“You know what you have to do.” Coach moved her hair over her shoulder.
Sheila’s stomach sank to the floor. Harper knew what she had to do? What was that? How waswhatshe had to dogoing to affect the Redrocks? If being the owner was taking a physical toll on her, how could she continue?
Harper nodded in resignation, and Sheila’s hopes for the Redrocks family staying together took a hit. “Help me up. I got dizzy again.”
Coach sighed the sigh of a husband who loved his wife more than he loved baseball and hated to see her down. He put his hand under her arm and lifted her with ease.
Sheila watched, concern for Harper and for the team coursing through her mind. “How can I help?” she asked quickly.
Harper patted her arm. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Sheila put on a happy face as the couple left the room, but inside, she was dying. That wasn’t an answer that gave her any insight. Should she keep doing her job so Harper could sell the team at a premium? Or should she keep doing her job so no one knew what was coming? Or was it all so the team could continue on?
The worry was a weight on her chest. Sheila had poured herself into the Redrocks. She believed in them. She’d come in on the ground floor, when they were nothing more than a joke in the league. While she hadn’t hit a home run or made the game-winning catch, she’d played a part in making the Redrocks the franchise they were today and had a stake in who they would be next season. If Harper sold the team, it would be like starting all over again.
Sheila ran her hand through her hair, tugging at the curls. She needed a minute to gather herself, to calm her mind.
What she really needed were Brock’s arms. Without contemplating the ramifications, she bolted from the room and headed for the field.
Chapter Fourteen
Brock
Brock shuffled the cards in his hand, looking for a question that would match up with the woman on stage doing the splits and balancing a spinning plate on a stick held between her teeth. She had potential; that was for sure. Although he wasn’t sure how she would make the plate thing work with a full face mask on instead of the Wonder Woman outfit she wore today.
He looked up at the ceiling of the party tent they’d placed over his head about an hour ago. October in St. George was warm. While other parts of the state had crunchy leaves and breezes that promised a cold winter, the home of the Redrocks was warm enough to drive lemonade sales in the stands. Which was a good thing, according to Sheila. She’d said something about needing to bring in money, that this whole party was a fundraiser for the team.
It didn’t look like any baseball fundraiser he’d been a part of before—and he’d done his fair share of selling cookie dough, oil changes, and roast dinners to pay his dues. His high school coaches were energetic when it came to finding financing for the program, and they weren’t shy about shoving their players into the neighborhoods to make sales.
He shook his head. Eventheyhad an agenda. He’d never really thought about that before, but they got a bonus when the team went to state. Having a large budget brought in specialists to teach the guys skills the other teams didn’t have and gave them an edge. He couldn’t complain too loudly, though, could he? Not when he’d benefitted so much from the perks the coaches provided.
He shook himself out of his head. His dad told him on numerous occasions that he buried too deep into his own thoughts—that it wasn’t good for him. But the one thought that stuck to him like a bur on socks was Sheila.
As if thinking of her made her appear, she was suddenly standing in the doorway to the dugout. Her almost-white hair was slightly mussed and her red lips were drawn down. When their eyes met, she smiled and crooked a finger at him.
He pointed at his chest like a dork.
She nodded. The surety in her eyes was attractive and drew him across the grass. He handed his mic to the intern who had brought him more water than a camel could drink and headed Sheila’s way.
She backed into the room as he came through the door, and he followed, matching her every step, enjoying the energy zapping between them. Still, he wasn’t sure what was going on in her head or why she was looking at him like he had something she wanted—badly.
“Hey.” She bit her bottom lip.
“Hey, yourself.” He lifted his chin in response.
“Is everything going okay?”
“Yeah.” He folded his arms. She’d come to check up on him. That was fine. It was her job. It was just that by the way she crooked her finger and the smolder in her eyes, he’d thought there might be something more.
Remembering a lecture he’d gotten from his agent about appearing open and approachable, he dropped them to his side, not sure where he was supposed to put them.
“Good. I—” She looked over her shoulder and then dove towards him, wrapping her arms around his middle and holding on.
Brock’s arms came around her on instinct, and she relaxed into him, feeling just right, right where she was. “Areyouokay?”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. She was short compared to him, but then, most women were. He liked that her head came to his chin. “It’s just crazy and there’s so much pressure, and there were kids with beer and cops and then Harper about fainted when that guy pulled his clothes off and I don’t know if—” She cut off suddenly, and he got the feeling she was about to say more than she should.
He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “Can I help?”
