The muted roar of a crowd sounded from the TV.
“Now there’s a sound I like.” He shot her an impish grin. “If it’s for the team I’m playing for.”
He turned up the sound on the TV. She picked up her bowl again, lifted a tepid spoonful of soup to her lips. The chattering of the sports announcers flooded into her living room.
He took a sip from his soup spoon. “This is good.” He grinned over at her. “A bit cold now, but good.”
Out of reflex, she started to jump up. He grabbed her wrist.
“It’s fine. Stay. Eat, Cara.” He twinkled a devastating smile. “You might be needing your strength.”
She tried to suppress a nervous laugh, but it tripped out of her.
He waved his spoon toward the TV.
“People in the Bay Area are spoiled, you know.”
She knitted her brows, unsure what he meant.
“Well, maybe you don’t. Take my word for it: the local announcers here are the best. They have the right combination of details and color. These two”—he pointed again to the TV—“they’re okay. But there’s a difference when a guy really knows the game. Of course I never get to hear the local guys since I’m always on the field. You’ll have to keep me posted on how they finish up the season.”
He imagined knowing her as the season progressed. He imagined a future. The prospect both confounded and comforted her.
Not knowing what to do with them, she pushed thoughts of the future aside and focused on the announcers’ lively banter, tried to grasp their fast assessments of the game. And as she sat there with Ryan, eating soup and watching baseball, feeling the warmth and delight that was so welcome and yet so foreign and delicious, she tried to work out what path she could possibly navigate that might allow her to have Ryan in her life. If that was to be even a remote possibility, if what they shared were to evolve, she had work ahead. Maybe, when the time was right, she could reveal what she’d struggled for so many years to conceal. Maybe he’d understand.
Ryan touched her hand, making her jump.
“Come to a game.”
He twined his fingers in hers and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. She was becoming way too fond of what he could do with his thumb.
“I mean, how long’s it been since you’ve been to a game?” He squeezed her hand. “You could bring Sam and Molly.”
She pulled her hand away and turned to the TV.
“I really can’t.” It wasn’t as though she could tell him that there’d be people at the stadium who would recognize her, people who knew her and who knew her family. She didn’t want to pile on another lie, so she didn’t make up an excuse. And was grateful when he didn’t press her for one.
And was even more grateful that her questions about his experiences playing baseball lit him up and brought an ease to the evening. How much longer she could’ve borne the earlier tension, she wasn’t sure.
During a pitching change he muted the TV and walked over to her bookshelf. Like a homing pigeon, he pulled out the most valuable book among the many precious volumes.
“My mom collects old books,” he said as he opened the tooled-leather cover of a first edition of Oliver Twist.
Her dad had sent the book, along with four other volumes that really should have gone to a museum. He had a perverse love of having things in his personal space that others would have to wait in line just to look at behind roped-off exhibits or thick panes of glass. Just last month he’d suggested sending her a Renoir that had hung in her grandfather’s study. Even though it was her favorite painting, she’d put a quick stop to her father’s scheming. No one in Albion Bay had security systems; just trying to put one in her cabin would be a joke.
Ryan let out a slow whistle.
“This is one heck of a valuable book.” He looked back at her, eyebrow raised.
Her brain whizzed into high gear.
“It’s been passed down in my family for ages,” she said. “Sort of an old family legacy.”
Who knew a ballplayer from Texas would know anything about the value of old books? No, of course anyone might have such knowledge. Her prejudices needed some deep adjusting.
As did her housekeeping.
“I’m trying to get my mom to come out to see my ranch. My dad probably won’t come. He’s got a bug up him about me buying property here. I’m working on him, though.” He looked over at her and held up the book. “If she comes, I’d like to show this to her. She’s got all sorts of catalogs with pictures of books like this, but it’d make her day to hold the real deal.”
“Sure,” she said, not knowing what else to say. Knowing the man, she’d like to meet his mother. But that would be taking things way too far. Maybe he’d forget about the book.
“She binds books, it’s her thing. It’s what she loves.”
So much for forgetting about the book.
He put the Dickens carefully back into place. “My mom’s the one who wouldn’t let me give up on playing, even when my dad threw fits and argued that I’d be better off doing my homework. She always said that if a person doesn’t do what they love, they’re wasting their life.”
“I’d have to agree with her,” Cara said. He couldn’t know the knot of anxiety his words were firing in her.
He pulled another book from the shelf. “Is this the guy you were telling me about?” He tapped the cover. “The guy who writes about how your brain can trick you into focusing on the bad and letting the good slide off?”
She nodded, glad he’d moved to another topic.
“I tried it last week—and hit a triple. But he’s right—it’s ridiculously easy to let good experiences slip into a phantom realm and go unnoticed.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” He shifted his weight and rolled his shoulder. “Just a random thought.”
Her curiosity was piqued, but she had no right to pry. She wanted to know so much more about him, and the strength of her wanting dismayed her. But asking questions wasn’t fair, given the circumstances. And fairness was a value she wouldn’t give up.
After he left, she scrubbed at the pot she’d burned and thought about what he’d said about the joy of doing what you love well. He loved baseball, that much was clear. But what had surprised her was how his entire countenance had changed when he’d mentioned phantom realms, as if something haunted him. The man was full of surprises.
Before he’d left, he’d pressed her for a date. Turning him down was the hardest thing she’d done in years, even though she knew it was the right thing to do. But she hadn’t so much turned him down as put him off. The turning down would come, just as the sun would rise. She dreaded having to do it.
But as she climbed the stairs and replayed the buzz his goodnight kiss had sent through her, confusion settled in like a dense winter fog. Keeping her steps on the path she’d so carefully drawn for her life was starting to turn into one damned painful journey.
Chapter Thirteen
How often do you get out here?” Ryan asked Alex as they rounded the last of the curves on the coastal highway and headed down the hill into Albion Bay. They’d won their day game against Arizona, had kept a solid five-run lead into the ninth.
“During the season? Maybe six or seven times. The vineyard takes up most of my free time. But Jackie’s out here every couple weeks, working at the lab.”
Alex had planned to retire the year after he’d won the Triple Crown, but Ryan didn’t have to ask why he hadn’t. No one really wanted to leave the game unless pain or poor performance forced an early exit.
Ryan nosed his Jeep into the middle school parking lot and helped Alex with the bags of equipment they’d brought for the team.
Sam Rivers ran up to them, already short of breath.
“I can help,” he said as he reached to take a bag from Ryan.
“Sam, this is Alex.”
“I know.” Sam extended his hand under the bag, and Alex bent to shake it.
“You’re taller than you look on TV.”
Alex laughed. “Trick cameras,” he said. “Fools the competition.”
“Huddle up,” Dave Jenkins called from the bench. “Sam, get over here.” Dave nodded a greeting to Alex and Ryan and proceeded to bark out the starting lineup.
Alex nodded toward the taco stand. “Is that her?”
Ryan nodded.
“Taco time,” Alex said. “I’m starved.”
Cain wasn’t there, but Cara was, and she was studiously filleting a slab of fish.
“She wields a mean knife,” Alex said as they approached.
“I’ll store that fact away,” Ryan said.
“She wields more than a mean knife,” Molly Rivers said as she hauled a bag of ice to the cooler. “You should see her drive a bus. I couldn’t for the life of me.”
“Molly, meet my buddy Alex. Molly is Sam’s mom. And this is Cara West.”
Cara looked up from the cutting board and waved a vinyl-gloved hand. “You’ll thank me for not shaking your hand.” She smiled. “Hello, Ryan.”
Two words. Hello, Ryan. That’s all it took to settle him. He was more hooked than the fish she was filleting had been.
Molly turned to Alex. “Where’s that wife of yours? She walked off with our ice chest last week.”
“Hawaii, this week. Alaska the next.”
“Guess I’ll have to go to Hawaii to get our ice chest back—hardship duty. You two want tacos?”
“Ryan here tells me the proceeds go to a good cause,” Alex said.
“Yup, equipment for the boys and gas for the bus.” Molly winked at Cara. “Cara has a heavy foot.”
“You won’t be wanting that ice chest back,” Alex said. “Don’t loan Jackie anything you don’t want smelling like day-old seal-tissue samples.”
Molly wrinkled her nose. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She threw tortillas onto the grill to warm and then turned and nudged Cara. “Hey, I forgot to tell you that the community center got a five-thousand-dollar grant for the irrigation system. Straight out of the blue. The garden committee wanted to thank the donor, but the company that called to announce the grant told Perk the donor insisted on remaining anonymous.” Molly threw a slab of fish onto the grill. “Don’t you think that’s odd? You’d think they’d want to be thanked. And Perk doesn’t even remember the town submitting a request.”
Ryan saw Cara’s knife slip on the slab of fish she was preparing. He stepped around the table and took the knife from her.
“Let me do that. Put my ranch skills to work.”
“I didn’t know they had fish on ranches,” Cara said.
Though her comment was meant to be humorous, he knew her well enough to know that something had shaken her. If he hadn’t heard it in her voice, he’d seen it in the way she’d stiffened when Molly broke the news about the grant. It didn’t make sense, but right then all he cared about was helping her with the task at hand. That and securing another date with her.
“I won’t tell you what we cut up on ranches,” Ryan said as he angled the knife on the fish. “Not in mixed company.”
Alex groaned. “That’s why I stick with grapes. I leave the bloody work to Jackie.”
Sam came running. “Mom—did you hear? Ryan’s staying.” He turned to Ryan. “You are, aren’t you? We heard you got a gazillion dollars for six years to play for the Giants. Is it true?”
Ryan had hoped to break the news about his contract to Cara in a far more subtle manner. But Sam’s innocent, beaming smile made it impossible to be irritated. He again bit down his impulse to ruff Sam’s hair. The kid just got under his skin, but in a good way. If he had a boy, he’d like to have one with Sam’s enthusiasm. But without the asthma. That scared the hell out of him.
“Guilty,” Ryan said. “Staying right here.”
“Does that mean you can get us tickets to a game?” Sam asked.
“Sam. That’s not polite.”
Sam colored at his mom’s chastising tone.
“If he won’t, I will,” Alex jumped in. “How about Wednesday? I’m throwing a party after the game to celebrate Ryan’s contract. It’s a day game, so it won’t put you all home too late.”
Ryan felt color rise in his face. So much for subtly inviting Cara to the party.
“I’d like you to come,” Ryan said to Cara. He cut two slices of fish and handed them to her to put on the grill.
“Let me think about it,” she said without looking up. “I need to look at my calendar.”
“Come on, Cara,” Molly chided. “What could possibly trump Ryan’s party in the city?”
“Right.” Cara shot a quick glance at him. “I guess I could come.”
Angels could’ve blown three trumpets and they wouldn’t have matched the joy blasting through Ryan.
But after he and Alex had finished helping the boys with their game, when he looked around for Cara, she was gone.
Ryan shook the dust from his boots and closed the back-pasture gate. He picked up his coffee mug and glugged down the lukewarm remains. It’d take more than coffee to clear his head this morning. The party had gone late into the night. And Cara hadn’t shown.
Ten more fence posts and some wire work and he’d be ready for the first of the rescue donkeys. They were trailering them in from Nevada in a couple of weeks.
He blew on his hands to warm them before sliding them back into his work gloves. Already the nights and early mornings were chilly. He was glad he’d insisted that his contractor install a heater in the barn. When his dad found out he was paying to heat rescue donkeys, he’d never hear the end of it. But the animals were half-starved; they’d need help over the winter until they gained enough weight to insulate them against the damp and cold.
He’d called his parents that morning and invited them out for Thanksgiving. His dad had passed the phone to his mom without committing. Ryan was pretty sure he could get them there. He’d send tickets and a car to take them to the airport, offer to pick them up himself.
The wire cutters slipped, barely missing his finger. He’d better call it a morning—his mind wasn’t on his work. It hadn’t been in the game yesterday and though he’d enjoyed the party, his heart hadn’t been in it either. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Cara. Already he’d nearly driven himself mad replaying their evening together. He wished he’d had the control to have loved her slowly, gently. But, no, he’d ravaged her like some depraved beast. That she’d met his every move and even upped the ante a few times hadn’t made him feel better about it. But even so, the evening hadn’t gone as he’d planned. As he’d hoped. But he was pretty sure she’d be interested in a follow-up. He might not be a genius at reading women, but he knew she was more than interested.
The sun slanted gold rays through the oaks behind his house. He glanced at his watch. Nine in the morning. Even if he zipped over to Cara’s, he could still make it to the stadium with time to spare. That she hadn’t invited him didn’t matter. He had a bone to pick with her. You just didn’t go around accepting invitations and then not showing. Not even in Texas—hell, especially not in Texas. And women didn’t blow a guy’s mind and then drop him cold. At least not without a fight.
Chapter Fourteen
Cara rubbed at her back as she bent over the row of carrots she’d spent the best part of an hour weeding. She’d made it only halfway down the row. The weeds were growing faster than the volunteers at the community center could pull them. But it was a gorgeous Indian summer day, so she had few complaints. The breeze wafted the scent of the ocean up from the cliffs, and the sun was warm on her back. She was grateful for its warmth, for the blaze of light that helped her clear the grogginess from her head.
She hadn’t slept well.
Sneaking out of the middle school game to avoid Ryan and then avoiding Molly’s phone calls had made her tense. Canceling her meeting in the city with Alston hadn’t helped. His return message telling her she had to fly to New York for a family meeting dialed up every anxious cell
in her busy brain.
A nettle stung her through a hole in her gloves, and she rubbed the back of her hand against her jeans to calm the stinging.
“You didn’t answer my calls.”
She jumped at the sound of Ryan’s voice.
She tilted her head up, but the sun was directly behind him, so she couldn’t see his face.
“I was busy.” It was true. She’d spent the evening cooking up excuses to avoid the meeting in New York and hadn’t come up with one that would fly.
“You missed the game.”
“Molly and Sam said it was fantastic. I think Sam hopes you’ll adopt him.”
“I’m not in the market for adopting,” he said. “That is, anything other than donkeys.”
Of course he wasn’t. She didn’t even know why she’d said it.
“You didn’t come to my party.”
Now that she had a perfectly legitimate excuse for missing. She’d seen the photos from the party on the Internet early that morning, before she’d come out to do her volunteer work in the garden. The paparazzi had been all over his party. All over him. And they would’ve been all over her—Disappearing Heiress Resurfaces—a great scoop for any one of the tabloids. Too bad she couldn’t tell him her excellent alibi.
Feeling awkward kneeling in front of him, she stood. And wished she hadn’t. She saw the anger in his eyes, but what she saw under it nearly did her in. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. She knew that experience too well herself. But she had let everything go on too long—and any further interaction would either make it harder for him to forgive her if she did decide to accept the reins of the foundation and take on all that came with it, including revealing her identity. If she took that path, she wanted to be able to make her case to him, to remind him that she’d put the brakes on until she could be honest with him. Part of her wanted to believe that would make a difference. And if she chose not to change her life and to turn her back on what she felt for him, any trail of hope that she didn’t squelch would just lead to more hurt.
Love on the Line Page 13
