One and Done (Red River Romance Book 3) Read online

  “Excuse me. I hate to interrupt.” A ditzy blonde tapped his shoulder then thrust her pad and pen at him. “I just have to have your autograph. You are The Deacon, aren’t you?”

  The Deacon?

  He grinned again. He had an alluring almost-smile, nearly a smirk, but with a come-hither slant. “I was, but I don’t play anymore.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t watch anymore. Not since you haven’t been there.” She pointed to the pad, repeatedly poking at it. “Sign it anyway for me, please. Make it out to Chrystal, that’s C-H-R-Y-s-t-a-l. Starts off like the flower, you know, chrysanthemum. Mama did that to make me a very special Chrystal. I just loved watching you play so much. What a game you’ve got.”

  The man signed the woman’s paper, then the floozie in too-tight pants and ten-inch streetwalker heels kissed his cheek and disappeared.

  “So what was that all about?”

  He shrugged. “Another time, another life. So we on for dinner?”

  Her face had cooled, and she rediscovered a mite of civility. “Okay, sure. Fine. I’ll ditch the camera girl after our interview and eat with you as long as you take me somewhere expensive.”

  “Know just the place, a little tamale cart not too far, within walking distance. The proprietor wears a big hat, has a real classy burro named Latte, and serves the best tamales in town.”

  Sammi Dan scooted her chair back and stood. God’s gift to humor this guy was not—but still cute—and besides, she’d never dated a phenomenon. She shook her head. “No way, George. I was thinking someplace with a little more glitz and glamour. Don’t you want to see me all dressed up?” She extended her hand, and he stood and took it. “So thank you again, Mister Johnson. Until tomorrow.”

  “What happened to G. H.?” He shook then kept hold of her hand. “Oh, and a word of warning, the Rojos are old school, no femalies in the locker room.”

  “Not a problem. Wouldn’t want to go there anyway.”

  “If I finish what I start, I’ll see you and April on the field for the official interrogation. Otherwise, how about we meet right here?”

  She let him keep her hand. “Why not the stadium either way?” The contrast between his calloused fingertips and the rest of his hand intrigued her.

  “My agent seems to think I need a shutout to get the call we’re waiting for.”

  She laughed. “Nothing like putting a little pressure on, is there?”

  “I think that’s the whole point.”

  Gij watched the weather girl walk away then thought on her all the way to his meeting. And she turned up again in the TV in his head the next morning, too, almost as soon as he opened his eyes. He wouldn’t call her beautiful, but highly attractive sure fit. Hard to believe the weather girl had shown up in Mexico City, of all the thousands of possibilities, tens of thousands.

  He allowed himself to think about Sammi Dan all the way to the ballpark. Once inside and dressed in his red pin-striped uniform, he relegated her from his conscious and went to work on the pre-game reports. He had a shutout to throw.

  Between his little bit of Spanish and the Rojos’ general manager’s more decent English, he and the catcher got on the same page with every batter. Then he found himself a quiet corner and went to his knees. For the longest, he waited, focused full on the Lord. Finally, a peace settled over—then inside—him.

  “Thank You, Father. For Your glory and Your honor, find pleasure in me, Your creation. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  For seven innings, perfection. Then the first batter in the eighth leaned forward on an inside pitch and took it on the forearm. Wonder he didn’t break it. The next guy squared to bunt then slapped a dying quail to right field just over the charging first baseman’s head.

  Men on first and third. Great. He didn’t need this.

  Gij got the ball back and stepped off the mound. “Well, old son, it’s now or never.” Nine heaters later, he strolled to the dugout. Their best hitter had only managed a foul, but his other eight tosses went untouched. Three outs later, he walked off the Rojos’ mound for what he hoped would be the last time.

  After fifteen minutes or so, when the fans started thinning, he met Samantha back out on the field as promised. Her microphone crowded his mouth, and her camera girl’s lights practically blinded him, but her unfettered enthusiasm charged him.

  “I’ve never seen anything quite like it, G. H. Your whipsaw motion is just phenomenal. How’d you develop it?”

  “Played third base in college, and it just came natural when I gave pitching a shot.”

  She pushed back the strand of hair that kept blowing across her face. “I watched the game sitting next to the Rangers’ scout right behind home plate. Fastest you threw before the eighth was ninety-eight, but after the two guys got on base, the last nine went from a hundred and three all the way to a hundred six. How’d you do it? Get faster instead of slower, I mean, seems it’d be the other way around.”

  “Best ask the Good Lord that one. I didn’t make this arm.”

  The weather girl turned toward the camera. “Folks, I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been watching baseball all my life. I can’t see one reason why George Herman Walter Johnson shouldn’t be pitching for the Rangers instead of the Rojos. Really, Texas fans are in for a treat. I know I won’t miss a game. This is Samantha Davenport reporting live from Mexico City.”

  Dragging her finger across her throat, she faced him as the camera lights went off. “Instead of my usual beauty nap this afternoon, I Googled you. How do you suppose Major League Baseball is going to feel about a professional poker player in their ranks?”

  “I do believe your eyes are even greener under the camera lights. You ever seen ’em in light that bright?”

  “Duh, I have a makeup mirror. Why are you dodging my question? I didn’t ask you when she was filming, so what’s the deal?”

  “I wasn’t doing anything illegal. And I have never bet on a baseball game, not ever. Actually, I’m not even a gambler. I used to be a poker player, and now I’m a baseball player.”

  “Simple as that?”

  Just like a female, she wanted more than he was willing to give. “Isn’t it?”

  “Okay then, why did the University of Texas kick you out of Longhorn baseball right before the College World Series?”

  “They didn’t. I flunked out. Spent too much time at the Hold ’Em tables.”

  She batted her lashes. “ ‘I see,’ said the blind man. So where are you taking me for dinner?”

  CHAPTER

  two

  Sammi Dan sat her wine goblet on the embossed linen tablecloth. “Really, George, congratulations. I wanted –”

  “Hold it right there.” He held up one finger. “When it’s just you and me, call me Gij, but never when anyone else is around.”

  “Okay, Gij. As in J-i-d-g-e?”

  “I always spelled it G-i-j since it’s short for George.”

  “Got it. And what about when there are others?”

  “G. H., Johnson, or even Deacon, but not George.”

  “Alrighty then, I got it. And you may call me Sammi Dan no matter who’s listening. All my friends do. I also answer to Sam if your tongue gets twisted easily.”

  He laughed. “Sammi Dan, huh? Were you a tomboy?”

  “No, not really.” She lifted her goblet and sipped a long drink. “I liked sports well enough and loved riding horses, but I’ve always enjoyed being a girl. Growing up, people always said I looked like my father.” She put both elbows on the table, dangling the wine glass in both hands. “Don’t get me wrong, Daddy’s handsome. People always said he favors Elvis Presley, but still...I didn’t want to look like a man. Now that I’m getting older, I hear I look more like my mother.”

  “She must have been an attractive woman.”

  “She is, but enough about me. Let’s get back to baseball. Did you get that call you’ve been waiting on, or not?”

  “I’m flying to DFW on the red-eye tonight. I assume th
e same flight you’re taking, right? Haven’t signed a contract yet, but yes, ma’am, they called. We’re still negotiating.”

  She nibbled at a delicious red vegetable, a bit hot, but she loved all things spicy. Her wine glass went empty fast, trying to cool off her mouth. She sipped her iced water, and waving her pointer at the waiter, leaned toward Gij. “How much are you asking for?”

  “The moon, but I’ll settle for a star or two.”

  The waiter appeared at her side with a crisp white napkin draped over his arm. “Si, senorita. What may I do for you?”

  “I’d like a margarita, please. On the rocks, light on the salt. And make it a double.” She hiked her brows at Gij. “You need anything?”

  “No thank you, I’m fine.”

  Glancing back to the waiter, she smiled. “That’s it, por favor.” He disappeared as quickly as he’d shown up, and she turned to the man paying for drinks and dinner. “Why won’t you tell me? Isn’t like the details of your contract is going to stay all personal. It’ll be all over ESPN soon enough. Why keep me in the dark?”

  “The structure I want is incentive based. I’ll sign for the minimum if they’ll agree to all the extras I’m asking for.”

  This sounded juicy. “Like what?”

  “Oh, like two hundred fifty thousand a win with a hundred grand extra for a shutout. No-hitter, a cool mil extra. And everything doubles in the first round of the playoffs. That number doubles again in the second round. Doubles one more time when we get to the World Series.”

  “Wow, is that eight million dollars for a no-hitter in the Series?” Maybe a big gulp of margarita could help her grasp and believe that figure. “You do know the Rangers are four games out with only ten weeks left in the season.”

  “It is, and I do.” He lifted her hand and stroked it lightly with his thumb while studying it. “You ever heard the story of David Clyde?”

  “That high school kid the Rangers signed, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and the gate went crazy. If I can do the same, I want a fair cut. If I don’t…” He shrugged and smiled.

  The waiter set a margarita in front of her. She took a sip then nodded. “Perfect, gracias.” He left, and she focused again on Gij. “That’s totally understandable, and seems like Ranger management would jump at such a no-lose proposition. I’d say strawberries with whipped cream for you and them. Hope you work it out.”

  She took another long drink and licked the glass’ edge. “Hey, I didn’t find any mention of a wife in your bio, nothing online about one. So am I safe in assuming you’re a single man?”

  “Yes, ma’am, safe as sliding home on a blind catcher. I am a bachelor.”

  She scooted her chair back then stood and drained her margarita. “Well, what would you say to assisting a tipsy weather girl to her room, Gij?”

  “Shouldn’t I be helping her to the airport instead? That’s where I need to be.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She’d forgotten. “You’re one cool cucumber.” She sighed. “I suppose so…if you insist on being a fuddy duddy. My stuff’s already there anyway. April hauled it for me.” Sammi Dan sidled up next to him and snuggled her arm through his, draping her hand over his. “Guess I can help you gather all your stuff into your bags then. What floor are you on?”

  Gij hated himself, but shook his head. “I’m already packed.” He threw a nod toward the front desk. “My stuff’s ready, and there’s a car waiting.” He smiled at her. “Shall we?” She looked a bit disappointed, but returned his smile as though proud of him being so on the ball.

  He’d never slept with a weather girl—or any girl for that matter, but after Sammi Dan’s third miniature bottle of tequila, that’s what he did. She snored softly, and he dozed some with her leaning on his left shoulder. The absurdity of it baffled him. For the last year, whenever he could, he’d watched Miss Davenport do her special brand of Dallas weather.

  He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what intrigued him about her, but ever since his Pappaw had pointed her out, she’d captivated Gij. Then there she was, the weather girl herself in the Mexico City Hilton—and looking for him. Though he never doubted God could do anything, he never expected her to show.

  She sat up then looked around somewhat dazed and a bit confused in a sort of nice way. Made him want to kiss her hard on the mouth, jolt her awake, but he didn’t. He wanted more than a quick kiss anyway, and well, Pappaw wouldn’t approve. God rest his dear old soul.

  “Hey, why are they slowing down? Is something wrong?”

  “No, we’re just landing. Everything’s fine.”

  Things at the airport didn’t work out exactly as Sammi Dan hoped, but she did get to meet the Rangers’ manager and their new field general. Rutabaga, they sure turned out for rookie phenoms. What a treat! And April got some excellent footage, too. But then they were gone, whisked away with Gij right in the middle of them all. He didn’t even look back; chatted away with all the guys like she was just some nobody weather girl.

  Had she come on too strong, inviting him up to her room? Then offering to help him pack his? Who knew? Maybe he’d call, probably not. What thirty-three-year-old baseball star wanted a lowly weather girl? At least he hadn’t broken any of his stupid rules.

  She’d learned one thing though. She loved reporting on sports so much more than the boring old Texas heat waves. Day after day, the same old thing.

  April grabbed a taxi, and Sammi jumped in while the driver loaded the luggage into the trunk. Then off he headed from Terminal C southbound toward Irving’s Airport Freeway. She rested her head on the cushioned seat. Back to her boring grind, standing in front of a blank green wall pretending a map existed there.

  Doing her best to give all her viewers what they watched for—her fabulous five-day forecast. Hot and dry, lows in the eighties, highs busting the one hundred mark, no rain in the foreseeable future. It amazed her that her numbers climbed, but hey, it was Texas in July. What did they want from her?

  She made a face. Tighter, lower cut blouses probably.

  Then, oh me oh my, pass the pumpkin pie! On Tuesday afternoon, her fourth day back, déjà-vu. He said it again. “Hey, you. Weather Girl.”

  Standing in almost the exact same spot as last Thursday, the big boss hollered for her. She turned with a rush of been-there, done-that. “Yes, sir?”

  “Get in here. We want to talk to you.”

  He knew her name? Peaches! She really must be trending up. He’d said we, and she had no idea who the other person might be. Had she done something wrong? Maybe accounting had whined about her raiding the little fridge. She walked through his door.

  KBTL’s sports anchor sat in the farthest chair. “How’s it going, Sam?” He had a silly grin on.

  Something was up. Could they be playing an office joke on her? “Oh, fine, just fine, Joe.”

  The general manager took his seat and without any ado or fanfare, slid some papers toward her with a pen resting on top. “We’re offering you a probationary shot at sports. Three months to prove yourself. What do you say? Interested?”

  She glanced at Joe then picked up the papers letting the pen roll onto the desk. In a supreme effort to appear as though she read every word, she instead quickly scanned the first page looking for the most important element in any employment agreement.

  “We liked what you did in Mexico City, girl. You made us proud.” Joe pointed offhandedly at the contract. “There’s a few extra dollars for you there.”

  She found the paragraph she’d been looking for. A twenty-five percent raise would sure help with the bills, certainly satisfied her, especially along with the opportunity for a career in sports newscasting. She reached for the pen.

  “And more to come after your probation’s up.” Joe sat back.

  Mister Yancy cleared his throat. “That’s if you do the job Joe and I think you can.”

  Scanning faster than she could possibly read, but hopefully long enough for them to think she had, she got to the last page and signed h
er full name. She smiled, the line wasn’t dotted after all. “May I get a copy of that, sir?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll have Bev put one in your box. Be there first thing in the morning.”

  That was odd. Why couldn’t she just make a copy?

  “You’ll need to light a fire. Get going on your first assignment. Johnson finally got everything ironed out with the Rangers. His first workout with the team happens this evening before tonight’s game with the Angels.” Joe stood. “Take April and get that interview. See what else you can drum up that we might use for the ten o’clock.”

  “Sure thing, Joe. And thank you, Mister Yancy.”

  “You earned it. Be sure to ask him how he likes being the Rangers’ oldest rookie ever.”

  Gij strolled down the tunnel. His net worth had increased considerably, but he’d had bigger paydays. The closer he got to the locker room, the tighter the muscles in his neck cinched. The smell of leather and glove oil wafted clean on the air without even a hint of yesterday’s sweat and dirty socks like the Rojos always did.

  Instead of rapid fire Spanish from every direction, the chatter of English-speaking ballplayers filled his ears with joy. That was where he belonged, where he was meant to be. Should’ve gotten there a long time ago.

  “Hey, Rookie!”

  Gij smiled his best I’m-holding-aces-on-that-pair-of-kings-you-got-sucker grin. “Afternoon, I’m G. H. Johnson.”

  The half-dozen or so players in the Rangers’ locker room that afternoon greeted him and introduced themselves. He recognized all but one. After getting settled in to his new locker and a few halfhearted attempts by his teammates at getting his goat—guess he didn’t look like an easy target—he found himself in the Rangers’ bullpen.

  “How’s the arm? You thrown any since your last start?”

  Gij smiled at his new pitching coach. “Arm is good to go, and no, sir, I’ve not thrown any.”