Called Out Read online

  But apparently fairy godmothers had mind-bogglingly attractive professional baseball players at their disposal. Ace pitchers who drove flashy enough sports cars to hold the attention of the seven-and-under set and who knew how to change flat tires. Who also had no problem calling her out, something most people who weren’t related to her tended to avoid. Unfortunately, rather than dampening her attraction, it seemed to be affecting other places that hadn’t been wet in a very long time.

  The whole thing was unsettling. She had no interest in getting hot and bothered by any man, but most especially not this one. So to answer his question, “If by ‘right direction’ you mean ‘on your way out of town,’ then, no. You’ll need to turn around and get right back on the interstate.”

  He didn’t seem annoyed by her response. His beautiful arms crossed his chest as he sat back against his car, one eyebrow forming a perfect arch. After a few seconds of observing her in unapologetic silence, he smiled. “You must have misunderstood my question,” he said, although he knew full well she hadn’t. “I’m trying to find Nate Hawkins’s house.”

  Since Nate was practically a brother to her, and since Jack Oxford had slept with Nate’s former fiancée, Lola had no interest whatsoever in pointing him in the right direction. She was about to say so, but he beat her to the punch.

  “And it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a pretty lady’s frown to get me to head back to Chicago,” he continued, pleasant as pie despite clearly being fully aware she had no interest in being helpful.

  That was too bad. What was worse, however—and to a frightening degree—was the way her entire body came to life when he called her pretty.

  It had been an offhand remark. No more feeling behind it than when the surly sixteen-year-old gas station attendant said, Have a nice day. Granted, despite his obvious shortcomings, he was a seriously attractive man. A seriously attractive man whose attributes Lola had, from time to time, admired. But had it been so long since she’d been paid attention to that even a completely meaningless compliment stopped her cold?

  Having spent far too long on her mini roadside crisis, Lola shouldn’t have been surprised that Silas, being too sweet for his own good, helpfully pointed up the road. “Nate lives that way.”

  She stifled her groan.

  Though Silas’s hand shook a little from the excitement of standing in front of the man whose poster had hung over his bed since he was three, it wasn’t nearly enough to hide that, yes, if Jack Oxford continued in the direction he was heading he would eventually come to Nate’s house. Not directly, of course. To get to Nate and Dorie’s house he’d need to travel through the grounds of the now-in-development Iowa Dream Academy. It would be easy to spot even though most of the construction wouldn’t be done until spring. Two of the baseball fields were already laid out, concrete had been poured for the basketball courts, and one of the field houses had gone up practically overnight less than a month ago. As much as they were designing the property to fit in with the surrounding farmland, those were hard to miss, unfortunately.

  Her eyes on the triplets, Lola put her hand on Silas’s shoulder. She wasn’t about to embarrass her son in front of one of his heroes. They were going to need to have a talk, however, about Nate and the word privacy. “Honey, it’s time to get in the car.”

  “But—”

  “Now, Si. I’m sure Mr. Oxford—”

  “Jack,” the man corrected.

  Oh, no, she was not about to get familiar. She glared at him. “Mr. Oxford needs to get back on the road, I’m sure, and we do, too.”

  It was the triplets’ fourth birthday this coming weekend, and she was having a huge birthday/Halloween party on Saturday. Every minute this week was spoken for. The longer they stood here, the later dinner and bedtime would be, and the crankier everyone in the McIntire household would be, herself included. Although that might have been exacerbated by her annoyance over her body’s response to Nate’s mortal enemy.

  Nate’s mortal enemy who was now reaching into his car and pulling out a baseball and a Sharpie. “What’s your name again? Si?”

  Si’s eyes widened as he realized what Jack was doing. Nodding eagerly, he said, “Silas. Silas McIntire.”

  Jack scrawled a note across the baseball, then handed it to Silas. “Better listen to your mom.” Then he grinned. “Thanks for your help, though.”

  “Sure.” Si stared at the ball as he backed away and then reluctantly got into the car. Right before he got in, Silas said, “Uncle Nate just won the World Series, you know. Maybe you could be on his team again next year.”

  Lola was no longer the Jack Oxford fan she used to be. But she did cringe at Si’s words.

  Nate had not only lead the Watchmen to a World Series win, there’d been an unexpected sweep—it was pretty much all anyone could talk about this week. And that must have been a bitter pill, given the season Jack Oxford had just had. But who knew? Maybe he was here to talk to Nate about a job. He had to have some insider track because Lola would bet just about anything that very few people knew Nate was home tonight between talk show appearances.

  Rather than be angry or even openly defensive, however, Jack put his hands in his pockets and smiled. “He played great, didn’t he?”

  Silas gave an excited nod before jumping up into the car. The triplets, recognizing their big brother now had something special in his possession, clamored toward him so they could see it. With them all contained, Lola came around to the back of the car in order to make sure everything was secure.

  “Cute kid,” Jack said, straightening up as she got closer.

  Kid singular. Interesting, as usually it was the triplets who elicited some kind of comment. “Please don’t tell Nate he was the one who pointed you in the right direction.”

  “Ouch.” Jack’s hand went to his chest. “The lady cuts deep.” Then, in the exaggerated tone of a TV announcer, he added, “In today’s edition of The Iceman, we see the evil Jack Oxford take full advantage of a beautiful damsel stranded on the side of the road, hoping upon hope that her trusting young son will fall into his dastardly clutches and give him the very information he seeks—and the opportunity to throw the boy under a bus at the first available opportunity.”

  Lola worked hard at keeping her lips in a straight line. Okay. So the man had a sense of humor. She’d give him that much. Plus, now he’d thrown in beautiful. Thankfully she was able to move past that one. “I suppose even the Iceman can have a good day.”

  Considering he’d been called Iceman this year because he’d completely shut out everyone around him due to what had happened with Nate, Lola couldn’t deny she was surprised at how human he was. But she supposed she shouldn’t have been. She’d known him when, so to speak. “Ox” had been Silas’s favorite player since the day Nate had given Si that signed poster as a birthday present. And, to be honest, he’d been one of Lola’s favorite players, as well. He’d always seemed more mature than the other players. A little distant, yes, but polite and professional. Occasionally even charming, although he’d always stayed more in the background than Nate, so glimpses of his personality had been few and far between even before he’d completely checked out during this past year. Si could—and did—cite his statistics on a regular basis. Lola had been hard-pressed to explain why he suddenly had this new nickname after being known for years as cool and calculating; for never so much as flinching even at the most obvious provocation. When he unleashed the lightning bolt of a 100-miles-per-hour pitch from his hand it was almost a relief, because it seemed like he might implode from keeping all that power locked away.

  Silas had been a bit skeptical. But Mom, he’d said, he’s always been like that. They just gave him the nickname now?

  I guess so, Lola had answered, hoping upon hope Si would leave it at that so he could keep his sweet-boy innocence for at least a little while longer. She honestly
would rather tell the triplets there was no Santa Claus than break the news to Si that the reason Jack Oxford’s career had taken such a nosedive was most likely out of guilt from sleeping with Nate’s fiancée and getting her pregnant. In much more family-friendly terms, of course.

  It all reminded Lola, however, of why she was not going to smile at this man. She held out her hand for the tire iron Jack had picked up off the ground.

  “Should I be worried about you clobbering me over the head with this?” he asked, holding it out to her all the same. “Or should I wait for the overprotective husband to come find me and run me out of town?”

  If her overprotective husband were still alive, maybe that would have been the case. Then again, if Dave were still alive she probably wouldn’t have gotten a flat tire. When Dave wasn’t deployed, most of his time was spent in the garage with his motorcycle and whatever car he’d been working on at the moment. She highly doubted he would have let her venture out on tires that were anything other than 100% effective.

  “My overprotective husband died three years ago next month.” Well, three years ago as of three weeks from now, but the fact that she’d said even that much was surprising. First, this was not news she needed to share with Jack Oxford, of all people. Second, she tended to avoid the topic whenever possible. Before Jack could utter the words of sympathy she was so tired of hearing by now, she added, “But no worries. I’m perfectly capable of running you out of town all by my lonesome.”

  “Of that I have no doubt,” he murmured, his fingers brushing hers as he handed the tire iron over.

  She jerked her hand away as the awareness simmering under the surface of her skin became a tangible thing. Flustered in a way she rarely was, Lola took a step back. “I, uh...”

  “Need to get going,” he finished for her, his gaze unwavering.

  With a quick nod, she spun on her heel, grateful she managed to sidestep her massive car, if only barely. She did feel a bit off balance, though, when he called out, “Ms. McIntire?”

  Forcing herself to remember what he’d done to Nate, she closed her eyes for a second, warding off any signs of attraction. Two more minutes and he’d be just a receding figure in her rearview mirror. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, Mr. Oxford?” she answered, returning the formality, which made him grin again. She really wished he would stop that.

  “I realize this is seriously pushing my luck, but I’d hugely appreciate it if you didn’t call ahead and warn Nate. I’m hoping to at least get out a few words before he turns me away.”

  Her hand closed over the place in her pocket where her phone usually was. Since it was being used by the triplets at the moment, all she grasped was empty air. “Nate, no doubt, would have hugely appreciated your not sleeping with his fiancée.”

  “No doubt,” Jack replied, all traces of humor gone.

  She should call Nate immediately; on that subject she was extremely clear. And yet, this last half hour could have gone very differently. She absolutely could have changed that tire. But trying to do so while also keeping the boys from running into the road would not have been fun. “If only my boys didn’t have my phone.”

  A smile came back to his face as he realized what she meant—and, as a result, his road to Nate was free and clear. If he could find Nate’s house, at least. Lola wasn’t about to give that up, no matter how many traitorous nerve endings sparked to life at his grin.

  She got into her car, checked to make sure everyone was belted, and then got back onto the road, telling herself not to look in the rearview mirror because it was only asking for trouble. But she did look and, to her dismay, he was looking, too. As their eyes briefly met one last time, she adjusted the mirror and looked forward. The Iceman, apparently, had cometh. She sure as hell hoped he didn’t stay.

  Chapter Two

  How pathetic was it that kindness gave him a hard-on?

  Pretty damn, that’s how much.

  That woman is not for you. No woman within a hundred-mile radius of Nate’s hometown was someone Jack should look at twice, but most certainly not one who went Mama Bear at the mention of Nate’s name. Or one who was a mama, period—single or not.

  Damn. The sooner he could get this done and be out of here, the better.

  The closer he got to town, the more he realized what a farce it would be. No way was Nate going to open the door to him, much less hear what he had to say. Hell, Jack didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  But this was his last-ditch effort to save his career. Baseball was all he had.

  About five minutes away from what could potentially be the most painful moment of his life, his phone rang. His mother. Perfect. Because things could always get worse.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, wishing the timing were different so he could hear her in one ear rather than from the surround sound speakers in the car.

  “Jack.” Her tone, as always, screamed disappointment. She hated it when he called her “Mom.” So familiar, he knew she was thinking. She wouldn’t go quite as far as and so low-class, but it oozed from her pores. “Your father’s birthday is coming up.”

  Of course. This season had been worse than any other, so he’d actually forgotten the call would be coming. His game, which hadn’t been great during the first half of the season, had tanked entirely after the All-Star break and he’d been released at the end of the season, so he’d had enough on his mind. But he knew the drill by now. If it was a World Series year, they’d be at whatever the see-and-be-seen restaurant of the moment was. This year, not so much.

  “I thought maybe you’d prefer we do it at home,” she said on cue.

  Translation: Your father and I would prefer not to be seen in public with you at the moment because you’ve made such a mess of things people won’t even bother to whisper behind our backs, they’ll openly point and stare.

  Okay. Maybe he was projecting a little.

  “You could bring a date,” she continued.

  He never brought a date.

  He never went home, for that matter.

  Slowing down for the curve in the road, he frowned as he took the turn and was presented with a view that both took his breath away and reminded him why he’d never wanted to come back. He’d visited Inspiration once, the Christmas after his rookie year when his parents were in Greece and Jack had finally realized he didn’t need to go with them and pretend anymore. Nate had declared it wasn’t okay for Jack to be alone over the holidays. The stark beauty of the snow-covered fields had captured his attention right away; he’d felt frighteningly at home with the barren landscape.

  The immediate welcome and acceptance by Nate’s family, on the other hand, had been as unfamiliar to him as the acres of open cornfields were to a kid from Connecticut. It had made his gut tighten and his breath go short. Which should not be the reaction to familial warmth and love, but there you go. He’d left with relief and the resolution never to return.

  “Who was the woman you brought last time?”

  His mother’s question was more than enough to pull him away from his thoughts. Jack almost even actually exclaimed something along the lines of, Are you fucking kidding me? Christ. He knew she found his good press boring. But she couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention to the bad press?

  No. Of course she did. How else to be prepared? But it meant the reality was even worse.

  Thanks to an entire lifetime of keeping his every reaction contained, Jack managed to say, “That was Nate’s fiancée, Mom.”

  Although maybe he should give his mother a little credit. That was the night Courtney had pulled him aside and told him she was late, thereby confirming he had, in fact, slept with her, something he hadn’t been entirely sure of until that moment.

  “But I thought you weren’t speaking to Nate?”

  Trying not to grind his teeth, Jack said,
“Nate isn’t talking to me. Courtney was his fiancée when I slept with her.” Not, perhaps, a topic of conversation with his mother. A reaction, though—an actual human reaction from her—would be nice. Because, what the hell?

  His mother scoffed. “How could he think he’d be able to keep someone like her? She’s on TV. She does the news. He’s just a ballplayer.”

  Just a ballplayer. Yep. Jack had heard that one so often he no longer bothered to get offended.

  And anyway, she’d already moved on. “He should have known better. I mean, he’s from Ohio.”

  Iowa, but Jack didn’t correct her. Because—really?

  Then again, they were on the same page about one thing. Jack absolutely agreed Courtney and Nate did not belong together. He’d watched in horror as Courtney slowly pulled Nate away from his family and friends. Nate stopped hanging out with his friends from home because Courtney felt uncomfortable around them. Nate stopped going home to Iowa because Courtney didn’t like it there. And no matter how many times Jack had even so much as hinted at what was happening, Nate had just shrugged it off.

  For the rest of his life, Jack would regret how things played out between him and Nate. He wasn’t sorry about the end result, though, especially after conversations like this reminded him of what Nate would have been like twenty years later. Their twelve years of friendship had given Jack an understanding of what it was like to have people in your life who actually cared about you. At twenty-two, the first time he’d been introduced to Nate’s friends and family, Jack knew he was already too far gone. If nothing else, at least Nate still had that.

  As a gossipy afterthought, his mother added, “Did she really lose the baby in that car accident? You’re sure she didn’t just get rid of it?”

  Aaaannd they were done.

  “Or maybe Nate drove off the road on purp—”