Forever A Hero. Linda Lael Miller
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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 her hair a quick brushing in front of the bathroom mirror and reapplying her lip gloss, Kelly placed a call to the valet desk and asked to have her rental car brought around to the front of the hotel.
And then she waited five minutes, so she wouldn’t seem too eager to meet up with Mace in the lobby.
It was sweet agony, that little sliver of time. Part of her wanted to crawl under the bed and refuse to come out until Mace gave up and left, while another part urged her to get back to him as fast as she could, taking the stairways between floors rather than waiting for an elevator.
Instead, she watched the minutes blink by on the bedside clock, but it wasn’t easy.
It was a huge relief to pick up her handbag, make sure her key card was inside, and leave her room. She walked sedately along the hallway toward the elevator, pushed the button and waited, glad there was no one around to see how hard she was working to stay calm.
Moments later the elevator arrived. There was a family inside, a husband, a wife, a girl of five or six and a boy no older than four. They were wearing swimsuits, the woman sporting a striped cover-up, as well, all clutching beach towels and smiling with anticipation.
“We’re going to the pool!” the little boy informed Kelly, practically jumping up and down in excitement. “I’m gonna swim!”
Kelly smiled, momentarily distracted from her own misgivings about the afternoon ahead by a pang of envy. If her marriage had worked out, she might’ve had children of her own by now. “That’s great,” she said, meaning it.
The little girl, wearing flip-flops on her tiny feet, gave her brother a tolerant look. “Where else would we be going in swimsuits?” she asked.
The woman placed a hand on her daughter’s blond head, smiled at Kelly and said, “She’s six, going on thirteen.”
The man laughed. “God help us,” he said.
Kelly made a mental note to reassess her ideas about the nonexistence of happy families in today’s warp-speed world, but that would have to wait. She needed to stay focused on her next goal—convincing Mace Carson she knew her stuff when it came to marketing fine wine.
They reached the lobby, and the doors opened.
She stepped out, turning to the picture-perfect family. The pool was another floor down. “Have fun swimming,” she told them.
“We will!” the boy cried as the doors closed again.
She was still looking back, smiling, when she collided with a hard and distinctly masculine body.
Mace immediately gripped her shoulders, steadying her.
He grinned when Kelly faced him, all too aware that she was blushing again.
“Oops,” she said. “Sorry.”
“I was about to say the same when you beat me to it,” Mace said, dropping his hands to his sides now that she was in no danger of ricocheting off all that man-muscle. “Except, maybe, for the ‘oops.’”
Perhaps it was the smile in Mace’s eyes, or his easy manner, or the prospect of an afternoon visiting the winery and walking through the vineyard, but Kelly felt a subtle shift. She finally relaxed, let go of the self-doubt she’d been feeling for nearly twenty-four hours.
In short, she was herself again. No less attracted to Mace Carson, admittedly, but herself, focused and positive and brimming with creative ideas.
“The truck’s out front,” Mace said, gesturing for her to precede him. “And, by the way, you look great in those jeans.”
She sent him a sidelong look as they headed in that direction. “I’ll be taking my own car,” she said. Yes, the doctor had advised her to wait a few days before driving, but she felt fine. “The last time I drove, I almost went over a cliff. I guess this is the automotive version of getting back on the horse after being thrown.”
“Makes sense,” Mace said. “Think you can keep it on the road between here and the ranch?”
Kelly laughed. “We’re about to find out,” she said.
Outside, under the huge portico in front of the hotel, Mace’s truck awaited. A blue compact was parked behind it, and Kelly supposed it was her rental car, since there were no other vehicles around.
Sure enough, one of the parking attendants, a pretty young girl about the same age as Cindy, who’d served their lunch, hurried forward.
“Ms. Wright?”
“That’s me,” Kelly said, pulling out the tip she’d tucked into her jeans pocket during the five-minute wait upstairs in her room. The girl smiled, walked over to the driver’s side of the blue car, Kelly following, and opened the door for her.
Kelly slipped behind the wheel, took a single deep breath and handed over the gratuity. “Thanks...” she said, squinting at the valet’s name tag, “Maggie.”
“Thank you,” Maggie replied, accepting the tip. About to close Kelly’s door, she turned her smile on Mace, who was standing beside his truck, an expectant grin on his sexy, unshaven face.
Maggie laughed. “You can open your own darned door, Mace Carson—sir.”
Mace shook his head, as if to lament the state of today’s youth.
Then he climbed into his late-model truck, with its extended cab and outsize tires. It was black—Kelly hadn’t noticed many details the night before—and would’ve looked fancy if it weren’t for the mud splatters left over from yesterday’s bad weather.
Maggie turned back to Kelly and smiled. “You have a nice day, Ms. Wright,” she said, shutting the car door.
Kelly’s palms were moist where she gripped the wheel and, for a moment, she was almost queasy as muscle-memory reminded her, in no uncertain terms, of the terrifying sensations she’d felt when she’d lost control of the other rental car on that slippery country road.
That was then, she reminded herself firmly, and this was now. The sky was clear and achingly blue, the sun was bright, the mountains majestic in the near distance.
Kelly kept her eyes on the road, following Mace’s lead. Her brief trepidation was gone, and good riddance. She was a California native, after all, and she’d lived in the LA area since college. If she could handle those infamous freeways, the 405 included, she could certainly manage the highways and byways around Mustang Creek, Wyoming.
She was back on the proverbial horse and ready to ride like the wind.
Ten minutes later, Kelly found herself in an alternate dimension, surrounded by open spaces and dazzled by breathtaking scenery. She took in the ranch house, which looked more like a midsize hotel, the stables Mace would probably describe as a “barn,” the rail fences and windswept pastures populated by