“His performance at the conference was shameful,” Hargrove continued. “If our own governor won’t stand up for the citizens of Chicago, I’d like to know who will.”

Guilt percolated through Amber, and she quickly shut off the sound. She watched his face a few seconds longer, telling herself her actions had been defensible. If she’d stayed, she’d probably be standing right next him, holding his hand, the stalwart little fiancée struggling to come to terms with her role in his life.

He looked good on camera. Then, he’d always had a way with reporters, dodging their pointed questions without appearing rude, making a little information sound like a detailed dissertation. It was the reason the party was grooming him for the election.

A child shouted from outside the window, and Amber concentrated on the sound, forcing her mind from the worry about Hargrove to the seclusion of the ranch. Then another child shouted, and a chorus of cheers went up. Curious, she wandered to the window to look out.

Off to the left, on a flat expanse of lawn, a baseball game was underway. It was mostly kids of the ranch staff, but there were a few adults in the field. And there in the center, pitching the baseball, was Royce. She smiled when he took a few paces forward, lobbing a soft one to a girl who couldn’t have been more than eight.

The girl swung and missed, but then she screwed her face up in defiance and positioned herself at the plate, tapping the bat on the white square in front of her. Royce took another step forward.

Amber smiled, then she glanced one more time at Hargrove on the computer screen-her old life.

As the days and hours had slipped by, she’d become more convinced that her decision was right. She had no intention of going back to her old life. And she owed it to Hargrove to make that clear.

She searched for her cell phone on the desktop, powered it up and dialed his number.

“Hargrove Alston,” he answered.

“Hargrove? It’s Amber.”

Silence.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t worried about me,” she began.

“I wasn’t worried.” His tone was crisp.

“Oh. Well, that’s good. I’m glad.”

“Your parents told me you were fine, and that you’d taken the trouble to contact them.”

Amber clearly heard the “while you didn’t bother to contact me” message underlying his words.

“Are you over your tantrum, then?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but bristle. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re behaving like a child.”

She gritted her teeth.

“You missed the Chamber of Commerce speech,” he accused.

“I hear you didn’t,” she snarked in return.

Another silence. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Honestly, Amber.”

“Forget it. Of course you gave the speech. It was an important speech.”

Her words seemed to mollify him. “Will you be ready in time for dinner, then? Flannigan’s at eight with the Myers.”

Amber blinked in amazement at the question. She’d been gone for three days. She’d broken off their engagement.

“I’m not coming to dinner,” she told him carefully.

He gave a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “Is this about the Switzerland trip?”

“Of course not.”

“I explained why I had to go alone.”

“This is about a fundamental concern with our compatibility as a couple.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

Amber closed her eyes and counted to three. “I’m breaking our engagement, Hargrove. I’m truly sorry if I hurt you.”

A flare of anger crept into his tone. “I wish you’d get over this mood.”

“This isn’t something I’m going to get over.”

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this could get?”

“I’m sorry about that, too. But we can’t get married to keep from being embarrassed.” She flicked a gaze to the baseball game, watching two colorful young figures dash around the bases.

“Are you trying to punish me?” asked Hargrove, frustration mounting in his tone. “Do you want me to apologize for…” He paused. “I don’t know. Tell me what you think I’ve done?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

“Then get ready for dinner,” he practically shouted.

“I’m not in Chicago.”

He paused. “Where are you?”

“It doesn’t-”

“Seriously, Amber. This is getting out of hand. I don’t have time to play-”

“Goodbye, Hargrove.”

“Don’t you dare-”

She quickly tapped the end button then shut down the power on her phone. Talking around in circles wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

She defiantly stuffed the phone into her pocket and drew a deep breath. After the tense conversation, the carefree baseball game was like a siren’s call. Besides, it was nearly lunchtime, and she was tired of looking at numbers.

Determinedly shaking off her emotional reaction to the fight with Hargrove, she headed outside to watch.

Stephanie was standing at the sidelines.

“Looks like fun,” said Amber, drawing alongside and opening the conversation. She inhaled the fresh air and let the cheerfulness of the crowd seep into her psyche.

“Usually it’s just the kids,” Stephanie told her. “But a lot of the hands are down from the range today, and Royce can’t resist a game. And once he joined in, well…” She shrugged at the mixed-age crowd playing and watching.

A little girl made it to first, and a cocky, teenage boy swaggered up to the plate, reversing his baseball cap and pointing far out to right field with the tip of his bat.

Royce gave the kid an amused shake of his head, walked back to the mound and smacked the ball into the pocket of his worn glove. Then he shook his head in response to the catcher’s hand signals. Royce waited, then smiled, and nodded his agreement to the next signal.

He drew back, bent his leg and delivered a sizzling fastball waist high and over the plate. The batter swung hard but missed. Royce chuckled, and the kid stepped out of the batter’s box, adjusting his cap then scuffing his runners over the dirt at home plate.

“That’s Robbie Nome,” Stephanie informed her. “He’s at that age, constantly challenging the hands.”

“How old?” asked Amber, guessing sixteen or seventeen.

“Seventeen,” Stephanie confirmed. “They usually settle down around eighteen. But there’s a hellish year there in between while their brain catches up to their size and their testosterone level.” She shook her head as Robbie swung and missed a second time.

“Royce seems pretty good,” Amber observed, watching him line up for another pitch. She knew she was staring way too intently at him, but she couldn’t help herself.

He was dressed in faded jeans, a steel-gray T-shirt and worn running shoes. His bare arms were deeply tanned, and his straight, white teeth shone with an infectious grin.

“He played in the College World Series.”

“Pitcher?” asked Amber, impressed.

“First base.”

Royce rocketed in a third pitch, and the batter struck out.

The outfielders let out a whoop and ran for the sidelines. The shoulders of the girl on first base slumped in dejection. Royce obviously noticed. He cut to her path, whispered something in her ear and ruffled her short, brown hair. She smiled, and he gave her a playful high five.

Then he spotted Amber and Stephanie, and made a beeline for them. Amber’s chest contracted, and her heart lifted at the thought that his long strides were meant to bring him closer to her.

His gaze flicked to Stephanie but then settled back on Amber.

“Impressive,” she complimented as he drew near.

He shrugged. “They’re kids.”

Stephanie held out her hand, and Royce smacked the glove into her palm. “You want to play?” she asked Amber.

Amber shook her head. “I need to get back to work.” Then, as Stephanie trotted toward the outfield, she confided in Royce. “I’ve never been much of an athlete.”

His gaze traveled her body. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Pilates and a StairMaster.”

“I bet you’d be a natural at sports.”

“We’re not about to find out.” She’d never swung a bat in her life. There were eight-year-olds out there who would probably show her up.

“I’d lob you a soft one,” Royce offered, beneath the cheers and calls from the teams.

“Think I’ll stick to bookkeeping.”

He sobered. “You worked all morning?”

She nodded.

“Anything interesting?”

She shook her head. Actually, she’d found a couple of strange-looking payments in the computerized accounting system. But they were probably nothing, so she didn’t want to bother Royce with that. And she sure wasn’t about to tell him about her conversation with Hargrove.

“You surprise me,” he said in an intimate tone.

“How so?”

“I had you pegged for a party girl.”

“No kidding,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at his understatement.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

She looked him straight on. “Yeah, you did.”

He raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair, giving a sheepish smile. “Okay, I did for a while. But I got over it.”

She paused, debating for a few silent seconds, but then deciding she was going to quit censoring herself. “So,” she dared, with a toss of her hair. “What do you think of me now?”

His eyes danced, reflecting the color of the endless summer sky. “It could go one of two ways.”

“Which are?”

“Royce!” someone called. “You’re on deck.”

He twisted his head to shout over his shoulder. “Be right there.” Then he turned back, slowly contemplating her.

“Well?” she prompted, ridiculously apprehensive.

His hand came up to cup her chin, his thumb and forefinger warm against her skin. “You’re either shockingly ingenuous or frighteningly cunning.” But his tone took the sting out of the labels.

“Neither of those are complimentary,” she pointed out, absorbing the sparks from his touch.

His tone went low. “But both are very sexy.”

Then his hand dropped away, and he turned to the game, trotting toward the batter’s box as a player took a base hit.


Amber skipped down the staircase, recalling Royce smacking a three-base hit, bringing ten-year-old Colby Jones home to win the game by one run. She and Stephanie had decided to dress up for dinner, and she wore a white, spaghetti-strap cocktail dress and high-heeled sandals. She rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and caught sight of him in a pressed business suit. He was even sexier now than he’d been this afternoon in his T-shirt and jeans.

And he didn’t look out of place in the rustic setting. She was glad she’d gone with the dress.

His gaze caught hers, dark and brooding, and she faltered on her high heels. This afternoon, he’d been almost playful. Had she done something to annoy him?

And then she caught sight of the second man, nearly as tall as Royce, somewhat thinner, his suit slightly wrinkled at the elbows and knees. The man turned at the sound of her footsteps, and she knew it had to be Barry Brewster. His jaw was tight, and beads of sweat had formed on his brow.

“Ms. Hutton,” Royce intoned. “This is Barry Brewster. You spoke to him on the phone last night.”

Amber fought an urge to laugh. The whole charade suddenly struck her as ridiculous. “Mr. Brewster,” she said instead, keeping her face straight as she came to a stop and held out her hand.

“Barry, please.”

“You can call me Amber.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Royce, please.”

But Royce didn’t waver, shoulders square, expression stern.

“Ms. Hutton,” Barry began, obviously not about to run afoul of his boss. “Please accept my apology. I was rude and insulting last night. I am, of course, available for anything you might need.”

The irritation in his eyes belied the geniality of his tone. But then she hadn’t expected him to be sincere about this.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “I do have a couple of questions.” She looked to Royce. “Should we sit down?”

“Unnecessary. Barry won’t be staying.”

“This is ridicul-”

Royce’s hard expression shut her up, and she silently warned herself not to get on his bad side.

“I was hoping you could tell me the balance in the ranch bank account,” she said to Barry. “There are a number of unpaid bills, so I wondered-”

“You don’t need a reason to ask for the bank balance,” Royce cut in.

“I’d need to look it up,” said Barry, shifting from one black loafer to the other. He flexed his neck to one side and straightened the sleeves of his suit.

“So, look it up,” said Royce.

“I don’t have access to the server.”

“Call someone who does.”

Barry hesitated. “It’s pretty late.”

“Your point?”

“I guess I could try to catch Sally.” With a final pause, Barry reached into his pocket for his phone.