Stealing Home Read online

  Terminology

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by R.C. Martin

  Copyright © 2019 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Cover and Interior Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs ©2019

  www.pinkinkdesigns.com

  In baseball, a stolen base is in reference to when a

  runner advances to a base he isn’t entitled to, and the official

  scorer rules that the advance should be credited to the action of the runner.

  RYANN HELD HER breath as she lifted the sheet cake from her workstation and carefully made her way to the walk-in refrigerator. She’d left the door open, and the cool air wafted out in puffs of smoky condensation. It was a waste of energy, but Ryann thought nothing of it. She knew good and well Katrina wouldn’t stop whatever it was she was doing in order to assist her. She never did.

  Upon reaching her destination, Ryann blew out her breath slowly and eased the beautiful cake onto the vacant spot she’d cleared on the shelf. Once it was securely in place, she took a step back and admired her finished work. She bit her lip, hiding her smile from no one other than herself, quite pleased with how it turned out.

  The white fondant was cut and displayed as a wedding dress laid out across the violet fondant-covered base. It looked stunning. Ryann was happy she took the extra time to painstakingly construct the pink and lavender flowers she’d positioned along the train of the gown. They brought just the right pops of color to the overall design.

  In truth, the whole thing wasn’t anything extraordinarily extravagant. The bakers at the local grocery store chain weren’t in the business of high-end designs—but Ryann was proud of her efforts, nonetheless. It wasn’t everyday she got to decorate something more elaborate than a child’s birthday cake; and she’d made more buttercream roses in the last year than she cared to count.

  Aware of the goosebumps that began to cover her arms as the seconds ticked by on the clock, Ryann took her leave from the cooler. All the while, she wished she could be the one to deliver the dessert when the mother of the bride came in to pick up the order. The surprise bridal brunch was scheduled for the following morning. Ryann had been the decorator on duty when Mrs. Pauline came in with her request. The woman had been frantic. She claimed their previous baker had fallen through last minute, and she needed something acceptable for her only daughter—a blushing bride who was going to get married once and once only.

  The latter detail had been expressed with great exaggeration. Ryann had made the decision not to be offended by the stranger who neither knew, nor cared, about her circumstances. Instead, she accepted Mrs. Pauline’s challenge—much to Katrina’s later chagrin.

  Being the manger of the baking department gave Katrina what Ryann considered a bit of a superiority complex. While Ryann understood and even respected her boss’ status, she didn’t think it necessary to be micromanaged—especially considering the year she’d spent establishing her work ethic. Nevertheless, it was the Katrina way. Speculation might draw one to the conclusion that the chip on the woman’s shoulder was carved with the beveled edge of her own jealousy, but Ryann tried to avoid such conjectures.

  Taking the higher ground felt better than it should have—considering the lackluster arena her workplace provided—but she took her victories where she could. Yet, regardless of what she hoped would be another victory won in a clench, the following day was Ryann’s day off. Nothing—not even the reaction of a pleased customer—could make her step foot behind the baker’s counter on a day she wasn’t scheduled.

  When she returned to her recently vacated workstation, she glanced at the clock. What she saw ignited a small flicker of panic, which caught like a match to a flame and coursed through her veins like wildfire. She’d taken longer than she’d originally thought on the cake. If she was going to clean up her mess in the ten minutes that remained on her shift, she’d need to move. With the swiftness and accuracy of someone who knew what it meant to handle her responsibilities in a hurry, Ryann had her station in tip-top shape with two minutes to spare.

  As she passed by Katrina, she removed her apron. She had every intention of calling out her goodbye from over her shoulder, but the look on her manager’s face halted her in her steps.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Ryann inhaled through her nose and reminded herself to be patient. In moments such as these, she tried to picture Katrina in a far more appealing light. If she squinted her eyes a little, and tilted her head to the side, she could envision her boss dressed in blue—like the pleasantly plump fairy godmother from the classic Disney cartoon Sleeping Beauty. Except, the annoyance clearly displayed in the dull green eyes that stared her down spoke of a story. It was a story Ryann didn’t care to know; yet, even still, she wouldn’t pick a fight with the woman, in spite of how justified she felt. She herself knew what it meant to go toe-to-toe with life’s hardships. Knowing what it felt like to wake up each morning with too many obligations to face, and not enough energy to pretend everything was perfect, she tapped down her inner ire before she replied.

  “It’s three. I’ve got to go.”

  A frown tugged at Katrina’s eyebrows as she inquired, “Did you take care of that cupcake order we got in an hour ago?”

  “Cupcake order? What order?” Ryann rubbed her fingertips against her palms, in an attempt to redirect her irritation. “I was working on the cake—you saw me working on the cake. You didn’t tell me about any cupcakes.”

  “Well, there are two dozen that need to be frosted,” she retorted with a shrug. “They won’t frost themselves.”

  Ryann glanced at the clock and shook her head. “Marla will be here in a half an hour. She can handle cupcakes. I can’t stay late today.”

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you committed to that damn cake. Marla’s barely trained. You have to do the cupcakes.”

  “Katrina, I have to pick-up—”

  “You can stand there and argue,” she interrupted apathetically. She shifted her attention back onto the inventory sheets in front of her and continued, “Or you can take care of the freaking order. Unless, of course, you’d like to come in tomorrow. They’re scheduled for pick-up at eleven.”

  Ryann ground her teeth together. Her impatience mixed with her frustration created an emotional cocktail that made her want to spit fire. As she stomped her way toward the cooler, she glared at the clock. Resentment crawled up her back and slithered between the discs of her spine, causing her vexation to completely invade her entire nervous system. She had fifteen minutes—at most—and then she’d have hell to pay if she wasn’t in her car, headed for Cohan.

  This wasn’t the life she’d signed up for. This wasn’t the job she’d dreamed of. Moreover, she felt like she’d taken enough punches, and she deserved a break. For once, she wanted just an ounce of reprieve. However, more than a moment of respite, she needed not to lose her job.

  It took her twenty minutes to frost the cupcakes. Except, in her irritable and overwrought state, she couldn’t even find it in herself to be grateful for the bowl of leftover whipped frosting she’d found in the fridge. All she could think about was Cohan. She couldn’t disappoint him. Not this time. Not again. That’s why, after she stowed the finished cupcakes
in the cooler, she didn’t bother to clean up her mess.

  “Cupcakes are done,” she announced. She tugged her black ball cap from over her dark chestnut, brown hair. Her ponytail, a little worse for wear, drooped pathetically as it fell around her shoulder and down her chest.

  Katrina glanced back at the abandoned workstation and eyed Ryann’s mess. Except, before she could say a word about it, Ryann called out, “Marla can handle a rag. Goodbye, Katrina.”

  She waved for good measure as she hurried toward the grocery store’s main exit. Intent on her mission to make it to her vehicle as quickly as possible, she didn’t bother to take in the expression on Katrina’s face. Ryann was certain of one thing and one thing only—nothing was worse than the sight of disappointment marring Cohan’s adorably cute features.

  Truth of the matter was: Katrina didn’t scare Ryann. The thought of crushing her little boy’s dreams, on the other hand—that scared her to death.

  RYANN PULLED INTO the school parking lot, and her eyes searched for her six-year-old son as she eased to a stop. She’d made it to the pick-up line with a minute to spare. It wasn’t ideal. She knew Cohan hated to be last. Even so, that day she knew something he didn’t—they were both lucky she’d made it into the line at all.

  Her heart was almost beating at a normal pace when the two cars ahead of her carted away their children. While she might have been the last to arrive, the huge grin that lit Cohan’s face at the sight of her assured Ryann he didn’t care. At least, that afternoon he didn’t. He raced toward the SUV and reached for the door before the teacher on duty could react.

  “Hi, mommy-Did you have a good day-Are we going to baseball now-Do I get to wear my new pants-I already picked out which hat I want to wear-Remember how you told me I needed a hat for practice?”

  As Ryann turned to make sure Cohan had the presence of mind to close the door and buckle his seatbelt, his words poured from his lips in one unending sentence. Instantly, Ryann forgot all about those damn cupcakes. Her son’s excitement oozed out of every pore on his body. She could almost smell it as it coated his skin. The scent was sweeter than the sugary residue she still felt on the tips of her fingers.

  “Hi, handsome,” she greeted. The smile that tugged at her lips was as genuine as they came. Most days, she was getting by; but everyday, it was Cohan who kept her going. It was his large, round, brown eyes—the same shade as her own—filled with more hope and love than she knew existed in the world; it was the incessant chatter of her child, and his uncanny ability to know precisely when to shower her with his affection. He encouraged her and lifted her spirits, regardless of how she felt.

  “We’re running a little late, so we have to hurry, okay? You all buckled in?”

  “Yes! Let’s go, go, go!” he exclaimed.

  Chuckling, Ryann replied, “Yes, sir. Tell me about your day. What’s the best thing you learned?”

  Their drive home was a short one, but Cohan spent all ten minutes of their journey regaling his mother with his rendition of Mrs. Guyer’s lessons that day. Ryann soaked it all in and sent up a silent plea. She prayed her little one would always enjoy school as much as he currently did. Though, by the time they turned into her parent’s neighborhood, Cohan was practically bouncing in his seat, and she knew he’d never enjoy school as much as he adored baseball.

  It was Cohan’s father who first introduced him to the sport. Brady and his family had connections to both the San Antonio Missions and the Round Rock Express—the minor league teams located close to where they used to call home, in Austin, Texas. From the time Cohan was two years old, they’d attended baseball games on a regular basis. At three, he was on his first tee-ball team. Then, for Cohan’s fourth birthday, Brady managed to get them box tickets to a Texas Rangers game.

  That was the last season they were all together and seemingly happy.

  Then life happened and one foul ball shattered everything, changing the game completely.

  Ryann and Cohan’s transition to Frisco, Texas was hard on both of them. For Ryann, moving in with her parents was like adding salt to an open wound. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them or appreciate the generosity of their hospitality. It was bigger than that. Losing her husband to another woman only to end up back home was humiliating. She thought she had her own home and her own life, built with a man to whom she’d pledged herself. The reality of returning to the shelter of her parents’ wings wasn’t as comforting as it sounded. At no fault of their own, their opened arms weren’t as soothing as she’d once known them to be.

  To add insult to injury, Cohan didn’t fair much better. He was resilient, more so than Ryann anticipated, but it wasn’t easy. In the process of getting settled, baseball seemed to fade into the background like a distant memory. The only reminders of his great love were displayed in his ballpark themed bedroom. He missed his father and their routine, but Ryann couldn’t fix what was irreparably broken. It was a reality that kicked her while she was down over and over again.

  They all knew Cohan’s first year of kindergarten was bound to be an adjustment, but it was too much all at once—for both of them. They struggled through the first half of the school year, getting by only with the bottomless support of Ryann’s parents. Four months turned into six. Six months turned into ten, and somehow each day got a little easier and they both grew a little stronger.

  Fall ball was a promise she’d committed to not just for Cohan, but for herself, too. Ryann didn’t want Cohan to have less in the midst of all they’d lost. Life looked incredibly different than it did when she was Mrs. Clynch—but she endeavored to make it work. So as summer began to wind to a close, Ryann made sure to sign Cohan up for his first season of little league. She’d never forget the look on his face after she’d gotten off the phone with Coach Moore and told him he’d be playing for the Wranglers in just a few weeks.

  He’d hugged her legs so tight. For just one second, she felt like the greatest mom in the whole world.

  Ryann checked the time on her dash as they pulled into the driveway of the Newcomb’s stone-faced, two-story home. She usually parked her Nissan Crossover on the street, but they needed every second they could spare. It was just past a quarter to four. She knew neither of her parents would be home in the next eight minutes—which was exactly how much time she and Cohan had before they needed to be back on the road. With that in mind, she didn’t think twice before she killed the engine.

  “Okay, little man, I know you’re excited, but I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?” she asked, turned once more in order to face her son.

  Cohan pursed his lips together in an attempt to hide his smile. It made him look downright mischievous. He’d already unbuckled his seatbelt and was standing with his backpack gripped in his left hand, while his right one reached for the door. Even though she was confident he was buzzing from the inside out, Ryann looked on in amusement as Cohan stood perfectly still.

  “We’re going to hurry inside, you’re going to change your clothes and grab your gear, mommy’s going to make you a snack and change her clothes, and then we’re getting right back in the car, okay?”

  His hidden smile busted at the seams as he nodded, his round eyes brighter than she’d seen them in a long while. Ryann couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch him. She combed her fingers through his chocolate brown hair and then winked at him before she declared, “Let’s go, go, go!”

  Each of them scrambled out of the SUV, and Ryann jogged to the keypad on the side of the garage. After she entered the code, they waited impatiently for the door to lift high enough to duck underneath it. Cohan was gone in a flash, and Ryann wasn’t far behind him. Nevertheless, she almost tripped over his backpack, which he’d abandoned not even two steps into the mudroom.

  Her reprimand caught in her throat. She shook her head as she scooped up the backpack and hurried toward the kitchen. They didn’t have time for a scolding—especially if she wanted to show up to the park in something other than her b
lack khakis and the horrible forest green button-up she was forced to wear to work. Shoving aside all thoughts of the grocery store, she hung Cohan’s bag on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, tossed her oversized purse on the table, and then backtracked her steps to the fridge.

  Ryann almost rejoiced when she spotted a bag of grapes in the fruit bin. She grabbed it, along with a cheese stick, and then proceeded to rinse a handful of grapes to pack for the road. With that done, she returned the fruit to the fridge and tossed Cohan’s snack in her purse. She was headed up to her room when his little voice called out to her.

  “Mommy, I can’t find my glove. Did you move it?”

  Pausing halfway up the stairs, Ryann sighed as she dropped her chin and closed her eyes. They’d piled all of his things for practice on top of his toy chest the night before, after she’d marked every last thing with his name and his initials—this wasn’t her first rodeo. Except, if he couldn’t find his glove, that meant sometime between the moment she kissed him goodnight and the time Ryann’s mother dropped him off at school, he’d been messing around.

  “Cohan, buddy, I didn’t move it. We put it with your bat and your balls yesterday, remember? Did you move it?”

  She waited for his response, tilting her head to the side even as she kept her eyes closed. When he yelled, “Found it!” she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Good,” she murmured softly, the response meant more for her than for him.

  As soon as Ryann reached the top of the staircase, Cohan burst from his room and smiled up at her. He had his Texas Rangers drawstring bag slung over his shoulder—no doubt stuffed with his balls, his glove, and his bat. The latter poked out from the top, the handle extending over his head. Ryann knew he needed a more official bag to carry his gear, but it wasn’t exactly in the budget. Nevertheless, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it, choosing to cling to his excitement instead.