Dedication
This book is the perfect example of why I’m in love with Twitter. Someone tweeted a picture of a hot guy on a train one day, generating a lot of interesting commentary from the romance authors in attendance. One wicked tweet led to another, followed by excited brainstorming, and then five of us created stories about strangers falling in love on a train.
Huge thanks to Samantha, Ruthie, Cara and Serena for including me in this project, and for keeping me on track throughout. It was so much fun, and I hope we can collaborate again, on planes and automobiles. (I call dibs on the G6 and Jaguar.)
Also, many thanks to Anne Scott for the wonderful editorial guidance. I’m thrilled to have my words in your hands (and my apologies for all those unnecessary ones you helped me excise).
Lastly, a shout-out to Melissa, beta reader extraordinaire, because I truly appreciate your enthusiasm for all my writing projects, as well as your gentle suggestions for improvement.
Chapter One
“How did you talk me into this again?” Allie Whittaker gave her best friend a mock glare over her wineglass and then took a sip of Riesling. It was fruity and smelled like honeysuckle, and it made her taste buds incredibly happy. “Oh, that’s right. Wine.”
“Lots of wine.” Sandra lifted her half-empty glass in salute. “And don’t forget the wonderful scenery.”
Allie glanced out the window. They were sitting in the comfiest club chairs on the Napa Valley Wine Train, watching sun-drenched vineyards pass by in a leisurely green blur. “You’re right.” She sighed with contentment, gazing at the hills in the background, which sheltered the acres of vines in their long, tidy rows. “It really is beautiful.”
Sandra laughed. “I was talking about all the gorgeous guys on this train.”
“I’d nearly forgotten about that part.”
“I sure didn’t,” Sandra said, patting her perfect blonde hair into place.
Allie spun around in her swivel chair to avoid Sandra’s pointed look. Pretend as she might, she knew exactly why she’d been dragged away from working this weekend.
There were clusters of men chatting with women throughout the lounge car, some of them standing in the aisle, others seated at the upholstered booths scattered among the club chairs.
All of them were laughing and drinking wine and clearly having a wonderful time.
Her heart sank at how effortless it seemed for everyone. “I barely remember how to flirt, or mingle, or any of that stuff.”
“You do it with your job on a daily basis. Getting people to do what you want is your specialty.”
“That’s different. Plus, I’m failing at that right now too.” All she needed was one more sports figure to say yes, and the celebrity calendar project would be a go. After that, she hoped to use the victory as a springboard to lure more lucrative accounts to her fledgling marketing business.
But right now, it was the hardest “yes” she’d ever gone after.
“You just need to get your mojo back. And this is the perfect place for it. It’s only three hours. It’s not in our neighborhood.” Sandra ticked each item off on her fingers. “If you like someone, great. If not, you never have to see them again.”
“Tell me again why I can’t sit here and drink wine all afternoon?”
“You’re in a dating slump.”
Allie sat up, stung by Sandra’s brash statement. “It’s not a slump. It’s just been a little while since I’ve dated.”
“Months.” Sandra dragged out the word.
“I’ve been incredibly busy with work,” Allie said defensively. “It’s not easy starting up a business. It takes every minute of my time—”
“Slu-ump,” she continued in a singsong voice.
“Stop that. This doesn’t qualify as a slump. I’m not sure I like that word.”
“You’re in a slump. I know. I’ve been in one before.” Sandra shuddered. “And slump is a better description than dry spell.”
“Oh God, you’re right.”
Allie took another gulp of wine. She gazed wistfully at the other people laughing and having so much fun. It had been a long time—too long—since she’d felt that carefree. It had been even longer since she’d had fun with someone of the male persuasion.
She was so stingy with her non-work hours, she barely spent time with Sandra, her best friend, which is why she had finally agreed to go on this trip.
Allie settled back in her chair. She deserved an afternoon off. Maybe it would help her figure out how to get her calendar project back on track. And as nerve-wracking as it was, she liked the thought of possibly meeting someone who could take her mind off work, even for a few hours.
“Nobody knows you,” Sandra said in a beguiling voice, “so you can be anybody you want. Celebrities do it all the time. Julie in Accounting saw that funny weather guy here once, and hardly anybody recognized him.”
“You know, speaking of celebrities, the stadium isn’t that far from the train station. Maybe we could swing by there on our way home—”
Sandra gasped. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“I’m not thinking about work. I’m not.” God, she was hopeless. “Okay, I was, but I promise I won’t think about it for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it. Just tell me what I need to do.”
“Easy. You walk up to someone who looks cute—”
That snapped her back to reality. “What am I supposed to say?” She leaned toward Sandra, giving her a leer. “Nice wine rack you’ve got there.”
Sandra laughed, waving her away. “We’ll come up with something.” She thought for a moment. “I know. Say you’ll tell them three things about you, and one of them is a lie. They have to figure out which one is which.”
Allie frowned. “I’m not sure that will work here—”
“It’s a mingles thing. On a train. With unlimited wine.” Sandra practically snorted. “The hardest part is going to be staying upright.”
Allie giggled, and Sandra joined in after giving her a mock glare. “I meant because of the train bouncing side to side.”
“It all sounds so—”
“Meat market-ish?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” Allie admitted. “A mobile meat market.”
“But that’s the beauty of it! Like I said, if you don’t want to see these people again, that’s it. It’s not like you’re going to bump into them, unless you want to.”
“Why does it seem like when you say ‘bump into’, you mean something else entirely?”
Sandra chuckled. “That’s your mind rolling around in the gutter. This is meant to be fun, so try to view it like that. Don’t worry.” She gave Allie the patented Sandra warning look. “And do not think about work.”
“It’s hard not to. I should charge extra for all the worrying I do on my own time.”
“Not today.”
Allie took a deep breath, ready to take on this challenge. “We’re here to have fun, and that’s what we’re going to do.” She clinked her wineglass against Sandra’s. “Who should I try first?”
“Ooh, that’s the spirit.” Sandra perused the potential men, shaking her head occasionally. She finished one sweep of the room and started a second. Just as Allie thought they’d have to survey the occupants of another car, Sandra’s face brightened. “Why don’t you go chat with him?”
“The one with the baseball cap pulled down low?” Allie sighed. “Why do guys always do that? It makes them all look the same. You never know what hair color they have. Or if they have hair.”
Sandra shrugged. “Maybe he’s shy.”
“Could be.” Allie watched him che
cking out the rest of the passengers, as if he was doing his best to keep his distance from everyone. In a way, she sympathized, since she’d spent most of her life doing the same thing—using work as a shield to keep from getting too involved with anyone. Maybe it would give them something in common, make it easier to talk to him.
And maybe it would be easier to drink her wine and plot how to get her calendar project moving along.
“There’s no guarantee this will get me out of my so-called dating slump.”
“I know,” Sandra said cheerfully. “That’s why I’ve got us signed up for stripper-pole lessons next.”
Allie bolted out of her chair. “Okay, I can do this.”
After all, how hard could it be to tell a couple of lies?
Matt set his wineglass on the table next to him. He didn’t want to be here, but his best friend had assured him this was a good distraction, something to keep his mind off the possibility of being sent down to Triple A for rehab.
This might not be the best place to mention that particular word. It meant something entirely different in his profession, though.
The prospect of it didn’t make him happy. He’d spent his entire life throwing a baseball faster than anybody else, and he didn’t want that taken away from him. What if he got sent down and never made it back to the top?
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Matt grumbled, rubbing his shoulder although it felt fine. “I hardly ever drink wine.”
“It’s because you need to get out more.” Troy didn’t look in Matt’s direction as he answered. He was too busy checking out a leggy blonde across the aisle who was practically blowing kisses his direction.
“Every time I get out more, I’m bombarded with fans.”
That made Troy spin around in his chair. “Oh, boohoo. It’s so tough to be the world-famous—”
“Ssh!” Matt said, tugging on his cap. “I’m trying to be incognito today.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I forgot.”
Matt smacked his friend’s arm. “Liar.”
But he was also lying to himself, because as much as he didn’t want to deal with overzealous fans every time he left the house, he worried just as much that people wouldn’t remember him if he was away from the pitching mound too long. He hated when the season ended before he was ready. And he didn’t want to think about it possibly becoming a permanent thing. That was more painful than hurting his arm in the first place.
“I don’t know what to do when I’m not playing,” Matt admitted.
“I know. It’s your identity.”
Matt frowned at Troy’s cheerful pronouncement. “I know it shouldn’t be, and sometimes I wish it wasn’t. But right now, when it feels like it might all go away… I could get sent down for rehab and then disappear for good.”
Troy snorted. “You’re not going to the Bermuda Triangle.”
“Hey, players get stuck in the minors all the time. It could happen to me too.”
Troy gave Matt his full attention. “Look, we’ve been friends a long time. Ever since I beat you up in first grade.”
“You threw a sucker punch. While I was dutifully eating my PB and J before recess.”
“Whatever. What I’m trying to say is, I know you, and I know how important baseball is to you. It has been for a lot of years. It’s not going away any time soon, even though it might feel like it right this minute.” He stopped to make sure Matt was listening to him. “But no matter what happens, you still need to add something besides baseball to your life.”
Matt shook his head, not wanting to hear the words.
“Don’t shake me off! I’m not your catcher.”
“Thank God,” Matt mumbled into his wineglass.
“You know I’m right about this. So try to have some fun today. It’s only a few hours. About nine innings’ worth, actually. And no, we’re not going to stop by the stadium later.”
Matt didn’t have a chance to retort, because Troy gave him a cheeky grin and shot out of his chair, intent on talking to the blonde he’d been eye-flirting with.
Matt watched him go, envious of Troy’s easygoing approach to life’s problems. It was one of the reasons they had been friends for so long. Troy’s casual manner blended with Matt’s more driven methods, making them a great team.
And Troy was probably right—Matt knew he needed a diversion, something to get his mind off his worries about the future. But he wasn’t exactly the best companion today. He leaned back in his chair, slowly rotating his arm, trying to convince himself everything would be fine. It had to be.
In the next instant, a goddess sat down in the chair Troy had just vacated. Matt blinked, taking in the shiny black hair she brushed away impatiently and pretty blue eyes that nearly made him forget all his troubles. She wasn’t trying to hide any of her curves in the outfit she wore—a bunch of layered T-shirts and snug jeans—and there was something sexy about the toes peeking out from her gold sandals.
Most of all, though, he was struck by her tentative air and the way she inhaled, as if gathering her courage. He couldn’t imagine what she had to worry about…
Unless she was about to ask for his autograph.
He nearly groaned at the realization. So much for his attempt to disguise himself.
“Hi,” she said brightly.
“Hi,” he answered, crossing his arms and tightening his mouth into a forbidding line. If he was lucky, she’d get the hint and leave him to wallow in his misery.
Instead, she smiled and said in a nervous rush, “I’m going to tell you three lies about myself.”
Chapter Two
Allie watched his eyes widen, as if she’d just confessed to murdering someone in the dining car and needed his help throwing the body off the train.
“Well, that’s a good way to start out,” he murmured, chuckling.
She flushed. God, she was worse at this than she thought. “I meant to say I’m going to tell you three things, and one of them will be a lie. You have to figure out which one of them it is.”
She took a gulp of the wine she’d brought with her, wishing she could knock back the whole glass. Why had this seemed so easy when she and Sandra had plotted it?
“Okay. I’m game.” He smiled, and it was such an unexpectedly warm expression that she instantly relaxed. She could do this. It was a three-hour train ride, and she was capable of loosening up and having some fun. If it gave her a chance to improve her outdated dating skills, all the better.
She wished she had picked someone a little friendlier, though. Despite the killer smile, everything about his body language said “go away”.
She would have to pretend he was a potential client and win him over, like she did every day.
“Okay. Here goes.” Allie should have asked Sandra to help her out with her spiel, but she’d been too distracted by the thought of avoiding the stripper-pole lessons. “I was born in California, in the back of a taxi.”
His lips twitched, but before he could say anything, she plowed on. “I have a bachelor’s degree in hotel management, but I’ve only lived in hotels, never worked in them.”
She wracked her brain, trying to think of a lie. Lying didn’t come naturally to her, so she was searching for something that could pass as the truth. She couldn’t think of anything, and when his fingers started to tap against his chair, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“My name is Allie. Which is short for Allie Kazaam.”
She wanted to cringe, but he surprised her by laughing. “Well, it’s obvious which one is the lie.” He finally uncrossed his arms, adjusting his hat so she could see his eyes were twinkling. “Nobody in California uses taxis.”
She joined in his laughter, relieved that he had a sense of humor. This might work out just fine.
“Your turn,” Allie said. “Tell me three things. And I can guess which one is the lie.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
She sat forward, her chin on her fists, waiting for his
answers. He picked up a glass filled with a pinot or merlot and spent a minute or two thinking, as if he was trying to decide where to start.
He glanced at her a couple of times, and then a huge smile brightened his face, and Allie could swear his eyes were twinkling again. Or maybe they were sparkling. It was hard to decide. She was definitely mesmerized, so much so that she almost missed what he said next.
“I’m Matt Kearns.”
She gasped.
“Have you heard of him?” he asked casually, swirling the wine in his glass while he studied her face.
Heard of him? She’d been trying for months to convince Matt Kearns to pose for her client’s celebrity calendar. Unfortunately, his manager made sure she never got to talk to the baseball superstar, even though she had called every couple of weeks to make her pitch. But Allie couldn’t let this guy know about that.
Especially since she’d realized about five seconds ago he really was Matt Kearns.
Allie nearly shivered. She’d seen a couple pictures of him when her client had waved around a wish list for the calendar. At the time, she had thought his pics were gorgeous, but now, up close, he was incredible. Handsome in that rugged way that made modern women melt, even when they swore they were immune to such things. His eyes were an intense blue, and his skin was tan from being outside all the time, making his smile seem more brilliant in comparison.
She didn’t have the strength to check out the rest of him. Well, except for his long legs encased in skin-tight jeans. And a button-down shirt that covered up what everyone knew was a killer body. Baseball uniforms didn’t leave much to the imagination, after all.
Allie needed to fan her face, but she couldn’t, because then he would know she was thinking about his physique. She supposed she could blame her red cheeks on the wine she’d consumed.
If only he had agreed to be part of the calendar. It was for a worthy cause—rescued greyhounds. But he’d refused repeatedly, his manager saying Matt wanted to be known for his baseball skills, not the results of his strenuous workouts.
Now here he was, sitting right next to her.
But she was confused. Did he want her to know who he was? Or had he told her his name in the hope she wouldn’t have heard of Matt Kearns, and he could hide in plain sight?
Back on Track: Strangers on a Train Page 1