
Jack fought to control his relief, which came swift and unapologetic at the teacherlike sound of her voice and the sight of her ever-present L.A. Seagulls cap. He trotted down to second and shoved in the square, then walked back. “I’d about given up on you,” he said toward where she stood leaning against a railing, obviously as close as she planned to get to him.
“I debated,” she admitted. “I decided your team needs you to learn this.”
“So, you’re doing it for the team, not me?”
“I’m doing this for baseball, Ponytail.”
He repressed a chuckle. “Ah. I’ve lowered the standards of the whole game, have I?”
“I think there’s hope, or I wouldn’t be here.”
He wandered closer, noting how she tugged her cap down defensively the nearer he got. When he saw she was about to take flight, he stopped. “I can’t keep calling you The Mouth. What’s your name?”
She seemed to grab a smile back just before it could escape. “Coach.”
He shook his head slowly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Ready to get to work, Ponytail?”
“I think I’m going to regret this,” he muttered as he returned to first base and awaited her instructions.
“First of all, move to the outfield so you can practice on the grass. When you’ve teamed how to slide where you can’t kill yourself, you’ll move onto the dirt.”
“You gonna just stand there and yell instructions to me?” he called over his shoulder as he jogged out to the grass.
“Yep.”
“How do I know you can do this if you don’t demonstrate it?”
“A person doesn’t have to be able to do in order to teach, Ponytail.” She walked parallel to him, one hand on the railing, stopping when he did. “Close your eyes. Visualize what I’m describing. Go through it in your head. If a part isn’t clear, we’ll do it again until it is. Don’t hesitate to stop me and ask questions. Okay?”
Jack closed his eyes. “You want to know if I can touch my nose with my finger?”
Her sigh was both loud and dramatic. “Let me guess. You’re in law enforcement.”
“Close. Lawyer.”
She groaned audibly. “And I said you could stop me anytime and ask questions. We won’t get out of here until dark.”
He grinned. “We have to be out of here by about 6:50. League takes over then.”
She looked at her watch. “Okay, we’ve got half an hour. Let’s go. Close your eyes.” She talked him through the steps, meticulously explaining the reasons for every action, then made him practice again and again on the grass until he could consistently slide while keeping his torso almost upright, trailing his left hand, his left leg tucked under him.
“You’re ready to move onto dirt, Ponytail.”
“Am I?” Every muscle complained as he walked to first base.
“Ready as you’ll ever be.”
“Somehow I don’t find that comforting, Coach.” He liked the sound of her laugh, a little wicked, a little playful. “You think I can master this in one lesson?”
“Sure. Remember to keep your right foot up so you don’t catch your spikes, then hit the bag with your heel, push off with your left leg, and you’ll be standing.”
“Can’t I just slide into it?”
“It’s going to depend on how much time you think you have. If you can stay on the ground and sort of slide around the base and catch it as you go by, that’s okay. Usually, there isn’t enough time. And, of course, if you’re needed to break up a double play—”
“One step at a time, Coach.”
Concentrating, he stood for a few seconds just staring at second base, then he took off at a dead run and dropped into a slide when she yelled, “Now!”
His cleat caught the edge of the bag and held before he could push himself upright, the impact jarring him from toe to head. He lay there swearing for fifteen seconds before her voice penetrated the buzz in his ears.
“Try it again.”
“I don’t think I can even walk.”
“You just learned what not to do, Ponytail. This time keep your foot up a little higher.”
Jack rolled over and pushed himself up, fighting the pain vibrating through his body. He hobbled back to first. “How is it you know so much about this game?” he asked.
“Baseball is my life.”
Her droll tone drew a laugh from him.
“You’re doing great, Ponytail.”
At her praise, a resurgence of energy numbed his pain. “You’re a good teacher.”
“Thanks. So, do you have a law practice here in town?”
He shook his finger at her. “No fair. I won’t answer personal questions if you won’t.”
She tipped her head to one side. “I’ll bet you’re dynamite.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re willing to work harder than the average person. You wouldn’t be content being anything less than best.”
They stared at each other, making some kind of connection that Jack couldn’t describe, only feel. He turned away when some people entered the stadium.