Alana locked herself in her room and made the final calls to arrange the windmill celebration. She could’ve had the staff take care of the details, but she wanted to do it herself. She wanted to surprise them and thank them for their hard work. It was going to be a busy week, and she’d have to crank if she was going to make her plane on Friday. She called Marcel and told him she’d changed her flight and would be coming in two days later. He wasn’t happy, but he was glad she hadn’t changed her mind about coming.
She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t decided whether or not she’d stay for the month. She’d sort all that out later.
She crossed to her balcony and gazed out over the hills. Birds darted among the trees in search of last morsels before bedding down for the night. Where did they sleep? Since she’d never seen a bird asleep, she’d always wondered. It struck her that there were so many, many aspects about the world of the ranch and the world of nature that she didn’t know. Not only could she not cook a frittata, she didn’t know the first thing about birds.
She sat down on her bed and unlaced her half boots and dropped them to the floor. It’d been a long day. She reached for the TV remote and spied the charmstone sitting beside it. She picked up the stone and closed her fingers around it, held it in her palm. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt heat course into her, travel up her arm and settle around her heart. She kept the stone in one hand and pressed the button on the remote with the other. When she looked up, there, nearly life-sized on the fifty-seven-inch screen, stood Matt, looking right at her. She nearly dropped the remote. The camera pulled back and showed the pitcher going into his wind-up. Matt stood poised in the predatory stance she’d seen at the games. He swung, and she didn’t need to see the ball fly over the stands. She heard the crack of the bat resound in her own aching heart.