Love on the Line by Pamela Aares Page A

if we can ramp up their game.”
    And that was the Ryan who confounded her. The man who was genuinely interested in mentoring kids and helping abused donkeys, the man who in spite of his superstar status wanted to live in a small town and have a life. She could relate. Maybe too well.
    He nodded to the cage. “Want to see how it works?”
    Fascination blossomed in her. When would she have another chance to experience his world up close? She nodded back.
    He took her mug from her hands and set both mugs on a low table. Then he opened the gate and motioned her inside.
    “You’ll need a helmet.”
    “Oh, no.” Instinctively she backed against the netting. “I was just hoping to see you demonstrate.”
    “No way. Here.” He handed her a bat and a helmet. “That’s one of the helmets I got for the kids on the middle school team.”
    She plopped the helmet on her head. He leaned in close to check the fit. His hands closed around the helmet and as he wriggled it, she felt his breath against her neck. Caught between his arms—her head held in his hands and weighted by the helmet, her heart thumping, erratic and excited, surrounded by the cage around her and over her head—she felt trapped. Maybe it was the sound of his breathing so close to her face and the heat from his body that had her feeling off kilter. She backed away.
    “I don’t really think—”
    “Don’t think. Just step into it. I’ll set it on the lowest speed. It’s an Iron Mike.”
    He must’ve seen the puzzlement in her face.
    “An arm-style machine is the only type of pitching machine that gives the same sense of timing as watching a pitcher. With each pitch you’ll see the machine’s arm wind up and release the ball. You’ll see the ball coming.”
    He saw her hesitate.
    “It won’t hurt you.”
    The pitching machine was the least of her worries. She wiped her sweating palm against her hip and grasped the bat.
    He crossed his arms and studied her for a moment. Then he shook his head and took the bat from her hands. “I’ll take a couple swings, show you the rhythm. Then you can try it.” He walked to the side of the cage. “And here’s the emergency switch. Big, red and effective. It stops everything.”
    Everything but the pounding of her heart.
    “Maybe I’ll just watch from outside the net.” She headed for the gate.
    “You sure someone didn’t abduct the woman who reeled in a humongous salmon through wild waves and replace her with a body double?”
    She laughed. And reconsidered. If the kids in middle school could handle Iron Mike, maybe she could.
    “Okay, but you go first. And I didn’t reel that fish in by myself—Cain helped, or I would’ve lost it.”
    “A stickler for the truth,” he said with a nod. “I like that.”
    Her stomach lurched. He couldn’t know her secret, and she wished that she could tell him. Maybe someday she could. But the thought didn’t ease her conscience, nor did it stop the surges of desire flooding her as she watched him stride to the side of the cage and flick a switch. Or the tingling of unabashed lust that danced in her core as he took his stance beside the white home plate.
    The machine spit the ball so fast she didn’t see it. But Ryan smacked it into the opposite end of the net.
    She backed into the netting of the cage. “Now I’m sure I don’t want to stand in front of that thing.”
    “I’ll set it on the lowest speed for you.” He handed her the bat and smiled when she took it. His smile coaxed warmth through her, but it was a warmth in no way soothing.
    “Atta girl.”
    She walked to stand beside the plate. She tried to focus, tried to mimic his stance.
    “Hitting’s all about rhythm and timing,” he said as he joined her. He put his hands on his hips. “Trust me, you have plenty of both.”
    She heard the flirtation in his voice; it called to a region of her brain that wouldn’t be governed by plans and pre-made decisions.
    She lowered the bat and stepped away from