The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (26 page)

He straightened abruptly, banging his beer bottle against the chair arm. “What the hell!”

“Theo’s got the flu, and so does the hired man at the farm. I have to go up there to help Patty and Dennis.” Her mouth twisted into an unhappy frown.

A raging boil of emotions seared through him. Hollow disappointment, seething frustration, scorching anger. He didn’t stop to analyze what underlaid them. “When did you find out?”

“Earlier today.” Her gaze met his before she looked down at her plate.

“Would have been nice to know that before I promised my firstborn to get a private room at the Aerie.” He set his beer down on the table with great care. Now how the hell was he supposed to impress her so much she wouldn’t even look at another man for months? A couple of quesadillas wouldn’t cut it.

“You got a reservation at the Aerie?” He could hear wonder and guilt in her voice, which mollified him slightly.

“And had my jet gassed up to take you there.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was low. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put a damper on this evening. I should go.” She stood up.

He pushed out of his chair, his fists clenched as he worked to control his anger. “Stay. Please.”

She padded over to him on her bare feet and laid her hand on his arm. The sweetness of her touch made him want to groan out loud. “We both knew this was going to end. It’s just ending one day sooner than we expected.”

Temptation clawed at him. He didn’t want to say good-bye. He wanted to have that rich-as-cream voice surprise him with her different perspective on the world. To tangle his hands in the dark waves of her hair. To make her come in every way he could think of. To curl around her soft, warm presence in his bed. His chest ached with yearning, and he actually lifted a hand to rub at it.

But you’re not getting any younger.
Junius’s words steamrolled through his brain.

“You’re right. I’m being unrealistic.” He saw a flash of hurt in her brown eyes and knew he sounded like a jerk.

“I thought . . . hoped we could say good-bye on a positive note,” she said.

“Yeah, me, too.” He grimaced. “It’s harder than I expected.”

She looked stricken, and he realized she’d misunderstood him.

“Saying good-bye is harder than I expected.”

“Oh, good.” She shook her head, making her breasts move under his flannel shirt. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I don’t mean good . . . never mind. I’m not doing this well.” She looked him straight in the eye. “These last few days with you have been an experience I’ll never forget. I expected a celebrity, but I got to know an incredible human being.” Her voice quavered. “I hope I’ll see you at the Pinnacle every now and then.”

She put one palm against his bare chest, sending a rope of arousal straight to his cock. Raising herself onto her tiptoes, she wrapped her other hand behind his head and pulled his mouth to hers for a soft, sad farewell kiss.

Before he could respond, she broke contact and bolted for the kitchen door.

“Miranda.” He followed her.

“Please don’t come in here.” He could hear tears in her voice from the living room. “This is hard enough as it is.”

He stopped in the doorway, his heart contorting in his chest, while she walked swiftly through the room where they’d just had mind-blowing sex.

She gazed around, looking confused. “Where are the rest of my clothes? Just tell me. I’ll get them.”

That galvanized him into action. “I’ll bring them to you. And I’ll call my driver.”

“I can get home on my own.” Her back was still turned, as though she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

His anger kicked up again. “What the hell kind of man do you think I am? You’re taking my car home.”

Without waiting for her agreement, he strode toward his bedroom, where he’d stashed her clothing. It would give him time to think of the right thing to say.

He scooped the little heap of lace and satin off the chair where he’d dropped it, bringing it to his face so he could imprint her scent on his brain. But he could think of no words that would bind her to him.

He strode down the hall to find her standing in front of the elevator, already wearing her jeans and boots under his shirt. Her handbag sat on the floor beside her feet. The thought of her going out into the night without panties made him crazy with both arousal and the desire not to let her out of his sight. But he had no right to feel possessive. It was his decision to let her go.

He held out her clothes, the garments so small he grasped them easily in one hand. She accepted them with a contained dignity. “Would you mind if I take the elevator alone?”

He minded a lot. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his bedroom and make her scream his name as she came underneath him.

“Miranda—”

She held up her hand and swallowed hard. “Nothing more.”

“I have to say this.” He rolled his shoulders. “A lot of people count on me to be at the top of my game. It takes everything I’ve got to stay there. I wish it were different.”

He saw understanding mix with sorrow in her brown eyes. She nodded as she hugged the clothes to her chest. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “Would you mind if I wore your shirt home? I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Keep it. I like knowing you have it.” Stupid but true.

“Thank you,” she whispered, picking up her bag.

He reached past her and pressed the button. The elevator door glided silently open, and she stepped into the car, keeping her back to him. She reached out blindly and fumbled at the control panel for a second before finding the right button. The door began to slide closed.

He’d never been at such a loss. His brain seemed frozen—his tongue felt thick and inert. All the clichés he used in interviews skittered through his brain, blocking him from finding anything real to say.

At the last minute, she turned to face him, and he saw the glisten of tears on her cheeks.

“Miranda!”

The door sealed her away from him, and the well-oiled whir of the car’s descent filled his ears.

He smacked the wooden panel so hard the impact vibrated into his shoulder. Pivoting on his bare heel, he walked out onto the frigid tiles of the terrace and braced his hands on the railing, staring at the lights of the boats chugging across the harbor. It was too damn cold to be outside bare chested, but he welcomed the punishing slap of the frigid sea wind.

When had he become such an asshole?

Chapter 23

On Sunday morning, the sky outside the kitchen window still showed the glitter of stars as Miranda dropped into a painted wooden chair. She gulped down half a mug of coffee and groaned. Every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion after spending the evening tending to the cows, and last night tossing and turning.

She crossed her arms on the scarred tabletop and pillowed her head on them. Sleep had eluded her because she couldn’t stop thinking about her final evening with Luke. Tears welled against her closed eyelids. She’d known the man for less than two weeks. She shouldn’t be this upset about their parting.

It was the sex. It created a false sense of intimacy. She felt as though the relationship was much closer than it was. What did she really know about him, anyway?

She choked on a sob.

“I told Dennis to take it easy on you.” Patty’s voice pulled her out of her self-pity party.

Surreptitiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Miranda lifted her head and forced a smile. “He worked twice as hard as I did. I’ve just gotten soft from all that city living. How’s Theo this morning?”

Worry tightened her sister-in-law’s jaw. “His temp’s 102, but the doc says that’s typical of this flu. And kids can handle high fevers better than adults can. I’m putting him in a tepid bath if it doesn’t come down when he wakes up again.”

“Theo will love that.”

Patty snorted at Miranda’s sarcasm. “Yeah, baths are not a hit even when he’s feeling fine.” She grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee. “Would you like pancakes or eggs?”

“Whatever Dennis wants is fine.”

Patty threw her a look. “Your brother’s not real picky, so it’s up to you.”

“Pancakes, then.”

“Could you grab the mix out of the pantry?” Patty had pulled a package of bacon from the fridge.

Miranda rose stiffly and hobbled to the pantry door. As she scanned the shelves, a spear of misery lanced through her. Staring out from a bright orange Wheaties box were the pale blue eyes of Luke Archer, his arm cocked back ready to send a football sailing through the air. She couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs as she stared at the hand curved around the pigskin and remembered how it felt against her skin.

“Pancake mix is on the third shelf down. Grab the syrup, too,” Patty said.

Miranda seized the cereal box and shoved it between the Cheerios and the Froot Loops. “Got it,” she said as she scooped up the syrup and pancake mix and backed away from the pantry.

Patty gave her an appraising glance. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Dennis always claimed the farmhouse was haunted.” Miranda rummaged around for a mixing bowl. “Where is he, by the way? He told me I had to set my alarm for six.”

“Probably thought you’d need time to primp,” Patty said.

Miranda touched the sloppy bun she’d yanked her uncombed hair into and glanced down at her jeans and long-sleeved thermal T-shirt with a short laugh. “Yeah, I did a lot of primping.”

Patty looked up from laying the bacon in the frying pan. “You’re lucky. With your big brown eyes and that ivory skin, you don’t have to wear a lick of makeup to look gorgeous.”

Right now Miranda felt anything but gorgeous.

“Morning, sis.” Dennis shuffled into the kitchen. Patty handed him a mug with steam wisping out of it, and he buried his nose in it.

“Burning daylight, bro,” Miranda teased as she stirred water and eggs into the mix.

He squinted at the window, where the sky was just showing a tinge of pink. “Not day yet.”

Miranda examined the two of them surreptitiously. They both looked tired and drawn, although Dennis had surprising color in his cheeks. Probably from working outdoors in the frosty October air.

Her brother gulped down his coffee and took the whisk out of her hand with a grin. “I’ll handle the pancakes. Last time you cooked, the smoke alarm went off, and I don’t want to wake Theo up.”

“Hey, that was five years ago.” Miranda bumped him with her hip.

“And you haven’t been near the stove since,” her brother said, elbowing her away from the counter.

“Behave, children,” Patty said, but she was smiling.

Miranda was glad to see their faces more relaxed, so she carried on with ribbing her brother as they cooked and ate a speedy breakfast. At the back door, they shoved their feet into rubber boots and piled on warm clothing against the bite of the early-morning chill.

Dennis laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s like old times. I miss having you working beside me.”

“Me, too,” she said, giving him a kiss on his scruffy cheek. Amazingly enough, it was true. There was something comforting about the familiar tasks of forking hay, attaching milking machines, mucking out the barn, and processing the fresh milk. Not to mention that they kept her mind off Luke Archer. She winced as the sense of loss sliced through her again.

Dennis held the door open for her, and she stepped out onto the flagstone path that led through the yard toward the dairy barn. The rising sun’s rays angled along the rails of the fence, lining them with light. The cows stood waiting by the barn door, their warm breath blowing puffs of mist into crystalline air. An occasional moo punctuated the dawn birdsong.

Miranda breathed in the cold-muted smell of manure that always hung around the part of the field where the herd congregated twice a day. Not everyone liked the scent, but it was part of her childhood, so she found it soothing.

As they tromped along side by side, the mooing grew in volume. The herd knew that food and the easing of their udders were nigh.

Dennis veered off the path, and Miranda stopped. “What’s up?”

He stutter-stepped and headed toward the barn again. “Nothing. Just tripped.”

Two more steps and he staggered before going down on his knees.

“Dennis! What’s wrong?” She knelt beside him and peered into his face.

“Hell,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I’ve caught the damn flu.”

She pulled off her glove to put her hand on his forehead, nearly snatching it away again. His skin was scorching hot. “Back to the house with you,” she said, standing to help him up. She wrapped his arm over her shoulders and supported him back to the door.

Patty was drying dishes and spun around in surprise when Miranda and Dennis lurched into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she asked, tossing the towel on the counter as she jogged over to them.

“He’s burning up with fever,” Miranda said. “Help me get him upstairs.”

“Stubborn man. I knew he wasn’t feeling right,” Patty muttered, coming around to the other side of her husband.

“I can walk,” Dennis said, slurring his words.

Worry scraped at Miranda’s heart. Her brother was leaning heavily on her, which meant he was having a hard time staying upright.

“You’re going to have to walk,” Patty said, “because we sure as heck can’t carry you, sweetie.”

Somehow they got him up the steep, narrow staircase and into his bedroom. Miranda helped Patty take off her brother’s outer garments and then left her sister-in-law to handle the rest. She didn’t think Dennis would appreciate having his sister see him in his skivvies, no matter how sick he was.

She stood outside the bedroom door, pitching her voice low to ask what Patty needed her to do.

The other woman came to the door. “I hate to ask you this, but can you milk the cows by yourself? That’s what Dennis would want done.”

“Of course.” Miranda injected as much confidence as she could into her voice, even though the prospect made her blanch inside. She didn’t have the strength or stamina her brother did, and she was out of practice.

“Thank God you’re here.” Patty gave her a quick, hard hug and turned back to the bedroom.

Miranda squared her shoulders and clumped down the stairs as quietly as she could in the rubber boots. The warm glow of the knowledge that she was helping her family dispelled some of her fatigue. Maybe she wouldn’t be as fast as Dennis, but she could get the job done.

Two hours later, she shooed the last cow out of the barn and collapsed onto an overturned bucket. Dennis had updated much of the equipment to make milking less labor-intensive, but she still had to clean the teat cups. After that, she would call Orin to tell him she needed the week off. She couldn’t leave Patty to cope with a sick husband and child and a herd of dairy cows while the hired hand was out of commission.

Miranda grimaced. Orin would want his pound of flesh for making him rework the schedule. She pushed up from the bucket and trudged back into the barn.

Now she remembered why she’d wanted to flee to the big city.

“I’m really sorry, Orin, but I need to take the week off,” Miranda said. She gripped the phone tighter and waited for her boss to blow up. Instead, there was a long, ominous silence. “I know it’s asking a lot, so I’ll take night shifts or weekend shifts as a thank-you for anyone you have to call in.”

She plucked at the twine of the hay bale where she sat in the weak warmth of the late-morning sunshine.

“I have reached my breaking point,” Orin said. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

Miranda couldn’t stifle her gasp. She’d expected him to berate her up, down, and sideways, not
fire
her.

Her boss continued, and she swore she could hear a note of triumph in his voice. “Your performance has not been up to the standards we require at the Pinnacle. I will give you one week’s base pay as severance, which I’m sure you will agree is quite generous.”

Technically speaking, he didn’t have to give her any severance pay at all, so by some measures it was generous. However, an assistant concierge’s base pay was peanuts, since the bulk of her income came from commissions and tips.

“I will also provide a letter of reference, stating your dates of employment here at the Pinnacle. Without mention that you were fired.”

That was Orin’s way of saying he would not recommend her for another position. Not that she’d expected it.

Somehow she managed to grind out, “I appreciate that.”

“And well you should. I could cite you for dereliction of duty.”

Hot anger ballooned inside her. “Dereliction of duty” would be going back to New York to indulge the whims of hyperwealthy people while her brother and his family struggled alone. She clenched her jaw to prevent herself from asking Orin what the hell he knew about duty.

“I will have Sofia box up your belongings. You can pick them up when you get back from the farm. Make sure to wash the manure off your shoes before you walk into the lobby.”

Her vision went red with fury. “Good-bye, Orin,” she said and hit the “Disconnect” button. That would piss him off more than any of the names she wanted to call him.

She bolted up from the hay bale and paced in a circle in front of the barn door, vibrating with frustration and rage.

“That sniveling little scumbag of a worm-eaten dipstick! Useless sack of cretinous goat manure!”

After a few more circles and creative name-calling, she felt the cold, dark hand of panic close around her throat. She couldn’t afford to be out of a job. The cheese was what kept the farm financially viable. If she couldn’t make the payments on the cheese-making equipment, Dennis would have to sell the herd and the land. Maybe he could keep the house and continue to work for the new owner.

Miranda shook her head. There was no job security in that, nor was there enough income to send Theo to college, even with Patty contributing her garden sales. No, Dennis would have to move. Her parents would be devastated; the farm had been owned by the Tate family for five generations.

She sank back down on the hay bale and dropped her head into her hands. Two days ago, she’d been a well-respected concierge at one of the most exclusive luxury buildings in a city that specialized in them, not to mention dating a gorgeous, elite athlete. Now she sat alone in a muddy paddock in manure-smeared boots a size too large for her with no job and dim prospects of finding another one.

Sometimes life truly sucked.