Cara pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it with shaking hands to Belva.
“I rehearsed scores of ways to say this to you”—she turned and looked back out at the crowd—“to all of you. But the simple truth is what you deserve.”
A murmur waved through the room.
“Unfortunately, sometimes... Well, maybe always, there’s nothing very simple about simple truths.” She turned back to Belva and pointed to the envelope.
“I’m returning the money that you all so generously raised for me and—”
“Oh, honey, for goodness’ sake, you don’t have to do that,” Belva said, stepping closer to Cara.
Cara held out her hand to keep Belva at arm’s length.
“But I do”—she pointed to the envelope again—“I do have to. In that envelope is not only the money I’m returning, but also a pledge for two million dollars for the clinic. From me.”
A few people clapped before a stunned silence fell over the room as what Cara said sank in.
For a simple woman, she had a flair for drama. But Ryan reminded himself that she wasn’t a simple woman. What she was, he was still trying to get a grip on. All night he’d imagined the life she must’ve come from. Embarrassment had wound through his feeling of betrayal as he’d remembered his foolish fear that she’d love him only for his money. He’d tried to dam up the burning feeling of shame, but it oozed through his defenses and squeezed hard, taunting him.
“I... I wanted to come out here and have a fresh start.”
She said it as though she’d been in prison and didn’t want people to know of her criminal past. Ryan crossed his arms and pushed back into his chair.
“I wanted to be accepted for who I am and what I could contribute.”
She wrung her hands in front of her and shut her eyes. Then she opened them and gestured to Belva.
“I will be forever grateful to have been a part of your lives here.”
She said it as if she was already gone, as if her life in Albion Bay was over.
People shifted in their seats, uncomfortable with the tone of her speech.
But he knew what was left for her to admit.
Though he sizzled with the anger he hadn’t tamed, some part of him wanted to leap up and go to her. He could only imagine the anxiety flooding her as she took a breath to go on.
“Next week, I will take my place as president of the Barrington Foundation, an institution whose sole purpose is to find individuals and groups and organizations who need money and then provide that money. It was my grandfather’s wish that I take over his position at the foundation after his death, take over his duties and follow up on his legacy. And though I fought stepping into his shoes, I know that since I share his vision and his values, I should be the one... I need to be the one...” She shook her head. “No, I want to be the one to carry on where he left off.” Her fingers tightened on the podium. “I want to continue the good work—the great work—he gave his life to.”
Her voice cracked, and Ryan thought she would cry. But instead she angled away from the mike to clear her throat before again looking over the group.
“I can’t turn my back on my responsibilities, and I can’t turn my back on him. I thought I could, I thought I had reason to, but I can’t. And because of his vision, because of his hard work and the careful and conscientious shepherding of his resources, I can provide the rest of the funding for the clinic.”
A few people clapped again, jarring into the silence of the room.
“I wanted to tell you before the news is announced in the national press next week.”
She put her hand to her throat; Ryan now recognized it was a gesture of fear.
“Maybe it was a coward’s way out, but I chose to hide my family’s wealth, my wealth, from all of you. I was afraid that you wouldn’t accept me. Or that you’d treat me like I was used to being treated back East.”
When the women in front of Ryan shifted, he did the same. He needed to see her face as she spoke. He needed to use all his senses, because he wasn’t sure his mind was getting the right message.
“My purpose for coming to Albion Bay three years ago was twofold. I needed to get away, away from poseurs and hangers-on, from the fake and the phony. But more than that, I needed to get away from those who only got close to me because of my money.”
She licked her lips and looked quickly, sightlessly, around the room.
“I had few friends, not many real ones. Not the kind who like you no matter how silly you are or who call you on your crap. No one called me on anything—they played up to me.
“But they didn’t know me. They didn’t... they didn’t care what was important to me. I was just a piggy bank to them. Men and women wanted to be with me, be seen with me, Caroline Barrington, but not Cara. They wanted the dividends that the association with me and my family name brought them.
“And no, I’m not boasting; my name carries value. I know that quite well.”
She pushed herself upright. “But no one gave a damn about me, the woman who likes to harvest vegetables and tell silly jokes and drive a-a rickety b-bus.”
Held in place by her words and by the feelings those words were lancing through him, Ryan knew he’d be late, but he couldn’t move. He looped his hands around his neck so he wouldn’t check his watch.
“I know that sounds selfish, poor little rich girl with no friends. But it was hell. Hell to live without trust.”
She tipped her chin down and then lifted it suddenly. Her eyes were glassy. Even from the back of the room Ryan could see the tears backed up in them. She waved her hand out toward the crowd.
“You know friendship. And you know love, real love. I see it every day in your faces and in your words and in your actions. I wanted to live with that same kind of friendship and love.
“And so my second reason for coming here was to reach out for that friendship. I wanted to have friends. I wanted to be a friend. I wanted... God, I just wanted to be Cara. To be a part of everyday life here, with all of you.”
The spell of stunned silence broke as people began whispering. Ryan heard shock in their voices. But worse, he heard small-mindedness and a sense of betrayal lacing through some of their words, the same small-mindedness and sense of betrayal that had made him act like a jerk.
They’d thought she was one of them. They hadn’t had a long, restless night to think things over. They hadn’t had an opportunity to look Cara up on the Internet and find out that she was one of the richest women in the world, to think about what could drive a person to do such a difficult and desperate thing as to hide her identity, to run from wealth.
He’d had time to think it over. And it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference.
And just acknowledging that made him want to laugh at his whacked-out responses. He apparently wanted the town to forgive her while he nursed his grudge and felt righteously offended.
But as he stared at her, and saw—hell, felt—her dammed-up tears, the angry thoughts and negative emotions he’d wrestled with started to dissolve in the face of her sincerity.
“I’ve taken up too much of your time,” she said over the continuing murmurs. She looked out over the room, and her eyes met his. What she saw, he couldn’t guess, but even at a distance he saw the tears begin to spill down her face before she turned away.
“I understand that many of you may be angry with me.” She wiped at the tears with her sleeve. “And of course you should be. I expected, demanded, trust from you, but I didn’t extend it. I just assumed...” She angled toward someone in the front row. “Molly... Molly, I’m so sorry.”
Molly stood, but she didn’t move near Cara or step away. She stood with both arms wrapped around her body, watching and listening. From behind her, Ryan couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“And even if none of you forgive me, I want all of you to know that being here, working beside you and living in the heart of this town, has shown me love in action. For that, and for your a
cceptance of me, a stranger, I thank you. I won’t forget your lessons and your welcome.”
Without fanfare, she turned and walked out the door she’d come in.
Ryan dashed out to the parking lot and saw her pull away. He knew better than to follow her, but he sure didn’t want to stick around to hear more of the townspeople’s reactions to her revelations. His own blistering, conflicted reaction was enough to deal with. And he didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions: Had he known? Had he suspected? What did he think? He’d probably punch somebody.
As he crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and drove toward the stadium, it struck him that other than her words to Molly, she hadn’t said she was sorry, hadn’t apologized. She’d just given the reasons for her choices and left. He had to admire her for that.
To Ryan’s surprise, he played well against the Dodgers. Focusing on the game kept his mind from racing out of control.
The team had one of those nights that felt orchestrated. Matt Darrington made a barehanded grab at short that would’ve taken Ryan’s fingers off. That the guy pivoted and fired it home had Ryan cheering in the outfield. When Scotty got a base hit in the sixth, it had everybody jazzed. He couldn’t help but laugh at the bemused look on the Dodgers’ first baseman’s face as Scotty landed on the bag. No one expected pitchers to hit well; not many could hit at all. Maybe he’d get Scotty in the cage over the winter so his hits wouldn’t be such a rare occurrence. All night guys made plays that stretched them to the limit and thrilled the crowd. It was like there was something in the air, but only he and his teammates could harness it. The Dodgers had to suck up the loss and scratch their heads.
After the game, he cornered Alex in the clubhouse.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
Alex pressed his lips together. “I already heard about the town meeting. One of Jackie’s volunteers filled her in.”
“Cara didn’t trust me.”
“Should she have trusted you?” Alex pulled his jersey over his head and balled it in his hands. “Money makes for some major complications.”
“Right. I’m still getting used to that part.”
Since he’d signed the big contract with the Giants, Ryan had had to shut down his social media accounts. Women were offering him embarrassing things. Women who had no idea who he was, what he cared about, what plans he had for his life. And not only women. People he didn’t know were asking for money for this and that, sharing their laundry lists of needs. Now that he’d had a taste of the craziness big money could bring, he’d begun to understand Cara’s unenviable position. She and her team would have to be wise and knowledgeable to avoid getting ripped off. Hell, they’d need to have armor just to keep the unscrupulous at a distance.
Alex crossed his arms. “If you’d known about her situation, would you have pursued her?” He gave Ryan the hawk-like stare he was famous for, the stare that put fear into the hearts of even the most hardened veteran pitchers. “If you’d known she was richer than the Queen of England, would you have danced with her, dated her, allowed yourself to fall for her?”
“Cara never felt like a choice. It was like some power rearranged me and nothing made sense but each step to win her.”
Alex raised a brow and nodded. “I get that. Sounds familiar. Real familiar.” He rocked back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “It’s called love, Ryan. But don’t shoot the messenger.”
Hearing a tough-ass slugger like Alex say the word love shocked reality into him. He cleared his throat, wishing he could clear his mind.
“Got some making up to do?”
“I think I burned all my bridges,” Ryan admitted.
“I don’t picture you as a quitter.” Alex turned to his locker and proceeded to finish stripping. “And sometimes anger is the only thing that burns through our thick-headed ability to fool ourselves,” he added. “Especially when it comes to women.”
Ryan drove by Cara’s place after the game. There were no lights on, and her car wasn’t there. He idled at the end of her drive and then decided morning would be a better time to talk with her. Long ago he’d made a vow not to have difficult conversations after dark; they never turned out well for anyone. But as he sat staring out the window of his Jeep, his thoughts spun out of control. Maybe she’d been in an accident. Maybe someone had heard the news and had kidnapped her and was holding her for ransom. Maybe she was in the arms of some rich guy who shared all the elements of her world.
He slammed his palms against the steering wheel and pulled back onto the highway.
Maybe he was a nut job and needed to get some sleep.
Chapter Twenty-six
The sound of a heavy truck pulling into his drive woke Ryan. His housekeeper had turned his clock so he couldn’t see the LED numbers in the dark. He banged his knee on his dresser as he fumbled for his jeans, then he grabbed at the clock. Five thirty. Who the hell was making a delivery at that hour? It couldn’t be the feed store; they’d delivered the week before. He jammed his legs into his jeans and yanked a shirt over his head.
“Mr. Rea?”
Ryan nodded at the wiry man standing on his front deck.
The man tilted his head in the direction of the truck. “Got some mighty tired donkeys for you.”
Ryan squinted at the truck. “You’re a week early.”
“Didn’t know that.” The man scraped off his cap. Ryan saw the exhaustion puckering the skin around his eyes. “The rescue center was supposed to tell you I was on my way.”
Though Ryan would’ve liked to have had the week to take care of a few final details, there was no use busting the guy’s chops. And though he’d planned to head to Cara’s first thing that morning, he’d have to help the guy settle the animals in first.
“Then let’s get on with it. Want some coffee?”
“Only if you have a to-go cup.” The man nodded again toward the truck. “I think we’d better get those animals into the barn.” He paused and appeared to be assessing Ryan. “You see, little Liza—she’s my favorite—well, she’s about to foal. Any minute.”
Ryan wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
“Now?”
The man nodded, reminding Ryan of a poorly constructed bobblehead. A bobblehead who’d just told him one of his newly adopted donkeys was about to give birth.
“The barn’s open,” Ryan said. “It’s the one on the right. I’ll be right there.”
He slid into his boots and grabbed his gloves from the table beside the door. He picked up the pan of coffee he’d left on the stove the day before. It looked worse than cowboy coffee and it was cold, but it’d have to do. He poured two mugs and raced to the barn.
They glugged the cold coffee and set their mugs onto the gravel drive. Then he helped the man—Gus Thompson—guide the donkeys to the stalls. He’d spread hay in the feed troughs the day before, and the donkeys began consuming it with gusto.
“I’ll need your help to coax Liza from her spot. Once a jenny picks a birthing spot, it’s hard to get her to move.”
The little donkey left the truck easily enough, but Ryan saw that her steps were labored. They led her to the closest empty stall. Ryan spread straw in a corner of the stall, studied it, and then spread some more. He latched the gate, just to make sure she didn’t bolt. Not that she looked like bolting.
“She won’t give a fuss,” Gus said. “She’s a good girl.”
Liza let out a sharp, high-pitched bray.
“That sound usually means they’re lonely or there’s a predator nearby.” The man studied the donkey. “Or she’s due any minute.”
The little donkey paced circles along the back wall.
“She don’t look right to me,” Gus said. “You have a vet in this town? I’m decent at wrangling but know next to nothing about all this.”
Ryan reached for his cellphone. In his haste he’d left it on the table beside his bed.
“I’ll call from the house. But just in case, I’ll bring towels and some sheets.”
“You know something about foaling?”
His surprise rankled, but was understandable.
“I grew up on a ranch, so I know a little. But probably not enough.”
Ryan raced to the house and called Laird. He cursed when Laird’s answering machine picked up. He was probably out tending to some medical emergency in town. Ryan left a message urging him to get over to the ranch as soon as he could.
Then he raced down the hall to the linen closet and grabbed an armful of towels and sheets.
“Mighty nice towels, Mr. Rea,” the man said when Ryan opened the gate to the stall. “Mighty nice place all around.”
“My name’s Ryan.”
Liza let out another bray, this one weaker and sounding more pathetic.
“Is the vet coming?”
“No answer.”
Gus patted Liza’s neck. “Something’s not right—donkeys are stoic animals. They almost never show pain.”
Liza lay down and stayed down. She rolled from side to side, braying. Ryan wished he could do something to help her pain. Avoiding her kicking legs, he knelt and lifted her tail. And his heart sank in his chest.
Instead of the bluish-white membrane of the amnion, a ballooned, red membrane extended from her.
“The membrane didn’t break,” he said to Gus, trying not to sound panicked.
“The what?”
“She’s red-bagging—it’s premature placental separation. The membrane separates from the uterus, depriving the foal of the oxygen supply. Because the foal is still inside, within the membrane, it can’t breathe. It could suffocate.”
Ryan didn’t bother taking the time to roll his sleeves. He used the strength of his hands to rip through the bag, plunged through the gush of blood and heat, groped past the hooves and latched on to the head of the foal.
“C’mon, baby, hang in there.” Ryan’s heart slammed against his ribs as he wrapped his hands around the back of the foal’s skull. At least the baby was positioned right, with its head between its front hooves, poised like a swimmer about to dive into the world.
Love on the Line Page 24
