Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (7 page)

“You mean
our
CBA? You can’t possibly
understand that yet. No offense.”

“Actually . . .” She paused
for effect “
You
can’t possibly understand it. No
offense.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a lawyer. Contracts are
my
turf,
not yours.” She flashed a conciliatory smile. “I’ve also been
studying some of our clients’ contracts and all the supporting
rules. So I’ve learned about signing bonuses and holdouts and a
dozen other football-y things. Like your responsibility—especially
as a quarterback—to make yourself available to the media.
Guaranteed money, free agency, franchise tags, the works. I’m
catching on quick, believe it or not.”

“I believe it. Like I said, you’re
sharp.”

She rolled her eyes, but secretly enjoyed
the compliment. Much better than the tacked-on “you’re good-looking
too,” after the sincere gushing about Rachel and Erica.

They had turned onto a road with more of a
country feel to it and she murmured, “I heard it was pretty out
here. Are those vineyards?”

“Abandoned olive groves, I believe. Tony and
Bea have some on their ranch that his grandfather used to work
commercially. The old-timers claim the weather out here changed in
the early nineteen hundreds, making it a less Mediterranean
environment. Kind of a shame.”

“Your great-uncle’s grandfather would be
your
great-great-grandfather, right? Or are you related to
them through Bea?”

“Through Tony.”

“They must be so proud of you, Wyatt.”

He nodded.

“And your nephews like football too? Just
like you and your dad?”

He seemed ready to object to this line of
inquiry, then he said quietly, “Both of my teenage nephews show
talent. One in particular. So we’ll see.”

“It’s in their DNA.”

“Right.”

Just be quiet, Darcie,
she warned
herself. She wasn’t sure what she had said that bothered him. Or
maybe she was just talking too much in general.

Except he had been asking almost as many
questions as she was. Hadn’t he?

“This is them,” he announced as they made
another turn, this time onto a dirt road. “Thanks again for doing
this.”

“You’re welcome.”

She felt a flurry of nervousness as a
rambling old house with a long, chair-lined porch came into view.
She didn’t really know anything about Wyatt except what one could
read in the papers. What if they asked questions? Or caught
something odd in how she spoke of him?

Then she remembered their agreed-upon story:
they had just met yesterday. His family couldn’t expect her to know
anything, so she was unlikely to expose the lie. She just had to
act like she was on a first date with him, and assuming he
reciprocated, no problem.

He’s the one who’ll blow it,
she
assured herself bleakly.
Remember that look he gave you at the
end of the plane ride? Like he didn’t recognize you? Just pray he
doesn’t do
that
.

He pulled over when they were still a fair
distance from the house. Then he hopped out and came around to open
her door. No need for a text to prompt him this time, apparently.
He definitely wanted his family to fall for this fake-date
scenario.

Scrambling out of her seat, she battled
second thoughts, especially since he was doing his gorgeous,
towering hunk routine again. Hopefully that would get old soon, but
for the moment, it took her breath away.

If only it were a real date so she could
wallow in all the chemistry.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her gently. “The
Bournes are a lot nicer than me.”

Surprised, she assured him without thinking,
“I
like
you, Wyatt. They don’t need to be nicer. Shorter,
maybe. But not nicer.”

He chuckled. “Let’s go in, then.”

“Should I put the heels on instead of these
flat things?”

“You’re perfect the way you are,” he said
firmly.

It would have been music to her ears if he
hadn’t sounded like he wanted to get this over with.

When he took her by the arm, she shook it
free and asked plaintively, “Are you sure there’s nothing else I
need to know?”

“There’s nothing.” He grimaced and added,
“You’re the first date I’ve ever brought to one of these things.
Does that matter?”

“To me? No. To them? Yes, I would think so.”
She imagined how
her
family would feel if she had never
brought a guy home, then suddenly showed up with one out of the
blue at her current age.

They’d go nuts.

“Thanks a lot, Wyatt,” she muttered.

“Wyatt!” came a piercing but cheerful voice.
“You showed up!”

Darcie turned to see a tall, sixty-something
woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a teasing smile advancing on
them. Like Wyatt she was wearing shorts and tennies with a cotton
top, making Darcie feel overdressed.

“Aunt Jenny,” Wyatt informed her dryly as
though reminding her this woman could be trouble.

Still, when his aunt reached them he gave
her an affectionate half-hug as they pecked each other’s
cheeks.

“And who is this?” she asked, eyeing Darcie
expectantly.

“I brought my lawyer. So no funny business,”
Wyatt joked.

“
Look
at you,” Aunt Jenny gushed.
“I’d say you were worth the wait.”

Darcie gave Wyatt a look to say:
See what
I mean? It’s huge for them.

He didn’t seem to notice, saying casually,
“Darcie Kildare, meet Jenny Bourne.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bourne.”

“Call me Jenny,” she insisted. “Wyatt, why
didn’t you tell us you were bringing a date? I would have made the
grandkids dress up.”

He seemed about to respond, then looked past
Jenny and called out, “Hold on, Bea. I’ll come to you.”

Turning toward the porch, Darcie winced at
the sight of an elderly woman hobbling down the steps on the arm of
a teenage boy. She looked a little like Jenny, which made sense
since they were mother and daughter. But neither looked like Wyatt,
which also made sense. His blood relative was Tony, not Bea. And
apparently, Jenny had chosen the non-Bourne gene.

The teenager, on the other hand, bore some
resemblance to his uncle. Dark hair, nice build, a few inches
shorter, but definitely on the road to hunkdom. Of course, he also
wore cargo shorts and a polo, which was beginning to annoy Darcie.
Apparently her fake date had forgotten to mention the dress
code.

Wyatt reached his great-aunt in five long
strides then embraced her warmly. At the same time, two
girls—possibly sixteen or seventeen—sprinted up to Darcie,
exclaiming almost in unison, “Are you here with Uncle Wyatt?”

Darcie stepped back, not because they scared
her—or at least not much—but because she wanted to get a look at
them. Both were small in stature with fair hair and blue eyes. But
she could see some Wyatt in them thanks to their irreverent
grins.

And of course, dressed in shorts and
polos.

“Settle down, girls,” Jenny insisted, her
tough tone contradicted by the adoration in her eyes. “Darcie,
these are my granddaughters. Annie and Gail. Girls, this is Darcie.
Uncle Wyatt’s date.
Please
don’t scare her off. We can’t
wait another twenty-nine years.”

Crap.

“Are you really his girlfriend? Or is he
paying you? He does that, you know,” the slightly taller of the
girls said knowingly.

“He’s not paying her,” the other girl
protested. Then she told Darcie, “I’m Gail. We’ve always wanted to
meet Uncle Wyatt’s girlfriends, so we’re just excited.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jenny agreed.
“How long have you two been going together, Darcie?”

And once again, crap
.

“Not long,” she hedged, then she recited the
agreed-upon version as precisely as possible. “We met on a plane
yesterday and hit it off. So he asked me to come with him today. I
just love this ranch,” she added, hoping to change the subject.
“Wyatt tells me it used to be an olive orchard.”

Jenny frowned. “Yesterday?”

“Did you spend the night together?” Annie
demanded. “It’s so romantic.”

“Don’t embarrass our guest,” Jenny warned.
Then she eyed Darcie critically, as though imagining her in bed
with her nephew after knowing him less than twenty-four hours.
“Wyatt told us he was in town for a fundraiser. Were you his date
for that too?”

“No. We said good-bye on the plane, but he
knew where I worked. Then this morning he called me.” She winced
and admitted, “I went to the fundraiser too. But not with
Wyatt.”

“With who then?” Annie demanded. “Another
football player? Tell us who. We know them all.”

“Have you heard of Alexi Romanov?”

The poor kid blanched. “The Tsar?”

“Just kidding. He
is
one of my
clients, though. I’m a sports agent, and I was there on business,
so I didn’t go with a date at all. I saw Wyatt from a distance, but
that’s it. Until today. Thanks again for the welcome,” she added to
Jenny, hoping she didn’t sound too snarky.

Wyatt strode back up to them, his expression
guarded. “How’re we doing?”

“We approve of her, Uncle Wyatt,” Annie said
teasingly.

“We think it’s romantic how you met on a
plane,” Gail added more sincerely.

“Yeah, I definitely lucked out.” He turned
to Darcie. “I want you to meet Bea and Tony.”

“Of course.” She flashed a smile at Jenny
and her granddaughters. “See you in a bit?”

Jenny nodded. “I have so many
questions.”

She wanted to assure her she didn’t know
anything, but Wyatt did it for her, saying, “Give her a break,
okay? We just met.”

The woman patted his cheek. “I’ll try to
control myself.”

He chuckled, then reached for Darcie’s arm
and marshaled her toward the house.

“I stuck to the script,” she told him under
her breath.

“Good. I gave Bea the same story.” He eyed
her mischievously. “What did you think of my nieces?”

“They’re quicker than both of us put
together.”

“No doubt. Just keep it simple, right?”

“I know how to lie, Wyatt. I’m an attorney,
remember?”

She could see his great-aunt waiting on the
porch with the teenage boy, so she gave them a wave of her hand.
Why not? A real date would do that, wouldn’t she?

As soon as Wyatt had squired her up the
steps, Bea joined them eagerly. “Welcome to our home, Darcie. Wyatt
says the nicest things about you.”

“Thanks for letting me celebrate with you.
Seventy years? I’m in awe.”

“We’re quite blessed. Especially with family
like Wyatt. And Danny here, my great-grandson. Danny, say hello to
Uncle Wyatt’s date.”

“Hey,” the boy murmured. “Thanks for
coming.”

Bea smiled approvingly, then told Wyatt,
“I’m sure Tony would love to meet Darcie.”

“Right.” Wyatt took her by the arm again and
steered her through the open doorway and into a large living room
filled with so many sofas and chairs it could have been the lobby
of a huge resort.

Enough seating for all the Bournes in one
room,
she decided wistfully.
What a cool family
.

In one corner near a fireplace sat an
elderly man dressed in slacks and a striped dress shirt that looked
two sizes too big for him. Darcie remembered that phenomenon all
too well from the wasting away of Emily’s grandpa. But at least
this patriarch wasn’t alone. On his right in a wooden dining chair
was a little girl, whose bare feet dangled loosely as she held
Tony’s hand and chattered to him. On the floor in front of him, two
little boys played with plastic action figures on a large wooden
tray.

When Darcie and Wyatt approached, all three
children jumped to their feet, chorusing, “Hi, Uncle Wyatt.”

“Hey, Becca. You look pretty today.” He
turned from the girl to the two boys. “How’s it going, guys? Bobby?
Did your team make the finals?”

“Next year.”

“No doubt,” Wyatt assured him. “How about
you, John? Is the arm healing okay?” To Darcie he explained, “He
had a bad fall over Christmas. Broke it in two places.”

“It’s all better,” the child assured them,
flexing it proudly. “Because of calcium.”

“That’ll do it,” Wyatt agreed.

And then, as though following an actual
script, all three children scurried away. Darcie would have liked
to be introduced so she could hide out at the kiddie table when
things got dicey, but remembered Wyatt wanted her to meet Tony.

His rock.

“Hey, Tony,” he murmured, leaning down close
to the old man’s ear. “It’s me. Wyatt.”

“Wyatt?” Tony’s blue eyes sparkled.

“It’s good to see you, sir. And this is
Darcie. My date.”

The man cocked his head to the side and
asked her, “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Bourne,” she said,
taking the seat little Becca had vacated. “It’s such a pleasure to
meet you. Congratulations on the anniversary.”

“Are you the Reyes girl? From down the
road?”

“I’m a Kildare,” she said with a smile.
“From Ohio.”

His eyes twinkled again and he told Wyatt,
“You picked a pretty one.”

“I did indeed.”

“Darcie!” Aunt Jenny called from a doorway.
“Come visit in the kitchen. We’re decorating cakes.”

Darcie glanced at Wyatt, who nodded. “Have
fun.”

Apparently she was being thrown to the
wolves. But at least the wolves had cake. Or rather,
cakes
.
So she said, “See you in a bit, Mr. Bourne,” to Tony, then hurried
toward the kitchen, but not before she heard Tony ask Wyatt if she
was the Reyes girl, to which Wyatt answered, “Maybe so.”

Jenny met her halfway, her eyes misty. “It’s
so sad, isn’t it? He used to be the sharpest of all of us.”

“Wyatt admires him so much.”

“That’s the only reason he shows up at these
parties,” Jenny agreed. “He’ll spend his compulsory five minutes
with each of us, and the rest of the time with my dad. Not that I’m
complaining. Dad adores him too. Of course,” she added wryly, “he
thinks he’s Matt.”