Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (8 page)

Darcie’s heart wrenched with sympathy for
her fake date. To watch Tony—his hero—fade away and be powerless to
stop it despite being a virtual god on the playing field and most
other areas of his life. “Poor Wyatt.”

She would have said more, but now that they
had reached the doorway, her gaze was filled with the huge and
gleaming Bourne kitchen. Larger even than the living room, it was
lined with whitewashed cabinets, had at least three sinks that she
could see, four prep islands—one topped with a slab of marble—and
glorious natural light streaming in through a wall of windows and
French doors.

Even more eye-popping was the way it was
filled with Bournes. Mostly females of various ages, all chatting
happily until they spotted the surprise guest. Then they stared as
though royalty had stepped through the door.

“Everyone, meet Darcie. Uncle Wyatt’s
date.”

Darcie gave them a pseudo-confident smile.
“Hi, everyone. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”

There were at least fifteen of them, all
gawking at her, and since they seemed speechless anyway, she
decided she could take a moment to gather data. For one thing, they
were all in shorts and knit shirts—the official party uniform. And
while it still annoyed her that Wyatt hadn’t mentioned it, she was
glad she had overdressed. Flashing bare skin at Tony Bourne would
have made her feel trampy for some reason, and would have reflected
badly on the Reyes family down the road.

More importantly, the two fifty-something
women at the center island who looked so much like Jenny they just
had to be the other two aunts were looking her up and down like she
might jump out of a cake—naked—rather than frost it.

Because he never brought a date
before,
she reminded herself.

There were several women close in age to
Wyatt—his cousins, apparently—along with the two teenagers Annie
and Gail, and at least five adorable little girls, as well as the
two little boys who had now set up their action figures on the
kitchen table, where a high chair with a toddler of indeterminate
gender had been parked.

Sorely tempted to go for the youngest, she
decided to man up and start with the oldest. Since Bea didn’t seem
to be there, she gave Jenny a smile and said, “Are those your
sisters? Wyatt’s other aunts?”

She nodded approvingly, as though Darcie had
passed some bizarre cake-making test. “Ann owns a bakery and Mary
runs it with her, so they’re always in charge of cakes. Come and
meet them.”

Again with the plural,
Darcie noted
with a smile. And so her first question to the aunts, once they had
heard the airplane story, was why so many cakes. The answer?
Wyatt’s generation, still fondly referred to as “the kids,” had
clamored so raucously to help with the frosting at various events,
Ann had started a tradition of baking a bunch of little cakes along
with the big one so everyone could frost their own. These days,
given the number of grandkids and great-grandkids it wasn’t
feasible, so she and Mary made three sheet cakes along with the
main one, then let the children cut their own shapes and frost
them.

“Someone always makes a football for Wyatt
if we think he’s coming,” Ann told her. “But that isn’t often,
believe me.”

“Oh?”

“In the past, we were lucky if we saw him
once a year, but with Dad’s health failing, he’s making more of an
effort.” The judgmental aunt softened a bit and added, “My dad
loved Wyatt’s father like a son, and now he loves Wyatt that way
too. I think these visits are the highlight of his life. Or at
least what’s left of it.”

Four women closer in age to Darcie came over
and introduced themselves. Two were Wyatt’s cousins and two were
married to his male cousins. Annie and Gail joined in, again asking
what other sports figures she had met. When she mentioned the
Triple Threat, they went wild over Johnny Spurling, and soon they
were all laughing like old friends.

As Darcie worked the room, she managed an
occasional peek into the living room, where Wyatt had pulled up a
chair in front of Tony and sat, leaning forward, seemingly
engrossed in conversation. She couldn’t see the old man’s face, but
Wyatt looked achingly handsome, his features relaxed, his muscular
form in a respectful but also protective posture.

He knows they don’t have long,
she
told herself as she finished frosting her own little cake—a replica
of a Coke can. The teenagers came by to mock her, evoking memories
of how she and Emily had interacted during preparation for her
sister’s wedding.

“Are you in love with Uncle Wyatt?” Gail
asked suddenly.

“I just met him. But he seems like a nice
guy.”

“We don’t know him very well either,” Annie
complained. “All of our friends are obsessed with him. Even the
boys.”

“Especially the boys,” Gail corrected her.
Then she told Darcie, “They want him to sign their jerseys.”

“Or sign their
balls,”
Annie shouted
and both girls burst into laughter.

Darcie tried not to laugh too, since the
aunts seemed annoyed by the ruckus. So she settled for reassuring
the girls. “I’m sure he wishes he could visit more often. But he
lives in New York. Or is it New Jersey still?”

“Who knows? He’s a mystery man,” Annie
complained. “The only thing we know for sure is he’s a Bourne. And
he’s rich. And he plays football on TV.”

“Annie!” Jenny called out. “What happened to
the green icing?”

“Oops,” the girl said, sliding off her bar
stool. “Gotta go.”

The girl ran off without another word,
leaving Gail to say shyly, “We
love
Uncle Wyatt, so don’t
listen to Annie. He gives us gift cards every birthday and
Christmas. And this year, because I turned sixteen, he gave me five
hundred dollars.”

“Cool.”

“Mom said it was too much. She wanted me to
call him and say I’d rather just go out to dinner, just him and me.
So we could get to know each other better.”

“Did you do that?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass him. He’s bored
of me. But I don’t mind,” she added quickly. “He likes Danny and
Joe because they play football and baseball. That makes sense,
right?”

“He’s not bored, Gail. He’s terrified.”

“What?”

“It’s a well-known fact. Everyone fears
teenage girls. Even other teenage girls.”

Gail laughed. “I’m terrified of Annie, so
maybe you’re right.”

“Trust me.”

“I spent half the money on a new phone and
donated the rest to the animal shelter I work at. They rescue dogs,
so it’s a good cause.”

“Did you tell Wyatt? He’d be so proud of
you.”

“Maybe I’ll tell him,” she murmured. Then
her blue eyes began twinkling just like her grandmother’s. “He
always talks to me for five minutes. Or ten if he talks to me and
Annie together.”

“Does it bug you? That he divides up his
time so—well, fairly really, but still . . .”

“I like it. We all do. Except Grandma and my
mom. They want him to be spontaneous. But my dad says quarterbacks
always have a game plan.”

“I think I might like your dad. Is he
here?”

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to
all
the men.”

• • •

Wyatt spent longer than he intended with
Tony, partly because the old guy really seemed to get something out
of it this time, and partly because he had lost so much weight, so
quickly, he wondered how many more visits they’d have together.
Still, he wanted to touch base with each and every Bourne, so he
finally flagged down little Bobby and asked him to sit with Tony
for a while.

Predictably, the kid immediately took a
chair and started entertaining his great, great-grandfather. A
fourth generation that instinctively appreciated having this man in
their lives.

Wyatt knew that feeling well.

After that, he made his rounds, only
occasionally noticing that Darcie was doing the same. Having
expected her to hide away in the kitchen, he was reluctantly
impressed, even though he knew from firsthand experience how much
she loved striking up conversations with total strangers.

Even ones who just wanted to listen to a
podcast in peace.

The memory made him laugh. She was the
perfect fake date, and again he congratulated himself for taking
this risk. Dealing with the Bournes could be tricky, but she was
tricky too. She had made an amazing first impression on
him,
mostly with her body, but also with her charm. Now she was using
the same weapons on an assortment of men, women and children. All
to his benefit.

And to hers, since you’re still on the
hook for football lessons,
he reminded himself as he finished
his last obligatory conversation. He had known this chat with one
of his older cousins would be particularly painful since the guy’s
wife had recently passed away at the age of forty.

Wyatt had no idea what to say to him. He
barely knew the cousin for one thing, and had never really talked
to the spouse. On the other hand, she had seemed nice, and had made
fruit salad for these events for years, so he just mentioned the
salad then awkwardly commiserated with the guy for the next five
minutes.

Finally he was climbing the steps to the
back porch, hoping for a little more time with Tony, but his Aunt
Jenny intercepted him, insisting, “You should spend some time with
your date, Wyatt.”

“Did she frost a cake?”

Jenny’s eyes twinkled. “A soda can. Red and
white. She was smart enough to keep it simple.”

“She’s smart, that’s for sure.”

“Do you remember the year you did an entire
football stadium?”

“No,” Wyatt said, trying for a light tone
but sounding defensive even to his own ears. “How old was I?”

“Maybe five? Your dad brought you out here
to watch the Super Bowl with
my
dad, so sports fever was
rampant. I’m sure your dad helped you with your cake, but Mary and
Ann were so impressed, they kept threatening to hire you.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Jenny’s eyebrow arched. “Do you see who
Darcie’s stuck talking to?”

“What?” He followed her gaze to the
vegetable garden, where Darcie was sitting on a low stone wall with
Jenny’s son-in-law Roger—a real scumbag—who was sitting much too
close.

All the better to look down her
shirt,
Wyatt suspected.
And meanwhile, he’s probably droning
on and on about his favorite subject: Roger.

“Rescue her,” Jenny urged him.

“Why is he even here? I thought Chrissy was
divorcing him.”

“She lost her nerve. And
then . . .” Jenny sighed. “She might be pregnant
again.”

“
What?”
He caught his temper,
reminding himself it wasn’t really his business. So all he said
was, “She knows I’d help her financially if she wants to make the
break, right?”

“We all know that, Wyatt. But money doesn’t
solve every problem.”

Again he caught his temper. Jenny Bourne
disapproved of him. She had made that clear. Yet he owed her a lot,
if only because she and her husband Pete had stubbornly insisted on
keeping in contact with him—lectures included—during the years when
he had tried to let the Bourne connection wither and die.

That would have been a loss, especially now.
If he hadn’t kept in touch, then had heard one day that Tony was
gone . . .

“Wyatt, take care of your date,” Jenny said,
interrupting the reverie.

He nodded grimly, noting that Roger had
moved in so close Darcie had sprung to her feet and was standing
with her arms folded across her amazing chest. She could take care
of herself for sure, but he wanted everyone to think this was a
real date. And part of a real date was playing the macho hero,
wasn’t it?

She’s not going to like it,
he told
himself with a chuckle. Then he patted Jenny’s shoulder, scooped up
a football from a nearby chair, and strode out across the yard.

• • •

This creep Roger was getting on Darcie’s
last nerve. If only she could blast him, but she didn’t want to
cause a scene on such an important occasion. Plus, Wyatt might be
furious.

Then she saw him walking over to them, his
expression cool and businesslike. Since
she
hadn’t done
anything wrong, she suspected Roger’s days on this earth were
numbered.

Very cool
.

She had escaped to the vegetable garden for
a few minutes’ peace after meeting at least twenty Bournes in a
row, along with a handful of in-laws. While there were definitely
more beautiful spots on this ranch—the old olive grove for one, a
rose garden for another—she found the low stone wall that
surrounded this spot particularly charming. Almost romantic,
really, given the graceful vine-covered trellises at each of the
four corners.

Then Roger—a loser whose breath smelled of
stale beer—had ruined the idyllic moment by telling her the story
of his life.

There wasn’t actually much to tell.

“Hey, Wyatt,” Roger said now in a cheerful
voice. “You sure can pick ’em. Just
looking
at her is the
best action I’ve had all week.”

“Fuck you, Westin,” Wyatt growled. “If it
wasn’t for Chrissy, you’d be a dead man by now.”

Roger turned to Darcie. “Wyatt never liked
me. Because I’m all about baseball. If you want to be a
real
Bourne, you have to worship the pigskin.”

“You should go spend time with your wife,”
Darcie warned him coolly. “And that adorable little boy.”

“Yeah, he looks like me, right?”

Wyatt’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the
shirtfront. “Get lost.
Now.”

“Okay, okay.” The loser gave Darcie a look
that suggested she should find fault with Wyatt, and when she just
glared, he finally took his cue and shuffled away.