by Pamela Aares
“It’s only for half an hour.”
“Your track record isn’t good.”
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay. I always told your dad that even boys need cooking lessons. But oh, no—he spent every spare minute throwing balls at you.”
“Those balls are getting you to Rome.” He’d paid for his parents’ trip, first class all the way. They’d never had a honeymoon. Coal miners living on the edge didn’t even dream of such luxuries.
She hugged him, nearly stopping his breath. She was just as strong as ever. A life of hard work had its drawbacks, but the pluses were stamina and strength. “That they are, honey. And your father and I are grateful.”
He’d had a helluva time getting his dad to agree to let him pay for the trip. Harder than getting his agreement to buy the house in the suburbs of Atlanta. But after Jake’s connections had helped his dad land a job as a mechanic for United Flyers in Atlanta, they’d needed new digs. And Atlanta real estate was out of his parents’ league, even with his dad’s better salary. He’d had his accountant tell them that Jake needed the tax deduction. The white lie had smoothed the way. He respected his dad’s pride. Hell, he respected everything about the man.
“The way I calculate it, it’s justified payback,” Jake said with a wink. “Let’s see, I figured it once. A million hours of backyard ball multiplied by minimum wage—”
His mom pulled away and swatted him with the dish towel she pulled from her shoulder. “Now don’t go getting your head all big. You’ll still have to do the dishes.”
After she left, he stared at the skillet of bubbling oil and chicken. Piece of cake. He grabbed a pair of tongs and turned a leg. Perfectly browned. With swift strokes, he turned a few more pieces. When his phone vibrated in his pocket, he one-handed the tongs, then pulled out the phone and glanced at the display.
Pain licked at his knuckles at the same time he heard chicken splat into the oil. He looked up to see a flame leaping up from the gas burner. He dropped the phone to the counter, watching as oil caught fire where it had spilled across the stovetop.
Cursing, he grabbed the closest thing at hand—his mother’s apron—and swatted at the flames. The apron caught fire. Damn, he hadn’t seen the lace at the hem. The stove flames were out, but he had to toss the apron in the sink and douse it good.
Smoke hovered near the ceiling, licking a trail of gray around a perfectly silent smoke alarm. He threw open the back door and winged it on its hinges to clear the air, drive the smoke out. The smell of burning chicken stopped him midmotion.
Hell, hell and more hell. He turned off the flame under the skillet and surveyed the damage. The chicken was burned on only one side, so not a total loss. They could just eat from the side that wasn’t burned. He yanked off a length of paper towels and folded them onto a plate. With each piece arranged burned side down, the chicken looked just fine. Not. He cursed again.
He’d take a ribbing, but at least they wouldn’t go hungry.
Limitations.
He sucked in the kitchen. A man had to be honest about what he could and couldn’t do. He knew his limitations and usually didn’t waste energy dipping into endeavors that he’d studied and judged not for him.
Like cooking. And kids. And backdoor sliders.
And Cameron Kelley.
The toot of a horn sounded. He put the plate of chicken on the kitchen table. His old man would have a field day taking the piss out of him.
His dad grabbed him in a bear hug. There wasn’t anything Jake wouldn’t do for either of his parents. They’d taught him to work for his dreams and done everything they could to help along the way. They’d made him keep his grades up so he could get a scholarship from a college with a good baseball program. Had nearly cried when he was accepted at USC. They’d scraped to send his sister and brother to decent colleges. Dana was a senior engineer at NASA, thanks to the education they’d insisted upon and saved for. And thanks to the encouragement they’d laid on their kids in healthy doses.
“Margaret told me she left you in the kitchen.”
His parents often called themselves by their first names. As if they were determined not to allow their relationship be completely engulfed by their roles as parents. It had sometimes bothered Jake as a child, but now, as an adult, he respected that they had kept their individuality and their romance alive.
“Thought I’d test your smoke alarm.”
His dad laughed, and the tension in Jake’s shoulder blades eased up.
“It’s not working, by the way.”
“Probably didn’t get the message you were coming. Haven’t needed the darn thing till now.”
“Lordy, Jake, what did you do to my favorite apron?”
They sat down to dinner, and he entertained them with a blow-by-blow. Until that moment, he’d forgotten about the phone call that had started it all. He sneaked a look at his phone. Not Cameron. Of course not. He didn’t want to talk to her anyway, did he? Aderro had left a message.
“No phones at this table.” His mom’s usually soft voice was stern. “Told your sister that too. The world can wait for the time of a meal.”
She’d always had clear rules, rules that made sense. He had too, before Cameron.
“You ever miss the South, son?” His dad had a knack for moving a conversation along.
“Nah. There are guys on the team from North Carolina and Kentucky. We go backpacking sometimes.”
“Ben’s been thinking we might retire to California,” his mother said.
Jake nearly choked on the sweet tea he’d gulped.
“We’d like to be close to our grandkids.”
“They rent grandkids in California?”
“That’s not funny, Jake Ryder.” When his mother used his whole name, he always knew he’d stepped in too deep.
“Don’t look at me, you know I’m not cut out for all that. What about Dana?”
“I know nothing of the sort. And I don’t know where you get that idea. And Dana? She’s more hopeless than you are.” His mother sighed dramatically. “She would move to the space station before she considered a family.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Mom. Not interested.”
His dad kept strangely silent.
“Did you get the photos I sent you of the villa I booked outside Rome?” he asked them both.
His mom took his hand in hers. “I still wish you’d come along. If only for Christmas. With Dana coming for the holidays, I hate leaving you alone.”
“I’m going up to a teammate’s place. It’s in the country.”
“That boy with the castle?” His dad shook his head. “What can anybody need with a castle?”
“I can train while I’m there. We have a buddy with a gym. And a batting cage.”
“Now you’re talkin’. Better way to spend money if you ask me.”
The next morning Jake dropped his mom off at the hairdresser’s. It was a gorgeous December day, and he decided to drive out into the country. He shifted the clunker truck his dad had insisted on keeping into gear and headed out. He had two hours—long enough to clear his head. The message from Aderro had been bad news. They’d lost the lease on the land for the Superplayer Academy.
He pulled over at a roadside stand selling cider, bought a gallon and returned to his car. After driving miles out into open country, he slugged down a few swallows and called Aderro.
“Heard your rotten news,” Jake said when Aderro answered.
“Developers pulled strings and greased palms. They bought the land to put in another new luxury hotel. Just what we need—more water guzzlers flying down here.”
Jake had never heard bitterness in his friend’s voice before. “How long do you have before they boot the academy?”
“Four months. But the real reason I called was to thank you.”
“Huh?”
“For the money. It’ll fund ten more kids for the full four years. And before you go thinking you’ll rag on your accountant, the funds did
come anonymously. But I’m a genius. Thought you knew that.”
Jake laughed.
But even a walk down the deserted country road didn’t ease his mind after ending the call. Aderro had worked too hard to lose the academy. The kids needed the program.
He stopped to pee near a bush at the end of the road. A whimper from under the bush had him dropping to his knees. A small brown ball of matted fur twitched and backed away from him. He held out his hand, and the dog cautiously sniffed. Moving slowly, he gently lifted the pup. He felt ribs and spine under his fingers. The animal probably hadn’t eaten for days. Who the hell would leave a dog out here to starve to death? There hadn’t been a house for miles. Resigned, he sat the pup beside him in the truck.
As he pulled up in front of his mother’s hairdresser’s salon, he dialed Tony. And left him a message. He’d meet with the Nike guys. He could do something with a fast million. Something good.
His mother wasn’t smiling as she exited the salon.
“Don’t like the hairdo?”
“Oh honey, my hair’s fine. What I have left of it.”
“So?”
She backed away from the truck. “What is that?”
“A dog. I found him out on some back road. He’s starving.”
“No dogs, Jake. I still haven’t gotten over Missy. I can’t have any more heartbreak.”
Peter’s tragic death had shaken them all up, but his mother had been the strong one. Yet when her dog died, it hadn’t mattered that the collie had lived to a ripe seventeen years. She’d lost it. All the held-back grief for his brother had come pouring out alongside her sadness over losing Missy.
“We’ll just get him some food,” Jake offered. “Then we can find him a home.”
“You are not sticking me with a dog, young man. I still have that—that fish your sister left behind. The things live ten years.”
He laughed. The hardy plecostomus actually could live for fifteen years, but now was no time to break that news. “I’ll find him a home, I promise.”
She grimaced and scooted up onto the seat next to the puppy. The puppy licked her hand. By the time Jake pulled away from the curb, she had him on her lap.
“You didn’t tell me what upset you in the salon.”
“I’ll show you when we get home.”
Show him? “Did she shave your neck or something?”
She shifted the puppy into her other arm. “When we get home, Jake.”
Once in his mom’s kitchen, the pup lapped up water like he hadn’t had a drink in days.
“He’s got the biggest brown eyes,” Jake said to his mom as she took some chicken off the bone and fed it to the pup.
“He’s yours.”
“No way.”
“I know when my son is smitten. I’ll fly out and bring him to you when we get back from Rome. He’ll need shots before he can travel. My neighbor Jessie has one of those fancy boarding places. She’ll take good care of him until your dad and I return.”
“I don’t need a dog.” But he had to admit the little rascal had already won his heart. When had he gotten so soft?
His mom plunked a magazine on the table. “Thought maybe you should see this.”
The photo of him locked in the embrace with Cameron took up the entire cover. “I’ve seen it.”
“Well, I’m sorry, hon. Must be tough living in the public eye.”
Her tone was likely meant to be comforting, but all it did was set off alarms. He flipped to the article. More photos of Cameron, two of him, one shirtless at the surf contest. He flipped back to the front. Read the headline—Cameron Boots the Ballplayer.
Great. He read the rest of the article. Two lines about Dominia and a hundred lines of pure bullshit. Or maybe it wasn’t. The veins in his neck pounded out his building anger as he kept reading.
Inside sources report that Jake Ryder was just a notch in her belt. She’s moving on. “I’d never fall for a ballplayer. I want a regular guy. Not a puffed-up star.”
“It’s too bad they report all that trash,” his mom said as she patted his shoulder. “And too bad they couldn’t say more about those kids in Dominia. Now that, that’s interesting. You didn’t say much about it in your emails.”
Flustered, he told his mom about his trip. About the kids and Aderro’s academy. About the bateyes and the Water for Life project. And very little about Cameron. His mom didn’t probe, and he was grateful. He wasn’t ready to admit how much real estate Cameron had taken up in his heart.
The next day as he flew back to San Francisco, the words still burned him. A notch in her belt. Maybe that was what he was. And so what? Fine. He couldn’t believe he was letting a tabloid article get to him. Letting her get to him.
But the scar tissue from his days with Scarlett Lee had flamed up, and the similarities wouldn’t be talked away by reason.
When the plane landed, he headed for the bar nearest the gate and ordered a double whiskey. The liquid burned down his throat, and he relaxed for the first time that day. At least he had a couple weeks ahead with Alex and the prospect of smacking as many balls as he wanted in a batting cage. Having a bat in his hands would heal what ailed him. Baseball never failed to help him get his perspective back.
The next evening the sun was slipping behind the Sonoma hills when Jake turned off onto the tree-lined drive leading to Trovare. The flight back to San Francisco had been smooth, and the highways on his drive north miraculously uncrowded. But his mind ran a tape of chatter that was anything but smooth. Time in the country would help him sort himself out. He wasn’t going to let memories of her, thoughts about her, spoil his vacation.
Unlike his last visit, this time an iron gate blocked the drive about a hundred yards down the single-lane road. Vines and leaves had been forged and twined up the length of the gate, but there was no mistaking the high-security message.
He rummaged in his gear bag for his cellphone to call Alex and cursed. He’d left it in the charger at his apartment. Maybe his subconscious was working overtime to help him leave the razz of the world behind.
He rolled his car forward and then saw the high-tech steel call box. He lowered his window and pushed the button, relieved to hear Alex’s voice answer.
“Don’t mind the gate,” Alex said. “It’s my Christmas present to Sabrina—keeps the riffraff photographers out. I’m buzzing you in. It’ll close automatically behind you.”
Alex met him on the paved stones in front of the castle. Sabrina came dashing down the steps leading from the drawbridge to the parking area. Even in riding pants and a simple white shirt, she looked like a movie star. Was there something in the drinking water in Hollywood that made women look like goddesses?
“Jake, I thought you’d never get up here,” she said as she hugged him. She backed away and shot him what could only be called a Cheshire-cat smile.
“Hadn’t known you were waiting.” Despite his delight at seeing her, unease licked in him. He had a sister, so he knew when something was up. “Am I missing something here?”
Sabrina’s smile broadened. “We’re just happy to see you.”
Though he didn’t want to admit it, Sabrina’s smile brought the thoughts about Cameron that he’d been fighting to keep at bay crashing back in. He shot Alex a gaze that demanded the truth.
Alex raised a brow. “If I worried about what this one was up to, I’d never sleep. And with Coco around, it’s worse. Two peas in a pod. But let’s get you settled in. Dinner’s at seven tonight. Country hours.”
He’d never have believed that a castle could be called homey, but as Jake sat at the table that night with Alex and Sabrina, he felt more at home than he had anywhere in years. The two of them had an ease about them that, if it could have been bottled, would probably have led to world peace. And he was grateful neither of them brought up the tabloid article. Hell, maybe they hadn’t seen it. It’d be old news by now. People would move on to the new flavor of the week. And that sure as hell wasn’t going to be him.
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After dinner, Jake followed Alex through the Great Hall and down the stone stairs to the game room to shoot pool.
“Are others coming up?” Jake asked as Alex touched a place in the stone wall and the door concealing the game room swung open.
“Loads. Maybe a few cousins and a couple of Sabrina’s friends. But there’s plenty of room. And Kaz should be here before Christmas. He’s looking forward to taking you on in Ryan’s batting cage. But you’ll have to ask Sabrina if you want details, or my mother when she returns in a couple of days. I’ve been swamped with the vineyard this past week, and guest lists are the last thing on my mind.”
He handed Jake a pool cue. “You should play with one hand behind your back if I’m to have any chance of winning back what I lost to you last time.”
“If I remember correctly, I beat you by one ball.”
“That’s enough for me. Losing’s not in my blood.”
“Right there with you.” Jake chalked the pool cue and felt the muscles in his shoulders relax. A good challenge always helped sort him out.
Chapter Eleven
After a quick breakfast the next morning, Jake headed down to the new barn near the western edge of the Trovare vineyards to meet Parker Tavonesi for a morning ride.
“I haven’t been on a horse in over a year,” Jake said as he saddled the dark thoroughbred.
“I was just glad to hear you like to ride,” Parker said. “It’s impossible to pull Alex away from the vineyard biz at this time of year. But, hey, we all have our passions. If I go a day without riding, claustrophobia starts clawing at me.”
How anyone could feel claustrophobic in the Sonoma countryside was beyond Jake. The mountains and hills were greening up with the early winter rains and stretched for miles. The vastness reminded him of his early days on his uncle’s farm in the foothills of North Carolina. His uncle had taught him to ride. But the horse he was about to mount was probably worth more than all of his uncle’s land and livestock put together.
“I thought we’d head up toward Taylor Park. The new trails lead to vistas that will blow your mind.” Parker held up two saddlebags. “I brought some grub.”
