The Heart Of The Game

by Pamela Aares

  Cody held the high tensile wire taut as Scotty wrapped it around the post and twisted it tight. He and Scotty had left Trovare just after dawn and after three hours had nearly finished the back paddock fencing at Zoe’s place.

  He took off the work gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He’d rather have batting gloves stuffed in there and be headed out to the baseball field, but during their late-night pool tournament in the Trovare game room, he and Scotty had promised Alex that they’d help finish off Zoe’s back paddock. The one beer he’d drunk must’ve clouded his better instincts.

  “We should be getting overtime for this,” Scotty said, wiping his forehead with his arm.

  Cody dropped the reel of wire to the ground and laughed. “Evidently Alex has read Tom Sawyer.”

  “Yeah, well... he promised to bring over the Cabernet from Trovare’s 2006 vintage for lunch, so it’ll have been worth it.” Scotty tucked the wire cutters into the pocket of his jeans and gazed out over the vineyards spreading along the hills to the east. “I appreciate wine more now, now that I know what goes into making it. Darned tricky business.”

  Cody didn’t respond. He could appreciate a good vintage, but he didn’t have the over-the-top enthusiasm that the wine aficionados did. Maybe guilt kept him from truly enjoying imbibing, guilt that he could drink without alcohol taking over his life as it had his father’s and brother’s. He’d escaped the gene or whatever it was that made drink the master of the man, but not because he’d done anything special to deserve his good fortune. Some challenges were simply visited on people and there was no explaining them. And there was nothing fair about them either. He didn’t like it when life wasn’t fair, but he’d learned to live with the reality. And to make things right whenever he could.

  Scotty stretched out his arm. “If I didn’t know Alex better, I’d think he bamboozled us with this fence-building routine.”

  “He swears it ramps up his hitting.”

  “Yeah, well, couldn’t hurt mine.” Scotty took a swig from the jug of water they’d brought. “If he’s right, you’ll be hitting the ball out of the park.”

  Cody hoped he’d have that chance. He was determined to do everything possible to make the starting lineup during spring training. If Alex thought running wire helped build batting strength, he was giving it a go. He picked up the roll of wire and started toward the next fence post.

  “You ask Zoe out yet?”

  Cody nearly dropped the spool of wire.

  “Zoe.” Scotty grinned. “You know, the gorgeous Tavonesi cousin we happen to be building this paddock for? The woman you can’t take your eyes off when she’s within sight? The one you danced with at the wedding last night?”

  “Out of my league.”

  But late in the night he’d fantasized kissing Zoe. More than kissing her. And he had invited her for a ride. In the light of day he saw the invitation for the impulsive move it was. Rich women lived in a world of their own, a world that fit him as badly as a boot on the wrong foot. He’d learned that lesson early on, and he wasn’t stupid enough to get burned twice.

  Scotty raised a brow. “You ignore energy like that—energy like I’ve seen pass between you two—you ignore it at your own risk. I speak from experience.”

  Cody knew Scotty had fallen hard for Chloe. But right after they met she’d inherited the team he played for. From the stories he’d heard, PG&E could’ve lit the entire city of San Francisco with the energy sparked by their attempts to ignore one another.

  “Zoe is family minded,” Cody said. “Not for me.”

  “Everybody’s family minded, even the people who try to pretend they’re not.”

  “Psychologist,” Cody accused, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “I had you pegged as more of a philosophical type.”

  Scotty meant well—he was a damned big-hearted guy. Most of the guys on the team were. They were a tight-knit group, had each other’s backs, and played like a family—a healthy family. It was another reason he loved playing in San Francisco. The irony didn’t escape him.

  “Don’t get me started.” Scotty grinned.

  But apparently he already had.

  Scotty began to recite the entire history of the universe, relating it to the fence materials, to the iron in the steel, the iron in their blood, for pity’s sake. Cody was glad to have the heat of Scotty’s scrutiny off him. Zoe Tavonesi was off-limits, he’d decided. She’d been clear about what she wanted—a family. A big, Italian-style family, he imagined, with lots of children and relatives. Hell, he had trouble just keeping his own life in order—getting snarled up with a family-minded rich girl would be asking for chaos he didn’t need. He’d best keep Zoe safely in the realm of fantasy, where she belonged.

  He and Scotty finished wiring the last section. Cody shut the gate to the paddock behind them, and they left the remaining wire and tools beside the gate.

  “Einstein once said that nothing happens in the universe until something moves,” Scotty said, still going on about the mysteries of space and time.

  “Hallo!” a gruff voice called out from down the drive.

  Cody waved at the bearded man heading toward them. “Looks like Father Time has caught up to us.”

  From the weathered look of him, the man could’ve been seventy or eighty, but his confident, strong stride had Cody putting him more toward seventy. With his wiry build and bibbed dungarees, the man could’ve sauntered out of a Montana postcard from the fifties.

  “You boys know which of these houses is the Tavonesi’s?” The man fingered a cream-colored card covered in flowing script. He looked down at the card. “Miss Zoe Tavonesi? I went down to the two houses by the stream, but no one was about.” He swatted at a fly buzzing near his beard. “Damned houses are popping up like weeds around here.”

  “We’re headed up there. You can come with us,” Cody said.

  The man shook his head. “I’m not staying for lunch. I told that young lady I’m not one for fancy meals. Or chitchat. I’ll state my business and leave.”

  “I know the feeling.” Cody found himself wanting to put the man at ease. Cody sucked at lunches too, just ask his agent. “Maybe they’ll pack us all a sandwich and we can skedaddle.”

  The man didn’t laugh, but Cody must’ve passed some sort of test since he held out his hand.

  “Alastair Husch.”

  “As in the vintner?” Scotty asked.

  “Nope. No relation.”

  They exchanged names as they walked up the hill to the house.

  Alastair eyed them. “You boys play ball?”

  “I do,” Cody said. He nodded at Scotty. “He’s a pitcher.”

  “Low, low blow.” Scotty clutched at his belly. “You’ll be sorry you said that when we square up in Ryan’s batting cage.”

  “I played some ball myself in ‘42. Before the war,” Alastair said.

  Cody’s guess about the man’s age had been off. Way off. The guy was over ninety.

  “How far did you walk?” Cody asked, his curiosity piqued. The man reminded him of his grandfather. Poppy would’ve been spry like Alastair if he’d lived to be ninety.

  “I cut through the polo field. Maybe half a mile.”

  “You’re a neighbor?”

  Alistair waved the card in his hand. “You wouldn’t know it by this.”

  Cody ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his sweaty T-shirt. Both he and Scotty were covered in dust and dirt and in no shape to sit down to a formal lunch. Alastair was freshly shaven with his plaid shirt pressed, his dungarees creased perfectly and his boots worn but polished. He looked like a man prepared to do battle.

  The front door to the house swung open, and a sturdy middle-aged woman welcomed them into the foyer. Lemon yellow was all Cody could think. The walls towering over the polished oak floors were a sunny lemon yellow. A huge stairway curved up into the sunlight pouring from a fancy skylight. Italians had a knack for architecture, and this house was a prime example of the best of it. Despit
e the aged wood of the floor planking, the place had a newly built smell to it.

  “The family is taking their lunch al fresco,” the woman said as she led the three of them down a wide hallway.

  Alastair quirked a brow.

  “Outside,” Cody said, breathing a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to sit around another formal table and make chitchat with people he didn’t know. Eating picnic style suited him just fine.

  “Why didn’t she just say so?” Alastair harrumphed and squared his shoulders.

  “She’s Italian,” Scotty said.

  “And this is America, so no need for fancy language.”

  A pang of camaraderie melted through Cody. In ninety years Alastair had probably endured more changes than Cody could imagine.

  Laughing voices and clipped, crisp Italian met them as they exited the house through a back door.

  A long table stretched out under a massive oak about thirty yards from the back deck.

  This was no picnic.

  A starched white cloth covered the table, and flowers, crystal glasses and gleaming silverware marked out the place settings.

  Zoe sat with her back to them, flanked by her brother Adrian, whom he’d met at the wedding, and a slick-looking man Cody didn’t know. The man leaned close to Zoe and spoke near her ear. She tilted her head and laughed. And Cody wrestled down his surprising urge to toss the guy to the county line.

  “Miss Tavonesi, your guests have arrived,” the woman leading them announced.

  “You must be famished,” Zoe said, looking from him and then to Scotty as she jumped up from the table. She extended her hand to Alastair. “Mr. Husch, so wonderful to meet you; thank you for coming. Won’t you sit next to Adrian?” She gestured to the empty chair. “Scotty, Cody, this lunch is a token thank-you for all your work this morning. Alex should never have wheedled you into doing it, but I’m so grateful. I’ll have to find a bigger way to thank you at a later date.”

  Cody could’ve punched Scotty for the sly wink he shot at him.

  “I’m not staying for lunch,” Alastair said.

  “But you must. I’ve had Leonora make gnocchi and fresh pesto. My father said it was a favorite of yours.”

  Alastair’s face softened into a smile. Whether it was the promise of a favorite food or Zoe’s sweet smile that changed his mind, Cody didn’t know. But as Alastair sat down and Zoe tucked a napkin into his lap and began fussing over him, Cody would’ve bet it was Zoe’s charm that won him over.

  “Competition,” Scotty said under his breath as he took his place next to Cody at the table. “But you can take him.”

  “Like I said, not interested.”

  But he was. Scotty’s words about the danger of ignoring the force of energy pulling at him, energy that just a month ago he would’ve believed a trumped-up tale—the stuff of romance novels and Hollywood imaginations—stuck in him like a pill he couldn’t, wouldn’t, swallow. He might’ve told himself that he’d agreed to wire the paddock fence because it was some tried and true training exercise that Alex swore by—but he couldn’t lie to himself forever. He’d come for her.

  After brief introductions, Leonora and a man who looked twice Alastair’s age served plates of aromatic pesto and pasta and salads. When Scotty reached to pour wine into Cody’s glass, he declined. Navigating tricky social waters would require all his wits. And keeping a lid on his immediate, gut-level dislike of the man Zoe had introduced as Vico might take even more than sharp wits.

  Vico spoke to Zoe’s brother in Italian.

  Zoe reddened. “Speak English, Vico,” she said.

  “But I prefer Italian.”

  “My other guests do not.”

  “Ah.” Vico surveyed first Scotty, then Alastair, and then let his hard gaze fall on Cody. “Yes. How insensitive of me. Do forgive my poor English.”

  The gut meter that Cody had trusted all his life blasted to full alarm. The guy said one thing and meant another. Cody felt like he was in some foreign farce, like those movies that win awards and roll on and on and everyone just sits around skewering one another. Lunch couldn’t be over fast enough.

  Vico held up his wineglass. Cody had counted three refills to the brim. “We attended an excellent class this morning. My family wants to use the new computer analyses of the grape sugars and the moisture monitoring using the latest sensors.” A smooth smile relaxed his tanned face. “High tech, except we’ll do it Italian style.”

  Vico’s English was flawless, Cody noted. And his attitude was arrogant. One thing about baseball—arrogance wasn’t tolerated. A guy played his best. If he didn’t, he’d be out of there in less than a season. If he did well, it was expected. Appreciated, admired even, but expected.

  “The best wines are alive,” Alastair said curtly. “Not something to monitor with a computer. You have to stay near the soil, live it, breathe it. Ledger sheets—or whatever you stare at on those machines—won’t tell you near as much as you’ll learn putting your hands in the soil, meeting the dirt and the plants life to life.” He pointed his fork at Vico. “No robot can make wine like the heart can. You rely on computers and numbers, you’ll get wine that tastes like a flat puzzle piece—no depth. You’ll see.”

  Vico didn’t flinch. “Well,” he said, picking up his wineglass and rolling the red liquid around, “I have to admit I prefer simply to drink it.”

  Cody didn’t like the way that Vico dismissed Alastair as if the elderly man were beneath him. Below Vico’s smooth manner, Cody detected arrogance, the sort of arrogance that harmed those in its path. He hadn’t spent even an hour in the man’s company and yet disgust and wariness already spread their fingers of warning. And he hadn’t missed the way Vico’s eyes roved over Zoe. But then, so had his.

  Vico turned to Cody. “I understand that you have taken on the game of kings.”

  “He means polo,” Zoe added quickly.

  “Perhaps you’d accept the challenge of a match.” Vico turned to Adrian. “If you’d loan me a mount, that is.”

  “The horses belong to my sister,” Adrian said.

  Vico raised his glass to Zoe and inclined his head. “Ah. Then perhaps you would loan me a mount, bella.”

  Before Zoe could answer, Alastair rose abruptly from the table.

  “Thank you for lunch, but I haven’t changed my mind.” He touched his fingers to his forehead in an informal salute. “My land is not for sale.”

  Adrian started to protest, but Zoe put a hand to his arm.

  “May I visit your place?”

  She smiled, and Cody knew Alastair was a goner. Either that or the old man had a better-defended heart than he did.

  “Any time, miss. Any time.”

  Adrian offered to walk Alastair to his home, but the elderly man shook him off.

  “Odd man,” Vico said when Adrian returned to the table.

  Not as odd as you are, Cody thought. Flashes of Vico’s movements, the strange way he shifted his eyes and composed his face to suit whomever he was speaking to, registered in Cody’s mind. It wasn’t always a single observation that revealed the inner workings of a man. When Cody sized up hitters during a game, it was the change or break in patterns that he noticed—a twitch, a breath, a variation in stance. Vico Gualdieri didn’t add up.

  A cellphone rang. Vico pulled his from his pocket, took the call and excused himself from the table in a flustered hurry.

  Scotty glanced at his own phone and jumped up. “I told Chloe I’d meet her at two in the city.”

  “Take Highway 37,” Cody said, pulling his attention from the retreating Vico. “It’ll save you from the traffic.”

  “I’m headed down to the winery,” Adrian said to Zoe. “Vico wants to see the plans for the system that operates the irrigation.” He laughed as Zoe made a face. “If you’d paid attention during class, you could show him.”

  “Water and electricity don’t mix,” Zoe said, laughing at her brother’s ribbing. “Certainly not in my hands.”

&nbs
p; Cody was never so happy to get up from a table in his life. Even the shouting matches around his own family table in the past hadn’t come close to equaling the undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the meal began. At least people in his family said what was on their minds, even if it was brutally honest and too often painful.

  He knew better. Knew to avoid lunches and any sort of damned social meal. They always left him flustered and battling indigestion.

  But as Zoe walked around the table toward him and her smile reached past his rational guard, he considered that maybe today’s ordeal had been worth the effort.

  And he’d really be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he had a damned strong desire to kiss her.

  Chapter Seven

  Zoe thought she’d never survive lunch.

  Having Vico there had made it nearly impossible to get off on the right foot with Alastair. Her father had given her one assignment—to convince the elderly man to sell them his land—and already she’d jeopardized its success.

  And with Vico monopolizing the conversation, she hadn’t had the opportunity she’d hoped for to get to know Scotty and Cody better.

  Well, who was she kidding? Cody was the man on her mind. And with lunch over, she didn’t want him to leave, not yet.

  She rounded the table, aware of the intense way that he watched her every step. Her mind grabbed at the one truly legitimate excuse to spend more time with him.

  “Alex tells me you have a way with horses.” She brushed at a crumb on the tablecloth in front of him. Why Cody made her nervous, she couldn’t say, but he did. She took in a breath. “Could you have a look at one of my horses? He hasn’t been right since his transport from Italy.”