The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (28 page)

As she lifted her head, a roar came from the television set. “Touchdown, Empire!” the announcer bellowed.

Both Miranda and Patty turned toward the screen as the replay showed Brandon Pitch shaking off a defender and throwing a perfect pass to the open wide receiver. The receiver sprinted the last few yards into the end zone and did a zany dance.

“And it’s good,” the announcer intoned when the extra point was scored by the kicker.

As Pitch jogged off the field, the camera followed him until he stopped in front of Luke. The two men did nothing more than exchange a nod, but Miranda thought the announcer was correct when he said, “Something happened between Archer and Pitch at halftime. That’s them acknowledging it worked.”

Patty turned to Miranda. “I can turn this off if it’s too hard for you to watch.”

It was an intense combination of pain and pleasure. “I can handle it.”

“I guess you’ll need to get used to it because you’ll see him at the Pinnacle,” Patty said, handing Miranda a box of tissues.

Miranda had lied about her job, telling Patty that Orin had agreed to give her the week off. Patty and Dennis had enough to deal with right now without worrying about money. “He has a private entrance and a personal assistant, so I rarely see him anyway.”

Maybe getting fired was a blessing in disguise. If she were in her office at the Pinnacle, she would imagine feeling his presence even through all those floors between them, remembering how the leather of his couch felt against her bare skin as he knelt and spread her thighs open with his powerful hands. Even worse, she could picture him staring at the giant photo of the two cowboys and feeling the pain of Trevor’s betrayal.

“How about we add something to that hot chocolate?” Patty said, standing up and heading for the locked cabinet where they kept a few bottles of liquor. “Think of it as therapy for your aching muscles and your bruised heart.”

Chapter 25

The morning after Pitch snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, Luke tried to focus on a new play diagram, but his mind kept returning to his last night with Miranda. It wasn’t making him happy. Well, some parts of it were.

When his assistant, Doug, knocked on the office door, Luke tossed the diagram aside with a sense of relief.

“Morning, Boss Ice. Everyone wants to know what you said to Brandon yesterday that set him on fire in the second half.”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Luke said, leaning back in the chair.

Doug cast his eyes skyward in resigned exasperation. “I should have known I wouldn’t get a straight answer.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Doug grinned. “I keep hoping I’ll trip you up.” The grin vanished, and a slight blush climbed his assistant’s cheeks as he offered Luke a printout of an e-mail. “Look, I don’t mess with your personal life, but this just came from the Pinnacle, and I thought you’d want to see it.”

Luke took the paper.

Dear Mr. Archer,

We wish to inform you of a change in personnel in our concierge service. Ms. Miranda Tate is no longer a part of our team. We wish her the best of luck with her new endeavor.

We promise that our unparalleled commitment to the comfort and satisfaction of our residents will continue.

Regards,

Orin Spindle

CEO, Elite Concierge Services

“What the hell?” Luke sat up straight and read it again.

Miranda couldn’t have gotten a new job in the two days since he’d seen her. The memory of how they’d parted slammed him in the gut. Again.

“Thanks, Doug. You did the right thing giving this to me.”

Doug let out a sigh of relief. “You want me to see what I can find out?”

“No, I’ll handle it.”

His assistant nodded and left. Luke stared at the e-mail without seeing it. Miranda shared her office with someone. Stacy? No, Sofia. He’d start there. He pulled up the number that used to go to Miranda’s desk and got her office mate. After some persuading, Sofia admitted that Miranda had been scheduled to work Monday morning. Orin had called Sofia Sunday with the news that Miranda was no longer employed there, and he needed Sofia to come in.

That was all Luke needed to know. He speed-dialed Spindle’s number.

“Mr. Archer,” the head concierge answered. “It’s a pleasure. How may I assist you?”

“By telling me the truth about Miranda Tate.” He kept his voice low and even and menacing.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss personnel issues with our residents. It’s purely to protect our staff members’ privacy.”

Spindle’s prissy self-righteousness ticked Luke off. “No problem. I’ll take it up with”—he searched for the name of the building’s executive manager and found it in some recess of his brain—“Boyce Schmidt. Nice talking with you.”

“Mr. Archer!” Spindle’s prissiness was replaced by a note of panic. “That won’t be necessary. Ms. Tate has some family matters that need her attention, and she felt a leave of absence would be appropriate.”

“Your e-mail makes it sound like she’s gone on to a new job.”

“In my haste to inform the residents of the change, I may not have phrased my communication as carefully as I should have. I didn’t wish anyone to wonder why Ms. Tate was not responding to their requests.”

“You’re an asshole, Spindle.”

Luke disconnected with a disgusted swipe of his finger. Once he’d tracked down Miranda, he’d have Spindle fired. It was time for that nasty little weasel to get what he deserved.

He leaned back in the chair again, debating. Would Miranda tell him the truth if he called her? Would she even answer his call? Miranda’s family might not be willing to talk to him, either. They struck him as loyal folks.

No, he needed to get hold of someone else, a neighbor, maybe. He hoped like hell nothing had happened to the nephew. He was a cute kid. Once again he rummaged around the corners of his mind and came up with the name of the town where the family farm was located. Then he started googling and made a couple of phone calls.

Thirty minutes later, he sauntered into the gym and scanned the room. “Hey, Gorman, aren’t you from Wisconsin?”

A man with a slicked-back blond ponytail and massive biceps lowered the weights he was bench-pressing. “Yeah. You want some cheese or something?”

“You ever milked a cow?”

“Just because I’m from Wisconsin doesn’t mean I grew up on a farm.”

“Did you?”

Gorman eyed Luke warily. “I might have.”

“Good. I have a friend who needs some help on a dairy farm. I’d take it as a favor if you’d go up there with me tomorrow.”

“I’ve got plans,” Gorman said, picking up his weights.

Luke let his eyes rest on Gorman’s face.

After a few seconds, the big man sighed. “When and where?”

Luke smiled. “Davis and Shetler are coming, too. We’ll see who handles cattle better, Longhorns or Cheeseheads.” Luke tapped Gorman’s bulging shoulder. “Appreciate it, man.”

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw Gavin Miller’s name and headed for the door as he answered, “What is this, a weekly check-in?”

“I’m bored,” the writer said. “Tuesday’s your day off, so let’s play.”

“I play for a living.”

“There you go with that punning when I’m supposed to be the wordsmith.”

“If you can’t do your job, you have to bring in replacements.” Luke kept walking down the hall toward his office.

“Low blow, boyo,” Miller said with an edge to his tone. “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Milking cows.”

Miller laughed. “Now that’s a unique attempt to get rid of me. You could just say, ‘Piss off.’”

“You’re not good at taking no for an answer.” Luke felt a smile twitch at the corner of his lips. He admired Miller’s imperviousness to insults.

“One of my many charms,” the writer said. “Seriously, join me for lunch at the Bellwether tomorrow.”

“I told you, I have cows to milk.”

“I’ll call your bluff and join you in the barn.”

Luke cursed inwardly. He’d wanted to keep Miller away from Miranda, and now he was leading him straight to her. “You ever touched a cow?”

“I’m from rural Illinois, where farm animals abound.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” He turned into his office.

After a brief pause, Miller said, “I’ve touched a cow. And a horse. And a lot of sheep and chickens. But don’t tell anyone.”

Luke was surprised by the ring of grudging truth in his answer. It sounded as though only desperation would force Miller to admit his background. The man must really need a break. “Okay. Meet me here at the Empire Center at eight a.m.”

“Who’s driving?”

“My pilot. We’re taking the chopper.”

Miller whistled. “I can’t wait to meet your farmer friend.”

That reminded Luke of how badly he’d screwed up with Miranda. “My farmer friend may not feel the same way.”

Chapter 26

On Tuesday morning, Miranda groaned as she swung open the heavy wooden door to the cheese cave. Her shoulders and arms already ached from attaching the milking machines to the cow’s udders, dragging around bales of hay, and shoveling cow manure. The mouthwatering scent of aging cheese wafted outward, so she closed her eyes and just breathed it in for a long moment.

Dennis’s artisanal cheeses kept the farm profitable, but they had to be taken to the markets in New York City, where the high-end chefs paid top dollar to list “Tate Farms handmade cheddar” on their menus. Tomorrow was market day, so Miranda needed to load the cheese into the delivery van she’d backed up to the cave. The driver would pick the truck up at 2:00 a.m. and head for the city. At least
he
hadn’t succumbed to the flu.

She stepped into the prep room and swung the door shut behind her. The cave was man-made, a cement-lined space Dennis had dug into the side of a hill once he decided cheese was worth the investment. Each shelf-filled room held different sorts of cheese, aging in different ways and for different periods of time. Luckily, Dennis had already sorted and packaged the cheeses that were ready for shipping before he’d been struck down by the flu. All Miranda had to do was lug them to the truck.

“Yeah, that’s
all
I have to do.” She shed her outdoor boots and jacket and put on the clean overalls and boots required for handling the pristine cheeses. As she was tucking her hair into a net, her cell phone vibrated in her jeans pocket.

She considered ignoring it since she’d just fastened up the coveralls. But Dennis was still feverish, so she dragged the zipper back down and fished the phone out of her jeans pocket. When she saw Patty’s name on the screen, she answered instantly. “Is everything okay?”

“No one’s died, but I think you’d better get back here to the house right away. Can’t talk anymore. Gotta go.” Her sister-in-law hung up.

Miranda swiftly toed off the boots and tossed the hairnet and overalls back on the counter. It sounded as though Dennis or Theo—or maybe both—had taken a turn for the worse. That would be bad news when Theo had seemed on the mend, and Dennis’s temperature had come down to 101. She shrugged into her jacket and jogged back out to the battered pickup truck she’d parked by the cheese-making shed. Seeing all the gleaming equipment through the window reminded her of her responsibility for the payments, and she felt the weight settle on her already sagging shoulders.

It would be easier to sling hay bales than to carry the financial burden right now.

As the rattletrap old truck crested the hill, she could see the farmhouse. A large green SUV and an unfamiliar pickup sat in the driveway.

All she could think of was that Patty had needed to call the doctor. Terror tightened Miranda’s throat, and she slammed her foot down on the accelerator, practically going airborne. Skidding into the driveway, she leaped out of the truck and barreled through the front door and into the hallway. “Patty! What’s happened?” she called, not sure whether to go upstairs.

“In here.” Her sister-in-law’s voice came from the kitchen.

Miranda bolted down the hall and through the kitchen door, where she stopped dead.

The room was filled with people—very large people. But her attention fixed immediately on the man leaning against the counter at the far side of the kitchen, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, his golden hair glistening in a slanting sunbeam. Joy flooded through her body like a brilliant white light, warming away the morning chill, erasing her aches and pains, sending the corners of her mouth upward in an uncontrollable smile. “Luke!”

Every face in the room turned in her direction. She dialed back her smile and forced herself to look at the rest of the visitors in the kitchen, some seated at the table with mugs of steaming coffee, some lounging against the counters like Luke. Three were obviously athletes. One looked to be a local farmer. The fifth, a lean, dark-haired man with a wicked glint in his green eyes, seemed out of place, despite his jeans and casual jacket.

When she met Luke’s eyes again, the blast of joy had faded. He wouldn’t have brought all this company if he had planned a romantic reconciliation. She was an idiot to dream of it for even a second. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

He had straightened away from the counter, his expression unreadable. She imagined that’s the way he looked on the football field when surveying the opposition, giving nothing away.

“I heard you might need some help,” he said.

She did her best to ignore the weight of all the gazes in the room. “I can’t imagine who you heard it from, but it was kind of you to come.” She glanced around the room with as much of a smile as she could muster. “And to bring reinforcements.”

Why was he here?

He’d made it clear that their relationship was over now that he was back in the game.

Then it hit her: he’d found out Orin had fired her, and he felt responsible.

“I brought a dairyman and a couple of cattlemen,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Kort Gorman here’s a Cheesehead from Wisconsin. Greer Davis and Tank Shetler are Longhorns. Kort says he’s in charge.”

The giant men nodded politely to her before razzing their teammate about his qualifications as a supervisor.

“Oh, and this is Gavin Miller, the writer.” Luke tilted his head toward the dark-haired man sipping his coffee. “I’m not sure why he’s here.”

“You write the Julian Best novels,” Miranda said, recognition dawning. He was one of Luke’s new friends. “They’re fantastic.”

Miller’s eyes held an odd shadow, but he gave her a charmingly rakish smile. “My compliments on your good taste in literature.” He threw a glance at Luke. “Contrary to Archer’s assessment, I am quite good around farm animals, so I believe I can contribute.”

Patty slid between the men to bring a mug of coffee to Miranda. “They landed their helicopter in Jim Tanner’s field, and he drove them over.” She nodded toward the farmer before leaning close to Miranda’s ear to whisper, “What the heck is going on? I thought you two broke up.”

Miranda took a sip of the fragrant coffee before she murmured back, “I have no idea.”

“I understand you have a cheese truck to load,” Luke said. “Let’s get it done.”

The unmistakable edge of command in his voice brought everyone to their feet. Now the kitchen walls seemed barely able to contain the mass of colossal shoulders, tree-trunk thighs, and swelling biceps.

Gratitude loosened the tension of wondering how she was supposed to respond to all this. She didn’t have to lug all those heavy hunks of cheese from the cave to the van. Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, and she had to blink hard to will them away. “Thank you all,” she said, not quite suppressing the slight break in her voice. “This way.”

She could feel the farmhouse’s hundred-year-old pine floor sag under the heavy footsteps of the men following her down the hall and out the front door. As soon as Luke stepped outside, he took charge, assigning men to vehicles. Then he slid into the passenger seat of Dennis’s pickup truck beside Miranda.

She kept her gaze on the steering wheel as she turned the key in the ignition and shifted the truck into reverse.

But the air inside the cab vibrated with Luke’s presence. His weight on the old springs of the bench seat made it slant in his direction, so she felt as though she was being pulled toward him. As she twisted to look behind her, she found his gaze turned on her, but she refused to let herself meet his eyes. She hit the gas too hard, and the truck’s tires spun on the slippery asphalt before yanking them out onto the road.

Anger scalded her. She was mad mostly at herself, for falling in love with a man she knew damn well she had no business even kissing. But she was furious with him, too, for giving her that blinding moment of hope in the kitchen. It was difficult enough to see him on television. Having him present in this confined space intensified her yearning to the point where it slashed at her like a razor blade.

She slammed the truck into drive and burned rubber again as she headed up the hill. “Why are you here?” It sounded ungracious, but she didn’t have the energy to soften it.

“I found out that you lost your job.”

She slowed down as the truck bounced on the undulating lane. “My problems with Orin started before your brother’s issue.”

“It made the problems worse.
I
made them worse.”

She sneaked a quick glance at him. His hands were fisted on his knees, and his attention was locked on her. She turned back to the winding road in front of her. She didn’t want him here out of pity. “You can stop feeling guilty. I have another job lined up.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re excellent at what you do.”

Her temper flashed. “You don’t have to give me a pep talk. I’m not your teammate.”

The cheese cave came into sight, and she heaved a sigh of relief. The conversation would be over soon.

“I don’t tell my teammates they’re good if they’re not.” She could hear a flicker of irritation in his voice. “Look, I was a—”

“We’re here,” she said, jerking the wheel around to veer into the parking area. She felt a twinge of guilt when she heard his elbow bang against the door as her sudden turn threw him off balance. She didn’t want to give him a chance to undermine her anger. Without the strength it gave her, she would suffocate in the breath-clogging misery of her longing.

She heard him speak her name as she shoved open the door and jumped out of the truck. The SUV pulled up behind them, its doors swinging open to disgorge the rest of the crew. She stepped toward the huge men, feeling like Alice after drinking the shrinking potion. She’d been grateful for their muscular heft until she realized that the three largest ones wouldn’t fit into the coveralls Dennis kept in the cheese cave.

She felt rather than saw Luke come up beside her. “Gorman here tells us that we can’t all go tromping through a cheese cave because it will disturb the bacteria or something. So we’ll create a kind of bucket brigade and pass the cheeses along it,” he said. Again, the undertone of command resonated under the Texas twang. “Kort, you handle the van. I’ll work inside with Miranda.”

“Always quarterbacking,” Gavin Miller said, slouching against the SUV’s fender.

Miranda looked sideways to see how Luke reacted.

“You wanted to come. You play by my rules,” Luke said, his eyes narrowed.

She’d thought that Miller was a friend of Luke’s, but their interaction seemed more fraught than amicable.

“I’ve never been good at that.” Miller pushed off the truck.

Miranda pivoted toward the cheese cave, and Luke fell into step beside her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore the muscles of his thighs under the worn jeans as he matched his stride to hers. Before she could reach for the big metal handle, Luke had grasped it and swung the substantial door open as though it were cardboard.

She led the way into the changing room, plucking the largest coverall off the wall and picking up the hired hand’s boots. “I don’t know if these will fit, but give it a try,” she said, offering them to Luke. It was the first time she had faced him directly since the kitchen. He took the clothes but didn’t move to put them on. Instead, his gaze roamed over her face.

“You look tired,” he said.

“I can jog in Jimmy Choo stilettos, but I’ve lost my cow-milking muscles,” she said, trying to ward off his concern with feeble humor. If he was nice to her, she would lose it. So she put up a wall of gratitude. “I really appreciate all the help you brought with you. Especially because it’s very strong help. Cheese is darned heavy.”

“Miranda, I want to—”

Gavin Miller poked his dark head inside the door. “Heigh-ho, the derry-o, where stands the cheese?”

Luke’s eyes blazed with annoyance, but he kept his tone neutral. “We have to suit up.”

The writer came inside and glanced around. “I had imagined something more picturesque when I heard the word
cave
.”

Miranda stepped into the coveralls and pulled them up. “It’s just a cement tunnel dug into the hill. The ground provides natural temperature control.”

Luke was cramming his shoulders into the coveralls with difficulty. She stifled the urge to help him work the fabric over the swell of his muscles.

Miranda tucked her hair into the hairnet. “High fashion in the world of cheese making,” she said, posing with one hand on her hip and inviting Gavin to laugh with her.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Luke said, eyeing her headgear.

“You wear a helmet to play football,” she said, even though she had no intention of forcing a hairnet on him. “It’s the same principle.”

He shook his head so that his blond hair rippled. “Do you know how much sh—er, garbage they’d give me?”

The writer smiled an evil smile. “Even worse, they’d put it on Twitter.”

“Okay, no hairnet,” Miranda said. It was the first time Luke had shown any concern about his image. There was some comfort in seeing a tiny crack in his composure. “Try the boots.”

He toed off one cowboy boot and shoved an athletic sock–covered foot into the rubber footwear. She heard him mutter a curse as his toes hit the front of the boot while his heel was still inches above the sole.

“We weren’t expecting to clothe giants,” she said. “You can wear your own boots. Just don’t go into the aging rooms.”

The relief on Luke’s face as he slid his boot back on almost made her laugh out loud. This was an improvement over her mood in the truck.

Gavin scanned Luke, encased in the white polyester fabric like a sausage. “I may have to tweet this myself.”

“Go right ahead.” Luke’s voice held such a threatening edge that Miranda took a step backward. When she caught the look he directed at the writer, she shuffled a few more inches away. This was the man who faced down entire defensive lines on the field. She was glad he was looking at Gavin and not her.

Evidently, the writer didn’t want to tangle with him, either. He flung up one hand in a gesture of self-defense. “I don’t, in fact, have a Twitter account.”