Love on the Line (19 page)

“I didn’t raise children to have them running off to all ends of the earth,” her father said.

“Last I checked, California was still a state in the union.” Cara bit back her retort about China. Her father’s class prejudices were topped only by his deeply rooted racism.

“By the way, your father and I
are
coming out for Thanksgiving. No arguments, Cara. You may not understand it, but I want to see your place.” She tapped Cara’s hand again. “It’s a mother’s duty to make sure her children are well situated.”

“I don’t have a guest room,” Cara said, grasping at any excuse to keep her parents away from her world.

“They do have hotels in your town, don’t they?” her mother said with a wink. When Cara shook her head, she added, “Well, we can stay at the Mark Hopkins in the city. There’s an impressionist exhibit at the Legion that I’m dying to see.”

“All I need is the two of you traipsing around Albion Bay. It’d take less than an hour for you to wreck what I’ve spent three years carving out for myself.”

“That’s
ridiculous
darling. We know how to be subtle. Your father prides himself on his diplomacy. We’ll be discreet.”

A waiter brought bread and olive oil to the table. Cara didn’t reach for it as she usually did. The idea of having her parents roaming around her world made her stomach contract just at the thought.

Her father lit up. “I’m sending that little painting out next week,” he said with a smile. He smiled so rarely, Cara wanted to nod in agreement. But she didn’t. And when he saw her open her mouth, he said, “No, I won’t hear any argument. It’s yours and you should have it. It’s small; surely you’ll find a good place for it.”

Little painting
.

It was a Renoir. Unsigned, but a Renoir all the same. It was unusual and would’ve been a key piece in the exhibit her mother was talking about. But she had to pick her battles, and this was one she wouldn’t win. And he was right; the landscape had been a favorite since she was old enough to say so. She’d just have to tuck it away upstairs.

“Langley Terrence asked about you.” Her father slanted her a look over the rim of his martini. “He’s throwing a party this week to christen his new yacht, and he specifically asked me to invite
you
. Now there’s a good man.”

Langley Terrence had nearly spent through his fortune before he’d left Harvard. Cara knew too well why he was interested in her. Escaping the pursuit of those sorts of men was one reason she’d fled New York. She was beginning to question her father’s discernment in any matter, particularly his ability to size up people and their motivations.

“I’m leaving at seven thirty tonight,” Cara said.

“I was hoping you’d stay at least through the weekend,” her mother said.

“I have a bus run early Monday morning.”

“Ridiculous.” Her father scowled. “You don’t need a job.”

“Russell, stop. Cara has her reasons, even if you don’t understand them.” She turned to Cara. “But I do hope you’ll take an interest in the foundation. You could do so much good.”

“Now it’s you who’s meddling, Rebecca,” her dad said.

Clearly he didn’t want Cara anywhere near the foundation. Yet his put-offs were inciting not only her curiosity, but a deeper, heartfelt concern for her grandfather’s vision. A vision her father clearly did not share.

Cara suddenly realized that this
emergency
meeting was Alston’s way of making her face those facts. For a mild-mannered guy, Alston was a surprising master strategist. She should’ve felt irritated with him, but she wasn’t. She smiled to herself, making a note to surprise him with an unusual gift for his insights.

“I think you’d make an excellent president,” her mother said. “It makes a difference to have something meaningful to do every day.” She looked over to Cara’s father, whose scowl had deepened. “Your father doesn’t understand, but I do.”

“Driving the bus means something to me.” Cara picked at her food and then gave up and set her fork aside.

“We can talk it over later,” her mother said in a firm tone as the waiter cleared their plates. Her mother was all family counselor in that moment, and Cara was surprised to see her dad settle back in his chair and drop the subject. Maybe there was hope for them.

The waiter brought dessert menus. Her dad listened as the man rattled off the specials and then ordered the crème brûlée. “But don’t bring any coffee.” He turned to Cara. “The coffee here is undrinkable. Apparently the good people who run this place want to keep it that way.”

“I think I’ll skip desert,” Cara said. “I might hit traffic on the expressway.”

As she stood to exit the dining room, she thought she saw Alex Tavonesi walk in with Ryan and another man. Her pulse rocketed to a racing beat, and she ducked back into her seat, hoping neither of them had seen her.

Of course the Tavonesis would be members; most prominent families on the West Coast had memberships in New York clubs as well.

“Is something wrong, darling?” The look of concern on her mother’s face was genuine.

“No, I’m just dizzy. I must’ve stood too quickly.”

“You don’t eat enough, Cara. It’s not good for you. You hardly touched your meal.”

Who could eat with the two of them trying to move her around like a pawn on a chessboard?

“I’m fine, Mother. Really.”

Cara glanced across the room. The waiter had seated Ryan and Alex with their backs to her, just past a bank of potted palms. Explaining what she was doing in the most expensive, exclusive club in New York was a scene she had to avoid. When Ryan picked up his menu, she kissed her mother on the cheek, nodded to her father and fled. At the entrance to the dining room, she darted a quick glance back over her shoulder. Through the screen of the palms she saw Ryan stand up and stride toward the dining room entrance.

She practically ran to the street entrance of the club, grateful that Jasper always kept a cab waiting for members in a hurry. As the cab pulled away, she looked back and saw Ryan exit the club and look up and down the street. Her heart didn’t slow its pace until the cab reached the midtown tunnel.

Chapter Fifteen

The rising sun sent shafts of light through his house as Ryan stumbled toward his kitchen. If the damned espresso machine didn’t cooperate, he’d have no time to linger over breakfast at the diner as he liked to do. And he’d have to make cowboy coffee in a pan like he used to do back in Texas.

He glanced out the window and saw two trucks down at the barns.

The first of the rescue donkeys would arrive in ten days. He’d asked if the donkey rescue center could hold off until the end of baseball season, but the guy just said if he didn’t make space for seven more animals that next week, they’d be snuffed. Animals and ranchers didn’t give a damn about his baseball schedule.

He loaded coffee into the fancy filter and levered it onto the machine, just like Cara had shown him the day she’d visited. The day her kisses had screwed with his brain. Actually screwed with more than his brain. He’d been having dreams again. On the team plane back from New York last night he’d dreamed she’d lured him into a New York City penthouse and had done all sorts of edgy, ball-rocking things to him. He’d met her moves and raised the ante, exploring her body and making her wait until she was speechless with throbbing desire. In his dream he’d loved her as she should be loved: slowly, thoroughly and completely. When the flight attendant woke him to fasten his seat belt for landing in San Francisco, he hoped she hadn’t seen the very real signs of his arousal. Her sultry smile told him that maybe she had.

Since the day Cara had basically shoved him out of her life, he’d run every moment he’d had with her over in his mind multiple times. She hadn’t said he wasn’t what she wanted, not outright. But her push-away could’ve been a face-saving way of telling him he wasn’t the sort of man who lit her fire.

But he didn’t believe it.

He’d felt the energy pulsing between them when they’d had sex. He’d felt the power of their kisses. He might like the rational, but he knew the forces that drove rationality were mysterious and powerful. Forces that maybe he couldn’t explain, but that he trusted. And he trusted her, her responses. She wasn’t a woman who could fake her response to anything.

He’d just have to find a way to win her.

He’d start with something simple. He knew from looking around her place that she liked pretty things. He’d buy her something to brighten up her place. At least it would be an excuse to see her again.

The light on the espresso machine glowed a dull red. It took only three minutes to heat, but it felt like an age.

The pain in his shoulder had returned, and he’d fought through a sleepless night. He wasn’t superstitious, but after two bummer games against the Mets, he was having a hard time fighting off superstitious impulses. His defense in both games had been good. He’d snagged balls that would’ve been home runs, made plays that had even the Mets fans roaring with respect.

But he hadn’t hit worth a damn. He tried drilling up his mental game, practiced calling up the good, but every time he did, there was Cara floating like some sort of Disney hologram in front of him.

And his mind was playing other tricks on him as well. He’d been sure he’d seen her in New York, but knew even as he’d chased after the woman leaving the Metropolitan Club that he was being ridiculous. What would Cara be doing at a high-end place like that?

The espresso machine sputtered. He grabbed a towel and stood back, prepared to smack it down if necessary. To his great relief, the machine spewed thick, dark coffee into his cup. He grabbed it and headed for his barn.

Adam Mitchell’s beat-up truck was parked next to that of his contractor from the city. He had nothing against Adam, other than the fact that he was sniffing around Cara. And this week he needed the guy’s fine skill and efficient work.

Ryan kicked at a stone in his path. He might not have any right to wish that other men didn’t take an interest in Cara, but he wished it anyway.

He actually liked Adam. He just wished the guy would take an interest in Molly or any other woman in town. Anyone but Cara.

Ryan’s eyes adjusted to the dim light in the barn. The floor paving for the drainage was in, and it spruced the old place up more than he’d expected. His old barn was getting to look like something out of a movie. His dad would probably rib him about that too.

“Looking good,” he said to his contractor.

“Better than that,” Marvin said with pride. “The slope below the pavers means you won’t have any trouble hosing this place in the wet season. You can spray down these stalls in about ten minutes.” He pointed down to the last of the stalls. “My crew can come back from that city job in a couple of weeks, and we can have all this wrapped up by mid-October.”

Ryan eyed Marvin. “I can’t wait that long. The first animals are coming in ten days.”

Marvin crossed his arms. He didn’t know Ryan, didn’t know he’d grown up on a tough-assed ranch. Crossed arms weren’t a deterrent.

“Just finish wiring in the heaters and get the fans in before you leave today,” Ryan said in a level voice. “Adam can finish up the stalls and the feed room. Your crew can come back and deal with any finishing work later.”

It was always best to give a guy a way out.

Marvin nodded. “We’ll get the heaters wired, don’t you worry. But there’s no way I can be back here in less than a week.”

Ryan fisted his hands in his pockets. Marvin had told him he had to pull the crew off by the end of September and get to a job in the city. It was Ryan’s change orders that had put the work behind schedule.

“I’ll send my electrician back tomorrow to wire in the fans,” Marvin conceded.

Ryan nodded. “That’ll do.” He turned toward the back of the barn. Adam had a hell of job ahead of him.

He poked his head into the last stall. Adam looked up from screwing a hinge to the gate.

“Thanks for coming in on short notice,” Ryan said.

Adam stood and shook his hand.

“It’s a great project,” Adam said. “It’ll be finished in time.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Your contractor hasn’t seen what Albion Bay men can do.”

If Ryan had known about Adam, he would have had him on the crew in the first place. Ryan liked providing work for locals. He’d asked around and discovered that Adam had a reputation for great work. He also had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. Ryan wished that last part was none of his business.

Ryan left the men working and cranked up the Bugatti. It’d been a week since he’d had her out for a spin. Even during the busiest weeks he liked to get in at least an hour of solid country driving, blow out the carbon, keep the car running smoothly. He had five hours before he had to be in the city, five blissful hours to ease the tweak out of his shoulder and take in the countryside.

In his rearview mirror he saw the school bus go by the end of his drive as he backed out of the barn. Though there was no reason for it to stop or even slow down, he was disappointed when it did neither.

Besides, he liked a challenge. And he’d been handed a clear one when Ms. Cara West had kicked him out so baldly.

He cruised onto Highway One. As he shifted into second gear, the ping of pain below his shoulder blade felt like a hot rubber band snapping. The week of pain-free days now seemed like a far-off oasis he’d never reach again. The plane trip last night hadn’t helped. Driving probably didn’t either, but he longed to click off some miles and settle his feuding thoughts.

He shot around the bend and saw the school bus jutting at a strange angle about a tenth of a mile from the driveway to the middle school. A line of kids were running down the shoulder of the road toward the school, shooting backward glances to where Cara sat beside the bus, clutching someone in her arms.

Gravel flew as he skidded to a halt behind the bus. He jumped out and ran toward her. As he neared, he saw that she was holding Sam Rivers.

“I told one of the kids to call 9-1-1 as soon as they reached the school,” she shouted. “There’s no cell reception here.”