Aim For Love (3 page)

He stared her down. The relationships he had with women before he married were not her concern. But she knew the hurt he’d suffered over Stacy.

His grandmother pivoted and stepped into her herb room.

Miss Kingston.
Stacy
. Except for a brief conversation at his grandfather’s funeral, he hadn’t talked to her since his senior year in high school. Since her father had discovered that he and Stacy were dating and had sent her off to a boarding school back East. He was an old-fashioned German who didn’t want his darling mixed up with a Japanese-American boy with no prospects. He hadn’t said as much. He hadn’t had to.

Just knowing Stacy was back in the area sent a stab of warning into the protective web Kaz had so carefully cloaked around his heart.
Friends,
Stacy had written in the note she’d sent, breaking things off. They could be friends. But she hadn’t phoned or emailed, and he’d known better than to contact her. Not long after he’d received the note, Kaz had seen her driving the sports car her father had probably given her as a bribe to move on. To help her forget.

The summer before Stacy left, she’d fallen in with a fast crowd—heiresses and party girls. She’d messed around with drugs and been sent to rehab. That wouldn’t have happened if she’d been his girl.

And if she’d been his girl, he wouldn’t have made the second vow to his grandfather. He couldn’t have.

But since then, he’d moved on. And two years later he’d made the vow he intended to keep.

Since Stacy, his relationships with women had been perfunctory one-night stands with women who hung around minor league ballparks, curious to sleep with a ballplayer for the thrill. Lately he’d stopped that too. Each time he had casual sex, although it felt good to have the physical release, the experience stole a piece of his soul.

He had other concerns to focus on, other more important challenges. When his mother left with his father and brother for their trip to Japan, she’d made noises about finding him a suitable bride while she was in Tokyo. He hadn’t even had the energy to dissuade her. The farm and getting ready for spring training sucked up all his attention and drive.

He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and then sat in the dim hallway and listened to Alex Tavonesi’s message, making a note to call the sheriff’s office after breakfast to speak with Greg about the meth lab.

“…to invite you to come up to Sonoma.” Alex paused. “It’d be good for me to practice my swing against your fastball. And, well, my wrist is better since you helped me rehab it. And if you come up, maybe you can have a look at my sister’s shoulder. You’d be doing both of us a huge favor.”

Kaz clicked off the machine. He could do without dealing with the sister, but he would like to spend some time with Alex. When Kaz had been called up last season, Alex had befriended him. The guy was what Kaz dreamed of being—he was more than an All-Star. Two years ago he had achieved one of baseball’s highest marks, the Triple Crown.
And
he had a world-class growing operation, Trovare Vineyard. It didn’t matter that he grew grapes instead of peaches; Alex was an entrepreneur.

Kaz stared out the hallway window at the south orchard.

He could use some fresh ideas. Particularly since there was no message from his agent.

Not a good sign.

There was one spot open in the Giants’ Major League pitching roster. Either he made the cut during spring training or… No, he wasn’t going to think about any other scenario.

He’d make it. He’d trained. There wasn’t another pitcher in the league with his speed. And he’d worked on his placement. He’d spent months during the off-season honing his aim, his body mechanics, his concentration. Some people might think samurai skills were only useful for a time long past, but Kaz knew better. Any true samurai knew better.

Chapter Two

The quiet of the morning was unnerving. Not that Sabrina wasn’t used to quiet weekends at the Tavonesi family estate. No humming machines or equipment moving about in the vineyard, no shouting and laughing among the crew. Just the song of wrens, their drawn-out, cheery warbling accompanied by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

It had stormed in the night, giving the air the washed-clean, after-a-rain scent that she loved, a scent that usually brought joy and peace.

But not today.

The nightmares had returned.

She thought she’d left them behind in LA, had hoped that their strange power had lost its grip. But she’d awakened in the night to the sound of thunder and had lain, shivering, caught in the web the dark images had spun so tightly around her. As if in a macabre version of
Alice in Wonderland
, she’d fallen into a realm where elements of her life that once made sense now failed to guide her.

After finishing her obligations for her first two films, she’d traveled the world, participating in projects that her family’s foundation funded—delivering supplies to newly built schoolrooms in Africa and sitting with village girls happy to have pencil and paper and teachers, visiting wild animal refuges where funding made it possible to keep elephants and rhinos safe from poachers, and learning firsthand about the customs of native cultures far different from those of her California home.

But none of those experiences had prepared her for the inner world that Natasha’s film had pried open, for the stripping away of the known. And for the foreign, demanding darkness that insisted upon being navigated.

When she’d first read Natasha’s script and had begun to grasp the depths and the challenges that the heroine fought to deal with, she’d never expected the dark forces to seep into her own life, hadn’t believed that such a thing was possible.

But since then, she’d heard disquieting tales of actors falling into the characters they portrayed. Some of the actors she admired prided themselves on dropping into character and not coming out until the final day of shooting. And she’d heard the cautionary tales about those unfortunate individuals who hadn’t shaken themselves free of the roles they’d sunk into.

But she’d never thought she’d be sucked into the psychological depths of a character.

She slipped out of bed and crossed to the French doors that led to the balcony off her bedroom. The gargoyles on the east tower of Trovare’s castle grinned in the gentle morning light. Before his untimely and unexpected death, her father had lovingly tracked down every stone, every mantel, every fixture of the massive castle that she and her mother, her brother and his wife called home. Trovare had been his life’s dream. And she loved every quirky stone in the place.

Dreams
. How strongly they tugged and pulled and prodded. Sometimes they brought challenges beyond the imaginable. Sometimes they were a prod, sometimes an anchor. Often they danced tantalizingly just out of reach.

She stared at the gargoyle closest to her. He was hunched, poised, as if at any moment he might fly away into the blue expanse arching over the vineyard.

She pulled the balcony doors closed to keep out the morning chill and picked up the dog-eared script from her bedside table.

Perhaps she shouldn’t spend her last waking hours trying to memorize the complicated dialogue. Perhaps if she only read the script during the day, when it was easier to keep her perspective about what was real and what wasn’t, the nightmares would stop. Perhaps…

With a moan of frustration she threw the script across the room. Pain stabbed fast and hot, and she clutched at her shoulder, willing the throbbing to stop. She sank onto the edge of her bed. She’d forgotten to put on her sling. Forgotten that she wasn’t the woman she’d been before the assault.

“Darts would be more effective.”

She turned at the sound of her brother’s voice.

“I didn’t hear you knock, Alex.”

He picked up the script. “No better?” he asked, gesturing with it toward her shoulder.

It wasn’t really a question. Alex was an observant man. His exquisite powers of observation had made him one of the best hitters in the Major Leagues. That and devoted, focused practice. And it hadn’t hurt that he had a body built for power. It took power to hit a ball hurtling at ninety miles an hour. Power and timing.

“I wish you’d talked with me before signing that contract,” he said as he dropped into the chair by her window.

So much for timing.

She donned her sling and snugged the strap into place. Supported by it, her arm and shoulder relaxed.

“I hardly need to be chastised, least of all by you. I ask myself enough times what I was thinking when I signed.”

“You signed because you’re kind, Sabrina.” He tossed the script on the table. “And because you were up for a challenge.”

“Because I was naive is more like it. The character is fighting forces I barely understand; it’s even darker than the first film. You
know
I suck at dealing with the dark side.”

“The princess of light goes to battle,” Alex said with a crooked grin.

“If you read that script, you’d see it’s way beyond my ability. Natasha’s first film had sharp edges, but this one…this one cuts to the bone.”

“You underestimate your ability, Brinny.” He tapped his fingers on the script. “Besides, quitting now would be like me giving up when I was in the minor leagues and got beaned by Gary Brady.”

“Come on—you knew your whole life that you wanted to play baseball. This role fell into my lap, a fluke.”

“Sure, and the judges at Cannes just happened to nominate you for a
Palme d’Or
because you’re gorgeous. Or maybe because you’re my sister and they thought I’d send them all free cases of Trovare’s best wine.”

“Be serious.”

“
Not
my best quality.” His eyes squinted with mischief. But his light mood didn’t distract her from the heaviness lurking in her chest.

“I feel like a fraud. It was
luck
that Natasha’s indie project hit like it did.”

He waggled a finger at her. “You know how I feel about luck. It’s ninety-nine percent effort and preparation meeting the opportunities of the world. And I happen to
know
how hard you worked on that film, as well as the two before it.” He sat back in the chair, all legs and muscles and energy. “I know you don’t like it, but you happen to be a Hollywood ‘It Girl’ right now—Natasha was more than lucky to land you for the sequel.”

She tipped her head back and let the warmth his praise kindled spread through her. It was no secret that they were each other’s number-one fans. But reality poured back in as she adjusted the silk sling supporting her right arm.

“
Three weeks
, Alex. I have three weeks to get my head around showing up on the set as a total gimp. The physical therapy isn’t working and neither is acupuncture. The contract I signed says I have to do my own stunts.”

“They should’ve thrown the jerk who assaulted you in jail. All those cameras in one spot, and no one got a decent shot of the man who did it.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to think about him, that I’ll never have to face him in a line-up. I want to move on.”

“And how about your other problem?” Alex asked.

“What other problem?” She waited for the punchline.

“Wandering the castle in your sleep.”

“What?” She laughed. “It’s been ages since I did that. Why’d you bring that up? Trying to give me something else to worry about?”

“I just remember you’d do it when you were stressed, like when you had exams. If you’re stressed now and not sleeping well…”

Sabrina wanted to scream. Why was it that family remembered only the bad stuff, the stupid stuff about growing up that you only wanted to forget?

“You could end up walking out of here, driving your car, falling into the moat.”

She laughed again, this time with him, and then said, “You worry too much, Alex.”

He sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “Just let me know if something bothers you, Brinny.”

“Like I said, you worry too much.”

He touched his fingertips to her sling. “I have a teammate who’s an expert at shoulder rehab. Brilliant, really. He has a magic touch, even if I don’t believe in such things.”

“No thanks. All I need is a wizard ballplayer hovering around me.” She gave him her best evil eye. “And none of your matchmaking either.”

“Kaz is all business, so no worries there. Besides,” Alex added with a shake of his head, “matchmaking’s your department, although you haven’t done so well for yourself.”

“You don’t like Derrick.”

“No one in the family likes him. You’ll come around.”

“
You’ll
come around, you mean.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You don’t know him.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy anybody could know. Talk about wizards—Derrick Ainsley is all smoke and mirrors.”

“He’s an
actor
, Alex. A good one. He helps me. And I like him.”

“I didn’t come up here to talk about Derrick.” He took her hand in his. “Last year when the trainers and docs gave up on my wrist, Kaz helped me.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Give it a go?”

She knew better than to fight off Alex’s advice. Among the many aspects of life he knew well, rehabbing an injured body was near the top of the list. She nodded.

He released her hand and crossed his arms, his hawk-like stare nailing her. “But that’s not what’s bothering you.”

She lowered her gaze to the carpet, traced the swirling patterns and stalled. How could she tell him that Kristen had visited her dreams? That she felt haunted by her and the cloying forces of the world she inhabited?

He’d think she’d lost her mind.

But they didn’t keep secrets from each other. She told him about the dream, leaving out the gory, violent parts.

“In her dreams, Kristen is sucked into a vortex of blackness, screaming that she’s been betrayed by all she’d believed in.”

Alex gripped his elbows, narrowing his eyes at her.

“She’s gotten under my skin, behind my eyes. Some days I feel like I’m looking out from her eyes and not my own. If I were a real actor, a better actor, I could just learn the part and act it out. I don’t know how to do that, Alex. But if I can’t even handle
dreaming
about this woman, how can I cope with entering her world again, her story, taking it on and bringing it to life?”