Love on the Line

by Aares, Pamela

  “I came out here to...” Why exactly had he come out to Albion Bay? He knew the steps he’d taken that had landed him in the town, but they didn’t add up to the reality.

  “Well, the first thing you should know is that baseball’s as addictive as a drug for guys like me who’ve loved it most of their lives. It seems like the hankering’s always been in me, driving me, and it only settles down if I’m playing.”

  He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, remembering. “For years it was all I cared about. But when I got called up to the majors, I wasn’t prepared for the warp-shift. Most guys aren’t. All of a sudden, the game has a world spun around it, like arms and legs of a strange creature—the press, the fans, the lifestyle. Nobody’s ever ready for the mind-bending ramp-up when it happens. And it happens fast if you’re lucky. If you’re not, you can wallow down in the minors and watch it all go by.”

  He stopped. “Sorry. You asked about the ranch, not baseball.”

  “No. I want to hear what you’re moving toward, what you left behind, what comes up—that’s all part of it. It is for me.”

  “What did you leave behind?” He knew so little about the woman who’d just rocked every cell in his body.

  “We were talking about you,” she said. “I want to hear, Ryan.”

  And to his astonishment, he wanted to talk, wanted to see how she’d respond to the rest of his world, not just his body.

  “You probably guessed that I’m still working out the money thing. I grew up without it. My parents never talked about money, never told me that we were poor, but it didn’t take a genius to see how my mom took on odd jobs so I could have a new bat or glove, saved so she could get a second car to drive me to games in the summers.”

  He stood and paced to the sink, looked out the window at the pots of herbs and vegetables she’d planted. Looking for the threads of the story he’d never told before.

  “My dad, he just worked all the time. He’d rope me into jobs on the ranch. I liked those times. When I was doing ranch work beside him, I felt like he saw me. When I played baseball, he didn’t. I thought he was afraid that if I gave up my schooling, that I’d be stuck being a ranch hand, that I’d end up just like him. He was furious when I quit college to sign with the Red Sox.”

  He glanced over at Cara and noticed she’d stopped eating. “Your cereal’s getting cold.”

  She picked up her spoon, but rather than putting it into her bowl, she waved it at him. “How did you end up with the ranch?”

  Embarrassment flooded him. He’d been rambling, not making any sense. “I’ve been told I’m a lousy storyteller, I—”

  “Whoever told you that is an idiot,” she said with a light laugh.

  Her laugh freed something in him. He wanted to tell her his story, yearned to. So what if he couldn’t follow a solid storyline?

  “When I came out here, I had it in my head to buy my dad a ranch, a place of his own. I found the place up here—well, Alex helped me—and I bought it. I sent my dad the pictures. Told him it was his.”

  He sat back in the chair.

  “He sent me a four-line letter. Four lines. He told me he didn’t want a ranch, that he liked his life just as it was. Told me to keep it and see if I could make something of it—that it’d be good for me. That’s the closest thing to approval he’s ever shown. But I think he was offended. He didn’t say so, but I’m pretty sure he was.”

  Ryan sipped at his coffee and tried not to focus on the cleavage peeking out from under the neck of Cara’s robe. Her beauty astonished him. It was like someone had sculpted a goddess and then decided to plunk her down into the countryside and dress her in humble garb. But more than her beauty, he knew now that she was the woman he’d been secretly seeking. A woman who loved the simple things. The important things. A woman who knew her mind, a woman of integrity and independence. If he wanted Cara West, he’d have to do more than just delight her in bed. What he’d have to do, he didn’t know, but he was going to figure it out.

  She leaned her chin in her hands. “And then what?”

  “I walked the ranch for a few days after I got his letter and realized he was right—the ranch would ground me, in a good way. It’s an antidote to all the hustle and hype. I should thank him for that.” He sipped his coffee. “So here I am. I haven’t told him about the donkeys yet. That’ll be a leap for him. But I think he’ll get it. Eventually.”

  She spread her hands on the cloth covering the table, stroking it to smooth invisible wrinkles. When she looked up at him, he saw tears pooling in her eyes.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d said to draw up her sadness. He reached across the table and took her hands in his.

  “You’re lucky, Ryan. Lucky to have parents who see you, who get you, even if only a little bit. I don’t have that, not really.” She pulled her hands away and cupped them around her mug. “My mother is starting to come around, but my father is hopeless. It’s the world through his eyes or it’s not real.”

  He swept his arms open. “What could they possibly dislike about this place? It’s perfect.”

  “It’s not a place that either of my parents understand, it’s—”

  A banging on her back deck shocked them both to attention.

  Before either of them could move, Adam knocked loudly on the kitchen door. Ryan pulled back so that a cabinet blocked him from Adam’s view. He did it for her; having the town know that they were an item wouldn’t bother him a bit. His Jeep parked in front of her house was a pretty solid giveaway, but it was her choice to reveal their relationship, not his. Old Southern manners ran deep.

  “Just a minute,” Cara called out. She motioned Ryan into the living room. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting Adam back until next week.”

  Ryan lifted her hand to his mouth. Her little intake of breath as his lips touched her skin made leaving that much harder.

  “Will I see you at the community celebration this afternoon?”

  The hope in her eyes made his heart do a little dance, but he shook his head. “I have a game.”

  She pulled her hand away gently. Slowly.

  “Of course you do. You made me forget everything,” she said with a smile.

  “I’ll slip out the front.” He turned to grab his keys from where he’d left them near the TV.

  “Ryan.”

  He faced her, once again shoving down the urge to carry her back upstairs.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For more than you know.”

  “I’ll call you after the game,” he whispered. “We can pick up where we left off. But this time, I want to hear more about you.”

  As he climbed into his Jeep, the scenarios of a future with Cara leaped back to life. Spending his days with Cara West sounded like heaven. So did creating a future with a woman who blasted the doors off his world without even trying. A woman he could love, a woman he could trust. A woman he could build a life with.

  He wanted Cara more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone. He turned into the drive of his ranch, grinning and tapping the steering wheel. The choice to live in Albion Bay was looking better every day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Late in the afternoon of the day Ryan had made love to her, the day she’d confessed that she’d fallen in love with him, Cara had nearly finished weeding the last row of onions in the community garden when Molly walked up brandishing a glass of lemonade.

  She’d been letting her thoughts roam as she worked, replaying every moment of the morning, wondering what she was going to do about her feelings for Ryan.

  He hadn’t returned her sentiments, had seemed surprised she’d admitted them, though he hadn’t seemed shocked or frightened by her admission. Maybe it had simply been too soon for him. But she had to keep so much hidden, so much unsaid, that the emotion had demanded to be spoken.

  “All work and no play makes a girl stoop-backed,” Molly said with her characteristic throaty laugh. “I made this. My own lemons. See what you think.”

&nb
sp; Cara sipped the cool liquid. The sweet burst of citrus and mint slid into her. “It’s delicious.”

  “I don’t understand it, but it’s really true that the things we grow ourselves taste better than anything bought from a store. Except chocolate. ’Course, I’ve never tried to grow chocolate.”

  “It grows in pods. In the tropics. You’re safe from trying.”

  “Sam’s teachers gave him five-star reports today.”

  Cara heard the pride in Molly’s voice. She sometimes wondered what it was like to have a son who looked so much like his father, wondered if it made it harder for Molly to let go. David had been dead for four years, and she hadn’t even dated.

  “I heard you had quite a morning,” Molly said with a sly glint.

  Cara was still getting used to how fast news traveled in a small town. They hardly needed a newspaper; anything of the slightest interest made the gossip rounds before sunset.

  “My decks being finished?” Cara said, turning back to weeding the onions.

  “One Ryan Rea on early-morning rounds. C’mon, spill.”

  “I like him, Molly.”

  “Like is an overused word, but in this case it’s downright pathetic.”

  “He has a good heart.”

  “Cara. This is me you’re talking to. He has a hell of a lot more than a good heart.”

  “The good heart is enough.”

  Molly’s face changed from a smile to what looked like might turn into a flood of tears. Cara pressed up from her crouch and wrapped her arms around her.

  “Yeah,” Molly said between sobs. “A good heart.”

  Cara just held her. Her own grief for her grandfather wove into Molly’s for David. What was it about grief that made it easier to bear when you had someone to share it?

  Molly pressed away and wiped the back of her hand across her face.

  “We’ll be late for the party,” she said, pulling herself up and squaring her shoulders. “Those onions can wait.”

  They traipsed through the rows of carrots and the taller rows of deep green kale and reached the street. The people of Albion Bay loved any excuse for a party or a homespun parade. Today’s celebration was in honor of Mrs. Janis Petersen, the bee lady, who had turned ninety the weekend before.

  Cara trailed Molly into the community center meeting room. Someone had run crepe paper along the ceiling in festive rows, and a cake the shape of a beehive stood on a table in the center of the room. She and Molly strolled over to congratulate Mrs. Petersen.

  The old lady stood and waved everybody quiet. Then she took Cara by the arm.

  “This young lady has only been here for three years,” Mrs. Petersen said in her crackly voice. “That’s eighty-seven years fewer than me.” The crowd laughed. “But she’s a gem, she is, and well”—she turned to Cara and handed her a crumpled envelope thick with its contents—“this is for you, honey. We all chipped in. It isn’t much, but it should tide you over until you find a new job.”

  Blood rushed to Cara’s cheeks, and her legs felt rubbery.

  “I told them that at my age,” Mrs. Petersen continued, “a person doesn’t need any more gizmos. You’re a much better way to spend birthday money.”

  Cara’s cheeks flamed. She was both horrified and touched, but mostly horrified. What a web she had woven. She accepted the envelope and turned to the crowd. Most of them she knew, many of them fairly well. They thought they knew her well. Deception had never been her intention, but the heartfelt response of the community made it clear she had to craft a new path. She took a breath, unsure what to say. Ruining Mrs. Petersen’s party with a blundering confession was not the way forward. She looked down at the floor and tried to gather her thoughts.

  “For God’s sake, Janis, don’t embarrass the girl,” Perk shouted from the back of the room.

  Cara had never been so grateful for an intervention in her life.

  Belva started a chorus of Happy Birthday, and the celebration rolled on with cake cutting and the usual town conversation. Cara took the plate someone placed in her hand and made for a table in the back of the room. Several ladies Cara didn’t know sat at a nearby table, their backs to her. Within a few sentences they were deep in a conversation about Ryan.

  “He’s like those people you see on TV,” one of the elderly ladies said. “He doesn’t have real problems like normal folk.”

  “But he’s such an honest, straightforward guy,” the woman sitting next to her said. “You’ve got to love that about him. He could throw his status around, but he doesn’t.”

  Cara’s face flamed. She dipped her napkin in the glass of cold water she’d poured and patted it to her cheeks.

  “He’s just the kind of guy who would always tell you straight up where you stand,” the second woman elaborated. “I don’t have patience for lies, never did. What you see is what you get with that boy.”

  “What I see is not what I get,” the first woman said. The other ladies at the table tittered.

  Cara slipped out of her chair and edged to the door, grateful that all eyes were on Perk as he presented Mrs. Petersen with a mock key to the town.

  She had to get out of there. She needed to think, something she’d been doing far too little of lately. And she had to make some adjustments.

  When she returned home she saw the light flashing on her answering machine. She laid the envelope on the table beside it. She didn’t want to count the money. She wished she didn’t have the money. Every twenty-dollar bill represented a greater percentage of a townsperson’s income than she could bear to think about. The money in the white envelope was tangible evidence of a plan gone wrong. Very, very wrong.

  She pressed the button on the answering machine.

  “Cara? It’s Ryan. You’re probably still at the party. I just wanted to tell you what it meant to me, being with you today.” There was a hum of noise in the background and men shouting. “Hey, I’ll call back later.”

  She flicked the answering machine to answer on the first ring. She had a lot to sort out before she talked to Ryan. Before she talked to anyone.

  Later that night Cara bundled into the sweater Molly had given her and walked down to the beach north of the harbor docks. The moon cast a path of wavering light on the bay. The waves lapped at the beach in a slow, steady rhythm, a stark contrast to her darting thoughts.

  A breeze blew a cold wind across the bay, and she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth. She wasn’t ready for winter. And she sure wasn’t ready for what lay ahead.

  She’d have to return the money.

  And she’d have to own up to her deception.

  But she had some time; she had a little time. Maybe she could orchestrate a rollout that would temper the blow of revealing her identity. Yet whatever plan she cooked up wouldn’t work for everybody. Once word got out, a few searches online would reveal far more than she wished to. Worse, she had the feeling that those people she was closest to would likely take her deception the hardest. Molly and Cain and Belva, not to mention Perk. And she couldn’t bear to think about Ryan.

  And she still hadn’t decided what to do about the foundation. She wanted Bender out, but she didn’t want in.

  Back in her cabin, the chill had settled in and she gathered kindling to start a fire. When the phone rang, she jumped. She let it go to the machine.

  “Cara?” That Ryan always said her name with a question mark, as if someone else might be answering, made her smile. So many things about him made her smile.

  “I’m headed home. We won. Maybe you’re our new good luck charm. How about a hike on Monday? It’d have to be early. We fly out around two. Call me.”

  She knew from the way her heart ached as she listened to his voice that she’d let everything go too far.

  If she got her head on and figured out a plan, maybe then she could see Ryan again.

  But not before.

  Making love with Ryan, declaring her love for him, had just dug her in deeper, and if she kept seeing him,
there’d just be all that much more to shovel her way out of. But she’d concluded that it wasn’t in any way fair to dump her big revelation on him so close to the end of the season, not when the team was battling for the playoffs and he was so close to earning a Gold Glove. Ballplayers took their luck charms seriously. And though it sunk her to admit it, she was pretty sure he thought she was his. He’d just admitted to as much on the phone.

  She slumped into the chair at her desk, knowing what she had to do. Just like texting, email was a coward’s way out. But seeing him face-to-face, talking with him, would make controlling her voice, her face, impossible to do. He read faces well, too well. Even a phone message would give her away.

  She tapped at her keys and wrote and then revised and then deleted what she’d written. Even a coward’s way out wasn’t easy. In the end she just told him that she couldn’t see him just then, that she had some things she had to take care of and would be freed up in a few weeks.

  If she left the door open even a crack, she’d be back in his arms in an instant. And though every bit of her wanted that, she knew it was the worst thing she could do if she wanted a chance for any future with him.

  She sat back and read the message a fourth time; there just wasn’t any way to improve it. She hit Send and slumped down in her chair.

  Cara spent the better part of the next day tending to the garden behind her cabin. It had gone from romantically ill-kempt to downright overgrown. By two in the afternoon she’d made little progress. Her empty stomach finally drove her inside to raid the fridge. The irony that all she had was a Ziploc bag of frozen squash soup wasn’t lost on her.

  After her meal she washed the soup bowl and wiped down the table. Ryan’s mug sat where he’d left it. She sniffed at it, but all she smelled was the dark aroma of the dried dregs of coffee. She considered washing it, but couldn’t bring herself to wash away the last tangible bits of something he’d touched. The fragile mental state of a Brontë heroine came to mind, and she put her hands to her head. Maybe the road to madness started this simply, one bad decision following another until the snowball effect took over.