Wedding Homerun in Loveland, Ohio Read online

  The hostess station was empty. Still, Mac stood there politely waiting—for a minute or two anyway. Then when a hostess never showed up, he helped himself to a seat, slipping into a red vinyl booth by the front window.

  Being in the half-filled establishment always brought back flashes from the past. Like the times he’d come there as a kid after a win at the baseball diamonds just across the bridge. Coaches and teammates along with proud moms and dads would nearly take over the eatery on those summer evenings, all charged up and ready to chow down after a victory.

  He even recalled double dates that started out at Paxton’s, in particular one on a Fourth of July when he kissed childhood sweetheart Becca Cannon at a table—the third table along the right wall—creating his own kind of fireworks.

  Caught up in old memories, he hardly noticed when a middle-aged waitress showed up at his side out of nowhere.

  “Need a menu?” she asked, puffing upward at her bangs, sending them flying off her forehead.

  “Not unless you’ve changed things since I was here two weeks ago,” he teased. “You still have the best burgers in town?” He smiled up at her.

  “Still do. Haven’t changed a thing.” The woman reached in her pocket for an order pad, a bemused glint in her eye.

  “Good. Then I’ll have one with everything on it.”

  “Everything, huh?” She scribbled the order. “You’re a brave one.”

  He chuckled at her comment, adding, “And some fries.”

  “You got it.”

  Mac watched as the waitress made her way to another table, thinking she looked like someone he might’ve known as a kid. But then a lot of people looked familiar to him. As she started back to the kitchen, he was still trying to figure it out—until his eyes got diverted to another woman. At the back table—a woman he did recognize. With a little boy, presumably her son, sitting across from her in a wheelchair. The lady he’d almost run into.

  He had to admit, the lady—the mom—biting her lip with a cell phone at her ear, still appeared somewhat flustered, which made him cringe some. Hopefully, he hadn’t been the main cause of the stressed look on her face. It didn’t make him feel great either to see that her son was obviously handicapped. No wonder she’d been so upset.

  Not that he’d nearly hit her on purpose, of course. But still …

  He let out a deep breath, berating himself once again for driving his uncle’s truck in the first place. But something about living out at the farm … something about not being in the limelight lately … made him notice how frivolously he’d been living and how materialistic he’d become, making him yearn for simpler things. But he still had to be responsible about it. If he wanted to continue driving the truck, then he needed to pour some money into it and get it fixed. Or start looking around for a safer model.

  Well, one thing he could be thankful for, he thought, gazing at the lady and her son, at least he’d been given another opportunity to try to apologize to her. And that’s just what he intended to do.

  Scooting to the edge of the booth, he was just about to go make amends, when a portly guy in a John Deere cap and a forest green Stihl chainsaw T-shirt blocked his path. “Hey, aren’t you Troy Clinger?”

  Mac looked up at the stranger towering over the booth. “Nope, sorry. Not me.”

  “I don’t mean Clinger.” The man shook a finger close to Mac’s face. “I mean, I mean … oh, you know …” The man bent over, placing his fingertips on the table, as if drawing the answer from the Formica tabletop. “Danzer!” He straightened. “Carl Danzer, that’s it.”

  “That’s not me either.”

  “Well, you’re someone.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “I know you are.”

  “We’re all someone.” Mac had a ready-made answer, having gone through the same scenario often enough.

  “Oh!” The man clicked his fingers in revelation. “Hattaway. MacNeill Hattaway. I knew it all along. My brother went to school with you.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s your brother?” he asked, then wanted to kick himself for doing so as the man took a trip down memory lane, reciting names, places, and past events which were mainly on the hazy side for Mac.

  By the time the guy finally produced a napkin and a pen, and got what he’d initially come over to the booth for—an autograph—Mac looked up and saw that the woman and her son were gone.

  It was a shame. Not only would he have liked to apologize, but he could’ve invited her to the meeting Ted had asked him to attend. It might’ve been something she’d be interested in.

  Oh well. He pushed his cap back from his forehead, remaining positive. It was a small town. More than likely he’d run into her again sometime—though hopefully not literally.

  Chapter 3

  Megan stood staring at the group of volunteers staring back at her as a drop of rain slid down the back of her neck, paused at the rise of flesh between her shoulders, then tumbled downward like a rollercoaster car, gathering momentum till it hit the gulley at the base of her spine and then disappeared into the waistband of her pressed, polished cotton capris.

  Or, at least the capris had been pressed. And dry. And, yes, she’d even thought she looked good and somewhat professional in the navy pants and her once crisp three-quarter-sleeve white blouse. But that had been earlier in the evening before the torrential downpour hit.

  Before she’d stood under the lightning-crackling sky getting Sammy into the car and his wheelchair into the trunk.

  Before she’d stood out in the drizzling rain, yelling at a maniac driver.

  Before she’d dropped Sammy off at his nana and pappy’s and had gotten spat on by the gray skies again.

  And before some insensitive, careless driver had zoomed by her in the high school parking lot in his Corvette, splashing her, soaking her to the bone.

  Oh, this is so not how she’d pictured things going, she thought, as she braced her shoulders, feeling another drop of rainwater begin its course. Or was it perspiration? Now that she was standing in front of nearly two dozen people—All-Stars Sports Day volunteers—looking at her, waiting for her to say something.

  But, no. It definitely couldn’t be sweat. The room was freezing. She hadn’t remembered the Loveland High School cafeteria being air-conditioned when she’d been in school. But it certainly was now. Her jaw tightened and she could barely feel her hands. Only because she was freezing? Or also because she was anxious from the twenty-plus sets of eyes all directed on her?

  “Well, everyone … thank you for coming. This is so … I just want to say …”

  What was it she’d planned to say? She’d thought it all out the night before. And she’d practiced every free minute she’d had since. But now—crunch time—nothing would come to her.

  She squeezed at her shoulder-length ponytail the way she always did when she was nervous. Big mistake. She’d forgotten it was drenched, sending more water running down her back, along with a chill that followed. She’d been wrong not to have the meeting in Miss Annabella’s Tea Parlor when Maria had offered. Spring or not, it was a chilly evening, and it would’ve been the perfect place to meet on this rainy night.

  “I’m sorry there’s not something hot to drink.” She worked to brace her jaw in an effort to keep her teeth from chattering. “That would sure warm us all up, I know. What a dreary night, huh, for this time of year?”

  Only when she looked at the rows of men and women, none of them appeared to be waterlogged like her. Because they hadn’t dragged their handicapped child out in the storm? Because they had spouses who could stay at home and watch their kids? Or because they had sitters who had come to their houses, who weren’t in the emergency room at the moment?

  Suddenly Maria’s hand popped up, much to Megan’s relief. Maria—her acquaintance from town—who didn’t have any offspring but had been kind enough to brave the nasty night along with Janey, a dear friend from grade school whose only “baby” was her bakery. “I could check if there’s a coffeemaker in the back kitchen
,” she offered.

  “Would you all like some coffee?” Megan asked the group, but most all of them simply stared at her, mute. How could they all be here for the same cause—a sports day for their special-needs kids—and not be a bit more effusive and friendly?

  “I guess we’re okay, Maria. But thank you.” She nodded before turning her full attention back to the not-so-responsive group. “And thank you, everyone, for coming. And for caring enough to help organize a special day of sporting events for our great kids.”

  Hugging herself to keep warm in front of the blank eyes that stared at her, she continued, “You know, as a physical therapist, I work with a lot of athletes of all ages. We are continually helping the athletes to heal, and teaching them how to use their bodies properly so they can go out and play a sport, compete safely, and have fun.

  “I guess after watching so many kids know the joy of performing at a sport, I’ve longed to have the same opportunity for my son, Sammy, who was born with cerebral palsy. And I’m sure that’s why most of you are here, because you also desire the same sort of fun event for your children.”

  Seeing a few nods in the audience, she loosened the grip on her arms, feeling encouraged to continue. “Sammy is really excited about the prospect of having this All-Stars Sports Day come together, and I have to tell you, he said the cutest thing the other day when we were talking about it. He said that parents are special and they need a special sports day. Of course, I told him we’d look into that next year after we see how this year’s event goes.” She smiled at the volunteers, who finally seemed to be responding to her. Talking about kids always was an icebreaker; she felt thankful she’d thought of it.

  She spoke for a few more minutes, taking care to touch on several important points, one of them being fundraising for the event. No one noticeably flinched at the word. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Yes, suddenly the men and women appeared to be tuning in to her. All grinning and sitting up straighter in their metal folding chairs.

  “Wow, if you could only see what I’m seeing now. You all look so enthusiastic and eager, ready to forge on with this project. It’s exciting.”

  Only … well … they did look enthused and animated. But they weren’t really looking in her direction, were they? They were looking to the left of her actually. She paused her talk, craning her neck to see—

  “This is Cammie Larking, reporting from the cafeteria of Loveland High School. Tonight we’re here to let viewers know about a meeting taking place for a very special cause …”

  Megan heard the reporter’s voice before she could really take in and grasp the sudden commotion taking place around her. A cameraman with a Channel 4 News emblem plastered on the side of his video camera was walking backward on bent knees, obviously taping the reporter with her mic in hand. While right behind her, Ted Slater, Cincinnati’s top homebuilder, waved at the cameraman.

  It had crossed her mind earlier that she hadn’t noticed Ted in the group of volunteers. She and Sammy had bumped into Ted and his wife and their daughter Hannah, who suffered from cystic fibrosis, at Scoop’s ice cream shop a few days earlier. Ted had been adamant he’d be at the meeting to support Megan and the cause.

  Of course, she’d never dreamed he meant he’d be bringing a news crew along with him, for goodness’ sakes. But she should have guessed. Around town, Ted was known to be as much a promotion man as he was a homebuilder, always landing on the news or in an infomercial for some reason or another. With his ties to the media, having Ted on the committee could really be a help. Except for … the cameraman wasn’t really angled in on Ted, was he?

  No, he zoomed in on the man walking in behind Ted, causing the volunteers to lean forward in their seats to see. Megan leaned closer, too, until finally a man emerged out from behind Ted’s shadow. A man taller than Ted and younger. Certainly more fit than the homebuilder, and wearing a baseball cap just like—

  Mr. Neil? The maniac who had almost run her down? What on earth was he doing here? And why did all the volunteers and parents suddenly look so pleased about his presence? And why was Cammie glowing and smiling, standing closer to him than need be with her mic?

  “So you’ve finally come out of hiding?” For some reason, the reporter’s voice sounded more coy than professional.

  “I’ve been recouping, not hiding, Cammie,” Mr. Neil answered.

  “Well, whatever you want to call it, we’ve missed seeing you out on the field.”

  “Thanks, Cammie, I appreciate that.”

  “Ted Slater, Cincinnati’s most prominent homebuilder, says your help is what’s going to make this first-annual All-Stars Sports Day project a grand slam.” Cammie poised the mic at him, waiting for a response.

  “A grand slam? Well, I—”

  “Come on now. You’ve never been shy before,” Cammie half-cooed, as if she knew that from personal experience. “No reason to be shy now, MacNeill Hattaway.”

  Megan couldn’t believe it. Mr. Neil. Mac Neil. Was really MacNeill Hattaway? Oh, how stupid of her! She’d been so upset at the near-crash, she hadn’t put it together.

  “I’m planning to do everything I can to help the folks here make it a great event, Cammie,” MacNeill was saying.

  “I’m sure you will, Mac.” Cammie beamed. “I’m sure you will,” she added before suddenly swinging the mic around, thrusting it in Megan’s face. “And I’ve been told you’re Megan O’Donnell. Megan, all of us women are envious that you’ll be working side-by-side with Mac, your new co-chair of the All-Stars Sports Day event—”

  Her new co-chair? Of her own brainchild? When had that happened?

  Plus, MacNeill Hattaway? She was actually being paired up to work with him? A person who didn’t have any children, only plenty of childlike, bad-boy behavior if the tabloids in recent years had been even slightly accurate.

  The man had nearly sideswiped her earlier in the evening, and now he’d officially blindsided her, too.

  “Do you have anything to add to that?” Cammie moved closer, pressing for an answer.

  “Anything to add?” Megan blinked at the news reporter. “Well, I—um …” Her cheeks burned and she certainly wasn’t chilled any longer. No, she was on fire, beyond steaming. Nothing about this evening had gone as planned from the very beginning. Not one thing.

  But then … averting her eyes from the ultra-white light of the camera, Megan glanced at the group of parents and volunteers. Their faces had certainly lit up when MacNeill walked in. And their glistening eyes were on her now, at full attention, eager to actually hear what she thought.

  And what she thought was—well, what she thought was she had to put her feelings aside, didn’t she? Or at least pretend to. Because it really wasn’t about her, was it? It was about the kids and the special day that could bring fun, and closeness, and a sense of accomplishment for them. Oh, how she needed to remember that.

  She swallowed hard, straining to regain her composure.

  “Why, Cammie, I say we’re all working together to make this a great event.” She forced a bright smile. “Let’s play ball!” She raised her fist in the air in a cheer.

  “Mac, you’re really going to be helping us?”

  “Can you sign the back of my T-shirt?”

  “Hey, how do you think the Hawks will do this year without you?”

  The volunteers swarmed Mac the moment Cammie and her crew departed, everyone apparently delighted he was there.

  Well, not everyone. Peering over the group circling him, he searched out Megan O’Donnell across the cafeteria and saw her talking to an older man who was in a wheelchair himself.

  If only he could make eye contact with her, mouth out a “sorry,” or give her an apologetic smile.

  Staring long and hard in her direction, halfway ignoring the hubbub going on around him, in his mind he willed her to look at him. Oh, and she did. For about a split second anyway. She glared at him, and then glanced away, obviously wanting to avoid him.

  All he
could think was “strike two!”

  Yep, he’d done it to the pretty woman again. Caught her totally off guard with the news crew and all. This time, he’d hit her full force without even meaning to—without even having a hand in it.

  True, when Ted had asked him to come to the meeting, he’d been thrilled. More than willing to come, excited even to help. He felt like he had so much time to make up for in the “thinking of others” department.

  Ted told him he’d be pitching in—no pun intended—like everyone else. Oh, and maybe using his celebrity status to garner a few local sponsors for the event.

  But Ted had never mentioned this. Who knew Channel 4 was going to be there? Mac certainly didn’t. Although he should’ve guessed as much, being that Ted was involved. His friend was no stranger to promotion for his homebuilding business, and surely Mac should’ve realized that where Ted’s daughter Hannah was concerned, his friend would undoubtedly use whatever tactics he could to gain support and recognition for the special-needs kids’ day.

  But the news reporter, the grand entrance—it was all a surprise to him. And so was seeing the mom he’d almost crashed into running the meeting.

  And, man … She wasn’t happy about him being there, news crew or no news crew—he could tell. He’d trained himself to read body language throughout his career, mostly the body language of batters up at the plate and runners on base. It was all part of the game for him and an area where he definitely excelled.

  Megan O’Donnell might’ve fooled the volunteers and the media with her quick cheerleader smile and team-inspired words, but she couldn’t fool him. He could tell she hadn’t known a thing about Ted’s invitation to him, about Cammie’s visit, and contrary to the rest of the group, she wasn’t happy about it. Her pursed lips and narrowed eyes told him so. Her deadly glare shouted so.

  “Hey folks, I appreciate you all giving me such a warm greeting,” he said to the volunteers huddled around him. “But, uh, I’ll be around for the next few months, and I’ll be happy to sign anything. I promise. Right now though, I think I should properly introduce myself to the woman who started all of this. Can you all excuse me for a minute? I need to shake hands with Mrs. O’Donnell.”