A Great Catch (14 page)

“You’re late.”

Emily stiffened at the gruff voice. “I know, and I apologize.” She held out her article to the newspaper’s editor, Irwin Fletcher. “I had to finish it up this morning, and I wouldn’t ask, but it really needs to go in this week.”

A shiny spot on the bald man’s head glinted as he wiped his hands on his printer’s apron and took the article. “I’ll accept it this time, but don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t, Mr. Fletcher.” She offered him a broad smile. “And I do appreciate your willingness to print the articles about women’s rights. You’re a grand supporter.”

“I’m not a supporter.” His tone serious, he sat down at his desk and opened the article. “It’s news, Miss Graham. Some folks care about ladies voting and some don’t. I just give them what they want to hear. Take your Bloomer Girls’ game, for example.”

“You’ve heard about it?”

“Folks all over town are talking about it. Personally, I don’t think a woman has any right to play a man in a game of checkers, let alone baseball, but I’ll be there to report on it because people want to know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And you’ll do so fairly?”

“Goes without saying.” He dipped a pen in an inkwell and motioned toward the door. “Thanks to you being late, I’m behind.”

“In that case, I’d better bid you farewell.” The words came out clipped. “Again, I apologize for my tardiness.”

“You’re a woman. You can’t help it. That’s how God made you females.”

After slamming the door harder than any lady should, Emily marched toward the bank. She could imagine Mr. Fletcher grumbling about emotional women, but she didn’t care. If she didn’t need the free press opportunity his newspaper offered, Emily would happily never grace Irwin Fletcher’s presence again.

Council Bluffs First Bank stood out among the buildings on Broadway. Six stories tall, the building sported a corner turret. Emily smiled at the gentleman who held the heavy walnut door while she passed through. The heels of her shoes clicked on the shiny floorboards as she crossed the foyer to the teller’s desk. Spotting Jim Wilson, Greta’s brother and one of the bank’s clerks, she approached his window.

“Hello, Miss Graham. What can I do for you today?” The nervous sort, Jim wrung his hands while he waited for her answer.

“I’d like to make a withdrawal for my grandmother.” Emily placed a bank draft on the counter. “She wants to purchase some new wicker furniture for the lake cottage.”

“Give me a second, and I’ll get that right out to you.” With an overly polite smile, Jim walked to his desk and flipped through a ledger.

Suddenly someone covered Emily’s eyes with their hands. “Guess who.”

She pulled the large hands away. “Martin! What are you doing here?”

“I’m a businessman, remember?” He glanced behind the clerk’s counter. “You here for Grandma?”

“She wants two new wicker rockers. She’s tired of Aunt Millie and Aunt Ethel fighting over the one we have.” She looped her arm in Martin’s. “And I want lunch. If you can be civil, I’ll let you treat me.”

He chuckled. “I apologize for last time.”

“Apology accepted.”

Jim returned, his brows creased in worry. “Miss Graham, I regret to inform you there doesn’t seem to be sufficient funds in your grandmother’s regular account. Do you want more transferred from her savings?”

“There must be a mistake.” Emily glanced at Martin for confirmation. “According to Grandma, there should be plenty.”

Martin squeezed her arm. “I’ll check into it, sis. For now, Jim, please transfer over the necessary funds.”

A few minutes later, he returned with the cash and counted the bills into Emily’s palm. “I apologize for the confusion, but I’m sure we’ll get it straightened out soon. Carter Stockton was in this morning speaking to his brother, our vice president, about it.”

“Carter?” Surprise registered on Martin’s face.

“Yes, sir. He said he’s working for your grandmother. He had a letter of proof stating that fact—not that he’d need one here.” He leaned forward and spoke to Martin. “He and Nathan had words.” He stopped, and guilt clouded his features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Offering Jim a weak smile, Emily thanked her friend and bid him goodbye. After leaving the bank, she walked beside her brother in silence. Martin was so quiet. Maybe he was mulling over the same information as she. Carter and Nathan had argued. From what Carter had told her, arguments between the two brothers occurred regularly. She suspected this one had more to do with baseball than her grandmother’s finances.

Martin rubbed his chin. “Tell Carter I want to talk to him.”

“Let him handle this. Grandma has faith in him and so do I.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe he could do it.” He held the door to the café for her.

“You didn’t have to. I can see it on your face.” She started to enter and stopped short. On a nail by the door, a poster advertising the Bloomer Girls caught her eye. However, it was not the artful one she’d approved. Instead, the caricature of her, with feet in the air and bloomers displayed for all to see, loomed large.

Her cheeks grew iron hot and so did her anger.

Martin pointed to the poster. “You okayed that?”

“Of course not!”

“Let me guess. Olivia?”

“Who else?” She ripped the poster down from the nail, shoved it at his chest, and marched up the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?”

“To tear down every single one of those.”

He caught up to her. “Wait a minute. You don’t want to do that.”

“And exactly why wouldn’t I?” She yanked another poster from an undertaker’s storefront.

Martin tugged it from her grip and rehung the poster. “Because if she knows she’s rattled you, she wins. If you laugh at it, then you win. The ability to laugh at yourself has always been one of your best qualities.”

She stopped and spun toward him. “Do I look like I’m laughing?” The hurt flamed. What would people think? What would Carter think? Every time he went anywhere with her in town, that poster would be reminding him what people thought of her.

Martin placed his hands on her shoulders. “Emily, trust me.”

She huffed but finally met Martin’s eyes, solid and strong. For twenty-two years he’d never let her down. Even though she was often irritated because he still thought of her as his little sister, his advice had always been sound.

She released an exasperated sigh. “So what do I do now?”

He smiled. “That’s my girl. Let’s start with lunch and move on from there.”

“Lunch time!” Carter waved his cap in the air to signal the team. Skirting the puddles left by yesterday’s rain, he jogged off the field.

Ducky passed him a dipper of water from the crock the team carried to the field every day. “When are you going to bring Emily to practice with us?”

Carter gulped the cool water. After plunging the dipper back into the crock, he poured the contents over his head. “She’s not exactly ready for that.”

“Like she ever will be.” Elwood Taylor plucked a blade of dry grass from the earth, stuck the end in his mouth, and leaned against a post.

Carter shot him a glare. Why hadn’t he left with everyone else? “She tries hard, Elwood.”

Elwood flicked the piece of grass at Carter. “I think what she’s trying is to wrap you around her little finger.”

“Drop it, Elwood.” Ducky tossed the burlap gear bag at the right fielder. “Make yourself useful.”

With a sneer, Elwood left to gather the bats.

Ducky turned to Carter. “He’s trouble.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. You think I should let him go?”

“He’s the best batter we have. If you do, our perfect season will probably be over.”

Carter picked up his glove from the bench. “I can handle him. He’s just trying to rile me.”

“I know you won’t let him get to you, but what about Emily? What if he bothers her?”

Carter jabbed his fist into the mitt so hard his knuckles stung. “She’ll probably handle it better than I will.”

Behind home base, Elwood stuffed the various bats into the sack. What was with him? Everyone knew that when Elwood had been drinking, he got a little crazy, but today he was as sober as Emily’s aunt Ethel. Was his anger directed at women in general, or Emily in particular?

Elwood returned and tossed the equipment bag at Carter’s feet. “I’m coming to watch the girl play this afternoon, Stockton, and you can’t stop me.”

Ducky snagged the sack from the dirt. “Leave her alone.”

“It’s okay, Ducky.” Carter’s gaze never left Elwood’s face. “You can come. You can use the extra practice ’cause you looked a little sloppy out there today.”

“
I
looked sloppy? Have you taken a look at your clumsy girlfriend? She should be throwing tea parties, not baseballs. I’m telling you, Stockton, that woman is going to make us the laughingstock of the city.”

“Watch it, Taylor.” Carter crossed his arms over his chest. “And for your information, Emily can hit.”

His gut clenched. The words were out before he could yank them back in. Connecting once was hardly being able to hit, and if she had someone watching her, who knew how she’d perform.

Elwood pushed his sleeves up. “All right, Stockton, I’ll make you a bet.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“If the girl can hit a ball into the outfield, just one ball, I’ll . . .”

Ducky moved alongside Carter. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll do whatever Stockton wants. But if she doesn’t, he tells her she can’t play in the game after all.”

“Whatever I want?” Carter let the idea bounce around. Elwood Taylor deserved to be taken down a peg, but at Emily’s expense? Then an idea made his lips curl. “Okay, here’s the deal. If Emily can’t get a decent hit this afternoon, I’ll tell her she’s not playing. But if she does, you’ll dress up like a woman for the Bloomer Girls’ game.”

Elwood held up his hands. “No way.”

Ducky laughed. “You made the deal. You can’t go back on your word now. You said whatever Carter wanted.”

“But—”

Ducky walked around Elwood, raking his gaze over the man’s stature.

“What are you doing?” Elwood whirled to face him.

“Trying to decide what kind of skirt to get you.”

Elwood grabbed his cap from his back pocket and jammed it on his head. “She hasn’t hit the ball yet, and I don’t think she ever will.”

With a deep chuckle, Carter clapped him on the back. “There’s something about Emily you ought to know. She likes a good challenge, and I’ve not seen her fail at one yet.”

After Elwood skulked away, Ducky slung the bat bag over his shoulder. “Is she going to have your hide for this?”

“Probably—if she finds out about it.” Carter tossed the baseball in the air as he walked down the path.

“You’re not going to tell her?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

He launched the ball high in the air. Using his glove to shield his eyes from the noon sun, he moved to the right and waited until the ball landed with a satisfying thud in his glove. “So do I, Ducky. So do I.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” Emily stomped her foot on the first base bag. Carter stood on the pitcher’s mound like a Greek god, not even breaking a sweat, trying to explain under what conditions she should run the bases. “If I hit the ball, I run here. But what do you mean about stealing second? Why would I want to do that if I’m safe here?”

Ducky laughed from home plate.

“Emily, if the pitcher throws to home, you can take advantage of it and steal the base,” Carter said. “It puts you one step closer to scoring.”

“But you said if they see me, I have to run back to first base.”

“Or . . .” He closed the distance between them and gave her a roguish smile. “You can slide into the base. I know you know how to do that.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she imagined them turning as red as the letters on his jersey. “Can I just go back to hitting practice?”

“Batting practice.” He ran his hand down the length of her arm and squeezed her hand. “And yes, you can.”

A shrill whistle made her jump. Ducky grinned and nodded toward another approaching Owl.

Emily stiffened. “Who’s that?”

“Elwood Taylor. Another one of the Owls. Don’t worry about him.”

“But you said I wasn’t ready to practice with the team.”

Carter nodded toward home. “Go get your bat and show him what you can do.”

Rolling her eyes, Emily sighed. “Oh, that ought to be impressive.”

When she reached home plate, Ducky handed her the bat. “Carter said you’ve been doing really well.”

“He lies.”

Emily assumed the still-awkward stance over the plate. Carter threw an easy ball in her direction. She swung and missed.

“Keep your eye on the ball, Emily.” Ducky tossed the ball back. “You can do this.”

The second ball whizzed by and slapped into Ducky’s glove. A man nearby chuckled. She turned. It was that Elwood fellow.

“Go back to your preaching!” he called. “This is no place for a lady.”

She glared at him. How dare he? She’d show him.

Setting her jaw, she eyed Carter and nodded. The pitch barreled toward her. She drew back the bat and swung it hard. The solid connection rumbled through the bat to her hands and reverberated up her arms. The ball ricocheted off the end.

“Go!” Ducky yelled.

Drop the bat. Drop the bat.
She tossed it and sprinted toward the first bag.

Carter met her, grabbed her waist, and swung her in the air. “You did it!”

Emily shrieked and held her cap on with her hand. Finally, Carter set her down, and she noticed for the first time where the ball had fallen—on the edge of right field. Joy sent her heart soaring.

Then she spotted Elwood Taylor jogging over. Her lips pulled downward.

“Was he hassling you at bat?” Carter nodded toward Elwood.

“A little. Called me a preacher. Told me I didn’t belong.”

Carter chuckled. “You showed him.”

Elwood stopped in front of them. “Don’t look so happy. I would have caught her on first.”

“Taylor, she did it, and I’m proud of her.” Carter kissed her cheek. “And for your information, I’m the only one who’ll be catching Emily—on first or anywhere else.”

With a smile as bright as the late afternoon sunshine, Emily paraded beside Carter on the boardwalk toward the electric launches. Reaching the dock, she tugged her skirt lower on her hips. She should have insisted he take her back to the cottage to change. Her loose blouse and divided skirt, while perfect for practicing baseball, were hardly appropriate on the Grand Plaza and showed far too much of her ankles.

She smoothed the sides of her hair with her hands.

“You look beautiful.” Carter squeezed her hand. “And you’re dressed perfectly for what I have in mind for the rest of the day.”

“I didn’t agree to spend the whole day with you, Carter. I still have work to do.” She took the hand he offered and stepped down into the boat.

Carter sat down beside her. “And what did you have on your save-the-world agenda today?”

“I have letters to write to Iowa’s senators and representatives, I need to plan tomorrow’s suffrage meeting, and I really need to see about some new advertising posters.”

“And that can’t wait for one day?” He gave her an impish smile, his eyes dancing with pride.

She shook her head and laughed. “You’re insufferable.”

“You can’t blame a guy for wanting to go out and celebrate with his girl. Besides, Ducky volunteered to go tell your grandmother I’d have you home by nightfall.”

Her breath caught. His girl? Sure, she sort of considered herself his girl, but to hear him say the words sent her heart fluttering.

A broad grin creased his face. Did he realize what he did to her?

She swallowed. “As long as I’m home by dinner.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Carter.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Please, I have responsibilities.”

The launch’s engine roared to life, and the boat pulled from the shore. Carter pressed his mouth to her ear. “I promise I’ll have you home in time to check all those things off your list.”

The breeze from the ride fanned Emily’s cheeks. Carter nodded toward the Kursaal, where men worked feverishly on the decking surrounding the building. He turned back to her and grinned. Emily’s cheeks warmed under his gaze. From the center of the lake, the pavilion built out in the water seemed odd.

“See the men hanging the electric lights?” Carter pointed to three men on the roof. “The entire building will be lit at night like a Roman candle.”

“How can they do that?”

“The streetcar company’s electrical generators.” He draped his arm behind her. While he didn’t touch her, the heat from his presence seeped through her blouse.

The launch bounced on the water, and he pulled her close.

Emily’s gaze darted around the boat. No one seemed to notice. His closeness was intoxicating. She sighed, tucked a windblown tendril behind her ear, and let herself relax against his shoulder.

She should be working, but how could she with him around?

Fifteen minutes later, the electric launch docked and the captain cut the engine.

Carter pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Ready?”

“Could we simply ride around on this all day?”

“And miss the fun I have planned?” He pulled her to her feet and assisted her out of the boat. Once on the boardwalk, he directed her toward the Grand Pavilion. “I know you said you’d like to be home by dinner, but would you like to get something to eat at the Grand Pavilion?”

She glanced at her clothes. “I’m hardly dressed for that.”

“How about at one of the Midway’s lunch counters?”

She agreed, and half an hour later she found herself seated at a counter, enjoying a pulled pork sandwich and a glass of soda.

“Can I get you two some pie for dessert?” The plump lady behind the counter pointed to the pies on the shelf. “We have apple, peach, and rhubarb.”

Carter raised his eyebrow. “You pick.”

“Rhubarb.”

“Rhubarb it is. One piece, please, with ice cream if you have it, and two forks.”

“You expect me to share?” Emily giggled. “Rhubarb is my favorite.”

“Hmmm. We may have a problem. It’s mine too.” He took a swig of soda and waited as the server placed the pie between them. He forked a bite and held it out to her. “Let me guess—you like it because it’s sweet and still a little bit tart.”

“Exactly.” She accepted the bite he offered.

“It reminds me of you.”

Before she could ponder his words, a burly man approached and slammed a newspaper on the counter beside her. She jumped.

“Did you write this trash?” the man demanded.