The Baseball Card Boyfriend (Starrycard Creek Bachelors #3)

Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

CHRISTIAN

Lucky whimpered and scratched the bedroom suite’s solid oak bathroom door. Christian patted the dog’s head, wishing he could morph into a pup and do the same damn thing. He was close to pressing his ear against the slab of wood to get a clearer picture of what was happening beyond his view.

No, he couldn’t do that.

By any assessment, that would be considered creeper behavior, and thanks to whatever was happening with his mouth, he’d already plunged head-first into that end of the pool.

Still, he was concerned. And a responsible citizen would insist on garnering information, especially when it came to safeguarding another person’s health, right?

Somewhat satisfied with his thinking, he leaned in, his ear an inch from the door, when Lucky wiggled in. The pup pushed him back a few steps and sniffed the space between the door and the doorframe. The animal’s curiosity was growing by the second. Christian exhaled a pained breath and studied the animal. It appeared they were suffering from the same condition: Maggie Withdrawal Syndrome.

Now, was she truly gone?

Oh, hell no. He wouldn’t have allowed that.

She was here at the ranch, and currently behind said door, soaking in a bubble bath.

He’d figured she’d ask for the tour of the main ranch house when they’d arrived. Most people did. The exterior of the two-story, thirteen thousand-square-foot ranch house sported massive wooden beams, stone accents, and expansive windows that reflected the land’s rugged beauty. But she wasn’t like most people. Instead, she’d made two requests upon setting foot inside the palatial mountain abode.

She’d asked to be taken directly to her room, then requested for privacy to take a bath.

While he couldn’t offer her complete isolation—per doctor’s orders—his post outside the bathroom had been their compromise.

And that’s where he and Lucky stood guard—or lurked.

Dammit, what was he doing?

He rested his forehead against the door and pictured her hazel eyes. She’d barely said a word on the drive from the hospital to the ranch. Since they’d gotten home, her gaze had grown muted and guarded. She’d drawn inward. And for the life of him, he couldn’t pinpoint what was going through her head.

He’d wanted to congratulate her on coming up with the housekeeper job, wanted to revel in how they connected, and how it ensured her decision wouldn’t hurt his brother. Sure, she must be wondering why his family thought he couldn’t care for himself. His pissing match with Owen had to have given her plenty to contemplate. A sharp pang in his chest rippled through him at the thought of sparring with his brother. He couldn’t fault Owen for his reaction. The man had always carried guilt with a heavy heart. He was an artist. He had an artist’s acutely introspective soul. It was no surprise O felt obligated to help Maggie. It was also not shocking that Owen was worried about him. If only he could have shared what Maggie meant to him, who she was to him. But sweet Jesus, if he’d told anyone he’d been dreaming about Maggie and that she’d suddenly materialized out of thin air, they’d have him in a padded room at the hospital awaiting a psych eval.

Here’s the thing. At the minimum, he expected Maggie to pepper him with questions the second they got into his truck, but she didn’t. Instead, she’d asked him to tell her about Starrycard Creek. Maybe she needed a distraction. He couldn’t deny that it was a welcomed respite.

He’d taken the long way home and played tour guide. He’d explained how the town was founded by his ancestor, William Starrycard, and his wife, Fiona Donnelly Starrycard, in 1880. Beneath the glow of the streetlights and the starry night sky, he’d driven along the rushing creek that cut a watery path through the heart of the town. She nodded as he explained how his father, Hank, and two brothers Finn and Owen ran the family’s artisan papermaking company. He’d shared that his mother, Maeve, was the mayor, his eldest brother, Kieran, was the town manager, and that Kieran’s wife was the region’s environmental land steward as they passed the town hall. He’d pointed out Starrycard Elementary School and told her about Eliza’s post as principal and how Finn’s fiancée, Hailey, taught second grade there. He’d capped off the Starrycard Creek mini excursion by sharing that his grandmother owned the town’s local restaurant and that his grandfather pretty much did whatever the hell he wanted and was happiest with a good cigar and a glass of whatever alcohol was strong enough to knock a horse off its feet.

The horse line was the one time he managed to coax a faint chuckle from her. But he couldn’t fault her reticence. She’d endured a hell of a lot in a short amount of time. For Christ’s sake, she’d had amnesia.

Amnesia.

Talk about a damned curveball. He’d been on pins and needles this week, waiting for her to wake up. Questions had been whirling through his head. Who was she? How had she ended up with his college baseball card and the starry quartzite with two lines carved down the center? And why he couldn’t shake the feeling that his soul was intertwined with hers.

Still, as much as he craved answers, two things stood out with blinding clarity.

She was here because of him.

She was meant for him.

And damn, he’d wanted to kiss her.

His heartbeat quickened as he recalled her beautiful face—the face in his dreams. Her gaze had pierced through him, igniting a storm of feelings he could barely contain.

And he’d almost done it, almost given in. He was right there, teetering on the edge. Had his damned chiming cell not interrupted them, he would have lost control. He would have held her face in his hands and feasted on the curves of her lips. He’d fantasized about kissing her while he’d watched her sleep. He’d envisioned her taste as a blend of cinnamon and maple syrup, the very scents that had enveloped her when they’d first met. The fantasy had played out a million times over the last seven days.

He was never one to go slow. Speed and power were his trademarks. But not when it came to daydreaming about kissing Maggie.

In his head, he’d taken his time. He’d run the tip of his tongue along the seam of her plump lips. He’d kissed the corners of her mouth, then slipped his hand inside her panties and made deliciously slow circles against her most sensitive place. In his mind, she’d gasped at his touch, her lips parting as she rocked against his hand.

He’d imagined her voice, a heated and feathery rasp saying, “ Kiss me , Christian ,” as she blushed that rousing shade of pale pink that made him ache to have her, possess her, and provide her with the kind of pleasure that would keep her cheeks hot and flushed for hours.

Woof!

Lucky let out a sharp, staccato bark—what seemed like the dog version of knock it off, human.

The dog was right.

Christian squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Calm the hell down,” he whispered, scolding himself.

And he needed to be reprimanded. He couldn’t lose control. He had to think of her mental state. She didn’t know him—she didn’t know anyone, herself included. She was as vulnerable as a person could get. He had to tread carefully. Still, when she’d come up with the idea of working for him to relieve Owen’s guilt, he’d read her play, and he was right. They’d connected. It was like when he was back playing baseball, and the team pulled off a double steal, every player knowing exactly when to act.

He’d never had that connection with anyone he’d dated. He’d never experienced that unspoken synchronicity, that seamless blend of minds and intentions. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Lucky dropped another low woof and narrowed his chocolate-brown eyes. Again, it was as if the dog could read his mind.

He yanked off his college baseball cap, raked his fingers through his tangled hair, and shoved the hat back on with a frustrated sigh. “Don’t worry, boy. I’m not going to drop this on her. I know she’s been through a lot. I know she probably has a life out there. A world beyond what she is to me,” he whispered as an icy shiver passed through him and a revelation hit.

There was a very good chance that if her memory returned, she’d leave. Sure, she’d mentioned she was lonely, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a life waiting for her—or a man. She could be with someone, dating someone.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His body tensed. But if she was involved with someone, the douchebag hadn’t come looking for her and certainly didn’t deserve her. The notion of an unworthy man laying claim to Maggie’s affections ignited his competitive side. The determined, driven part that rallied the Rattlers to back-to-back World Series wins kicked in. Of course, he wanted her to regain her memories, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to win her heart.

Lucky pawed at his leg and cocked his head to the side—as if he were asking, do you hear yourself, tall human? You’re losing it.

“You’re right, Lucky. You’re right. This isn’t a game. It’s a woman’s life.” Christian stared at the door. “A woman who is naked and soaking in a steamy bubble bath.” He traced a line with his fingertips a few inches down the door, unable to stop himself from wishing he was in the oversized tub with her, touching her, trailing his fingertips between her wet breasts to the hollow of her neck. He pictured her resting between his legs, her back against his chest as warm water swished gently. “Christ,” he growled under his breath, his imagination running wild. “All the things I could do to you in that tub.”

“Did you say something about a bathtub, Christian?” Maggie called from the other side of the door.

Had she heard him?

He damn near fell over. “Um…no, I wasn’t talking. Well, yes, I was talking, but I was speaking with Lucky. Yes, he really wants to make sure you’re okay…in the tub. That’s why I said the word tub . I wasn’t thinking about you being in the tub. Even though I know you’re in the tub—a bubble bath, a bath with bubbles. And people are usually naked when they bathe. Just a fact.”

Fuck!

Splash!

“Maggie?” he called.

“Sorry, I was rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. I didn’t catch what you said.”

“Thank God,” he mumbled, listening as the gentle splash of water, soft patter of droplets hitting the floor, and muffled thump told him she was out of the tub. Seconds later, the gurgling rush of water confirmed the bath was complete. He focused on the sounds—the rustle of the towel and then the swish of her dressing.

“You can go. I’m finishing up in here. I feel fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” she called.

He leaned against the doorframe. “I can’t leave you. Doctor’s orders.”

“All right, then. I got dressed in here. I’m coming out.” She opened the door and offered him a sheepish grin before Lucky zipped past him.

His damned heart nearly stopped as he watched her crouch to pet the dog. Fresh from the bath, her skin looked smooth and radiant, almost ethereal. She had on a white tank top and yoga pants. She must have dressed hastily because a few water droplets shimmered on her shoulders. Lucky licked them off, and he’d never been more jealous of a dog in his life.

“Go lay down. You could use a rest. I could hear you making quite a ruckus out here,” she said to the pup.

The dog pranced around her a few more times, then conked out on the white floofy rug in front of the bedroom’s stone fireplace.

“So here we are, Christian.” She stood and held his gaze. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and bewilderment. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your sling?”

“I don’t need it. I kept it on last week as a precaution. I’ve got limited mobility and have to watch how I use it.” He glanced into the bathroom. “Do you need anything? There should have been toothpaste and a toothbrush in there. I used to pick up hotel samples from when I was on the road and leave them in there for Kenz.”

“I found everything I needed.” She exhaled a shaky breath and surveyed the room. “This just got very real.”

He needed to get out of his head and focus on her. “It must be so strange being here,” he said, taking in her tense posture.

“I think it would be strange for me to be anywhere since I can’t picture my home.” She chewed her lips and checked her outfit. “Um…are you sure your sister won’t mind me wearing her clothes?”

He had to put her at ease.

“No, she won’t mind. She probably forgot she left them here. I believe they belong to Eliza, but they could easily belong to someone else. Women’s clothing is scattered throughout the ranch. You could probably assemble a whole wardrobe with what people have left behind.”

“You’ve had a lot of women here?” she asked, glancing away, color rising to her cheeks.

Damn! That wouldn’t put her at ease. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was a man-whore.

“I don’t mean clothing from the women I’ve slept with. It’s clothing from either my sisters, mom, or grandmother. I’ve never brought a woman to the ranch. Women have been here, like I said, family and my brother Kieran’s wife and my brother Finn’s fiancée. But I’ve never had sex. I mean, I’ve had sex—lots of sex. I was a professional baseball player, for Christ’s sake. What I mean is, I have never had sex with a woman here.” Oh, for fuck’s sake! He broke into a cold sweat. What was happening to his mouth? He gathered himself and tried again. “You’re a woman, so I’ve brought one woman to the ranch. Numero uno. And we haven’t had sex.” He shook his head. “ Dammit ,” he murmured, staring at a knot in the wood floor. “Only you do this to me. I’m usually a pretty smooth talker. And my trash talk is next level—not that I would trash talk with you. It’s a baseball thing.” He clamped his mouth shut. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“And that’s your bedroom?” she asked, peering past him at the door leading from her room to his.

Had she not heard his bizarro sex babble?

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yep, yeppers, that’s me. Right there, mere feet from where you’ll be sleeping.”

Yeppers? So much for being a smooth talker.

He had McKenzie to thank for the bedroom situation. Upon learning Maggie would be working for him and living at the ranch, the child insisted Maggie stay in the Donnelly bedroom—a bedroom decorated with old photos and sketches of his Donnelly ancestors. It was the room Kenz used when she spent the night. The bedroom that happened to be next to his, with an adjoining doorway. It made sense to be close to McKenzie in case she had a bad dream or got sick in the night. But was it too close for Maggie’s comfort?

He gestured to his room. “We can close the door. It locks. But not tonight.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Why not tonight?”

“I should watch over you. Dr. Ironside doesn’t want you to be alone.”

Maggie nodded, looking as if she were lost in a dream, and padded past him. “That’s a nice rug.”

“Christ, that rug! My niece begged me to get it. She saw it in a store in town. Now her uncles have them in their houses.”

Maggie chuckled softly, the tension in her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Sounds like McKenzie has her uncles wrapped around her little finger.”

“She does, and she knows it,” he answered, grateful the conversation veered toward his precocious niece.

“McKenzie told me to look at a sketch next to the bed. She said it’s one of her favorites of Kathleen and Seamus. Who are Kathleen and Seamus? Your niece was speaking so quickly I didn’t catch it if she’d mentioned it.”

“Fair warning, Kenz will do that. She’s got a speed all her own.” He tapped the framed drawing. “That’s a pencil sketch of Kathleen and Seamus Donnelly. They’re the ones who started ranching on this land. They’re my ancestors from Ireland. Before they came to America, Seamus was a farmer, and Kathleen was an artist and schoolteacher. After they arrived here, they had one son, Brian Donnelly. He married a woman named Martha Riley, and they had two children. Michael was their first, and ten years later, they had Fiona.”

Maggie perked up. “Fiona, like McKenzie’s middle name.”

He watched her closely. “How did you know that?”

“It was one of the things your niece said that I do recall. She told me when she introduced herself. McKenzie Fiona Starrycard-Dunleavy.”

He nodded. “She’s named after Fiona. Fiona married William Starrycard. He’s my ancestor who founded the town of Starrycard Creek.”

Maggie’s brows knit together. “If we’re at the Donnelly Ranch, aren’t we in the town of Donnelly?”

“No, we’re in Starrycard Creek.”

“The Donnelly’s didn’t have their own town? It sounds like they got here first.”

“They did. But their situation is unique.” He gestured to a painting of a mountain landscape. “Kathleen painted this. It was before there was anything out here. It was a wild time back then. The land this ranch is on has a unique history. Do you recall the Louisiana Purchase?”

“Yes, I couldn’t tell you my birthday, but I know Thomas Jefferson purchased a big chunk of land in 1803, and it was called…drum roll… the Louisiana Purchase. Whoever I am, I paid attention during history class.”

He pointed to a map above the dresser. “We’re on the very far edge of that land or…” he paused, “we’re in what used to be Spanish territory. There were quite a few boundary disputes back then in these parts, and how Seamus and Kathleen got the land is quite a story.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

This was good. Talking was good. He could sense her relaxing more with each passing second.

“To tell it properly, I’ve got to show you something in the kitchen. It’s part of the story, and you’ve got to see it to believe it. Come with me,” he said, offering her his hand. She stared at it like she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. “I want to hold your hand in case you get lightheaded,” he added—not a complete lie.

She twisted the hem of the tank top. “I don’t mean to be weird. And I appreciate you letting me live and work here. I sort of railroaded you into it—no pun intended. But I can’t seem to figure out what the rules are with us?”

He held her gaze, reveling in her hazel eyes. “I guess we get to make them as we go.”

She watched him for a beat, then nodded. “Okay,” she said, resting her hand on his. Her expression brightened. “So, how did Seamus and Kathleen get this disputed land that wasn’t quite Spanish land and wasn’t quite part of the Louisiana Purchase?”

He loved telling this story—and this part was a real crowd-pleaser. He schooled his features. “Seamus wrestled a mountain lion.”

“What?” Maggie exclaimed. “He wrestled a mountain lion?”

“Come on, Lucky,” he said, calling the pup as he led them to a back staircase. “Quick tour before I continue the story,” he said as they started down one of the ranch’s two cavernous walkways. “The south wing has a fully equipped gym, therapy room, and an indoor pool.”

She craned her neck, taking in the aquatics area. “That pool is huge.”

“There’s one outside, too.”

“You have two pools? That’s awesome!”

He smiled. He’d hoped she’d like the place. “And here’s the?—”

“It’s the scene of the great pink shirt debacle,” she finished, a glimmer returning to her eyes as they passed the laundry room.

And damn, it did his heart good to see her relaxed.

“This is the main living and dining room. I jokingly call it the lobby.”

“I can see why. This space could easily double as the rustic lobby of a lodge.”

He gestured with his chin. “The north wing is where you’ll find the library, the home theater, and the room where I brew beer and distill spirits. I’ve got more equipment for distilling in the small barn.”

“You make beer and spirits?”

“I usually do it in the off-season. My ancestors were prolific at supplying the region with bathtub hooch during Prohibition. I keep up the tradition.”

They continued through the lobby toward the back of the house.

“What type of spirits?”

“Stumble Juice.”

“What’s Stumble Juice?”

“An old family recipe for moonshine. The taste is unique.”

“Can you describe it?”

He paused, reflecting on the flavor—a flavor unlike any other hard alcohol he’d tried. “It’s made with water from Starrycard Creek. It’s replete with minerals that only exist in a certain concentration here. Like my ancestors, I use Colorado-grown barley and wheat. I’d say that gives it an earthy, malty flavor.”

“So, it’s a whiskey?” she asked.

“Not really. I guess you could call it malt whiskey moonshine. My ancestors used what they had—not much corn here. That’s what’s used in traditional moonshine. Also, whiskey is aged in barrels, and the Starrycards before me had to get their product out the door quickly. No time to wait around.”

She nodded, clearly intrigued. “What else goes into it?”

“Wildflower honey and juniper berries. They give it a piney, slightly sticky-sweet flavor. Does that make sense?”

Methodically, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Oddly, it does. I’m able to imagine it.”

“I almost forgot. There’s one last ingredient—molasses from sugar beet trees. It gives it a caramel-like finish.”

“Caramel,” she repeated with a furrowed brow. Her eyes narrowed as if she were trying to grasp a thread of a memory hovering just out of reach. Her features smoothed, and she smiled up at him. “That’s quite a description. Sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

“I’ve had more time to devote to it recently. Maybe too much time,” he said, glancing away, a heaviness setting in.

“But you’re doing better, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

He held her gaze, and she shined her warmth his way. And God help him, he wanted to tell her that she was the reason he was standing there—that her presence was like a beacon pulling him from the darkness. But he couldn’t. At least not yet. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m doing better.”

“I believe you.”

Those three words bound to his heart. He nodded and mustered a grin. Had he tried to speak, he might have broken down with relief and gratitude so deep it would have spilled over in a torrent of tears.

She slipped her fingers from his grip and turned in a slow circle, taking in the vaulted ceiling, wide beams, and expanse of windows framing the starry night sky. “This place really could be the Amnesia B and B—better name to be determined,” she added, tossing a teasing glance his way, her cheeks growing the most beguiling shade of pink. And damn, that color was his salvation. The hint of a smirk curled the corners of her lips. “It couldn’t have always looked like this back in the eighteen hundreds, though, right?”

“It didn’t look like this. Not even close,” he replied, so at ease with the woman of his dreams by his side. He brought her to a bookshelf littered with framed photos and old sketches. “Seamus and Kathleen’s original ranch house had three rooms. Brian and Martha added to it, making it seven rooms. They also built a small barn. I keep the distilling barrels there. I built this house during my second year playing for the Rattlers after I signed a big deal with an apparel company. But that’s not my life anymore.” The darkness seeped in like a suffocating fog. He’d been so proud that the fruits of his labor were able to make the ranch a place for his family and the generations to come to enjoy. Was this to be his only contribution to Starrycard Creek?

“Hey?” Maggie said tenderly.

He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Don’t go there.”

“Where?”

Worry welled in her eyes. “Wherever you went in your head when your expression fell, and the light left your eyes.”

“I’m trying, but I don’t know who I am anymore.”

She offered him that sweet whisper of a grin. “Me neither.”

He drank her in, and the fog lifted. She had no idea of the power she held over him.

Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Perhaps I have an inkling as to what I am.”

“What do you think you are?”

“A professional wrestler,” she said coolly.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, laughing, so damned happy to have her here.

“I’d really like to see this Seamus Donnelly the Mountain Lion Wrestler memorabilia—so much so, it makes me wonder if Pre-Amnesia Maggie wore outrageous costumes and fake gut-punched people for a living.”

“Pre-Amnesia Maggie elbowed me in the eye,” he tossed out.

“See, anything is possible. The storm always passes, right?” She smiled like she did in his dreams. And damn, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to keep her close like a good luck charm. He patted his pocket and felt the stone she’d brought with her to Starrycard Creek.

“It does, and you won’t believe what I’m going to show you,” he replied, snapping out of his Maggie-induced stupor, and again feeling settled and secure like his old self. “It’s in the kitchen.” Lucky trotted ahead as he guided her into the space. With Maggie beside him, it seemed as if anything were possible until they entered the room, and the joy coursing through his veins turned to ice.