Fireside by Susan Wiggs (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

up-and-coming rookies. Invitations were extended only to the most promising of players—and she intended for Bo Crutcher to be one of those players.

In addition to the cereal, AJ loaded up on muffins, fruit, yogurt, juice and milk, putting everything on a tray to carry into the dining room.

“I’m always amazed at how much you eat,” Kim observed. “Where are you putting it all?”

He shrugged. “I’m a kid. We eat a lot.”

“I’d say so. I’ve never been around kids before,” she confessed.

“It’s not like we’re an endangered species or anything.”

“Up until recently, I was really busy with work. Of course, some would argue that my former clients acted like children.” She thought for a moment. “But that would be an insult to the children.”

That brought on a full-blown grin. “Right.”

“I mean it. Some of my clients were terrible.”

“Like who?”

“Well, there was this one, a tennis star, who was so notorious we couldn’t even convince anyone to be his driver. Seems like getting someone to drive a client around would be simple, but not for this guy. He was twenty-six years old and he used to throw temper tantrums like a baby.”

“So why’d people let him get away with it?”

“That’s the trouble with a grown-up who’s paying you to look after him. You can’t just put him in the time-out corner when he misbehaves.”

“Nobody puts Bo Crutcher in the corner.” Bo arrived, wearing old jeans and a new sweatshirt, clean-shaven and looking ridiculously attractive.

Kim busied herself checking her PDA, not that there was anything on her agenda except the Bo Crutcher project.

“Hey, AJ,” he said. “That’s a line from an old movie—Dirty Dancing. ‘Nobody puts Baby in the corner.’ Ever seen it?”

“Doesn’t sound like my kind of movie.”

“It will be, one day,” Bo said, holding open the dining room door for AJ and his breakfast. “Save me a seat at the table.”

While Kim perused the breakfast offerings, Bo helped himself to coffee. He passed close behind Kim at the counter, so that their bodies brushed together. “Define ‘misbehave,’” he said, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

“You’re doing it right now,” she said. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“I’d never.”

“Seriously, we’ve got work to do. We need to review that filmed interview, see how you did and figure out what to focus on.”

“Cool. I’ll get my laptop.”

“Good idea. We’ll all watch it after breakfast.”

Bagwell, Daphne and Dino filed in for breakfast. Penelope put on a fresh pot of coffee. Day by day, Kim was getting used to this house full of people—the chatter at breakfast, the clink of dishes and her mother’s flair at the simple act of serving food. Lately Kim noticed Dino’s attentions to her mother. Penelope’s coffee cup was always full, her chair always held for her. This guy meant business, and he was going about it in the right way.

After breakfast, Bo set up the laptop on the dining room buffet. “So this is an interview from back in November, after tryouts,” he said. “It’s the kind of thing a player’s supposed to do on a regular basis.”

While the video was loading, AJ grabbed his backpack. “I better go,” he said. “Almost time for the bus.”

Interesting, Kim observed. He had a good ten minutes before the bus. He seemed to be in a hurry. Following the New York incident, AJ had turned into a bus-riding pro. Bo had promised that if he went AWOL again, he’d find himself being driven to and from school every day, something no middle-schooler wanted. Also, AJ was nobody’s fool. He’d realized that his behavior could affect his mother’s case. When the stakes were this high, everything mattered.

“That book report you wrote is still on the printer,” Bo reminded him. “And do you have that signed permission slip for the field trip to West Point?”

“Yeah,” AJ said, heading into the study for his homework. “See you later.”

“You have a good day, now.” Bo’s gaze followed the boy out the door.

“You’re getting pretty good at sounding like a parent,” Bagwell observed.

“You think?” Bo smiled a little, but worry lingered in his eyes. Kim knew he phoned the school every morning to make sure AJ had arrived. In a short time, Bo had come a long way from the guy she’d encountered at the airport. That brutally cold morning, she never would have guessed he’d become someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Reining in her thoughts, she turned up the volume on the laptop. The segment opened with canned sports-show music and the MLB logo, followed by a tight shot of the new stadium. Then the camera panned across the handful of players who had received precontract invitations to spring training. There were a lot of hoops to jump through to get on the coveted roster, and this was an early one. Blowing it at any stage could mean the end of a dream.

Lined up in front of two shared mics, the players took turns fielding questions. They all looked so young and green, all so clearly nervous in front of the unfortunate backdrop of a gray cinderblock wall, the table stark and un-adorned in front of each man.

Kim couldn’t take her eyes off Bo on the small screen.

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. None of his magnetism or natural charm came through. Instead, he resembled an ex-con defending himself, right down to the hair hanging lank around his face, which was disreputably marred by a five-o’clock shadow. His delivery alternated between forgettable and offensive. Asked about his background, he offered a toneless resumé of previous experience. And when asked about the incidence of a pitcher in his age range making it in the majors, he responded, “I reckon they’re rare as <bleep> on a bullfrog.”

“Hey,” said Bagwell. “What’d they bleep out?”

“I think I said ‘tits.’ Yeah, rare as tits on a bullfrog.”

“You can’t say things like that,” Kim pointed out over Bagwell’s guffaws. “Now, hush up and let me listen.”

The rest of the interview was as excruciating as the first part, a disaster