Love in the Lineup Read online

  Arabesque is excited to publish the Winning Hearts summer series for 2006, featuring four heroines involved in the world of sports—both as athletes and in relationships with professional sports figures. It is a first for Arabesque, and we hope you enjoy these stories about strong, confident women who find romance and happiness by believing in themselves and trusting their hearts.

  In Donna Hill’s Long Distance Lover, world-class runner Kelly Maxwell finds herself at the center of a doping scandal and a love triangle. How she resolves her romantic dilemma could ultimately determine the outcome of her career.

  When sexy pro quarterback Quentin Williams makes a pass at LA assistant DA Sydney Holloway, only to be rebuffed—it’s more than just his ego that gets bruised. In The Game of Love by Doreen Rainey, fame and fortune can sometimes mean paying a high price for love.

  The world of Major League Baseball is tough. But so is Roshawn Bradsher, a feisty divorced single mom with a teenage daughter, in Deborah Fletcher Mello’s Love in the Lineup. So when young hotshot Latin baseball player Angel Rios—who was recruited by Roshawn’s ex—suddenly takes an interest in her, it’s only the first inning in this home-run romance.

  The summer series ends with Gwynne Forster’s McNeil’s Match. After a bitter divorce, Lynne Thurston is faced with the prospect of not knowing what to do with the rest of her life, having given up a successful tennis career six years ago when she got married. But when she meets Sloan McNeil, all of that changes as he tries to convince her that she still has what it takes to compete—on and off the court.

  With bestselling and award-winning authors Donna Hill, Doreen Rainey, Deborah Fletcher Mello and Gwynne Forster contributing to this series, we know you’ll enjoy the passion and romance of these vibrant and compelling characters.

  We welcome your comments and feedback, and invite you to send us an e-mail at www.kimanipress.com.

  Enjoy,

  Evette Porter

  Editor, Arabesque/Kimani Press

  Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Love in the Lineup

  For my very best friend, Angela Thomas,

  May your own glorious love story continue to bring you the joy and happiness that you deserve.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I must first give thanks to a loving and powerful God for His many blessings. It is only because of Him that all of this has been possible.

  Many thanks to my agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins, of the Steele-Perkins Literary Agency. This one had me stressed and you kept it real, and me sane. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your efforts.

  Thanks to my husband, Allan, and my son, Matthew, for understanding why the microwave had to work more than the oven did, and the laundry didn’t get done until the last sock was taken out of the drawer.

  And most especially, I want to thank each and every one of my fans who have inspired me to keep doing this, who keep me and my characters in check, and who continually campaign for the personalities that touched their hearts. I would surely not be here if it weren’t for you and your magnanimous outpouring of support. Thank you, again and again. Your love has been overwhelming.

  Dear Reader,

  Once again, I am thrilled to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed doing this and how truly blessed I feel to have been shown so much love and support. Your expressions of encouragement and praise have been a resounding source of inspiration and there aren’t enough words to tell you what that has meant to me.

  Love in the Lineup was truly a fun and engaging story to write. I wanted to make you smile and laugh and feel good when reading it, so I pray that you enjoy the experience as much as I did. I hope that I’ve left you satisfied, and nourished by the adventure, and feeling that true love is a possibility for us all.

  Again, thank you so much for your support, and please, visit me at my Web site and continue to send me your comments.

  With much love,

  Deborah Fletcher Mello

  www.deborahmello.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 1

  Roshawn Bradsher couldn’t help but think that slamming doors had become more the norm than not in their home since her daughter, Ming, had celebrated her seventeenth birthday. She stared up the short flight of stairs to the second floor as her daughter’s bedroom door still vibrated from the violation.

  “We’re not done discussing this, Ming!” she yelled, her voice rising another octave to ensure the young woman heard her. “I have had just about enough of your nonsense!”

  Roshawn winced as the door to the girl’s adjacent bathroom slammed in response. Roshawn swore under her breath, her body quivering with anger. With her hands gripping the lean line of her thin hips, she glanced toward the grandfather clock against her dining room wall. It was half past three o’clock in the morning and Ming was just now coming home from hanging out with her friends. The child was out of control, Roshawn thought as she headed into the living room and reached for the portable telephone resting on the coffee table. She dialed quickly, the ten digits to her ex-husband permanently engraved in her memory.

  When the man’s answering machine picked up the call, Roshawn became even more irritated as she waited for the annoying beep to sound so that she could leave a message. “Chen, it’s me. If you’re there, pick up. It’s about Ming.” Roshawn waited. Getting no answer she continued. “Your daughter went out tonight and didn’t bother to come home until just now. It’s three o’clock in the morning, John Chen. I have had enough of this girl. I’m telling you right now, she might not live to see sunrise! You need to call me before I knock the pee water right out of her! Since you moved to Arizona she’s just been impossible to deal with. Call me, Chen!”

  Roshawn slammed the receiver down, her head waving from side to side. She was too through, she thought as she stood with her eyes closed and her chin hanging against her chest. Too through dealing with her daughter and the weekly antics that had begun to turn too many strands of her blue-black, shoulder-length bob a vibrant shade of silver gray. She had not a clue how one child could cause a parent as much angst as Ming had begun to cause her. Things had been better when Ming’s father, John Chen, had lived two blocks away. Whenever Ming got out of hand all Roshawn had to do was drop her off on the man’s doorstep to be disciplined. But last year Chen up and moved from his home in Seattle, Washington to Phoenix, Arizona. Roshawn had been certain such had been the brainchild of her ex-husband’s new wife, a mousy brunette with a tiny face and big, brown eyes that constantly made her look like a deer caught in headlights. Roshawn skewed her face with displeasure. And now, with her father gone, Ming was hell-bent on testing every nerve in Roshawn’s body.

  Roshawn tossed her hands up in frustration as she screamed out her daughter’s name. “Ming Louise Chen! Get your butt down here. Now!”

  When she received no response, Roshawn hurled herself up the stairs and into her daughter’s room. Ming sat cross-legged on the bed, her new iPod and headset against her ears. Her head bobbed in time to whatever music was playing on the sound system. Roshawn gestured for the girl to remove the appliance and in response Ming rolled her ey
es, slowly dropping the instrument onto the bedspread.

  “What?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. You know what. Where were you?”

  Ming sighed, tossing the length of her black hair down her back, the strands falling to the line of her paper-thin waist. “We were just hanging out. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal? You stay out until sunrise and I’m not supposed to get upset about this?”

  “Why can’t you leave me alone? You’re always on my back!” the girl shouted, moving to ease the earphones to the iPod back onto her head.

  Ire raced across Roshawn’s face as she snatched the iPod from Ming’s hand and flung it out the door, listening as it slammed against the wall and rolled down the length of stairway. Both jumped when it landed with a hard bang on the hardwood floors below, the harshness of it a surprise to the two of them. Roshawn turned back to her daughter. “Ming, when I get on your back you’re going to know it,” she hissed, leaning down to stare her child in the eye.

  Ming’s eyes widened in surprise, words caught in the back of her throat. It had been a good while since she’d seen her mother this angry.

  Roshawn continued, her tone harsh but controlled. “Now, I want you in that bed. When you get up in the morning don’t turn on a thing. No television, no stereo, no nothing. In fact, don’t even open your mouth to speak unless I give you permission to. Not one word. And don’t even think about leaving this room. You’re grounded until I feel like letting you out. Do you understand me?”

  Ming nodded, slowly still eyeing her mother cautiously.

  Roshawn spun around on her heels and headed for the entrance. As she reached the door, Ming ventured to utter one last comment.

  “I want to go live with Daddy.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Roshawn gave her child one last glare, the final threads of her anger spinning from her eyes. Ming was the perfect melding of the best genetic material her parents had to offer. Roshawn marveled at just how beautiful her child was with her father’s Asian eyes and thin lips, and her petite frame, dimpled cheeks, and mahogany complexion. From the moment she’d been born, Ming had been her mother’s chocolate China doll. At that moment, with her jaw tightened, tears beginning to drip down her face, she looked like a China doll with a serious attitude problem. Heaving a deep sigh, Roshawn said nothing, the door slamming closed behind her the only response.

  * * *

  Roshawn dropped fully clothed onto her queen-size bed, curling up into a fetal position as she pulled a heavy quilt up over her body. The start of a migraine pressed angrily against the front of her skull, an initial rise of pain shooting current from one end of her body to the other. For a brief moment she thought about heading back downstairs to grab two Tylenol pain pills and a glass of water, but changed her mind. She had no desire to move herself from where she rested, comfort coming from the warmth of the hand-sewn quilt she’d inherited from her grandmother.

  She couldn’t begin to fathom why every aspect of her life was suddenly out of control. Ming’s sudden defiance was just one of many aspects of Roshawn’s existence that seemed to be spinning in a quandary. For the last year it seemed as if one thing after another had gone wrong. John Chen had started the vicious cycle and although common sense told her it really wasn’t her ex-husband’s fault it made her feel better to drop the blame smack-dab into the man’s lap.

  She and Chen had been divorced for over a decade, having severed their legal alliance just after Ming’s fourth birthday. Their separation had been amicable, the divorce more of a technical notation than anything else. Despite having just divided up their assets and claiming joint custody of their only child, she and Chen had left the Seattle Justice Center hand-in-hand, stopping for a quick sandwich, and a lunch-time quickie immediately afterwards.

  Her friends and family had never understood why they hadn’t just stayed married. It had become an ongoing joke amongst their mutual acquaintances that they did more together divorced than they ever did while they’d been married. Only the two of them had known how different their home was once the doors were closed and the outside world couldn’t see inside. John Chen had very traditional views about marriage, wanting a barefoot, and pregnant, stay-at-home wife. Roshawn’s spirited personality had never really fit the job description and the formal union between them had become more battle than pleasure. Roshawn had insisted on the separation and the divorce, but the friendship that had initially drawn them to each other had remained intact. It hadn’t hurt that their sexual relationship had been off the charts and neither had seen any reason to stop doing what obviously worked for them. Why fix what wasn’t broke?

  That was until Chen met and married the mousy flight attendant who’d become an instant thorn in Roshawn’s side. Despite the relationship putting an end to their extracurricular activities, she had been happy for Chen because Chen had clearly been happy. Although both had dated other people off and on over the last ten years, Roshawn hadn’t met one man worth giving a second thought to. But she had been glad that Chen had found a woman who managed to hold his attention longer than a minute. So maybe she had been a little bitter, and a touch jealous, she thought as she rolled from one side of the bed to the other. It had passed. Just as she and Ming had been adjusting to his new relationship, Chen announced that he’d taken a new job in a new city and was moving his new family away from them. And then all hell broke loose.

  On the heels of Chen’s departure, Roshawn’s business partner decided he no longer had any interest in working the beauty salon the two had spent over eight years building into an emporium for their upscale clientele. His insistence on Roshawn buying out his interests, and his threat to sell it to a third party had just upped the mountain of debt Roshawn already owed, sending her credit score into the abyss. Struggling to keep the ends meeting now required sixteen-hour workdays with no benefits and Roshawn was beyond tired. Exhaustion had become her middle name and the collection agents her new best friends. Sending her clients out with the newest hairstyles no longer thrilled her, each new hairdo now a required commodity instead of the output of creative energy it had once been.

  Roshawn heaved a deep sigh as she extended her legs and then pulled them back into her chest. She wished she could call one of her best friends. There was a time she could have awakened her friend Jeneva Tolliver at any hour of the night, but Jeneva now had a new husband and a toddler and was no longer available twenty-four seven.

  She would call her friend Bridget Hinton, but she and Bridget hadn’t spoken in weeks. Roshawn stalled the memory, letting it drop like dead weight from her mind. There was no point in upsetting herself any more than she already was, she thought, the fringes of depression beginning to take control.

  Footsteps creaking against the wood floors suddenly pulled her from her reflections. She didn’t bother to open her eyes knowing it was Ming who stood in the doorway of her bedroom, peering inside.

  “What is it, Ming?” Roshawn asked, still not moving from where she lay. “I thought I told you not to leave that room.”

  The young woman came closer to the bed, her low sobs tainting the air. Roshawn lay listening, allowing the soft inhale and exhale of her daughter’s tears to fill the four walls of the room. When the hurt of it became too much to bear, coating the pale blue walls a deep shade of unhappy, Roshawn wiped her own tears against the back of her hands. Sliding to the center of the bed, she lifted the edge of the blanket and beckoned toward the girl to crawl in beside her.

  As Ming settled down against her mother, tears still falling, Roshawn wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter’s shoulders. Roshawn said nothing, allowing Ming to calm herself, sobs eventually giving way to intermittent hiccups.

  “Are you ready to talk to me?” Roshawn finally asked, the digital clock on the nightstand reading ten minutes past four o’clock.

  There was a moment’s pause before Ming responded. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m really sorry.”

  Roshawn si
ghed, air blowing in a quick gust past her full lips. “Girl, that seems to be your theme song lately. I was tired of Ruben Studdard singing it a year ago, so you know I’m tired of hearing it from you.” Silence filled the space between them. When Roshawn spoke again there was no mistaking the fact she intended to get some straight answers from her child. “Where were you tonight, Ming?”

  “Evergreen Cemetery.”

  Roshawn rose up on her elbows, tossing her daughter an incredulous look. “The cemetery?”

  Ming nodded. “A group of us just hang out there sometimes. As long as we don’t make a lot of noise no one bothers us.”

  Roshawn shook her head. “Were you drinking?”

  The girl hesitated.

  “Don’t lie to me, Ming. I will find out the truth if you lie.”

  “I had one beer.”

  “Who were you with?”

  “It was just me, Kara, Leslie, Stephanie and a few of the guys from the baseball team.”

  “What guys?”

  “David, John Peters and that crew.”

  “Were you having sex tonight, Ming?” Roshawn asked, dread coating her words as she imagined what Ming and her boyfriend David could have been doing until three o’clock in the morning.

  Ming didn’t answer, shifting her body to lie flat on her back.

  “Did you?” Roshawn persisted.

  “In the cemetery? No, that’s gross!” she exclaimed, her face twisted in disgust at the thought.

  “Please, do not lie to me, Ming.”

  “I’m not, Mommy. I swear I didn’t do anything. I told you I’m still a virgin. David and I just kissed, but that’s all. Who’d want to do that in the cemetery anyway?”

  Roshawn blew another loud sigh. It was moments like this that made her regret her decision to give up smoking. Even though she’d not had a cigarette since before Ming was born, she couldn’t help but think that one would really calm her nerves right about now. This was clearly her mother’s fault, Roshawn thought. That blasted curse old folks always put on you when you’re young and enjoying life without thought to the repercussions. One day you’ll have a daughter just like— the woman had crooned more times than anyone cared to count. Just like you.