A Great Catch (2 page)

“Young man, perhaps you should introduce yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He paused when Aunt Millie stepped through the doorway balancing a tray bearing a pitcher of lemonade, three glasses, and a plate of cookies.

“What does she think she’s doing?” the aunt beside him squawked. “Millie, let Britta tend to that.”

Carter hurried to relieve her of the burden. As soon as he delivered the tray to the serving table, the thin, pinch-faced aunt began again.

“Why didn’t Britta bring the tray?”

“She was helping Kate with Emily. Her wrist doesn’t look good at all.” Emily’s round-faced aunt sank into a chair.

Carter swallowed, hoping she’d share more about her niece’s condition.

“Very well. Emily’s gentleman caller was about to introduce himself.”

“Oh, of course. Do go ahead. I beg your pardon for interrupting.” She poured him a large glass of lemonade and set it before him.

“No pardon necessary, ma’am. I’m Carter Stockton.”

“What delightful manners.” She clasped her hands to her bosom. “If my sister isn’t going to introduce herself, I will. As you heard Emily say, I’m her aunt Millie, and this grouch is her aunt Ethel.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Millie.” He turned toward the other aunt. “Yours too, ma’am.”

Aunt Ethel scowled. “Now, please tell us how you came to be stepping out with our niece, unchaperoned, down the service road this afternoon.”

“They were not stepping out.” Aunt Millie jerked and spilled lemonade on the tablecloth. She blotted it with a napkin. “Now see what you’ve done. Clearly Mr. Stockton is a gentleman, and Emily was simply in need of his assistance.”

A smile itched to break through, but Carter managed to keep it in check. “I meant no disrespect in escorting your niece home, ma’am. She was injured while skating, and I couldn’t let her attempt the journey back here alone.”

“See.” Aunt Millie held out the plate of cookies to him. “I like the lemon best myself.”

He selected a lemon cookie and grinned at her. “I’m partial to things with a little tartness too.”

“You ought to get along with my sister quite well then.” A girlish giggle escaped.

“Millie, please contain yourself.” Aunt Ethel unfolded her napkin in her lap. “I apologize for my niece’s clumsiness. She should know better than to try something as foolish as skating.”

“It wasn’t her fault, ma’am. I ran into her. I tried to avoid the collision, but I’m afraid I failed miserably.”

“And, like a knight of the Round Table, you gallantly brought her home.” Aunt Millie picked up the fan beside her and waved it in front of her flushed cheeks.

“I’m no knight, Miss Millie.”

Aunt Ethel eyed his clothes and frowned. “No, but apparently you are an Owl.”

“You’re familiar with Manawa’s baseball team?” Carter set down his glass. “I’m impressed, Miss Ethel.”

“I make it a point to be aware of all the current rages.” Aunt Ethel broke off a piece of her cookie and slipped it between her crinkled lips, which curled at his compliment. “How else will we steer our niece in the proper directions?”

Another smile tugged at the corner of Carter’s mouth. He couldn’t imagine steering Emily in any direction. He took a sip of the lemonade. “I’m the pitcher.”

“A hurler? How exciting.” Aunt Millie bounced in her chair.

“Perhaps you two ladies will do me the honor of attending a game soon.”

Aunt Millie clapped her hands. “That would be delightful.”

“But hardly proper.” Aunt Ethel turned to Carter, paused, and frowned. “Did you say your last name was Stockton?”

“Yes, ma’am. I went to high school with Emily.”

Her brows drew close. “Are you related to Angus Stockton?”

“He’s my father.” Carter traced a rivulet of condensation on the outside of his glass as it trickled onto the tablecloth. What was taking so long with Emily? He was half tempted to fetch a doctor without her grandmother’s request. He took another bite of cookie.

Aunt Ethel stood. “If you are that man’s son, then I’m afraid you are no longer welcome at this table.”

The cookie lodged in Carter’s throat. Coughing and sputtering, he choked until his eyes watered.

Aunt Millie passed him his lemonade and pounded on his back. “Ethel, now look what you’ve done. You’ve nearly slain Emily’s knight.”

The cottage door creaked opened, and Emily’s grandmother made her way to the table. Carter rose from his chair as she approached, downed the rest of the lemonade in his glass, and finally found his voice. “Is Emily okay? Do I need to bring the doctor?”

Her grandmother waved her hand in the air. “It’s a bad sprain, but she’ll be fine. Thank you for seeing her home, Mr.—”

“Kate, this is Carter Stockton, and before Ethel throws him out, you might as well know he’s the son of Angus Stockton.”

The grandmother, clearly the oldest of the threesome, raised an eyebrow toward her sister. “Throw him out?”

“Angus Stockton is no friend of this family’s. You remember what he did after you lost your Ethan?” Aunt Ethel’s tone was terse.

“That doesn’t make his son our sworn enemy.” She turned toward Carter and smiled warmly. “Thank you for assisting my granddaughter today.”

“I’m glad she’s going to be all right. Please tell her I wish her a speedy recovery.” He tugged his pillbox baseball cap from his back pocket, pulled it on, and adjusted it. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have to get to practice. We have a big game tomorrow.”

With every step away from the Grahams, the tension eased from Carter’s shoulders. What had his father done to cause such ire? Nothing would surprise him. Angus Stockton treated business as war, and he didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

At least Emily would be fine. She’d tried to be so brave, so tough. If he wanted to, he could forget her now and go on with his summer.

The problem was he didn’t think he wanted to. He’d been praying to meet a girl who was different, who made him laugh and knew her own mind. The sight of her biting her lip to keep from crying out lingered in his thoughts. Maybe it was no accident he’d crashed into Emily Graham’s life.

Peering out the window of her cottage bedroom, Emily spied Carter Stockton jogging back down the path toward his rig. The sleeves of his red and white striped jersey were rolled up to the elbows, revealing a contrasting red undershirt. The bright color, the matching stockings, and his broad shoulders made him stand out against the background of the shrubs surrounding this part of the lake.

She recalled the red letters of the word
Manawa
stitched on the front of his collared jersey as he knelt before her. But it was the image of his caramel-colored eyes filled with concern that robbed her of breath. No one had ever looked at her in that manner.

Her cheeks heated, and she stepped away from the window. Her wrist ached, but not nearly as much as her pride. Why did she have to make such a fool of herself in front of someone she knew? She could only imagine what he was thinking right now. An athlete like Carter Stockton would never have landed in a heap at the skating rink if it wasn’t for her, and now she’d have to face him over and over again this summer, reliving the humiliation every time.

A knock on the door startled her.

“Heard my sister took a spill,” a familiar, deep voice boomed.

She flung the door open. “Martin! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Unlike some people”—he tapped her nose—“I can manage to cross a room without tripping.”

She shot him a glare. “I was skating.”

“So I heard.” He leaned against the door frame. “I realize you’re injured, but why don’t you let me walk you down to the beach? It’s as hot as—”

“Martin.”

“What? I was going to say as hot as an oven.”

“Of course you were.” She slapped her brother’s arm and followed him out.

He held the door, offered her his arm, and helped her cross the lawn to the beach. “Careful. We don’t want you tripping over a twig.”

She fired an elbow into his ribs.

“Ow! For an invalid, you’re still pretty tough.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

He laughed and led her to the water’s edge. “Would you care to go wading? It might feel good.”

“I don’t think I could manage my stockings one-handed.” She sat down on a fallen log, and he joined her.

“Does your wrist hurt?”

Cradling her tea-towel-turned-sling with her free arm, she shrugged. “Dull ache.”

“Grandmother said you ran into Carter Stockton—literally.”

“If you’re going to tease me about this, I’m going back inside.” She moved to stand.

Martin caught her good wrist. “I’m sorry. Stay.”

She resumed her seat and gazed at the glassy surface of the lake. If only a breeze would wrinkle its surface and cool her skin. From her position on the lakeshore, the sands of Manhattan Beach, now deserted for the day, seemed nearly a half mile away to her left. The new elaborate pavilion, called the Kursaal, extended from the shore into the lake. It would be open next month, and she couldn’t wait to go into the two-story building that seemed to float on the water. The Midway’s upbeat music, equal distance in the other direction, echoed in the stillness of the evening. Across the way, the Grand Pavilion, a crisp white against the tree foliage behind it, served as a backdrop for the long boardwalk along the lake’s northeast shore.

She sighed. Only a few days at the lake and already she’d gotten hurt. What a summer this was going to be.

“Has Carter finished college then?”

She shifted on the log. “I didn’t ask. I would assume so.”

“How much has he changed?”

Emily felt a warm sensation in her stomach. How did she tell her brother what she’d noticed? Carter had always been athletic, but now solid muscle filled his uniform.

“Emily?”

She swallowed. “Well, he’s older, of course, and he’s playing baseball for the Owls.”

“Is he? I’m surprised Nathan Stockton is allowing his little brother to do that.”

Since talking about Carter unnerved her, Emily decided a change of topic was in order. She rose from the log and walked to a thicket of gooseberry bushes heavy with green-striped berries. “We should pick these. Britta might make you a pie.”

“I hate the thorns, and with one of your arms out of commission, there is no ‘we’ in the picking part.”

“A little hard labor won’t hurt you. You’re getting soft sitting in Daddy’s chair.”

“Am I now?” He joined her at the bush. “I bet I can pick more than you.”

She propped her free fist on her hip. “You’ve got two hands.”

“I’ll only use one.”

She plucked a large, ripe berry. “You’re on.”

In minutes, Martin had a fistful. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the ground to carry the delicacies.

Emily deposited her collection in a neat pile beside his. “So, how’s the business going? Are you making Daddy proud?”

“Naturally.” He grinned and plopped one of the sour berries in her mouth. She puckered and he laughed. “After he and Mother get back from England and he sees how great things have gone in his absence, they’ll probably arrange an excursion to China.”

“I certainly hope not. I miss them so much already I’d have to stow away in one of Mother’s trunks.”

“And miss the opportunity to see Iowa’s own Carrie Chapman Catt in her second year as president of the National Woman Suffrage Association?”

Emily smiled. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

“I still can’t believe someone from our own state is in charge of the women’s suffrage movement. It’s hard to imagine.”

Martin bent and gathered up the edges of his jacket filled with over a pint of gooseberries. “I can imagine it quite easily. Only, the person I pictured in charge of those suffragists was you.”

Arm in arm, they made their way back to the cottage. Their grandmother and aunties sat beneath the oak with reading materials in hand. With a flourish, Martin deposited the berries in an empty basket and presented the prize to his grandmother.

He kissed Grandma Kate’s cheek and sat down beside her. “Did you want me to take your ledgers with me? I know I’m behind in managing your finances like I promised.”

She patted his hand. “No, no, Martin. I can see to my own investments.”

Emily eased into the chair opposite her grandmother. “If you needed help, why didn’t you ask? I’m good with figures.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of overseeing my own affairs. I’d like to remind you both I managed fine after your grandfather’s death and before your father decided he would relieve me of the burdensome task.”

Martin rose to his feet. “And it is a burdensome task I also will be glad to relieve you of by the end of the week.”

“No, Martin, you’ve got your plate full with the company.”

Emily grinned at her grandmother’s use of her don’t-argue-with-me tone.

“And if I need any assistance”—she patted Emily’s hand—“I’ve got a perfectly capable grandchild right here.”

With a practiced glance toward first base, Carter wound up for the pitch and sent the ball toward the batter. As soon as it left his fingers, he knew the pitch was wild.

Dale “Ducky” Winslow, the team’s catcher, lunged to the right to catch the errant ball. His heavily padded leather mitt hit the dirt, and dust flew.

Ducky stood and threw the ball back to him so hard, it stung Carter’s palm despite the glove. “What are you thinking, Stockton?”

Tempted to remind Ducky it was only practice, Carter bit back the retort. It wasn’t his best friend’s fault he was distracted. That honor went to Emily Graham. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the game, he kept wondering if she was indeed all right. He could still see the tears, barely held in check, lacing the lashes of her moss-colored eyes. Would her grandmother have lied to set his mind at ease?

While some girls would play on a fellow’s sympathy, he was certain Emily wouldn’t. In fact, she seemed mortified by the incident more than anything else. If only he’d been able to gently move her out of the way instead of plowing into her like some big oaf. He shook his head. Some athlete he’d turned out to be.

Sending up a prayer for her quick healing, he raised his hand in the air and made a circular motion. “Let’s take a break!”

The eight other players jogged off the field, eager to get a cool drink in the ninety-degree afternoon heat. Of course the four batters already in got to the bucket first. Waiting his turn, Carter whipped off his hat and swiped his forearm across his brow, the wool uniform scratching his face. May was too early for such high temperatures, but the good Lord didn’t seem interested in consulting with Carter on such matters.

Ducky tucked his catcher’s mitt under his arm and passed the pitcher a tin cup of water. “What’s got you addled? Have you forgotten tomorrow’s our opening game?”

“And the Merchant Browns have been looking good. They’d be quite happy to best us on our own field.” Carter downed the cup’s contents.

“Which they will easily do if you don’t rally.”

“I know.”

Ducky cocked an eyebrow at him. “Who is she?”

“What?”

“Carter, we played college ball together for four years. You don’t make rookie mistakes like that unless you’ve got your mind on a girl.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve only been here a couple of days.”

Ducky clapped Carter’s shoulder. “That’s never stopped you before.”

Carter stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and gave a short, ear-piercing whistle. The team crowded round. “Let’s get back to work. Taylor, your pickups are looking a little sloppy in right field. When the sun is in your eyes, block it with your hand or something. Mac, make sure you watch Reynolds. It’s the only way you’ll know if someone’s trying to steal. And I need to focus.”

He tugged his hat back on and glanced at the wooden bleachers on the side of the infield. A spattering of men and boys sat in the hot sun. A familiar gentleman in a smart linen summer suit approached the stands.

His brother. Come to check up on him or, more likely, to try to get him to give up this “childish” game. Fine. In a few minutes, he’d see exactly why Carter belonged on a ball field and not behind a desk.

Carter forced Emily Graham from his thoughts. She only complicated things, and the last thing he needed was complications.