Caught Looking (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 2) Read online

  Caught Looking

  Dating Mr. Baseball Book Two

  Lucy McConnell

  Orchard View Publishing LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by Lucy McConnell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Invitation

  To receive a FREE book and find out when Lucy McConnell releases a new book, click here.

  Caught Looking

  Dating Mr. Baseball Book 2

  Because she knows what it’s like to be homeless, Clover Maes does all she can for the homeless community in St. George. When she spots a man in dirty clothes, with a beard down to his chest, she decides to help. Drawn in by his silent strength and clear eyes, she offers him an essentials bag and tells him there are people who care.

  Dustin Colt, shortstop for the St. George Redrocks Baseball Team, was in bad shape. Apparently he was in such bad shape that he looked like a homeless man. With the embarrassment of Clover’s insinuation heavy on his mind, he argues with the do-gooder and then plays his best game of the season. Thinking he’s found the key to hitting doubles, Dustin goes out of his way to argue with Clover every chance he gets.

  Clover can’t tell Dustin to head to the outfield and stay there because he’s donating a large sum to the local soup kitchen where she volunteers. She has to play nice—even if that means playing catch with the hot-shot ball player at midnight on a deserted golf course. The more Clover learns about baseball, the harder she falls for the game, for the short stop, and for the Redrocks.

  But she knows they come from two different worlds and argue a lot. If she can’t find the courage to swing at love, she’ll be caught looking as it sings on by.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Now Available

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “We need to get some rugs in here!” Clover Maes called over the crinkling plastic. “It would help muffle the sounds.”

  The sound of opening bags and then filling them with plastic water bottles, granola bars, a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, a comb, a brush, a razor, travel-size shaving cream, a washcloth and more, bounced off the apartment walls and laminate flooring, making talking between the two friends intent on their task difficult at best.

  “You think?” Maddie replied. She pressed her palm to her forehead. “Do you have anything for a headache?”

  Clover nodded. She was well on her way to needing something for the pounding behind her right eye. She got to her feet and offered her hand to Maddie. “Let’s take a brownie break. I tried a coconut flour and almond milk recipe this morning. That should help your headache. And if that doesn’t work, I have Tylenol.”

  Maddie had been diagnosed with Celiac disease two months ago. She’d called Clover from her doctor’s parking lot, sobbing. All Clover could make out between the despair and gulps was, “I’ll never eat a brownie again.”

  Because Maddie was her best friend and because she deserved to have a good brownie in her life, Clover began an expedition to discover gluten-free brownies. Her travels took her deep into the batter, flour alternatives, and even Dutch-processed cocoa. There had to be a recipe hidden deep on the Internet that wasn’t too dry, was dense, had the right amount of chocolate, and that tasted good.

  She’d tried one last week that was made with black beans. It wasn’t bad, but it had a fudge texture, not a brownie texture; however, the fudge-like texture didn’t dissuade the girls from eating through the whole pan in forty-eight hours. Clover hung on to that recipe, because guilt-free fudge was also important in life.

  Clover removed the plastic cover on the cake pan. “Ta-da!” she said with a flourish.

  “That looks … promising.” Maddie leaned over and sniffed. “They smell like brownies.”

  Clover smiled. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up right now, but the batter was pretty dang good.” She opened a drawer, looking for a knife. “I had a good feeling when I pulled the pan out of the oven. I mean, the house smelled like brownies. That hasn’t happened before.”

  Maddie licked her lips. “I’m officially intrigued.” She reached for the paper towels that were stored in a cute holder with a wire daisy on top. Clover had found it at the thrift store, still in the package.

  Clover sliced the brownies, placing one on each of the paper towels Maddie laid out. Since Clover was the one who had attempted the recipe, she was brave and took the first bite. Chewing slowly, her eyes dropped shut, and she moaned. “Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner, folks.”

  Maddie nibbled on a corner, her eyes widening with delight. “This is good.” She took a much bigger bite and moaned. “So good.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Once their chocolate craving had been properly attended to, Maddie looked around the apartment. “You know, when you asked if I wanted to have a girls’ night, I had other ideas.” She waved her arm to indicate the open boxes strewn about the front room.

  Though they’d been living in the condo for six months, they still didn’t have a lot of furniture. It never bothered Clover. She was thankful to have a roof over her head, a lumpy mattress, and a door with a lock on it, because she hadn’t always had those things in her life. Sometimes the only door that locked was a car door as her mom moved them from city to city. They’d sleep in the Taurus. Clover took the front bench seat, and her mom took the back. More often than not, they’d sleep outside, curled up next to a tree trunk.

  Maddie hadn’t grown up on the streets like Clover. She was used to having a couch and knickknacks and photos on the walls. When they’d signed the lease, Clover made her promise not to fill the apartment with stuff—that whatever they bought, they each paid half. So far, they’d bought a couch from a garage sale and a coffee table from a neighbor who was moving out. The kitchen was fully stocked. For whatever reason, Clover didn’t mind paying full price for pots and pans, plates and bowls. She loved clean utensils and spatulas and wooden spoons.

  Cutting a smaller brownie, she placed it on her paper towel and pondered Maddie’s statement about a different kind of girls’ night. She didn’t have many friends growing up. When they’d stay in a shelter, which wasn’t often, she’d play with whichever girl was close to her age. Rooming with Maddie was a big step, one she’d never regretted. Maddie was patient with Clover’s clueless ideas about how the “normal” world worked. But now she wondered what other women did when they got together. “Like what?”

  Maddie wiped her fingers on another paper towel and plucked at her cotton pants. “Like not wearing sweats.”

  Clover looked dow
n at her black-and-pink-striped pants. “Okay, they’re called lounge pants. And I know because it said so on the package.” She relied heavily on packaging to keep her up on things like that. The people who made the pants should know what they were called.

  Maddie giggled. “Fine. Lounge pants.” She reached for the knife to cut herself another brownie, too. “We could go out to dinner, find a place to dance, preferably a place that has hot men looking for a broke, twenty-something woman who wears sunscreen like a second skin.”

  “But if there’s men there, then it’s not a girls’ night. Is it?” Clover slowly folded her paper towel, careful to keep the crumbs inside the creases. The recipe was a winner. Her quest for gluten-free brownies was over.

  Maddie’s eyebrows lifted. “I think they call it a girls’ night because you come with other women and you leave with them—you don’t hook up.”

  Clover tossed her garbage. “I don’t hook up anyway.”

  Maddie pressed a palm to her forehead again. “Neither do I. That’s not the point.” She took a deep breath. “I appreciate that you want to help people. I do. I look at all you do for others, and I am in awe and feel like a jerk even standing next to you.”

  Clover opened her mouth to protest. Maddie was the best friend anyone could ask for. She never made fun of Clover’s social mistakes. She accepted her for what she was and what she wasn’t; Maddie was a true follower of Christ who loved without judgment.

  Maddie held up her hand. “I’m going to appeal to your giving nature and tell you that I would consider it a charitable act if you would be my wing-woman next Friday night.”

  Clover snapped her lips closed. She hated going to parties, clubs, and any place where there was flirting and/or the hope of exchanging phone numbers. She wasn’t good at social nuances, and inevitably she wound up hiding in a bathroom stall.

  “Please, Clover. I’ve been working like a zombie at the hotel for three weeks. I need to shake loose, get dressed up, and feel pretty.”

  Besides her own fears, Clover couldn’t come up with a good reason not to go. The chocolate aftertaste went bitter in her mouth. “Okay.”

  Maddie squealed and bounced in her seat.

  “As long as it doesn’t involve sequins, glitter, or sparkles on my clothing or face—I’m in.”

  “Deal.” Maddie stretched her arm across the bar, her pinkie hooked out. Clover hooked their pinkies together, and they turned to the side, pretending to spit to seal the deal.

  Clover drummed her hands on the counter. “Are you ready to finish the bags?”

  “Now that my evil plan to get you out of the house is under way—yes.”

  Clover laughed, even though the brownies sat heavy on her stomach, and her wrists itched with anxiety. She scratched them quickly and then shook out her arms while Maddie’s back was turned. She could do this. She’d hate it. But she could go out there and talk to a man like a normal human being.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the memory of her mom—screaming at her for talking to the nice man who offered to buy her lunch—rushed back with crippling force. All she had to do was take a little ride in his van. He even had a soda in the cup holder that she could drink on the way to get a hamburger. Her mouth had watered at the thought of a whole hamburger all to herself.

  Mom was asleep on the park bench. She could go and be back before Mom woke up. She’d even save some food to share. She was halfway in the van when her mom came tearing down the grassy hill, screaming for her to get away from that stranger. Fear took root in Clover’s heart.

  “Clover?”

  “Hmm?” She pulled herself out of the memory. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you wanted these cards with directions to the soup kitchen in each bag.” She held up a stack of index cards. Clover had spent every spare minute at the front desk writing out the directions in blue ink. She didn’t have a computer or printer, and she didn’t dare use the one in the hotel for fear she’d lose her job.

  “Yes. Shoot! I forgot.” They’d already filled 50 bags. “I’ll go back and put them in the others later. Let’s finish up what we have left and call it a night.”

  “Sounds like a plan. But next week we are going to party.” Maddie lifted her hands above her head and shook her backside.

  Clover copied her movements even though she was dying inside. She’d been to enough group counseling sessions to know that the only way to overcome a fear was to face it head-on. She could do this. For her best friend—and for herself—she could put on a dress and strut her stuff.

  If all else failed, there was always a bathroom stall to hide in.

  Chapter Two

  Dustin Colt, shortstop for the St. George Redrocks, left behind the construction crew’s chatter and whirl of power tools with a wave to his younger brother.

  White dust clung to his shoulders, hair, pants, and any surface it could find. He rubbed the globs of dried Sheetrock compound off his arms and ignored the fact that they were probably in his beard, too. He ran his hand down the rough whiskers. Shaving was bad luck—unless you were a Yankee, and then it was a requirement. He’d give up the beard for a shot at a Yankee paycheck. Making Yankee money would mean he didn’t have to maintain an active role in the company he and his brother had started way back before Dustin made it out of Triple-A.

  Not that he wasn’t making good money as a Redrock—he was. There just never seemed to be enough. His family didn’t ask for handouts, but he couldn’t turn his back on the people who’d fed and housed him when he was making peanuts and following his dream. Since he now had the means to relieve their burdens, he wanted to help. His brother, for example, was supporting a wife and four kids. Kids were expensive—even more so when they graduated from diapers.

  He shook his head and picked up the pace. Coach Wolfe had a low tolerance for tardiness on game days, and Dustin was already pushing his luck. He’d shower at the clubhouse to save time.

  The construction manager insisted that the workers park down the street at the grocery store, so they didn’t clog the roads and block the few owners who had already moved into their new homes.

  Tripping over a high curb, Dustin cursed under his breath. He stepped again, only his foot caught on something else. He picked up his foot and the front half of the soul of his shoe dangled. That was just great. He’d had these work boots for nine years. One might say they were beat up, but he preferred the term broken in. Dustin pressed on, limping as his boot made a kler-flap with each step.

  “Excuse me?” called a chipper female voice as a Camry older than his nephew pulled alongside the sidewalk.

  He turned to see a pretty brunette hanging out the passenger-side window. She had dimples high on her cheeks and freckles sprinkled across her pixie nose. Her face was fresh, without a trace of makeup, and her long hair was … reckless. She wasn’t the usual groupie flagging him down for an autograph or selfie, which was probably why he stopped to stare. Or, perhaps he stopped because his heart was beating so rapidly.

  “Hi.” She slowly climbed out of the car, and he got a good look at her long and shapely legs.

  “Hi,” he replied like an idiot.

  She moved as if she was afraid to startle him or something. She had startled him, but his legs had no intention of moving him away from her. “Um, I brought you something.”

  Embarrassed by his broken shoe and doing his best to avoid a kler-flap, he shuffled closer. He wouldn’t agree to a selfie, not while covered in Sheetrock dust and smelling like he’d run sprints in the desert. Maybe he could convince her to meet up after the game tonight. Or, better yet, he could offer her tickets for the game and hope she didn’t bring a boyfriend along. That was smooth—much smoother than hi.

  She reached through the open window and retrieved a plastic bag off the seat, which she pressed into his hands. Their eyes met, and his already speeding heart careened around a corner like a curveball on crack. Never, in all his life, had he ever seen a woman with gold eyes. Yet, he
r eyes were the perfect balance of yellow, brown, and something whimsical that produced an alchemy effect turning them to gold. Liquid gold, to be precise, as they were warm and swirling with … compassion.

  He blinked, unsure if he’d read her right.

  “I was once on the street, too. If you want a good meal, the soup kitchen isn’t far. I put a card with the address in there.” She tapped the plastic with her finger.

  “Soup?” He glanced down at the bag now crinkling in his hands as he turned it over, trying to determine what exactly she’d given him.

  “I know it’s hard to accept help, but people care about you and want to help.”

  His chin lifted, and he tried to catch her eye again. “You care about me?”

  Her hesitation was barely discernible. He wouldn’t have even noticed if he didn’t spend his life studying batters and watching for those hesitations and small adjustments that would send a ball his way. “Of course I do.” Her dimples appeared, perched like little birds on her cherry cheeks. “I hope to see you for a meal or two before you move on.”

  He opened his mouth to ask for her number, and shut it quickly as she climbed back into the car and sped away.

  Dustin turned the bag over in his hands until he found the card she’d mentioned. Written in clean block script was the name and address of the local soup kitchen. “What the …?”