His Hometown Yuletide Vow Read online

  Derrick was surprised by the raw, unpleasant nip of jealousy.

  He quickly acknowledged the overreaction for what it was. It was the private joke that bothered him. He’d been the one to enjoy this type of closeness with Anne once. But now this guy, this complete stranger, Todd, knew her better than Derrick did.

  He’d missed her with a pain so sharp he’d feared his heart would never fully heal. Eventually, though, he’d come to terms with his mistake, gotten over her. As crushing as it had been, the email had been helpful in that way. But also difficult to shake. Of course, he’d read it so many times he could recite it nearly verbatim.

  To this day, every word was hotly, excruciatingly branded into his brain. “Baseball is who you are. It’s all you’ll ever be. You’re not capable of being more...” He hated how right she’d been, how prophetic the message was turning out to be—an unexpected surge of resentment flooded through him. But no, he was here to get Anne in his corner, not to get lost in the past.

  Dear Reader,

  I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine anything worse for a professional athlete than an injury cutting short their career. Except for maybe a scandal that threatens their family. Newly retired baseball player Derrick Bright is dealing with both. There’s nothing he can do about his damaged leg, but his family is all he has left, and he’ll do anything to protect them. Even hire his heartbreaking public relations specialist of an ex-girlfriend to help. Working with Anne McGrath is a sacrifice he’s willing to make because he knows she’s the best person for the job.

  Anne disagrees. Vehemently. In fact, she outright refuses Derrick’s impassioned plea to save his “innocent” family. (Isn’t that what they all say?) But truly, she has good reason to decline.

  When Derrick tricks Anne into taking the job, they are finally forced to sort it all out. Facing their feelings turns out to be more complicated, chaotic and fun than either of them imagines. I hope you enjoy Anne and Derrick’s story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Carol

  His Hometown Yuletide Vow

  Carol Ross

  Carol Ross lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She is a graduate of Washington State University. When not writing, or thinking about writing, she enjoys reading, running, hiking, skiing, traveling and making plans for the next adventure to subject her sometimes reluctant but always fun-loving family to. Carol can be contacted at carolrossauthor.com and via Facebook at Facebook.com/carolrossauthor, Twitter, @_carolross, and Instagram, @carolross__.

  Books by Carol Ross

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Return of the Blackwell Brothers

  The Rancher’s Twins

  Seasons of Alaska

  Mountains Apart

  A Case for Forgiveness

  If Not for a Bee

  A Family Like Hannah’s

  Bachelor Remedy

  In the Doctor’s Arms

  Catching Mr. Right

  The Secret Santa Project

  Second Chance for the Single Dad

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For Krysty.

  My dearest friend, longtime partner in mischief and all-around favorite human—your loyalty, love and support are obviously boundless.

  PS: I love how we’ve proved that friendships can last forever and lunch dates can always be kept.

  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

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM HER CHRISTMASTIME FAMILY BY TARA RANDEL

  CHAPTER ONE

  “HERE WE GO,” Anne McGrath said before looking down and reciting the tweet in question. “‘Just one kernel of my popcorn is smarter than @ginnybell58. Does the scammer truly believe she can scam #DerryPop with the old there’s-a-mouse-in-my-food routine? Better get a new scam. She won’t be getting any money—or popcorn—anytime soon! #liar #ginnytheninny #nopopcornforyou.’”

  Jack Derry, known in the Twitter-sphere as @JackDerryPop, was the owner and CEO of Derry Pop Popcorn, one of McGrath PR’s biggest, and arguably most important, clients. He chuckled as his own words were read back to him.

  Anne placed her phone on the conference table between them. “Jack, you called her a scammer, a ninny and a liar—all in one tweet.”

  “Don’t forget grifter,” he retorted, clearly pleased with his cleverness. “#ginnytheninny was trending there for a bit, which is interesting because I thought #nopopcornforyou would be the one people would—”

  “Jack,” Anne said firmly. “I think you’re purposely missing the point.”

  “That’s because I don’t like the point you’re making.”

  She tried not to smile, which wasn’t an easy feat because she adored Jack. Not only was he her longest-standing client at McGrath PR, but he was also a good friend. Twelve years ago, when she was a newbie working her first job at Mitchell West Publicity, he’d taken a chance on her when they’d hit it off at a party hosted by her former boss.

  Four years after that, when she’d ventured out on her own, he’d come with her. His loyalty had been vital in keeping her head above water as she built her business. Jack sang her praises to anyone who’d listen. As a result, he’d brought her an untold amount of clients in the ensuing years and earned her lifelong devotion.

  “We’ve talked about this, and I thought we agreed these types of personal criticisms were not going to be a part of your platform.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in his chair and countered, “Well, she is a liar and a grifter, so would those really be considered insults?”

  “Let’s not get into semantics here. The point is, did you have to tweet about this to your eight-point-three-million followers? She claims she’s now being harassed by your fans. She says she’s gone into hiding.”

  “Must not have a very good hiding spot then, if she’s still being harassed.”

  Anne barely managed to stifle a laugh. The man had a point. That was the thing about Jack; nearly all his points were good.

  “Anne, come on now! Should I just let people believe this woman opened a bag of my popcorn and found a dead mouse inside? Thirty-two years I’ve been popping, packaging and selling popcorn without a single legitimate foreign-product complaint. At great expense and against all advice—my late wife, Yvette, being the single exception—I went above and beyond with my safety measures to prevent it from ever happening. It’s not fair for someone like her to try and harm my reputation with this type of false claim. And the nitwit should know it’s impossible with my system. Not to mention this trick has been tried before—a few hundred thousand times.”

  “She” was Ginny Bellweather, a consumer who’d concocted the mouse-in-my-popcorn claim to try to get money or free popcorn out of Jack’s company. But she’d chosen the wrong guy to hustle. Jack was the type of person who would spend every penny he had to right an injustice rather than settle a fraudulent claim. And he had plenty of pennies.

  Enough to hire a private investigator, who’d discovered seven similar claims in several states by Ginny spanning the last four years. She was being investigated for insurance fraud in Nevada. Come to think of it, Anne was suddenly grateful he hadn’t tweeted about her criminal leanings.

  “I agree. She should have done her research before trying this particular angle. Mice, cockroaches, hairballs, severed fingers—very unoriginal. But one tweet from you about this topic was enough. The one we composed denying the accusation, along with providing the link to the excellent article you wrote explaining why it’s impossible for a mouse, or any other foreign object, to be packaged inside your popcorn. The proof speaks loud and clear.”

  Jack frowned. “What if sales take a hit?”

  “Have they?”

  “Well, no... But she said she’s going to sue me to kingdom come. A lawsuit is always bad for business.”

  “A matter for your legal team, which, you and I both know would, if it comes to that, dispense with the case very quickly and efficiently.”

  “We would countersue.”

  “Yet another reason why you should not be tweeting about it.”

  “Years ago, when I first got on Twitter, you told me to be myself. To tweet the funny things that I think. No matter how random, and not to worry about selling popcorn or even talking about popcorn, remember?”

  “Of course, I remember. That’s essentially what I’m trying to remind you of right now. I’d like you to stick to your positive vibe.”

  Jack sighed. “That’s hard to do when I’m being falsely accused.”

  “I know. This woman’s scheming is just that. Calling people insulting names, though, redirects the narrative back at you. It makes you look mean. And you ar
e not mean, Jack. Don’t give her anything to use against you. You bring a lot of joy to a whole lot of people.”

  Five years ago, when Anne suggested to Jack that he join Twitter, she knew people would think he was funny. But she could never have predicted the degree of celebrity he’d achieve. People adored him. He had a knack for pointing out the absurd in a funny but harmless way. He’d been compared to a modern-day Will Rogers. Mostly he tweeted his witty and interesting observations about life in quirky Portland, current events and his beloved baseball team, the Northwest Pacific Panthers.

  It was their shared devotion to NPU baseball that had first drawn them together. During the party where they’d met, Jack had found her alone in her boss’s den watching a Panthers game. Both alumni of NPU, they’d bonded over their mutual love for their alma mater, especially its baseball team.

  That she’d been dating Derrick Bright, the university’s superstar catcher at the time, hadn’t hurt. All these years later, she and Jack were both season-ticket holders and active in the NPU athletics fundraising organization, the Panther Project.

  A few years ago, she’d suggested printing his funny observations on his popcorn bags. He’d agreed. Sales had skyrocketed. He’d credited her ingenuity, which had further cemented their friendship.

  “This company is my life.”

  “I know,” she answered quietly. “I get that.” And she knew he believed her because it was no secret that McGrath PR was her life, too.

  “Fine.” Jack finally nodded. “I trust you, Annie. I’ll lay off. You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

  “Thank you. You won’t be sorry.”

  “Now, let’s talk about this Panther scandal. Haven’t tweeted a word about that yet. Can’t find the humor or the truth.” Jack shook his head. “Poor Coach. Imagine beginning your career with this rotten pile of stink on your plate.” The Panthers had a new head coach, Kellan Nichols. Anne hadn’t met him, but he and Jack were evidently tight. “Hopefully—”

  “What scandal?” Anne interrupted.

  “Ah, man,” Jack said, wincing slightly. “You haven’t heard from Coach Nichols yet? I gave him your number. He’s going to need help with this. It’s shaping up to be quite a mess.”

  “Jack, you know McGrath PR doesn’t represent anyone or anything to do with sports,” Anne said. But she couldn’t resist asking... “What happened?”

  “But, Annie, these are our Panthers we’re talking about here. Easton Bright is headed for the draft after next season. At least, I’m hoping he is. It’s going to break my heart if he’s guilty and—”

  The name had her tensing with concern. “Easton Bright?”

  Easton was her ex-boyfriend Derrick’s younger brother, a sophomore second baseman and switch-hitter at NPU who’d just finished a truly astounding season. A few years ago, it was rumored that he was headed down the same rebellious path Derrick had once traveled. But as far as Anne knew, Easton had cleaned up his act. Although she’d believed the best about Derrick once, too, hadn’t she? Look how that had turned out for her.

  A knock sounded. Keira Chkalov, her best friend and colleague, opened the door and stuck her head inside. “Anne, you have—” She cut off her sentence with a bright smile toward their client. “Oh, hey, Jack!” All of the staff at McGrath PR loved Jack, too—all four of them. “Sorry to interrupt. I thought you were finished.”

  “We mostly are. Talking baseball now. What’s up?”

  “There was an urgent call for you. This person would like you to call back ASAP.”

  Keira handed her a folded slip of paper. Anne opened it, saw the name and braced herself as a combination of curiosity and apprehension spilled over her. Silently, she read the entire message: Kellan Nichols, head baseball coach, Northwest Pacific University. Please call ASAP.

  * * *

  DERRICK BRIGHT STEPPED away from the dining-room wall to survey his handiwork. Only to immediately realize that it was impossible to appreciate the full effect of a knickknack shelf when it was bare. Like a bat without a ball or a stadium with no fans. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it was important he get this right.

  Moving about the room, he gathered his measuring tape, screwdriver, coffee cup and three candles from the center of the dining table. From the sideboard, he borrowed Grandma’s prized geode, which she’d found on one of her rock-hunting excursions, a box of tissues and a crystal dish full of candy. After arranging everything neatly, he backed away again and reevaluated his achievement.

  Grandma’s friends, “the gamers,” would be so impressed when they showed up next week to find her entire pottery collection displayed on a series of handcrafted shelves.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said aloud, even though he was alone in the room.

  Spotting his hammer lying on the floor, he reached down and picked it up, then tucked it into place in his new tool belt. His entire life, he’d wanted a tool belt like Grandpa’s, and the one now fitted around his hips was as close as he could find. Made from thick, soft leather, it hadn’t been cheap, but he’d justified the expense the way he once would have a new pair of cleats or even a mitt. Like an investment in his future.

  That was the good thing about retiring young. At thirty-two, he reminded himself every time he started missing baseball that he still had plenty of time left to pursue other hobbies and interests. Like woodworking and...other stuff he was sure he would enjoy once he tried it. So far, he’d been unsuccessful, but he’d get there. He’d find his groove—his other passion that wasn’t baseball.

  He could even have another career, something he didn’t want to think about just yet, even as he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Because what did a person do when they’d dedicated their entire life, their body, mind and soul, to one single activity and then suddenly, bam, it was gone? After a routine play at home plate, his career had ended. Injuries were always at the back of a ballplayer’s mind, and, like most players, he’d suffered his share. But still, he’d always operated under the belief that retirement would come when he decided. After he’d had plenty of time to plan his postbaseball life. At least, that had been his strategy once.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that his ex-girlfriend Anne had been right all those years ago; maybe he wasn’t “capable of being more than a baseball player.” Those words, and similar ones repeatedly echoed by his father, kept coming back to him, causing a now familiar and increasingly smothering tightness to knot in his chest.

  His nineteen-year-old brother, Easton, sauntered in from the kitchen, steaming mug in hand. Perfect timing, because just his presence reminded Derrick of the other good stuff about retirement. Easton and Grandma May, his family. They were everything to him, and the fact that he would be here to witness Easton’s final season at NPU, to help guide him through the decisions he’d have to make as he prepared to go pro, was the best part.

  That, and he could now be a consistent presence for Grandma, who, despite an energy level that frequently outpaced his own, wasn’t getting any younger. Critical since Easton would be leaving after next season. Finally, he could live full-time in this big old farmhouse he’d bought for them all to share, but where he’d only ever lived temporarily. Giving him time to work on his DIY home-improvement list, hone his carpentry skills and...not play baseball.

  No more baseball. Ever again.

  “Hey! Good morning,” Easton cheerfully greeted him. His little brother’s grin had always been contagious, and Derrick smiled through the chest jabs and took a few seconds to be grateful for the way Easton had gotten himself back on track.

  “You’re sure at it early today. Do you want—?” Stopping midsentence, Easton glanced at the wall before eyeing Derrick up and down. “You need a tool belt to hang a shelf?”

  “Shelves,” Derrick corrected, pointing at the stack still to be hung. “I made all of those.”

  “Wow. So this is what you’ve been working on out there?”

  “Yep.” Derrick had spent the last few days in the shop sawing, sanding, finishing...constructing this shelving project. It felt great to be using Grandpa’s tools again, something he hadn’t done since he was a kid. Grandpa Marty had died when Derrick was twenty-one, right after he’d been drafted into the major leagues. But the time they’d spent together had created many of his favorite childhood memories. Woodworking alone, he’d already discovered, was a little different than puttering around with Grandpa. Derrick definitely had a few things to learn.