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At the end of the first week, Summer felt darned proud of herself. By now, the morning routine went off without a hitch, thanks to her night-before prep. The boys ate their breakfast, minus the commentary. No thank yous were spoken when they raced out the door for the bus yet, but they actually said goodbye to her now. Maddie, although still prone to tantrums, charmed her with funny smiles, crayon drawings, and dandelion bouquets. Small steps, she reminded herself.
Ken seemed completely at ease with her presence in the household, often sitting in the kitchen with her, helping while she cooked dinner or washed dishes. On Wednesday, he had pulled out an old family photo album and shared pictures of Craig as a boy. An adorable, clumsy, moody boy with braces, long hair, and a scowl that never really masked the humor in his vivid eyes.
Of all the Hartmanns, however, Craig, the man, puzzled Summer most. Their conversations were generally easy banter, until she attempted to discuss the children. Then he became visibly rigid. Like when she showed him the list of preschools from April. He’d immediately stiffened up, took the paper from her, folded it, and stuffed it in his pocket. She found it on Thursday when she did the laundry. Still in his pocket. Didn’t he realize how important it was for him to get Maddie used to social situations? Well, she’d have to keep poking—gently, but consistently.
I love a challenge.
Since Craig had a staff meeting Friday afternoon, Summer was in charge of getting both boys to their baseball games after camp. Two cages of water bottles, two mini-coolers, and two gear bags later, she gathered all three children into her Escalade with ten minutes to spare. At least today, both boys were at the same park, same field. Their teams were playing against each other.
Once at the field, she unloaded the boys with their gear, then removed Maddie from her booster seat and grabbed the tote bag full of “busy stuff” she’d amassed to keep the little girl from becoming bored. God, she hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything.
With a deep breath, she took Maddie by the hand, the tote slung over her shoulder. Once they crossed the parking lot, she scanned the half dozen baseball diamonds for the familiar uniform colors worn by the twins. Of course, she finally spotted them in Field Six, the farthest corner of the park. Another inhale and she continued the schlep across what felt like a quarter mile of grass.
“Summer?” Maddie chirped. “Can I go on the slide?”
Oh, thank God. A full square of playground equipment stood a few feet away from the boys’ baseball field. A slide, several swings, a balance beam, and cartoon animals on giant springs would keep Maddie active and entertained. The spongy alphabet blocks that served as flooring underneath the equipment would keep her safe from injury. Easy decision, for once.
“Go for it, sweetheart.”
On a screech, Maddie released her hand and took off toward the slide. With the little girl distracted, Summer settled on the middle tier of the bleachers where she could see all three Hartmann children clearly.
Bug spray.
The thing she forgot to pack was bug spray. No matter where Summer sat, the mosquitos found her. After fifteen minutes perched above the high damp grass, her ankles were ringed in itchy welts. Within minutes, the pesky bugs had moved up her calves and across her bare arms.
Meanwhile, the sun continued to broil, reflecting off the metal bench and baking her skin clay-dry.
Bug spray and moisturizer would have been nice today.
“Well, hi there,” a female voice said.
Summer turned to find a curvaceous woman seated beside her. She wore a clingy black t-shirt and jeans so tight her leg veins were probably strangled. Her round face, beneath a mop of over-processed blond hair, split into a wide grin.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” she continued. “I’m Karen Miller, team mom for the Nino’s Pizza team.”
“My name’s Summer.” This time she opted to skip her last name, avoid the cutesy reaction. “I’m here with the Hartmann boys.”
“Oh.” Karen scanned the baseball players, then returned her gaze to Summer. “How’s their grandfather doing?”
“Fine, I guess. I mean, he looks okay. He’s not happy about drinking decaf, but...” She let the statement trail off. What else could she say, having only met this woman a mere minute ago?
“And Craig?” Karen’s heavily made-up eyes studied the parents seated in the bleachers. “Is he here?”
“Still at work. He should be here in a little while.”
Karen shook her head. “Poor Craig. He’s had a rough time, what with his dad’s heart problems. But I guess you already know that.” Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Are you family?”
“No.” She sensed Karen wanted more detail, but she didn’t feel the need to divulge. Instead, she turned her attention to the baseball game.
The boy at the plate swung at a perfect curve ball, sent it into foul territory where the first baseman bobbled the catch.
Karen clucked her tongue. “My son would have caught that easily.”
Summer stared at the woman, slack-jawed. Gee, that was rude. “Which boy is your son?”
She pointed to a child leaning against the fence that delineated the visiting team’s dugout. “That’s Jason. He’s been benched for two games because he had the nerve to call attention to a teammate’s incompetence during last week’s game.” Her tone grew bitter and biting. “Apparently, Coach Dave believes it’s more important to protect a kid’s feelings than to teach a winning spirit.”
As Karen ranted about the injustice dealt to her son, Summer didn’t know who she pitied more: Coach Dave or the perfect Jason. Clearly, the boy learned his lack of sportsmanship from his mother.
The next batter struck out, and Karen muttered, “Oh, for God’s sake. Jason would have crushed that last pitch.”
From the haze of her memory, an image popped into Summer’s head. April, several years ago, near tears as she talked about a similar experience. Her son, Michael, on a little league team, was taunted by the coach’s son, a bully who delighted in poking fun at a child with Down Syndrome. At the time, Summer hadn’t understood why April simply didn’t put her son in a league with other handicapped children.
“Why would I do that? To make the bully more comfortable? Mike’s an excellent player, and more importantly, a good kid. He deserves all the opportunities in life. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he gets them.”
Holy crow, how many ignoramuses had April fought with, to make good on that vow? And here, Summer thought April had only found her backbone after she met Jeff. Ha. What a moron she was. April had always had the fight in her—she just saved her energies for the important battles, rather than the petty ones.
At that moment, Scott stepped up to the plate, and Summer focused all her attention on him. First pitch, he slammed into the hole near second plate. The ball bounced into the outfield, and Scott legged a double easily.
Caught up in the moment, Summer cheered, “Way to go, Scott! Woot, woot!”
“I don’t suppose Craig told you that today was Scott’s turn for the oranges and snacks?” Karen’s question stopped Summer in mid-whoop.
“Huh?”
Karen sighed. “I figured as much. Each week, I’ve assigned one child’s parents to bring sliced oranges for the kids to eat during the seventh inning stretch and snacks for after the game. Today was Scott’s turn.”
“Oh. I... ummm... I didn’t know.” She looked past the field at the crowded parking lot. “Is there a supermarket around here somewhere?” Maybe she could pick up the items when Craig got here.
On an overly dramatic sigh, Karen flittered her fingers in Summer’s face. “Forget it. That’s part of being a team mom, anticipating when someone might drop the ball. I’ve got extra oranges and snacks in my car. But next week, Nate will have to bring them. Would you tell Craig for me?”
Around them, the crowd erupted in a roar. The batter after Scott hit a screamer that sailed way out into center field. Scott took off for third. Nate, on the opposing team, caught the ball and fired it to the third baseman. Scott collided hard with the other boy. Both fell to the dirt. The third baseman got up.
Scott didn’t.
♥
CRAIG RACED INTO THE emergency room, his heart pounding a frantic tattoo against his chest. He came to a halt at the reception desk and grabbed the edge as if to keep from falling. “I’m Craig Hartmann. My son, Scott, came in here a little while ago?”
The nurse behind the desk scanned her computer. “He’s in Exam Room Five, through that door, down the hall, to the left.” She pointed past the waiting room where dozens of people in varying degrees of suffering sat in orange plastic chairs. “I’ll buzz you through.”
He turned, and the antiseptic smell nearly knocked him to his knees. God, he hated hospitals. Exhaling, he strode past the guard, heard the buzz, and pushed through the double doors. On shaky legs, he bypassed the first few curtained areas until he found the one beneath the number five. Pushing the sickly green cloth barrier aside, he came face to face with Scott. The boy reclined in a hospital bed, his left leg wearing an ice wrap and elevated. Beside the bed stood Nate on the right, Summer seated in a chair on the left with a sleepy-eyed Maddie in her lap.
“Hey, Dad,” Scott said at the same time Summer greeted him with, “Craig. It’s okay. He’s going to be okay.”
He swallowed hard, allowed himself a few seconds to absorb Summer’s reassurance. His skeleton sagged with relief. “It’s okay?”
“The doctor thinks it’s either a sprain or a small fracture to the growth plate. We’re waiting for the x-rays. He’ll need to see an orthopedist, and his baseball career is over for this season, but he’s going to be okay.”
“I’m getting a cast, Dad,” Scott exclaimed. “Isn’t that awesome?”
“Awesome,” he replied blandly.
Maddie yawned, and Craig turned back to Summer. “Why don’t you take the other kids home? I think they’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“Not yet,” Nate said. “Summer promised us something from the hospital cafeteria.”
His lips quirked, and one eyebrow arched. “You’re kidding.”
She shrugged. “Apparently, that’s awesome, too.”
“Oh, I’ll bet.”
“It’s probably going to be a while before we hear from the doctors,” she said as she slowly rose, still holding Maddie. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?”
“No. You look drained, and Maddie’s clearly wiped. Go home. Feed the kids and put them to bed. I’ll bring this guy home as soon as he’s fixed up.”
She nodded. “I’ll bring you a coffee before I leave.”
“From the cafeteria?” He bugged out his eyes with exaggerated excitement. “‘Awesome.’”
The warmth of her soft laughter lingered long after she’d taken the kids from the ward. Alone with Scott, he pulled up the chair next to the bed and sat, cupping his son’s hand. “So, tell me, sport. How’d you manage this?”
Scott grinned. “It was awesome, Dad. Third inning, we’re down by one, and I hit a double...”
♥
WHEN CRAIG FINALLY carried Scott inside the house sometime around eleven p.m., Summer was waiting. She shot up from the living room couch, and the magazine she’d been reading fell to the floor.
“How is he?” she whispered as she bent to pick up the glossy tabloid.
“Zonked out on painkillers, his knee in a cast, but flush with his ‘awesome’ adventure. He fractured the growth plate. Not bad, but bad enough to sideline him for a few weeks. Your job here seems to be getting exponentially harder rather than easier.” He glanced around. “Where’s everybody else?”
“Sleeping. Including your father who thought he could overrule me. I assured him Scott was okay, just a little banged up, and he’d see for himself in the morning.” After placing the magazine on the side table, she tiptoed closer. “And how are you?”
He laughed bitterly. “Getting far too familiar with the inner workings of the emergency room.” With his arms tingling from lack of circulation, he shifted Scott, and the boy sighed in his sleep.
Summer slipped her arms under Scott’s sleeping body, brushing against Craig’s bare forearms. “Here. Let me take him. You should go to bed.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got him.” He pulled his son closer, which pulled Summer closer. Her face was a breath from his.
The only light in the room, a pale glow from the lamp on the side table, illuminated her high cheekbones and lush lips. The air stilled, and Craig couldn’t catch his breath. He struggled to tear his gaze away from her mouth, those moist, parted lips, the shallow inhale and exhale. Leaning closer, she tilted her head slightly. He stretched toward her, dying to taste her.
“Mommy?”
Scott’s soft plea broke the spell. Craig snapped back as if on a bungee cord.
“No, honey, it’s Summer,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep.” Scooping the boy against her chest, she told Craig, “Go to bed. You’ve got work in the morning.”
As she carried her burden down the hall, Craig could only stand in the dim living room, slack-jawed. He’d almost kissed her. If Scott hadn’t called out...
He shook off the haze. She’s an employee, he reminded himself. She’s just an employee. To avoid running into her on her way out of Scott and Nate’s bedroom, he locked himself in the half-bath adjacent to the front door. No way he’d fall asleep now. Summer’s image would remain in his mind all night. And he could do without dreams that involved kissing her. With the cold tap running full-blast, he splashed his face with icy water.
Sleep was overrated anyway.