Love on the Line (25 page)

She slumped into the chair at her desk, knowing what she had to do. Just like texting, email was a coward’s way out. But seeing him face-to-face, talking with him, would make controlling her voice, her face, impossible to do. He read faces well, too well. Even a phone message would give her away.

She tapped at her keys and wrote and then revised and then deleted what she’d written. Even a coward’s way out wasn’t easy. In the end she just told him that she couldn’t see him just then, that she had some things she had to take care of and would be freed up in a few weeks.

If she left the door open even a crack, she’d be back in his arms in an instant. And though every bit of her wanted that, she knew it was the worst thing she could do if she wanted a chance for any future with him.

She sat back and read the message a fourth time; there just wasn’t any way to improve it. She hit Send and slumped down in her chair.

Cara spent the better part of the next day tending to the garden behind her cabin. It had gone from romantically ill-kempt to downright overgrown. By two in the afternoon she’d made little progress. Her empty stomach finally drove her inside to raid the fridge. The irony that all she had was a Ziploc bag of frozen squash soup wasn’t lost on her.

After her meal she washed the soup bowl and wiped down the table. Ryan’s mug sat where he’d left it. She sniffed at it, but all she smelled was the dark aroma of the dried dregs of coffee. She considered washing it, but couldn’t bring herself to wash away the last tangible bits of something he’d touched. The fragile mental state of a Brontë heroine came to mind, and she put her hands to her head. Maybe the road to madness started this simply, one bad decision following another until the snowball effect took over.

Or maybe she just needed a nap.

She pulled the bedroom curtains closed and lay across her bed. But images of being in it with Ryan rushed through her, stirring feelings that struck at her again and again.

Perhaps it was a good thing she’d promised Molly that she’d go with her to the community dance that night. Maybe it would take her mind off her dilemma just long enough for her to think. Realizing that
that
thought made no sense, she rolled over onto her side and curled up in a fetal position.

At least Ryan wouldn’t be at the dance. He had a game in LA. She’d sneaked a look at the TV before she’d gone out into her garden.

After getting absolutely no rest, she pushed herself out of bed and dressed in a zombie-like state, pulling on her jeans and sweater with methodical motions.

When she went down to her living room to grab her keys, she stared at the TV. Knowing it was a bad idea, she switched it on anyway.

One of the Dodgers’ hitters stood ready at the plate. He stepped into the next pitch, and she heard the distinctive sound as the bat hit the ball, the sound that said
distance
. The ball arched up, and the cameras tracked it to center field. Ryan leaped up and snatched the ball just before it went over the center field wall. He smiled triumphantly and hauled his arm back to fire the ball toward the infield.

The station showed a replay. A thrill rippled in her as she watched him run, leap, grab and then haul back his arm and throw. How could he possibly appear larger, more powerfully muscled, than she remembered? But she remembered the smile he shot out, perhaps to a teammate, perhaps to the crowd. She’d seen that joyous smile up close. Up very, very close.

The announcers spoke in excited voices about the likelihood of Ryan earning the Gold Glove if he kept up his stellar performance.

Their announcement scorched a path of resolve deep into her. Now was definitely no time to tell him that she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. She had standards; ruining another’s person’s life because of her bad decisions and poor timing wasn’t an option.

Already she wished she hadn’t sent the email. Surely she could’ve found ways to simply avoid him. She could’ve left town, left a sweet note, gone into the city, disappeared until the season was over and she’d made her decision about the foundation and...

She didn’t
want
to make any moves. She didn’t want to give up the life she loved. Her motives for sending the email had been selfish. And foolish. As if her calling for a hiatus until she could come clean was going to change his feelings when she revealed her deception? As if waiting a couple weeks was going to change how he reacted? What would she say?
Oh, by the way, I wanted to wait until the season was over to tell you I’m living a lie so I wouldn’t disrupt your game.

And then again, maybe her motives weren’t entirely selfish—she’d feared she wouldn’t be able to hold up, that she’d end up telling him everything, spilling out her heart. She’d been close to doing just that in the moments after they’d last made love. Too close. But the rationalization failed to offer her any comfort.

She watched a few more plays until her heart couldn’t take any more.

She was turning out to be one hell of a wimp.

But one thing she was sure of, she wasn’t going to wreck Ryan’s season, no matter what it took.

More people than usual were crowded into Grady’s feed barn by the time Cara arrived at the dance. Word must have spread that the barn dances were a lively and inexpensive way to have fun on an autumn evening; unfamiliar men and women crowded around the refreshment tables and clustered on the dance floor.

“Want to dance?” Cain offered his arm and a smile. “I mean since your boyfriend is busy, the least I can do is keep an eye on you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, sounding like a teenager denying the obvious.

“The lady doth protest too much,” he said with a laugh.

Cain had earned an honors degree at Cal in literature. Evidently he knew his Shakespeare. And evidently he had her number. Or maybe everybody in town knew by now that she and Ryan were lovers.

She let him lead her into the dancing crowd. When the musicians broke into a slow dance, he took her in his arms and swooped her through the laughing couples. He was a handsome man, and she knew from his reputation in town that he was kind. Just as she knew from her reaction to his touch that it was nothing like the fire of desire she felt when Ryan touched her. She might try deceiving those in Albion Bay, but she couldn’t deny that what she felt with Ryan was the real deal. That it was more than she’d ever imagined she’d feel for any man.

“You’re a million miles away,” Cain said as he led her off the dance floor and to the refreshment table.

A big hand-lettered sign proclaimed that all proceeds from the sale of the baked goods would go to the clinic fund. Cara bit back a sour laugh; there was nowhere she could go to escape the reality of the conflicting demands pressing in on her.

“Just thinking,” she said.

“This is a dance, Cara. It’s supposed to be an antidote to thinking.”

“Where’s Laurel?”

“She decided she wanted a landlubber.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, we were never a good fit. Good of her to figure it out.”

Molly walked out from behind a table spread with every kind of baked goody imaginable.

“We’ve made two hundred dollars already, and it’s only seven thirty,” she said.

Cara saw the way Cain looked at Molly. Maybe Molly was dense. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t notice Cain’s interest. And maybe Cara wasn’t the only one with secrets. But one thing she did know was that these two friends of hers had sparks arcing between them, sparks that neither of them were letting ignite.

“Cain’s looking for a dance partner,” Cara said.

“I have to stay at the table,” Molly said, her face coloring.

“I need a break; I’ll take your shift,” Cara said. “I’m good with money.”

Why the hell had she added that? To her relief, Cain just offered his arm and Molly took it. Cara watched them as they moved into the crowd of whirling dancers. Maybe she’d done one good deed that day.

“I’ll take one of those chocolate chip cookies,” Perk said, rubbing his hands in anticipation as he approached the table.

Cara used the tongs and placed the largest cookie on a napkin.

“Two fifty,” she said as she handed it to him.

“Robbery,” Perk said, his eyes crinkling behind his thick-lensed glasses. “But even so, at this rate it’ll take twenty years and four million cookies to raise enough money for the blasted clinic.” He took a bite. “I told Belva that this piecemeal approach would stall any real effort. Half the town was baking cookies this afternoon. I couldn’t even find my assistant. Turns out she was down at Belva’s.” He took another bite. “Mixing up cookie dough.”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” a tall man with piercing eyes said as he held out five dollars. “You can keep the change.”

Cara knew a lord-of-the-universe type when she saw one. Out having fun in the country. The barn dance was a quaint novelty to him. He reached across the table and tapped Cara on the arm.

“That is, if I can have the next dance?”

“She has a boyfriend,” Perk said in his deep mayor’s voice.

Cara opened her mouth to correct him just as the man flashed a grin at Perk.

“Well, that’s too bad. Guess I’ll just have to dance with you.”

“Cost you more than five dollars to get me out there,” Perk stammered. “And I don’t play for the other side.”

Cara smiled. She knew the man had been teasing, but Perk was clearly flustered.

The man just nodded and walked off.

“Cheeky bastard,” Perk said as he huffed over to where Belva sat with a group of locals.

Cara sold all the cookies and tucked the bills into the steel box at the end of the table. And she made a decision as she snapped down the lid. Either Alston found a way to give the clinic the money they needed for the complete project, or she’d find a way to do it herself. She could convince her parents to sign off on their share so she could sell the house in Southampton, the house her grandfather had left to her. So what if it’d been in her family for three generations? It might not fetch four million, but surely it would sell for two. It was a start. She nibbled at a crumb that remained on the cookie tray. A good start.

“You are the absolute
worst
sort of matchmaker,” Molly said as she came around the table. She looked at the empty trays. “But you’re darn good at selling cookies.” She flipped open the lid of the box and quickly fanned through the bills.

“It’s all there,” Cara said, attempting a joke.

Molly looked up. She wasn’t smiling.

“I’m moving, Cara. To Novato. It’s the only responsible thing to do. I lost David. I can’t lose Sam.”

Fear clouded Molly’s eyes. Fear could force even the wisest person into very bad decisions. And didn’t Cara know about that.

“The interim clinic will be up and running in two weeks, Molly. Two weeks.”

“I’ve thought it through. Novato has a world-class hospital and good schools.” She brushed cookie crumbs off the tablecloth. “I wanted to tell you first. In person. You’ve helped me so much.”

“But this is your home.” Cara wrapped her arm around Molly’s shoulder. “Maybe give the on-call doc a chance. Fear can muddle your thinking.”

“The whole project could stall. The county might not approve the permit—I know Belva said two weeks, but it could be months. I can’t risk it. If I thought we’d really get a real clinic...” She tapped the steel box. “We both know cookie sales aren’t going to cut it. Even with Ryan’s gift, it’s just not enough.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to go. Tracy’s watching Sam for me, and I promised I’d be home early.”

Cara watched her go. Then she stacked the tin trays and folded the tablecloth. Couples would be leaving the dance in a few hours, arm in arm, going back to their homes and to their kids. But Cara would be going home alone.

It was the life she’d chosen, and she’d be going to the home she’d built for herself, the home that used to comfort her. But her hideaway was no longer the place of contentment it had been until recently. Loneliness had joined her there, disturbing her satisfaction and ease.

That loneliness now sank into her like a thick fog, winding its way through her and shrouding what little light remained in her heart.