My Secret Fantasies

More than anything, I wanted to get settled in my new digs, since I was technically homeless.

And yes, I knew most people would call it insanity to leave one apartment without securing another, but I had never been one to play it safe. For me, there was never a plan B. When trouble came my way, I dodged it and moved forward. Some might call it conflict avoidance. Whatever. I considered it taking charge of my life. In my own way, I overcame obstacles and moved on.

I put the old Highlander in Neutral as he’d asked, and switched on the hazards, then hurried back to his truck, since Damien was already climbing into the driver’s seat. I got the impression he’d never wasted a second of time in his life.

Everything about Damien Fraser screamed that he did not suffer fools lightly. And me? I’d practically been born with a touch of foolishness. I considered it part of my charm. Up until recently, that is, when I realized that being on a reality show—if only for a few weeks—had made it easier for people from my past to find me and harass me.

Too bad Rick, the main offender, hadn’t stayed married to my sister. I’d always hoped him being married to Nina would keep the creep at arm’s length, but since their divorce, he seemed way too eager to see me again.

As if.

“Ready?” I smiled up at my rescuer as I buckled my seat belt again, but the effort was wasted, since he shifted into low gear and focused on pulling out onto the highway.

More silence.

“So, Mr. Fraser—”

“Damien,” he corrected, checking his side mirror.

“So, Damien. You have a Thoroughbred farm?” If I kept him talking, that meant I wouldn’t be talking. Which meant I couldn’t possibly say anything to potentially wreck my chances of buying the property.

“We breed racing stock. Sell shares in prospective winners.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but this seemed to say it all as far as he was concerned. I knew something about farming from growing up in Nebraska, but a Thoroughbred operation was a far cry from a small family farm that specialized in a few hybrid kinds of corn.

“And the property you’re selling. You just don’t need it?” I took in the stark interior of the truck cab. There was no iPod plugged in or coffee mug in the cup holder. No mail on the seat.

Tough to be nosy when there were no good clues to work with.

“It’s a good retail location with proximity to Highway 1, and there’s already a building there. That little patch of property is worth more to me if I sell it rather than convert it into anything usable for the farm.”

“Do you get many tourists up here?” I hadn’t done much market research to see who might support a tearoom in this area. I figured I had Joelle in my corner to help me figure out how to make the business a success. Plus I’d had years to gather ideas of my own while watching her work.

“We’re situated right along the Coast Highway. Some people come out to California just to see the sights up and down this road.”

And yet it looked plenty rural to my eyes. I’d been really enjoying the scenery until the SUV bit the dust a few miles back. There were trees and hills, the scent of the sea in the air. Every now and then you turned a corner and caught a view of the Pacific, so blue it made your eyes hurt.

This was going to be a big improvement over L.A. When I first moved there, I’d just wanted out of Nebraska and away from Rick’s betrayal. He’d upgraded to my sister after leading me on, wooing me out of my virginity and making me feel like a total loser in bed. The guy was a head case, and he’d done more than a little damage to my mental well-being in the process.

My sister’s response to the news that her future husband had already been a jerk to me and showed flashes of a scary-as-hell temper? “Stay away from my man.” Not in so many words, but...yeah. Nina felt totally threatened and had been convinced I’d done the leading on.

So Los Angeles or New York had seemed like logical choices as big cities to get lost in and forget about my family. I had literally flipped a coin. No one seemed terribly disappointed when I didn’t go back for Nina’s wedding.

Now I knew myself better. I’d really enjoyed working at the Melrose Tearoom in L.A. but thought a business like that in a quieter area would be more fulfilling. Less of a spotlight. More anonymity after the dumb reputation I’d gained from Gutsy Girl. Plus, I guess I hadn’t lost my love of wide-open spaces. A part of me would always miss Nebraska.

But I’d learned to love the Pacific and the sense of peace the West Coast gave me. The Sonoma area had looked perfect when I’d been hunting online for likely places to open a shop.

Damien switched on his blinker and turned off to the right, near a small sign for Fraser Farm.

Intrigued, I saw four rail fences on either side and wondered if I’d missed the property I wanted to buy. It felt as if we’d turned right into horse country, with Thoroughbreds swishing their tails in green fields dotted with shade trees.

“Here it is.” He pulled off the road to the left, in front of the building I’d seen online. It looked smaller in reality, probably because it was surrounded by vast expanses of horse pasture.

That didn’t deter me. I slipped out of the passenger seat and hopped down to the ground, feeling the pull of destiny.

The structure resembled a bungalow, with a wide porch, where I could imagine setting up a few outdoor tables. There was enough space for a small parking lot; no doubt it had served as one in the building’s former life as a farm stand. I might be able to squeeze in a little garden around a patio if I used the space wisely.

I was already through the door, dreaming about how to convert the walls into shelves full of teas and tea-related products to sell to happy wine-country tourists, when I heard Damien clear his throat behind me. I turned, unsure how long I’d been planning my future in a total mental fog.

“Does it suit your purposes, Ms. Cortland?” His close proximity was not an unpleasant feeling. If I shut my eyes, I could imagine myself backing against him. Leaning into all that maleness.

What was it about him that had me thinking sexy thoughts so easily?

“Miranda. And yes. Very nicely.” There was a studio upstairs that would be quite enough room for living space. No one from my past would bother me—no one would even find me in the middle of a Sonoma County Thoroughbred farm.

I’d sell tea, bake scones and after hours I’d write my novel, under a pseudonym. In fact, I felt all the more compelled to write my book now that the hum of sexual attraction pulsed just below the surface of my skin. If ever I needed inspiration, I’d just look out my window and wait for Damien Fraser to ride by on a horse or in a pickup.

Definitely liking this vision of my future.

“You said in your original email that you hoped to put a tearoom here?” he prodded.

“Yes.” I tried to think about business details and not secret fantasies, but I was really distracted, imagining what he’d look like astride a horse.

Mmm.

“If I sell it to you, I’d need you to commit to that. The contract would include a stipulation that I’d have some say in the kind of business operating here. We can work that out with the lawyers, but I want to be up front with you.”

I had no idea about the legality of that, but I understood why he’d want that kind of control, since my little piece of property would essentially be surrounded by his.

“Certainly.” I set my backpack on the scarred hardwood floor that would gleam after I refinished it. I dug through my things to find my wallet, so I could hand the man my check and unpack a few things before it got dark.

I noticed the electricity had been turned off, so I wanted to get started ASAP, while I could still see.

From outside, a man’s voice called. “Mr. Fraser?”

“In here, Scotty.” Damien backed up a step and opened the creaking front door, allowing a wide swath of sunlight into the main floor.

A wiry young guy stepped inside. He wore a trucker’s cap, with a big pair of old-fashioned headphones clamped around his ears. I could hear the wailing steel guitar and fiddle music from where I stood across the room, so I had no idea how he heard anything else.

I smiled at him, ready to make his acquaintance. But when his eyes met mine, I knew.

I’d been recognized.

My heart sank even as his face lit up.

“Miranda Cortland?” He shoved off his headphones and stepped closer, with the familiarity of someone who’d known me all his life. “No freaking way. The Nebraska Backstabber in my own backyard.”

I swallowed hard, hating that stupid nickname the press had jumped on. Resenting that they’d dug up details about my past, even though I’d listed “Los Angeles” as my hometown.