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-”
