Reflection Point

chapter SIX





Savannah felt sick. “You ran a background check on me.”

Knowledge gleamed in his blue eyes along with the too-familiar blend of disapproval and disgust. “I keep an eye on what happens in my town.”

Bitterness washed through her. From the moment she’d discovered who had yanked her away from the point at Lover’s Leap, she’d known this would happen. Was there some sort of lawman homing beacon embedded in her butt?

The sheriff’s lips twisted in a sneer as he added, “I’m putting you on notice that if you’re thinking to grow anything other than geraniums in Eternity Springs, you’ll be answering to me.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. What is this? The Cartoon Channel? Showdown at the Purple Ink Corral?”

“Try the reality of being on probation. What did you do to warrant unsupervised probation, anyway?”

“What? You think I screwed a cop or something like that? Typical.” She pivoted and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder. “Guess what, Barney—traditionally it’s the other way around.”

She almost could hear his teeth grinding. She was halfway to the outside door when he said, “What’s your story, Georgia?”

She stopped and whirled on him. “What do you mean, ‘What’s my story’? It’s all there in the databases, isn’t it?”

“The bare facts are there, yes. I know you were convicted of cultivation and distribution of a controlled substance and served six years in a Georgia women’s prison. What I don’t know is why.”

“Why should you think you get to know why? You don’t have a right to any information about me beyond what you can look up on your computer. I haven’t forfeited all of my rights just because I’m a felon. I think I still have the right of privacy.”

If this were the Cartoon Channel, she’d see steam coming out of his ears, she decided. He braced his hands on his hips and declared, “I despise drugs. They destroy families. They destroy communities. They destroy lives. I won’t let you hurt people I care about. I won’t let you hurt this town.”

Emotion rolled through her, the familiar combination of rage and pain and helplessness that she’d first felt shortly before her scheduled wedding day. Fierce, hot, and mean, it was a sensation she’d sworn she’d never again experience. Damn you, Zach Turner.

She faced him, folded her arms, and in a voice dripping with scorn asked, “What do you think I’m going to do? Peddle weed across from the elementary school? I was in prison for six years, Sheriff Turner. Six years! If you think I’ll do anything that might put my freedom at risk, then you’re even dumber than the one-bullet wonder.”

“The what?”

“You need to bone up on your TV trivia. Sheriff Andy only let his deputy have one bullet for his gun.”

“If you don’t stop with this Barney Fife business …”

“What? You’ll arrest me for hitting too close to home?”

With that, she turned her back on him, marched to her car, and slammed the door. It took every ounce of her self-control to refrain from gunning the engine and spinning her wheels on the gravel road as she left, but she wouldn’t put it past Zach Turner to dash to his patrol car, chase her down, and arrest her for reckless driving.

Savannah held the wheel in a white-knuckled grip and blinked back tears as she drove sedately back to town. “What a first-class jerk,” she muttered. “I went out there to help him! Leave it up to Deputy Doofus to be the poster boy for looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

Although she wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box herself. She had gone out to Reflection Point. Talk about stupid. She’d let peer pressure—literally, Sarah Murphy’s elbow—make her do something she absolutely hadn’t wanted to do. “This is what you get for trying to fit in. For trying to make friends. For trying to be a friend. Did you learn nothing in six years at Emmanuel? You can’t afford to care about anyone other than yourself.”

She needed to remember that after Zach spread the word about her past. Of course he’d do just that. Never mind ethics; he had to protect his precious town, didn’t he? “ ‘I won’t let you hurt this town,’ ” she mimicked. “Bastard.”

What really put the cherry on top of her humiliation was that he’d been about to kiss her. Yep, right there beside that old-fashioned duplicating machine, he’d been about to lay one on her. She’d seen it in his eyes, the way they’d fastened on her mouth, the way his lids had grown heavy. The air between them had all but crackled with energy.

And, dammit, she’d wanted it. Her mouth had gone dry. Her heart had skipped a beat, and for the first time in forever, she’d yearned. She’d wanted a man’s—that man’s—mouth on hers. She’d wanted to taste him, to feel his arms around her. She’d wanted to touch and be touched, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Damn him. Damn him for doing that to me.

By the time she reached the Eternity Springs city limits, she’d managed to fight back the tears and lock away her emotions. At least, that’s what she told herself as she unlocked the door to her Victorian and stepped inside, calling, “Inny? Where are you? Mama’s home.”

The dog came running and yipping a hello. Savannah scooped her up into her arms and squeezed her tight. Too tight, she realized, when the poor baby squealed.

Then Inny was licking her face and Savannah cooed back at her. Thank heaven for pets. They were a true blessing. Unlike humans, they gave unconditional love. They didn’t intentionally hurt people.

Inny squeaked again, so Savannah put her down. Her arms immediately felt empty, and a restless energy hummed through her. Now seated at her feet, Inny thumped her skinny little tail, her head tilted to one side as she waited expectantly.

“What?” Savannah asked her. “Are you bored? Do you want to go for a walk? Down to the dog park, perhaps?”

Actually, a walk to the dog park was a good solution for both of them. Inny loved her walks. Hearing the w-word almost always caused her to leap with joy. However, the little dog wasn’t built for accompanying Savannah on the long, draining run she needed right now, so she decided she’d let Inny play in the dog park while she ran the circumference of the fence until her legs gave out.

It took her only minutes to change, and soon they strode up Spruce Street toward Davenport Park. Savannah plastered a smile on her face and waved at neighbors, doing her best to keep her mind off the events at Reflection Point. For the most part she succeeded, and when she reached the dog park and released Inny to play, she returned Ali Timberlake’s greeting with a genuine smile.

Ali was quite a bit older than Savannah, though she didn’t look like it. Slim and stylish, Ali had that smart, city-girl look that the rural southern girl inside Savannah would have loved to emulate. How Ali pulled off that look wearing sneakers, athletic shorts, a scoop-neck tee, and a sun visor, Savannah couldn’t hazard a guess.

“What perfect timing,” Ali said. “I stopped by your place earlier but missed you.”

Evidently Ali hadn’t heard about the Chamber meeting. “I was … out … for the afternoon.”

“I wanted to invite you to join our softball team. We have a lot of fun, and it doesn’t require a lot of time.” She gestured toward the baseball diamond at the far side of the park. “We practice once a week in May until the weekly games begin in June. Summer is such a busy time for everybody, but we all need a break and this is a fun way to do it. Please say you’ll join us? Practice is about to start.”

Savannah’s gaze drifted across the baseball diamond, and yearning filled her. Once upon a time, fast-pitch softball had been her world, and during those awful years at Emmanuel, the time she’d spent playing ball had saved her sanity. She hadn’t picked up a softball since, but oh, how her fingers itched to give it a go.

She spied Nic, Sage, and Cat Davenport, along with a handful of other women she didn’t recognize. She didn’t see Sarah Murphy, and for that she was glad. She wasn’t up to dealing with the matchmaking machinations of the relatively new Mrs. Murphy, and she did want to join the softball players for at least tonight. Once Zach Turner spilled the beans about her past, they probably wouldn’t invite her back.

Savannah glanced toward Inny, who was playing happily with Nic Callahan’s boxer. An extended stay at the dog park wouldn’t bother her one bit. “I’d love to join you, thank you. Except, I’m afraid I don’t have a glove.”

“Excellent, and don’t worry about a glove. Someone will have an extra.” Ali beamed a smile toward Savannah and motioned her toward the baseball diamond.

That was another thing Savannah liked about Ali Timberlake. She gestured. She didn’t reach out and touch. She didn’t hug each time she said hello and good-bye.

Ali introduced Savannah to the other players whom she had yet to meet. Rose Anderson was the local doctor and Sage Rafferty’s sister. Julie Nelson taught third grade, Christy Hartford was a stay-at-home mom, and Megan Smith helped run the Blue Spruce Sandwich Shop.

Practice began amid much laughter and camaraderie. Savannah was dismayed to learn that the official coach and assistant coach 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 his wife. “I told her she’d regret it, but she insisted that if she could take a Rottweiler’s temperature, she could babysit our twins.”

Nic snorted. “And to think she’s near the top of her class in vet school.”

Cam Murphy and his son, Devin, showed up next and were followed shortly by Mac Timberlake and his sons, Chase and Stephen. That made seven players, enough for a team. Despite her better sense, Savannah’s hopes rose that the angels might smile upon her and Zach wouldn’t want to play softball with girls. He was a macho sort of guy, after all. Maybe he considered such activity beneath him.

By the third inning, she’d gotten caught up in the game and stopped watching for the sheriff. Her fellow players were a competitive bunch. She liked the way the guys didn’t go easy on their women—and the way the women used all the weapons in their arsenal, not only on-target throws but come-hither smiles and suggestive winks … and surely Nic Callahan hadn’t flashed her breasts at Gabe? Savannah must have imagined that.

She had just made a diving play for a pop fly that Ali had misjudged, stood up to her teammates’ cheers, and brushed the dirt off her shirt when she saw Zach arrive. He called a general hello and, with the inning over, loped out to cover second base. Sage batted first and struck out. Savannah batted next, and the way her luck had been running, she hit a line drive just beyond Colt’s reach at shortstop; as it rolled toward the fence, she had no choice but to stretch the single into a double.

In the outfield, Mac Timberlake scooped up the ball. Running hard, Savannah judged the throw. She could make it. She simply needed to properly time her slide. She eyed the ball, then focused on the base and threw her legs out in front of her just as the sheriff squared up to catch the ball, blocking second with his body. Her feet caught him at the side of the knees, and he tumbled down on top of her.

Or maybe it was a mountain. He weighed a ton. Had he caught the ball? Had she touched the base? Broken a rib?

He rolled over and his big right hand spread out over her breast. And lingered. They both froze. He gazed down into her eyes, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze fell to her lips and seconds passed like hours. No, Savannah thought. We are not doing this. Not again. Especially not in front of witnesses.

She lifted her chin, narrowed her gaze, and declared, “Safe.”

He scowled. “Don’t begin to believe that.”

He finally moved his hand and rolled back onto his knees. “I tagged you. You’re out.”

“I got to the base first.”

“No, Peach. You were slow. You’re out.”

Suddenly furious, she scrambled to her feet. “Safe!”

“Out.”

“Safe.” She looked to her teammates for help, but their expressions weren’t encouraging. Sarah said, “It happened too fast.”

Nic shrugged. “Sorry, I had a bad angle.”

“Looked like a tie to me,” Rose offered.

Savannah pounced. “Tie goes to the runner.”

Zach shook his head. “Umpire, can we have a ruling?”

“The runner was out by a feather,” Celeste Blessing called. “So sorry, Savannah dear. You’ll do better next time.”

It was all Savannah could do to refrain from sticking her tongue out at the old bat. She’d bet a hundred dollars that at some point in time Celeste and Francine had hung from the branches of the same family tree—upside down.

Savannah walked off the playing field, but rather than take a seat on the bench, she stood off to the side and stretched her arms, mimicking throwing motions, warming up her muscles. When Colt struck out his sister-in-law for the final out of the inning, Savannah was ready. She approached Sarah, saying, “Let me pitch. I’m good.”

Sarah studied her face. “Zach will take a turn at bat now.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“This game is just for fun.”

“Oh, I intend to have fun.”

“Savannah …”

“I won’t hit him. I promise. I’m not just good, Sarah. I’m very good. The man deserves to be put in his place. He’s a pig.”

“Zach? Our Zach? He’s not a pig.”

“He used our collision at second base to cop a feel.”

“No … Zach’s not like that. It must have been an accident.”

Savannah could have told her otherwise. She had plenty of experience with law enforcement officials who used every opportunity that came their way to take advantage of a woman who had no power to defend herself. “All right. Maybe it was an accident. I still would like to pitch.”

“You won’t hurt him?”

“Maybe his pride.”

Sarah tossed her the ball. “Good luck with that.”

The chatter in the dugout slowly died when Savannah strode out to the pitcher’s mound.

Cam Murphy called to his wife, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. Our new team member wants to show us her stuff.”

That comment gave rise to good-natured whistles and catcalls, and Savannah played her part, smiling and waving and giving her hips a little jiggle.

“You gonna take a few practice pitches?” Nic asked, taking her place behind the plate as catcher.

Savannah glanced at Zach, who stood in the batter’s box, swinging the bat one-handed, then nodded at Sage. “A couple.”

The first pitch she threw slow and easy, a strike that thumped into Nic’s catcher’s mitt. The second pitch sailed across home plate similarly to the first. Savannah caught Nic’s return pitch, then nodded her readiness toward Celeste, who called, “Batter up.”

Zach stepped up to the plate. He took one practice swing, then another, then set his feet, drew back the bat, and awaited the pitch.

Savannah fired the pitch toward the plate. Zach swung and missed it by a mile.

“Whoa, what was that?” Colt exclaimed as Zach stepped out of the batter’s box and studied Savannah with a speculative look. Sarah chortled. Cam and Gabe stepped up to the fence, seeking a better view. In the outfield, her teammates whistled and cheered.

Zach stepped back up to the plate. He shot Savannah a challenging grin. She fired one of her own right back.

And then she blew a second pitch past him.

“A ringer,” Mac Timberlake marveled. “You’ve brought in a ringer.”

Zach got a piece of the third pitch, then she fooled him completely with an off-speed throw and struck him out. She resisted the urge to pump her fist and instead sent him a smug, victorious smile.

Everyone—except for Zach—cheered. Cam Murphy came up to bat next and started teasing her with challenges. She struck him out in three straight pitches. At that point the structure of the game disintegrated. All the guys wanted a turn at bat.

Savannah thoroughly enjoyed herself. She threw well, proving that muscle memory is a powerful thing. Some of the guys got hits off her, and the more times they faced her, the better they did. The women all wanted a chance at her, too, so Savannah’s arm got a good workout. It didn’t escape her notice that Zach never lined up for another turn. Neither did he leave. He stood watching her, studying her, and only when someone mentioned babysitters and people began gathering up their things to leave did he step up to the plate and ask, “How’s your arm? Do you have it in you to face one more batter?”

“You?”

“Yes. I think I can hit you, but I want to do it fair and square. If you’ve thrown too many pitches …”

No way would she back down on this challenge. Daring him with her smile, she said, “Batter up.”

It became a battle, with Zach getting a piece of the ball every time, though not enough of a piece to actually put the ball in play. Finally, on the twelfth pitch, he popped it into the air. Savannah took two steps back and made an easy catch.

The ballplayers, men and women alike, gave her a round of applause.

Colt Rafferty stepped forward. “So, Savannah, fess up. Where did you learn to pitch a softball? Did you play college ball? Are you an Olympian?”

Savannah glanced at Zach. He was watching her like a predator waiting to pounce.

So this was it, then. He was going to out her, spill her beans. All her new friends were here, and he would “protect” them with one grand announcement. She could read it in his eyes.

Well then. Fine. She’d just beat him to the stab to her heart. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and said, “Not an Olympian, no. I’ve played softball since I was a child, but I polished my skills while in pris—”

Zach’s voice boomed across the ball field, drowning her out. “Priscilla Hoskins. You’re from Georgia. I’ll bet Priscilla Hoskins was your high school softball coach. Didn’t she go on to coach at Georgia Tech? I’m right, aren’t I? You learned how to pitch from Priscilla.”

Savannah had never heard of a women’s softball coach named Priscilla Hoskins. She did, however, recognize a softball when one was lobbed her way. He wasn’t going to give her secret away, after all. Not here and now, at least. Why?

What was Zach Turner’s game?