Michaels, Kasey - Be My Baby Tonight.html by Be My Baby Tonight

Author:Be My Baby Tonight [Tonight, Be My Baby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-11-25T23:50:42+00:00

Chapter Eleven

There's a soft liner, which is caught by the second baseman.

And the ball game is over! For this inning.

—Jerry Coleman, San Diego Padres announcer

Suzanna watched as Tim walked through the hallway, automatically touching the head of one of the wolfhounds incorporated into the tapestry. He did it every time, and probably didn't even know he did it.

Another superstition? Or just habit?

She put down her purse and followed after him, as both were carrying what Keely laughingly called "leftovers" from the party. There were enough of them to have another party.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" she asked as Tim stood back, holding open the refrigerator for her, so she could stash the silver foil covered tins beside the ones he'd carried in from the car.

"I don't know. It was Aunt Sadie's party. I didn't want to be a wet blanket."

She put a hand on his forehead, pretending she wasn't using the excuse to touch him. "You don't feel

hot. Keely said you threw up."

"Yeah. Well, don't worry about it, okay? I'm fine now."

Suzanna followed after him as he went into the den, picked up the TV remote. "But you could be sick."

"You threw up," he said, punching in the numbers for ESPN. "And you're fine now, too, right?"

"Right," Suzanna said warily. So that was it? He saw that she'd felt better, and then decided either not to mention diat she'd been sick, or hadn't cared enough to ask. No, he cared enough. He was a good man. She was angry with him, disappointed in him, but she couldn't go blaming him for every vice in the world.

"See? You're all right; I'm all right."

"Yes, but—"

"Did you see today's game?"

She shook her head. "No, there wasn't time. I'm sorry. Candy decided that today would be a good day

to want to hang on Keely's leg, so I took her out for a walk, then helped Keely once the baby was down for her nap. What did I miss?"

"Another loss," he said, just as the recap of the Phillies game came on the screen. "So you didn't see it?"

"No, I said I didn't," she said, stepping closer to the large-screen set.

"Good." He turned it off. "Nothing much to see. One of the... um... Brandenberg tried to take me out at the plate. Barreled into me, into my gut, but I held on to the ball." He rubbed at his stomach. "I guess I took a bigger hit than I thought."

He was lying. The man was standing there, looking straight at her, and lying through his teeth.

Why? She decided to push him.

"Really. You know, Tim, maybe there's internal bruising. Even internal bleeding. Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To the Emergency Room, Tim. You got hit; you've thrown up. Maybe it isn't your gut. Maybe you

have a concussion. What did the trainer say when he checked you out?"

"He said I'm fine, that's what he said," Tim told her, his voice tight as he threw the controller onto the couch. "Let's go to bed; I'm wiped out."

"Don't you want to talk?"

He rolled his eyes at her.

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