Love on the Line (22 page)

She ran her fingers along the back of her hand. The previous night she’d slept for the first time in weeks. Exhaustion fueled it, exhaustion and nerves. And she’d dreamed. Dreamed vividly and emotionally.

The sensations from her dream swept through her, as fresh as they’d been when she’d awakened, stunned. She pressed her palms to her eyes. Images rushed back. Ryan had held her, their bodies melded in the ecstasy of passion and... and in a pure sensation that she had no words to describe. He’d pressed her back across a bed that morphed into a lake of billowing clouds and together they’d floated—weightless, touching and tasting. He’d come to her from a world beyond her consciousness, beyond anything she’d ever known, and together they’d twined their hearts and bodies into a primal, wordless dance that left her breathless and disoriented when she’d awakened.

She thought of those children’s games where you take the pieces apart and put them back together and the thing you construct in no way resembles the creature you had in your hands just moments before. Like such a creature, her parts were the same, but a new spirit inhabited her, enlivened her.

She swept her hand over her forehead and tried to ignore the knot forming deep in her belly, tried to reconcile the lively feelings with the lurking, gnawing sensation that told her events were moving too quickly for her to process. Ryan had opened territory she hadn’t ever expected to experience.

She locked her fingers in her hair and tugged, felt the pull along her scalp and tried to center herself in the familiar sensation. There couldn’t be a worse time to start out on any kind of a journey, especially one she hadn’t planned for.

Frustrated when the power of the dream wouldn’t release its hold on her, she opened her eyes and set the pot on the table, pushing it away with her fingertips. Then she picked up the stack of papers Alston had sent. She read through every grant application that Dray Bender had approved in the six months he’d been at the helm of the Barrington Foundation. After reviewing the reports, she was sure that Alston’s suspicions that Bender was getting kickbacks from the projects were true. If she wanted hard evidence, the best way to find it was to track the money. She read through the information Alston’s team had gathered about Bender’s financial dealings. He’d purchased stock in the pharmaceutical companies he was funneling grants to. Clearly the companies were feeding him information that could be considered insider trading. It wasn’t legal, but there were always loopholes. Loopholes Bender apparently had every confidence no one would challenge.

The laws seemed to be written so that plundering by those in power, by those who wanted to bend the rules to their own purposes, couldn’t be easily discovered or stopped. A mechanic who made a mistake on his tax return could be charged a steep fine, even face jail time, but a person of means and very few morals could walk off with illegal millions and never even get his wrists slapped.

Her grandfather had based his entire life on the principle that what was good for the everyday citizen was good for the country as a whole. Bender was exactly the sort of guy that he would have taken to the mat.

Why her father didn’t see any of this... She shook her head, considering. Maybe he didn’t want to know. And maybe she didn’t want to know what Bender had on her dad. But resolve jelled in her. There was no way she was going to let a man like Bender misuse her grandfather’s legacy. It wasn’t right.

What it would take to stop him, she wasn’t sure. But with Alston’s help, she would. She wouldn’t take on the role of president of the foundation, but she’d find a way to oust the current president.

She wrapped her arms across her chest and sought the blissful feeling she’d had—was it just that morning? But she couldn’t call it back to her. She eyed the stack of papers on her table. Her brain raced with options and scenarios, none of them ideal and all of them less than welcome. Knowing the destination of the road ahead and finding her way along it were two very different ventures.

Chapter Seventeen

Ryan levered the fifty-pound spool of fencing wire and rolled a length of it between the last of the fence posts needing reinforcement. Pain shot through his arm as he twisted the wire cutter, and he cursed.

“That doesn’t sound like fun.”

He turned and saw Alex Tavonesi walking toward him on the rutted path. He’d forgotten Alex had invited himself over to the ranch that morning. He was forgetting too many details he usually wrangled with ease.

Ryan dropped the roll of wire into the dry grass at his feet.

Alex surveyed the line of fences and whistled. “Anyone ever tell you you’re crazy?”

Ryan wiped his sleeve across the sweat beading his forehead. “If I remember correctly, you’re the guy who risked a Triple Crown batting title to chase down armed kidnappers on a cliff side.”

“Kidnapper,” Alex said, still eyeing the fences. “There was only one. And yes, guilty. But there was a life at stake.”

From the posture of Alex’s stance, Ryan knew the shock of nearly losing Jackie still lived in his friend. Trauma had a long tail and a hard lash. He’d spoken in jest, without thinking. But it didn’t do either of them any good to duck the truth. Trauma only got stronger if you tried to bury it.

“Well, there’ll be fourteen lives at stake here.” Ryan knew Alex’s fondness for animals. “So you’re just the guy I need.”

He took off his gloves and handed them to Alex. “The rescue centers are at overcapacity, so some of the donkeys are coming directly here before they’ve been rehabbed. I intend to make good on my promise to provide a safe and humane environment for every one of them.”

“Then let’s get on with it.” Alex donned the gloves and then picked up the spool of wire by the wooden dowel running through its center. “One thing a vineyard teaches you is how to run wire.”

Alex had wire-cutting and fastening techniques Ryan had never seen used on the ranches in Texas. Evidently cowboys didn’t know all there was to know about high-tech fencing. He followed Alex’s instructions and admired the deft moves of his teammate.

When he’d been traded to the Giants, he’d never imagined finding guys like Alex and Scotty on the team, guys who weren’t only excellent players but who had more than the usual team spirit. Most of the guys were like that, as if they’d been hand-picked for their sense of camaraderie and cooperation as much as for their stats and ability to perform.

They worked through the morning and finished reinforcing the last of the weak fences. The sawing and banging slowed in the barn, and Ryan hoped that meant Adam was coming to the end of the work in there.

“How’s the shoulder?” Alex asked.

“I tweaked it a few days ago loading a barely breathing kid into my car.” Tweak, ping, zing—that was about all any player admitted to unless he was on the training table. And sometimes not even then would they admit to anything more drastic.

“I thought you were rescuing donkeys.”

Ryan told him about the emergency run with Sam and Cara.

“It’s the damnedest thing,” Ryan said. “When I think about her, the pain goes away.” He didn’t mention his phantom pain theory. Scotty had already ribbed him hard for that.

“Better keep her in mind, then,” Alex said with a chuckle.

Though Ryan felt foolish, he had to ask.

“How’d you know, I mean
know
... with Jackie?” He didn’t say the word love, didn’t want to. Though he wrestled with the word in his mind, pushing it away, it kept bobbing to the surface of his thoughts whenever he thought about Cara. Alex had found a great woman to share his life, everybody could see that. Ryan trusted Alex’s opinion on the subject.

Alex leaned on the fence post and crossed his arms. “It’s not something you know. It hauls down on you and you’ll wish it hadn’t—it’s never convenient.” He raised a brow as a half-smile lit his face. “Maybe that’s the real yardstick—if it’s painful and inconvenient and you still can’t help yourself or can’t stop thinking of her, then she’s the one.”

“She’s pretty much keeping me at arm’s length.” He could admit to Alex what he tried not to admit to himself.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky.” Alex grinned.

Maybe he would.

The next morning Ryan took the back road to Cara’s place. The early morning sun speared shafts of light through the low-hanging coastal fog, circling the oaks and coyote bushes with a soft, golden hue. He pulled his Jeep into her drive.

He sat for a moment admiring the colorful flowers that banked up against the front deck of her tiny cabin. Everything about her place seemed to whisper the praises of the simple beauty of country life. Of her.

He pulled the Mason jar filled with daisies from the cup holder. He’d cut them just before he’d left his house so they’d be fresh. He leaned over and lifted the carefully folded knit scarf from the seat beside him and headed up the path.

Words formed in his mind as he stepped onto Cara’s front deck. Words he’d rehearsed. Words he hoped would serve as stepping stones into her world.

He knocked at the door.

As he waited, his carefully collected words fled, and he began to frantically search for new ones. Words had never been his strong suit. When Cara opened the door, sleepy-eyed and tousled, wearing only a robe, his mind went blank.

“It’s six thirty in the morning,” she said with a puzzled smile.

He looked to his watch. Water splashed out of the jar and onto the leg of his jeans. Great, that was a ridiculous move; he knew what time it was. He righted the jar and held it out. The daisies stood like colorful guardians between them.

“These are for you.” Embarrassment washed through him, and he quickly held out the scarf. The scarf gave him a legitimate reason to be there. “And this. You left it in my car.”

She propped the door with her foot, then took the scarf and wrapped it around her neck. “I thought I’d left it at the hospital,” she said, patting the scarf. “Molly made it for me.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

She reached for the Mason jar holding the daisies. Her fingers brushed his, and she took in a breath. What she felt, he wasn’t sure, but with that light touch he knew the path he wanted to take, words or no words.

“These are lovely.”

“You didn’t seem the long-stemmed red-rose type.”

She stiffened, and immediately he regretted saying such a stupid thing. Maybe she did like red roses. When she pulled her hand away, he wished for better words.

She opened the door. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Hours ago,” he said, wishing now that he hadn’t.

“Would you like to come in?” She motioned toward the living room.

“That’d be great.”

He stepped into the room and caught the scent of her. Though it was familiar, her scent always caught him off guard. Like it snuck into some place in his brain that was otherwise closed off to him and started firing up synapses.

“TV working?” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“Brilliantly.”

She set the daisies on the table beside the TV. She bent to arrange them, giving him a very good look at her beautiful backside hugged by the silky robe. He tried to talk down his arousal, but it was hopeless. Good thing he’d tied his fleece jacket around his waist, or he’d be busted.

“How’s Sam? I wanted to call Molly but didn’t have her number.”

Cara turned to him. A smile played along her lips and revved up his hope. “He’s great. He’s a hero now, thanks to you.”

Ryan raised a brow.

“He’s the only kid in town who’s ridden in your Bugatti.”

“Might be the new version of a pony ride,” he said. “Maybe I should charge a fee.”

She laughed then, and he felt his shoulders relax.

“Would you like a coffee?”

“Is it safe?”

She laughed again. “French Press. No rocket-science machines in this house.”

“Cara.”

He put his hand on her arm and closed his fingers around it. She lifted her chin, and he saw her lips quiver. Under his fingers, she trembled. It was clearly not his morning for wordsmithing. He pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers.

She opened to his kiss and let him snug her against him. It was the green light he’d dreamed of. He pulled back so he could look into her eyes, so he could touch her face. Then he kissed her again.

Tender good-morning kisses led to passion and then to need. He lifted her in his arms, and she tipped her face to his.

“Upstairs,” she whispered. “First room on the right. But I can walk, you know.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

He would’ve run up the stairs, but he’d promised her this time he would go slow. It would take every bit of discipline he could summon, but he would love her slowly, properly, with everything he had.

He was vaguely aware of the muted colors of the room as he laid her across her bed. She fisted her hands in his shirt and tugged him to her, pressing her lips to his. In the searing heat and heady taste of her, his resolve for going slow was ripped from him. She nipped at his bottom lip, and that resolve simply died.

He pressed up and away from her lips and called up his willpower, the willpower that gave him an edge on the field and made him better than good at the game. But when he saw the smoldering look in Cara’s eyes, he knew that no practice, no training, had prepared him to harness the desire she fired in him.