Love on the Line (18 page)

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.

“Ryan, look...”

Look
what
? As she sought words, she knew she wasn’t very well prepared. How did one prepare for possible disaster? Her heart did a little flip in protest of what she was about to do. She stepped back and nearly tripped over the carrots she’d so carefully weeded. “I’m not really what you’re looking for—”

“I can make that call.”

Anger and hurt made for a powerful offense.

She rubbed at her still stinging hand, knowing the delay wouldn’t help. “Well, I
am
making that call.” Her voice wavered, but her resolve did not. “Now.”

At first she thought he was going to reach out and grab her. And maybe part of her wished that he would. But instead he fisted his hands to his hips and held her in the most gut-ripping gaze she’d ever experienced. Then without a word, he shook his head and turned and walked away.

As she watched him get into his Jeep, her heart broke, just a very little bit. Just enough to send pain arcing through her.

Just enough to send her to her knees.

The sounds of New York’s Fifth Avenue still lived in Cara’s blood. Ambivalence settled in her as she walked along the busy street. She passed familiar landmarks, places she’d spent much of the early years of her life—the private school she’d attended near the park, the stable where she’d learned to ride, the bagel shop, the Madison Avenue boutiques her mother had dragged her to.

For many, living in New York was a good life, the life they sought to make for themselves. Some twist of genes or fate kept her from being one of them.

She rubbed at her neck. She’d tried to sleep on the plane, but the memory of the look on Ryan’s face sliced through even her most well-practiced meditation routines. So much for enlightenment.

Cara turned the corner at Sixtieth Street. The familiar red awning of the Metropolitan Club stretched out, welcoming the privileged few who had the pedigree, influence and wealth to pass under it. The club’s wrought-iron and gilded gates flanked gleaming marble columns that stood, stately as ever, like old actors always ready to play their parts in an ongoing drama.

Maybe there wouldn’t be too much drama today.

Right
.

Since it was her family gathering, how likely was that? And though she’d angled for another meeting place, her father had sloughed off her suggestion. Maybe she was paranoid, but the Metropolitan Club
was
favored by athletes. She’d checked the Giants schedule; they were in town, playing the Mets. But of course she was being ridiculous. Ryan wasn’t a member; the Club hadn’t accepted a new member in four years. Besides, it wasn’t the sort of place Ryan would favor. Too stuffy and far from the downtown hotels.

The doorman recognized her and tilted his cap.

“Haven’t seen you around much, Miss Barrington.”

“I’ve been away, Jasper. How’s your boy?”

The smile he beamed warmed her. He was proud of his son.

“He’s at USC, got a baseball scholarship. Not really a boy anymore.”

Jasper held the door for her and for the woman behind her.

“Caroline?”

Cara turned. The woman’s voice was familiar, but Cara couldn’t place her face.

“Olivia Astor,” the woman said, holding out her hand glittering with diamonds. “Ashley’s mother.”

Ashley and Cara had been best friends at Brearley until they’d graduated and gone off to different universities. Mrs. Astor must’ve had a facelift; Cara barely recognized her.

“How is Ashley?” Cara asked as she shook Mrs. Astor’s hand.

“She’s in Paris. You two should get together when she comes home for Christmas. She’ll be thrilled to hear I ran into you.” She glanced at her watch. “I must hurry and eat, or I’ll be late for my hair appointment. See you at Christmas?”

Cara just nodded. Parties like Mrs. Astor’s stuffy holiday celebration were just one of the many events she’d been happy to leave behind.

Cara’s mother and father were already seated at their usual table when she walked into the dining room. The breeze from the open windows stirred the crystals of the chandeliers and sent waves of glittering light dancing in the opulently decorated room. Every color was muted, as if someone had taken a dab of sepia to a brush and coated everything in it. Even the sounds were muted, as if secrets were being told and no one was meant to hear them.

“You’re so thin,” her mother said when Cara settled into the chair the waiter held for her.

“And
you
look lovely as ever,” Cara said as she leaned forward and brushed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Hi, Dad. No golf game today?”

“I’ll play tomorrow. Alston insisted that we all get together.” He took a sip from his martini and sent the curl of lemon peel dancing in the glass.

Her mother patted her hand. “What’s this Alston tells me about you not wanting to take over at the foundation?”

“Rebecca.”

Cara bristled. She hated it when her dad took on his arrogant, bossy tone. Especially when he used it on her mother.

“We weren’t going to pressure her, remember?” He took a bigger sip of his martini. “I think you’ve made a good decision. Dray’s doing a great job. No need for you to wrestle with all that.”

Her mother toyed with her salad fork. Cara could tell that the position her father had taken regarding her grandfather’s foundation didn’t sit well with her mother. Not much about her father sat well with her mother these days. Ever since her mother had gone back to school and earned her counseling degree, there’d been tension in the family. He didn’t like that she worked, much less that she was a psychologist. In his mind there was nothing classy about the profession.

“We should discuss Cara’s plans,” her mother said.

“If Cara wants to stay holed up in a godforsaken backwater town, it’s her business.”

For once her dad was right. But he rarely took a hands-off position toward her or her brother. Maybe Alston was right. Maybe Dray Bender did have something on her dad. Something serious. And maybe her mother had no clue.

“I told Alston and I’m telling you both now—I’ll think about what I want to do about the foundation, okay?” Cara sipped from her water glass. New York might be a crowded, noisy, busy city, but it had great water. It came straight down from the Adirondacks and it was delicious. Well water from Albion Bay never tasted good.

“What’s Bender’s focus for the foundation?” She watched her dad take in her question.

“Pharmaceuticals,” he answered in a short tone. “Saving lives. That sort of thing.”

“You mean funding research?”

“Something like that.”

Cara knew then that her father had no idea what Dray Bender was funding. And evidently didn’t want to know. Alston’s suspicion was taking hold in her. She’d discovered that what happened to her grandfather’s legacy was important to her. She’d read through the last ten years of grants from a list that Alston had provided. Grandpa had prided himself on making grants that made a difference, that actually changed lives. And she’d seen first-hand the impact that pivotal funding could make in a community that needed it. But she wasn’t going to get anywhere questioning her father.

Cara nodded to the empty seat beside her. “Where’s Quinn?”

“China,” her father answered flatly.

“He’s investigating a project in a southern mountain province,” her mother said. Cara heard the touch of pride in her voice. “Children from the mountain villages live too far from the schools in the valleys. I think Quinn said it was a three-hour journey over treacherous roads, roads that aren’t even passable in the winters. The project provides housing and food for the mountain children, so they can live in the villages and get an education. Quinn wanted to personally see where the money was being used.” She shot a look at Cara’s father. “Personally. Up close.”

Cara’s father raised his empty glass and instantly a waiter brought another chilled martini.