For a Little While (One Strike Away Book 1) Read online

  FOR A LITTLE WHILE

  ● ● ●

  ONE STRIKE AWAY BOOK ONE

  ● ● ●

  MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Copyright © 2017 by Mary J. Williams.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the Copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  First Ebook Printing, 2017

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is the opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.

  Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.

  Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.

  http://www.maryjwilliams.net/

  https://www.facebook.com/maryjwilliamsauthor/?ref=hl

  https://twitter.com/maryjwilliams05

  https://www.pinterest.com/maryj0675/

  https://www.instagram.com/2015romance/

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5648619.Mary_J_Williams

  http://amzn.to/2pmVnkF

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Harper Falls Series

  If I Loved You

  If Tomorrow Never Comes

  If You Only Knew

  If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)

  Hollywood Legends Series

  Dreaming with a Broken Heart

  Dreaming with My Eyes Wide Open

  Dreaming Again

  Dreaming of a White Christmas

  (Caleb and Callie's story)

  One Pass Away Series

  After the Rain

  After All These Years

  After the Fire

  Hart of Rock and Roll

  Flowers on the Wall

  Flowers and Cages

  Flowers are Red

  Flowers for Zoe

  WITH ONE MORE LOOK AT YOU

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  AFTER THE RAIN

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

  PROLOGUE

  AFTER THE FIRE

  PROLOGUE

  DREAMING WITH A BROKEN HEART

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  DREAMING WITH MY EYES WIDE OPEN

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  DREAMING OF YOUR LOVE

  PROLOGUE

  IF I LOVED YOU

  PROLOGUE

  FLOWERS FOR ZOE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHOEVER SAID PERFECT was boring had never met Spencer Kraig.

  The man was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Charismatic. Well spoken. Well read. Smooth. Whether hobnobbing with the rich and famous or making a jaw-dropping defensive play at third base, he never put a foot wrong.

  However, it would be a mistake to assume Spencer Kraig was a vapid pretty boy whose personality had long ago been polished to a shiny gleam. There were edges under his suit. Sharp. On rare occasions—if pushed too far—dangerous.

  A sense of fun shone from Spencer's dark green eyes. A natural charm drew people to him. When he played, he played hard. His adventures were legendary. Some small. Some big. But always—in every way—he made life a blast.

  Spencer had his pick of women. His circle of friends was wide and varied. Though make no mistake, he was discerning when it came to all aspects of his life. Private and professional. He had a strict motto—a bit of advice from his father he'd never forgotten.

  Choose your friends, lovers, and business associates wisely. The character of the people who surround you says as much about you as it does about them.

  Spencer Kraig lived his life in a way that made it impossible to find anything to criticize. He was walking, talking perfection in a six-foot-three-inch drool-worthy package. The world loved the Seattle Cyclones' third baseman.

  But the world didn’t include Blue O'Hara.

  "I hate that man."

  Picking up the remote, Blue turned off the television with a decisive jab. Damn Mercedes commercial. The thing was on constantly. Bad enough that she couldn't go anywhere in this city without seeing the jerk's smiling face. Billboards. Buses. He loomed over her or sped past no matter what corner she turned.

  Where was it written that Spencer Kraig was allowed to invade the sanctity of Blue's home as well?

  "You don't hate Spencer."

  Crap! Blue had meant to keep the comment to herself. Now she had no choice but to do what she always did. Barrel ahead.

  "Yes. I do, Jordyn. I have every right to hate the jackass," she said to the woman who was currently sprawled on her sofa drinking a glass of very fine Chardonnay.

  "It's your right. I'll give you that." Jordyn stretched out her long legs, wiggling her bright pink-tipped toes. "The problem is this. If you hate Spencer, it’s my obligation—as your best friend—to feel the same. One of those pesky unwritten rules."

  "I'm a big fan of unwritten rules."

  "However," Jordyn soldiered on, ignoring Blue. "I can't hate Spencer."

  "You could try."

  "Nope."

  "But—"

  Jordyn held up a hand, cutting Blue off before she began. "Do you want me to run down the list?"

  "No."

  "Number one."

  Blue groaned. "I said no."

  "Number one." Jordyn held up a finger. "He loves dogs and children."

  "That hardly makes him a saint."

  Why were they doing this? Blue practically knew the list by heart. She should. Jordyn recited it often enough.

  "Number two. He gives back to his community. Often without any recognition."

  Fine, Blue thought as she plopped down in the overstuffed recliner. She'd give the guy props for that one. Spencer Kraig believed in helping his fellow man. Those less fortunate. He spread around his time and money with a liberal hand. Often with as low a profile as possible.

  "Number three. How can you hate a face like that?" Jordyn took a magazine from the coffee table—the one with the cover face down—turning it over. "Such an angelic expression."

  A fallen angel. And a damned sexy one. Blue refused to admit that to anybody—but herself.

  "Numbers four through eight. And these are the true sticking points." Jordyn held up her fingers, counting down with each word. "I. Can't. Hate My. Brother."

  "An accident of birth. Why should I suffer because you're stuck with him for life?" Blue tossed the magazine toward the garbage can next to her desk. Yes! Nothing but net. "Do us both a favor and disown the twit."

  "Can't. I love him." Staring at the
wine as she swirled it around, Jordyn smiled. "Like him, too. Most of the time. Except when he sticks his nose into my love life." Her smile slipped. "At those times, we're in complete agreement. Protective big brother equals massive jackass."

  "Do me a favor? Try forgetting the good times and concentrate on the jackassery? Not all the time. Just when I feel like going on a rant."

  "Not going to happen." Jordyn sighed with fake sympathy. "Sorry. It’s my duty—as your best friend—to call you out when you tilt toward the unreasonable. What happened between you and Spencer is ancient history. You took that job in New York right out of college. Gained some perspective—your words if you remember."

  Blue nodded. She spent four years on the other side of the country. Not exactly self-imposed exile. She graduated with three very tempting job offers on the table. One in San Francisco. One in Chicago. One in New York.

  When she made her choice, it just happened to be the city farthest from Seattle. Purely coincidental. Her decision had been based on merit—not a broken heart.

  The decision to come back to where she was born—where she grew up and went to college—was made for the same reason. Blue had a chance at her dream job. Spencer had nothing to do with it. She was over him. The past was firmly in her rearview mirror.

  Better than that. Sometime over the past years—when she hadn't been paying attention—Blue had turned a corner. When she looked into that mirror, the road was clear for miles. No ex-boyfriend-related baggage anywhere to be seen.

  Ready to come home, all Blue needed was word that she'd gotten the job. It seemed like a slam dunk—or as close to one as possible when she threw in the human element. She was qualified—extremely so.

  Assistant to the head of public relations for the Seattle Cyclones. In two years, when head PR man Vance Sutter retired, his job would be hers for the taking.

  The interview had gone better than she could have hoped. When she walked out, there were smiles all around.

  Certain she was a shoe-in, Blue had boarded the return flight to New York already anticipating making the trip again. One way west. This time to stay. For good.

  Unfortunately, instead of smooth, clear water, there would be some choppy waves ahead. It began with a rumor that floated Blue's way a few days later.

  Instead of hiring her, the Cyclones would promote from within.

  The team had the right to choose who they wanted. But Blue felt there had to be more to it. If management had a problem with her, she wanted to know why.

  "The decision is still under debate, Blue."

  "Two days ago, you practically assured me the job was mine. What could have changed in forty-eight hours?"

  Everett Peale had nothing to do with who the Cyclones hired or fired. His job was in the accounting department. Strictly middle management. But he'd known Blue since she was a little girl. He and her father had been friends since high school.

  She couldn't count the number of Sundays the three of them had spent at the ballpark. Loyal to the end, they attended as often as possible. Through the team's good years and bad.

  Everett's job with the Cyclones meant they could get great seats at a great price. Often, they didn't pay a dime. If it had been up to Blue, she'd have lived at the ballpark.

  Baseball was her first true love. And unlike a certain man she once thought she knew better than herself, the game had never let her down. On occasion, it could break her heart. But by the next day—or the beginning of the next Spring Training—she'd moved on. Ready to forgive and forget.

  When it came to baseball, hope always sprang eternal.

  "I've heard some talk. But at this point, it’s nothing but rumors," Everett hastened to inform Blue. "Take it with a grain of salt. Chances are, it’s just people talking. Nothing more."

  "Talking about what?"

  "I didn't want to tell you. If you end up getting the job, what would be the point? Right?"

  "Everett…"

  Blue loved the man to death. He was like a second father. However, at times, extracting information was harder than pulling wisdom teeth. Since she had hers removed when she was seventeen, she was confident with the comparison.

  "I hope I don't regret telling you this." Everett let out a hefty sigh. "I heard somebody is trying to block the team from hiring you."

  "Somebody?"

  "I can't verify what I heard. Secondhand… No. More like fourth-hand information." When Blue let out a frustrated growl, Everett relented. "Spencer Kraig. There. Are you happy?"

  Blue's legs had given out, grateful she was in her office at work. Alone. Where nobody could see what she imagined was her face drained of any color.

  "Why would Spencer care one way or the other?"

  Even as Blue asked the question, she pictured her last meeting with Spencer Kraig. They hadn't parted on the best of terms—to put it mildly. But that was over four years ago. And she'd been the one with the trampled-on heart. The one who had been wronged.

  If Spencer used his clout as the team's star player to keep Blue from getting the job with the Cyclones, his reason was a mystery. She'd called him a lot of names. Arrogant. Self-involved. Heartless. But she'd never thought of him as spiteful. Yet, what other motive could there be?

  "It's early days," Everett tried to assure her. "Stay positive."

  "I'll try. Promise you won't mention any of this to my father." Spencer—no matter how much he helped the Cyclones—was still in Clark O'Hara's dog house. She saw no reason to stir up old feelings.

  "I won't. You deserve this job. It's what you've dreamed about for most of your life. I believe that in the end, management will do the right thing."

  Blue hadn't been so certain. She knew that right was the last thing an employer thought about. Their motivation always came down to the bottom line. To make money, they needed bodies in the seats.

  Spencer was a big reason the Cyclones had played in front of a packed stadium for the past three years.

  The team's first priority was keeping their superstar third baseman happy. If Spencer made it clear that hiring Blue would turn his smile upside down, she could kiss her dream goodbye.

  A week passed. Then two. Blue's normally robust appetite pretty much evaporated. At night—rather than a sound night's sleep—she tossed and turned. By the third week, she was ready to call the Cyclones and tell them where to stick their job.

  Then, with little fanfare—and no warning—Blue received word. The job was hers. The team hadn't explained what had taken so long. And she hadn't asked.

  Two months later, Blue was back in Seattle. Happy with the way things had worked out. Yet, her nerves when it came to Spencer were still raw. She didn't know what he'd done—or hadn't done. Chances were good she'd never find out.

  Blue wanted to let it go. Really. She did. But every now and then, it crept from the back of her mind. Had Spencer tried to keep her from working for the Cyclones? When he—as much as anybody—knew how much the job meant to her?

  Knowing Spencer might be guilty felt like a betrayal. Deep and profound. Though Blue was no longer in love with him. And she hadn't expected them to be friends. She hadn't considered the idea of him being her enemy.

  Worse than anger. It hurt Blue's heart.

  "You're right," Blue said to Jordyn, pulling her thoughts out of the past. "I don't hate Spencer."

  "And you never did," Jordyn said with an optimism that made Blue laugh.

  "Sorry. You can't rewrite history. My hatred for Spencer burned in my gut for a long time. Now? Ashes. Nothing more."

  "I don't believe that."

  One of Jordyn's best qualities—besides her unswerving loyalty and support—was her ability to find hope when the rest of humanity would have given up long ago.

  On the outside, her friend had the appearance of a sophisticated, cosmopolitan woman. And that's what Jordyn was. Like her brother, she'd been blessed with excellent genes. From the time she was a young teenager, modeling agencies
begged her to sign with them.

  But Jordyn wasn't interested. She ran an internationally successful high-end cosmetics company that she started in college with nothing but a few hundred dollars and the will to make it happen. A tough negotiator, she could be ruthless when necessary.

  That said, on the inside—when it came to the people she loved—Jordyn was a big, fluffy marshmallow. She wanted Blue to be happy. And despite everything that had happened, she clung to the belief that Spencer was somehow the key.

  Blue picked up her wine, saluting her best friend.

  "Here's to your need for a happily ever after ending. I hope you find one someday."

  Jordyn frowned into her glass. "What about you?"

  "Okay. I hope I find one. Love would be nice. Great. However, I refuse to be one of those women who constantly laments the lack of a man in her life. Living alone isn't sad, Jordyn. Do you know what is? Not appreciating all the things I have right here. Right now."

  "We have it pretty good, don't we?"

  Blue nodded. "We've been blessed with good health. Our families were practically pulled from the Leave it to Beaver playbook—with more personality. And best of all, we have each other."

  Smiling, Jordyn clinked her glass with Blue's.

  "I won't stop hoping for love."

  "Me neither. However," Blue said with absolute conviction. "If the one is out there, his name is not Spencer Kraig."

  CHAPTER TWO

  "ON PAPER, SEATTLE is the team to beat next season. I predict, come October, the Cyclones will be World Series champions. With their pitching and run-producing power, they look almost unbeatable."

  Rolling his eyes, Spencer Kraig turned off the television. How many times had some talking head used the term "on paper" when making their pre-season predictions? It meant nothing. Proved nothing.

  Until the teams hit the field. Until every game was played. Every pitch hurled. Every batter swung for the fences. Until then? Those predictions were worth about as much as the paper on which they were printed.

  Or in this case, the airwaves on which they were broadcast.