of the team were Celeste Blessing and Sarah Murphy and that they were due to arrive in half an hour. “Sarah’s mother is in a memory care facility in Gunnison, and she and Celeste went to visit her this afternoon,” Nic explained to Savannah.
Oh, joy.
While Savannah debated whether or not to mention that she could pitch—she didn’t want to answer a bunch of questions—Rose Anderson said, “Please, Savannah. If you have any athletic skill whatsoever, would you please consider taking my place at shortstop? I’m terrible and I miss balls, and then my sister gives me grief. You would be doing me such a huge favor if you’d let me retreat to the outfield. Oh, please? Oh, please?”
Savannah couldn’t help laughing. “Sure, I’ll play shortstop.”
Rose thanked her, and Savannah took her spot. Nic Callahan occupied the pitcher’s mound. Practice consisted of easy pitches, a lot of pop flies, some girly base running, and some plays that had Savannah’s chin dropping in admiration. Cat Davenport could run like the wind. Rose was a slugger at bat.
Savannah made a couple of diving plays on line drives that had her new teammates cheering and left her shorts covered in grass stains. On her first time at bat, she hit a home run. She ran the bases and arrived at home, then said to the catcher, “This team has some good players.”
“We have our moments,” Nic replied. “When Lori Murphy is here, we’re actually pretty good. She’s played a lot of intramural softball in college and she can throw a pitch.”
“She’s not home from school yet?”
“No. I’m not sure she’s coming home this summer.” A shadow chased across Nic’s face, then she shook her head and added, “What about you? You can throw a softball. Have you ever tried to pitch?”
Savannah hesitated, then responded, “Yes.”
Before she could say any more, Sarah and Celeste arrived. “We saw your home run,” Celeste said. “What a great hit!”
“Thank you.” Savannah tried to smile at her greatest enemy’s clone, but she knew that what she offered was a sickly version. Intellectually, she recognized that Celeste Blessing and Francine Vaughn were two different people. Emotionally, she couldn’t see past the haunting kind eyes and familiar easy smile. The bottom line was that Celeste Blessing gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Sarah didn’t seem to notice Savannah’s awkwardness. “Oh, wow. You are awesome. With you on our team, we’re gonna win. I just know it. So, how did it go with Zach today?”
Savannah bit back a sigh. Sarah was a newlywed. She obviously lived and breathed romance. “Let’s play baseball, shall we?”
Sarah frowned and looked ready to argue, but Celeste distracted her with a hand to her shoulder. “Sarah, I think you should take the pitcher’s mound so you have plenty of opportunity to warm up before the other team shows up for our practice game.”
“Practice game?” Savannah asked.
Sarah nodded. “Girls against the guys.”
Guys? Her stomach dropped. “Who are the guys?”
“Our husbands and friends. It’s a good time. We play by our own set of rules. The guys only get two outs per inning instead of three, and there’s a five-run cap per inning. Plus Jack Davenport and Mac Timberlake have to pitch left-handed. They’re too good otherwise.”
As Sarah jogged out to the pitcher’s mound, Savannah ground her teeth. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Zach Turner would be one of the “friends” who showed up to play. That seemed to be the way her luck was running.
She glanced toward the dog park and debated using Inny as an excuse to leave, but decided against it. She was enjoying herself. Be damned if she’d slink away and let him do his dirty work behind her back. Let him stand behind the plate and call her life like an umpire—a blind umpire. Or a heckler. A blind heckler who umpires.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“Yes, dear?” Celeste said.
Savannah frowned at the older woman. “Do you have relatives in Georgia, Ms. Blessing?”
“It’s possible. I’m from the Carolinas. You recognized my accent?”
“Something like that.” Savannah gave her a weak smile, then grabbed the glove and returned to the field of play.
Sarah proved to be a decent pitcher, but as practice continued, Savannah’s fingers itched to throw the ball. At ten minutes to the hour, the men began to arrive. Colt Rafferty showed first, his son in a papoose carrier on his back. Gabe Callahan arrived next, sans his twin daughters. “Your summer intern asked if she could babysit,” he explained to