Fielder's Choice (8 page)

Not only was Sophie dressed, she was studiously typing at her computer. One finger at a time.

“Butterfly project?” he asked as he kissed the top of her head.

“Better than that. I signed up for the summer camps at the ranch. All of them. Isn’t that great?”

Matt scooted her out of her chair and sat at her tiny desk. On the screen was a PayPal confirmation for the camps.

“I guessed your password, Dad.
Shortstop
—what a
lame
password. Grandma said that anybody could guess it.”

“Grandma helped you with this?”

“She just did the parts I couldn’t figure out. She’s good with computers, did you know that?”

His mother was good with many things, but her helping Sophie like this surprised him. And running into Alana all summer would make his resolve not to pursue her that much harder.

“You can’t go to all those camps at the ranch, Sophie, it’s too much. What about the horseback riding camp and the kayaking camps we visited?”

Sophie plunked down on her bed and crossed her arms. “You said you wanted me to go to camp and
these
are the camps I want to go to.
You said
.”

That was Sophie’s code phrase for reminding him that he’d promised her something and that she expected him to be true to his word. In the future he’d have to be more specific.

He read over the confirmation.
Way
more specific.

Chapter 7

Alana slammed the door of the Land Rover. After a two-hour meeting with the planning commission, she wasn’t any closer to getting the windmill approved. They’d been impressed with the energy it would generate, had nodded approval when she’d explained that the ranch would be able to sell energy back to the grid and serve as a source of auxiliary power in case of an emergency.

But the neighbors were still the sticking point. Relationships in the county ran deep. Unless she got the community on board, the project wasn’t going forward, no matter how green it was. It hadn’t helped matters any that she’d missed the fundraiser. No one said anything directly, but the icy stares said enough.

Adding to the challenge was a small but vocal and well-organized group of citizens from the north part of the county who were worried about birds and noise and precedence.
Precedence
. Like anyone else was going to shell out a quarter of a million dollars for a state-of-the-art windmill.

She’d just have to meet with the crotchety neighbor, Mr. Hartman; there was no way around it. But she only had two hours before the limo picked her up, and she still wasn’t packed for her trip to Paris.

She leaned against the Land Rover and called Marcel. As she waited for him to answer, she noted the line of SUVs parked along the drive in front of the frantoio.

“You are always my favorite ring tone,” Marcel said in a drowsy voice.

She glanced at her watch. “Sorry. The day got away from me. Were you sleeping?”

“Dreaming.”

“Marcel, this is a terrible week for me to get away. Maybe I could come at the end of next week.”

“I have tickets to
La Bohème.
”

The rat. Dmitri Popov was singing the lead. Marcel knew her weaknesses.

“In that case, I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow,” she said as she headed toward the house.

“
Parfait
. I’ll chill the champagne.”

She pocketed her phone. Then she saw Matt walk around to the back of his BMW, parked at the end of the line of SUVs, and let Sophie out.

Sophie saw her and waved. Matt turned and stared.

Alana was wearing her sleekest Armani suit and heels. Her attire hadn’t impressed the planning commission, but it obviously had an effect on Matt.

Her breath caught in her chest as he looked her over.

Not knowing what else to do, she waved at them. Sophie tugged on Matt’s shirt, and he raised his hand and waved, but he didn’t smile. Sophie put her hands to her hips, and he leaned down to listen, giving Alana the freedom to stare.

His polo shirt accentuated the broad reach of his muscled shoulders, and it was tucked into snug-fitting jeans that made him look like an Olympian god come to earth, comfortably clad in a pair of custom Levis. A jolt of desire shot through her. Though she could’ve enjoyed soaking in a few more moments of fine male physique and the luscious warmth that watching Matt spread in her blood, she dragged her gaze away and strode to the front door of her house. There was little time for dalliance—she was the world’s slowest packer. But a peek over her shoulder as she closed the door told her that he was watching the swing of her hips. Her inner smile was broader than the one that played along her lips. Trouble or not, Matt Darrington would be one very alluring exploration.

Isobel stopped her in the foyer and motioned her into the kitchen.

“Mr. Hartman returned your call,” Isobel said, watching her face. “He can see you tomorrow.”

She should’ve been more specific about dates when she’d asked Peg to set up the meeting with the neighbor, though Peg knew she was traveling.

“Would you have Peg call him back and see if late next week will do?”

Isobel’s eyes flashed, maybe with disapproval, maybe in surprise. Alana had never been in a position where she’d had to deal with letting people down. Until she’d inherited the ranch, no one had expectations of her. Well, maybe Simon did, but he was earnest and reliable to a fault, and he had expectations of everybody. God knew her parents hadn’t shown much interest in what she did with her life as long as she stayed out of trouble.

“I’m away until the seventeenth,” Alana added. “I have business to attend to.”

It wasn’t a total fib. She’d meet with a perfumer in Paris, get some advice on the body care line.

“Of course.” Isobel took a step toward the door, then turned. “Fly safely, Alana. We need you.”

“Sure. Yes.” Alana mumbled through the lump of emotion tightening in her throat.

She raced up the stairs, Isobel’s words ringing in her head. Nobody needed her. Nobody ever had.

The door to her bedroom was open, though she’d been sure she’d closed it when she’d left for the commission meeting. She grabbed her suitcase and flung it on the bed. Whatever she forgot she could replace in Paris. It’d be a perfect excuse to shop the Boulevard.

She glanced at her ticket and realized she’d given Marcel the wrong arrival time.

“You keep interrupting my delightful fantasies,” he murmured sleepily when she woke him again.

“I gave you the wrong arrival time,” she said with a laugh.

“I have your flight number. And a computer. I’ll be there.”

“Can you set up a lunch with your friend the perfumer? I know it’s last minute.”

“Tired of me already?”

He knew better, but one tedious fault of Marcel’s was his habit of fishing for compliments.

“I love your scent, Marcel. I always know if I like someone by their scent. You smell like heaven.”

“Perhaps hell might be more delightful?” he teased.

Leave it to a Frenchman to find the sensual hook in everything.

“We’ll find out; I’m leaving in half an hour.”

She shoved the phone into her purse and then rummaged in her drawer for her laciest, raciest lingerie. A rustling in her closet stopped her. She tipped her head and narrowed her eyes at the half-open door. When she didn’t hear anything else, she guessed she’d imagined it. Then she heard it again. All she needed was a mouse or some other country wildlife nibbling on her Louboutins. She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and flung open the door.

There, in the middle of her garments, stood Sophie.

“What are you doing?” Alana said, trying to keep the shock out of her voice.

“I was going to leave you a note, and then I heard someone on the stairs and... well, I didn’t know what to do.” She cast her eyes to the floor of the closet.

Alana knelt down to Sophie’s eye level. “Look, it’s okay. But you shouldn’t go places you’re not invited.” She held out her hand. “Let’s get you back to your dad.”

Sophie took her hand. Sophie’s was tiny, tinier than she’d imagined, and damp.

Sophie pulled her hand back and wiped it on her shorts, then reached again for Alana’s hand. “My hands always get sweaty when I’m scared.”

Alana stopped walking and squeezed Sophie’s now dry fingers. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“That’s what I told my dad,” she said with bravado. “I’m usually right. About people.”

That the girl had discussed her with Matt gave Alana pause. That a six-year-old was sticking up for her character made her oddly uncomfortable. No, downright edgy.

“So what note were you going to leave me?”

As soon as Alana asked, she wished she hadn’t. Sophie cast her eyes down and stared at the carpet. But she didn’t let go of Alana’s hand.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Alana flushed. Sophie had overheard her conversation with Marcel. Thank God it hadn’t been an R-rated one. But still, it hadn’t been a conversation for a child’s ears.

“We’d better get you back to your dad; he’ll be worried.”

Alana grabbed her suitcase and they tromped down the stairs. Isobel raised a brow as the two of them walked by her and out of the house. Matt was talking with Peg, who had her walkie-talkie out and was shouting instructions to the grounds crew.

Alana dropped her suitcase in the drive and walked Sophie up to him. Damned if the man didn’t fire her up just by standing there. But his rigid stance and the alarm she saw in his eyes snapped her back from such thoughts.

“Lose something?” Alana asked.

“Sophie! For God’s sake, where the hell were you?” He bent and folded Sophie into his arms.

“In my closet,” Alana answered for the obviously distressed Sophie.

“Dad almost never says
hell
,” Sophie said over Matt’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he straightened and turned to her.

Alana wasn’t sure if he was apologizing to Sophie or to her. Either was fine.

“No problem. What are you doing here?” Alana asked. “There’s no tour today.”

“We’re here for camp,” Sophie announced.

“Camp?” Alana looked over to Peg.

“We have four camps this summer,” Peg answered. “Today’s orientation day.”

“For him too?”

Alana’s smile was teasing, but part of her wished the fantasy flashing through her mind, of her and Matt Darrington camping under the stars, keeping warm by rolling around in a tent, could be real.

“No, just kids.”

“Ah well,” she said, giving Matt one of her best smiles, “something for next year.”

He shifted his weight and though his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, he didn’t smile. Perhaps flirting wasn’t one of his skills. It made her like him all the more.

“I thought
you
would be leading the camps,” Sophie said in a disappointed tone.

“Miss Tavonesi owns the ranch,” Peg said in the sing-song voice that people used around children when they weren’t accustomed to them.

Alana’s smile grew wider. Maybe she wasn’t the only one learning a thing or two.

“But we have loads of great camp leaders,” Peg added in a placating tone. “You’ll see.”

Matt released Sophie and stood, giving Alana the assessing gaze she’d noticed on the day they’d toured. The day he’d scooped her into his arms and saved her neck. The day he’d shocked a bolt of desire into her core in about two seconds flat.

“Thank you,” he said.

The intensity of his gaze sent waves of heat rippling in her. And yet a gentle earnestness hovered there too. The combination of hard-ass assessment layered with gentle concern had her belly doing little flips that weren’t helpful to her equilibrium. Nor to logical thought.

“If you’re not leading the camps, maybe you could come to a game,” Sophie said. “We can invite her to a game, can’t we, Dad?” She tipped her face up to Alana. “You can see him play.”

“I’m sure Miss Tavonesi has better things to do,” Matt said. Alana didn’t miss that he’d used the formal address. She was no longer ranch hand, she was owner. If Matt’s rigid stance was any clue, she was pretty sure she preferred being seen as a ranch hand.

The limo pulled up near them, stirring a flurry of summer-heated dust.

“Thank you, Sophie,” Alana said hurriedly. “Maybe sometime I could do that. Enjoy camp.” She turned to Peg. “Isobel has all my instructions for the week.”

“Mr. Hartman?”

“He’ll have to wait.”

Peg flattened her lips into a firm line. “But the windmill approval—”

“That’ll have to wait too. Want anything from Paris?”

Peg shook her head. “I’ll email you if we hear anything from the commissioners.”

“
I’d
like one of those little statues of that big French tower,” Sophie said.

“Sophie!” Matt said, his face reddening with dismay or perhaps embarrassment.

“It’s okay.” Alana knelt down to Sophie. “I’ll see what I can do.” She stood and cast a smile at Matt. “Keep an eye on her. She’s too precious to lose.”

“Paris is a big-plane flight, isn’t it?”

Matt knew that the question in Sophie’s mind wasn’t about distance. Ever since Liza’s plane went down, Sophie had been terrified of flying and anxious every time he left for a road trip. That she’d bonded so quickly with Alana—enough to be worried about her—took him by surprise.