A League of Her Own

Garrett watched, stunned, as Heather stepped forward, her expression serious and determined despite the men who lowered their heads, shook them and muttered at this shocking announcement. Heather. The woman who’d been occupying his mind ever since he’d met her, the woman whose lips tempted him even now, was his new boss?

What. The. Heck.

She stood patiently until the murmuring died down. When she spoke, her voice was low enough to make them all lean in.

“First of all, let’s state the obvious. I’m the first female manager in the Minor Leagues. Most of you know that I’m Dave’s daughter. I’ve spent the better part of my life around this game, and with the Falcons. As a pitcher, I’ve won four College World Series titles and two USA Softball National Collegiate Player of the Year awards. Up until now, I was a coach for the Division One Morro Bay Red Tails.”

“Unbelievable,” the young shortstop muttered under his breath, echoing Garrett’s own miserable thoughts.

Heather bit her lower lip, and her eyes wandered over the group, stopping for a moment on Garrett. “I’ve watched this team for the past few days, and I’m seeing a lack of effort in places. That will not happen on my watch.”

Several chairs squeaked as the players moved restlessly around him, the atmosphere tense. If he wasn’t so pissed, he’d feel sorry for her. Why hadn’t she said anything yesterday?

After another lengthy pause, Heather began again. “We have the talent to succeed if everyone gives one hundred percent. Playing hard makes a difference. You owe it to yourself, and the team, to do so.”

Garrett caught Dean’s slight nod out of the corner of his eye. She might be softening up his friend, but he’d be damned if he’d play on a team led by a manager with no actual baseball coaching experience. Sure, she knew softball, but up until now, when it came to baseball, she’d been only a spectator.

“I’m going to be meeting with each one of you over the next couple of days.” Heather gave her first smile to the group, her face softening attractively. Garrett steeled himself and glanced at his watch. With forty minutes left until practice, he’d make sure he was her first meeting, though she wouldn’t like his news. He’d demand his release and wouldn’t leave the room without it.

“As I watch more of the games and practices, you’ll receive a critique of your performances and a plan for how to reach your potential.” Heather’s smile broadened. He noticed a few of the guys returning her smile while others scowled and studied the floor. She’d have her work cut out for her winning over this group.

“I know some of you have your doubts. To be honest, if I were in your shoes, I would too.”

“Yeah!” someone burst out from the back of the room, earning a scowl from Mr. Gadway. Heather didn’t miss a beat.

“But I have confidence in my ability to teach and motivate. If you give me a fair shot, we can win, which is what we all want.”

A couple of guys murmured their agreement, and he shut his mouth before he joined them. He wanted to win. But Heather wasn’t the person to help him do that. He had nothing against a female manager. Just one with no real baseball management experience. Someone who’d probably gotten the job by playing her Daddy’s-little-girl card.

She wasn’t who he’d thought she was when they’d met at the old field. Like so many rich kids, she was the kind of privileged, indulged child he’d never liked. Was that wariness in her eyes an act to get people to take care of her? Well, it wouldn’t work on him.

Heather clasped her hands. “Practice starts in forty-five minutes. See you there. Thank you.”

His grumbling teammates filed out, followed by the coaches and Heather’s father. Garrett, however, remained in his seat, watching the lithe young woman as she stood by the door.

At last she turned to him.

“We meet again. Garrett, right?”

He stood and strode to the door. When he stopped, her eyes widened, caution swimming in their depths.

“You mentioned personal meetings,” he said, keeping his voice even, hiding the irritation shimmering through him. “I thought we’d have ours now.”

She blinked up at him, and her lips moved. Though he strained to hear, he couldn’t make out what she’d said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

A bright pink suffused her cheeks, and he forced himself not to notice how pretty the color made her.

“I said that I haven’t finished my notes for you yet. I’ll watch you pitch tomorrow. We’ll meet after that.”

He had to give it to her. Soft-spoken or not, she had a direct way about her. He didn’t doubt that she could lead...just not professional baseball players. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m requesting to be released from my contract. This isn’t the right place for me to advance in my career.”

Her mobile face stilled. “And why would that be?”

“Look, I’ll be blunt.” He tapped his fingers on the sides of his legs. “This team isn’t hustling, and it’ll be a long time before they come around to supporting you. Things will get worse instead of better. I have a limited window of opportunity to advance. Given these factors, my bottom-line pitching won’t look good with a losing team behind me. I’d like to help you, but selfishly, this is my last shot.”

A speculative gleam entered her eyes. “So you’re asking to be released because you think I can’t help you reach your goals.”

A long breath rushed out of him. She was going to be reasonable. “That’d be great. Thank you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re wrong, and I’ll be as frank with you as you were with me.”

His relief turned to irritation. So she wasn’t going to make this easy. He held his tongue and waited to hear her out.

“I think you’re overvaluing yourself.” She nodded when his mouth dropped open. Guys talked this way to each other. Not women...especially not pretty women...to him.

“Your control isn’t where it should be, and if that’s not addressed, you’ll also be another reason why this team isn’t doing well. But you have potential, and I can help you.”

“Right,” he scoffed. What could a softball pitcher do for him? “No offense, but I need someone with more experience.”

She tapped her chin and angled her head, her eyes flashing up at him. “If I can change your mind about that, will you drop your request and give me your support and a hundred percent effort?”

He held in a laugh. Was she for real? There wasn’t a chance she could change his decision. “What do you have in mind?”

She stepped closer, and her subtle citrus scent curled beneath his nose.

“A contest. If I get more strikes out of twenty pitches than you do, you stay. If you have more, then I’ll release you.”

He stared at her. Processing. She couldn’t be serious. Sure, he had control issues, but he was still better than a college-level player. She was making this easy. But if she was foolish enough to offer him this out, he’d take it.

They eyed each other for a long, tense moment before he jerked his chin at her.

“You’re on.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Garrett stretched his linked hands overhead, a familiar pull tugging his triceps. He dropped his arms and circled them, loosening his upper back and keeping his mind focused. All around him the pink-yellow sky had grown bluer, fat-bottomed clouds hanging low as if wanting a better look at his impending matchup with Heather. He adjusted his cap brim against the strengthening light, then executed a series of lunges across the field’s moist grass, shorn blades clinging to his cleats. The crisp air filled his lungs and for a moment, he imagined what it would be like to put down roots here in North Carolina.

He tossed out the thought and alternated raising his knees to his chest. Once he finished the pitch-off, he’d be trying out for other teams. Moving on. Losing today and playing for the Falcons wasn’t an option, no matter how beautiful their new manager. Her expressive green eyes had lingered in his mind when he’d woken, the memory of her soft, lilting voice running through him like a warm drink on a cold night.

But he needed to steer clear of those thoughts and stay centered. Winning his contract release should be easy as long as he didn’t get distracted.

Suddenly, a wolf whistle sounded to his left, piercing the still air. Hanging over the dugout fence were several of his teammates—former teammates soon—he reminded himself. He swore beneath his breath. He’d guessed they’d show up, if for nothing else than to heckle him. But he was sure they were also curious to see their new manager in action. He scowled and jogged over.

“Beat it. This is between Heather and me.”

George Hopson pursed his small mouth and raised eyebrows so light they disappeared into the deep furrows on his forehead. “Don’t recall it being an invite-only shindig, do you, fellas?”