Worth the Trade. Kristina Mathews

straight from the airport?”

      “I sure did.” Marco flashed his million-dollar grin. He earned the rest of his salary with his bat and his glove. “I’m just so happy to be here. In this ballpark. With these fans. And this team… This team has a real good chance of going all the way. I can’t wait to get out on the field and make a contribution. To thank the ownership for bringing me here.”

      “We’re happy to have you here in San Francisco.” The reporter was friendly, almost too perky. “What does your family think of the change?”

      “I’m sure my mother will be happy for me.” Guilt hit him at the realization he hadn’t talked to her since the trade went down. She had to hear it on the news like everyone else. “But she’s always been proud of me.”

      “You’re not married?” Was she asking for herself or all the single ladies who might be watching the broadcast?

      “Just to my job.” He hoped she would drop the subject of his personal life. He didn’t have one. Didn’t want one. Not until he was settled more permanently. “My focus is on helping my team get to the postseason. The ownership and management took a chance on me. I won’t let them down. I won’t let the fans down.”

      He didn’t want to let anyone down.

      The rest of the night was a blur. He signed quite a few autographs, took tons of pictures, and introduced himself to his teammates. His manager, Juan Javier, made him feel welcome, as did the coaches, trainers, and support staff. It probably didn’t hurt showing up after a victory, when the whole ballpark was buzzing from the win.

      The atmosphere had a much better vibe than in his former clubhouse these last few weeks. They weren’t officially out of it, but with such high expectations the season had been more than disappointing. When management started trading away all their star players it started to feel like they were giving up. Rebuilding. In other words, dumping big salaries and trying to salvage their financial asses.

      He knew it was just business. Nothing personal. This trade had nothing to do with how anyone felt about him. The St. Louis owners thought they could make more money without him and the San Francisco group thought they could make more money with him. Hopefully they were both right.

      But he felt bad for the fans. They’d embraced him in St. Louis. There were bound to be folks who felt let down. People who worked for a living and spent their hard earned money on seats in left field. It didn’t matter whether they made it to one game a year, or all eighty-one. The fans made signs, shouted his name. They bought the T-shirts, jerseys, and bobble heads not to add to the team’s profits, but because they loved their team. Because they wanted to be a part of something bigger than themselves.

      Maybe he wasn’t too crazy about being traded once again. But now that he was here, he’d give it everything he had. For his teammates. For the fans. For the lovely Miss Hunter Collins.

      * * * *

      Since he couldn’t sleep, Marco pulled out his iPad. Good thing he’d kept it in his carry-on bag. After sending a quick e-mail to his mother letting her know he’d arrived safely in his latest temporary home, he decided to do some Internet research on his new team. Who was he kidding? He wanted to know more about his new owner. He hoped to satisfy his curiosity and move on. Instead, he became more and more intrigued by the woman as he watched her life unfold through a series of pictures, videos, and articles about the little girl who was raised by her single dad and the entire Goliaths organization.

      What was he doing? Hunter Collins was his boss. Hadn’t his family suffered enough at the hands of an employer who’d taken advantage of his employee? He couldn’t risk it. No matter how much he wanted her. He’d be a free agent at the end of the season, looking for a team he could finish his career with. He had to make a good impression. On the field. Only on the field. He didn’t need any distractions. Especially not one with the power to end his career right when he was hitting his prime playing years.

      Still, he went to a little extra trouble with his appearance the next day before heading to the ballpark. He put on his best semi-casual dress shirt. The one that made his eyes bluer than a summer sky. Or so he’d been told. And not only by the salesgirl who sold him the overpriced garment. He spent a good half hour debating whether to shave or go with the scruffy look. He shaved. Since he was starting with a new team, he decided his face needed a fresh start.

      Besides, it’s not like they were going to hop into bed right away. No. He liked to take his time. Get to know a woman. Draw out the seduction over a period of weeks. Some guys preferred the easy in, easy out approach to relationships. But a woman wasn’t a drive up window. He didn’t want to just toss her aside after a quick taste. He liked to savor a woman. Leave her with no regrets tainting the memories they’d made.

      He wondered what kind of memories he could make with Hunter Collins. She was different than any of the women he usually dated. For one thing, she wouldn’t be impressed by what he did for a living. She was around professional athletes all the time. She’d surely known too many ballplayers who thought they were God’s gift. He’d need to show her how he was different from every other man in that dugout.

      What an idiot. He probably wouldn’t even see her. It’s not like she’d be hanging out in the clubhouse. If she even came to the game, she’d be sitting pretty in a luxury box, looking out over her investment. He’d do well to remember she was an owner. She was only interested in him because he could make her money. He should only be interested in her signature on his paychecks.

      He needed to focus on getting ready for his first game as a Goliath. He needed to prove he was worth the trade. This was his fourth team since making it to the majors. He hoped it would be his last. He’d spent far too much of his life moving around. As a kid. Again in the minors. When he was drafted in the second round, he thought he’d finally found a home. Texas would keep him around. People loved the local boy makes good story.

      But he’d quickly learned that baseball was more than the national pastime. It was a business. Big, big business. Loyalty only went as far as the bottom line. And the investors were restless. Every team started the season hoping this would be their year. For the twenty-eight clubs who didn’t make it to the big dance, someone was to blame. Players were shuffled. Free-agents signed. Salaries taken on and dumped. All in the hopes of a share of the postseason pool.

      Marco had been called up, sent down, brought back up, and traded three times in the last six years. In the process, he’d become somewhat of a streaky player. One who could turbocharge the lineup for weeks at a time. Then he’d hit a plateau. His average would dip. Run production taper off. And the pressure would get to him. He tried not to listen to the talk shows or read the blogs. But he knew what they were saying about him. Knew it was only a matter of time before someone else started looking better.

      He needed to make sure that for the last two months of this season, the grass was greenest in left field beneath his feet.

      * * * *

      Marco went about his usual pregame routine. He’d eaten two bananas, a peanut butter and honey sandwich on whole-wheat, and washed it down with a quart of chocolate milk. He filled his back pocket with sunflower seeds and put on his new jersey—number 9. After donning his new cap, and picking up his trusty glove, he headed out to the field.

      Standing on the sidelines, hat over his heart, he took in the sights and sounds of the ballpark as the national anthem rang out over the loudspeakers. He closed his eyes, letting the words and the music fill him. He knew how fortunate he was to be standing here instead of on the street outside the stadium. He could easily be the guy cleaning up after the game, instead of the guy hitting cleanup.

      When the song ended, he happened to glance into the stands. Hunter Collins sat behind home plate. She caught his eye, held his gaze for a moment, and then tried to busy herself with the scorebook on her lap. But she dropped it. He was close enough to notice a blush creep across her cheeks.

      He’d gotten under her skin. And she was now in his head. He just hoped he could get her out of it before he came up to the plate.

      The