The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (6 page)

Not to mention his comment about kids. Miranda rolled her eyes at herself for falling under his spell. It had sounded sincere, but it had to be canned. No one who had been as famous as Luke Archer for as long as he had could still be surprised by a kid’s reaction.

Well, at least, he had taken her mind off Orin for a few minutes so she could get her temper under control.

She glanced at her watch. Her boss should be in by now. She would go beard the lion in his den.

Miranda struggled to be diplomatic as she sat in front of Orin’s desk. “I’m concerned about the mix-up in Mrs. Anglethorpe’s roses. The peach roses got switched to white ones. Fortunately, I caught the problem before they were delivered.”

Her boss swiveled away from his computer screen. He laid his hands on his desk and fixed a cold gaze on her. “So I will credit your alertness for catching the mistake. Well done.” There was nothing complimentary in his tone.

“Someone from our service called Richmond Florals and requested the change.” She wasn’t about to accuse Orin of placing the call, no matter what Joe said. “I’m sure they meant to change a different order. However, the mistake would have made both of the Anglethorpes unhappy and ruined the birthday celebration.”

Orin’s jaw went tight and his lips thinned. “If Joe can’t keep his paperwork straight, maybe you should find a different florist.”

“I’m just wondering how we can make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.” Miranda waited. Orin liked to think of himself as a problem solver.

“You have brought the issue to my attention, Miranda. Since I am the CEO of Elite Concierge Services, it is, of course, a priority for me to make sure this problem does not occur again.” Orin smacked his palms on the desktop, making Miranda start. “You need not concern yourself further.”

As she left his office, Miranda let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d made her point and he hadn’t fired her.

Still, she would polish up her résumé when she got home.

Luke settled on the leather seat of the limo and wondered what had Miranda Tate so riled up. She didn’t seem the type to throw things—even balls. He had a suspicion that Orin Spindle was involved, and guilt nagged at him again. If Luke hadn’t had that god-awful hangover from drinking with Trainor and Miller the night before, he wouldn’t have let that whole situation get to the point it did. He owed it to Miranda to fix it. But she had made it clear she didn’t want him to fight that battle for her.

Which surprised him.

So many people expected him to help them out.

He’d get a better idea about her at the meet and greet. He wanted to see her outside her professional persona. Bring out that genuine smile again, the one she’d given him when Trevor had pissed him off. Find out if that smooth, satiny voice ever took on an edge, or her sleek, shiny dark hair ever looked mussed. Like someone had run their fingers through it. See how the spark of temper he’d caught in her brown eyes might be turned into a different kind of heat.

He felt a stirring in his groin. Where the hell had that come from? One brush of her breasts against him and he wanted the whole package?

Luke straightened on the seat and began to run through the Empire’s playbook in his mind. One of his signature moves was not using a wristband with plays listed on it. He kept a mental file instead—it made his decisions on the field easier. And it intimidated his opponents.

Football was a physical game, but it never hurt to mess with your enemy’s mind, too.

Chapter 4

“This is awesome,” Theo said, his hazel eyes the size of saucers. They’d just been escorted into the VIP box.

“Awesome is right,” Miranda agreed. She was startled to discover that the box was decorated like someone’s large, elegant living/dining room, except for the wall of glass that overlooked the outdoor seating and the brilliant green of the football field. She’d gotten tickets for people to sit in VIP boxes more times than she could remember, but she’d never actually been in one herself. She’d imagined they would be decorated with team logos and neon beer signs. This suite boasted oak paneling, tan leather sofas, and plush russet carpeting.

“Mr. Archer got you one of the nicest boxes, and you have it all to yourself,” Heather, their young hostess, said. She’d met them at the VIP entrance, wearing a skirt and jacket in the now-familiar Empire blue, and whisked them up to their luxurious suite in an elevator.

Dennis whistled. “Four flat-screen TVs.”

“Hot dogs and pizza.” Theo inspected the contents of the chafing dishes laid out on the marble countertop.

“A private bathroom,” Patty said, sticking her head in the door. “With real towels, not paper ones.”

“Anything you want, just ask Milt here. He’ll be taking care of you.” Heather introduced them all to a wiry older man dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt with a black necktie. “I’ll be back after the game to take you to the lounge.”

“You folks want something to drink?” Milt asked. “Anything we haven’t got right here, I can get for you.”

Theo ran to his mother and beckoned for her to bend down so he could whisper in her ear. She listened and then nodded. “Yes, but after you eat.”

The boy raced over to Milt and skidded to a stop just in front of him. “Mr. Milt, do you have milk shakes?”

“Chocolate, vanilla, or peanut butter?” Milt asked with a smile.

“After I eat”—Theo threw a glance at Patty—“may I please have a chocolate one?”

“You got it, young man.” Milt looked at the adults.

“How about a beer?” Dennis asked. As Milt recited what he had on tap, in the refrigerator, and what he could get from the lounge, her brother’s face lit up almost as brightly as Theo’s. The circles under his eyes and the lines of fatigue etched around his mouth disappeared. Patty had been right—her brother needed a day off.

Patty and Miranda both opted for white wine, much to Dennis’s disgust. “You don’t drink chardonnay at a football game,” he scoffed good-naturedly.

“So far, I don’t feel like I’m anywhere near a football game.” Miranda sipped the crisp chilled wine.

“Yeah, well, let’s change that.” Dennis gestured for Miranda and Patty to follow Theo past the televisions and the sofas to the glass wall. Tall bar chairs were lined up along a countertop positioned so one could watch the game from inside while eating and drinking. Theo pushed open the frameless glass door, letting in a burst of brisk autumn air.

“Want your coats?” Milt asked.

“No, no, we’re fine,” Miranda said. “Just exploring before we eat.”

The brilliant sunshine made the green of the synthetic turf and the royal blue of the Empire logo blinding. Clumps of early spectators dotted the giant arcs of seating, most of them sporting blue jerseys, but a few stood out in the dark red of the opposing Cardinals.

“We’re on the fifty-yard line,” Dennis murmured in a tone of awe. He turned to Miranda. “Just what did you get for Luke Archer’s brother?”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

“Yeah, that was rhetorical,” her brother said with a wry smile. “It must have been really something, though.”

Miranda was a little overawed herself, especially because Luke had reserved a box that probably accommodated twelve people for their exclusive use. This was far beyond what she’d expected, especially when she considered that she’d received all of this by
refusing
to get Trevor Archer what he wanted. Luke was trying to buy her silence in a big way.

“Can I have my Empire stuff now?” Theo asked, tugging on Miranda’s elbow.

“Of course, sweetie.” She’d sorted through the boxes and selected jerseys and hats for all of them to wear at the game, packing them in the tote bag she’d brought with her. She also had the autographed football and a fancy commemorative booklet that she figured Theo could get more autographs on after the game. The rest she had shipped to the farm.

They trooped back into the suite, where Miranda distributed her goodies. Father and son handled the football with equal reverence. “We’re going to put this in the china cabinet and never play with it,” Dennis said. Theo nodded as he held the ball by its pointed ends and stared at the scrawl of Luke Archer’s name slashed in black Sharpie across the pigskin.

“Yeah, it will add a nice touch beside my grandmother’s Royal Doulton.” Patty smiled indulgently at her husband.

Dennis returned the smile but with some extra heat. Miranda sighed inwardly. Patty and Dennis had the kind of love that seemed to grow stronger through their struggles with the farm’s finances, the difficulties of conceiving and bearing a child, and the stress of Patty’s mother’s protracted illness and death while she lived with them.

They still used every excuse to touch each other, looked forward to their date night once a month, and indulged each other’s interests, like Dennis’s love of football and Patty’s of square dancing. At an exhibition dance she’d attended, Miranda had been impressed with how light on his feet Dennis was on the dance floor, even as he threw a long-suffering grimace at her.

She tossed everyone a football jersey, which they pulled on over their shirts. “All of a sudden I feel underdressed.” Patty glanced between their fan apparel and the elegant suite.

“Look at the back.” Miranda turned around in front of Patty.

“Oh, my God, the jerseys are autographed,” Patty said, trying to look over her own shoulder. “Luke Archer touched my jersey.”

“I think he touches a lot of jerseys,” Miranda said.

“Not as many as you’d think,” Milt spoke up. “He prefers to donate his autographed items to charity auctions rather than selling them. But he’s happy to give his friends his John Hancock.” He winked at Theo, who looked down at his child-size jersey with new admiration.

“Hmm,” Miranda said. That was an unexpected side to Luke. Since he’d been so generous to her, she’d assumed he had stacks of the signed stuff in a warehouse somewhere.

“I’m hungry,” Theo said.

Right on cue, Dennis’s stomach growled, making them all laugh as they attacked the buffet.

Three hours later, the Empire were down by two points. All four of them were standing outside, yelling at the top of their lungs as the Empire drove down the field in an attempt to win the game. Milt had brought Theo a giant blue foam hand with the index finger raised, which the boy waved over his head with enthusiasm, occasionally whacking someone in the face.

Miranda found herself tracking Luke’s number nine jersey, whether he was on the field or on the sideline. Every time the quarterback got hit by a hulking lineman, she gasped and winced. Luckily it didn’t happen too often since, according to Dennis, his teammates did a good job of protecting him. “He’s tough and almost never gets injured,” Dennis explained, “but he’s getting older, so they have to step it up a notch.”

“Older?” Miranda thought of the power and energy the quarterback radiated. “He can’t be all that old.”

“He’s in his midthirties. That’s old by football standards. He’s coming to the end of his career.”

“He sure doesn’t look like it,” she said as Luke threw the ball like a bullet to a receiver on the fifteen-yard line for a first down.

“Yeah, he’s still got an arm.”

On the next play, disaster struck. Once again the quarterback dropped back into what Dennis called the pocket, the football in his hand. Luke looked like an island of calm in the midst of a swirl of colliding bodies as he scanned the field for his intended target. He cocked his arm back and sent the ball riffling toward one of his teammates. An opponent blasted into the air as the ball was midflight and came down with it in his hands.

A collective groan went up from the stadium as the opposing player began to zig and zag in the other direction, gaining several yards before he was buried under a pile of Empire players.

Miranda looked back at Luke to see him standing with his hands on his hips, his posture expressing pure frustration. It was a fleeting moment, because he turned and walked off the field without any further reaction.

“That’s the second time he’s thrown an interception in the last five minutes of a game. He never makes that kind of misjudgment.” Dennis sounded upset. “Please tell me he doesn’t have a shoulder injury.”

When the Cardinals’ offense took the field, they all sat down and leaned forward on the edges of their seats, hissing in distress every time the opposing quarterback connected with his receiver for a first down, and cheering when the Empire’s defense stopped their advance.

Then the Empire got a major break when the Cardinals fumbled the ball and an Empire defender recovered it.

Luke Archer jogged back on the field. The giant screen at the end of the stadium showed a close-up of his eyes in the helmet’s opening. They burned with ice-cold intensity. “He’s going to win this,” Miranda said.

Dennis gave her a smile. “Turned into a football expert, have you, sis?”

“You could see it in his eyes,” she said. “Want to make a bet on the outcome?”

“No way! I would never bet against my team. Or Luke Archer.”

A dropped pass and two running plays advanced the Empire to the forty-five-yard line with a fourth down and two.

“Kick the field goal,” Dennis muttered under his breath.

“No, Dad, it’s too far. Archer’s going to put them away with a touchdown,” Theo said.

“I don’t think so, Theo.” Dennis was so engrossed in the game that he didn’t even glance at his son. “That’s too risky.”

All of a sudden the players stood up, and Luke trotted toward the sideline. “Time out, Empire,” the announcer called.

Miranda could see Luke’s helmet tilted at an attentive angle as the coach held his clipboard in front of his face to hide whatever they were discussing. The helmet bobbed a couple of times as Luke said something emphatic in response. The dialogue went back and forth a couple of times, and then Luke nodded and headed back onto the field.

“They’re not gonna kick it,” Theo crowed.

Dennis dropped his head into his hands briefly before he lifted his eyes to watch again.

So not kicking must be a bad idea. Miranda held her breath as Luke got into position behind his offensive line and shouted whatever it was that quarterbacks shouted at their teammates. A couple of players moved to different locations, and the ball was snapped.

Luke dropped back into the pocket with the ball still in his possession.

“He’s going to throw!” Dennis sounded incredulous. “Who’s open?”

Miranda tensed as a mountainous Cardinals player shook off two Empire linemen and charged toward the quarterback. “Oh, no, I can’t watch,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Brooks is open!” Dennis was screaming. “He’s throwing to Chaz Brooks.”

Miranda peeked through one eye just as Luke drilled the ball down the field right into the hands of number twenty-five.

“He has it! And he’s got a clear field!” Her brother was on his feet.

Miranda stood, too, watching as the blue-shirted ballcarrier extricated himself from the grip of another gigantic Cardinals defender and took off toward the goal line.

“He’s gonna score!” Theo squeaked with excitement. “Touchdown!” He threw his arms up and smacked Miranda in the face with his foam finger, but she didn’t care.

She was screaming along with the rest of the Empire fans as Chaz Brooks did a dance in the end zone.

“Oh, no, Archer is down.” Patty’s voice cut through the celebratory racket.

Miranda scanned the field to find a ring of players and trainers standing around a fallen player. She checked the big screen to see a close-up view of the top of Luke’s helmet resting on the turf behind a wall of cleats and ankles.

“Is he conscious?” she asked, concern extinguishing the thrill of victory.

“I can’t tell,” Patty said. “Oh, yeah, there. He moved his foot.”

Suddenly, one of the standing players bent down and offered his hand to the quarterback. The player straightened and brought Luke to his feet.

Cheers and applause filled the stadium again as the clot of players followed Luke off the field.

“Is he limping?” Miranda asked, trying to distinguish Luke from the crowd of blue jerseys surrounding him.

Patty was watching the big screen. “I can’t tell. Dennis?”

“I think he’s okay,” her husband said, his attention locked on the sideline, where activity swirled around the quarterback. “They’d have a lot more trainers working on him if he wasn’t.”

Luke had taken off his helmet, making it easy to spot his matted blond hair. Miranda flicked her gaze back and forth between the sideline and the big screen, which was focused on the quarterback as he sat on the bench, drinking Gatorade and talking to one of the staff members. If he was in pain, he gave no indication of it. Relief washed through her. Muscles she hadn’t realized she had clenched suddenly relaxed, and she sat down hard.

She barely registered the successful kick for the extra point and the running out of the clock for the Empire’s win.

Theo whooped and danced on his seat, while Dennis gave his wife a hug that lifted her off her feet. He held up his hand to Miranda for a high five.

“Your boy did it,” he said, shaking his head. “That was a frozen rope he threw to Brooks.”

“A what?”

“A really good pass,” Patty translated.

“So he’s not at the end of his career, after all?” Miranda asked.

Dennis shrugged. “At least not until the next interception.”