The Prospect, Eliot Parker [free ebooks for android .TXT] 📗

So if you do not mind….” His arm reached outward pointing towards the lower concourse alongside first base. After games, the lower concourse entry ramp was a fan favorite because kids were always invited to run around the bases at the conclusion of every Sheaville Loggers home game.
Unfortunately for Shane, Olivia was not even looking in his direction. She was rummaging through her pockets looking for something. Looking on, she finally snagged a handful of something white, and before Shane could speak or react, Olivia smeared the white tissue over his left eye.
“There, that should stop the bleeding.”
“I’m bleeding?” His tone indicated that he was unfamiliar with the meaning of that word.
“Yes you are. I must have scratched your face with my fingernail when I was trying to startle you. I am sorry, Shane.” He reached up to take control of the pressure being applied to his eye, but Olivia’s hand would not budge. “It should just take a second or two and it will stop. It is a small scratch, but I do not want it to become a larger one.”
Shane could feel Olivia’s cool breath circumnavigate around his face. Standing on her tip toes, he could smell her perfume-something resembling potpourri- but the fragrance was really unrecognizable. Olivia’s brown eyes were hollow today, unlike the last time he saw her, but nevertheless they caught Shane’s attention.
On impulse, Shane reached his hands around Olivia and placed them against the back of her dress. At first, the gesture was to help support her body, since standing on your toes for any length of time was not a natural position. Olivia gave no indication that she noticed or cared what the pitcher was doing and so he interlocked his fingers and the grip was slightly tighter.
“There, that should take care of it,” Olivia pronounced, removing the tissue. The bloody discharges from the wound resembled small circular droplets, meaning that during the ordeal, she had managed to move the tissue around utilizing every inch of material. Placing the small, wadded up ball into Shane’s hand, Olivia hinted, “You may need this later.”
Olivia leaned back until she was on the balls of her feet, but Shane did not loosen his grip on her back. For a second, they just looked at each other in silence, although both could sense the other’s discomfort.
She looked down, almost starting at Shane’s oblique muscles that were stretching the fabric of his white tee-shirt.
For a split second, she wanted to trace the muscles with her hands, but that would be inappropriate. Or would it? This pitcher, this ballplayer for the Sheaville Loggers was holding her close and not letting go. There was something about him, something Olivia Mitchell adored. Maybe it was because she did not know him well. Or maybe it was the fact that his rugged good looks were quite a bit to take in.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was because her father indicated a subtle nervousness when she mentioned the name Shane Triplet during that conversation on the porch. Whatever the reason, Olivia was quite happy with the arrangement.
The moment was not as appeasing for Shane Triplet. He loosened his locked hands and slid them down her sides and pulled them back towards his hips. Olivia smiled and ran a lose strip of hair behind her ear. Shane just exhaled and muffled a slight chuckle and thanked Olivia for noticing the scratch and doing something about it.
Dropping the wadded tissue on the ground, a puff of air formulated around the sticky June morning humidity and blew the tissue across the ground and rested it next to home plate. Shane’s next move would surprise him and Olivia as well.
“I know we had that stupid bet, but how would you like to learn how to hit? Since this may be the last time you come here, and you did something for me, maybe I could teach you. Who knows, you may like baseball after this experience.”
Giddy with excitement, Olivia spat out a reply. “Yes, yes, I would love to.”
Shane grabbed Olivia by the hand and positioned her to the right side of home plate. He had assumed that the mayor’s daughter would be right handed and indeed she was. He took his foot and spread her legs apart while he positioned himself around her back. Holding the Louisville Slugger bat in his hand, Shane slid it around her and placed the wooden stick in her hands. Gingerly, Shane guided Olivia’s hands towards the handles of the bat and spaced them appropriately. Extending the girl’s arms forward, Shane motioned them side-to-side in a clockwise motion.
“See,” he whispered, “once you get your arms loose, then you can place the bat in over your shoulder and swing.” After a few minutes of movement and counseling, Shane worked with Olivia until she was able to make an awkward, yet fluid swing with the bat.”
The warming sun was causing both of them to perspire. The green mountain seemed to be pleased with what it was observing; at least that is how Shane viewed it as he looked ahead during this rehearsal. The trees waived in the wind and it appeared they resembled a hand flailing vigorously. Lost in thought, Olivia stepped in front of Shane, and her black heel mashed the white tissue.
“That was great. It sure is a lot harder to swing. When you are watching, it looks so easy.”
“Hey!” Shane was startled. “I thought you said that you never come to Loggers games.”
“I do have cable television you know. I get TBS and WGN. I have seen my share of Braves and Cubs games over the years.”
Shane thought before speaking. She was right. Baseball fan or not, anyone and everyone could at least watch a few games a year between those two teams.
Smiling and temporarily forgetting why he was at Clark Field and what she was doing there, Triplet smiled and nodded at Olivia. She, in turn, smiled as well, flashing a ivory white set of perfectly straight teeth. Folding one hand over her first and swinging her arms slightly, mimicking the drill they just rehearsed, she spoke to Shane sweetly.
“I have to go. Daddy is probably worried. Thanks…you know…for the lesson. I will stop by sometime and get that necklace.
As she turned and walked to the lower level concourse, Shane’s voice echoed throughout the empty ballpark.
“I will be looking for you to come.”


XVII
With three weeks to go in the season before the ABA all-star break, players from across the league were working on the important fundamentals of the game in an attempt to draw the attention of the league commissioners, fans, and media members who would be selecting the players for the All-Star team. The Sheaville Loggers were in a good position to have more than one player selected for the honorary game for the first time in three years.
Everyone on the team, including manager Walter Mann, expected Shane Triplet to be the only team representative. With a record of 8-3 and a miniscule 1.87 earned run average, the pitcher had the lowest ERA in the league and was leading all pitchers in strikeouts with 47. Chaz Martinez was also performing exceptionally well. Hitting .313 with 12 home runs and 35 runs batted in was also the best numbers of any shortstop in the Appalachian Baseball Association. Of course, there was always a fair amount of posturing to be done between teams and three entities responsible for selecting players, but everyone in Sheaville was confident that Triplet and Martinez would be present at the mid-summer classic.
Phil Rodney and Frank Miller took there usual seats behind home plate. Both men arrived at the game late and the tardiness was becoming a common protocol throughout the season. Their excuses were basically the same: customers who would not leave when store hours had passed or unexpected telephone calls requiring immediate attention.
Shane Triplet was going for his ninth win of the season, and in the eighth inning, he had retired 10 of the last 12 Charleston, South Carolina RiverDogs batters he faced. He had given up four hits-one of those being to Jose Cruz-who was one of the better hitters on the RiverDogs team. Otherwise, nine strikeouts and a good command of his curveball and placement of his fastball had the Loggers in position to go 10 games over .500 heading into the all-star break.
Offensively, the trio of Pat Sutton, Chaz Martinez, and Biggie Rowan was quickly becoming the most feared threesome in the ABA. Sutton had three hits on the day along with Rowan, and Martinez’s three stolen bases helped Sheaville score three of their five runs in the baseball game.
“Whew, boy oh boy, we are looking good today,” bellowed Phil as he clapped his hands. “Shane is pitching fine and we have scored more than four runs. The Gazette said this morning that when we score more than four runs a game, we are 25-8 or something like that.”
Frank nodded thoughtfully as he sipped his coca-cola. Smacking his lips he replied to his friend. “Yep. It looks like we may have more than one or two players on that all-star team if things keeps up.”
“Yes indeedy,” chimed Phil.
The velocity of Shane’s pitches began to decline as the eighth inning progressed, prompting Walter to bring in Chris Taylor to close the ninth. But as the ninth inning began, Taylor’s focus was lost with each passing second.
At first, Taylor’s changeup was magnificent, and the Charleston hitters were swinging wildly at each one, regardless of how far out of the strike zone each pitch was. But, with two outs in the top of the ninth, the game began to unravel quickly for the Sheaville Loggers.
A two out double by Tre Thompson followed by a single by Barry Swim cut the lead to 5-2. Taylor walked the next batter and center fielder Curtis Patterson smoked a pitch down the right field line, but the ball was played well by Pat Sutton and runners were at the corners with two outs.
Biggie Rowan emerged from a squatting position and called for time after watching Chris Taylor slowly orchestrate his own collapse on the mound. Phil and Frank watched it all from the stands.
“I do not know what is going on Phil, but he has not pitched well the last month or so,” observed Frank Miller from the stands. “He may not be our answer as a closer.”
Phil Rodney agreed, but added, “Well, his stuff is REAL good. His pitches may be the best on the team, better than Shane’s. If he can’t handle the closer job, then I am not sure who can.”
Biggie Rowan murmured something unrecognizable to Chris as the drugstore owner looked at the pitchers mound through his binoculars. Everyone at Clark Field was shouting opinions, questions, and concerns about what was taking place. To Phil, it resembled a bunch of cackling hens, but only old farms boys from Wetzel County, West Virginia would understand or recognize that sound, he thought.
“Taylor looks scared on the mound. This might be the ball game right here,” observed Phil.
“Hold tight, it ain’t over yet.”
Taylor’s first pitch to Michael Burns was a ball inside, although it looked good enough to be a strike, according to Phil’s view through the binocular viewfinder. The closer’s second pitch was down and away, but Burns managed to swat the ball lazily into right field for a base hit. Pat Sutton scooped up the ball, and rifled the pitch towards home plate. Fortunately for the Loggers, Tre Thompson got a poor lead from second base and Pat’s pinpoint throw landed in Biggie’s glove and he applied the tag to Thompson’s foot. Much to Biggie’s surprise,