Page 51 of Hearts Don't Lie

Two days later, Hardin was en route to pick up Arlo Cruz in Gambol—the tony resort of the über-rich thirty minutes north of Piñon Ridge. His longtime agent was flying in, having insisted on hashing out Hardin’s request face-to-face, probably more like trying to convince him to show up for mandatory training. Every day and every team meeting Hardin had missed resulted in a substantial fine.

Like I give a shit.

There was nothing like in-person pressure, and Arlo was among the very best. Hardin also counted the Spaniard in his small circle of trusted friends. He had faith that once Arlo had the full story, the scope of his and Mac’s history, he would do everything in his power to help him.

It was the first time Hardin had been behind the wheel since arriving in Piñon Ridge over a week ago. What a week it had been. Reacquainting with Mac and realizing that the love he had for her was everything he believed and that she had feelings for him. Then discovering he was a father and now navigating a relationship with an amazing young man who ran hot and cold without warning.

Getting on even footing with his son was the challenge of his lifetime. No one had come close to putting him through his emotional paces since Mac, but Stowe did, with a finesse Hardin admired.

Arlo would stay in Hardin’s roomy suite while he was visiting. There were no vacancies in Piñon Ridge. Summer rivaled the ski season in popularity, what with all the outdoor options. Hopefully his friend had calmed down during the flight in from Spain. Arlo had gone ballistic when Hardin told him he’d be delayed returning to training and asked him to look for loopholes in his recently renegotiated and signed two-year contract, reverting to speaking his native tongue in a frenetic speed.

Hardin was proficient in Spanish, but when Arlo launched into his tirade, he couldn’t keep up. He had tuned out instead and reflected on how upset Arlo had been last month when he wouldn’t commit to a longer contract because of the wear and tear on his body, even though he had avoided being seriously injured. What he demanded now was something that would rock international premier soccer.

Most players retired before the age of thirty-five. Yeah, there were a small number of players who were older and held on to their peak play, but that came with costs. At age thirty, Hardin had no desire to be another member of that club. He had seriously given consideration to retiring last year, but dammit, he had allowed the money and pressure to seduce him once again. He had said as much to Mac when they were on their hiking trip, before he knew about Stowe.

Hardin’s thoughts turned to his son, simply the most incredible surprise he’d ever received and one that required heaping amounts of patience, understanding, and tenaciousness as both of them peeled back and explored the layers and layers of soul-stirring wrapping. For the most part, Mac stayed on the sidelines, only stepping in when she felt Stowe needed a knot jerked in his tail for being rude or Hardin required redirection. But those moments, like Stowe’s early flashes of anger and surliness, occurred less often as the days passed.

His cell rang over the Bluetooth. It was Mac. “Hello?”

“Hardin?”

No, it was Stowe using Mac’s phone. “Hey, Stowe. Morning.”

“Good morning. Where are you? It sounds windy.”

“Driving to pick up a friend at the Gambol airport. Sunroof’s open.”

“Oh… Um…”

“Hold a minute.” Hardin closed the sunroof. “Some of what you were saying was going out the roof.”

His comment was met with Stowe’s laughter.

“Okay. That’s better. What’s going on?” This was the first time Stowe had contacted him, and he enjoyed his son’s laughter. Hardin signaled and took the off-ramp from the interstate and headed for a parking lot that was close to the ramp, designated for people who carpooled to Denver and other larger cities. The lot was nearly empty at this early hour on a weekend.

“Um… Uncle Mike is taking Beck and me fly-fishing. Do… Do you want to go?”

Hardin pulled in and put the Range Rover in park, fully focused on his son.Of course I want to go.He had planned to spend the afternoon with Arlo, examining the finer points of the contract, looking for a compromise, or better yet, a way out, without being made an example and fined into the poor house. His heart pounded. “What time?”

“Well, we were going to leave as soon as possible, but you’ll need waders and boots. Mike has an extra rod and reel you can use. And we need to go into the local Parks and Wildlife office so you can get a license and stamp. It’s next to Elevation. Bring ID.”

The excitement of Stowe asking him to do something trumped his need to talk with Arlo. They could talk later. Hell, Arlo would probably be hungry and jet-lagged and want to eat and nap. If not, he could explore the town or hike. “Sounds great, Stowe. I’m coming right back.”

“Okay. Um… I can call Ronni or Asher and see if you can maybe go in before Elevation opens.”

It took Hardin a second, and then he remembered that Ronni was the woman who had helped him at the outfitters. Her family owned the business. Who Asher was, was a mystery. “Sure. Call me back, okay?” He could drop Arlo off at the Urban and walk right over if Elevation would open up for him.

“Okay.”

“Your mom with you?”

“She’s in the shower.”

The engine revved loudly.

“Are you speeding?”

Christ.Hardin pulled his foot from the gas pedal, which he had pushed to the floor when envisioning water cascading over Mac’s beautiful form. Their urgent coming together in the shed was still fresh. His body stirred and he smiled slowly. That was something he wasn’t ever going to forget. “No. My foot slipped.”

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