The Heart Of The Game (11 page)

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.”

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.

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.”

Cody brushed at a crumb she had missed. She’d tried not to stare at his hands during lunch, but she couldn’t help but compare his broad palms and strong fingers to Vico’s tapered, manicured ones. She wanted to touch Cody’s hands, to feel them on her body.

“Alex overestimates my abilities.” Cody tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hooking his thumbs at the edges.

She looked lower.

American men had a way of wearing jeans so that they hugged every part of their lower bodies. Cody’s hugged a part of him she couldn’t believe she was staring at. Heat rose in her cheeks and spread, tracking a path to her belly.

She snapped her eyes to his face. And blushed more. He’d noticed her staring.

She’d discovered that Alex and his baseball teammates had eyes trained to observe, to anticipate, and to assess. But she’d never anticipated being the object of such focused assessment.

“According to family lore, Alex is usually pretty accurate,” she said, fighting for a casual tone. “At least when it comes to people.”

How could inviting Cody down to the barn set butterflies dancing in her stomach? It wasn’t as if she were inviting him into her bed.

“I’d be happy to have a look.” His gaze darted toward something behind her.

She turned to see Leonora trotting toward them with a wool shawl.

“There’s a chill in the air, Signorina Zoe. You might need this.”

Leonora handed off the shawl and then smiled at Cody before she walked back to the house. She’d been Zoe’s nanny from the first days Zoe could remember. After Coco and Anastasia had left for university, Leonora had stayed on as housekeeper, cook and, after Zoe’s mother had died, the heart of their home. She was also an infallible judge of character. Somehow Cody had already won Leonora’s approval.

Zoe opened the shawl and a gust of wind caught it. Cody snatched the shawl from the air before it hit the ground. She’d seen horses and animals in the wild move with that sort of speed and grace, but never a man. Her mind was still savoring the image as he wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. His hand brushed her cheek. Their gazes locked, and he stopped mid-motion.

A kiss couldn’t have felt more intimate than the look he held her with.

“Leonora has hovered over all of us since my mama died,” she said, still caught in his penetrating gaze. Shaken by the surge of unstoppable warmth rushing through her, she lowered her eyes.

Cody dropped his hand to his side. Busying her hands, she tugged at the corner of the shawl. Looking away hadn’t broken the trance that enthralled her.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” His tone was soft, gentle. Coming from him, English was another language entirely. It had nuances she’d never imagined. But she was glad he didn’t say more. One more gently said word and she’d give in to her urge to curl into his arms and be held by his magnificent, entrancing hands.

He toed the graveled path next to the table with the tip of his cowboy boot. She looked up to his face, unable to read the half smile on his lips.

He gestured to the path. “Lead the way.”

When they reached the barn, Cody gave Zoe a hand sliding open the broad wooden door, though he hardly needed to since the door glided with little effort. Lights came on automatically, illuminating the tiled floor and polished wooden stalls.

He let out a long, slow whistle. “This is a far cry from our barns back home.”

“A far cry?”

Cody ran a hand through his hair. He’d had to explain a few American idioms to the Dominican guys on the team, but he spoke Spanish and their conversations were most often about baseball, so bridging the cultural gap with them was easy.

“A far cry means... Well, very much unlike or really different.” She was studying him intently. “Heck, I don’t know where the phrase comes from. It’s a fine barn.”

She laughed, surprising him. “This bit of perfection is just another of my father’s over-the-top—is that the phrase?—efforts to make us comfortable here.”

“This seems like a fine place to be comfortable.” Now he was the one struggling with language. “I mean—you have a great polo field, a wonderful house”—he waved his arm out at the vast barn—“and a mighty good barn.”

She tilted her head. “It’s going to take more than a barn to make me feel at home here.”

The tightening muscles in her neck told him she’d swallowed back whatever else she was going to say. Though he wanted to know what made her tick, he didn’t want to pry. If she wanted to tell him, she would in good time.

He stopped moving for a brief second. Maybe even stopped breathing. In that moment he realized that he’d formed an image of knowing her in the future, something he never let himself imagine with women. Hell, with anybody.

“Telemachus is in the second stall.”

Cody whistled softly. Telemachus was a helluva horse. At seventeen hands, the thoroughbred had supple muscles and a gleaming coat. But as soon as they threw open the half door to enter the stall, he bucked up and thrashed the air with his forelegs.

“Nothing calms him,” Zoe said, backing away. “I turned him out into the pastures and he ran and ran, and I thought he worked through this. It must’ve been the plane ride.”

“Maybe. But in my rodeo days we transported horses by jet, mostly the broncs, for shows on the East Coast. If it’s done well, the flights don’t usually bother them.”

“Alex said you rode
bulls
.”

“Been checking up on me?”

She blushed. The spot of color spread across her face, and he felt like it was spreading heat through him as well. Right to his groin. But this was no time and no place for shenanigans. She’d asked for his help.

“I did ride bulls, but mostly broncs.”

“Broncs?”

“Horses trained to buck a man off in less than eight seconds.” Telemachus snorted and banged his hooves against the side of the stall. Cody searched the small space. “I can tell you more later. Do you have a rope halter?”

“In the tack room.”

“Bring it, please. And when you come back, leave the stall door open and stay outside, well away.”

He heard the hurry in her footsteps as she headed to the tack room. She was worried for him, he could tell. And if he’d been any other guy, her worry would be well placed. A traumatized half-ton horse could kill a man in such a tight space. He’d known a guy who’d been stomped to death in a similar situation. But there was one major difference—that guy hadn’t respected the horse. Rule number one on the rodeo circuit: respect the animal one hundred percent.

Cody began to hum under his breath. He was aware of Zoe returning, of her draping the halter over the side of the stall, of her breathing. For a few moments the only sounds were her breath, Telemachus’s snorting and his own soft, low hum. Then he began to speak to the horse. With the first few sentences and eye contact, the muscles in Telemachus’s neck softened and his eyes went wider.

Cody reached to the horse’s shoulders, tapping first one, then the other, just like his neighbor, Old Man Henry, had shown him years before. Telemachus calmed, and Cody slipped the rope halter over his ears, talking in soft tones all the while.

Though he was aware of Zoe’s eyes on him, Cody concentrated on what he was doing. The next few moves were critical if the horse was to trust him. He led Telemachus to the mounting block and mounted bareback. With a gentle squeeze to the horse’s flank, Cody turned and rode him out of the barn.

Zoe walked out to the edge of the ring. Cody saw the wonder on her face. But this was no time to pat himself on the back.

Telemachus shimmied, and Cody prepared for him to buck. But he didn’t. Cody gently tapped Telemachus’s temples, first one side and then the other, leaning down to murmur in the horse’s ear. His methods might be unconventional, but no one could argue with the results. After fifteen minutes or so, he rode into the barn and dismounted, saying a silent thanks to Henry for taking a cocky kid under his wing all those years ago and spending the effort to teach Cody what he knew.

Cody led Telemachus into the stall. Zoe stayed outside, leaning on the door.

Cody wasn’t sure which had been the greater challenge—ignoring the gaze that Zoe had trained on him the entire time or calming the traumatized horse.

He patted Telemachus. “He’s a curious one, that’ll work in your favor,” he said, angling his body so he could see Zoe. “He wants to relate. Some idiot just shut him down.” Cody felt a flush shock through him when Zoe smiled. “I’d use a halter bridle on this boy, at least for a while. Nothing restrictive. He’ll respond to you, you’ll see.”

Hell, she nearly had
him
at her feet.

Zoe edged into the stall but stayed close to the door. “I’ve used gentle training techniques all my life, always emphasized reassurance over punishment. I know that pain and fear don’t result in a good relationship, not ever. But what you did here, just now, that’s more than a technique. Are you a...”

He saw her searching for the word and braced.

“... a horse whisperer?”

He had to admit the overused term sounded endearing in her Italian accent. But labels confined and restricted. And in any case, he was no expert. He just did what he’d done all his life—keyed in to the animal with respect.

“Nah, I just reassured him. But the tapping I did, that
is
a technique—for resolving trauma. Works for people too. I can teach you.”

He motioned for her to stand close. Through the odor of sweat rising off Telemachus and the familiar smells of the barn, Zoe’s scent drifted to him and zinged a hot path of want right to the body part he was doing his best to ignore. He held out his hand for hers. He had every intention to reach her hand up in his, to show her where to touch her horse and to teach her the tapping technique. But as his fingers closed around hers, she let out a soft murmur that sounded nearly like alarm.

He tipped his head to see what was wrong. She slid her other hand to his neck, tugging his head toward hers and lifting up on her toes in order to press hers lips to his.

Her bottom lip quivered as she took in a shuddering breath. And he was gone. Groaning, he pulled her into his arms and tasted. Slid his tongue into the sweet heat of her mouth and nearly shuddered himself at the force of want that rushed blood to his groin.

Telemachus neighed and leaned into Cody, pressing him hard up against Zoe. Surely she’d feel the throb of his erection. But right then he didn’t care. He ignored the sweat and grime on his hands and ran them up her back, his fingers reading her signals, tracking the fire, pulling her closer. Her eyes flew open as his erection pressed against the top of her jeans. He fisted his hand in her hair and drove the kiss deeper.

A knock sounded on wood, echoing in the tight space. Zoe stiffened in his arms, and Cody broke off the kiss. The same white-haired man who’d helped serve lunch now stood awkwardly at the door of the stall.

Zoe pulled away and her shawl fell into the straw. “Placido.”

The man eyed Cody and then the horse before addressing Zoe.

“
Scusi
, signorina, but there’s a man here with a delivery. Adrian’s gone down to the winery to fetch some papers for Mr. Gualdieri.” Placido held Cody in an assessing stare that Cody knew only too well. Except that usually he was the one doing the assessing. “I thought you might know where Signor Tavonesi would want the boxes,” Placido continued, not taking his eyes off Cody. “And you’ll need to sign for the delivery.”