His eyes found hers and for a moment the crowd of boys, Tracy, the dog and all the action at the plate seemed to stop. “Please, just a couple of minutes.”
“Sure,” Carlie said, rather than cause a scene, and she knew in that instant that if she and Ben were to have any relationship at all, she would have to settle for coming in second. Whether he knew it or not, he was committed to his nephew. She saw it in his eyes.
Tracy’s eyes narrowed a fraction before she turned and leaned against the wire backdrop. “Come on, slugger!” she yelled and again, Randy’s back tightened.
The pitcher, a big, rangy boy, wound up and let loose. The ball streaked across the plate. Randy swung and fouled the ball over the backstop.
“That’s good,” Ben encouraged. “You got a piece of it.”
“Come on, honey!”
Randy threw his mother a hard look over his shoulder. He twisted his feet, adjusting his stance, and stared back at the pitcher.
The boy wound up. Another pitch. This one, right down the middle, hit the catcher’s glove with a thud. Randy hadn’t moved, not even swung.
“Come on,” Ben said under his breath.
“That one was good as gold,” Tracy said, with more than a trace of irritation. “You can do it, Randy!”
The next pitch was high, clear over Randy’s head, and he swung wildly.
“No!” Tracy yelled.
“Hey, lady, put a lid on it,” one of the coaches said. “Let the kid do his thing.”
“He’s my son.”
“So lighten up.”
Tracy looked as if she wanted to tear into the guy, but Ben grabbed her arm. “He’s right, Tracy.”
Three more balls and three more misses. Carlie wished she could disappear.
“I can’t believe it,” Tracy said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong! He’s usually so good.”
“He is good,” Ben assured her. “His timing’s just a little off.”
“But we’ve been to the batting cages, I’ve worked with him. Oh, God, if he doesn’t make Tienman’s team, he’ll be so disappointed.”
“Will he?” Ben asked. “Or will you?”
“He will! He wants to be the best!”
“Next! Number eighty-seven!” the coach yelled and Randy threw off his batting helmet and dropped his bat. His face was contorted and he was swearing under his breath.
“Honey, what happened?” Tracy asked.
“I screwed up!” He kicked at a clod of dirt with the toe of his baseball shoe and battled the urge to break down and cry.
“You did fine,” Ben said, clapping him on the back. “That pitcher was really on. His curveball—”
“—sucked! And so did I!”
“Don’t talk that way, Randall,” Tracy said, her face flushing with color. “Pull yourself together. You’ve got to pitch next.”
“Don’t want to.”
“Oh, come on, honey. You know you love this.”