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Two days later,Nate read through notes on his laptop as he sat at a narrow desk in the garage apartment near the Ramsey farmhouse. The space had a bedroom and den off a small living area and full kitchen, so it had plenty of room for the next couple of weeks. His brother, Cal, had stayed here briefly in the spring when he’d cleared waivers and thought his career in professional baseball was done.
Somehow, Cal had managed to get picked up by another team thanks to an administrative change out in Oakland. Now, Cal was starting daily on the revamped roster, and living the dream with the woman who’d been their mother’s caretaker for three months when their mom had made a mission trip to Ecuador.
Maybe some of the good mojo Cal had experienced would kick in for him too while he stayed here. Career-wise, at least. Nate didn’t have any illusions about his love life while he lived in Last Stand. The only woman in his world lately had already made it clear she didn’t want a damned thing he had to offer.
Heard and understood.
Leaning back in the rolling office chair, he read through the licensing forms to develop a local baseball camp using the Houston team’s branding, in an effort to think about something besides Keely Harper. The set-up of an affiliated camp was straightforward, and his camp would benefit from the team’s considerable resources. A no-brainer, maybe. Except that part of him wondered about taking it on himself. Attaching the Ramsey name to baseball in a positive manner held a lot of appeal. He liked the idea of helping some area kids find passion for the game.
After the way the sport had dominated his life—not all of it positive, thanks to his dad—Nate was drawn to the concept of providing a healthy outlet for local youths. So instead of signing on the dotted line to adopt the Stars’ model for a camp, he flipped over his phone and dialed his centerfielder, Ty Lambert, to ask for an outside opinion. Ty was on the Stars’ injured list too, recovering from a motorcycle accident late in the spring. Nate figured the guy would be the first to agree to put in an appearance at a baseball camp for kids—both because he was a stand-up guy when it came to community service, and also to give him something to do besides rehab all day.
“Did my caller ID deceive me, or is it really the one-armed bandit on the line?” Lambert said right after picking up the phone.
“I’ll have you know, I have two good arms.” Nate picked up his bandaged left hand and examined the surgical tape beginning to fray. “Just not two good hands. Tell me there’s light at the end of the rehab tunnel?”
The outfielder gave a dry laugh. “I can’t vouch for that, but I keep hoping.”
Nate launched into an explanation of the baseball camp he wanted to start. Talking through it made the mission feel more personal than just a favor to his old high school coach. Maybe because, if his major league career never recovered from the tendon tear, Nate was going to need some other legacy to hang his hat on. Keeping kids invested in something positive, like a sport, was an initiative he could get behind. Baseball not only provided a constructive athletic outlet, it fostered team dynamics and mentorship. And for a talented, dedicated few, the sport could absolutely offer an exciting future.
“I’m in,” Ty interrupted before Nate had finished giving his pitch. “It’ll give me something to do besides physical therapy.”
“We both know the team’s going to insist you keep a therapy plan while you’re in town.” On their team, the players could be fined if they missed sessions. Their physical well-being was too important to the team, and unlike Nate, Ty’s role in the future of the Stars was assured. “But you’d definitely have something else to do in the off-hours.”
Nate remembered Ty was going stir-crazy from the boredom of workout sessions and ice baths, electric stimulation and therapy. Volunteering some time at the camp could be good for him. Besides that, Ty had gotten in the motorcycle accident in the first place because he was a bit of a thrill seeker—behavior frowned upon by management and fans alike. No one wanted to see a talented player injured when the guy had so much to offer the game.
“I’ll work it out. Management will turn cartwheels that I’m doing something community-minded instead of risking my neck in my free time. How soon should I be there?”
Staring out the second-floor window of the garage apartment, Nate watched as his mother’s three dogs raced out of the farmhouse for their evening walk, followed more slowly by his mom. He’d been meaning to talk to her about the land dispute between Gramp and Keely, hoping she’d have an idea how to intercede in a way that wouldn’t hurt Keely’s business or her pride. He shut down his laptop and stood as he finished the call.
“The sooner the better. I’ve got over a month of healing ahead of me, before I’m ready to play again, but it should only be a couple of weeks before I get the all-clear to travel with the team, and I’ll be on the road.” He needed to get his mojo back if he had any prayer of getting back in starting rotation. “I mean to have this thing up and running before I leave, so if you want to help figure out the logistics—”
“I’ll be there by the end of the week,” Ty promised. “Just text me the details and let me know where I’m supposed to stay while in Last Stand, Texas.”
Disconnecting, Nate pocketed the phone, grateful to have a project to occupy his time while he was in town. Setting up a baseball camp for kids, promoting it and participating in some way would speed up the days here and give him something to think about besides the stubborn, sexy ex-girlfriend who wanted no part of him.
He padded down the exterior stairs of the apartment, and stepped into his dusty boots, wondering why five years hadn’t been enough time to put her in the past for good. He’d thought he had left Keely Harper behind when she’d refused to leave Last Stand with him while he chased his baseball dreams.
But he’d been back in town for all of three days before he realized how damned wrong he’d been.
Clearly, he’d have to try harder.
Squinting into the sunlight, he spotted his mother in her garden.
“There you are.” His mom greeted him with a smile, but not before two of her dogs—both yellow Labs—had circled him, wagging their tails in alternating time so that if he didn’t get whacked in the knee by one, he got whacked in the knee by the other. “How’s the hand feeling?”
At fifty-four years old, Hailey Decker could give women half her age a run for their money. And Nate was pretty sure that wasn’t just bias because she was his mom. Not only did she take good care of herself with yoga workouts and Pilates, she had decided to tackle all sorts of things she’d missed out on in life while raising her four kids. In the years since her divorce, she’d taken an Alaskan mushing trip, spent a lambing season working on a Montana sheep ranch, and most recently volunteered for the Ecuador mission trip where she helped build houses for struggling families. That made her a superhero in his eyes, and now she had all the more time to pursue the things she loved since she’d invested her settlement from Clint Ramsey’s baseball earnings in a way that had made her a modestly wealthy woman.
“Feels fine,” Nate assured her, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ve got a follow-up appointment with a local doc tomorrow.”
She examined the tips of his fingers before letting go of his hand, hazel eyes narrowing as she peered up at him, her light brown ponytail slipping off her shoulder. “You can come back from this, Nathan,” she reminded him. “Just take good care of it and you’ll be right back in the lineup.”
He didn’t know how she pinpointed his worst fear with uncanny accuracy, but he wasn’t going to admit how much the thought of returning to the minors forever scared the hell out of him. He’d been hitting well to get the call-up in the first place, and luck had stuck with him enough that he hadn’t embarrassed himself, but he hadn’t exactly hit the lights out. His return was far from guaranteed.
“That’s the plan,” he told her, hoping like hell he hid his unease as he walked with her toward the garden. Most of the plants were done producing for the season except for a few yellow squash and tomatoes. “I wanted to see if you’d heard anything from Gramp about the land dispute with Keely Harper.”
His mom lifted a curious brow at Keely’s name but then busied herself with picking dead blooms off a squash plant. “No. But I’d be willing to bet she had no idea her father sold that acreage.”
Nate shook his head. “How come you could figure that out in two seconds while Gramp had no clue?”
