Read Online Fielder's Choice by Pamela Aares - Free Book Online Page B

away and strode to the front door of her house. There was little time for dalliance—she was the world’s slowest packer. But a peek over her shoulder as she closed the door told her that he was watching the swing of her hips. Her inner smile was broader than the one that played along her lips. Trouble or not, Matt Darrington would be one very alluring exploration.
    Isobel stopped her in the foyer and motioned her into the kitchen.
    “Mr. Hartman returned your call,” Isobel said, watching her face. “He can see you tomorrow.”
    She should’ve been more specific about dates when she’d asked Peg to set up the meeting with the neighbor, though Peg knew she was traveling.
    “Would you have Peg call him back and see if late next week will do?”
    Isobel’s eyes flashed, maybe with disapproval, maybe in surprise. Alana had never been in a position where she’d had to deal with letting people down. Until she’d inherited the ranch, no one had expectations of her. Well, maybe Simon did, but he was earnest and reliable to a fault, and he had expectations of everybody. God knew her parents hadn’t shown much interest in what she did with her life as long as she stayed out of trouble.
    “I’m away until the seventeenth,” Alana added. “I have business to attend to.”
    It wasn’t a total fib. She’d meet with a perfumer in Paris, get some advice on the body care line.
    “Of course.” Isobel took a step toward the door, then turned. “Fly safely, Alana. We need you.”
    “Sure. Yes.” Alana mumbled through the lump of emotion tightening in her throat.
    She raced up the stairs, Isobel’s words ringing in her head. Nobody needed her. Nobody ever had.
    The door to her bedroom was open, though she’d been sure she’d closed it when she’d left for the commission meeting. She grabbed her suitcase and flung it on the bed. Whatever she forgot she could replace in Paris. It’d be a perfect excuse to shop the Boulevard.
    She glanced at her ticket and realized she’d given Marcel the wrong arrival time.
    “You keep interrupting my delightful fantasies,” he murmured sleepily when she woke him again.
    “I gave you the wrong arrival time,” she said with a laugh.
    “I have your flight number. And a computer. I’ll be there.”
    “Can you set up a lunch with your friend the perfumer? I know it’s last minute.”
    “Tired of me already?”
    He knew better, but one tedious fault of Marcel’s was his habit of fishing for compliments.
    “I love your scent, Marcel. I always know if I like someone by their scent. You smell like heaven.”
    “Perhaps hell might be more delightful?” he teased.
    Leave it to a Frenchman to find the sensual hook in everything.
    “We’ll find out; I’m leaving in half an hour.”
    She shoved the phone into her purse and then rummaged in her drawer for her laciest, raciest lingerie. A rustling in her closet stopped her. She tipped her head and narrowed her eyes at the half-open door. When she didn’t hear anything else, she guessed she’d imagined it. Then she heard it again. All she needed was a mouse or some other country wildlife nibbling on her Louboutins. She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and flung open the door.
    There, in the middle of her garments, stood Sophie.
    “What are you doing?” Alana said, trying to keep the shock out of her voice.
    “I was going to leave you a note, and then I heard someone on the stairs and... well, I didn’t know what to do.” She cast her eyes to the floor of the closet.
    Alana knelt down to Sophie’s eye level. “Look, it’s okay. But you shouldn’t go places you’re not invited.” She held out her hand. “Let’s get you back to your dad.”
    Sophie took her hand. Sophie’s was tiny, tinier than she’d imagined, and damp.
    Sophie pulled her hand back and wiped it on her shorts, then reached again for Alana’s hand. “My hands always get sweaty when I’m scared.”
    Alana stopped walking and squeezed Sophie’s now dry