The Heart Of The Game (10 page)

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. Despite 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.”