Matt took his time walking out of the ranch parking lot and over to the grove where he’d been told he’d find the campfire. It’d been ages since he’d been out in the night without a stadium or a city wrapped around him and longer still since he’d spent time in the quiet of the country, away from the blare of city lights. A few bright stars scattered dots of light overhead, and there was just enough light from the waning crescent moon to navigate the path winding through the olive grove. He neared the glow of the fire and stopped. The silhouettes of people standing around the blaze cast tall, distorted shadows through the trees. He moved closer until there was sufficient light to make out faces. Alana’s wasn’t among them.
He walked away from the group and savored the quiet as each step took him farther from the chattering parents. They must have taken the kids off for an activity in another part of the ranch. He took a deep breath and crouched down between two trees. Over the distant hum of the laughter around the campfire, he heard crickets. The rise and fall of their song reminded him of zippers sliding up and down. Next the frogs started up a chorus and then stopped. After a few minutes they started up again. He always wondered what made them stop singing so abruptly and then pick up again as if they’d never been disturbed.
In the distance, a car sped up the drive and stopped in front of the frantoio. He heard Alana’s voice as the car door slammed. She sounded irritated. She had one of those voices that suited any mood. Some people sounded ridiculous when they were angry or unbelievable when they expressed joy or gratitude—their voices just didn’t fit the emotion.
He laughed to himself. Good thing her voice was versatile, for her range of moods apparently required it. She was no simple woman, Alana Tavonesi.
Matt stood and brushed the leaves off his jeans. He watched Alana head down the path toward the campfire. If he kept pace, he’d arrive in the circle a few moments after she would.
He was right. But rather than congratulating himself on his good judgment of her speed, he found himself looking into the eyes of a woman who’d been crying. She ignored the people around the fire and walked toward him.
“I’m glad you came,” she said. She held out her hand and he took it, held it.
“You okay?”
“Fine. Traffic from the city was horrendous.” She pulled her hand away and walked deeper into the shadows. “Sometimes I wonder where everybody’s rushing off to. I had to see Enzo off. It’s always such a performance.”
“Not the best of travelers?” He was glad the guy was gone, no matter how much effort it took to get him gone.
“He’s never here long enough. Next time I’m going to make sure he stays at least two weeks. I thought about asking him to stay for a month, but I doubt I could take him for that long. I have my limits.”
He couldn’t believe it. She was talking with him about another guy as if it didn’t matter. And still he didn’t want to believe the level of jealousy that flared in him. Darts of anger fired, and he wasn’t sure whether to kiss her or turn and leave.
“Let’s join the party,” she said. “I thought I’d enjoy this little event but after the day I’ve had, nothing could cheer me up.” She moved toward the gathering. “Tell me about your day. I’m sure it was much cheerier than mine.”
He’d made one of the worst mental errors of his professional baseball career just hours before. If he were to call that a cheery day, he’d be insane. But now that he could see her better in the light cast by the fire, he saw the sadness playing in her face. He didn’t want to add to it.
“I saw a massive image of you in the ballpark, up on the screen. That cheered me,” he offered. He didn’t tell her it made him forget how many outs there were and that he’d made a stupid throw to first.
“You did?”
“With a guy in a tux. And lots of violins.”
“Oh God. That ad was shot last winter. Another of Alex’s causes. He was convinced advertising at the ballpark would bump up attendance for the symphony fundraiser he’s chairing. They didn’t want to pay professional talent, so Alex volunteered me. Was it just awful?”
“The violins looked good.”
He dodged her punch. Scotty was right—she had a mean left hook. But he’d succeeded in making her laugh. The lines around her eyes eased, and her shoulders dropped down as some of the tension he’d read in her body melted away. She didn’t seem to be the type to cry easily, so whatever had upset her must have been pretty serious.
When they reached the campfire, Alana sat on a hay bale and motioned for him to join her.
“Stealing a few more minutes before I have to answer questions,” she said. “Being around some of these parents makes me think my childhood with absentee parents might not have been so bad.” She looked over to him. “You don’t seem to be a hovering type.”
“Worse. I’m away maybe too much. I might fit in the absentee category.”
“I doubt that,” she said.
The gentleness in her voice made him want her all the more. He didn’t want to think about what he might do to have her in his arms, to kiss her until all the lines of worry left her face, until she laughed and cried with the sheer release of—
“Dad! You came.”
Sophie threw her arms around him. Then she backed up and shot a chastising look at Alana.
“You’re late,” Sophie said, crossing her arms. “We only have two family rules and you broke the first one.”
“What’s the rule?” Alana asked. She moved so that Sophie could sit between her and Matt.
“Be on time,” Sophie said as she squeezed between them. “Everybody knows that.”
“And the second rule?”
“Always do your best.” Sophie tilted her head up to peer at Alana. “Since maybe you were following rule number two, it’s okay.”
“How can you tell I’m following rule number two?”
“Because of the look in your eyes. I can always tell if someone is really trying.” Sophie nudged him. “Dad tries all the time.”
“And rarely succeeds.” Matt laughed. “That’s enough of our family philosophy, miss. How about you go and get me one of those s’mores?”
“You’ll stay here?”
“Right here, Punkin.” He watched as she skipped away. “She should be a pitcher,” he said when Sophie was out of earshot. “She can read me from sixty feet.”
“I imagine you’re not terribly hard to read.”
Matt frowned. No guy likes being an easy mark.
“I mean for her,” Alana added quickly. “Everything you do has love written all over it.”
Hearing her say the word love made his gut tighten. It was true. He’d do anything for Sophie.
Sophie trotted back with four s’mores. She handed the plate dripping with melted chocolate and burned marshmallows to Alana.
“They gave me an extra, knowing it was for you. They said your grandma died today and you might need an extra treat.” She squirmed to sit between them on the hay bale. “Did she die today?”
“Not today.”
Matt heard the waver in Alana’s voice.
“But we had her memorial. That’s why I was late.”
“I like my grandma. But she wants to send me to boarding school. We aren’t going to let her, are we, Dad?”
Matt shook his head and took the gooey treat she held out to him.
“I went to boarding school,” Alana said in what Matt recognized as an attempt at a helpful tone.
“Did you like it?”
“Not really.”
“See?” Sophie scooched closer to Alana. “You smell good. Like flowers.” She lifted the second s’more off the plate and took a big bite, chewed thoughtfully and then turned to Alana. “Do you like the way my dad smells?”
“Sophie.” Matt was glad for the dim light. They didn’t need to see the embarrassment creeping into his face.
“Right now he smells like melted chocolate and toasted marshmallows,” Alana answered, dodging Sophie?
??s ploy.
Sophie licked dripping chocolate from the edges of the graham crackers. “Where’s your guitar, Dad? You said you’d bring it.”
“In the car.”
It was true, he’d promised her on the phone that afternoon. But saying yes on the phone and playing for a group of strangers were two different beasts. Already he regretted his promise.
Though he protested, Alana and Sophie insisted that he fetch the guitar.
When he returned, the two of them were deep in conversation about plans for the butterfly garden.
Well, conversation was stretching it. Sophie was giving one of her running monologues, and Alana was nodding and smiling.
“I happen to know that fairies live in the olive trees,” Sophie went on. “Did you know asps can live in olive trees too? My dad took me to Greece once and we saw them.”
“The fairies?” Alana managed to wedge in.
“No. The snakes. They wind around in the branches. The farmers told us you have to learn to think like a snake if you want to get to the olives safely. I can think like a snake.”
Sophie stood, hunched her shoulders and narrowed her eyes, and Alana laughed at her antics. Warmth radiated in Matt’s chest at the sweet sound of her laugh.
“Thank goodness we don’t have olive tree snakes in California.”
“Oh, but you do have fairies. The lady told me—” She stopped. “Oh, I can’t remember.”
“Maybe I can just play quietly over here,” Matt said as he took his guitar from its case. He strummed, searching for an appropriate tune.
“Dad, sing ‘Paint the Sky with Stars,’ ” Sophie said. “It’s so pretty.” She turned to Alana. “Do you like Enya? We have all her songs. I like ‘Dreams’ too, and she sang for the movie of The Frog Prince. It’s my favorite.”
Most of the kids were still gathered around Peg, who was pulling roasted marshmallows off skewers and helping them sandwich them between graham crackers and chunks of chocolate bars.
Matt strummed out the first few bars of the Enya ballad. Embarrassment prickled in him as some of the parents moved closer.
Alana hummed and then began to sing in a slightly off-tune but sweet and clear voice.
She sounded like an angel that hadn’t quite managed to make the grade for the heavenly chorus. But angels probably didn’t come with bodies like hers. He finished the song, and the parents and kids clapped.
He was used to thirty or forty thousand fans cheering a good hit, but a handful of people applauding around a campfire made him flush with self-consciousness. Alana, on the other hand, just smiled. At the group’s urging he played another, an Irish ballad with a haunting tune. Alana didn’t sing this time but the way she watched him made his fingers tingle with the desire to touch her. Sophie yawned and laid her head in Alana’s lap. He agreed to play an encore, but just one. Before the song’s end, he saw that Sophie was fast asleep.
“I wish I had talent like that,” Alana whispered.
“You paint beautifully,” Matt whispered back.
She tilted her head. “How would you know?”
One of the camp staff came over, sparing him from having to admit to online snooping.
“Shall I take her?” the staffer asked. At Matt’s nod, she woke Sophie and took her off to her tent.
“Really,” Alana said, “how would you know what I paint?”
He’d hoped she’d forgotten his comment. “I saw your landscape on the Sorbonne site.” He considered stopping there but couldn’t resist adding, “You captured the soul of the place.”
She lowered her eyes. He hadn’t expected her to be uncomfortable with a compliment. He imagined beautiful women were accustomed to compliments.
“I should say thank you.” But she just nodded toward the staffer guiding Sophie along the path. The bobbing flashlight made the retreating figures look like oversized fireflies. “Does she always talk that much?”
“More. But it’s good to see. When her mom died she didn’t talk for a month. I was really worried.”
Alana drew her shoulder forward in an aborted shrug, and he realized she didn’t know what to say. Mothers dying and kids’ emotional responses weren’t anyone’s choice for party talk.
“How’d you know the words to that song?” he asked, changing the subject.
“It’s the only karaoke song I can get through.” She tilted her head and smiled. “Parisians love karaoke. I’m still astonished.”
From the far end of the campfire circle, the camp director announced that staffers would be guiding guests back to the parking area and that the ranch had goodie bags for the departing parents.
He watched as Alana graciously bid them each good night. After the last guest left the campfire circle, she practically fell onto the hay bale beside him.
“My grandmother, God bless her, either didn’t realize what all this entails or she had an overblown idea of my capabilities.”
“She left you this place?”
Alana nodded. “I know she was lucid, but I’m afraid her affection tainted her judgment.”
“Maybe not. Maybe she knew you straight through. Sometimes other people can see latent talents we can’t see ourselves.”
He’d meant it as a compliment, but when she lifted her gaze to meet his, he saw the little muscles around her eyes tighten and her shoulders snap back into a defensive posture.
“Dealing with rigid-minded county personnel about a high-tech windmill was not a talent I honed in art school.” She leaned back on her elbows and shook her head. “Neither was managing a place like this.”
It took some coaxing, but she told him about her troubles over the windmill. He stuffed down his immediate impulse to offer advice and just listened. Alex had told him about his quirky grandmother, but Matt hadn’t realized that she’d put a windmill up without obtaining permits. No wonder the county supervisors were steamed.
“In my darkest moments I’ve considered painting effigies of the supervisors and hanging them from the windmill’s blades,” Alana said with a wave toward the hills.
“It’d be a bold statement.” He knew she was kidding, but under the joking tone he heard her frustration. And her doubt. “Do you still paint?”
She nodded, almost absently.
“I’d like to see some of your work.”
“I left my canvases in Paris.”
She stared out toward the olive grove with a pensive look on her face. He didn’t ask the questions that rose in his mind. Exploring touchy subjects was not high on his list of preferred activities—not tonight.
The light of the lanterns hanging from nearby trees played across her face, and he bit back the urge to reach over and kiss her. A couple of staffers were working at dousing the fire; he didn’t want an audience. Not for what he had in mind.
An awkward silence stretched between them.
Then, to his surprise, she took his hand.
“I have an exquisite bottle of red wine and a desperate need to relax. Would you like to share the wine with me?”
She could’ve said would you walk over hot coals and Matt would’ve done it. Drinking great red wine with her was a preferred duty. And he had a good notion of what he’d like to do to help her relax.