Playing for Hearts

by Debra Kayn

  Dad frowned. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, not for me personally.” She lifted her chin. “But a lot will change for both of us.”

  Her dad frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “I’ve made other plans for my career, Dad. My letter of resignation with Reese Company will be sent on Monday.”

  “What?” Her dad crossed his arms. “But you’re my top seller. Reese Company needs you.”

  Shocked to hear him admit it, Dana stepped forward and kissed her dad’s cheek. “Thank you, that means the world to me, Daddy.”

  “You’ve proven yourself this last year, kiddo. It’s nonsense to quit now,” Dad said. “If you need me to pat your back, consider it patted. You’ve quadrupled our sales as a whole this year.”

  “I’m not quitting the ski industry exactly, but going in a different direction.” She smiled up at Juan. “I’m going into business for myself. I’ve prototyped my own line of skis — I’ve been working during my free time for the last several years to perfect what I believe will be the top line equipment in years to come — and will be selling the catalogue come spring. I learned the business from the best man I know and even though we’ll be in direct competition, I hope you can be proud of me and wish me well.”

  “Impossible.” Dad shook his head. “You don’t have enough money to start your own business from scratch, and I’m not going to set you up only to have you lose the money I’d be investing in you. Unless your husband is financially backing you, there’s no way for you to bank a startup company.”

  “Dana is the prime owner, and although I support her one hundred percent, she’s financially supporting herself with no outside interest. I’m only here to help sponsor her line through the sport.” Juan put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of what she’s accomplished.”

  “But … how?” Her dad frowned.

  “Juan took the money you paid him when we got married and put it in an account with only my name on it. He doesn’t want a dime for marrying me.” Dana curled against Juan, and laid her hand on his stomach. “He gave it back to me as a wedding gift for marrying him.”

  Her stomach quivered. She’d always remember that day. Knowing he wanted no part in her father’s attempt to see her married pleased her.

  Her dad reached over and shook Juan’s hand. “Well played, son. I knew from the time she was sixteen she’d give me a run for my money. I’m glad to see she has a good man to back her, and you did the right thing. Welcome to the family.”

  Juan shook her father’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  Dana’s jaw dropped, and she quickly recovered, motioning them into the room. “Sit, I’ll grab you something to drink.”

  She slipped into the kitchen alone and leaned against the counter. Overwhelmed with everything happening, she wasn’t sure if she’d handled sharing the news the right way. She swallowed hard. Her dad supported her?

  She never thought she’d see the day that Daddy backed her decision in anything, much less business. She’d purposely kept her plans to herself for fear of rejection, and he’d known all along. It almost sounded like he’d set her up by giving Juan the money to test him … and he’d passed.

  Juan walked into the kitchen. “Babe? Are you okay?”

  She was now. She smiled, walking into his embrace. “I’m wonderful.”

  “Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Do you think once everyone goes home, we can spend some time together, just the two of us?”

  “I think I can pencil you in, honey,” she whispered.

  She grinned, remembering how two months ago, she would’ve had to check her schedule before answering. Those days were long gone. She enjoyed the spontaneity that came with being married to Amante Español.

  Secretly

  Book Four in the Playing for Hearts Series

  Debra Kayn

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2014 by Debra Kayn.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6653-4

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6653-0

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6654-2

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6654-7

  Cover art © istock.com/GrenouilleFilms and 123rf.com.

  This one goes to my oldest brother, Doug. He was the football star in the family and because of his sport, I attended every game, practice, camp, and hung out with the team like every little sister wishes she could do. I can still throw a spiral better than most girls, and believe there’s no such thing as flag football.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The gravel road crunched under the soles of Angie Swanson’s Nike runners. The fierce wind blew off the mountain range and swept her honey-brown hair behind her shoulders. She stopped in the middle of Main Street and squinted into the setting sun, gazing down a barren, straight road.

  Of all the places she never imagined herself ending up, it was Deadhorse, Oregon. Worse yet, she always dreamed she’d be working at a major spa, specializing in Swedish massage. Instead, she was the super pumper at her older brother Drew’s gas station.

  It was, in fact, The Gas Station. Drew couldn’t even come up with a better name on the sign, despite her suggestions to glam it up into something more. Angie’s Pumps, Octane in Lavender, or even leaning in the direction of hilarity with Let us pump you up would’ve been better than The Gas Station. Drew had rejected all of them for the nondescript, boring name; but that wasn’t surprising. He lived in Deadhorse.

  Dead. Horse.

  She didn’t belong here. The slow pace where people only talked about the weather and June Murphy’s prized rose bushes outside the post office bored her to tears. To her, they were flowers. Red ones, that looked like any other rose bush in a million other front yards.

  She had been born to do something big. Bigger than pumping gas in a deceased animal town where only the wind kept her company.

  After spending four years at Washington State University, majoring in Journalism, she’d quickly learned after taking a community class on therapeutic massages that she wanted to change professions. So, she’d left her gopher position at the Seattle Times, and succeeded in landing a posh job at Le Massage. Then, three months ago, after working there almost two years, the spa closed. Unable to afford to keep renting the apartment she shared with her best friend, Jules, she’d taken up Drew’s offer to work for him.

  Temporarily, of course.

  Every day, each longer and more depressing than the last, passed in a blur of mundane information overload, high-strung emotions, and the foolish realization that she should have bought stock in Do
ritos—for how much they were the main staple of her diet lately. Not to mention last week her father had dropped off her four-year-old half-sister and five-year-old half-brother for two days of fun with big sis while he vacationed with her stepmom. The past three months had been a painful lesson about living in Loserville.

  She had to find a job before she lost the rest of her sanity. She glanced down at her sneakers and groaned. Seriously, what kind of place had cow shit in the middle of the road? Obviously there were some animals alive and kicking still around.

  She dragged her foot behind her for ten paces, rechecked her sole, and declared it as clean as it’d get. Not that anyone would notice. The smell of gasoline on her clothes overrode eau de toilette poo.

  Angie would give anything to escape and go back to Seattle. She sighed, gazing up into the sky. Whether it was because she’d hit rock bottom or simply because she wanted something better in her life than living her brother’s dream, she’d started scouring the internet and applying for any job she qualified for. And still nobody hired her.

  Something had to change soon. She sniffed, and raised her chin. The desire to ride the monorail and go shopping downtown at Nordstrom tempted her each day. But Seattle was twelve hours away. The price of gas alone was too much for her to rent a car to return to the Rose City to visit.

  But until circumstances changed, she’d spend her free time pumping gas, washing windshields, and checking tire pressure. She hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her shorts and walked back toward the gas station, which she’d closed an hour ago. With her brother gone to pick up another project car, she had to work alone. At least he was due back tomorrow, and she’d have someone to talk with during the day.

  Distracted by the many things on her wish list, she gave the man leaning against the gas pump a cursory glance and opened her mouth to tell him the gas station was closed when recognition dawned on her. She gasped and covered her mouth.

  Tall with huge shoulders, Gary Satchel, the Seattle Seahawks’ wide receiver, hijacked her attention. She stood without saying a word, not believing he was here. But it was him. Not just anybody could pull off his size.

  His well-worn Levi’s, blue and silver Seattle Seahawks football jersey, six foot four inches tall with dark stormy eyes, the two inch scar running the length of his left cheekbone on his handsome face told her everything she needed to know. She raised her gaze and shouted in joy. Her brother’s best friend had come to save her.

  “Gary,” she said on an exhale, launching herself into his arms.

  He remained silent, as he was known to do. She closed her eyes, squeezing back the tears of relief at having his famous bear hug wrapping her tightly in his embrace. If there was one person she trusted, besides her brother, it was Gary.

  He’d been the solid body she’d clung to during her teenage years when life seemed too cruel to handle alone. Later, he’d become her protector when drunk guys hit on her at the clubs. He always lent her an ear when she needed to talk, and he listened without judgment.

  “Sorry to hear about the job, Ang.” He inhaled deeply, expanding his chest; she could barely get her arms around him.

  She leaned back so she could gaze up at his face. “They picked that asshole Rodden over me to go to Germany to open the new shop. Can you believe that? The guy’s rough with his hands and has the bedside manners of a stuck-up prick. The least they could’ve done is keep the spa open here in Seattle, instead of closing. My clientele alone would’ve been enough to make it profitable.”

  He chuckled. “Asshole? Prick?”

  “Drew’s rubbing off on me. Shop talk—go figure.” She shuddered. “What are you doing here?”

  She reluctantly stepped away from him and forced her shoulders back. Glad to have someone she knew to talk with, she wasn’t going to scare him off by bitching. He gave her hand one more squeeze before letting go.

  “I thought I’d stay a couple days, see your brother, and pester you.” He motioned for her to walk with him.

  “I’m not even going to rise to the bait. I’m seriously lacking in any intelligent conversations. The only things people here talk about are hay prices and how many days until winter.” She leaned closer and touched him again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. “Besides, I get you all to myself. Drew’s out on business and won’t be home until tomorrow.”

  “Damn. I’d hoped he’d be around.” He pointed to the restored Camaro in the driveway of Drew’s house behind the garage. “I wanted to see if he could check the muffler. It’s riding rough, and sounds like it’s made for the racetrack.”

  “Ugh. Don’t talk cars. That’s all I hear about twenty-four/seven. Between the gas station and Drew, I’ve heard enough to last a lifetime.” She walked up the driveway, and noticed his bags lying by the front door. “I am so glad you’re here.”

  “Maybe I should hit the motel.” He stopped and put his hand on his car. “I’ll come by tomorrow and spend some time with you both.”

  “Are you crazy?” She grabbed his hand. “I just said this place is boring me to tears. Stay at the house and fill me in on what’s happening in the Emerald City. Then I want to pick your brain about places I can send my résumé and—” she swallowed “—afterward, I want to hear what is going on with you.”

  “Same old thing. Training, meetings, and football.” He winked. “What you should do is stay with your friend Jules while you search for a job, so you’re in the city and closer to a bigger job market. Nowadays, you almost have to be the first one to apply to get the job and that requires being on location.”

  “I can’t. I already asked her last month if she could do me a favor and let me mooch off her until I find employment. She can’t do it. She needs a paying roommate in order to afford the rent.” She pouted. “Besides, she’s already found a roommate since I left…one with a job.”

  “Too bad.”

  She leaned into his arm. “I’m stuck here, unless you’re looking to help a family friend out and don’t mind having a roommate who can’t afford to pay you for a few weeks.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But, Gary…” She gazed up at him and gave him the saddest, most pathetic look she could muster. “You wouldn’t even see or hear me. I’ll pay you the back rent once I land a job.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll clean your house.”

  “Unlike you, I’m not messy.” He laughed. “I don’t need a maid.”

  She glared. “Come on, please?”

  “No way.” He shook his head. “I’ve got enough going on with my life. Pre-season practice starts in two weeks.”

  “Some friend you are. I’d let you stay here if you wanted.” She snorted. “What a joke. This place would drive you insane in a week’s time.”

  “Women. Never satisfied.” He grunted and thumped the roof of the car as they walked by. “Let’s go in the house. I’m beat, and the trip was killer.”

  Tears came to her eyes. This time she didn’t have to fake them. Frustration boiled inside her. She was getting desperate enough to hide in his trunk on the way back to Seattle. Once they arrived, he’d have no choice but to let her stay in his mansion of a condominium.

  “Give it up, Ang. The answer’s no.”

  She followed him toward the house. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “I do.” He tugged a strand of her hair and looped it behind her ear. “I’ve known you too long.”

  “Whatever.” She squeezed past him into the room.

  Inside the one-story rambling ranch house, the living room sat in disarray. She’d littered the area with all her belongings, and hadn’t found the energy to clean since Drew left a week ago.

  There was a pillow and blanket thrown haphazardly on the couch, where she’d curled up to watch a movie in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. She hurried over and grabbed her things. Then she threw the contents on a pile of boxes near the fireplace.

  “Sorry for the disaster zone.” She ke
pt her back turned to Gary, and pushed the box of books out of the middle of the living room. “I’ll just move—” she grunted “—everything out to the garage.”

  “Leave it. I’ll help you move everything later. Although, it seems messed up that Drew didn’t at least get you situated in a bedroom. Are you sure you haven’t killed him, or run him off his own property?” He gripped her shoulders, turned her around, and stared into her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t drive him over the edge in three months?”

  “No, but I’m taking that as a challenge.” She grinned wickedly. “I bet that I can crack you in twelve hours.”

  “You’re probably right.” His smile disappeared, and he ran his hand over the top of a box. “So, why is all your stuff in the living room?”

  “We moved everything out here when Dad dropped Willie and Desiree off here last week for a couple of days, and they took over my bedroom,” she said. “I think my lil bro and sis brought every toy they owned with them.”

  “You love the chaos.” He pointed to the couch. “Sit. Relax.”

  She plopped down on the couch. “I need excitement in my life that comes from people over the age of twenty-one.”

  “Well, don’t wish too hard. A busy life gets old too.” He scratched his chest. “Is there beer in the fridge?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”

  “When did you say Drew left?” He walked across the great room, opened the fridge, and pulled out two bottles of beer.

  “Uh, five…six days ago.” She rubbed her forehead. “Each miserable day is the same. I might’ve lost track.”

  “And you don’t know what’s in the fridge? What have you been eating?” He twisted the cap off both drinks and passed her one. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She held the drink in her lap, not lifting it to her mouth. “I eat…stuff.”

  “Dammit.” He stalked back into the kitchen. “Get in here and sit your butt down at the counter.”

  She stood, walked over to the bar stool, and sat. “Why are you mad?”