stranded on base. The crowds groaned, swore at the umpire and berated the batters.
'Now there's sportsmanship,' Brooke observed, casting a look over her shoulder when someone called the batter, who struck out to end the inning, a bum and other less kind names.
Lee gave a snort of laughter as he draped his arm casually over Claire's shoulders. 'You should hear them when we're losing, kid.'
The lifted-brow look Brooke gave Claire at the gesture was returned blandly. 'Enthusiasm comes in all forms,' Claire observed. With a smile for Lee, she settled back against his arm to watch the top of the next inning.
Definitely an odd couple, Brooke mused; then she assumed her habitual position of elbows on rail. Parks didn't glance her way. He had only once-at the beginning of the game when he took the field. The look had been long and direct before he had turned away, and since then it was as though he wasn't even aware of her. She hated to admit it irked her, hated to admit that she would have liked to engage in that silent battle of eye to eye. He was the first man she wanted to spar with, though she had sparred with many since her first naive encounter ten years before. There was something exciting in the mind game, particularly since Parks had a mind she both envied and admired. Lee was on target, as the Kings went to the bullpen when the starting pitcher walked two with one man out. Brooke shifted closer to the edge of her seat to watch Parks during the transition. What does he think about out there? she wondered.
God, what I wouldn't give for a cold shower and a gallon of beer, Parks thought as the sun beat down on the back of his neck. He'd been expecting the change of pitchers and was pleased with the choice. Ripley did well what a reliever was there to do-throw hard and fast. He gave a seemingly idle glance toward the runner at second. That could be trouble, he reflected, doing a quick mental recall of his opponent's statistics. The ability to retain and call out facts had always come naturally to Parks. And not just batting averages and stolen bases. Basically, he only forgot what he wanted to forget. The rest was stockpiled, waiting until he needed it. The trick had alternately fascinated and infuriated his family and friends, so that he generally kept it to himself. At the moment, he could remember Ripley's earned-run average, his win-loss ratio, the batting average of the man waiting to step into the batter's box and the scent of Brooke's perfume. He hadn't forgotten that she was sitting a few yards away. The awareness of her kindled inside of him a not quite pleasant sensation. It was more of an insistent pressure, like the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. It was another reason he longed for a cool shower. Watching Ripley throw his warm-up pitches to the catcher, Parks allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to undress her- slowly-in the daylight, just before her body went from limp surrender to throbbing excitement. Soon, he promised himself; then he forced Brooke to the back of his mind as the batter stepped up to the plate.
Ripley blew the first one by the batter-hard and straight. Parks knew that Ripley didn't throw any fancy pitches, just the fast ball and the curve. He was either going to overpower the hitters, or with the lineup of right- handers coming up, Parks was going to be very busy. He positioned himself another step back on the grass, going by instinct. He noted the base runner had a fat lead as the batter chipped the next pitch off. The runner was nearly at third before the foul was called. Ripley looked back over his shoulder at second, slid his eyes to first, then fired the next pitch.
It was hit hard, smashing into the dirt in front of third then bouncing high. There was never any opportunity to think, only to act. Parks leaped, just managing to snag the ball. The runner was coming into third in a headfirst slide. Parks didn't have the time to admire his guts before he tagged the base seconds before the runner's hand grabbed it. He heard the third base ump bellow, 'Out!' as he vaulted over the runner and fired the ball at the first baseman.
While the crowd went into a frenzy, Brooke remained seated and watched. She didn't even notice that Lee had given Claire a resounding, exuberant kiss. The double play had taken only seconds-that impressed her. It also disconcerted her to discover that her pulse was racing. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the cheers from the fans, smell the scent of sun-warmed beer and see, in slow motion, the strong, sweeping moves of Parks's body. She didn't need an instant replay to visualize the leap and stretch, the shifting of muscle. She knew a ball player had to be agile and quick, but how many of them had that dancerlike grace? Brooke caught herself making a mental note to bring a camera to the next game, then realized she had already decided to come back again. Was it Parks, she brooded, or baseball that was luring her back?
'He's something, isn't he?' Lee leaned over Claire to give Brooke a slap on the back.
'Something,' Brooke murmured. She turned her head enough to look at him. 'Was that a routine play?'
Lee snorted. 'If you've got ice water for blood.'
'Does he?'
As he drew on a cigar, Lee seemed to consider it. He gave Brooke a long, steady look. 'On the field,' he stated with a nod. 'Parks is one of the most controlled, disciplined men I know. Of course'-the look broke with his quick smile-'I handle a lot of actors.' 'Bless them,' Claire said and crossed her short, slim legs. 'I believe we all agree that we hope Parks takes to this, ah, alternate career with as much energy as he shows in his baseball.'
'If he has ten percent of this skill'-Brooke gestured toward the field-'in front of the camera, I'll be able to work with him.'
'I think you'll be surprised,' Lee commented dryly, 'at just what Parks is capable of.'
With a shrug, Brooke leaned on the rail again. 'We'll see if he can take direction.'
Brooke waited, with the tension of the crowd seeping into her, as the game went into the bottom of the ninth inning. Still tied 1-1, neither team seemed able to break through the defensive skill of the other. It should have been boring, she mused, even tedious. But she was on the edge of her seat and her pulse was still humming. She wanted them to win. With a kind of guilty surprise, Brooke caught herself just before she shouted at the plate umpire for calling strike three on the leadoff batter. It's just the atmosphere, she told herself with a frown. She'd always been a sucker for atmosphere. But when the second batter came up, she found herself gripping the rail, willing him to get a hit.
'This might go into extra innings,' Lee commented. 'There's only one out,' Brooke snapped, not bothering to turn around. She didn't see the quick grin Lee cast at Claire.
On a three-and-two pitch, the batter hit a bloop single to center. Around Brooke, the fans went berserk.
He might have hit a home run from the way they're reacting, she thought, trying to ignore the fast pumping of her own blood. This time Brooke said nothing as the pitcher was pulled. How do they stand the tension? she wondered, watching the apparently relaxed players as the new relief warmed up. Base runners talked idly with the opposition. She thought that if she were in competition, she wouldn't be so friendly with the enemy.
The crowd settled down to a hum that became a communal shout with every pitch thrown. The batter hit one deep, so deep Brooke was amazed at the speed with which the right fielder returned it to the infield.
The batter was content with a single, but the base runner had eaten up the distance to third with the kind of gritty speed Brooke admired.
Now the crowd didn't quiet, but kept up a continual howl that echoed and reverberated as Parks came to bat. The pressure, Brooke thought, must be almost unbearable. Yet nothing showed in his face but that dangerous kind of concentration she'd seen once or twice before. She swallowed, aware that her heart was hammering in her throat. Ridiculous, she told herself once, then surrendered.
'Come on, damn it,' she muttered, 'smack one out of here.'
He took the first pitch, a slow curve that just missed the corner. The breath that she'd been holding trembled out. The next he cut at, fouling it back hard against the window of the press box. Brooke clamped down on her bottom lip and mentally uttered a stream of curses. Parks coolly held up a hand for time, then bent to tie his shoe. The stadium echoed with his name. As if deaf to the yells, he stepped back into the box to take up his stance.
He hit it high and deep. Brooke was certain it was a repeat of his performance in her first game, then she saw the ball begin to drop just short of the fence. 'He's going to tag up. He'll tag up!' she heard Lee shouting as the center fielder caught Parks's fly at the warning track. Before Brooke could swear, the fans were shouting, not in fury but in delight. The moment the runner crossed the plate, players from the Kings' dugout swarmed out on the field.
'But Parks is out,' Brooke said indignantly.
'The sacrifice fly scored the run,' Lee explained. Brooke gave him a haughty look. 'I realize that'-only
