A Great Catch (19 page)

Maybe tightrope walking wasn’t so bad.

With morning sunshine already heating the Manawa summer, Emily popped a nail head into her mouth and hefted a hammer in her hand. Around her, other ladies drove nails into rough bleacher boards with a resounding
thwack
. A few men had joined them, but more to laugh at their efforts than to lend aid.

She’d deliberately kept their plans from Carter, knowing he’d have his Owls there erecting the stands in half the time she and her girls could do it. Something kept her from telling him. Pride? No, more of a desire to prove they could do it without men. Besides, he wouldn’t be happy to see her working after last night’s little event.

Fresh embarrassment heated her cheeks. Good grief. She’d dropped like a tightly corseted fat lady into Carter’s arms, and all because of a lousy headache. If she didn’t find a way to show him she could handle her responsibilities, he’d never take her or her work seriously.

She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows as the hot sun bore down on her. In another hour or two, they’d have the stands completed. In fact, this one already had three tiers.

Balancing on her knees, she eyed the spot she needed to secure and tapped the nail head. It didn’t budge. Needing more force, she drew back her hammer and slammed it down, but it slid off the nail head and struck her thumb.

“Ow!” She threw the hammer onto the board and popped the throbbing digit in her mouth.

“Problems?”

She whirled at the sound of Carter’s voice, thumb still in her mouth. Her dress caught on the rough board and her foot slipped. Arms flailing, she managed not to fall down the first tier but lost her battle with the side of the bleachers.

Carter caught her in midair. Instead of setting her down, he kept her cradled in his arms. “You okay?”

“Put me down.”

“Answer me.” His curls bobbed as he chuckled, eyes twinkling.

“I’m fine.”

“Except for your thumb?”

“And my embarrassment.” Heat rose from her toes to her nose. He’d carried her twice now? Aunt Millie might be buying her bust food, but Aunt Ethel had probably ordered her a medieval chastity belt.

“You deserve to be embarrassed. You’re supposed to be sleeping in.” He lowered her feet to the grass and held her waist until she was steady. “So, what’s all this?”

“Extra seating for the Bloomer Girls’ game.”

“And you didn’t think my boys and I would be willing to lend a hand?”

“More like take over,” she mumbled. Emily picked up a long piece of scrap lumber. She turned and nearly slammed the board into Carter’s side. He caught it and took it from her.

“I’m doing fine.” She fought to get the board back. A splinter sank into her palm, but refusing to cry out, she glared at him.

“Even so, I’m here to stay. Get used to it.” He gave the board a yank.

“Why can’t you let me do this alone?”

He cocked his eyebrow at her. “Why do you think you need to?”

“Ooooo.” Chafing at his insolence, she jammed her fists against her hips. “Carter Stockton, I can do this.”

“Listen, Emily, you can probably pound a nail as good as any man, but together we’ll get it done in half the time.” He slipped the board onto the framed spot and picked up the hammer she’d tossed. “And I have ulterior motives.”

She raised an eyebrow and held out three nails in her hand. “Such as?”

“I want you to go to the game at four and then the tent meeting at seven tonight. We’re playing the Atlantic Nine, and they’re undefeated.” He swiped the nails and drove the first one in with a single, solid stroke. When he finished, he turned and flashed her a cocky smile. “If you play your cards right, I might throw in dinner.”

“You know I can’t leave right now. I have to finish getting everything ready for the big game. I have an article due for the
Woman’s Standard
, and I have yet to complete the book you gave me on the rules of baseball.”

Carter crossed his arms over his chest. “This game is important to me, Emily, and so is the tent meeting. Besides, you need a break. I thought we talked about this.” He marched to the other end of the bleachers. “Broken cisterns?”

“I didn’t get to look that up yet.”

“Now there’s a surprise.” His flat tone set her nerves on edge. With his sleeves rolled up, he flexed his well-toned muscles, tanned by hours in the sun, and drove the nail through the plank.

Emily pressed a knuckle to her lip. She wanted to go with him. He deserved her support—especially after all the support he’d given her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Olivia, holding court with her minions. If she went to the game, she’d certainly hear about it from them, and she was so tired of not measuring up.

Carter stood, pushed a damp clump of curls from his forehead, and followed the direction of her gaze. “Are you saying no to me because of her?”

“Of course not.”

“Why do you care what she thinks?” He propped one foot on the bleacher and bent to tie his shoe.

His words grated. “Don’t you care about your team’s opinion of you?”

He straightened. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

Her stomach coiled and the irritation burned. “Because you’re a man?”

“Now you’re twisting my words.” He grabbed another board from the pile. “Besides, this is about you making time for important things. Not about me and my team.”

“So, in your opinion, my to-do list consists of unimportant things, and only going to the game and attending the tent meeting is important.”

“I didn’t say that.” He pounded another nail in the board.

“You didn’t have to.” Her pulse thundered. “Are you even listening to yourself? First you want me to take it easy. Then when I prioritize my commitments, you tell me I’m doing it wrong because I’m not giving you your way.”

Carter glared at her. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? It’s only one night.”

“Exactly. It’s only one night, so you’ll be fine without me.”

“Troubles?”

Carter turned toward his best friend as Emily marched to the other set of bleachers. “Morning, Ducky.”

“Wasn’t that your girl hightailing it out of here? You striking out again?”

“She’s the most incorrigible, stubborn—”

Ducky laughed. “So you two have a lot in common.”

“For that, you can get busy and help me.” He tossed Ducky the hammer and indicated the joint that needed to be nailed in place. “She’s overworking herself.”

“She is one determined lady, but you knew that.” Ducky drove the nail in the board. “So is there a bigger problem?”

Carter took a step back and surveyed their finished work.

“I’m worried about her priorities. A good Christian woman wouldn’t—”

“Careful, Carter.”

“What?”

“Of judging her.”

“I’m not.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Carter walked to the water crock and downed a dipperful. “It’s just that Emily says she loves the Lord, but I don’t see God getting any of her time.”

“Ask her about it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t see as you have much of a choice.” Ducky took the dipper from Carter. “We’ve been friends long enough for me to know you could never marry someone who doesn’t share your heart for the Lord.”

“Whoa! I didn’t say a thing about marriage.”

“You didn’t need to.” Ducky doused Carter with the remaining water in the dipper.

Carter jerked back and wiped the water out of his eyes. Then he hefted the crock onto his shoulder. “Ducky Winslow, you are a dead man.”

Emily stood, pressed her hands to her aching back, and glanced at the early evening sun. If she hurried, now that her article was completed, she could catch the end of Carter’s game. Not that he deserved it.

Then again, the morning of bleacher construction had poured over into the afternoon, and they wouldn’t have finished the extra stands without Carter and his Owls. It had been nice of them to work so hard—not that Carter gave them any options.

His words still angered her, but she knew he’d spoken them in frustration. And she’d certainly said a few of her own. In the last few hours, her disposition had softened, and going to the game seemed an easy olive branch to offer.

After ducking into the cabin, she positioned a flowered straw hat on her head and inserted two mother-of-pearl hat pins to hold it in place. She glanced at her hands, now rough from the work. Her thumb still throbbed from the errant hammer strike, and it sported a deep purple nail. Gloves could cover it, but the unbearable temperature sent the thought into the trash bin.

“Grandma, I’m headed to Carter’s game,” she said once she was outside. “There’s a tent meeting following it. We’ll make it an early evening.”

“After last night, you’d better.”

“I love you too.” She kissed her grandmother’s cheek and hurried down the path.

Even with a faithful following, the Owls didn’t garner enough fans to fill the new stands. A smile curled her lips. Her Bloomer Girls would.

“Emily!”

Greta Wilson waved at her from one of the new bleacher seats. Freckles sprinkled the blonde’s nose, and her wide mouth took up too much of her otherwise pretty face. She motioned for Emily to join her.

Wanting to see the rest of the game, Emily scurried to the spot. “What inning are they in?”

“The bottom of the ninth.”

Carter, standing on the pitching mound, glanced around. His sweat-stained uniform told her he felt the heat, and the day’s growth of beard told her he’d had to hurry to make it to the game on time. He appeared to spot her, grin, and tip his head in her direction.

Emily’s pulse skipped. “What’s the score?”

“Three to two. The Owls are ahead.” Greta glanced at her. “Where have you been?”

“I had a lot to get done.”

She frowned. “I couldn’t miss my Elwood for the world. I love to watch him. Have you seen how he can send the ball plumb out of the field?”

“He’s very good.” And so was her Carter. Good-looking too. No other player on the field had his solid jaw or broad shoulders.

Carter drew the ball back and hurled it over the plate. The batter swung, catching only air.

Emily applauded. “I have a new appreciation for how hard it is to hit that ball.”

“Oh, I bet you do.” Greta placed her hand on Emily’s arm as if they were the best of chums. “And Carter is a wonderful pitcher—even if he’s a bit bossy.”

“Bossy? Carter?”

Greta covered her mouth with her hand. “Please forget I said that. Elwood would be furious with me if he knew I said anything.”

“If you said anything about Carter? Or about Elwood? I’m sorry, but I’m confused, Greta.”

“No, not about Carter. Well, not directly, anyway. I’m talking about the little bet he made.”

Following the flighty Greta left Emily feeling light-headed. “Greta, who made a bet? Carter or Elwood?”

“Both of them, silly. You know. The one about you.”

Emily’s breath caught. “They bet over me?”

“You didn’t know?” Greta’s wide mouth bowed downward. “But I thought . . . I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Emily drew in a shaky breath. “Greta, tell me the whole story, and start from the beginning.”

“Please, let’s forget I said anything.”

“No, it’s too late for that.” Emily’s firm tone told Greta there would be no more arguing the point. “Tell me everything.”

Irritation gave way to anger in minutes as Greta relayed the story of Emily’s hit. Emily recalled Elwood watching her that day and Carter’s comment of catching her on first. Yes, he’d catch something all right. He’d catch her ire, and if she weren’t a lady, he might even catch the heel of her shoe on his instep.

How dare he bet on her? And worse, how could he trivialize the importance of the Bloomer Girls’ game by making Elwood dress up like a woman? Didn’t he realize he would single-handedly make a mockery of the event?

Cheers erupted around her. She turned her gaze to the field, where the Owls hoisted Carter onto their shoulders. Another victory.

Enjoy your win, Carter Stockton, because you’re about to lose a whole lot more.