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The contact of his fingers wrapped around her palm felt sweetly natural, right. At the same time, it felt dizzyingly intoxicating. Far more effective than her two sips of beer.
Logic told her she shouldn’t like touching him so much when she knew she couldn’t trust her instincts where men were concerned. But it was tough to make her body obey her brain’s commands when Cal smiled at her that way. Like they shared a secret. Like they understood each other on some level.
“He’s an unusual man,” she said finally, taking his comment literally since she wasn’t sure how else to respond. “I thought most fathers couldn’t wait to take credit for their sons’ successes, but he seems determined to not acknowledge yours.”
“That’s because all of life is a competition in the Clint Ramsey world, and he’s determined to win. Not to mention, right now he considers me a failure.” He squeezed her hand. “Now, let’s forget about him for a little while so I can take you around the stadium and show you the behind-the-scenes world of a player.”
Her heart rate sped faster at Cal’s touch. The promise of being alone with him. She should say no, of course. She’d come here to be a buffer and take in a game.
But seeing this other side of Cal—a chink in the armor he showed the world as a professional athlete—made her want to know him better. Made her willing to risk spending more time with him. Alone.
She took a deep breath and blurted, “What are we waiting for?”
Chapter Seven
“Calvin Ramsey, it’sgood to see you remember your roots.” Buck Wyman, the stadium’s head of security, greeted Cal with a bear hug and a thump on the back that would have felled a smaller man. Built like an NFL lineman, Buck had held the head of security job during the year Cal played in the Texas league and he’d been a good friend to have. “Welcome home.”
Buck stood at the top of the stairway that led to the underground locker rooms, clubhouse and team offices, places that Cal wanted to point out to Josie on a quick tour of the facility. Mostly, he’d needed a retreat from his father and the strain of watching his first professional ball game since getting cut from his team. He’d known it would be tough to get through the evening, but his father’s running commentary on Nate’s performance only made it worse. Cal knew it was his father’s way of articulating his disappointment in Cal.
“Thank you.” Cal eased back enough to draw Josie forward to make introductions. “I wanted to give Josie a quick tour before Nate comes up in the batting order again. Is that okay?”
“Are you kidding me? There are a lot of guys downstairs who will be damned thrilled to see you, Cal. It’s not often we get visiting royalty.” Buck stepped aside to let them pass. “Take your time. And thanks for that Atlanta Rebels bag you sent my daughter. She’s the envy of her softball team.”
“My pleasure,” Cal assured him as he led Josie down the stairs, liking the feel of her hand in his.
He was surprised he’d talked her into the private tour, but then, he didn’t think she had much use for crowds given the way she’d holed up in his mother’s house for months straight. And her irritation with his father had been apparent. So maybe she’d only agreed to go with him to escape the busy party deck full of Last Stand residents.
Behind them, he could hear the fans cheer, letting him know the home team got a hit. There were no speakers in this part of the building, however, so he couldn’t hear the game announcer.
“Visiting royalty?” Josie spoke softly as they passed the team’s rehabilitation room where the bikes, weights and low trampoline all sat empty.
“That may have been overstating the case,” Cal admitted, guiding her past the home team’s clubhouse where the wide-screen television still showed an eighties teen flick. The leather couches were grouped around it in the middle of the lockers, just the way he remembered from his year playing here. “But the guys in the organization have a lot of respect for anyone who makes it to the next level. They know better than most how few people get that call.”
They were also too tactful to comment on Cal’s untimely departure from his previous team, something he appreciated. Something his father would never understand.
“It must be nice to have a warm homecoming.” Josie sounded wistful as she peered into the clubhouse operations room—a glorified name for the kitchen and laundry areas. “You certainly didn’t receive much of a welcome in Last Stand between Everett’s injuries and your mom’s absence.”
She still hadn’t slid her hand free. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held hands with a woman. Let alone when it had affected him this way. He wanted to strategize ways to keep touching her. Ways to touch her even more.
“I don’t mind keeping a low profile.” He didn’t see the operations manager, so he kept moving through the building, pointing out some of the offices while memories bombarded him from the year he’d played in this league.
So many damn memories. The time on the field was only a small portion of a player’s life. Just as many hours unfolded in rooms like these—space shared with teammates at home and on the road. The major league level had upgraded team facilities, better meals, better hotel rooms. But the game was no different. If anything, the fatter paychecks of the top-tier players took away a lot of the camaraderie built in the minors. Players went their own ways, buying big mansions far from the stadium, bringing families on the road with them.
He’d seen it happen in his time in Atlanta, the bonds of brotherhood eroding. Even so, he’d miss being part of a team. Baseball had been a huge facet of his life up until four weeks ago. Josie halted in the echoing hallway beside him, tugging him to a stop.
“Should we have invited Everett to the game with us?” she asked, pausing in front of a row of drink machines.
They’d reached the end of the home team’s facilities, and he didn’t know the security guard who sat near the visiting team’s locker area just up ahead. Cal pivoted to return the way they’d come.
“Everett has never been a baseball fan.” Understatement of the year. He’d tried to explain to her some of the family dynamics in the car on the way to the game, but he must not have clarified that part. “Gramp never forgave Dad for turning his back on Rough Hollow. That land has been in the Ramsey family for generations, first as a ranch and then as a farm and orchards.”
It seemed unfair to Everett that Clint had never let his kids seriously consider working the land, molding his sons’ baseball careers from the time they were old enough to throw a ball, and alienating his only daughter in a way that ensured she didn’t feel the same ties to the family or land. For Cal’s part, he was already signing a contract with a team by the time he’d reached the age to make his own decisions. It wasn’t easy to walk away from the only job he’d trained for, and he knew his brothers had been in the same boat.
Although, now that Cal had lost his spot, he needed to give the future—and the land—more thought.
Josie followed more slowly, the sounds of the game still audible on the P.A. system speakers inside the rooms they passed. Cal noticed the wives’ and family lounge was empty, so he guided Josie in there. The space wasn’t much bigger than an average living room, but there was a closed-circuit feed of the game from a camera behind home plate along with a couple of well-used leather couches. “Even so, I’m surprised Everett wouldn’t want to cheer on Nate,” Josie observed as she let go of his hand and took a seat beside him on the couch. Her knees fell toward his, close but not touching. “I know he’s proud of you. And your brothers, too.”
Cal guessed Gramp would be more proud if one of the grandsons stepped up to take over the management of the farming operation, but he didn’t want to dwell on family drama. Just being back in a ballpark for the first time—without a uniform—was tough enough for him tonight.
