Every Second Counts by D. Jackson Leigh Page B

hitter a chance to break the tie.
    Lou gave her the “whatever” signal and readied her crouch to catch the pitch, but Bridgette stared down the batter a second more, pleased to see her anxiously shift her weight toward the plate. Oh, yeah. She was going for a bunt.
    Her windup was smooth, and when the screwball left her hand, she knew it would break perfectly to the inside. It glanced off the small end of the bat near the woman’s hand to pop up and behind the plate. Lou scrambled after it without success and returned to the plate to signal for a curve ball. Bridgette shook her head. Lou’s shoulders slumped and she stood and mumbled something to the umpire.
    “Time,” the umpire hollered.
    Lou was the calm, steady partner that anchored a very volatile Desiree. But her face was a picture of sweaty frustration as she trudged out to the mound.
    “I don’t know what has crawled up your ass tonight, but you’ve disagreed with every pitch I’ve asked for,” she said softly so the other team didn’t hear. “On top of that, old man Denny has kneed me in the back before every pitch. We’ve gone two extra innings and my knees hurt, Bridge. Let’s close this out.”
    She turned the ball in her glove and stared at the ground. Lou was right. She’d ignored some of the calls just because she wasn’t in the mood to play softball tonight. Angry with herself over her breakdown in the studio, she was feeling cantankerous and contrary. She knew she was wrong, but she wasn’t ready to lower her defenses. She gave Lou a hard stare.
    “I knew she was going to bunt. She would have nailed a fast ball down the third-base line and outrun it.”
    Lou wiped her face on her sleeve, her expression the same as when she had to handle one of Desiree’s moods. “I’m not implying that you’ve made bad decisions. You’re the only one on this team who played college ball on a scholarship. Just tell me what you’re going to throw so I’ll be ready for it.”
    “She won’t try to bunt because it’ll be an automatic out if she fouls. If she crowds the plate, I’ll give you that fastball you’ve been wanting all night. But I’m guessing she’ll back up and swing away. So I’m planning to throw an off-speed drop ball.”
    Lou nodded. “Good plan.”
    She started toward the plate, but Bridgette called her back.
    “You’re second to bat when we get up next. If I strike this girl out, you have to promise to nail it to the fence so we can go home.”
    Lou grinned. “Honey, I’ll hit it over the fence just so I don’t have to run the bases on these tired old knees.”
    “Deal.”
    Obviously irritated that their consultation had stalled the game, the batter took her time knocking clay from her cleats for the tenth time, practicing her swing, and rearranging the dust in the batter’s box. Bridgette waited calmly for her to settle in the back corner of the box, bat held high.
    She slapped her glove loudly against her leg as she released the ball to sucker the batter into believing she’d thrown it hard. It almost worked. The bat dipped slightly, but the batter hesitated as she recognized the slower speed and drew back to adjust. What she failed to read was the drop as it broke the plate, and she swung at empty air.
    The crowd, which had swelled as the other fields emptied, both cheered and groaned loudly. Bridgette accepted the high-fives of her teammates, then sank gratefully onto the bench in the back corner of the dugout. Lou plopped down, too, to pull off her shin guards and chest protector.
    “Good job, ace.”
    “Thanks. Your turn now. Over the fence, you said.”
    Lou winked at her. “A promise is a promise.”
    “Hey, Lou. Who’s Desiree’s new escort?” Kristin, the youngest and newest member of the team, pointed toward the bleachers where a knot of players milled around Desiree and Ryder. Lou stood up, blocking Bridgette’s line of vision.
    “Well, I’ll be mule-kicked. Wonder when that stray dog strolled into