Diamond in the Rough

Mike frowned, still looking at the screen. “I think she’s his daughter.”

“‘His’?” she prodded.

“Shaw. Steven Orin Shaw.” He addressed her. “I think someone I spoke to a couple of days ago was Shaw’s daughter. I didn’t know he had more than one— the one who died,” he filled in, not expecting his stepmother to remember. “But it says right here that he had two, Ariel and Miranda.”

Kate watched him with mild interest. “You know a Miranda?”

“I don’t really know her, I just met her,” he qualified. “She sent me an angry e-mail—”

Kate laughed. “I can hear the wedding bells ringing already.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not like that, Kate,” he said, shaking his head.

“You could never disappoint me, Mike,” she told him matter-of-factly. “And neither could your brothers or Kelsey.”

Maybe not, but he and the guys knew that their stepmother had her heart set on getting them married and having babies of their own. She would have liked nothing better than to have the house crammed with the sounds of growing families. And while that might happen down the road for his brothers and little sister, he doubted it would happen for him.

For one thing, he wasn’t looking to get married. The odds were just too great that he’d be signing on for major disappointment down the line. He could still remember how his father looked when he received the news of the plane crash. How devastated he was. There was no way he would ever willingly set himself up for that kind of heartache. And, with attachment came the very real possibility of heartache.

“This has to do with work,” he told her. “I wrote a piece about why Steven Shaw shouldn’t be considered a viable candidate for induction into the baseball hall of fame, and she wrote in to comment.”

Kate nodded. “Right, Shaw,” she said. “The pitcher who disappointed you so badly.”

“You actually remember that?” Mike stared at his stepmother in surprise.

Kate turned away from the stove and the potatoes she was mashing. She set down the container of parmesan cheese after sprinkling some into the mixture.

“Why do you sound so surprised? I remember everything about you boys.” Sympathy entered her eyes. “I remember how upset you were when you found out that Shaw was banned from baseball. That was the year you wanted to throw away all your sports memorabilia.”

Memories he hadn’t thought about in a long time returned to him. “You stopped me from tearing up his autograph.”

She’d rescued the photograph just in time. He’d pulled it free of its frame and was just about to destroy it when she walked into the room. “I thought that you might regret it later, when you stopped being so angry at him.”

“I would have,” he admitted, because it represented a piece of his past, not because it belonged to Shaw. “I never did say thanks.”

Kate shrugged. “Being family means you don’t have to say it—but I admit that once in a while, it is nice to hear.” Picking up the container of cheese, she got back to work. “So, who’s this Miranda person who sent you that e-mail?”

“Apparently, his daughter.” He thought about the woman again. Why would she have kept that a secret? It didn’t make sense to him and he hated things that didn’t make sense. “I mean, her name’s Miranda and it says here that Shaw’s got a daughter named Miranda. It’s not exactly on the list of the most popular names of the past decade. How many Mirandas are there out there?”

Chuckling, she wiped her hands on a towel. “Afraid I haven’t taken a survey on that lately, but my guess is not too many.” Kate crossed to him and draped her arm over his shoulder. He had a Web page opened to the former pitcher’s biography. “Is that good or bad—that she’s his daughter, I mean.”

“Good—if she can get that interview for me.” However, his optimism regarding his chances was dwindling. “But I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days.”

“Call her.”

Mike shook his head. “Can’t.”

“What’s stopping you?”

He looked a tad sheepish, “I don’t have her number.”

“That would do it.” Kate paused for a second, thinking. In this day and age of the information highway, nothing stayed hidden for long. “Seems to me that a man with your connections should be able to locate the daughter of one of the all-time great pitchers of our time.”

He grinned. He knew a couple of people to contact, one of whom was all but hardwired to his computer. “I’ll do it after the Super Bowl.”

The Super Bowl. Kate stifled a sigh. She didn’t want Mike seeing her disappointment. “That’s right, you’re flying out to cover the game. Lucky you.” And then, she added, “We’ll miss you at the party.”

He had to be honest. He’d almost prefer to stay for the family get-together than fly down to the game in Florida. The Super Bowl party had been a major deal around the Marlowe household for the last twenty years.

It still amazed him how Kate had managed to take his father—who’d had no interest in sports—and get him involved in events that celebrated the pinnacle of each sport just because he and his brothers were into it. Kate was a firm believer in family solidarity.

Just then, Travis entered the kitchen. He paused to kiss Kate on the cheek and nod at his older brother. It was obvious that he’d overheard the last part of the conversation.

“Right, we’ll all be crying into our pizza for poor Mikey, who’s forced to sit there in the press box, watching the Packers play the Chargers up close and personal.” His sarcastic tone turned wistful. “I’d give my eyeteeth to be there.” Opening the refrigerator, Travis took out a bottle of beer and twisted off the cap. He closed the door, leaned against it and took a sip. “Now, if either Trent or Trevor had been the sportswriter, I could tie him up, leave him in his apartment and then go in his place. Nobody would be the wiser.”