Legally in Love Boxed Set 2 Read online

  “Quirt. You came home for First Pitch.”

  “Grandpa’s ghost insisted. Look at you. Making us all look under-dressed for the occasion.” He eyed her critically.

  Brooke shoved his shoulder, their usual greeting. “I’m probably going to let the kid get a home run off me, I’m so nervous.”

  First Pitch of the little league season was only symbolic. They hadn’t even divvied up teams to their respective coaches yet since the neighboring towns’ seasons didn’t start until April. But they kept it this third weekend in March for Grandpa Thunder Chadwick’s annual tradition.

  “What’re you nervous for? It’s only the family legacy at stake here. Embarrass it and feel the wrath of generations.”

  “How about you put on this dress and go throw the ball as the stand-in for Grandpa?” Brooke scoured the crowd again for any sign of Ames. Nothing.

  Instead, from around the corner of the corndog stand, emerged another guy, the last person Brooke had expected to see today.

  “Dane?” Her stomach did a double flip. She’d seen him only a handful of times since he went off to grad school and left a gaping hole in Brooke’s heart with his neglect.

  Only Ames had started to fill it.

  “I’d be glad to watch you take off that dress so Quirt can put it on.” Dane’s mischievous grin flashed, and his dimple sank. “I’d even help.”

  “You’re so generous.” Brooke’s face flushed— she’d had no intention of inspiring her teenybopper crush to picture her undressing. What was Dane Rockwell doing here, besides making her tongue far too big in her mouth to utter any sense? She stared up at him, into his laughing, half-lidded eyes. Sometime during law school he’d grown into his looks—and then some. Teenage crushes died hard, Ames Crosby notwithstanding.

  “Shut up, Rock. That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “No, you’re not.” Quirt edged between them, breaking Dane’s appreciative gaze. “Even if she’s covered with sparkles, she’s respectable— almost done with nursing school to get her NCAA.”

  Correction: it was her LPN, Licensed Practical Nurse, that she’d almost completed. “I think you mean CNA, Quirt.” The two designations were different. She’d gotten her CNA years ago, before the accident, even.

  “Dude.” Dane slapped Quirt upside the head. “NCAA is college sports. And there is nothing, I repeat nothing, double A about your sister.” He gave her a wink that sent a shower of tingles over her body.

  The emcee’s voice boomed over the park. “Ladies and gentlemen. It’s time for the first pitch of the Maddox baseball season.”

  The stands, filled to capacity and spilling onto the grass, cheered, but Brooke nearly choked. She still had no catcher.

  “And to throw out our first pitch here at First Pitch Fest this year is Thunder Chadwick’s granddaughter, and our own town’s beauty queen who represented us well and went on to win Miss Chesapeake. The one, the only, Brooke Chadwick!”

  More applause, but Brooke grabbed the chain link behind home plate.

  “What’s wrong?” Quirt frowned. “You got cold feet? Because I was just kidding. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  “Not cold feet.” She looked and looked for him. No Ames. How could this be happening? This morning had dawned so bright and clear and hopeful, with that little flame of hope burning just behind her collarbone, lighting her all the way here through the spring winds of the Atlantic seaboard.

  “Then, what? Is your dress torn in back or something?” Quirt took her arm. “Come on, they’re waiting for you.” It was true. The little kid in the traditional white jersey with the navy blue pinstripes was winding up his bat at home plate. The crowd’s eyes were all on her.

  “I don’t have a catcher.”

  “And playing catcher for Miss Chadwick today, we have…” The emcee did a drum roll. “Maddox’s favorite major-league-player-turned-doctor, Ames Crosby!” Now the crowd actually screamed. Brooke saw teenage girls fanning themselves at the mention of Ames’s name, even though he was probably almost twice their age, and they couldn’t have known him when he was the king of baseball at Maddox High.

  “Get out there, Brooke.” Quirt shoved her, and she twisted her ankle in her stupid shoes. “He’s probably coming. Making some kind of grand entrance, the show pony that he is.”

  Oh. That could be. Mincing in the mermaid-cut skirt, Brooke made her way out to the pitcher’s mound. These heels were ridiculous. She’d like to strangle the organizer of the annual event who insisted she appear in full pageant regalia, including her Miss Chesapeake crown.

  With heart racing, she gave a graceful pageant wave to the crowd. A little girl’s voice called, “We love you, Brooke!” It helped. A little.

  But then she looked toward home plate. There stood Shorty, wooden bat swinging. “I’m getting a run off this pitch,” the husky little batter said. “My grandpa never liked yours— said he couldn’t pitch for nothing. And you’ll be even worse.”

  What! Now Grandpa’s reputation was on the line. She had to pitch well.

  But to do that, she needed a catcher.

  Ames, where are you? Brooke’s eyes blurred a little either from the sun or the wind or the terror of failure.

  Then, from inside the dugout walked a tall, lean guy in a chest guard and catcher’s mask. He gave the crowd a wave with his rounded mitt.

  Ames! Thank heavens!

  “Hey, stranger. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she called. He saluted in return, the crowd cheered again, and Ames crouched down behind the batter and signaled for her to pitch. She waved again to the crowd, and then wound up.

  Strike! Right over the plate. A swing and a miss by Shorty. The crowd went wild, and the day had begun.

  She’d done it. She’d saved Grandpa’s first pitch and his tradition with Ames’s help. Her hero!

  An exhale of relief sent her head floating, and she didn’t even feel the pinch in her toes as she darted toward home plate, where the trash-talking kid dragged his bat back to his grouchy-looking grandpa. Served them right, trying to disrupt family tradition—letting an old rivalry try to rain on their opening day.

  But Brooke’s eyes flickered back to her hero.

  “Thank you! I’m so glad you showed up. Just in time, too,” she said, bounding toward home plate. The catcher threw his arms open to catch her this time, and she collapsed into his embrace, squeezing her eyes shut for joy. “Thanks. You were there for me.”

  “Always,” he said, his voice lower and more resonant than ever. “Every time.” He swung her around, just like in her fantasy, her shoes threatening to fly off from the centrifugal force of their spin, her back arching. Giggles tickled her insides, and his arms seemed stronger than she’d expected.

  The crowd cheered, but that faded to a muffle. With her eyes shut and enjoying every sensation of this moment, Brooke was in the strong arms of the man she loved, everything else a blur. His soft breath caressed her lips, all cinnamon and mint, and in sheer happiness she lifted his mask to kiss him her gratitude.

  His mouth moved lower, their lower lips grazing one another in a gentle brush, and she nearly sank into his—

  A hiccup in her stomach pulled her backward. Those lips—

  Not Ames’s.

  “Dane?”

  “Brooker, you pitched killer.”

  Their faces were just inches apart, his hot breath brushing her lips. Holy cats. Dane Rockwell was about to kiss her— and he might still. She’d only spent ten years of her life imagining this moment, dreaming of his seductive eyes staring into hers just like this, his lips inching closer just like this, the taste of…

  “Dane!” Exercising more will power than she knew she possessed, Brooke pushed back from him, her heels catching on the dirt and making her stumble. With a quick arm, he reached out and steadied her.

  “Oh, my goodness.” She pushed a mass of hair back from her face, steadying her tiara, trying to get her balance back, thou
gh it was unlikely to reappear anytime soon. “Er, what are you doing?” And then she remembered where they were, and her eyes flew wildly around the area, afraid Ames might be watching— and hurt. But there was no sign of him. In fact, the stands had emptied faster than the chapel on a hot Sunday, sending kids racing to the carnival rides. All that remained of the pitch were Brooke and her teenage dream.

  “What am I doing? It should be pretty obvious,” he said, his voice low and sultry. “I’m taking a victory lap.” He pulled her closer, his lips now just centimeters from hers, his deep dimple tempting her, taunting her.

  Not today. Not like this.

  “You weren’t supposed to be my catcher.” She pulled away again, her will power glitching on then off. Dane had rescued her from public embarrassment, but his near-kiss threatened an even bigger public shame. If she hadn’t stopped herself in time, who knew what they’d be saying about her down at Pansy Proust’s hair salon this afternoon.

  “Somebody had to. And who’s played catch with you more often than I have?”

  She couldn’t lie. He’d been her hero once before, too, when no one else had given her so much as a thought, Dane’s every toss of the baseball had been a life preserver. She’d needed him then, and no question, she wanted him now. Her body said yes, but her head hollered no. “People are watching. Don’t you care?”

  “Do I ever?”

  Maybe he didn’t, but Brooke just might have something on the line today. Something big. Something that Ames was planning. Maybe planning so thoroughly that it made him late for First Pitch.

  “I have to go.” She let herself stare at the long dimple in his left cheek a moment, conflict warring inside her. Oh, the years she’d waited for this moment. Long years. Aching years. How could he finally throw a seemingly affectionate moment at her so casually—on the worst possible day?

  “Not until I’ve congratulated you.” His eyes beckoned to her, and he looked like he was going to lean in and close the distance, if she gave him so much as a faint signal to go ahead.

  Indecision boiled in her.

  But so did a sudden flash of anger. Was any of this even sincere? Dane Rockwell might not give two shakes about what people would say about his character, but how could he so casually toss out Brooke’s reputation? Was he being a jerk, or was he being earnest? She couldn’t tell, too blinded by his charms as always, too eager to believe every single flattering thing that might fall from his lips and into her heart.

  Her phone sounded, the interruption breaking the spell threatening to pull her under. The chime gave her the strength to shake away from danger’s grasp, and she tugged out her phone to look at who’d sent it. Hot lead peppered her when she saw the name: Ames.

  “I really have to go.” As she broke free and scuttled across the field, she knew exactly one thing and one thing only in life— that Dane Rockwell officially had the most horrendous timing in the world.

  __________

  Dane watched her go. The slinky dress hugged Brooke in all the right places. Mm-hmm.

  “Get your eyes off my sister.” Quirt pushed against Dane’s head.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” Dane might have talked big, but he had nothing but the purest intentions toward Brooke Chadwick. And he had the diamond ring in his pocket from Appleton Jewelers as of this morning to prove it. Biggest, best diamond in the place. It would take about three paychecks to cover the cost, but since he’d landed a position at Tweed Law the second he’d graduated at Christmas, he didn’t have to worry about money so much now.

  He only had to worry about whether Brooke Chadwick would take him seriously, not focus on the fact he was still a Rockwell. A law degree, a state bar association card, even a hefty bank account still wouldn’t change his lineage.

  But Brooke Chadwick might see past all that—past the jailbird bank-robbing parents, and all the unsavory criminals on the Rockwell family tree. Sure, he still had the last name, but he’d run as far away from the connection as he could. He’d graduated with honors from a top school. He’d finished early. He’d passed the bar. He’d done enough.

  Besides, together he and Brooke could make the name mean something completely different.

  “Yo. What are you staring at? Rock. Yo.” Quirt waved a hand in front of Dane’s eyes. He still had them trained on Brooke as she melted into the crowd. “Keep your eyes and your hands off my little sister.”

  Dane shrugged. “She doesn’t look like anybody’s little sister today.” She looked a lot more like somebody who was going to be sporting a diamond ring from Appleton Jewelers shortly. He walked over by the funnel cake stand and watched as Quirt ordered a pile of fried dough. “What’s she doing tonight?”

  Quirt pulled the plate away when Dane tried to snitch a blob. “I don’t know. Not going out with you. Guarantee you she has plans.”

  “What’s she doing tomorrow?”

  “Going to church. It’s Sunday.” Quirt didn’t pull his doughnut plate away fast enough and Dane snared a string of funnel cake, the powdered sugar melting in his mouth. Mmm. Just like the cinnamon of Brooke’s lip gloss he’d sensed at close range. “What are you doing? Don’t you start at Tweed Law? You’d better. Didn’t you say you put a few grand on your credit card this weekend?”

  He had—on the ring. Now it was burning a hole in his pocket until he could get to church and make his case to Brooke.

  “Yeah, but I’ll be there.”

  “You. Church.” Yeah, Quirt hadn’t thawed yet. So much skepticism.

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m telling you, keep your distance, and quit messing with her head.”

  “I’m not going to mess with her.” Not that he would let on to Quirt how dead serious he was about this, and about Brooke. Last time he’d mentioned dating Brooke, Quirt had given him the freeze ray. “Quit worrying.”

  “I’m telling you to forget it.” They pushed through the crowd to where the gazebo stood. “She’s seeing someone, and it’s serious.”

  “Serious.” Whatever. Married was the only form of serious he’d accept as proof. Until then, she was fair game.

  “Don’t interfere with her, man. Get yourself a hobby. Go sign up to be a Maddox Little League coach.”

  Quirt was being a jerk. Just because he and Olivia were engaged to be married as soon as his year at Maddox High teaching geometry was done, he didn’t have to harsh on Dane.

  Dane frowned. “Whatever, killjoy. Admit she’s a great girl and I’ll get out of here.”

  “She is a great girl. And she’s my little sister.”

  And Dane would see her at church tomorrow. And he’d bring the ring.

  __________

  Meet me at the gazebo. That’s what the text from Ames said— finally. So Ames had made it to First Pitch after all, just not in time to be catcher for her pitched ball.

  Brooke dodged the leash of a trio of yippy dogs as she made her way through the park toward Ames—and whatever he was planning. A thousand butterflies swarmed in her belly when she let herself picture Ames’s dazzling smile, the smell of his neck, the taste of his kiss. What was he planning?

  Marriage proposal, her heart whispered, but her head scoffed no, it was too soon. Or was it? Her innermost fears and hopes swirled, exacerbated by the dizziness she’d just been experiencing at Dane’s near-kiss. But now she needed to shove all that out of her head and think clearly.

  Then again, if it was going to be a proposal, how could he have stiffed her like that—left her stranded on the pitcher’s mound desperately scanning the bleachers for him?

  Thank goodness for Dane Rockwell showing up, she thought, the memory of him popping back into her head. Not that he should have swooped in and almost kissed her for it. Or was I the one going in for the kiss? She wasn’t sure. A flutter of guilt wafted through, but she caught and crumpled it.

  Please. It had not been her fault. Caught unawares, any girl would have kissed Dane Rockwell given the opportunity. The long dimple
in the side of his cheek alone would make them powerless to it, not to mention his sultry eyes.

  A flush of anger crept in. What was Dane doing, making a spectacle of her like that? He should have known better what this town was like, how vicious the Bob and Weave’s yappers could be. They’d rip her to shreds. It was common knowledge that she was dating Ames, which fueled a constant firestorm of gossip about her. But if they’d seen the near-kiss, that firestorm could explode, especially because everyone knew Dane meant nothing by it. Everyone, including Brooke, she thought with a pang.

  Throngs of baseball lovers pressed toward the white painted gazebo where the festival’s entertainment had already started. Speakers boomed as Irish dancers clogged without bobbing their heads up on stage. Two big panel TVs flanked the gazebo, and the whole crowd could see it all.

  “Brooke!” Her named sailed over hundreds of heads. Ames, his face beaming, weaved toward her past a battalion of strollers and kids with balloons on ribbons.

  “You made it!”

  She could’ve said the same for him.

  “You look…wow.” He took her in his arms, smelling of soap. He looked wow, too—hair combed perfectly and golden, gleaming in the spring sun. Wrapped in his embrace, the ice in her heart melted. She’d give him a chance to explain why he’d abandoned her.

  “Dr. Crosby. Fancy meeting you here.” There. Dropping that hint ought to be enough of a nudge to get him to explain his absence at his catcher’s post.

  “Ah, yeah. The doctor thing. It still throws me.” He scratched the back of his neck and looked as cute and sheepish as could be, but he didn’t pick up on her hint. Humph. She’d ask him more directly later, once she could figure out a tactful way of putting it.

  “They’re just about to change numbers,” he said, his hand warm on her back. “Do you want to sit down?” His voice took a different timbre than usual. Was he nervous? Maybe he really had planned something.

  With this crowd there could be nowhere left to sit, but Ames took her hand, sending waves of pulsations through her chest, and led her to the front of the folding chairs right up next to the gazebo. Front row, prime seating. He held her hand, in public, like he had ownership over her, for all the county to see.