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.
“She’ll be back,” he said as he took Sophie by the hand. “Let’s go join the others.”
But more surprising was the feel of the fist in his stomach as he’d watched her drive off.
He’d thought her a ranch hand, an employee, but she was a Tavonesi. Which meant she was related to his teammate and that she was wealthy. And probably a lot more besides.
One thing about playing shortstop—a man learned to read people and situations. From what he’d seen today, Alana Tavonesi was a high flyer and a loose cannon. If his own internal radar wasn’t enough, the reactions of her staff and their body language filled in the details. She could break Sophie’s heart and not even know she’d done it.
Honesty was a principle he lived by, so he had to admit she was sexy and had a charm that had slipped through his vigorous defenses. But he couldn’t see her cleaning up a feverish, snotty child at three in the morning or packing a school lunch, although she’d be far better than he was on back-to-school shopping trips. Yet why he was even thinking about her doing such things confounded him.
Sophie stood close to him while they waited in line at the orientation tent. She wasn’t shy, but as she watched the other kids with their moms, he figured she was considering which among the kids might be an interesting playmate. When it was their turn, the staffer cheerfully handed Matt a set of release forms. He took Sophie by the hand and headed for a picnic table in the shade of an oak. He slid onto the bench and leaned his elbows on the papers, ignoring the legalese, and admired the spreading olive orchards and rolling hills that stretched to the horizon. Someone had foresight and a helluva good eye for working with the contours of the hills and valleys. It’d been a while since he’d spent any time in the country. The scent of a nearby bay tree drifted to him and teased out memories of working in his garden back East, of the pleasure of being connected to the rhythms of the land—a pleasure he hadn’t been aware of missing.
Sophie perched on the table beside him.
“Do I smell good, Dad?”
“You smell just fine, honey.” He skimmed the first page of boilerplate.
“No, I mean do I smell good.”
He looked up from the release form. “Why do you ask?”
“Alana told a person on the phone that she could tell if someone’s right for her by how they smell. She told the guy she was talking to that he smelled like heaven.” She tapped her foot against the wooden bench. “Do I smell like heaven?”
“I’ve never been to heaven,” Matt said, stalling to buy time to figure out a safe answer. “How’d you know it was a guy?” He felt ridiculous for asking, but part of him had to know.
“She called him Marcel. That’s a guy’s name, right?”
“Yep.”
Marcel was definitely a man’s name. A French man’s name.
Want anything from Paris?
His impressions of Alana were beginning to come into clear, crisp focus.
“I think Alana smells like summer. Don’t you?”
He heard the affection in her voice. Of all the women for Sophie to become enamored with, it had to be the one woman who was definitely completely wrong. For her. For him. For them. He knew what a rich gadabout looked like; he’d been one. If it hadn’t been for the game and Sophie, he still might be the social equivalent of a void.
“Sure,” he said flatly. “Like summer.” He gathered up the papers. And maybe Alana herself smelled like heaven, but he wasn’t about to admit it.