Forever A Hero

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 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.