Forever A Hero

* * *

“STAY FOR SUPPER?” Mace asked when he and Kelly got back to the main house. This time, he’d taken the road instead of the cattle trail. Twilight was settling over the countryside by then, and the inside lights shone in that way that always made him feel a strange, soft mixture of joy and sorrow, as if he were homesick for a place he’d never really left.

He’d half expected Kelly to make a dash for her car the instant he’d parked the truck, but she didn’t move. Neither did he; he just sat behind the wheel, listening to the engine tick as it cooled, and waited.

“Why not?” she replied quietly.

Okay, so it wasn’t wild enthusiasm. But she’d agreed to stay, and that was enough.

For now.

“Let’s go inside, then,” he said. “Before Harry comes out and drags us to the table.”

“You’re sure I won’t be imposing?”

“Imposing? You heard my mother—Harry’s been cooking for hours.”

She smiled at him, opened her door before he could open it for her.

She looked down at her jeans and T-shirt, then up at the house, and seemed to withdraw slightly, as though reconsidering. “Please tell me your family doesn’t dress up for dinner,” she said.

Mace felt a brief ache behind his breastbone, but he smiled. “Are you serious? This is a ranch.”

Kelly eyed the house again. “Some ranch,” she remarked. “That house looks like something out of Gone with the Wind.”

“It’s home,” Mace said casually. “You expected the Ponderosa?”

She laughed softly. “Maybe I did,” she said. “It’s not exactly what you’d call rustic, this place. On the other hand, it seems to belong here.”

Mace nodded, resting one hand on the small of Kelly’s back, glad she didn’t pull away. The gesture was automatic, bred into him, like opening doors and pulling out chairs and taking off his hat in the presence of a lady.

“There’s a story,” he said as they mounted the steps to the porch.

Her face was eager in the glow of the outside light. “Tell me.”

“When my great-great-grandfather—I forget how many greats—settled this ranch and made himself a little money running cattle and mining, he went back East to find a wife. He found her in Savannah, living in what remained of her family’s old plantation house, after Sherman and his men left half the state of Georgia in ashes. She wasn’t in love with him, not at first, anyway, and he didn’t figure he had a chance with her, poor though she was, given that she was a true lady and he was a cowpoke from someplace west of nowhere. He proposed, thinking she’d refuse, and she hauled off and said yes. They got married and headed over here, by railroad, then stagecoach, then covered wagon. Legend has it she never complained, either along the way or once she got a look at the ranch and his cabin. By the end of that first winter, as the story goes, they were in love. They roughed it for a few years, started a family, and when he began to make real money, they drew up the plans together and gradually expanded this place, made it as much like the house she’d left behind as they could.”

Kelly’s eyes shone. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mace gave a reasonable facsimile of a courtly bow as he opened the door. “Welcome to the Mustang Creek version of Tara,” he said.

The inside of the Carson house, it turned out, was even more impressive than the outside. The furnishings were an eclectic blend of old and new, everything fitting together to make a home, gracious but somehow rustic, too.

Kelly heard laughter somewhere nearby as Mace showed her to a powder room off the massive kitchen, where she could wash up. When she’d finished, he was waiting for her, looking freshly scrubbed.

He offered her his arm and must have sensed that she was nervous, despite her effort to hide the fact. “Nobody bites,” he whispered.

Kelly had been in grand houses before, of course, attended elegant affairs, exchanged small talk with the rich and famous. This, like the vineyard, was different. Mainly, she supposed, because Mace Carson lived here.

He escorted her into a spacious dining room, into the boisterous heart of his family.

Much to Kelly’s relief, Mace had been telling the truth when he said the others wouldn’t be dressed up. Blythe had changed clothes since leaving the winery, but she’d chosen black jeans, a blue cotton blouse and sandals, and she looked elegant as well as casual.

Mace introduced her to his eldest brother, Slater, a successful documentary filmmaker, and his wife, Grace, who managed the resort where Kelly was staying. Then she met Drake, another brother, and his wife, Luce. Both couples had young children, already in bed.

Finally, she met Harry, a tall, angular woman with kind gray eyes. She was the only woman in the room wearing a dress; Grace and Luce, like their mother-in-law, sported jeans and blouses. Luce was barefoot.

“Now that you’re all here,” Harry said with all the authority of a judge calling a courtroom to order, “sit yourselves down so I can get supper on the table.”

“I’m starving,” Kelly confided, once she was seated at the long dining table, next to Mace. “I’ll probably eat way too much.”

“Just make sure Stefano doesn’t get wind of it,” Mace said.

The meal was beyond delicious—chicken, breaded and fried to golden crispness, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans boiled with bacon and onions, just-baked biscuits and soft butter. Mace’s own wines added to the taste extravaganza and, for dessert, there were three kinds of pie.

The talk around that big table was lively, and there was a lot of laughter. Mace’s brothers were handsome, like him, and although there was a family resemblance, both Slater and Drake were distinct individuals with very different opinions, which they expressed without hesitation.

Mace stated up front that Kelly was in town for a series of meetings about a joint marketing effort, but his brothers clearly believed there was more to the story. And his mother happily agreed to join them for one of those meetings.

It didn’t take Kelly long to realize that, although they minded their manners that evening, Blythe Carson’s sons were a rowdy bunch and generally made a sport of ribbing each other. She knew that as soon as she wasn’t around to overhear, Mace would be in for some razzing about the woman who came to dinner.

She also knew he’d be able to hold his own with no trouble at all.

Grace and Luce, both beautiful women, made Kelly feel completely comfortable, asking intelligent questions about her end of the wine business, her impressions of Mustang Creek, whether she was comfortable at the resort.

Kelly thoroughly enjoyed the evening, the company and the food, and she was grateful that no one asked about the accident, or how she was feeling. While she appreciated all the kindness and concern she’d been shown since then, she didn’t want to be remembered, once she returned to LA, as the woman who went off the road.

She wasn’t embarrassed by the incident; anyone could run into trouble on a rain-slick road. It was just that should she come to anyone’s mind after she’d gone, she hoped it would be because she had been a nice person, a good businesswoman, someone they’d enjoyed being around.

After dessert and coffee, she and Grace and Luce tried to help clear the table, but Harry was having none of that. Kelly thanked everyone for a lovely time and said she’d call it a night.

Mace walked her to her car.

The night sky was blanketed with stars from horizon to horizon, and their brilliance made Kelly’s throat catch. Love LA though she did, between the smog and the ambient light, she’d forgotten what it was like to look up and see the universe on display, wild and fiery and incomprehensibly ancient.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered, awed.

When she met his gaze, she saw that Mace was looking at her, not at the sky. “That it is,” he said, his voice almost gruff.

Kelly wanted him to kiss her again.

And not to kiss her again.

Everything was moving too fast and, at the same time, not nearly fast enough. She felt breathless, wonderfully confused, hopeful and scared.

“I guess if I offer to drive you back to the resort,” Mace said quietly, with a hint of a smile in his eyes, “you’ll say no.”

“I will, absolutely,” she confirmed. “I’ll need my car in the morning and, furthermore, I’m fully capable of getting myself there safely—despite my reputation for reckless driving.”