Free Strike Zone by Kate Angell Page A

grass. I don’t want it scratched.”
    Unmovable, disagreeable man. Sloan remained before her, one booted foot on the brick stoop, the other between the door and jamb, trying to weasel his way inside. On either side of the door, flowering peach-and-fuchsia-colored impatiens in giant white ceramic planters scented the air in welcome. The late-afternoon sun hit Sloan’s back, casting him in dark shadows.
    “Who gave you my grandmother’s address?” asked Eve.
    “I overheard Risk Kincaid discussing the party in the clubhouse,” he admitted. “Briarwood Village is a maze of streets. The house numbers are painted on the curb and hard to see. I drove by Addie’s town house twice.”
    “You should have kept on driving.”
    The man had brass balls, showing up uninvited. His desperation to see Taylor irritated Eve. She was about to shut the door on him when he thrust a box into her hands. Gold metallic paper and a red silk bow suggested he’d had it professionally gift wrapped.
    “I came prepared. I brought Addie a present,” he said. “I’m a considerate, caring guy.”
    Eve shook the box. “Does it have a plug?”
    “It’s not an appliance.”
    “What is it?” She didn’t want any surprises.
    Sloan shrugged. “I grabbed it from my girlfriend closet—”
    “Girlfriend closet?”
    “I stockpile gifts. That way when I break up with a woman, I can give her a present when she leaves. Makes her happy, and I come off as the good guy.”
    Eve imagined the worst. “This gift could be a black teddy or a red thong?”
    “Or a vibrator.”
    “Go home.” She shoved the box into his chest.
    He made a face, rubbing his left pec. “What’s your hang-up, Eve?”
    “My granddaughter has no hang-ups,” asserted Addie Hannah as she came up behind Eve. “She’s smart and pretty and a very good judge of character. Who, young man, are you?”
    Eve watched Sloan study Addie. The two-story residence appeared overly large for the small woman who looked back at him questioningly. Even at her advanced age, Addie remained active. Tanned to a berry brown, she looked amazing with her braided white-blond hair, pale blue eyes, and “toned bones,” as she called them. Attired in tennis whites, she clutched a Yonex racket in her right hand; in top-of-the-line Nikes she looked ready to receive a serve.
    “I’m Sloan McCaffrey, ma’am,” he stated. “Happy birthday.”
    “You’re a guest I’ve yet to meet.” Addie looked him over. “A friend of Taylor’s or Eve’s?”
    He didn’t miss a beat. “Eve’s.”
    Eve caught the wicked gleam in his eye as his slow grin spread.
    “I guess your granddaughter hasn’t mentioned me, as we’ve just started dating.”
    Dating? Eve’s mouth puckered as if she’d sucked a sour candy. Her throat closed; no words rose to refute his claim.
    Addie tilted her head. “She hasn’t mentioned you, son.”
    “Give her time,” he said, straight-faced. “Once she starts talking about me, she won’t be able to stop.”
    Addie slapped her tennis racket against her thigh. “You look athletic. Ever play football?”
    “I played both football and baseball in college,” he replied. “I’ve just come up from six years with Triple-A ball. This is my first year with the Rogues.”
    Addie looked thoughtful. “My granddaughters and their Rogues.”
    “Ma’am?” Sloan didn’t understand.
    Eve wasn’t about to explain Taylor’s past relationship with Brek Stryker. Let Sloan find out for himself.
    Addie wasn’t finished studying him. “McCaffrey.” She paused, squinting hard. “You’re the new reliever who allowed two home runs in the fifth inning against the Minnesota Twins during your major-league debut. Made the record books, I believe.”
    Sloan dipped his head and admitted, “That was me, ma’am. My life flashed back to the minors while I was standing on the mound watching two Twinkies pound my best heat. Had Brek Stryker not spoken on my behalf to the general manager, I’d