Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance Read online

  “You are a treasure, a good, good friend,” Marcia said, her breath warming Jeanine’s cheek. “As soon as you get better, Kirk will come to see you.”

  “Is George in jail? Will he go away?”

  “Yes, he’ll go away for a long time,” Brock answered. “Attempted murder, a weapons charge. You won’t have to worry about him again.”

  “Do you all know? Do you know what he did to me?” Jeanine’s eyes cracked open a little wider. “It’s so embarrassing. I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “We don’t know the details,” Marcia hastened to reassure her. “We love you no matter what.”

  Jeanine let her heavy eyelids drop. The weight and darkness pushed her down again, pulling her consciousness, submerging her into the maelstrom of the basement, the black velvet drapes, the bloody bedsheets, the blindfold, the ties and the whippings, the smell of linseed oil, the knife through the canvas, the flesh and sweat pressing her down, and the pain and pressure between her legs, always the same pain and pressure, thrusting and invading, plundering her to the skeleton of her soul.

  A black veil covered her face, smothering her, and organ music droned, a macabre Wedding March, as she locked arms with a hard, metallic arm, walking like a toy soldier to a black altar. The blood red flowers disintegrated in her hands, leaving shiny white bones.

  A man in a black hoodie stood at the end of the aisle, holding a large black book.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to marry George Simpson to Jeanine Jewell.” The man with the hoodie stood behind a lectern and banged an ebony gavel. “Does anyone object?”

  The clock chimed. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

  “I object,” Jeanine heard herself saying in a small voice.

  “You promised to love only me,” the creature holding her arm spoke in her ear. “You promised it. Did you betray me?”

  “No. I don’t love anyone.”

  “Do you love Kirk?”

  “No. I don’t love anyone.”

  “You loved me. I have your letters.” Claws dug into her arm, shredding the muscles and blood vessels, sinews, and joints. “He will not love you, if he knew how much you loved me.”

  “There are no letters. I threw them away. Every one of them.”

  “I have them, my love. Now, be a good girl, and marry me.” He guided her to the altar which had turned into a headstone.

  Her name was engraved on the stone as: Janine Jewell Simpson, beloved wife and mother.

  They’d spelled her name wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jeanine stood in front of the mirror and applied her makeup. A week had gone by, her mental fog had lifted, and she had her control back. Tina was also back, staying with her so she wouldn’t be alone. Apparently, Jeanine was right. Lennie was beating Tina, as she’d returned with bruises on her face.

  Everything was back as it should be. Everything, except for Kirk. Despite what Marcia had said about him coming to see her, he hadn’t. She’d heard through Brock that he’d been put on the injured list and his position on the roster was in jeopardy. The bullet had torn an artery and damaged nerves in his thigh. He was in physical therapy, but unable to squat behind home plate.

  She’d ruined his career, and she didn’t blame him for leaving her alone. He’d sacrificed too much, and being with her would rub in how he’d lost his dreams.

  Right now, she had nothing left for herself in Phoenix. Marcia had ordered her to go on a leave of absence and threatened to sell her own share of The Hot Corner if Jeanine didn’t complete her treatment.

  Add to that, the news had exposed her as Simpson’s victim—the teenager who’d sent him to jail. She was no longer a minor, protected from being named. But she was no shrinking violet, and she’d wear her reputation with her head held high. She was a survivor, not a victim.

  She had weathered the police interviews and given as much evidence as she could. She’d walked into the courthouse and watched the monster be arraigned. The prosecutors had argued to have bail denied, and the judge had come through because Simpson was a danger to children and a flight risk.

  Jeanine took a deep breath and painted lipstick over her lips. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life. Today, she’d take the first step toward true recovery. Alone, by herself. The best way to go.

  “You almost ready?” Tina shouted through the doorway. She was driving Jeanine to the Trail’s End Recovery Ranch in northern Arizona, a specialized resort for those needing therapy and rehabilitation from their addictions. “You’re going to have so much fun.”

  “I might as well go out in style,” Jeanine said out of the side of her mouth. “Look at me, so high on tranquilizers I can’t even drive. Do I look loopy to you?”

  “You’ll be fine.” The smaller woman reached up and put her arm around her. “I can’t get over everything he did to you. I had no idea you were protecting me and Madge.”

  “Better me than you.” Jeanine grabbed her rolling suitcase. “I’m going to pretend this is a long overdue vacation.”

  “It is. I was looking through the online brochure.” Tina chirped merrily as she locked the door and jingled Jeanine’s car keys.

  Oh, yeah. Tina was going to enjoy driving that BMW around with the top down.

  “I’m not going horseback riding,” Jeanine said. “I can’t imagine getting my butt bounced on a hard saddle would be therapeutic.”

  “But they said the horses are gentle and soothing,” Tina said. “Or you can do the meditation program or the sweat lodge.”

  “I just want to get well.” Jeanine took one last look at her neighborhood and spotted him.

  The stalker in the hoodie. What was his name? She’d forgotten. He came toward them, waving.

  “What does he want?” Tina asked. “Is he a good guy or a bad guy? He’s kind of cute.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him.” Jeanine turned around, but the man was faster.

  “Don’t run off, miss,” he shouted. “I want to apologize.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Jeanine said, standing her ground. She reached into her purse. “How do you know I don’t have a concealed carry permit?”

  “You wouldn’t shoot an innocent man.” The man grinned and put his hand out to shake. “Tyson Jewell.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say your name was?” Jeanine’s hand closed around the pepper spray.

  “Tyson Jewell. I should have introduced myself in the medical building, but I was under orders not to.”

  “Who are you?” Jeanine’s mouth went dry and her heart lurched in her chest. Why were all these Jewells suddenly popping up? Two weeks ago, she’d gotten a letter forwarded to her for Janine Jewell, her name spelled wrong—and then there was the tombstone in her dream.

  “I’m your brother,” Tyson said. “I should have been watching out for you when Simpson attacked. I failed. My other client had an emergency and I had to take her to the hospital.”

  “My brother?” All the air left Jeanine’s body. Her stomach felt like someone had punched it hard, and her legs wobbled.

  He reached out and steadied her. “Sorry for the shock, but as soon as Simpson got out of jail, I’ve been tracking you.”

  “You aren’t the only guy stalking me. Were you aware of another one? He took pictures of me outside my friend’s house.”

  “He’s Kirk Kennedy’s brother. That’s why I told you that Kirk had ulterior reasons for making contact with you. His family paid for Simpson’s attorney fees. Simpson was Kirk’s coach and the guy who helped him get into professional baseball.”

  “You’re saying Kirk’s brother stalked me?”

  “They ransacked your apartment looking for those love letters.” Tyson turned and leveled a glare at Tina. “And you purposely left the door unlocked and let them in.”

  Tina’s face turned bright red and she quailed. “I did not. It was an accident.”

  “No, it was an act. I wouldn’t trust this little waif as far as I can spit.�
� Tyson wedged his body between Jeanine and Tina. “In fact, if I were you, I’d throw her out of the apartment and change the locks.”

  “But, why should I believe you? How do I even know you’re who you say you are?” Jeanine brought the can of pepper spray out of her purse. “No one ever told me I had a brother before. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight. One year younger than you.”

  “So, you’re saying our mother had you after abandoning me? Who is she? Where is she? Did she keep you and not me?”

  “She kept me. Yes. We have a few other sisters she gave up for adoption.”

  “So, she kept popping out babies, and gave them away? Is she still alive?”

  “She is. Do you want to see her?”

  “No!” Jeanine raised the spray can. “Never. She threw me out like a ragdoll and now she wants a reunion?”

  “She cares about you.”

  Jeanine’s hands shook and adrenaline surged through her veins. “You can tell her, if this isn’t all one big lie and joke, that she threw me away when I was two months old, and by now, she knows what kind of life I lived at the foster homes, so she can take her belated concern and shove it.”

  She grabbed Tina by the arm, dragged her away from Tyson, and went back to her apartment.

  “I’m sorry I left the door open,” Tina whined. “They gave me money and said it was a joke. They wanted your underwear.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Jeanine glared at her foster sister. “You betrayed me. You let Simpson into my apartment. What if I’d been there?”

  “That’s why I waited for you to go to Vegas,” Tina said, pulling on Jeanine’s sleeve.

  “What kind of friend are you?” She unlocked the door and pushed Tina inside. “Why’d you come back? So you can set me up again? Pack your stuff and leave, or I’ll call the police.”

  “But Lennie, he beat me,” Tina blubbered. “He took all the money they gave me.”

  “I can’t keep helping you if you won’t help yourself. Report him to the police. Do something.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry I let them in, but I swear I won’t open the door to anyone. Simpson’s in jail. He won’t be coming back.”

  Jeanine palmed her hands over her aching temple. “What did he say when you let him in?”

  “He said he was looking for the letters. The ones you wrote to him. He seemed to think you had them.”

  “I never wrote him anything he didn’t dictate, and I threw out all the letters the day he went to jail.”

  But even as she said this, another memory intruded. Kirk had mentioned the letters. He’d even quoted phrases from them. How did he know unless George had told him?

  Had it all been an act? And had George accidentally shot Kirk when he’d meant to shoot her? No wonder Kirk wasn’t looking her up and he was no longer a friend.

  Jeanine watched as Tina grabbed a duffle bag and piled her things into it. Had she no friends other than Marcia and Brock? What if they, too, turned on her? What if she truly had no one?

  Only the paranoid survive.

  After Tina departed, Jeanine called the locksmith and had him rekey her front door, again. The psych meds took the edge off the pain in her heart, but nothing could fill the emptiness inside of her. Tina’s betrayal hurt, but Kirk’s loomed even larger. He’d known exactly when she’d be out of town and had tipped off his brother who was in league with Simpson, her violator, to go through her things.

  How could he do that to her and kiss her like she meant something to him? Act like he’d cared? No wonder he wasn’t darkening her doorway. He knew the gig was up.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The evening chill descended over the desert after the setting of the sun. Giant saguaro cacti stood like silent sentinels against the darkening sky.

  Jeanine drove through the classic wooden ranch gate consisting of two poles and a bar across the top. A tumbleweed bounced along with swirls of dust across her path, and a wood-burned sign with the words “Trail’s End” dangled crookedly.

  Gravel crunched under Jeanine’s BMW tires as she made her way slowly up a rutted road. The place seemed abandoned, not at all like the bucolic images of cabins, lodges, fireplaces, and hoedown barn on the brochure.

  Was this even the right place? Jeanine checked her cell phone and couldn’t get a signal. She had no choice but to follow the signs to the “office.”

  It was situated in a weathered clapboard building. She stepped onto the creaky porch and rang the bell.

  A sliver of light shone under the doorway and a man dressed in overalls answered the door. His straw hat was full of holes and one of his eyes was unfocused—a glass eye.

  “Howdy, you must be Miss Jewell,” the man said. “Dr. Sparks sends all her patients here.”

  “Yes, I came for the Trauma and PTSD unit.” Jeanine dug her printed itinerary from her purse.

  “That’s strange,” the man said, flipping through a clipboard. “The doctor has you in the Love and Sex Addiction program.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m neither in love nor have a sex addiction.” Jeanine bit off each word and spit it out at him. Heck, she hadn’t had sex in so many weeks she’d lost track.

  The man couldn’t keep the leer out of his one good eye. “Here’s your welcome packet and the key to your cabin. Enjoy your stay.”

  Jeanine was about to argue with the droid that she was not in the Sex Addiction program, but she was bone tired, and frankly, it didn’t matter which cabin she slept in.

  The ranch boasted private cottages situated within walking distance of the communal dining hall and activities center. Counseling took place either indoors, or while on a trail ride or hike. There was also a spa for relaxation and massages as well as a sweat lodge and sauna. It was definitely not a rehab clinic where patrons were monitored and regimented, but more of an upscale vacation resort that included activities for healing and recovery—just what Jeanine needed.

  She took the welcome packet and key from the receptionist. “How late is the dining room open?”

  “Midnight. You could call for room service too, although there’s a five dollar service charge. If I were you, I’d walk over to the bar near the dining room and carry out.”

  “There’s a bar here? I thought this place treated alcohol addiction.”

  “Everything at the bar is virgin except for the pretty women.” The man chuckled at his own joke. “Enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, just give me a holler.”

  Jeanine didn’t bother thanking him, lest she encouraged the old windbag. She stomped to the screen door and let it slap on her way out. As if she cared about a five dollar service charge.

  The cabins were laid out at the edge of the forest along a small, babbling creek. Arizona had been soaked the previous winter due to the strong El Niño weather effect and the forest teemed with alder and cottonwood trees as well as a healthy understory of shrubs and grasses.

  Crickets chirped as Jeanine unpacked her car. She hooked a duffle bag over her shoulder and dragged her large rolling suitcase. The air at this altitude was cool and fragrant with the woodsy scent of trees and fresh water. A full moon shone overhead and a gentle breeze stirred her hair, relaxing her after the long drive.

  A few of the cabins across the corral were occupied, and cars were scattered around the fence. She located her cabin on the map, and headed down the flagstone path. The small wheels of her suitcase got stuck every so often, but she was in too good of a mood to let that bother her. She couldn’t wait to take a long, hot shower and fall asleep to the sounds of crickets and the creek.

  By the time she maneuvered her misbehaving suitcase up the porch steps, she was damp with a light sweat. She opened the screen door, and as soon as she unlocked the door, it opened.

  Jeanine jumped back and gasped. A man stood just inside the darkened cabin.

  “Is this cabin 3A?” she asked.

  “How was your drive, Jeanine?” Kirk stepped out of the shadows and into the light o
f the porch. “Come on in.”

  “Wait. This is my cabin. What are you doing here?” Just seeing Kirk did all sorts of numbers to her blood pressure, nervous system and especially her heart. No matter what anyone said about him, she was sunk where he was concerned. He took her breath away, made her knees weak and everything blossom and tingle inside.

  He was her hero.

  “Something I should have done long ago.” He lifted her suitcase and took it inside. “Spend time alone with you without any distractions.”

  Oh, how those words rubbed salve over her wounded ego. He wanted her, still, after everything that had happened.

  She noticed the limp as he walked into the cabin. His left leg was stiff and he didn’t bend it. He was wearing sweatpants, so she assumed his leg was swollen.

  “How’s your leg? How long will it take to heal?”

  He took off his baseball cap and wiped his forehead. “It all depends. The bullet passed through so I don’t have any fragments. It missed the bone and major nerves. Hit an artery, but not the main femoral artery. They repaired it and now it’s a matter of growing back the flesh that was taken out and making sure I don’t get an infection.”

  “Will you be back to playing condition?”

  He lowered his gaze to her boots. “Not anytime soon, but I’m not giving up. I’m going back as soon as the team okays it, although this season’s probably shot, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

  “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.” Jeanine held her fist in front of her mouth, unable to enter the cabin and get close to him, despite her warring feelings. “I ruined your life.”

  “You saved my life.” He shuffled toward her. “Come in and close the door. It’s drafty and I’ve got a fire going.”

  The emotions sweeping through her hit her like a tidal wave. Why argue who saved whose life? He’d saved hers by jumping in front of George, and she’d saved his by stemming his blood flow.

  She took two steps and lowered her duffle bag to the ground. The cabin was small and rustic. A hot fire crackled in the stone fireplace and the room was dark except for the light of the fire. No wonder she’d thought the cabin unoccupied.