Love from Left Field: A Billionaire Romance

by Jenny Rabe

  Love from Left Field

  A Billionaire Romance

  Jenny Rabe

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Victorine Lieske. © 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Jenny Rabe

  First edition. October 8, 2018.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1727440379

  ISBN-10: 1727440374

  This book is dedicated to all the men, women, and children who have given their sweat, blood, and even their lives to serve the United States of America. I am forever grateful for their sacrifice in defending and honoring our great country.

  Chapter One

  Cambria

  Sitting in front of the faceless canvas, Cambria Wicker stared for the hundredth time into its hollow space. She had perfectly good bodies for these faces. Why couldn’t she fill them in? The thought of so many unfinished paintings made her ache inside.

  Her latest depression slump kept her inside, staring at these canvasses of blank faces that lined the hallways and the perimeter of her art room. She’d turned the master bedroom into her creative space, installing the standup desk Shawn had given her for Christmas months before he passed.

  Here it was eight-thirty in the morning, and no inspiration. After a few minutes of staring, she opened a can of paint, but neither its strong, acrylic scent, nor holding a brush in her hand had the effect it usually did. Artist’s block was on the prowl, stealing away her desire to create.

  When she’d moved to Harker Heights, Texas, her painting had come freely at first. Maybe it was because of her new place, or maybe it was because she felt like she was starting over without anyone knowing her story. But after a few weeks, she had returned to her depths of despair.

  She sighed and moved away from the desk to where the most promising canvas sat perched against the wall. This first subject had come with ease: a lone baseball player in a field down the street. The man was holding a bat in one hand and a ball in the other. He didn’t wear a uniform with a team name emblazoned across the front. Just a man, hitting baseballs in the park.

  She’d saved painting his face for last, but when it came time, Cambria couldn’t even move the brush. Instead, she’d set it aside and tried another subject, and another, hoping that one day the faces on the almost-finished paintings would eventually have eyes she could look into.

  Baseball-Guy was her favorite faceless canvas, and the most frustrating one for her to look at. Cambria wanted so badly to see him in his entirety.

  But that day was not today. Clearly.

  The other dozen paintings’ eerie white spaces glared at her all the way down the hall, waiting for their face-debuts. Cambria couldn’t take it anymore. She stood promptly and flipped each painting over carefully so they faced the wall and then sat back down in her chair. Her eyes lingered on the backs of the paintings. If only they would speak to her like they usually did, showing her just how pointy to make the nose or how upturned the smile should be.

  Frustrated with her lack of progress that morning, she made her way to the kitchen. Maybe some food would help. She opened the fridge and stared. Water, an apple-juice container from the convenience store down the road, bologna, and some dried-up carrots. Man, she needed to go shopping.

  Thinking of her empty bank account sent her into a new frenzy, and after a minute, she sat on the couch to do a few calming breathing exercises. What she really needed was to get out of the house. It had been a week at least—too many days to keep track of. Each day turned into a night that turned into another day. It was a relief when people stopped calling to remind her there was a number attached to each day.

  A knock sounded on the door, making Cambria jump. She looked through the peephole and sighed. Sweet Mrs. Walker stood on the porch with another casserole in her hand. It had been a mistake to let her mom drive out with her. She had forced Cambria to meet her neighbors and had shared intimate details of her life with them. Cambria almost ignored the house call, but her stomach growled. She finally unlatched the door and opened it a crack.

  “Hi, Mrs. Walker. What can I do for you?”

  Her bright smile shone at Cambria in the morning light. Mrs. Walker reminded her of her late grandmother, except Mrs. Walker’s skin was creamed coffee instead of pale milk.

  “Oh, honey,” Mrs. Walker started, “I didn’t want to bother you, but I made too much breakfast casserole and wanted to see if you had eaten yet.”

  Cambria glanced at the uneaten casserole. Bacon, egg, and cheese wafted toward her nose. She imagined herself snatching the casserole out of Mrs. Walker’s hands and leaving her at the door after a quick goodbye. Instead, she took a measured step back. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Oh, I’d love to. I’ve wanted to see the inside since you bought the place.”

  “I’m just renting,” Cambria corrected her.

  “Right. Right.”

  She handed Cambria the casserole dish, still warm from the oven. Cambria’s stomach had taken on a whole new level of hungry. “Why don’t you follow me to the kitchen? I think I have a clean fork.”

  “Oh dear, you’re so funny.” Mrs. Walker’s laughter died as she entered the hallway. She stopped before passing the first canvas. She touched the edge of it with a careful hand. “What’s this?”

  Cambria held the warm casserole dish tightly as Mrs. Walker eyed each backward canvas. “They’re unfinished paintings,” Cambria explained. “I flipped them over so I could think without them staring at me.”

  “May I?” Mrs. Walker asked.

  “Sure.” As Mrs. Walker turned the closest one over, Cambria added, “Just be warned. They have—”

  “No faces,” they said together.

  Mrs. Walker sighed. “Why, these are beautiful.”

  Cambria looked at the painting she’d turned over. It was of a couple lying on the grass and looking up at a starry sky. She’d decided to go for a run late one evening, and after seeing the couple in the grass, she came back to paint the starry scene. “Yeah. They’re great starts, but I can’t seem to finish them.”

  Mrs. Walker lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say any more.

  While she moseyed down the hall, Cambria went to the kitchen, found her one clean fork, and ate a few bites straight from the casserole dish. From down the hall, she could see Mrs. Walker turning each painting over and muttering quietly to herself. Finally, she made it to the kitchen.

  “Well that was impressive. I can’t believe how artistically inclined you are. You have amazing talent.”

  Cambria beamed. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Walker groaned softly, leaning over a bit to pat her thighs. “These legs aren’t what they used to be.”

  “Are you okay?” Cambria dropped her fork and came to her side, wrapping an arm around her back.

  “It’s just my arthritis. Acts up sometimes and makes my knees weak.”

  “Do you want to sit in the front room for a while?”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  Cambria led her into the front room and invited her to sit next to her on the used couch she’d scored at the furniture surplus store. It may not have looked like much, but it was the most comfortable couch she’d ever owned.

  “I’m glad I had a chance to see your paintings.” Mrs. Walker sat back on the couch and shifted a few times until she was comfortable. “Even without their faces, they are so active and alive.”

  “You think?” Cambria felt lighter somehow, now that some of her burden was shared. No one else had seen them, and she thrived off critique. A vulnerable ache rose inside her. “What
should I do about their faces?” she blurted after a few quiet seconds. “I can’t live off of rice and beans forever… and, well, your amazing casseroles.”

  Mrs. Walker chuckled at the joke. “You’re right. You need meat too.” She nodded towards the artwork leaning against the walls. “Have you considered going back to the park? I noticed you heading there almost every day after you first moved in, but lately I haven’t seen you at all.”

  Cambria’s cheeks filled with heat. It was the same thing she had asked herself for weeks. Walking to the park had given her inspiration in the first place. It was the getting-there part that was the hardest.

  “Maybe people-watching a bit will help,” Mrs. Walker said softly. “Looking into their eyes will give you the inspiration you need.”

  “I wish it were that easy. Most days I can’t seem to get going.” Most days, Cambria couldn’t step outside. Her grief was almost too much to bear.

  Her neighbor looked at her with sparkly black eyes. She pointed toward the door. “I better get back to Mr. Walker. My legs are feeling better, but I might need a shoulder to lean on. Would you take me? And then maybe you can keep on heading toward the park.”

  Cambria felt the dead beast inside her rise. This was it! Her motive to get out the door. Then if she had already made it outside…

  Stop thinking, and just do it. The thought struck her with such intensity that she jumped to her feet. “Can I have a few minutes to get ready?”

  “Take your time.” She rested her head against the couch and closed her eyes. “Might fit in a little catnap.”

  Cambria practically ran down the hall and to her bedroom, looking for something clean to wear. After dressing in her last pair of clean shorts and a tank top, she headed to the bathroom to wash her face, brush her teeth, and run a comb through her thick, brown hair. After tying it back in a ponytail, she grabbed her sneakers and a pair of socks.

  On her way down the hall, she started a load of laundry and put a few dishes in the sink on the way back to the living room. When she wanted to, she could move really fast, and right now she felt motivated. Already, she’d done more in one morning than she had in three days.

  “Much improved,” Mrs. Walker said when she came back into the front room.

  “Should we go?” Cambria asked. She hadn’t felt this exhilarated for a while. She held out the crook of her arm, and Mrs. Walker stood to take it.

  “Yes, I think you’re ready now. I am sure that face inspiration is just waiting for you.”

  A little thrill of excitement coursed through her at the possibility. As they approached the front door, Cambria tried to ignore the picture she’d hung on the left side, but Shawn’s eyes pierced into her. He looked handsome in his military uniform, happy even. How she missed him.

  Mrs. Walker stumbled at the doorstep, and Cambria forgot about the picture completely. She reached out with her other hand to keep Mrs. Walker steady as she found her footing. “Are you okay?”

  Mrs. Walker nodded. “Just a little shaky. Good catch.”

  Cambria shut and locked the door behind her once they made it outside. The oppressive summer heat blasted her across the face, but compared to the artificial, recycled air she had felt and smelled for days, it was a relief.

  It was a short walk next door, barely even five hundred feet away. Mr. Walker was waiting for his wife on the front porch swing, a wide grin on his face. He was tall and lean, his skin even darker than his wife’s.

  “Ms. Cambria, it’s so good to see you.”

  Cambria nodded. “Thank you, sir. Your wife has been taking care of me today. I probably wouldn’t eat if she didn’t make me her casseroles every other day.”

  He patted his stomach. “One of the finer reasons why I knew she was the one.”

  Mrs. Walker pushed playfully at his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. “Oh, you two stop it. Cambria, we’ll see you later. Have a good walk.”

  After a quick goodbye to the Walkers, Cambria headed toward the park, a block away. She couldn’t help but speed into a jog as her feet hit the two-mile loop that circled the park and baseball fields.

  Her feet pounded on the pavement, hard and quick, each step a decision to try a little harder to put space between herself and the house. Sure, the weather was sticky and humid, unbearable at times even, but the slight breeze and the sun shining down on her made the dark stains gathering under her armpits worth it.

  She glanced at her watch as she approached the mileage sign in front of her. It’d been almost a year, but somehow she had accomplished the mile in under twelve minutes. She wasn’t a runner by any means, but she tried to stay fit. If only she made more use of the running loop.

  She stopped on a curve beneath a small grove of strategically planted trees and leaned over to stretch. Her job had her bending over art all day, so if she didn’t stretch regularly—run or no run—she’d end up as crooked as the hunchback of Notre Dame. Moving to her other leg, she stared at the pavement and tried her best to move closer to it. The ache in her leg numbed to a quiet pain. Ahh, that felt good.

  The phone in her pocket buzzed. She answered it on the second ring. “Hey, Mom.”

  As her mom ticked off the first question, Cambria gave all the standard answers.

  “Yes, Mom, I’m eating. No, I haven’t talked to any strangers. Mom, I’m thirty-three. That’s kind of offensive. Stop hovering. And lastly, no, I haven’t kissed any boys.”

  Her mom was silent for a second before she huffed. “Well, no one can say I don’t care about you. You may think it’s funny that I call and check on you every day, but no one just up and leaves their life after such a traumatic experience and is okay.”

  Cambria sighed and put her feet together for another stretch. “You’re right. But I’m fine, really. I just needed some space. All the family in the same area . . . it was too much.”

  In the distance, the sound of a runner’s footsteps grew steadily closer. Too fast actually. Cambria lifted her head to look, right as someone barreled into her. The phone flew out of her hand, and she fell to the asphalt with an “Oomph!”

  The intruder popped right back up as if nothing had happened. He turned to her as he pulled out his earbuds. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  Cambria stood and brushed off her bottom. “Um, I think so.” She met his eyes for the first time. Her legs wobbled, and he caught her, keeping her from a second fall.

  “Whoa there. Do you need to sit for a minute?”

  She shook her head, embarrassment flooding her emotions, but he didn’t budge. He held her shoulders for a few seconds while she regained her balance, all the while staring at her. Her resolve to give him a piece of her mind melted as she stared into his army-green eyes.

  Army. Pain stabbed like a knife in the middle of her heart. Intense pain she hadn’t felt in days.

  Her head throbbed, but when she held a hand to her temple, more concern filled his face, so she jerked her hand behind her back. She didn’t need sympathy right now. Cambria looked away before she lost it. “I think I’m okay now.”

  He dropped his hands, but stayed close. “I’m really sorry. When I run, I tend to get in the zone. I’m Brian, by the way.”

  She met his eyes once more, and as her pain receded, something new took its place: excitement. His face . . . it was beautiful.

  “Cambria! Cambria!” came a muffled voice.

  She looked around for her phone. She found it in the dried-up grass and held up her index finger to the guy straightening his ear buds. She would never forgive her mother if she messed up this new discovery.

  “Mom, hang on. Some guy bumped into me, and I fell.” Guessing what her mom would ask next, Cambria said, “Yes, I’m all right. Hang on.”

  She lowered the phone and bit her lip. He wouldn’t stand here forever, but somehow she needed him to stay so she could memorize every detail. His chin was not chiseled like most handsome guys. It was rounder and softer somehow. His cheeks were rosier than mo
st, though that may have had to do with his run.

  “So Cambria . . . right? I’m guessing that’s your mom on the phone.”

  She nodded and returned to studying his face again, avoiding his eyes this time. His eyebrows and hair were a richer brown than hers, but his eyes . . . She finally looked at them again. The color of his eyes was something she hadn’t expected to see in anyone’s gaze. Somehow, he made the army-green look alive.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, inspecting her face. “Did you hit your head?”

  She almost laughed. Nothing was wrong at all. In fact, everything was finally perfect. She’d found her model. She tucked a stray hair back into her ponytail. “No. Your face.”

  “My face?” His voice was wary now as he lifted a hand to inspect it.

  Great, she had freaked him out. “Yes. You have a great face.”

  “Did you say I have great taste?” her mom shouted into the phone again.

  Time to cut her loose. Cambria held up her index finger, hopefully for the last time. “Mom, let me call you back.” She hung up before her mom could protest.

  Brian crossed his arms in front of him, a smile tickling the edges of his mouth. Even his lips were perfectly symmetrical. “You think I have a great face?”

  Why couldn’t he be quiet so she could focus? She looked away, memorizing every feature of his face in her mind. She even closed her eyes for a few seconds to picture it again.

  “You’re worrying me now. Are you really okay? You’re blacking out or something.”

  His hand touched her cheek at the same time she opened her eyes. There it was again. That face, and now accompanied with his touch, it was almost too much. She stepped back. “Yes, I promise, I’m fine. Thanks for bumping into me.”

  His concerned look changed to a wry smile. “Well, I aim to please.”

  When he lingered, a scary thought drifted through her mind. He wasn’t going to ask her out, was he? Surely, she hadn’t given him the wrong idea. She pinched her eyebrows together as he seemed to look at her for the first time. Heat climbed up her neck and filled her face. So this was how it felt when someone studied you. She’d been doing it for years for her art, but hadn’t thought about how it might feel when someone did it to her.