Man of the Year. Lisa Ruff
spectacle.
Anticipation filled the air, as if the old building was waiting for the season to begin. After so many summers of baseball, so many games won and lost, maybe the fanciful sensation was true. Maybe this place, like the fans that would fill the seats, waited impatiently for winter to end and another long summer to begin. She laughed at herself: she had definitely been spending too much time thinking about baseball.
JARRETT PICKED UP A new ball, gripped it loosely and slowly pulled his arm back to throw. He went through a pantomime of a pitch in slow motion, not actually letting the ball leave his hand. He repeated the movement over and over, loosening his arm and shoulder muscles. As they warmed, he could feel them easing, a fluidness coming in where rigidity had previously lay. He exaggerated the motions of pitching to work his entire arm, up into his back, down to his legs and toes, preparing his body for the real thing, the whole business of muscle and bones working together in perfect harmony.
Or not.
Jarrett had once taken the gift of painless motion for granted. Not so long ago, those muscles worked perfectly, giving him the control to pitch a baseball however he chose, as fast as he chose. He could fine-tune each pitch to place it low or high, inside or out, with any sort of spin the catcher signaled. And speed? His fastball was a thing of glory. These days, he struggled to reach that perfect grace. When it did return, it was often accompanied by grinding pain.
Nor had he always been so aware of the muscles in his arm. He had known the names of the major muscle groups, but that was it. Now he knew, down to the tiniest connective tendon, the name and function of each part of his shoulder: deltoid, trapezius, teres minor, teres major, scapula. He swore he could feel each one during his slow warm-ups. Learning how his body worked had been one of the ways he had kept his sanity during the long recovery. He had thought that if he understood the anatomy, he could somehow heal faster. It had helped him focus during therapy. With every pinch of discomfort or stab of outright pain, Jarrett would name the muscle and think beyond the agony. He supposed his method had worked, since he was pitching a baseball again, but at a price. His shoulder never completely stopped hurting him and control was elusive.
“All right, Corliss,” the pitching coach yelled from the other end of the bullpen. “Let’s see some heat.”
Jarrett stepped up to the mound and took his stance. He tried not to think about anything at all. Just throw the ball. The first pitch was wild, and Jarrett winced. The second wobbled a bit, but made the strike zone. With each throw, he tried to place the ball where he wanted it to go. Speed would come later in the session.
The coach stood, arms folded across his chest, hat pulled low over his eyes. Jarrett couldn’t read his expression and hoped his own was as blank. Training was always this way, from bad to better with each pitch. He just wished he didn’t start at square one each day.
“Try dropping your shoulder a bit on the follow-through,” the coach said, coming toward Jarrett. He picked up a ball and mimed his request. “I think you’re too high when the ball is here. See?”
Jarrett continued his practice, but control came hard. A few balls would be on the money, but the next would fly wildly astray. He felt frustration rise, which did nothing to help his game. He knew the coach was unhappy, too. As they discussed another tactic, Jarrett caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. When he looked, he was surprised to see Samantha James climb the steps out of the dugout and walk onto the field. The coach spoke again and Jarrett wrenched his attention back to his job, but his concentration was abruptly shattered. What was she doing here? And how could he get away from practice long enough to talk with her?
He had spent considerable time thinking about the lovely advertising executive. He hadn’t had a chance to pursue his attraction to her, but here was his opportunity. If he could just get away for a moment. The coach tossed him a ball. Jarrett wound up and threw. Perfectly. He blinked.
“Hey! Whatever you did, do it again,” the coach demanded.
Jarrett followed orders, and the pitch sailed over the plate. Without a word, the coach threw him more balls, and Jarrett pitched them. Each one flew as good as the first. Control was suddenly back in his hands.
The coach walked up to Jarrett. “What’s the deal, Corliss? You been holding back all this time?”
“Not on purpose.” Jarrett was as amazed as the coach. Where had this control come from? He looked over to be sure Samantha hadn’t left yet and an idea occurred to him. “Maybe I’ve been using the wrong lucky charm,” he said slowly.
The coach followed his gaze and saw Samantha. “Nice. And better looking than that mangy rabbit’s foot Seibert wears around his neck. Is she yours?”
“No,” Jarrett admitted, sharing a grin with the other man. “But if you give me a break, I’ll make that a yes.”
The coach chuckled. “Sure, Corliss. Go for it.”
Jarrett pulled off his glove and opened the gate on the bullpen. As he jogged over to her, he remembered how hot her gaze had been, stroking along his skin. This time there would be no interruptions. There was no telling what progress he could make today. He was back in control.
THE SUN MAGICALLY APPEARED for a moment to brighten the wet grass of the infield. Samantha took a deep breath of air and smelled her past: early mornings spent at the ballpark with her father and brother before school started, the air cool and damp, the grass wet with dew. Here she was again, wondering why the game had fascinated so many for so long. And how could she make one team recapture that allure and fill all these seats? Was she the right person for the job? Too late for second thoughts, she reminded herself.
“If you’re looking for someone,” a voice announced, “he’s right behind you.”
Samantha spun to face the man she had consistently banished from her thoughts over the past week. “Jarrett!” she said. “I mean, Mr. Corliss.”
“The first name suits me best.” A slow, warm smile creased his face. “It’s right nice of you to come all the way over here to check on me.”
That smile, coupled with the gleam in his eyes, sent her heart fluttering. The visceral attraction she had felt in the locker room was back in full force. Samantha was breathless. She struggled once more to pull a cloak of professionalism over her jangled nerves. “I’m checking up on the whole team. Not just you.”
“Check up on me as much as you want, darlin’,” he drawled, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re great for my game. As soon as I saw you standing over here, my pitches started smokin’.”
“Oh, stop,” Samantha said. “All this flattery makes my heart go pitty-pat.”
Jarrett laughed. “Can’t be flattery if it’s true.”
Samantha rolled her eyes at that. “I just stopped by to check on a couple of items for the ad campaign,” she said lightly. “We’ll be shooting the commercials soon.”
“On Tuesday?”
“No, that’s a photo shoot for new close-ups and team shots, things like that.” Samantha gave Jarrett a cool smile. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Mr. Corliss, but I have to get back to my office.”
She turned away, looking for the nearest exit, anxious to put distance between her and this too compelling man. He stepped close and stopped her, encircling her wrist lightly with calloused fingers.
“Not so fast, we’re just getting warmed up here.”
“The inning is over, Mr. Corliss. It’s time for you to go back to your dugout.”
“Come on, Sammy, I haven’t even had a chance to throw one yet. Have dinner with me tonight.”
The question surprised her. The impulse to say yes surprised her even more. “Strike one, Mr. Corliss.”
“Didn’t I just put one right over the plate?”
“Sorry,