Love on the Line (13 page)

Ryan pulled back and searched her face. Then he brushed his fingertips against her cheek. His breaths came quickly, though she noted that he tried to control them.

“You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met.” His voice was velvet. She could slide along the nap of it and into bliss. “So straightforward. So happy in your life. So beautiful.”

Straightforward.

The word cut into her and, like a genie returning to its bottle, thought rushed back in. He was looking for someone to share his life, she could feel it. With all her heart she wished she could be that woman.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

She pushed up onto her elbows and wiggled back, away from him and sat up. He reached out and circled his fingers around both wrists.

“I have to get back.” Those were certainly the hardest five words she’d ever uttered. But they were necessary words.

He didn’t release her, but his grip softened.

“Really. I have to... ”

She couldn’t come up with an excuse and didn’t feel like lying. She moved to him. He wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head against his chest and felt the pounding of his heart under her cheek. And wished she could stay right there, held by him, and forget the world.

He tracked his hand to the small of her back and then up to her shoulder blade, rested it there, held her.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “I can’t say I want you to go, but I understand if that’s what you want to do.”

She nodded against his chest, then closed her eyes and let herself feel the warmth of him, the strength of him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted. She wanted him, but the timing was all wrong.

Timing? No, what stood between them was more than timing. She braced herself and pulled away. If circumstances were different, he’d be the sort of man she could love. But she needed to put those thoughts out of her mind. She might be able to have a taste, but that was all. The memory of their time together would generate many good feelings she wouldn’t have to work very hard at sinking into, holding on to, calling up. But at the edge of her awareness she knew there would be pain. Pain for what wasn’t, for what wouldn’t be allowed to grow. She cursed the fates that brought her such a man, a man looking for the woman she fought to be, wanted to be, but wasn’t.

She’d cut it off now, before either of them got too involved.

He held her hand as they walked back to her car. She was relieved that he didn’t force any explanation. Perhaps he was more patient than he’d admitted. Whatever the reason, she was grateful. What she would’ve said, she had no idea. And what she wanted to say, she couldn’t.

He opened her car door and held it as she slid behind the wheel. He draped his arm along the roof of the car and leaned in—close, but not too close. The man was a good judge of distance.

She tilted her head and studied him. Perhaps she wasn’t at the helm, as she’d thought she was. It occurred to her that Ryan Rea could be a formidable force if he set his mind to it.

“Maybe I can come over and see the work that guy has done on your place,” he said with a slow, curving smile. “We can watch a game. I have a night off and don’t have to travel.”

Could any woman resist him? Could she?

“I don’t have a TV,” she said. She should’ve said no outright, but didn’t want to. And as she watched his smile widen, as if he hid a delightful secret, she couldn’t have said no anyway.

“That’s no deal breaker. Monday evening, around six?” he said. “You can tell me more about this
ramping up the good
practice of yours.”

She nodded.

She should absolutely be saying no, but there was no way she was going to. Not yet. Not when she knew the pulse of energy, the carried-away feeling that she’d heard and read about, the feeling of falling for someone beyond her wildest imagination. She wasn’t going to cut it off. Not just yet. She had time.

He lifted her hand from where it rested on the steering wheel and brushed a kiss to it.

“I’ll bring dinner,” he said. “And just in case your schedule frees up, I’ll send tickets for the game on Sunday.”

“No, I really can’t,” she said in as firm a voice as she could muster.

Her father’s golf partner was a part owner of the Giants. With her luck, she’d run smack into him or another of her father’s clubby friends before she found her seat in the stadium. Word of her presence would spread and fast. Her father’s cronies in the Bay area would pelt him with questions and try to locate her to match her up with their playboy sons and get their hooks into her fortune. Her father never saw it that way. To him they were all Good Prospects. Stand-Up Young Men. He was beyond oblivious.

Nope. Public events in the city were strictly off her list.

“I’ll send them anyway,” Ryan countered.

No guy should be allowed to have a grin like that. It melted what little resistance she held on to.

He closed her car door, and then patted the side of the car and stepped back. “Just in case,” he added.

In her rearview mirror she saw him watch as she drove out of the gate.

The buzz of adrenaline and jitters and outright delight moving through her—each wave a stronger pulse than the last—told her Ryan Rea was indeed more than her defenses could handle, more than her well-planned-out life would bear.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t handle trying to make a relationship work when she had to hide herself. She wanted to be free and open with Ryan, but she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to maintain her anonymity. Not if she wanted to continue the life she loved in Albion Bay.

So not only would she skip the game, she’d call him and tell him not to come on Monday.

He waved as she pulled out onto Highway One.

And she waved back.

Though she didn’t feel like smiling, the smile came of its own accord.

Calling him would be too risky; she’d fall prey to his charming ways. And it wouldn’t take much for her heart to leap across her careful boundaries on a mission of its own.

She’d text him.

A coward’s way out, but a way out all the same.

Chapter Ten

Ryan stood in center field and took in the stunning September afternoon. On days like this, the stadium was a little piece of paradise. Light reflected up off the Bay into the sky, the chilling fog parked miles out at sea and the energy of forty thousand people, all happy to be out for the game, rippled so strong in the air he could almost touch it.

He turned his attention back to the game.

Scotty had struck out the first two Padres batters, but their slugger, Vincente, was at the plate.

Vincente took the first pitch, and Ryan smiled to himself. It’d been a perfect pitch to hit.

But the sound as the guy hit into the heart of the ball on the next pitch was one Ryan preferred not to hear. He’d dubbed it the “Home Run Anthem.” Every batter liked to hear it when they were at the plate, but to a fielder, that sound meant trouble.

Ryan traced the arc of the ball as he raced back toward the center field wall and leaped. He closed his glove around the ball as his shoulder slammed into the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

He slid down the wall, ignoring the pain and gripping the ball. The Giants needed to win this game if they were to keep their lead in the division.

Pain was part of the price of winning.

The roar of the crowd as he stood and fired the ball to Matt Darrington, their shortstop, took his mind off the searing pulse in his shoulder.

He jogged to the dugout, grabbed his batting helmet and walked to the on-deck circle. Aderro stood ready in the batter’s box, eyeing the pitcher.

Ryan took a couple of cautious swings and felt the pull in his shoulder and ribs. Still functioning, but he’d be mighty sore in the morning. He took the doughnut off his bat and hacked a couple of swings without it. Better, but still not right. Good thing tomorrow was an off day.

A day off that included a night with Cara West.

He took another swing and glanced over to the section he’d sent her tickets for. The two seats were empty. He should’ve known; she’d been pretty clear about not making the game.

But he’d hoped.

Funny thing about her, she whipped up his hope. Hell, she whipped up more than his hope.

Kissing Cara had rocked him. She’d pulled away, but there’d been no ambivalence in her kiss. He’d heard that if anything predicted the destiny of a relationship, it was the kiss. A man could tell worlds about a woman from kissing her. The vibe that pulsed between him and Cara told him he wanted more. After their kisses yesterday, he’d had to walk the perimeter of the ranch just to calm the hard-on that kissing her had fired. But the walk on his ranch hadn’t dissolved the images he’d had late into the night of getting her under him in his bed.

He’d have to be patient.

And careful.

At this point in his life he wanted more than a cautious fling. And though he was pretty sure she wasn’t interested in him for his money, he had to play that line with caution too. He cursed the black claws of cynicism that tore at his thoughts and made him distrust. But he couldn’t deny the power of the lens it forced him to look through, a lens that made him second-guess motivations, friendships, even business transactions. And women.

But Cara was a straight shooter, the kind of person who’d say what was on her mind. And her simplicity was a welcome contrast to the world he navigated every day.

And she was damn gorgeous, in spite of the fact she didn’t do much to show off her beauty. He liked that too. No pretense with a woman like her; he could be himself around her. Some things about her had fired off a few fleeting warning signals, but that was just part of getting to know someone; sometimes the surprises made unwrapping the package more enticing.

And he really liked what she’d told him about her practice of ramping up the good. It made sense, he’d just never thought about it before.

The idea that he might improve his game
and
his life by trying to hold on to good experiences was like a light dawning on a distant horizon.

He shut his eyes and closed out the sounds of the stadium, focused on calling up a good experience. He leaned in to kiss her, to taste her lips and—

The guttural call of the umpire as he called a third strike on Aderro snapped Ryan back to the game. Aderro cursed under his breath and stormed to the dugout. Catchers didn’t like to go down looking. Hell, nobody did.

That’d be an experience in the negative column.

Ryan stepped into the batter’s box. He watched a clean strike go by him. He wasn’t one to go after the first pitch; he liked to see what the guy on the mound had. The pitcher wound up, and Ryan felt power surge through him as he connected and hooked the ball down the left-field line. Though Johnson dug the ball out of the corner and made a good throw to second, Ryan beat it out without having to slide. He liked a good solid double. But he liked triples and home runs even better.

He caught his breath. And thanked the heavens that the drive for excellence didn’t have to always be a fight—a discipline, yes, and a struggle and a balancing act, but not always a fight. Since he’d met Cara West, his game had improved and the nightmares had vanished. He didn’t need a psychic to tell him it wasn’t a coincidence.

After the game, which they won, the locker room was full of raucous celebrating. They were one step closer to the playoffs.

“Good blast,” Alex Tavonesi said as he walked past Ryan and headed for his own locker.

Ryan’s triple in the seventh had given the Giants the lead. And maybe put the icing on the contract his agent was negotiating for his future with the team. Now that he had the ranch, had plans for it, he wanted to land the six-year deal. He needed the funds if he was going to maintain the ranch as the sanctuary he dreamed of. A fifty-million-dollar contract would do just fine.

Having the ranch in his life had put solid ground under his feet and had given him a focus outside the game. And creating the donkey sanctuary made him feel he was contributing. Not that playing a good game wasn’t giving back, but all he had to do was look around him to know that the guys who had something to fall back on after they left the game were the happiest. And he wasn’t the sort to open a sports bar in some midwestern town and surround himself with memorabilia and stories of glory days.

“It would’ve taken more than a triple to close out the game if those runs you stole from them had scored,” Ryan countered over the bark and buzz of his still-celebrating teammates.

Alex just nodded. In addition to being a slugger and having achieved the coveted Triple Crown, Alex had four Gold Gloves. Top performance and good grabs were what they both were paid to execute. But the expectation of excellence didn’t take anything away from Alex’s stunning play.

“I heard from Jackie that you and your girlfriend helped her deal with an injured sea lion last week.”

Ryan ignored the girlfriend comment. He stripped out of his uniform and tossed it into the bin near his locker. “Has anyone mentioned that your wife doesn’t have any fear?”

Alex grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I try to pretend she spends her days doing research, safely tucked behind a microscope.”

“If she did that, the evening news would have to find another poster girl,” Ryan ribbed.

Jackie’s exploits rescuing seals and whales made great press. Ryan had looked her up on the Internet. He couldn’t imagine being married to such a whirlwind of a woman.

“I’d like to see your place,” Alex said as he wrapped a towel around his waist. “And meet your intrepid girlfriend. Jackie liked her. In fact she thought she might have met her before, but couldn’t place where.” He headed for the showers.

Ryan didn’t correct him. Cara wasn’t his. But with a little luck maybe he’d find out if she should be.