Forever A Hero. Linda Miller Lael
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home.”
“Did you love her?”
Mace weighed his answer. “I thought so at the time,” he told her. “I was pretty torn up when she called it off, but looking back, I know she was right. I have two older brothers, and they’re both married to incredible women. Seeing Slater with Grace and Drake with Luce—short for Lucinda—completely happy, sharing everything and starting families... Well, that got me wondering if I’d ever actually known what real love was like.”
Kelly smiled a soft, sad smile. “My parents are crazy about each other,” she said. “I used to think every marriage was like theirs.”
Mace wanted to take Kelly’s hand, but something stopped him. “Mine were pretty tight, too, as I recall,” he told her. “But our dad died when my brothers and I were young, and our mother never remarried. She’s a great mom, and she certainly taught us to admire and respect women, but when it came to love between a man and a woman, we didn’t have a whole lot to go on.”
Kelly nodded and her eyes misted over, although she was quick to blink the moisture away. “Sorry,” she said.
Mace knew she’d run into some kind of emotional roadblock, and he wasn’t going to push her past it. After all, this was supposed to be a business meeting, if an informal one.
True, Kelly had been the one to get the conversational ball rolling, but she probably hadn’t expected things to get so heavy, so soon. It was time to lighten up, get outside, soak up some sunshine and breathe some fresh air.
He pushed his plate away. “I’m about finished here,” he said. “How about you?”
Kelly surveyed her half-eaten salad with a combination of relief and regret. “I’m definitely full.”
“In that case, why don’t you head on upstairs and change your clothes? I’ll sign the check and meet you in the lobby in a few minutes.”
Kelly’s eyes, tearful a minute before, glinted with a sort of mischievous triumph. “I’ve already taken care of it,” she said.
Mace laughed and spread his hands in good-natured surrender. “So much for my reputation as a macho cowboy,” he said. “By nightfall, everybody in Mustang Creek will know I let a woman pick up the lunch check. For all practical intents and purposes, I’m ruined.”
Kelly made a face, retrieving her handbag from the floor beside her chair. “Oh, well,” she teased. “I’m sure you’ll reestablish your alpha-male status in no time.”
Exactly what, Mace wondered, as he rose to pull back her chair, did that mean?
Had it been a gibe—or an invitation?
Most likely neither, he decided. He was doing that nuance thing again.
As he and Kelly walked toward the exit, and the lobby beyond, Cindy hurried to catch up.
“Was something wrong with the food?” she asked in an anxious whisper.
Mace waited for the ever-present smile to slip from Cindy’s face, but it didn’t.
“Everything was great,” Kelly said, quick to reassure her. “Really. I guess we just got too caught up in...talking business.”
Cindy seemed pleased. And reassured. Stefano, the chef‒restaurant owner, was notoriously sensitive about his creations, and when plates came back to his kitchen with leftovers on them, he tended to fret. In fact, he’d been known to confront retreating diners in the lobby or even the parking lot, offering free meals, wanting explanations.
Mace waited until they’d reached the lobby to call Kelly on the fib. “That was ‘talking business’?” he asked with a grin.
Kelly didn’t miss a beat. “No,” she admitted brightly. “But I did enjoy the wine.”
With that, she turned and made for the elevators.
THE MOMENT THE elevator doors closed, Kelly sighed, thankful to be the only passenger, and punched the button for her floor with a little more force than strictly necessary. Then she leaned back against the wall, her cheeks flaming, her heart beating too fast.
What or who had possessed her, back there in the restaurant?
She certainly hadn’t been herself, Kelly Wright, the ultimate professional, a top executive with one of the most innovative corporations in the country, if not the world, and on the fast track to a vice presidency.
She’d planned to get things back on course, dispel any impression Mace might have, after the accident, that she was weak, needy, perhaps even desperate for a big, strong man to protect little ol’ helpless Kelly from a dangerous world.
Instead, she’d behaved like a ninny, asking personal questions about girlfriends and parents, revealing the fault lines in her brief marriage and the resulting disappointment she’d hardly admitted to herself, let alone the owner of a winery meant for great things. If she’d blown this deal, Dina would kill her when she got back to LA, and she could flat out forget the promotion to VP of Sales.
Goodbye profit sharing. Farewell, stock options and private jets.
The doors opened, and Kelly stepped out of the elevator, rummaging in her purse for her key card, still mentally kicking herself. She’d hosted dozens of semicasual lunches in the course of her career, and she knew the drill—stay in charge of the situation, but smile a lot and encourage the standard harmless small talk. Listen to stories about golf tournaments, fishing trips, that recent vacation. Scroll through endless snapshots and videos on the other person’s smartphone. Remember every name mentioned—not only those of the significant other and any children they might have, but those of dogs, cats and parakeets, as well.
Today, she’d broken all her own rules. Or most of them, anyway.
How was she going to get this project back on track?
She had no idea.
Maybe Dina had a point, Kelly thought, when she’d suggested postponing the pitch until some later date. She could go back to LA, regroup, return to Mustang Creek in a few weeks or a month, and try again.
But whether her boss was right or wrong, Kelly knew it wasn’t in her to chicken out that way; she’d lose respect for herself if she waved the white flag, made excuses and beat a hasty retreat—and Mace would know exactly why she was running away.
She stopped in front of the door to her room, shoved the key card in the slot at a crooked angle, got the blinking red light that meant the lock was still engaged and withdrew the card in frustrated disgust.
After drawing a deep breath, holding it for a count of six, and letting it out slowly, she tried again. This time, the lock clicked, and she pushed open the door.
Inside, she kicked off her shoes, not caring where they landed.
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “Get it together, Kelly. Now.”
Maybe she got it together and maybe she didn’t, but she found a pair of jeans and a pretty T-shirt, pink with white stripes, and laid them on the bed while she let her hair down and shook it out. Moving purposefully, she took off the pantsuit, hanging the jacket and slacks neatly in the closet, pulled on the jeans and T-shirt, then her socks and sneakers.
She was still nervous, which was not only unprofessional but silly...and yet she was excited, too. Not just because she was spending the afternoon with Mace, either. Her interest in the winemaking process, from growing and tending to the grapes to bottling, labeling and marketing the finished product, was genuine.
No matter how many vineyards she visited—and she’d visited plenty of them, from the sunny slopes of France and Italy to California, Arizona and central Washington State—she learned something new every time.
After giving