by Tessa Layne
He nodded. “You’ve met Marki and Rock before, but let me introduce the rest of the guys.”
One by one, she met the team and waved Travis and the others over. “Alex, let me introduce to you the founder of Resolution Ranch, Travis Kincaid.”
Travis stepped up, offering his hand with an easy smile. “It’s an honor to meet you. Thank you so much for all you’re doing for us.”
“The honor is ours. Believe me. My cousin is still at Walter Reed, or he’d be here too. We need more organizations like yours, doing tangible, meaningful work with veterans.”
“You’re helping us get started on the right foot,” Travis answered. “And let me know when your cousin is ready to join us. We’ll keep a space for him.”
Emma looked at the clock she’d attached to the clipboard. “We have an hour until the official event. Our diner won’t be up and running until May 1st, but a little birdie told me there’s special breakfast and orange juice waiting for all the players over at the food truck. Why don’t we head that direction? Once you’ve eaten, you can toss the ball before we have the official autograph session.”
“I’ll take them over,” Travis offered.
“Sounds great.” Alex gave her a side hug and took off after Travis.
Sensing eyes on her, Emma turned her head to catch Sterling shooting daggers at Alex’s back. She pushed away a hysterical sob. He’d given up all right to be jealous this morning. She’d done nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing that she wouldn’t have done if Sterling was right by her side and things had gone differently. “How is everyone this morning?” she forced herself to say brightly as the quartet passed.
Jason cocked his head at her, looking at her quizzically. “Great. Slept like a baby.”
“Glad to hear it.” Her voice felt brittle. Thin. Sterling focused on something far away, barely acknowledging her. Thank God for her sunglasses. She turned to the man in sunglasses. He was shorter than she’d imagined. Barely six feet by her estimation, and trim, but more slender than Sterling. He had the air of a man who lived an easy life. She extended her hand. “And you must be Trace? Thank you so much for joining us today. It means so much that you want to help our cause.
He flashed her a brilliant white smile. “Happy to help. Jason has become a good friend of mine, and anytime I can use my reputation to give back, I’m happy.”
His words rang true, and Emma relaxed a fraction. “I hope you enjoy yourself this weekend.”
He gave her hand a final squeeze. “I plan on it. I love the lodge. I’d love to come back another time. Get to know the area.”
Excitement flushed her cheeks. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure Brodie and Jamey would be thrilled to have you.”
“Maybe you could show me around.”
Was he flirting? A flash of anger burned through her. She should flirt back. Let Sterling see what he was missing. She flicked a quick glance at Sterling. He stood stony-faced, eyes fixed on the horizon. Not even looking at her. It was like she no longer existed. Emma’s stomach hollowed. She wanted to scream. Hit him, pound on his chest until he came to his senses. But if she did that, she’d be as weak as her mother. Letting him go was her only choice, even though the thought of it took her breath away. She let out a little laugh, shaking her head. “Sorry. I no longer live at the ranch. But I’m sure we can find someone if you’re interested.”
Jason clapped Trace on the back. “Come on, let’s get breakfast. The paparazzi are starting to circle like sharks. We’ve got to keep moving. You coming too, Emma?”
She shook her head, and turned for her car. “No. I’ve a few last-minute items to take care of before the game starts.”
Autopilot kicked on, and she pushed her feelings aside as she slipped into event mode. By the time the team and visiting veterans trickled back, everything was set. From the banner for the photo-ops to the table showing off raffle prizes, every detail on her pages of lists had been checked off. She approached a group of photographers dragging big telephoto lenses, video cameras and microphones. These guys made her skin crawl. They embodied the worst of the press, and she’d do what she could to mitigate their presence today. “Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Emma Sinclaire. I’m handling media for this event.”
One burly photographer, smelling of cigarettes, stepped forward. “We have every right to be here.”
“No one’s disputing that. But I want to make sure everyone has a pleasant time today,” she said firmly. “First and foremost, this is a fundraiser for an organization helping injured veterans. Everyone here today has given money to support the work of Resolution Ranch.” She pulled off her sunglasses, looking each of the slime bags in the eye. Today of all days, she was in no mood to take their crap. “Trace McBride and the Kansas City Kings are here for the veterans, their families, and the fans who have donated to Resolution Ranch. You do not have the right to interrupt them when they are speaking to the public. You must maintain a respectful distance and respect their desire for privacy. You may not take pictures of minors, and you must ask permission to take a photo of any non-celebrity. Do I make myself clear?”
A couple photographers grumbled, but mostly they nodded their assent. “Of course, if you feel so inspired to make a donation to the ranch, you are welcome to do so. We would welcome your support.” She gave them a cold smile and turned for the ball field.
“Hey, Goldilocks,” a voice behind her called.
Whirling, she sought the owner of the voice. When she made eye-contact with him, instinctively, she knew he was the kind of sleaze bag who’d sell out his grandmother. She marched right up to him. “I have a name. Use it. Or I’ll be happy to have security invite you to find another celebrity to stalk.”
A few of the men on either side of him snickered, and she raked her gaze imperiously over the lot of them. “Any other questions?” she snapped. “Good.” She replaced her sunglasses and marched back to where the players were grouped together, adrenaline pumping. It might be the only armor she had today, but she’d use it.
Alex flashed her a look of concern. “You okay? You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s balls off.”
“I’m fine. I don’t know how you guys do it, living in a fishbowl.”
He grinned at her. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks.”
“I guess so. Everyone ready?”
After the high school choir sang the national anthem, Emma introduced the line-up and Travis. “Be generous today, ladies and gentlemen. We have the opportunity to make a big difference in the lives of men and women who’ve put their lives on the line for us. Please give a big thank you to our servicemen and women.” She loved that Cassidy Grace was playing for the Army side. Sneaking a look at Sterling, even he wore a smile as the crowd jumped to their feet. And Jason Case wasn’t the only veteran playing with a prosthetic. A man playing for Navy had a prosthetic arm. According to a very pregnant Elaine, some of the players today would be returning in a month to become the first class of Resolution Ranch Veterans. Six weeks of horse training, farrier and farm work, concluded by a six-hundred-mile trek following the Santa Fe trail. At one point, she’d considered volunteering to be trail support, but no more. The proximity to Sterling would be too painful.
The game started off with Weston Tucker first at bat for Navy. Crack. On the second pitch, he sent a ball flying over the fence. Score one for Navy, and with it came the salty talk.
The fans loved it, responding with their own Army vs. Navy cheers. In spite of the black cloud and the beginnings of a migraine hanging over her, it cheered her to see so many people she loved wearing smiles, relaxing, and obviously having a good time.
By the fourth inning, the teams were tied two-two with Army at bat, zero outs, and a runner at second. Sterling walked up to bat, making a show of getting ready to swing as Salvador Márquez, “Marki”, gave him pointers from his position as catcher.
Forgetting herself, she yelled as Sterling took a swing and made contact with the ball sending it into left
field. “Go, go, go!” she screamed as Sterling rounded first base and held up at second. Score another for Army.
“Sure you don’t want to double down, Frogman?” Sterling hollered at Travis, who had moved to play outfield.
Travis threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “Game ain’t over yet, my friend. Just remember who’s come out on top fifteen of the last sixteen years. Navy always beats Army.”
The crowd and the pros loved the banter between the two teams. They were evenly matched, and it made for exciting ball. During the seventh inning stretch, Emma made a final plea. “Don’t forget, Trace McBride is over at the raffle table autographing raffle tickets and spreading a little luck of the Irish. After the game, the players and veterans will be around to sign autographs and take pictures. Then we’ll look forward to seeing you out on the ranch on May 1st for high stakes poker, a concert and fireworks. Thanks again for supporting our veterans.”
The rest of the game flew by in a blur, and the knot of tension screaming between Emma’s shoulder blades only released when the bus pulled away. All she wanted was to drive home and curl up under a blanket and sleep for a week. But at least it was over. And she had a month to gear up for the final fundraiser. After that, she’d refer Travis to a coworker. One of the junior execs would hop all over this. She slipped into the driver’s seat, pressing her fingers to her temples trying to ease the band of pain squeezing her head. But it was only when she glanced over to where she’d left her bag with her phone and iPad on the passenger seat that the jewel in the crown of this craptastic day winked up at her. Some asshole had stolen her bag.
CHAPTER 26
Jason strolled into the Foreman’s office ahead of Sterling. “Emma joining us for dinner?”
Following him, Sterling grunted.
“I take it that’s a no?” Jason walked through the living area, past the place where the vision of Emma in red stilettos and lacy lingerie was imprinted on Sterling’s brain, past the arm of the couch he’d bent her over and said every dirty thing she’d asked him to while fucking her until they both collapsed, and out onto the deck where the splintered remains of the Adirondack chair were scattered. Jason stopped and whistled, surveying the scene, then gave him a flinty stare. “I take it you fucked up the apology?”
Sterling squirmed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You’re not half the man I thought you were. Didn’t she realize he was saving her from future despair? Sure, it might hurt now. But not like it would if they’d… if they’d married and had children.
The image of Emma holding her nephew swam before him. The way she bent to say hello to Sophie. She’d make a great mother. For someone else. So why did it feel like he was being skinned alive?
Jason’s voice was as hard as his eyes. “Spill.”
He shook his head, and picked up a piece of the broken chair, chucking it as far as he could. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And I’m not leaving until you do.” Jason’s voice rose. “You were a douchebag today. Barely civil to Alex Jordan and you about ripped Trace’s head off when he commented about Emma. Something happened and you’re going to fucking spill even if I have to beat it out of you.”
Sterling glared at his best friend. “You wouldn’t.”
Jason crossed his arms, a muscle twitching high on his cheek. “Don’t test me.”
He glowered at Jason for a long moment. He could walk away, but Jason would take him down. He’d seen him take on his brothers before. The Case men weren’t afraid to use their fists when talking failed. But he wasn’t going to punch the man he loved like a brother. No fucking way.
The fight left him and he flopped into the remaining Adirondack chair, dropping his head into his hands. He swore he could still detect the lingering aroma of Emma’s perfume. “I fell apart last night,” he mumbled.
Jason’s prosthetic scraped against the brick. “Come again?”
“I fell apart last night,” he snapped. “I fucking lost it in front of Emma. I kicked the chair. I sobbed like a baby. The whole nine yards.”
“And?”
“And what?” his voice cracked. “That’s bad enough.”
“Not bad enough for you to be an asshole today. What happened between you and Emma?”
Guilt beaded at his neck, like a string of pearls, one by one squeezing off his air. He shook his head.
“Did she laugh?”
“No.”
“Did she call you a pussy?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you to man up?” She’d definitely done that, but not in the context Jason implied. “What did she do?”
Sterling rubbed his face. “Anyone tell you that you should’ve been a JAG lawyer?”
Jason laughed dryly. “Once or twice. Answer my question.”
“She was great. She was everything.”
“So you found it necessary to be an asshat to the woman you’ve been crazy about for years? What the fuck for?”
“You seriously have to ask?” Sterling looked at Jason incredulously. Why was he being so obtuse? The answer was as plain as the nose on his face.
“Yes. I do,” Jason bit out, clearly at the end of his patience. “Because I seriously want to punch your lights out, and unless you give me good reason not to, someone needs to woodshed your ass.”
Sterling stood. “Look at Macey.” He pointed in the direction of the Sinclaire Ranch. “You wanna know why I told Emma to go away? Take a good fucking look at Macey. She’s a wreck, and she has to raise Sophie all alone.”
“Not alone. She has us.”
“From a distance. And you know what I mean. I’m not going to do to Emma what Johnny did to Macey. No fucking way.”
“So you quit her now as opposed to later.”
“Yeah.” He hated that Jason put it that way.
“Broke her heart now, instead of maybe breaking it someday.”
“I didn’t break her heart,” Sterling said defiantly. He couldn’t break her heart. She didn’t love him. Nevertheless, a tendril of doubt crept into his thoughts.
“Did you even look at her once today? She looked like someone had died.”
His neck burned. “I didn’t need to look at her. Alex Jordan and Trace were all over her.”
Jason’s fist connected with his jaw in a flash of ear-ringing pain. Sterling staggered back. “OW. What in the hell was that for?”
Jason shook out his hand and paced the length of the patio. “You’ve had that coming all day, dumbass. Do I have your attention now?”
Sterling nodded once.
“To recap. You had Emma over last night with the intention of apologizing. Which you did… sort-of. It ended with you having a breakdown, and Emma telling you that it was okay. That you were okay.”
“But I’m not okay.”
“Shut-up.” Jason resumed his pacing. “Then at some point this morning, you told her to get lost out of some misguided idea that you were sparing her from future pain.”
Sterling studied his shoes.
“Dude. That is some kind of fucked-up. I hope Travis has a shrink because, man, you need some serious couch time.”
Shame licked up his spine.
Jason’s voice softened a fraction. “Have you talked to anyone about Johnny’s death? Besides me?”
“My parents.”
“Someone who has experience dealing with grief? A pastor? A shrink? A superior officer?”
“Like I’d talk to an S.O. after my injury? They said I wasn’t fit for the Rangers anymore.”
“You’re not, and you know it.” He gestured to his leg. “I’m not either. Shit happens. Are you going to move on or stay stuck?”
Sterling fisted his hands on his hips. “God you sound just like Emma.”
Jason laughed harshly. “Then you really are an idiot and I like her even more. You know why Johnny went the way he did? He stayed stuck. He bottled it up and didn’t talk to anyone. Not even Macey. You don’t want
to be like Johnny? Start talking. With me, with Emma if she’ll ever speak to you again, with Macey or Travis or the other guys at the ranch. Or a shrink. Someone. Because I guarandamntee you that if you stay stuck… If you don’t move forward… I’m gonna be throwing dirt on your coffin, too.”
CHAPTER 27
Emma pushed back from her desk with a groan. Fresh air. Fresh air would clear her head. Help her chase the cobwebs away so she could think. Grabbing her sweater, she made her way to the rooftop garden that sat atop Royal Fountain’s building at Sixteenth and Main.
The week had crawled by, punctuated only by the hassle of purchasing a new phone, and remotely shutting off the stolen devices. Wherever they were now, they’d be nothing more than paperweights. The worst? The most heart-wrenching confirmation that Sterling meant every word he’d spoken to her? His silence.
Emma sighed heavily as she pushed through the doors and into the late morning sun. The spring air was ripe with possibility. A riot of color exploded from several large planters near the balcony. Hyacinths, tulips, and a few late daffodils remained, scattered among the Japanese maples and weeping cherries. Dropping to a bench in her favorite corner, she leaned her head back and let the sun kiss her face. Maybe if she stayed here long enough the ice cube that had taken up residence in her chest would melt.
Sleep pulled at her. She’d forced herself into a brutal schedule of sixteen-hour days, working round the clock to catch up with clients and projects she’d neglected over the last three months while she’d devoted her energy to Resolution Ranch. She should feel proud that her efforts, combined with Sterling’s, were closing in on the half-million-dollar mark. Instead, she ached.
Her muscles ached when she dragged herself out of bed in the mornings, groggy from poor sleep. Her face ached from smiling. She’d avoided talking to her family because she couldn’t talk about the ranch without spilling her guts, and the last thing she wanted was for her brothers to “have a talk” with Sterling. She couldn’t make him want her. Even now, the vision of his face, tight and cold, brought tears to her eyes. He’d been so swift, so unequivocal in his rejection. “Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all,” she muttered to herself. Stupid axiom. Tennyson had obviously never had his heart stomped to pieces.
