Free Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) by Kate Donovan

die.
    That would have been a loss, especially now.
If he hadn’t kept in touch, then had heard one day that Tony was
gone . . .
    “Wyatt, take care of your date,” Jenny said,
interrupting the reverie.
    He nodded grimly, noting that Roger had
moved in so close Darcie had sprung to her feet and was standing
with her arms folded across her amazing chest. She could take care
of herself for sure, but he wanted everyone to think this was a
real date. And part of a real date was playing the macho hero,
wasn’t it?
    She’s not going to like it, he told
himself with a chuckle. Then he patted Jenny’s shoulder, scooped up
a football from a nearby chair, and strode out across the yard.
     
    • • •
     
    This creep Roger was getting on Darcie’s
last nerve. If only she could blast him, but she didn’t want to
cause a scene on such an important occasion. Plus, Wyatt might be
furious.
    Then she saw him walking over to them, his
expression cool and businesslike. Since she hadn’t done
anything wrong, she suspected Roger’s days on this earth were
numbered.
    Very cool .
    She had escaped to the vegetable garden for
a few minutes’ peace after meeting at least twenty Bournes in a
row, along with a handful of in-laws. While there were definitely
more beautiful spots on this ranch—the old olive grove for one, a
rose garden for another—she found the low stone wall that
surrounded this spot particularly charming. Almost romantic,
really, given the graceful vine-covered trellises at each of the
four corners.
    Then Roger—a loser whose breath smelled of
stale beer—had ruined the idyllic moment by telling her the story
of his life.
    There wasn’t actually much to tell.
    “Hey, Wyatt,” Roger said now in a cheerful
voice. “You sure can pick ’em. Just looking at her is the
best action I’ve had all week.”
    “Fuck you, Westin,” Wyatt growled. “If it
wasn’t for Chrissy, you’d be a dead man by now.”
    Roger turned to Darcie. “Wyatt never liked
me. Because I’m all about baseball. If you want to be a real Bourne, you have to worship the pigskin.”
    “You should go spend time with your wife,”
Darcie warned him coolly. “And that adorable little boy.”
    “Yeah, he looks like me, right?”
    Wyatt’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the
shirtfront. “Get lost. Now.”
    “Okay, okay.” The loser gave Darcie a look
that suggested she should find fault with Wyatt, and when she just
glared, he finally took his cue and shuffled away.
    “Thanks,” she told Wyatt sheepishly. “What a
jerk. Poor Chrissy.”
    “Yeah. But she stays with him, so what’re
you gonna do?”
    “We could bury the body in the orchard and
no one would ever suspect.”
    “I like how you think.” He cleared his
throat. “How bad was it?”
    “It was fine,” she assured him. “He’s just
such a windbag. But I have to admit, his son is a cutie.” She eyed
him teasingly. “Do you spend five minutes with the toddlers
too?”
    Wyatt chuckled. “He’s what? Two and some
change?”
    “Two and a half,” she agreed. Then she eyed
the football in his hand. “What’s with the prop?”
    “I thought we’d get the first lesson out of
the way.”
    “No such luck, Dr. Bourne. But I’d love to
see you throw. Word on the street is you don’t suck at it.”
    She kept the teasing smile plastered to her
face, hoping he hadn’t noticed how smitten she was with him. The
way he had saved her from death by boredom, Roger Westin style. His
clear concern for his cousin’s welfare. Even the fact that he knew
the age of the youngest Bourne.
    And of course, the way he loomed over her,
his steely eyes going cobalt at the slightest hint of amusement or
flirtation. The Bournes were a good-looking family, but he stood
out among them in much the same way he had done at the fundraiser.
Not just a great body, but a great presence. Possibly the most
confident person she had ever met, including Murf.
    Maybe even including Emily.
    And there was so