Sit, Stay, Love Page 5

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The cops.”

  Gina stroked Tippy, who seemed to pick up on Cal’s agitation. She whimpered, trying to jump up on the sofa. Her girth would not allow it, nor, Gina suspected, would Cal, so she slid down to the floor and tried to comfort the dog.

  Cal finished his conversation and clicked off, running a hand through his short crop of hair.

  “Who is that man?”

  Cal shook his head. “His name is Tom Peterson and he’s nuts. I have a restraining order against him. He must’ve been watching the house and saw you take Tippy to the park.”

  “How did he know about Tippy?” She groaned. “Oh right. Tippy’s a Twitter sensation.”

  Thanks to my taking her to the arena, she thought.

  “We played college ball together. He was a starting pitcher and he blew out his elbow. I took his spot, and he’s decided somehow that I owe him something for that. He’s unbalanced. Half the time he pretends he’s my brother or something, and the other half he’s ranting about me online. I’ve had to change my cell phone number twice because he gets hold of it somehow.”

  “Oh,” she said, heart sinking. “He seemed so nice.”

  “He’s not nice. He’s crazy. Even went up to the ranch and harassed my mother.” Cal paced in angry strides until he stopped to stare at her. “What did you tell him?”

  She tried to recall. “Mostly we talked about Tippy, how she needs to wear socks in the house and such.”

  “Did he ask you details about your job?”

  She flushed. “I thought it was just small talk.”

  “What?”

  “He wanted to know my schedule, how many days and when I worked.” Suddenly her own stupidity flooded over her. “He said he was hoping to get into the pet sitting business. I thought that was why he was interested.”

  Cal rubbed a hand over his eyes. “And you never suspected there was another reason?”

  A lump in her throat rendered her unable to answer. She shook her head.

  “You have to wise up,” Cal snapped. “People are weird about fame. Like it or not—and believe me, I don’t—I’m a celebrity. I have to be careful and if you’re going to work for me, you have to be careful too.”

  Her eyes filled and she looked at her lap. Don’t cry, you ninny. Why must her emotions always flood to the surface at the least provocation? Tippy licked the tip of her nose. “I have trouble trusting the wrong people. I’d like to say that’s because I got a rocky start and my parents sheltered me, but that’s probably an excuse.”

  He frowned. “What kind of a rocky start?”

  She waved a hand. “Never mind.”

  He let out a gust of air and his voice grew soft. He looked at the floor for a moment and let out a breath. “Please. I’d like to know. I understand rocky starts, believe me.”

  She shrugged. “I was born too soon, a micropreemie they call them, one pound and change.”

  “Man. That’s less than four baseballs.”

  She managed a smile. “I never thought of it that way. I fit entirely in the palm of my father’s hand, which really freaked him out. Actually it freaked both my parents out. My Nana held everyone together. She treated me like a regular baby, though a miniature-sized version. She took all the problems I had in stride and tried to see what I could do instead of what I couldn’t.” Gina sighed. “I sure miss her.”

  She felt his eyes on her, heard the floorboards creak as he shifted his weight. Why had she just shared her whole infant saga? He must think she was an idiot.

  All of a sudden he joined her on the floor, long legs offering the perfect doggy platform. Tippy wasted no time in crawling aboard. Cal left her there, though he avoided her searching tongue.

  “Your Nana sounds like a great lady.”

  “She was.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about how I spoke before,” he said. “I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard. You couldn’t have known about Tom.”

  “But I should have wondered.” Especially after her disastrous last relationship. The wrenching heartache came back, the man who let her love him and his son with her whole heart. The man who used and dumped her. “I’m too trusting. Always have been.”

  “It’s not bad to trust people.”

  “Oh yes it is.” The words blurted out. “Believe me. You can lose everything.”

  He took her hand. The gesture startled her, even as the strong fingers felt warm and comforting. “What happened?” he asked softly.

  She looked into those liquid brown eyes and wanted to tell him everything. Of her humiliation, of the anguish she felt at being forever separated from a little boy she had come to adore. How she’d felt stupid and childish.

  No, Gina. For once in your life be smart. Don’t give all your feelings over to another man. Especially not a famous man from a completely different world. She detached her hand. He seemed embarrassed. “I’d rather not talk about it. I’ve shared enough for one day.”

  “Yeah, okay, sorry for prying.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry,” she said, forcing a strong tone. “I do. I won’t let it happen again, blabbing too much to a stranger.”

  A gentle smile crossed his face. “Gina, have you ever met a stranger?”

  She had to smile back. “I’m going to work on that.”

  He leaned back against the sofa and she did the same. It was the most relaxed she’d seen him since they’d met.

  “Is that thing ugly?” he asked.

  She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  He jerked a chin at the black glass sculpture on the sleek side table facing them. “That thing. I’ve never noticed it before, but it looks kinda ugly now that I’m at eye level.”

  She chuckled. “Do you want honest or polite?”

  “Honest. I got enough people being polite all the time.”

  “My vote is ugly.”

  He laughed. “Mine too.”

  They sat for a few moments longer. She heard him take a deep breath.

  “Would you come up to the ranch with me? You and Tippy?”

  She stared.

  “I think I’m gonna sell it, and I have to pack Mom’s things, find some papers for the lawyers. There’s plenty of bedrooms, cabin out back too.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s an incredible place.”

  A place where he felt at home, she read in the tenderness of his voice. Would it still feel that way to Cal with his mother gone?

  “Why would you want me to come along?” She sighed, feeling a stab of shame. “Oh, wait. You think I’m going to get into trouble here alone, don’t you?” She frowned. “I do bonehead things, but I can take care of myself and Tippy. Promise.”

  “It’s not that. Pete figured maybe you could go through Tippy’s stuff, and there’s some of Mom’s things… ” His voice caught and he looked at her with eyes that shone with anguish. He cleared his throat. “Never mind. Bad idea. I’ll check in with you when I get back.” He eased Tippy off his lap and stood, looking out the window. “Cops are here. Guess I won’t be leaving for a while.”

  He continued to stare as if he was seeing something else besides the perfectly tended lawns and the ornate wrought iron fencing.

  “We’ll go,” she said suddenly.

  He turned. “What?”

  “Tippy and I will go. I just need to make sure Mrs. Filipski is okay with it. She’s my landlady and she runs the pierogi store where I work.”

  He looked as though he wanted to say something. Then he abruptly closed his mouth and nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad.”

  She was not sure why, but she desperately wanted to see the ranch where Cal Crawford had left his heart. She nodded. “Tippy will be happy to spend some time with you.”

  And so will I, she thought with some astonishment.

  Six

  Gina packed a bag for herself and Tippy and reported to the garage early the next morning. She was relieved to see no sign of Tom Peterson’s van parked across
the street, but there was a police car cruising the neighborhood.

  Cal loaded her bag into the back of an enormous blue truck. It was cute, the way he did that, reaching for her duffel and relieving her of it before she asked. The gesture gave her a warm sensation in her stomach.

  She took in the bulky old vehicle as he opened the door for her.

  “Disappointed we’re not taking the Porsche or the Mustang?” he said.

  “Not really. My car has duct taped seats, so this is more up my alley.”

  He hoisted Tippy up into her lap. “This is a ’66 Chevy C-10. Bought it on my own when I was seventeen. Rescued it from a junkyard, actually.” His gaze wandered over the dinged chassis. Though the words were light, his shoulders were stiff, jaw tight. The drive to the ranch was something he would rather not undertake, even in his beloved truck.

  They drove north for three hours before stopping for a fast food lunch and a run around for Tippy. Cal made himself a finicky concoction at the salad bar and Gina ordered a large strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry.

  “Don’t you want the food part of the lunch?” he inquired. “Milkshakes are the dessert.”

  She shot him a look of disdain. “Dessert is the most important part and anyway, you’re eating leaves for lunch so I don’t think you’re a credible advisor.”

  He chuckled and she somehow felt she had won a prize.

  Cal kept his cap and sunglasses on and they ate at an outdoor table while Tippy sniffed every nook and cranny. Gina relished her milkshake, draining it to the dregs. Cal picked at his salad.

  “Luz would say you should eat,” Gina said.

  He nodded and applied himself mechanically to the greens without any apparent enjoyment until a lady with curly hair and full cheeks approached.

  She sidled up, clutching a piece of paper in one hand and her young son’s shoulder in the other. “Excuse me,” she said. “Are you…?”

  Cal looked up.

  “You are.” She squeezed her son’s hand. “It’s Cal Crawford,” she said. “I knew it. I wasn’t sure at first, but then I saw the dog. That’s Tippy, right?”

  Cal gave her a polite smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Could I possibly get your autograph? My son is starting Little League and his dad will just flip when I tell him we saw you.”

  Cal took the piece of paper and got down on one knee next to the child. He scrawled his autograph on the paper. “What’s your name?”

  “Max,” the child said, barely above a whisper.

  “And I’m Leslie,” his mom chimed in. “Could you possibly write ‘Best of luck to the Cardinals this season’?’ ” she asked. “That’s Maxie’s team.”

  Cal smiled. “Sure,” he said as he scribbled.

  “This is so thrilling,” she gushed. “I can’t believe we’re actually here talking to Cal Crawford. You’re taller than you look on TV.”

  Cal chatted with the boy and Gina saw immediately how he put the child at ease. “So what position do you play, Max?”

  “First base,” the boy replied. “My dad taught me.” He watched Cal with wide eyes. “Did your dad teach you?”

  Gina saw Cal’s mouth twitch, a flash of pain that surfaced and disappeared. “No, Max. My mom is… my mom got me started, and my Uncle Oscar.”

  “And this is Tippy? I didn’t believe those Tweets in the first place. I knew you weren’t the type to get rid of a sweet old dog,” Leslie gushed, reaching down to rub Tippy’s ears. Tippy basked in the attention. Leslie shot Gina a sly look. “And you’re Mr. Crawford’s special someone?”

  Gina’s face went hot. “Oh, no. I’m Tippy’s special someone. I’m the dog sitter.”

  The woman gave Tippy a final pat. “How nice,” she said, in a tone that indicated she didn’t believe a word of it.

  Cal finally disentangled himself from Leslie and Max. “We’ve got to go now, but it’s been a pleasure, ma’am.”

  She tried to keep up as he hustled to the car, Tippy trotting along behind. They were not quick enough. A half dozen patrons of the restaurant approached, clamoring for autographs.

  With a sigh, Cal plastered on a smile, the car keys still dangling from his fingers. “Time for a meet and greet,” he said.

  Gina saw no more than a blur as Tippy launched herself higher than Gina would have ever thought possible, leaped into the air, and snatched the keys from Cal’s hand.

  “What’d she do that for?” Cal said, stunned. Tippy tore off into the empty field behind the restaurant.

  Cal pursued, long legs quickly outpacing Gina as a merry chase began. The kids in the group joined in as Tippy zigged left and zagged right. All around them the bystanders recorded the whole adventure with their iPhones.

  “Tippy,” Gina called when she got a breath. “Stop.”

  She remembered from her cousin Lexi that you had to stick with a dog’s known vocabulary. They’d not covered stop to date. A boy ahead of her turned quickly and Gina almost tumbled over him.

  “Tippy, sit!” she hollered as loud as she could.

  Ignoring her completely, the dog leaped and whirled, wiry body contorting in incredible fashion.

  “Sit!” Cal boomed.

  Tippy sat, her wedge of a bottom dropping immediately onto the scraggly grass.

  The crowd of dog wranglers staggered to a stop, the children sitting next to Tippy to get a turn petting the panting dog.

  Cal snatched up the slobbery keys from where Tippy had deposited them, staring. He reached down and gathered Tippy up. “Now I see what Pete meant about the car key thing. That was pretty good speed for a dog with four-inch legs.”

  “Gonna take her to the pound again?” a voice called out.

  A heavyset man in an Oakland A’s jacket stood watching, arms folded. “Don’t know why you all are goggling over Crawford here. Guy’s been slumping big time, and plus he’s a dog hater.”

  Cal shook his head. “There’s always one in every crowd,” he muttered.

  Leslie strode up to the man. “He is not a dog hater. That was a misunderstanding, as you can see. Tippy goes everywhere with Cal, and every athlete slumps, for your information.”

  “They got pictures of him taking that dog to the pound,” the man insisted. “I saw it.”

  “Cal Crawford is a good man,” Leslie said.

  “He sure ain’t a good pitcher,” the man said, turning away.

  “He’s a two-time Cy Young award winner, you dolt!” Leslie called after him.

  There was no expression on Cal’s face as he waved to the group and headed back to the truck. Once again he opened the door for Gina and handed over the exhausted dog.

  Gina cuddled Tippy, who looked very satisfied with her performance. “You’re naughty, Tippy. Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

  If dogs could smile, Gina would have sworn that was what Tippy did before she settled her head on Gina’s knees and fell asleep.

  Cal drove out of the parking lot in silence, face shuttered.

  “Does it make you mad?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “When they say you’re not a good pitcher?”

  “No. That comes with the job. You’re always going to get hecklers.”

  He’d left something unsaid. “What’s bothering you then?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing.”

  He shot her a look, brown eyes intense. For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore the question. “The woman. Leslie.”

  “She was nice. A huge fan of yours.”

  “Yeah.”

  Again the hesitation.

  “She said you were a good man.”

  His brow furrowed. “That’s what I mean. She doesn’t know that.”

  Gina wasn’t sure what to say.

  “She doesn’t know what kind of a man I am. No one does.”

  “They feel like they do because you’re famous.”

  He talked as if he hadn’t heard her. “They know how I pitch and field
and how much money I make and how many times I was traded and my ERA and every single stat of my whole life in the majors, but… ” He trailed off.

  Tippy snuggled deeper into Gina’s lap. “They don’t know the real Cal Crawford?”

  “No one knows me.” He pressed his lips together. “I don’t even think I know me anymore.”

  “God knows you,” she blurted out. “And He loves you.” Ack. Had she really said that out loud? He already thought she was a nut, and now add religious nut to the list. “I mean,” she hastened on, “He made you. Nothing about you is a surprise to Him. My Nana said so, and she knew God better than anyone else I ever met.”

  He shifted, making the seat creak. Tippy opened one eye and closed it again. “That’s what my mom would have said too.”

  “But you don’t believe it?”

  “She always told me God made me great.”

  “You are great, Cal,” Gina said, touching his shoulder. “You’ve done amazing things in your life.”

  “But what if I don’t anymore? What if I fail? Guy back there’s right. My pitching isn’t so hot lately. So if God’s gonna take that away, what do I have left?”

  Gina stroked Tippy’s boney head. For once, think before you blurt. What would her Nana have said? The woman who made the initial introductions between Gina and God during those long hours in the NICU with Gina’s mom sick and her father too overwhelmed to do much more than pace? She chewed her lip and shot a glance at Cal. None of this had been in the dogsitter manual Lexi had typed up for her under “relating to the pet owner.”

  “Well,” she started cautiously. “Maybe when your mom said God made you great, she wasn’t talking about your pitching.”

  He started a bit, as though he’d just caught another ball to the face, eyes dancing between her and the front windshield. Then he turned his full attention to the road. “No. Pitching is what I was made to do. I am a great pitcher and God’s not gonna take that away from me. I won’t let Him.” His tone was hard, mouth pinched into a tight line which made him look much older than his twenty-eight years.

  Gina thought about the things she had lost and her heart squeezed tight. Matthew’s soft hair and how it tickled her chin. The way he would run to her when she met him at the park, his face lighting up. Playdough time. Kissed boo-boos. Bedtime storybooks.