For the youngest Carson brother, finding—and fixing—trouble seems to be all in a day’s work

Mace Carson doesn’t consider himself a hero. Back in college, he came upon a woman in trouble and intervened—but he was just one irate Wyoming cowboy with his boots planted firmly on the side of right. Now a successful vintner, Mace is shocked to be reunited with the woman he saved. But it turns out she’s in Wyoming on business...a corporate executive representing the company that wants to buy his winery. Only, he’s not selling.

Kelly Wright has never forgotten that horrible night ten years ago when Mace came to her rescue, has never forgotten him. The surprising success of a winery in the middle of ranch country has brought her to Mustang Creek, and she’s secretly thrilled to discover Mace at the helm. Reluctant to mix business with pleasure, Kelly vows to keep things professional, until her attacker is released from prison and comes for vengeance...against both of them.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller

“Miller delights readers... The coming together of the two families was very well written and the characters are fraught with humor and sexual tension, which leads to a lovely HEA [happily ever after].”

—RT Book Reviews on The Marriage Season

“The Marriage Season is a wonderfully candid example of a contemporary western with the requisite ranch, horses, kids and dogs—wouldn’t be a Linda Lael Miller story without pets... The Brides of Bliss County novels do not have to be read in order but it would be a shame to miss some of the most endearing love stories that feature rugged, handsome cowboys.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Fans of Linda Lael Miller will fall in love with The Marriage Pact and without a doubt be waiting for the next installments... Her ranch-based westerns have always entertained and stayed with me long after reading them.”

—Idaho Statesman

“Miller has found a perfect niche with charming western romances and cowboys who will set readers’ hearts aflutter. Funny and heartwarming, The Marriage Pact will intrigue readers by the first few pages. Unforgettable characters with endless spunk and desire make this a must-read.”

—RT Book Reviews

“All three titles should appeal to readers who like their contemporary romances Western, slightly dangerous and graced with enlightened (more or less) bad-boy heroes.”

—Library Journal on the Montana Creeds series

“An engrossing, contemporary western romance... Miller’s masterful ability to create living, breathing characters never flags, even in the case of Echo’s dog, Avalon; combined with a taut story line and vivid prose, Miller’s romance won’t disappoint.”

—Publishers Weekly on McKettrick’s Pride (starred review)

Forever a Hero

Linda Lael Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Mustang Creek, Wyoming, home of hot cowboys and the smart, beautiful women who love them.

Forever a Hero is the story of Mace, the youngest of the three Carson brothers. A cowboy-turned-vintner, he’s focused on taking his successful winery to new heights—and though he has no interest in selling it to corporate executive Kelly Wright, the woman he rescued from trouble once upon a time, he’s got more than a little interest in her.

Mace might be the hero Kelly never forgot, but she’s determined not to mix business with pleasure. She’s returned to Mustang Creek to make him an offer he can’t refuse, and she intends to get her way. But when her attacker returns for vengeance, Kelly might find that Mace’s arms are the safest place of all.

If you read the previous two books in this trilogy, Once a Rancher and Always a Cowboy, you’ll recognize a lot of the characters, and I hope you’ll enjoy reuniting with them.

Ranch life runs deep with me. I live on my own modest little spread called the Triple L, and we’ve got critters aplenty: five horses, two dogs and two cats. And those are just the official ones—we share the land with wild turkeys, deer and the occasional moose, and I wouldn’t live any other way.

My love of animals shows in my stories, and I never miss a chance to speak for the silent furry ones who have no voices and no choices. So please support your local animal shelters, have your pets spayed and neutered, and if you’re feeling a mite lonely, why not rescue a four-legged somebody waiting to love you with the purest of devotion.

Thank you for bending an ear my way, and enjoy the story.

With all best,

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FOREVER

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT ALL HAPPENED in a matter of seconds.

And every one of those seconds felt like a year.

Mace Carson had been cruising along behind the unfamiliar car up ahead ever since he’d cleared the city limits of Mustang Creek a few minutes before, when the other rig suddenly fishtailed on the rain-slick pavement and spun a full 360. The slow-motion spin, weirdly graceful, and at the same time potentially deadly, was sickening to watch.

He eased his truck to the side of the road, jammed down the emergency brake pedal, then groped for his cell phone and muttered an expletive, watching the situation unfold, helpless to intervene as the vehicle shot toward the steep slope on the opposite shoulder, where there were no guardrails. The drop was nearly fifty feet, by his calculations, with no trees or boulders to break the fall.

Not that either would have been ideal, any way you looked at it.

With a second curse, he was out of the truck and running to do what he could, heedless of the pounding rain, phone in hand, thumb on the button that would speed-dial 911.

Meanwhile, the car came to a precarious stop at the edge, teetered and then slipped again, winding up at a precarious angle, half on the road, half off, passenger-side down. The mud, a few inches deep and slick as snot, offered the briefest purchase.

Mace didn’t rattle easily, but in those moments, his heart zoomed into his throat. He was close enough now to glimpse the driver, a woman, pale and wide-eyed with shock, leaning hard into the car door, as if she hoped to waft right through the metal to the safety of solid ground.

“Don’t move!” he said, never knowing if he’d shouted the words or simply mouthed them, dropping the phone to the ground because he was going to need both hands to get her out before the mud gave way and sent her and the car tumbling downhill, ass over teakettle.

He saw her nod. Stiffen.

He gripped the door handle, never taking his eyes off her face, realized instantly that the locks were still engaged.

“Shift into Park,” he told the woman, giving silent thanks that the air bags hadn’t deployed. The mechanisms were sensitive; in some cars, especially newer models, no collision was required. An abrupt change of direction could trigger them. “And then unfasten your seat belt. Slow and easy, now—no sudden moves.”

Another nod from her. He was either yelling or she could read lips, because she did what he’d told her to do. With a flash of relief, he heard the locks release.

The car slid a few inches farther down the hill.

* * *

BRACING HIS FEET, Mace pulled at the door. Gravity worked against him, but he’d bucked a lot of bales in his time, dug a lot of postholes and like any man who did hard physical work, he was strong.

A wedge of space opened between them.

“You’re gonna have to get out on your own,” he told the woman, who was trembling so badly her teeth chattered. His voice sounded strangely calm, at least to him, considering the circumstances. “For obvious reasons, I can’t let go of this door long enough to give you a hand.”

She slithered through the gap as if boneless, landing on her hands and knees at Mace’s feet.

When he let go of the handle a heartbeat later, the door slammed shut with an impact that set the rig in motion. As he helped the woman up from the ground, the car lurched violently, tipped onto its side and rolled over, then over again and again, gaining momentum with every flip, finally landing with an echoing crash on its top, square in the middle of the creek below.

Still gripping the shuddering stranger by both arms, Mace closed his eyes briefly, comparing what might have happened with what actually had. This was one lucky lady, whoever she was.

In the aftermath of the adrenaline rush, Mace felt a little shaky himself, but he quickly recovered. He needed to focus on what, if anything, still needed to be done; while the woman appeared to be in one piece, she could be in shock, or she might have hit her head at some point and gotten a concussion. Or suffered internal injuries of some kind.

Growing up rough-and-tumble, like any ranch kid, and competing in his share of rodeos, he knew some injuries didn’t show on the outside, the way cuts and bruises did. Not immediately, anyhow.

That made his fight-or-flight response spike again, and he took a moment to breathe his way through, line up his thoughts.

Satisfied that the lady was still upright and her eyes hadn’t rolled back or anything, he looked down the hillside.

He’d half expected the car to explode into flames when it hit bottom, rain or no rain, but it just lay there, so coated in mud that its color, rental-beige as he recalled, was indiscernible now. With all four wheels turning slowly, the rig reminded Mace of a turtle on its back, kicking in an effort to right itself.

“Holy shit,” he said, exhaling the words.

The woman looked up at him, rain-soaked, still pale, but with a quiver of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. “You can say that again,” she replied. “But please don’t.”

He gave a short, hoarse burst of laughter at that. She was shaking, and he wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t buckle to the ground if he loosened his grip, but she had grit, no doubt about it. Considering what she’d just been through, he wouldn’t have considered hysterical sobs, a good old-fashioned fainting spell or a spate of violent retching out of line.

“Are you hurt?” He wished he’d asked the obvious question sooner, instead of just thinking about it.

She shook her head. Her hair, hanging in dripping tendrils, not quite long enough to touch her shoulders, was some shade of blond. Her eyes, still huge, were a remarkable shade of green, flecked with gold. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, raising her voice to be heard over the continuing downpour. “Thanks to you.”

“Any pain? Numbness?” Mace asked, unconvinced.

“I have a few bumps and bruises,” she answered, “but nothing hurts, and there’s no numbness, either. I guess I’m shaken up, is all—that was a close one.” She bit her lower lip before going on. “If you hadn’t been here—” She stopped, shook her head again and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.

“I was, though,” he said gently. “We’ll get you checked out, just to be on the safe side.”

Her response was a disjointed jumble of words, partial sentences. “The car—it’s a rental—I’m not sure I signed up for the extra insurance.”

“Let’s worry about that later,” he told her. “Right now, we’re headed for the hospital.”

“I really don’t think I’m injured—”

He held on to her arm with one hand while he bent to retrieve his phone from the asphalt. It looked a little the worse for wear, although it probably still worked just fine. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said lightly, “I’d rather hear that from a licensed medical professional.”

She sighed.

“Plus, this rain isn’t helping,” he added, squiring her carefully toward his truck. It would’ve been faster to pick her up and carry her, but if she was hurt, it wouldn’t do to jostle her around like a sack of feed.

They reached the truck, and he opened the passenger door, but before he could offer any assistance, she’d climbed onto the running board under her own power and then settled herself in the seat. For the briefest of moments, looking into her face, Mace had the impression that he knew this woman from somewhere.

“If I thought it would do me any good to argue,” she said with a hint of a smile, “I’d repeat what I’ve been saying all along. I don’t need to see a doctor. Besides, you’ve done enough already.”

“You’re at least partly right,” Mace responded. “Arguing won’t do a damn bit of good, and I only did what anybody else would have done, under the circumstances. As for not needing to see a doctor, well, that’s debatable.”

“Seriously. I’m absolutely certain that all I need is a hot bath, a couple of aspirin and some sleep. So if you’d just drop me off at my hotel—”

“Sure thing,” Mace agreed amiably. “I’ll do that—after the doc looks you over and says you’re good to go.”

“I’m fine.” She was certainly persistent, not to say stubborn, but this time, she’d met her match. He was as bullheaded as they came.

Mace shut the truck door without answering. Maybe she was right, and she really was okay, but he didn’t intend to take the chance, and he was tired of standing there in the rain, yammering.

As soon as he was behind the wheel and under cover, the rain slowed to a drizzle.

It figured.

She was shivering, arms wrapped around her ribs, and staring bleakly through the rain-speckled windshield.

Mace cranked up the heat, glad he’d left the engine running earlier, and looked over at her. Tried for a grin and fell short. “Hey,” he said gruffly, switching on the wipers to clear the windshield. “You’re safe with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I might be a stranger, but I’m also one of the good guys.”

She glanced at him curiously. “But you’re not a stranger.”

So, he’d been right. This wasn’t their first encounter.

Damned if he could recall where and when they’d crossed paths before, though. And that was odd, because even wet and bedraggled and more rattled than she probably thought she was, she wasn’t the kind of woman a man forgot.

“I’m not?” he asked, checking the mirrors before making a wide turn and heading back toward Mustang Creek.

She sighed, rested her head against the side window. She sounded almost wistful when she responded. “You don’t remember?”

“I know we’ve met someplace,” he replied. “But that’s all I’ve got at the moment.”

There was a long, slightly forlorn pause. Another sigh. “Maybe we could talk about old times another day,” she said at last, seeming to shrink into herself. “I’m so tired.”

Normally, Mace wasn’t the type to put things off, but he wasn’t going to press for particulars. Not yet, anyhow.

“Just don’t fall asleep,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked with another sigh and a small yawn. “I’ve had a long, hard day.”

“Because you might’ve hit your head.”

She opened her mouth, obviously intending to protest, but then she must have thought better of it. Or maybe she was too exhausted to put up an argument.

“Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”

Mace acknowledged her words with a slight inclination of his head, keeping his eyes on the road. Several minutes passed before he broke the silence. “What happened back there?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, and her voice was slow, sleepy. “One minute, I was cruising along, looking for the turnoff to the resort. The next, I was hydroplaning. Maybe I blew a tire or something.”

“You were speeding,” he commented blandly.

She frowned. “Are you going to lecture me on road safety? Because I’m really not up for that just now.”

He grinned. “Unfamiliar roads, heavy rain—”

“I was in a hurry.”

“To do what?”

“To get to my hotel. As I said, I was ready for this day to be over.”

The outskirts of Mustang Creek were in sight by then; the small regional hospital was on the far side of town, about ten minutes away. He wasn’t given to cop fantasies, but at that moment he wished for a light bar and a siren.

“Another few seconds and your life might have been over.”

“Thanks for that,” she retorted with a new briskness Mace found reassuring, despite the tartness of her tone. “I might not have figured that out on my own—how I could’ve been killed, I mean.”

Keep her talking, he thought. If she’s pissed off, oh, well. At least she’s awake.

Although she’d been slouching before, she suddenly sat bolt upright, making patting motions with her hands. “My purse,” she said, her voice fretful. “It’s still in the car.”

Mace was always astonished by how dependent women were on their handbags, as if the things were a necessary part of their anatomy rather than an obvious burden. Something else to keep track of. “It isn’t going anywhere,” he said quietly and with a note of prudent caution.

Her eyes were big with alarm when she turned to look at him, and patches of pink pulsed impatiently in her cheeks. “My entire life is in that bag!” she cried. “And it’s a Michael Kors, too.”

A purse with a name, he thought, but he wasn’t stupid enough to offer up the quip when she was clearly riled. Keeping her awake was one thing; causing her to blow a brain-gasket was another.

“I’ll make sure you get it back.”

“Suppose it’s underwater? My phone—my wallet—do you know how much a designer bag costs? And what about my laptop? My clothes?”

“I guess that’s a possibility,” Mace observed casually, “given the laws of gravity and everything.”

“How can you be so calm?” she asked, fuming. Then she answered her own question. “I’ll tell you how. It isn’t your purse!”

“You have me there,” he admitted, not unsympathetically. “I don’t own one, as it happens. Reckon if I did, though, I’d keep that fact to myself.”

Her cheeks flared brighter, but a giggle escaped. “This is serious,” she said.

Mace shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he said, navigating the familiar streets of his hometown. “Car wrecks are serious. Concussions and busted spleens are serious. But a bag named Michael winding up in a creek? Not so much.”

“I should call the car rental company,” she said, apparently not one for segues.

Mace got his cell from his shirt pocket and handed it over. “If that’ll make you feel better, have at it,” he said.

She took the phone, then simply stared down at the screen, blinking. “I don’t know their number. The contract is in the glove compartment, possibly submerged.”

“Plenty of time to get in touch with them,” Mace said. They were almost through Mustang Creek; the turn for the hospital would be coming up in a minute or so. “Might be a good idea to call your family, however.” When she didn’t answer right away, he offered suggestions—with an agenda. “Your folks? Husband? Boyfriend?”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “My parents are on a cruise through the Greek Islands,” she said. He caught the sidelong look she threw his way, although he was still gazing straight ahead, slowing for the turnoff. “And I don’t have a husband or a boyfriend, for your information.” A few seconds passed. “Do you?”

He laughed, swinging onto the paved stretch leading to the hospital. “Do I have a husband or a boyfriend?”

She worked up a good glare, but it fizzled into a wobbly smile before they reached the parking lot near the entrance to the emergency room. “I was joking,” she said.

“I laughed, didn’t I?” Mace parked the truck, shut off the engine, then came around to her side to open the door and help her down. This time, she let him, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she swayed and put a hand to her forehead.

Mace slipped an arm around her waist, supporting her. Once again, he considered carrying her; once again, he dismissed the idea as too risky.

“I’m just a little dizzy,” she murmured as they entered the well-lit reception area. “No big deal.”

Ellie Simmons was behind the desk, and she stood immediately. She and Mace had gone to school together.

“I don’t have my ID or my insurance card,” said the woman whose name Mace suddenly realized he didn’t know.

“She was in an accident,” he told Ellie, relieved by his friend’s affable competence. “South of town.”

Ellie rounded the long desk and conjured up a wheelchair, eased the patient into the seat. “What about you, Mace?” she asked. “You hurting anywhere?”

Mace shoved a hand through his wet hair. Wet as he and his companion were, he figured they might have passed for shipwreck survivors if there’d been an ocean within a thousand miles. “I just happened along,” he said.

“I do have insurance,” the wheelchair occupant piped up.

“We’ll get to the paperwork in good time,” Ellie said, already wheeling the new arrival away from Mace toward an examination room. She bent her head, addressing the patient. “What’s your name, honey?”

The passenger hesitated long enough to prompt an exchange of glances between Ellie and Mace. Ellie raised an eyebrow at him in silent question.

Mace shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Kelly,” the woman in the wheelchair said in the tone of someone experiencing a revelation. “Kelly Wright.”

“Well, Kelly Wright,” Ellie said as they disappeared into the ER, “you’re in luck. Dr. Draper is on duty tonight, and she’s the best.”

Mace watched until they were gone, suppressing an urge to follow, ask a lot of questions, make damn sure Sheila Draper ran all the right tests.

Whatever the right tests happened to be.

Since Ms. Wright still had his cell, he went to the pay phone, a near relic in this day and age, dug in his jeans pocket for coins and called his friend Spence Hogan, Mustang Creek’s chief of police.

Spence took a while getting to the phone. When he did, he spoke in his usual brusque manner. “Hey, Mace,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Mace explained, none too succinctly.

“Sam Helgeson called it in five minutes ago,” Spence said. “I’ve already got a squad car and a wrecker on the way.” He paused. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m fine,” Mace said. Where had he heard that before?

“You sure? You sound pretty jumpy to me.”

Mace gave a long sigh. “I’m sure,” he said.

“Hold on a second,” Spence muttered. “Deputy Brenner’s on the radio. He’s at the scene.”

Mace waited. He heard some back-and-forth on Spence’s end, although he couldn’t make out what was said. He was too busy wondering what was going on with Kelly Wright back there in the exam room and, at the same time, rifling through his mental files, which—when it came to women, were considerable—in search of a connection.

He came up dry.

He’d probably known half a dozen Kellys in his time, gone to school with a few of them, dated one or two on the rodeo circuit, but the name Wright didn’t ring a single bell.

Spence came back on the line. “You said there was only one woman in the car before it went over the bank, right? No other passengers?”

“Just her,” Mace replied. “Doc Draper’s checking her out now.”

Spence released an audible breath.

“What?” Mace prompted, worried by Spence’s hesitation.

“According to my deputy,” Spence said, “he and the tow truck driver were taking some personal items out of the car when they smelled gas. They hightailed it uphill with whatever they’d managed to gather, and it’s a good thing, because the rig burst into flames and then blew sky-high. Fire department’s on the way, to make sure it doesn’t spread. Thank God for this rain.”

Mace squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. “Christ,” he breathed, the blaze as vivid in his mind as if he’d witnessed it. He thought how close he’d come to stopping by his favorite bar for a beer after his afternoon meeting with the guy who maintained his website, how he’d have lingered there awhile, shooting the shit with friends and neighbors, maybe playing a round or two of pool. If he hadn’t remembered that Harry, the family’s longtime cook and housekeeper, was serving her legendary sloppy joes for supper that night, if he’d thought there’d be leftovers once his two older brothers, Slater and Drake, ate their fill—

If.

Most likely, the Wright woman—Kelly—would’ve been trapped, unable to push open the driver’s door, with the rig on a slant like that. She would have gone over the cliff along with her car and, if by some miracle she’d survived the rollovers without losing consciousness, burned to death.

He swore under his breath.

“Reckon this makes you a hero,” Spence put in, gravely wry.

“I was there, that’s all,” Mace said. “Right time, right place. You would have done the same thing if you’d been there, and so would just about everybody else around here.”

“Just about everybody,” Spence noted with a very slight emphasis on the middle word.

Mace made no comment. Every town had its lightweights, and Mustang Creek was no exception, but that was beside the point. All that mattered now was that the Wright woman hadn’t gone rolling down that hillside with the car. She’d walked away, still breathing, possibly in need of some patching up, but alive.

A shudder went through Mace, reminding him that his clothes were soaked through, clinging to his hide, clammy and cold. He was hungry, he was tired to the marrow of his bones and he was damn grateful that fate, so often fickle, had dealt Kelly Wright a decent hand.

“Mace?” Spence asked. “You still with me?”

“I’m here,” he replied.

“I’m guessing there isn’t a whole lot more you can do tonight. Might be best if you go on home.”

“Soon as I know Kelly’s all right, I’ll do just that. She’ll probably need a ride to the resort. That’s where she’s staying.”

“Fair enough,” Spence agreed diplomatically. “I’m thinking the lady will be admitted for observation, though, and the kind of tests they’ll want to run can take hours. You really want to cool your heels in the waiting room for that long?”

Mace sighed. “She’s from out of town. Seems like somebody ought to hang around until they decide whether to keep her overnight or turn her loose.”

“Fine,” Spence conceded. “We’ll do what we can on our end.”

Mace found himself nodding, then realized his friend couldn’t see him. “Her name’s Kelly Wright, and the car was a rental, but she couldn’t say which company she used. That’s about all I can tell you, as of now.”

“Not to worry,” Spence said. “Mustang Creek PD works in mysterious ways its wonders to perform. Ask Ms. Wright to call me when she feels up to it, will you? There’ll be some paperwork, of course.”

“I’ll do that,” Mace answered. Goodbyes were exchanged, and the call ended.

Mace was pacing the floor when a young couple hurried through the main doors, looking anxious. The man carried a toddler, bundled in a blanket and whimpering.

Ellie appeared immediately, her smile wide and white and reassuring. She greeted the new arrivals, handed the woman a clipboard and led the trio to an exam room.

When she returned to the reception area, she returned Mace’s cell phone. “Kelly asked me to give you this.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Any news?”

Ellie shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, gently noncommittal. “Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” He was hyped up enough, he figured, without a caffeine buzz.

“How’s your night going?” he asked. He wasn’t a talker under normal circumstances, but the waiting was driving him crazy.

“Better than yours, I’d say,” Ellie replied with an understanding smile. By then, she was back at her station behind the reception desk. “So far, business has been pretty slow. Which, of course, is a good thing.”

Mace realized he was fresh out of sparkling conversation. He sat down in an orange plastic chair, opened an outdated copy of Field & Stream, read one paragraph of an article about trout fishing in Montana and gave up.

Another hour passed, during which an elderly woman was brought in with respiratory problems, and the young couple returned with a prescription and their child, now sound asleep, head resting on the man’s shoulder. Mace nodded in greeting, and the man nodded back.

Soon afterward, Sheila Draper came out, spotted Mace and smiled as she approached. She was a good-looking redhead with a figure that did great things for the blue scrubs she was wearing.

“Hey, Doc,” Mace said. Sheila had grown up on a neighboring ranch, and the two families were longtime friends.

“Hey, yourself,” Sheila responded. She carried an electronic tablet but didn’t consult it, and there was a twinkle in her bright green eyes. “You can rest easy, Sir Galahad,” she said. “Kelly isn’t seriously injured, just shaken up and a little dehydrated. I’m admitting her overnight, for observation and the appropriate fluids.”

Something unclenched inside Mace. He heaved a deep sigh. And even as the question took shape in his mind, he wondered why he needed to ask it. He’d done what he could for Kelly, and he knew she was in good hands, had been from the moment he’d brought her in.

He asked, anyway. “Could I see her?”

Sheila shook her head regretfully, touched his arm. “Not tonight, Mace. I gave Kelly a sedative, and she’s on her way upstairs. I’m guessing she’ll be zonked before she gets to her room.” The rest went without saying—Kelly needed sleep, not visitors.

He nodded again, sighed again.

Then he thanked Sheila, said goodbye to Ellie and left for home.

* * *

MACE CARSON DIDN’T remember her. Not quite, anyway.

That was okay for now, Kelly decided, rummy from the sedative she’d been given minutes before. She remembered well enough for both of them.

She closed her eyes against the bright overhead lights and the dizziness as she was wheeled, lying on a gurney, into an elevator, then down a long hallway. She flashed back, momentarily, to another hospital, another night, over a decade before.

The recollection made her want to curl into a fetal ball, but the medication and the IV needle lodged in her arm rendered any such movement impossible. Too much effort.

Another memory flooded her mind, soothed her. Mace had been with her that other time, too. He’d accompanied her to the hospital, holding her hand. He’d told her everything would be all right, that she was safe now, that nobody was going to hurt her. He’d promised to be there when the police came to question her, and he was as good as his word when she was discharged the following morning. He’d driven her to the police station, sat with her while two SVU detectives questioned her about the events of the night before, when, walking to her dorm, she’d been assaulted and nearly raped.

Mace, a student at the same California college, had heard the scuffle, hauled the man off Kelly and restrained him until the police arrived.

How could Mace have forgotten all that? Perhaps he made a habit of saving people. Did it happen so often that one incident blended into the next until it was all a blur?

She giggled at the thought.

Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, she would see Mace again. If he still didn’t recall their first meeting, she’d just have to refresh his memory, though that wasn’t her first priority.

She’d come to Mustang Creek to do business with the man, after all, not to renew their old—and brief—acquaintance. Great Grapes International, the company she worked for, wanted to establish a partnership with Mountain Winery, something they’d done successfully with other vintners.

Big of them, Kelly thought. As far as she could tell, the board members had zero doubt that everything would go their way; their confidence bordered on outright arrogance, in her opinion. She didn’t know much about Mace Carson as a person, after one dramatic encounter and a few brief meetings during her attacker’s trial, but recent online research had filled in a lot of gaps.

Carson wasn’t likely to be swayed by the money GGI was prepared to offer, as the Carsons were among the wealthiest families in Wyoming. Mace’s company appeared to be a labor of love, rather than a source of income; the winery was debt-free, and the net profits went to various charities.

Kelly had explained these things to upper management, of course, or tried to, anyway. And she had gotten exactly nowhere.

Failure wasn’t an option, her boss, Dina, had informed her cheerfully. If GGI had a motto, it would be Rah-rah-rah.

Thinking about it, Kelly sighed. She knew the power of a positive mind-set, especially after years of company-sponsored “you can do this!” seminars, ranging from standard motivational talks and “trust exercises,” like depending on someone to catch her when she fell backward, to trekking barefoot over beds of red-hot coals.

She’d done all those things and, yes, it was true—the experience of walking on burning embers did cast a new light on what was possible.

It was also true, however, that no amount of positivity or fearlessness or persistence was going to sway someone who didn’t want to be swayed. Mace Carson, she was all but certain, fell into this category. He liked his independence far too much...

Kelly was in over her head this time, and she knew it, but she had too much riding on this deal to give up without even trying. She was up for a promotion of life-changing proportions, with some heavy-duty perks, such as profit sharing and stock options, access to company jets, opportunities to work overseas, six-figure bonuses and more than double her present salary.

The equation was a simple one: no deal, no promotion.

Lasso the moon, or crash and burn.

Bruised and scraped, dazed by pain meds and good old-fashioned exhaustion now that the adrenaline rush had subsided, Kelly closed her eyes. Sighed again.

She could worry, or she could sleep.

She chose the latter.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN KELLY OPENED her eyes again, morning was in full swing, and bright sunshine had replaced yesterday’s rain. She took a few minutes to orient herself—she was in a hospital room in Mustang Creek, Wyoming. There were three other beds, all empty.

She performed a brief mental scan of her body.

A mild headache.

A few aches and pains.

In other words, nothing major.

A nurse’s aide appeared, carrying a breakfast tray and sporting a cheery smile. Her name tag read Millie.

“If I were you,” Millie began, deftly maneuvering the bed table into place and setting down the tray, “I’d go out and buy myself a lottery ticket. Considering what could have happened, you’re a lucky woman.”

Kelly smiled. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“How do you feel?” Millie asked, lifting a metal lid to reveal a plate of runny scrambled eggs, limp toast and two strips of transparent bacon.

“Much better,” Kelly answered, eyeing her breakfast with a wariness she hoped wasn’t too obvious. Until about five seconds ago, she’d been hungry.

Millie chuckled, evidently the perceptive type. “First we patch people up,” she joked, “and then we confront them with hospital food. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Kelly grinned, picked up a slice of toast and nibbled at the edge. Her headache was already beginning to subside; this woman’s mere presence was a tonic. “I don’t suppose you know when I’ll be discharged?” she ventured.

Millie sighed, though her smile didn’t waver. She removed the plastic lid covering a cup of coffee. “Can’t say,” she replied. “The doctors are making their morning rounds, though, and I’m sure one of them will have an answer.”

With that, she headed for the door, nearly colliding with a tall, dark-haired man in jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt, boots—and a badge. He smiled down at Millie, took off his hat and stepped aside to let her pass before entering the room.

“Ms. Wright?” he asked.

Kelly nodded, set down her coffee cup.

“My name’s Spence Hogan,” the man said, “and I’m the chief of police. Mind if I come in?”

Kelly was only half kidding when she answered. “Not at all. Unless you’re here to arrest me for leaving the scene of an accident, that is.”

His smile was the kind that probably caused a seismic shift every time it flashed across that tanned, rugged face. “You’re in the clear, Ms. Wright,” he said, crossing the room to stand a few feet from her bedside. “I’m here to take a statement, that’s all. And, unfortunately, to tell you that your rental car is a total loss.”

“I figured it would be,” Kelly said, wondering why he’d come to the hospital personally rather than sending a deputy or someone from the office.

Clearly, he’d guessed what she was thinking, because there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I came by to look in on a friend who’s recovering from an emergency appendectomy. It made sense to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and pay you a visit, too.”

“Oh,” Kelly said.

He took a smartphone from his shirt pocket and tapped an icon. “I just need a few details about what happened,” he told her. His voice, deep and laconic, reminded her of Mace’s, a fact that both jangled and soothed her nerves. His eyes were clear and direct as he met her gaze. “First, though, I have some news. The rental car people have been notified, and they’re sending a replacement from Jackson. Should be here by the end of the day.”

“That’s good.” Kelly hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “My things—my handbag and laptop and suitcases—were any of them recovered?”

“The purse and the laptop came through all right—evidently, they were thrown from the car while it was rolling down the hill, because my deputy found them on the bank.” Spence Hogan paused, winced humorously. “I’m afraid everything else went up in smoke when the rig exploded.”

Kelly gulped. “The car exploded?”

“Yes,” Hogan answered, solemn now. He was probably thinking how easily Kelly herself might have been blown to flaming pieces; she certainly was.

“But it wasn’t burning when Mace—Mr. Carson and I left. And the rain was really coming down hard.”

Hogan raised one shoulder slightly, lowered it again. “Must’ve been some kind of delayed reaction. It happens.”

A shudder ran through Kelly. She felt herself go pale and, for one awful moment, she thought she might throw up.

Concern furrowed the chief’s brow, and he slipped the smartphone back into his pocket. “We’ll talk about the accident later,” he decided. “Do you want me to call a nurse or a doctor?”

Kelly swallowed hard, shook her head, attempted to smile. “I’m okay,” she said.

And she was. Thanks to Mace Carson.

Talk about déjà vu.

She’d come to Mustang Creek to see Mace again—but not for personal reasons; she was on an important mission for GGI, and he was a vintner with a flair for innovation. She was here on business, in other words.

The opportunity to reiterate her gratitude for his help ten years ago was a bonus.

Chief Hogan took a business card from the same pocket housing his phone and laid it on the bedside table. “When you’re feeling better, give me a call.”

Kelly, busy breathing her way through the what-might-have-been scenario splashing across the screen of her mind, promised she’d be in touch. Hogan excused himself and left.

Five minutes later, Dr. Draper, a titian beauty with shadows of fatigue under her eyes, arrived. “Hello, Kelly. Remember me?”

Kelly smiled. “Yes. You were on duty in the ER last night, when I came in.” She paused. “Was that a test?”

Dr. Draper laughed quietly. “It wasn’t, actually, but I would’ve been pretty concerned if you’d said no.” She came to stand beside the bed, took Kelly’s pulse. “How are you feeling today? Any double vision? Pain?”

“No double vision,” Kelly replied, as Dr. Draper put the earpieces of her stethoscope in place and listened to her patient’s chest. “I had a slight headache when I woke up, but it’s gone now.”

Dr. Draper nodded, tugged the stethoscope free of her ears and let it dangle from her neck like a strand of pearls. “Any dizziness?”

“No,” Kelly answered.

“I’m going to release you, then,” the doctor said. “I strongly suggest you see your own physician in a week or so, and obviously, if there are symptoms in the meantime, you need to seek medical assistance right away.”

“Okay,” Kelly agreed. This woman wasn’t much older than she was. What was it about doctors, whatever their age, that made a successful, confident adult feel like a five-year-old?

“Is there someone who can pick you up?” Dr. Draper asked. “I’d rather you didn’t drive for a day or two.” When Kelly didn’t answer, the doctor went on. “Some of the local hotels provide car service, or we could arrange for a cab.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

Kelly’s heartbeat quickened when she saw Mace standing there, looking fabulous to the infinite power in an ordinary cotton shirt, jeans and boots. His dark blond hair was still damp from a recent shower, and a fashionable stubble accented his strong chin. Like Chief Hogan, he held a Stetson hat in one hand.

Dr. Draper turned toward him. “Mace Carson,” she said wryly. “What a surprise.”

He smiled guilelessly. “Just being neighborly,” he said. “I figured the lady would need a ride to her hotel.”

The doctor looked back at Kelly. “Does that arrangement work for you?” she asked.

Kelly blushed like a teenager. “Yes,” she answered.

Dr. Draper nodded. “All right, then,” she said. “I’ll sign you out, but you’ll need to stop by the business office before you leave.”

Mace saluted the doctor as she approached, and she gave him a shoulder bump as she passed, which made him laugh.

A brief silence fell.

Kelly broke it a minute or so later. “I have to get dressed,” she said, and immediately felt lame for stating the obvious.

“I’ll be at the nurses’ station.” Mace started to turn away, then turned back, a question dancing in his eyes. “You need any help?”

“No,” Kelly said too quickly.

Mace grinned. “I’m sure one of the nurses would be glad to lend a hand.”

“Go away,” Kelly snapped, her cheeks burning again.

The grin broadened. “Give me a shout when you’re ready,” he said.

And then he was gone.

Half an hour later, after dealing with her insurance company online, she was riding in Mace Carson’s truck again, headed for the resort.

Kelly still didn’t have her purse—which contained her phone—or her laptop, and the clothes she’d packed so carefully for the trip had been reduced to the particle level. After a moment’s mourning for her Armani pantsuit, which had set her back a month’s salary, she shifted her focus to what really mattered. She was alive and in one piece.

When Mace spoke, he caught her off guard. “You were Kelly Allbright, not Kelly Wright, when I knew you,” he said without looking her way.

“You remembered,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Mace responded. “I didn’t make the connection until I checked my schedule this morning and saw that my assistant had penciled you in—without mentioning it to me. Wanda is part-time, and she tends to be forgetful. Anyway, when I realized we had an appointment, I went online for some background info.”

Kelly smiled, somewhat dreamily. She was okay, she really was, but she was still drifting from last night’s drugs. There’d been a series of tests, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure. “Sorry I missed the meeting,” she said.

“No problem. I’m pretty flexible.”

“Impressive, for a superhero.”

“I’m just a man, Kelly. I did what anybody else would do, ten years ago on campus, and last night.”

Memories of her near-rape, a decade before, circled Kelly like wolves. She’d been walking back to her dorm after a night class when, out of nowhere, she was attacked. She’d screamed and struggled, certain she was going to die. And then, suddenly, Mace was there.

He’d hauled her assailant off her, flung him aside. Called the police while keeping one booted foot on the guy’s throat.

She’d scooted backward, a low, continuous moan shredding her throat.

“It’s over,” Mace had said. “You’re safe now.”

You’re safe now.

“Did I ever thank you?” Kelly asked, as they made the turn onto the road leading to the resort.

“About ten thousand times,” Mace said, not unkindly.

“I wasn’t sure. I was so scared that night.”

“I know,” he told her sadly.

“You disappeared.”

“I graduated,” Mace stated. “Went to Napa to work with my grandfather. He owns a vineyard there.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you told me about your family back then. When you were in LA for the trial.” She paused. “Did you ever wonder what became of me? Afterward, I mean?”

He didn’t reply, merely shrugged.

“I was married for a while,” Kelly told him, aware that her end of the conversation was a bit disjointed. “After I graduated, I mean. It didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The resort came into view, sprawling and elegant.

“Did you get married?”

“No,” Mace answered.

“Why not?”

“I was busy,” he said.

“I appreciate what you did, Mace. Both times.”

“I know about a hundred guys who would have done the same thing.”

“I don’t,” Kelly told him. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome,” he said gravely.

They’d reached the portico in front of the resort. Mace brought the truck to a stop, and an attendant trotted over, smiling.

“Welcome,” he said.

“Thanks,” Kelly responded, strangely dazed.

“Ms. Wright has a reservation,” Mace explained to the young man.

The attendant nodded. “Yes, Mr. Carson,” he said.

“Mr. Carson?” Mace shot back, softening his brisk tone with a grin. “Chill, Jason. I’ve known you since you were in diapers, remember?”

Jason smiled. “I remember,” he confirmed. “But we’re supposed to call everybody either ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am,’ no matter who they are. It’s in the manual.”

Mace shook his head as if disgusted, but Kelly noticed the slight twitch at one corner of his mouth. “Fine,” he said, opening his door. “I’ll be out of here as soon as the lady’s settled in. Mind if I leave the truck with you for a few minutes?”

“No, sir,” Jason said. “I’ll keep an eye on your ride until you get back.” As he spoke, he opened Kelly’s door, helping her out.

“I can take it from here,” she said.

Mace didn’t listen.

Neither did Jason.

She allowed Mace to escort her inside.

Her purse and laptop were waiting for her at the main desk.

“Ms. Wright,” the receptionist said, tapping away at her computer keyboard. “Here you are. We expected you last night.”

Kelly reached for her damp, mud-streaked purse, rummaged for her wallet, extracted her company credit card. “Something came up,” she said.

Oddly, the clerk, a college-aged blonde, glanced questioningly at Mace before accepting the card.

“Just give the lady a room,” he said.

Kelly was confused, but she didn’t ask any questions and continued to hold out her credit card.

The clerk accepted it, swiped, handed it back. “How many key cards would you like?” she asked Kelly, with another look at Mace.

Kelly was mildly annoyed. “One,” she said pointedly.

“Certainly,” the clerk said, beaming. She handed over the key card. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” Kelly said, realizing she sounded ungrateful.

“Do you have luggage?” the young woman asked.

“No,” Kelly answered, holding the other woman’s gaze. “It blew up.”

Beside her, Mace chuckled.

“Oh,” the clerk said, looking baffled. Then she brightened. “We have several good shops right here on the premises. Clothing, makeup, toiletries—whatever you need.”

“I’m glad,” Kelly said, not sounding glad at all. What was the matter with her? This poor woman was trying so hard to be helpful. There was no reason to be testy.

And yet she was.

She felt unsettled, out of her element in this place, with this man.

Which was crazy on two counts. One, she’d stayed in fine hotels and resorts all over the world and fit right in, thank you very much. And, two, she couldn’t think why she found her reactions to Mace Carson mildly disturbing. He was attractive, sure. He’d saved her life, not once, but twice.

And she was grateful, of course.

Then what was bothering her so much?

She didn’t know.

She stepped away from the reception desk, key card in hand. She craved a hot shower and a room-service meal, but first, like it or not, she’d have to visit one or more of the resort shops, find something to wear, buy basic grooming supplies. Her linen pantsuit, the outfit she’d traveled in the day before, was wrinkled, and there were stains on the knees from crawling out of the rental car while Mace held the door, and landing on the wet, muddy pavement.

Caught up in practicality, Kelly was startled when Mace gently took her elbow.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

“What about our meeting—”

“We can reschedule,” he replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

Kelly was relieved—she needed to think, and that was difficult to do with Mace Carson around—but part of her wanted to call out to him, even run after him, get him to stay, cling to him.

Cling to him. Like a drowning swimmer or some fragile, needy creature, afraid to be on her own.

Well, Kelly reminded herself, she was none of those things. She was smart, sophisticated, successful. She was strong. Thanks to therapy, a loving family, good friends and a lot of hard work, she’d long since put the trauma of the attack behind her. She’d made mistakes along the way, marrying Alan Wright—among other, lesser poor choices—but so what? Everybody screwed up once in a while, didn’t they?

She turned resolutely and headed for the first of a series of small, eclectic-looking shops.

Twenty minutes later, she was in her room, a spacious minisuite with a balcony and a spectacular view of the Grand Tetons, looming snowcapped in the distance. They were a comforting reminder, those mountains, that the world was a solid place.

She tossed the bags containing her purchases onto the bed, scrounged in her soggy purse for her cell phone and peered at the screen. The familiar icons were there, although the battery was nearly dead.

She thumbed Contacts, found her boss’s name, pressed Call.

Dina answered on the first ring. “Kelly? Oh, my God, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday afternoon—I must’ve left a dozen messages!”

Kelly drew a deep breath and filled Dina in as succinctly as possible, feeling more exhausted with every word.

“You were in a hospital?” Dina broke in midway through the tale. “The car actually blew up?”

“Yes,” Kelly replied with a sigh. She brought the remainder of the story home with the mention that she’d lost every stitch of clothing she’d chosen and packed so carefully before leaving her California condo the morning before. “Someone retrieved my laptop, which may or may not be in working order—I haven’t checked yet. My phone survived, too, but it’s in the red zone, so if the call drops, you’ll know why.”

“Do you want to come back to LA and regroup? We could reschedule your meeting with Mace Carson for next month, or whenever you feel ready.”

“No. I’m here, and I’m fine, really. If you could ask Laura to stop by my place, gather up some of my clothes and overnight them to me at the resort, I’d be set.”

Laura was Kelly’s assistant, and she had keys to the condo. She would know which outfits would work best on a business trip.

“You’re sure about this?” Dina sounded uncertain.

“I’m sure, Dina,” Kelly confirmed, smiling. “I’ve come this far, and you know me, I’m all about follow-through.”

“You’re a real trouper,” Dina said. Then, with a note of pleased resignation in her voice, she added, “Okay, then. I’ll tell Laura know what you want her to do. In the meantime, charge your phone, have something to eat and don’t worry about your laptop. If it won’t boot up, order a replacement—”

Just then, Kelly’s cell phone went dark and silent.

She set it down on the nightstand, found the charger and cord in the bottom of her purse and plugged it in.

After that, she followed the mental to-do list that had taken shape in her brain while she was talking with Dina.

Shower.

Put on one of the two wispy sundresses she’d bought downstairs.

Brush her hair and her teeth.

Order room service. Something substantial, and to hell with worrying about carbs and fat grams. A cheeseburger, for instance. Or a thick steak and baked potato, loaded with sour cream, chives, grated cheddar.

Finally, boot up her laptop, fingers crossed.

If the sleek computer was ruined, her company would provide another, just as Dina had promised, but restoring her notes, contacts and a variety of templates for forms and contracts and the like would take up valuable time.

An hour later, scrubbed and dressed and fed, Kelly sat in the chair in front of the small writing desk, laptop open and ready, rubbed her hands together, murmured a prayer and hit the power button.

The screen lit up instantly.

“Yes,” Kelly whispered. She clicked on icon after icon, periodically reminding herself to breathe.

Everything was there. It was a cyber-miracle.

The hotel phone gave a jangly ring, and she picked up the receiver. “Kelly Wright,” she said, distracted.

The call was from the main desk. Her replacement rental car had just been delivered, and was waiting for her in valet parking. Would she like the keys brought up?

Kelly thanked the caller and replied in the affirmative, before turning back to her computer, opening the mailbox and drafting a brief email to Dina, letting her know the laptop was working fine, for the moment at least. She ended the note quickly, opened a new window and flashed a message to her assistant, Laura, who responded almost immediately, brimming with OMGs and emoticons and thank-God-you’re-all-rights.

Kelly was smiling to herself when someone knocked on her door and announced, “Valet service.”

A city girl, as well as a frequent traveler, Kelly crossed the room, looked through the peephole and saw a young man in a staff uniform, grinning and holding up a set of keys.

She was back in action.

CHAPTER THREE

MACE WAS NOT a man given to obsessive thoughts; he was too busy for that, as a general rule. But at day’s end, with the landscape he loved surrounding him, cloaked in the purplish-pink haze of dusk, he couldn’t get Kelly Wright out of his mind.

He did the things he always did—checking the equipment in the winery, locking up his small, cluttered office an hour or two after he should have, walking between the long rows of vines, acres of them, looking for any sign of disease or blight. All the while, he was soaking in the singular energy of good dirt and growing things.

He’d probably missed supper—again—but he was used to that, and so was Harry, the Carson family’s longtime cook and housekeeper. She usually left a plate in the fridge or warming in a slow oven, the food foil-covered, with his name scrawled atop it in black marker, invariably followed by a series of exclamation points.

Mace smiled, aware that the emphatic punctuation was meant for his two older brothers. Slater and Drake were active men with normal appetites, and as nourishing as Harry’s meals were, neither of them was above foraging for leftovers in the search for a late-night snack. The labeling was her way of warning them off, should they be tempted to help themselves to Mace’s supper, and it was effective—most of the time.

Both Slater and Drake were forceful types; like Mace, they’d been raised to go after what they wanted. But they usually knew better than to purloin grub Harry had posted as off-limits.

He was about to leave the vineyard and head for the house when his phone signaled an incoming text. He took it from his shirt pocket and squinted at the message, expecting to hear from a buyer, or one of his salespeople, or maybe his mother, reminding him, as she sometimes did, that even wine moguls had to eat and sleep.

Mace stopped, everything inside him quickening as he read the text. It was from Kelly, and it was brisk. Intriguing, too, on a personal level.

If you’re free, let’s have lunch tomorrow, here at the resort. I’m eager to give you a preliminary overview of what our company has to offer in terms of worldwide distribution. If you’re agreeable, we can meet in the lobby at noon. I’ve made reservations at Stefano’s.

Mace had been to more lunch and dinner meetings than he could count since the first viable crop of grapes had been ready to ferment, and not a single one of those meetings had ruffled him in the least. This one, however, turned his breath shallow and practically doubled his heart rate.

Why was that?

He scrolled back to the top of the text and read it again, wondering at his mixed reaction. The message was crisply phrased and to the point, all business, and he respected that; it was the way he did things, too. Time was money, and all that.

Still, something about this message, the cool professionalism, maybe, scraped at a tender place inside him and made him feel like a stranger.

Which was reasonable because, like it or not, he was a stranger to Kelly, as she was to him.

He’d happened to be in the right place at the right time to lend a hand when it was needed, ten years ago and again last night, but Kelly had thanked him on both occasions, and that was that, as far as he was concerned.

The first time around, it had been enough to know the assailant was in custody and, with his extensive rap sheet, on his way to the state prison for a long stretch.

Mace had been dating someone else back then, and there’d never been a romantic attachment between him and Kelly. He’d held Kelly’s hand in the emergency room, been with her when the police took her statement, then come back to testify at the trial months later. They’d been acquaintances, not lovers or even friends, really.

He’d graduated within weeks of the incident and gone straight to his grandfather’s vineyard in the Napa Valley for some hands-on training in the art of fine winemaking. He’d put in months of eighteen-hour days under the old man’s tutelage, followed by the rigors of starting an operation of his own once he returned to Wyoming and the ranch.

The truth? He’d been too focused on his work to think about Kelly and that night on campus or the trial, except on rare occasions when some news report triggered the memory. Even his then-girlfriend, Sarah, as undemanding a woman as he’d ever known, had finally gotten tired of waiting for him to surface from the grind and pay her some attention. She’d sent him the modern version of a Dear John letter in the form of a text, something along the lines of, “Have a nice life.” He’d been hurt, although he’d known, even then, that the relationship between him and Sarah was going nowhere.

It made sense that Sarah’s message had rattled him, but this one?

Kelly had suggested a business lunch, period. Most likely, he’d imagined the standoffish tone, and that was troublesome, too. It was one thing to be concerned; the woman could easily have been seriously injured or killed if she hadn’t gotten out of that car when she did.

The problem was, he’d been more than concerned.

He’d hovered. Even now, he was hyperaware of Kelly. Reading nuances, for God’s sake, like some obsessive fool.

He had to step back, he decided. Get his bearings.

Stop thinking like a stalker.

That idea was ludicrous enough to bring on a grin as he walked toward the main house, looking forward to a hot shower, a warmed-up supper and a good night’s sleep. By morning, he’d be his old, levelheaded, roll-with-the-punches self.

He paused on the side porch, in a shaft of light from the hallway leading to the kitchen, took out his phone and thumbed a response to Kelly’s text. It was short and sweet.

See you tomorrow at high noon.

* * *

TRUE TO HER WORD, Laura had overnighted a packed suitcase to Kelly, and it must have arrived while she was having breakfast in the resort’s small, busy bistro, because when she returned to her room, there it was on the luggage stand. When she opened it, she blessed her youthful assistant for making all the right choices.

Inside were:

Two tailored pantsuits and two silk camisoles.

A simple black cocktail dress and a strand of pearls, just in case there was a dinner meeting or an unexpected social event.

Shoes and bags for each outfit.

Laura had thought of everything; she had a talent for that. She’d also included plenty of lacy bras and panties, three pairs of jeans, several long-sleeve T-shirts, socks and sneakers. There was a soft cotton nightgown, as well. Plus a bathing suit and cover-up.

Finally, Laura had tucked in a zippered bag containing basic cosmetics and toiletries. Ordinarily, Kelly wore a minimum of makeup, only lip gloss, mascara, a tinted moisturizer and a little blusher.

Everything she needed was there.

She chose the day’s clothing carefully, selecting the black pantsuit, a favorite of hers, with a short jacket fitted at the waist, and a beige camisole with plenty of lace at the neckline to soften the look.

It was the perfect outfit, the female version of the classic power suit, flattering but strictly in a no-nonsense, keep-your-distance-please kind of way.

Except for the lace, maybe.

Would that send Mace the wrong message? Make him think she wanted more than a handshake and a signed contract?

Seduction was definitely not her style. She was a serious, committed professional, and she never, but never, mixed business with pleasure.

Admittedly, she’d been shaken up after the accident that had wiped out rental car number one the day before. She’d probably come off as a little needy. Well, if she had given Mace that impression, she was determined to set things straight, ASAP.

No matter how sexy he was, with his loose-hipped cowboy walk and his broad shoulders and his brown-blond hair brushing the back of his collar, she would keep everything in perspective. She was grateful for his help, naturally, but she was no fairy-tale heroine, swooning and sighing in her prince’s strong arms after the most recent encounter with a fire-breathing dragon.

No, sir. She would conduct their meetings, make her final presentation, complete with graphs and figures and flashy photos of jet-setters enjoying fine wine in exotic places, and then she’d return to LA and the satisfying, if somewhat lonely, life she’d made for herself there. She had a great job, a nice place to live, fine clothes. She had friends.

Well, actually, she had business colleagues rather than friends, but with her schedule, who had time for girls’ nights out, weekend spa visits and gossip?

She certainly didn’t. They simply didn’t fit into her schedule.

And forget romance, much as she missed the benefits. She’d gone on exactly six dates in the three years since her divorce, and every one of them had been disastrous for one reason or another.

Feeling her hard-core commitment to her career slip just slightly, Kelly squared her shoulders and silently reminded herself that, yes, she’d once dreamed of a happy marriage and children. She’d totally missed the boat, but nobody had it all. In her own experience, jobs like hers took up too much space and energy to coexist with a spouse in a satisfying way. Her own divorce, and those of a good many of her associates, proved the theory.

She’d seen a few couples make it work, of course, but they were exceptions to the rule, and, in her circles, incredibly rare. Plus, there was no telling how much of their alleged happiness was an act, a mere facade, a cover-up for secret shouting matches and God knew what other kinds of dysfunction.

It wasn’t for her; she was sure of that.

Mace Carson wasn’t the first attractive man she’d encountered, and he wouldn’t be the last, so she’d better keep her perspective. Looking the way he did, Mace surely had his choice of women eager to share his bed, and even if he did want to settle down, which she doubted, he was country, through and through. He was probably interested in an old-fashioned girl, content to stay at home instead of working toward goals of her own. A wife who’d prepare his meals, iron his shirts, bear and raise his children, vote as he voted, the whole bit.

Although she knew she wasn’t being fair, Kelly shuddered at the images unfolding in her mind.

She wanted no part of such a life.

Not that he’d shown any signs of offering.

Strangely deflated all of a sudden, Kelly went on about her business. With renewed purpose.

* * *

FOR ALL HIS private resolutions to take a step back and stay cool, the sight of Kelly standing in the resort lobby, looking sharp in a black pantsuit with a splash of beige lace in the V of her fitted one-button jacket, struck Mace like a punch to the solar plexus.

Hot damn, he thought. Hello, square one.

He’d spent half the night trying to untangle the complicated emotions Kelly Wright stirred in him, things he’d never felt before with any of the women he’d dated, including his college girlfriend, Sarah. And he’d expected to marry her.

After Sarah, and his return to the ranch following the apprenticeship with his grandfather, he’d dated a lot, going out with local women—Mustang Creek had its share of smart, sexy females—but the majority were visitors, come to ski in winter or explore nearby Yellowstone Park in summer, or just to relax at the resort.

In other words, they were merely passing through. They’d had lives and careers in other places, and that had been fine with Mace. It was when the talk turned to settling down, as it inevitably did at some point, that he started backpedaling like crazy.

Now, here was a whole different Kelly from the damp, shaken one he’d driven to the hospital the night before. This was the real her, no doubt—strong, independent, ready to sell him on some kind of partnership with her company.

It was a brand-new rodeo.

But the lace...

Did he want to take her to bed?

Hell, yes. He was a normal human being, and Kelly was sexy as all get-out. He even suspected she might be receptive to a little down-home country charm, followed by some sheet-tangling.

The problem was, Kelly was vulnerable in some way the others hadn’t been. If and when he made love to her, he wanted it to be for the right reasons.

Not because she was grateful for his help, then or now. And not because she was bruised and far from home and in need of some comfort.

She owed him nothing, in his opinion, and he certainly didn’t expect a sexual payback. No. Unless Kelly came to him willingly, with a clear head, he wouldn’t lay a hand on her, no matter how badly he wanted her.

All these thoughts tumbled through his mind as he stood, hat in hand, watching her watch him.

Maybe their gazes held too long, because after a moment, Kelly’s air of confidence seemed to slip just a little. She looked a mite uncertain as she eyed Mace’s crisp white Western shirt, jeans and polished boots. A pink blush blossomed in her cheeks.

Fortunately, she recovered quickly, approaching him with a let’s-do-business smile and a hand extended for a shake.

“Hello, Mr. Carson,” she said.

The formality of her greeting both saddened and amused him, but he tried not to let either response show as he took a firm grasp of the extended hand and shook it. “Mr. Carson, is it?” he asked mildly. “How about calling me Mace?”

“Mace,” she repeated, looking nervous again. As before, she reined that in quickly—though not quite quickly enough. “I’m Kelly,” she said, and then seemed embarrassed.

He grinned. “Yes, I know.”

“Right,” she said, and swallowed visibly.

“You mentioned lunch?” Mace prompted with gentle humor. “In that text you sent me last night, I mean?”

“Yes,” she said, still off her game. “Lunch. I made a reservation at Stefano’s.”

“Good choice,” Mace said. He gestured with his hat, indicating the restaurant’s entrance on the far side of the lobby. “Shall we? I’m hungry.”

Again, that fetching blush colored Kelly’s cheeks. “Absolutely,” she said after drawing a breath so deep it raised and lowered her slender shoulders.

He imagined those shoulders bared, smooth and sun-kissed, along with her perfect breasts.

Mace shook off the image. Thought about offering his arm, then decided against it. Kelly was clearly on edge, and he didn’t want to make things any more difficult for her—or for himself—than they already were.

“Relax,” he said in a husky whisper. “This is business, remember?”

Her smile was on the wobbly side, but it was a smile, at least, and it was beautiful. “I guess I’m still a bit jumpy after the other night. Sorry.”

They were moving by then, approaching the restaurant. “You’re feeling okay, though?” he asked. “Nothing hurts?”

She shook her head. Her honey-colored hair was done up in a fashionably sloppy bun, exposing her long, elegant neck, and Mace suppressed a powerful urge to take her shoulders in his hands, trace the length of that silken flesh with his mouth.

“I’m in great shape,” she said.

You can say that again, Mace thought wryly. But all he said was, “Good.”

They reached the podium in front of Stefano’s, and Kelly took charge, giving her name to the hostess on duty and saying she had a lunch reservation for twelve o’clock.

Cindy Henderson, the kid sister of one of Mace’s closest friends, beamed a smile at Kelly and nodded, taking two menus from the shelf under the podium. “Yes, Ms. Wright. Your table is ready.” Cindy turned twinkling eyes on Mace. “Hey, Mace,” she added. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Same as usual,” Mace replied easily. “You?”

“I landed that full-ride scholarship I was after,” Cindy answered proudly, looking over one shoulder as she led the way to a window-side table. “I’m majoring in agriculture.” A pause. “Maybe you’ll give me a job at Mountain Winery after I graduate?”

Mace chuckled. “Maybe,” he said. “Depends on your grades.”

Kelly, he noted, was taking in the exchange with amused interest as she walked beside him, though she said nothing.

“My grades?” Cindy asked. “Mace Carson, you know darn well I’ve had a 4.0 average for the last four years.”

“That was high school,” Mace teased. “College is harder.”

Cindy was cheerfully scornful. “I can handle college,” she said, keeping her voice down as they wove between tables, each one occupied by locals or resort guests or some combination of the two. “And I’m serious about working at the winery after I get my degree.”

“Fine and dandy,” Mace said. “But graduation is a ways off, isn’t it? A lot of things could happen between now and then. You might decide working at a winery isn’t for you, once you’ve seen how many other options there are. And you’ll meet plenty of guys, too—a lot more than you have here in the old hometown. Suppose you run into Mr. Right, and he has plans that don’t mesh with yours?”

“No way that’s going to happen,” Cindy said with the unshakable optimism of a sheltered kid raised in a small town. “I’m coming back here after college and marrying Jimmy Trent.”

Jimmy Trent was Cindy’s high-school boyfriend; he was a couple of years older than she was, and he’d joined the air force on his eighteenth birthday. Last Mace had heard, he was in flight school. Once his enlistment was up, he hoped to work for one of the major airlines and, after he’d racked up enough hours, open a small charter operation.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mace saw Kelly smile again, although she still kept whatever she was thinking to herself. She didn’t know Jimmy was in the service and might be deployed to a war zone as soon as he finished his training.

“All I’m saying,” Mace persisted mildly, “is that things can change.”

Not surprisingly, Cindy wasn’t convinced. “Not for Jimmy and me,” she said. “We have goals and we know how to reach them. Plus, we’re meant to be.”

“I hope you’re right,” Mace said. And he meant it.

He should’ve realized his friend’s kid sister thought she and Jimmy had their future locked in; she was too young and, after her solid upbringing, too innocent to understand how tricky life could be.

Cindy rolled her eyes, smiling that sweet smile of hers. “You sound just like Mom and Dad and Mike,” she said. Mike was her brother, more than a dozen years her senior. Mike worked for Fish and Wildlife, and he and Mace went way back.

“Yes,” Mace agreed, sitting down. “And maybe you ought to listen to our advice.”

Fat chance. He’d been Cindy’s age once and, back then, he’d known everything there was to know, and then some.

Cindy handed Kelly a menu and gave one to Mace. “Next, you’re going to say Jimmy and I ought to let things unfold,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm, “instead of mapping out our whole lives in advance, because we’re both going to have a lot of new experiences and meet a lot of new people.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Mace said with a grin and a shake of his head. Might as well change the subject, since he was getting nowhere with this kid. “What’s the special today?”

“Mushroom risotto with baked chicken breast,” Cindy answered, waiting. “Aren’t you going to warn me about fast-talking college boys with only one thing on their minds?”

Kelly’s eyes sparkled as she watched him over the top of her menu, and he could see she was trying not to laugh.

“Would it do any good?”

“It would be a waste of breath,” Cindy responded briskly. “I’m not interested in any guy but Jimmy.”

“Right,” Mace said with, he hoped, the appropriate note of cheerful skepticism.

Cindy’s smile didn’t falter, but then it rarely did. “You dated the same person all through college,” she said. “Her name was Sarah, wasn’t it? She came back to Mustang Creek with you a couple of times, during Christmas break.”

Mace stole a glance at Kelly and saw that she was leaning forward slightly, a tiny smile curving her mouth, one eyebrow raised.

“And look how well that turned out,” he said.

“Oh.” For once, Cindy was taken aback.

“Yes,” Mace said matter-of-factly. “Oh. Any chance of getting something to eat in the near future?”

Cindy had the grace to look embarrassed, but although her smile wobbled a little, it held. “Would you like a drink while you’re looking at the menu?” she asked, finally remembering, evidently, that she had a job to do.

Mace met Kelly’s gaze and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“We’ll definitely want wine,” Kelly said, speaking for the first time since they’d stepped up to the podium at the restaurant’s entrance. “Something with the Mountain Winery label, of course. In the meantime, I’ll have a glass of unsweetened iced tea, please, with lemon and lots of ice. Later, when we know what we’re having to eat, we’ll decide on the wine.”

“Coffee for me, thanks,” Mace added, relieved at the change of subject.

Cindy bustled away.

“What’s good here?” Kelly asked, studying the menu. “I love risotto, but I’m not in the mood.”

Mace grinned. “Everything is good,” he replied.

Kelly smiled. “That really narrows it down,” she said, meeting his eyes and then revisiting the choices listed. “The lobster salad sounds tasty.” A slight frown creased her otherwise smooth forehead. “Of course, we’re a long way from the ocean, so seafood might be risky.”

“Not here,” Mace said. “Stefano has his lobsters flown in from Maine, alive and kicking—so to speak.”

Kelly winced briefly, probably imagining the cooking process. “There really is a Stefano?” she asked. “It’s not just the name of the restaurant?”

“There is most definitely a Stefano. He’s a master chef and he happens to own this place.” He paused. “The restaurant, which is a five-star establishment, by the way. Not the resort.”

“And he wound up in Mustang Creek, Wyoming?” Kelly asked with a teasing note in her voice.

Mace leaned closer. “Yep,” he drawled, smiling. “Strange as it might appear, he prefers snowcapped mountains and wide-open spaces to concrete and skyscrapers.”

“I’m going with the lobster salad, then,” Kelly said. “What about you?”

“I’m a sucker for Stefano’s prime rib. It’s excellent.”

“Then we’ll order red wine and white,” she said. “You choose, since you’re the expert.”

Cindy returned with the iced tea and coffee. “I’ll bring over a basket of rolls in a minute or two,” she said, her smile as bright and genuine as ever. “One of the guys in the kitchen is taking a fresh batch out of the oven.”

“Yum,” Kelly said, the tip of her tongue slipping out to moisten her lips.

Mace shifted in his chair, cleared his throat. Just like that, he’d gone as hard as a railroad spike.

“Do you need more time?” Cindy asked. “Or shall I take your orders now?”

“May I?” Mace asked Kelly, glad the lower half of his body was hidden by the tabletop and its pristine white cloth.

Kelly nodded, almost shyly. “Please,” she said.

He ordered the lobster salad for Kelly, prime rib with all the trimmings for himself, along with glasses of his best cabernet and the award-winning pinot grigio he was so proud of. At his recommendation, both were among a group of popular house wines available by the glass as well as the bottle.

“Now,” he said, when Cindy had moved away, “let’s hear your proposal.”

Kelly looked alarmed for a moment, a reaction Mace enjoyed while it lasted. “Oh,” she said. “Yes.”

“Or,” Mace went on smoothly, before she had a chance to launch into whatever pitch she planned to make, “we could enjoy our lunch, get to know each other a little and talk business later. I’d like to show you the winery this afternoon, if you’re up to it. That way, you can experience the place firsthand.”

Kelly glanced down at her expensive, take-no-prisoners outfit with uncertainty. It was perfect for a boardroom, no argument there, but a working winery and acres of dusty vineyards? Not exactly.

“You’ll want to check out the grapes,” he added when she said nothing.

The hesitation was over. “I’d like that,” she said quietly.

Mace smiled, as pleased as if she’d agreed to go skinny-dipping in a sun-dappled creek. He let his gaze rest on the lace peeking from beneath her jacket, then looked quickly away. “You ought to swap out those clothes first, though. We’re talking behind the scenes here, not just the tasting room. Comfortable shoes will save you a few blisters, too.”

He fell silent. For a long interval, they simply stared at each other, something invisible and yet entirely real arcing between them.

Mace couldn’t have said what was going through Kelly’s mind, but he was picturing her upstairs in her room, with the shades drawn, slipping out of that perfectly fitted pantsuit, taking off the slacks, the jacket, the lace-trimmed top, slowly revealing her shapely legs and arms. He put the image in freeze-frame before she got to her bra and panties, which were probably skimpy enough to be sexy as hell, because his groin, already giving him trouble, had turned to granite.

At this rate, they’d be at their table for the rest of the day, just so he wouldn’t have to stand up and let Kelly see how much he wanted her. If it came to that, he decided, he’d “accidentally” spill a glass of ice water into his lap, or maybe a whole pitcherful.

He drew a series of deep breaths.

Kelly, still looking directly into his face, fiddled with her napkin.

Cindy broke the spell by delivering the promised bread basket and, soon after that, two glasses of wine.

Kelly’s hand trembled almost imperceptibly as she helped herself to a roll. “Still warm,” she said, somehow combining a sigh and a croon as she spoke. She split the bun between her fingers, and steam escaped, along with the familiar yeasty aroma. Then she reached for a butter knife.

It was such an ordinary, everyday thing to do, buttering a dinner roll, and yet there was an erotic element to her movements that struck Mace like a body blow, forcing him to look away. Again. Just as he recovered his equilibrium and turned to face her again, she took a bite.

“Mmm,” Kelly murmured, eyes closed. “Delicious.”

Barely suppressing a groan, Mace shut his eyes, too. Get a grip, Carson, he told himself.

“Is something wrong?” Kelly asked after a second or two, with a note of genuine concern. Clearly, she was unaware of the effect she was having on her potential business partner.

“I’m fine,” Mace said. The lie came out sounding hoarse, but if Kelly noticed, she didn’t let on.

“I love fresh bread,” she added with a blissful sigh.

Cindy returned, bringing Kelly’s lobster salad and his prime rib. Mace was relieved by the interruption, and although he’d lost his appetite somewhere along the line, he picked up his knife and fork.

Kelly smiled with a hint of sadness as she watched the girl walk away, resuming her duties. “I was like that once,” she said softly. An instant later, her expression made it obvious that she regretted the remark.

Mace forgot his own concerns as he studied Kelly’s face. “You were like what once?” he asked, reaching for his cabernet.

She lowered her eyes for a moment, raised them again. Their gazes connected.

The charge reminded him of the business end of a cattle prod.

Kelly’s spine was straight as she raised her shoulders on an indrawn breath and then looked down again. “Full of plans, I guess,” she answered reluctantly. “You know. Convinced that things would turn out the way I expected.”

Mace gave a slight, rueful smile. “I can relate,” he said.

She paused, a forkful of lobster salad halfway to her mouth. “You can?” She seemed surprised. “Are you telling me you’re disappointed in your life?”

Mace shook his head. “It’s not that. I love what I do. Love living on the ranch—it might sound corny, but the place is literally in my blood.” He paused, then went on. “There isn’t much I would change.”

“But there is...something?”

He sighed. He’d opened himself up to that question, he supposed. “I always figured I’d have a wife and kids by now,” he admitted.

She took that in, quietly chewing the food she’d just put in her mouth.

“What about you?” he asked. What dimmed your light, Kelly? Was it the attack, that night on campus? Or something that happened afterward? “You said you were ‘full of plans’ once.”

Kelly looked uncomfortable as she swallowed the bite of food, then took a sip from her wineglass. She smiled with an effort, a kind of fragility that tugged at Mace’s insides. “The usual things. Life in general, I guess.”

“Can you be more specific?” he asked.

She dodged his words neatly. “You wanted to be married, start a family?”

Mace smiled. “Nice try,” he said. “But the conversational ball is still in your court, isn’t it?”

Kelly sighed, put down her knife and fork. Pondered her reply. “I guess so,” she said, speaking so softly that Mace had to strain to hear. She went on, after more consideration. “Like I told you, I was married for a little while. My husband was a decent guy—he never cheated or anything like that. It was just that we wanted...different things, Alan and I.”

“Such as?”

“I wanted a few more years to build my career. Alan wanted children right away.”

“You didn’t want kids?”

“I did,” Kelly said. “But we were so young, just getting started. I thought we should wait until we were on solid financial ground, with a house and a bank account and everything.” She fixed her gaze on something beyond the window beside their table. “That was the agreement from the beginning,” she added. “I wasn’t asking Alan to wait forever, just until we were ready.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Mace told her.

Kelly nodded. Her eyes were somber, even a little misty. “I thought so,” she agreed, dropping her gaze to her salad. Picking up her knife and fork once more. When she looked at Mace again, she’d rustled up a flimsy smile. “Your turn.”

Mace ached for her, but he returned her smile. “Fair enough,” he said. “But there isn’t a whole lot to tell.”

“Sarah,” Kelly prompted gently. Thanks to Cindy, that much of his personal history was out in the open, anyway.

“Sarah,” he confirmed. “We dated in college.”

Kelly waited, saying nothing.

Mace had always kept his own counsel, especially where his love life was concerned, but for some reason, with this woman he hardly knew, he found himself talking.

“We were in some of the same classes, freshman year, and we just sort of gravitated toward each other as time went by. Maybe it was because we had some things in common—Sarah grew up on a farm, I was raised on a ranch—and I think we both felt a little out of our element at the beginning, a couple of country kids on a crowded campus in a major city, a long way from 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.

CHAPTER FOUR

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 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 cattle and a variety of horses.

She’d visited many vineyards in connection with her job, but this place was more than that.

She parked at the top of the long gravel driveway, alongside Mace’s truck. Shut off the rental car and climbed out.

Kelly was a city mouse; she liked shopping malls, upscale boutiques and trendy bars. She enjoyed attending corporate meetings, flying first class, staying in fine hotels, although, for all that, she wasn’t particularly status conscious. She was responsible; she had an impressive investment portfolio, owned her condo outright and paid the balances on her credit cards in full every month.

Her wardrobe was carefully coordinated and yes, expensive, and her handbags cost more than the car she’d driven in college—no knockoffs for this girl.

As the cliché had it, clothes didn’t make the woman, but there was something to that idea about dressing for success.

All of which meant she was out of her element on a cattle ranch.

And fascinated by the differences.

As she and Mace met up between their vehicles, she felt that same dizzying sensation, but instead of questioning the reaction, she simply enjoyed it.

Was Mace her type?

The men she’d dated, although there weren’t many of them, had been smooth and sophisticated, wearing tailored suits and driving sleek foreign cars, but Mace was off that grid. Sure, he was intelligent and articulate; he was also an enigma, wealthy in his own right, even without the wine operation, yet comfortable in jeans, boots and shirts that probably came from a modest Western store.

The man had nothing to prove to anyone, and he knew it.

While Kelly, her undeniable success notwithstanding, had to shift mental gears in every new place or unfamiliar situation, Mace seemed comfortable in his own skin, as that other old saying went. He was flexible, certainly—his innovative wines proved that—but deep down, he was as solid as the mountains of Wyoming.

He loved this land, this ranch; he’d said the place was in his blood, and being there, Kelly knew it hadn’t been an idle statement. Intuitively, she understood that Mace was one of those rare people who carried the essence of their home within themselves. They belonged, no matter where they happened to be.

It was an enviable quality.

“Ready for a look around?” Mace asked, bringing Kelly back from her meandering thoughts.

“Absolutely,” she said, landing in the present moment with a thump. “Where do we start?”

Mace grinned, shoved a hand through his hair. “With the winery, I guess,” he replied after a glance in the direction of the grand house. “Harry will kill me in my sleep if I don’t introduce you to her, but that can wait.”

“Harry is a ‘her’?”

He nodded. “She’s the family housekeeper, and the best cook this side of the Mississippi, though if you quote me to Stefano on that, I’ll have to deny everything.”

Kelly laughed. “If I happen to run into Stefano the Great, I’ll lie like crazy,” she promised.

“Oh, you’ll run into him, all right,” Mace said, feigning concern. “He’s likely to track you down and ask why you didn’t finish that lobster salad at lunch today.”

Amused, Kelly rested her hands on her hips. “If I remember correctly, you left plenty of food on your plate, mister. Won’t Stefano be after you for an explanation, as well?”

Mace sighed. “Yeah,” he said with humorous resignation. He was leading Kelly toward his truck as he spoke. “But I plan to put all the blame on you.”

Kelly laughed again and slugged Mace lightly in the arm. “And people say you’re a hero?”

Suddenly he stopped, and his expression turned serious. “I’m no hero, Kelly. Just a man.”

She didn’t argue, although she could’ve made an airtight case that he was a hero. As for being “just a man,” well, Mace Carson wasn’t just anything, but she respected his humility.

Knowing it would be all too easy to slip back into rescued-princess mode, Kelly decided it was time to change the subject. “Are we going far?” she asked, inclining her head toward the truck.

Mace’s face changed again; the grin returned. “The winery is that way,” he said, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the pastures she’d admired on the drive in. “It’s about five miles from here, and there are ruts in the cattle trail we call a road that are deep enough to swallow your rental car.” He shrugged casually. “If you’d rather hike or ride a horse, we can do that.”

Kelly let him know she hadn’t been on horseback since summer camp, when she was twelve, and though she worked out regularly at home, she wasn’t up for a five-mile walk. “You win,” she said. “Let’s take the truck.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d choose the horse,” he teased, opening the truck’s passenger door for her.

“It’s tempting,” Kelly said, and it was. “I’m a greenhorn, and I haven’t ridden in a long time, but I’d like to try again—eventually.”

“That can definitely be arranged,” Mace said, helping her into the truck.

Her seat belt fastened, Kelly looked down at her sneakers, then at Mace’s boots. She’d be needing a pair of those, she decided. Not the fancy showboat kind she could have found so easily in LA or the pricey boutiques at the resort, but the real deal.

They wouldn’t be hard to find in a place like Mustang Creek, where cowboy boots were practically part of the landscape.

“You seem to be feeling good,” Mace ventured, starting the truck and steering toward an open gate on the other side of the stable. An ancient, weathered man waited at one side, ready to close the gap after they drove through.

“Just like new,” Kelly confirmed. The truck jostled and jolted through the gate.

“That’s Red, by the way,” Mace said, raising a hand to the old man as they passed. “He’s been working for the Carson outfit for so long, he doesn’t recall when he signed on.”

Kelly watched in the rearview as Red closed and latched the gate behind them. “That’s loyalty,” she said. “But shouldn’t he have retired, say, thirty years ago?”

Mace chuckled. “Don’t let Red hear you say that,” he answered. “That old coot is still spry, and he knows more about cattle and the cowboy trade in general than any man alive.”

“He plans to die with his boots on?” Kelly asked. She might not be a cowgirl, but she’d seen her share of Western movies.

“That he does,” Mace replied, tossing her another of those devastating grins of his. “I’m impressed, Ms. Wright. I wouldn’t expect a city slicker to know the vernacular.”

Kelly smiled. “My dad and I are big John Wayne fans,” she said. “Mind if I roll down the window?” She wanted to feel the wind ruffling her hair.

“The Duke,” Mace said with reverence. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore.” He glanced at her, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. “And, no, I don’t mind if you open the window.”

The truck bumped overland, reminding Kelly of a mechanical bull she’d ridden once, somewhere in Texas. She’d gone to a cowboy bar with half a dozen business associates after an intense meeting, and she’d probably had a little too much to drink.

“You did say there was a road here somewhere?” she asked. The breeze coming in through the window smelled of sweet grass, wildflowers and, alas, manure.

“I said it was more of a cattle trail,” Mace corrected. “We haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“And this is the only way to reach the vineyards and the winery?”

He laughed. “I didn’t say that,” he replied.

Kelly gave him a mock glare. “There’s an actual road?” she demanded. “Besides the route we’re taking now?”

“Sure is,” Mace replied, clearly enjoying the exchange. “We have a retail shop and a tasting room, and we run tours a couple of times a week.”

“Not to mention trucks coming and going,” Kelly said wryly, as the one they were riding in bucked along over rough ground.

“This is a shortcut,” Mace told her.

Kelly rolled her eyes, trying hard not to laugh. “Or,” she said, “it’s a kind of initiation. Something along the lines of snipe hunting.”

“Never,” Mace lied. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“You just like doing things the hard way?”

“I do appreciate a challenge,” he admitted.

Suddenly catching on to the subtext, Kelly didn’t respond. She just held on tight and relished the soft breeze, thinking of pioneer women, traveling overland in covered wagons for months on end, fording creeks and rivers, rattling up and down mountainsides.

Eventually they bumped onto the aforementioned cattle trail, but it wasn’t much better than the rocky terrain they’d already covered.

Mace finally broke the silence. “You all right over there?” he asked, his voice subdued.

Kelly was moved by his concern, knowing he’d remembered her overnight stay in the hospital. “I’m just fine,” she told him with a smile. “Really.”

He seemed uncertain. “You were banged up—”

“No,” Kelly pointed out. “I was fine. You were the one who insisted I visit the ER.”

Mace remained thoughtful.

“Hey,” Kelly persisted, determined to keep the mood light. “This is nothing. I’ll have you know I once rode a mechanical bull.”

Mace turned her way, obviously confused. “What?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh even as a smile formed on her lips. “I said—”

“I heard what you said,” Mace answered, and the expression on his face was priceless, part amusement, part skepticism. “I’m not sure I believe you, though.”

Kelly tried to look offended. “I can prove it,” she said. “I have video.” Maybe two seconds’ worth, but she had ridden the robot bull.

Mace tilted his head to one side, as if confounded, though the gleam in his eyes told another story. “Okay,” he allowed. “Mind telling me what that has to do with spending the night in a hospital?”

“I’m trying to make a point here,” Kelly informed him loftily.

“Which is?”

“Which is, I might be a city girl, but I’m tough.”

“Did I say you weren’t?”

“Not directly,” Kelly replied airily, folding her arms. “But you wanted to see my reaction to a rocky ride across the open range.” She paused for effect. “How’d I do, cowboy?”

Mace gave a husky shout of laughter. “You did all right,” he said as the roof of a long building came into view. “For a greenhorn.”

“Don’t forget the mechanical bull,” she said, pretending to be miffed.

From his expression, Kelly guessed he was enjoying the image.

“Did you stay on for the full eight seconds?” he asked.

She frowned. “Huh?”

“That’s rodeo-speak,” Mace told her. “During the bull-riding event—in which, by the way, they use real bulls—the main objective is to stay on the critter’s back until the buzzer sounds. In eight seconds.”

“Oh,” Kelly said.

“How many seconds?”

Kelly bit her lip, murmured her reply.

Mace leaned in her direction. “I didn’t quite hear that,” he said.

“Three, I think,” Kelly answered, throwing in an extra second for the sake of her dignity.

Mace’s whistle sounded like an exclamation—a rude one.

“What?” Kelly nudged him, feeling a little indignant, although she teetered on the verge of laughter.

Mace flashed her another grin. “I’m impressed, that’s what. Three seconds isn’t a bad ride, even on a motorized barrel with a hide and a couple of horns glued on for effect.”

Just then, they crested a hill, and the vineyard came into view, acres and acres of it, set in tidy rows. The winery occupied the long building she’d glimpsed before, standing on a low rise, overlooking the crop.

Kelly spotted a paved drive, winding its way up from a dirt road and opening onto a spacious parking lot, empty at the moment except for a vintage roadster out front and a truck backed up to a loading dock in the rear.

“Is that car—” she began.

“An MG?” Mace finished for her. “Yep, ’54, all original parts.” He pulled up beside the gleaming green roadster and shut off the truck’s engine. “It belongs to my mother. My grandfather gave it to her a few years ago, and she recently had it restored.”

Mace got out of the truck, came around to her side and opened the door. She climbed down on her own because she wanted to prove she was able-bodied, her recent brush with disaster and brief hospitalization notwithstanding.

Mace didn’t comment; he simply shut the truck door behind her and headed for the main entrance. The double doors were made of thick glass, and a closed sign dangled in one of them.

Mace punched a series of numbers into a pad on the outside wall, and the locks gave way with an audible buzz.

He pushed one of the doors open and held it for Kelly.

Inside, the silence was complete.

“Where is everybody?” she asked, stepping past Mace into a reception area furnished with comfy chairs and sofas. The art on the walls was quality stuff, with a distinctly Western theme, and the floors were wide-planked hardwood, held in place by pegs instead of nails.

“We just shipped a major order. I gave everybody except the field crew a few days off.”

“Generous of you,” Kelly commented, feeling slightly disconcerted. Mountain Winery was a small venture in comparison to other wineries. If her company couldn’t count on a steady supply of the product, Dina and the board of directors would lose interest in an alliance, fast.

Before Mace could respond, a beautiful woman, around sixty, appeared in a nearby doorway. She was fit, and she wore jeans, a tank top, boots, along with a knowing smile. “My son is definitely generous,” she said affectionately. “But he’s also a hardheaded businessman. Once harvest rolls around, the whole outfit will be working overtime.”

“Mrs. Carson?” Kelly asked, extending a hand as she approached.

The woman’s grip was firm as they shook hands. “Blythe,” she corrected. “You must be Kelly Wright. May I call you Kelly?”

“Um, sure,” Kelly said. She’d read up on Blythe Carson before she left LA, a routine part of her preparations, but there was precious little information about her online, and the few pictures she’d seen fell far short of the reality. It was hard to believe this woman was the mother of three grown sons and the legal owner of a ranch valued at many millions of dollars.

Blythe smiled. “Well, Kelly, are you feeling better? According to Mace, you’ve had a rough time since you arrived in Wyoming.”

Kelly looked back over one shoulder, meeting Mace’s eyes, then turned to face his mother again. “I had a close call,” she said, “but I was lucky. Your son came along just in time.”

Mace said nothing. There it was again, that reticence. Did the man even have an ego?

“None the worse for wear, then?” Blythe asked. Her voice was like music, though it had a husky quality, too. Considering her beauty, her charm, her kindness—considering everything about her—it seemed incredible that she hadn’t remarried after her first husband’s death.

Blythe must have loved Mace’s father very much.

“None the worse for wear,” Kelly confirmed.

Blythe looked past Kelly to Mace. “I’m out of here,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“See you at home,” Mace said.

“If you know what’s good for you,” Blythe went on, “you’ll invite Kelly to stay for supper. Harry’s counting on it. She’s been cooking most of the day.”

“I guess that depends on Kelly’s plans for the evening,” Mace told her, his tone so noncommittal that Kelly didn’t know whether he wanted her to accept or refuse.

Her plans, such as they were, included room service, a bubble bath and reading in bed.

Compared to a family dinner, the prospect seemed not merely dull, but lonely, too.

Blythe didn’t press for a decision. She simply told Kelly she’d enjoyed meeting her, gathered her belongings and left the winery. Outside, the MG purred to life.

Kelly turned back to Mace. According to her extensive research prior to the trip, Mace was the sole owner of Mountain Winery, but as she’d learned from experience, the internet wasn’t always reliable when it came to cold hard facts. If Blythe was a partner in the business, that would complicate negotiations—and Mace had used the word “we” several times in reference to the enterprise.

Mace seemed to be reading Kelly’s mind. “Mom helps out when she can. Since her father’s a vintner, she knows a lot about winemaking.” He paused. “I’d like her to be present at one of our meetings. Maybe the day after tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Kelly had come to Wyoming to talk business, but at that moment, she was strangely reluctant to do so. She’d liked the easy banter, enjoyed feeling like a friend instead of a glorified sales rep with a bullet-point agenda.

She immediately bristled at the thought. A glorified sales rep? Where had that come from?

“Come on,” Mace said. “I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

As he spoke, he put out a hand, and Kelly took it. His fingers and palm were callused; here was a man who did hard physical labor, despite his net worth—which had to be considerable.

Mace gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then led her through the same doorway Blythe had come through minutes before, into a long corridor. There were offices on both sides, Kelly noticed, a total of four.

Three of the doors were closed, but the last stood ajar, revealing a desk, a couple of computers and stacks of file folders and printouts piled everywhere.

Mace caught Kelly sneaking a peek and grinned. “It looks like the aftermath of the Johnstown Flood in there,” he said, “but I know where everything is.”

Kelly hoped the low lighting in the corridor hid her blush of embarrassment. She wasn’t a snoop, she wanted to insist, but she bit her lip to hold back the declaration. “That,” she retorted, “is what they all say.”

“Nevertheless,” he said, “it’s true.”

They moved on to another set of doors and, once again, Mace held one open, gesturing for Kelly to go inside.

The room was massive, the walls lined with gleaming equipment and, in contrast, row upon row of wooden barrels. The space was climate controlled, and the machinery gave a low, continuous hum.

The loading bay was visible from where they stood, and two men were working there, stowing the last few crates of wine in the truck Kelly had seen earlier.

“Hey, boss,” one of the men called with a wave.

“Hey back at you,” Mace responded.

The second man closed the doors on the back of the truck, slid a metal bolt into place. “Gotta get on the road,” he said. “Nice to see you again, Mace.”

Mace nodded cordially and the man jumped to the ground, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the truck. The other man rolled down the door of the loading bay and walked toward Mace and Kelly, rubbing his hands down his blue-jeaned thighs as he did.

“Who’s the pretty lady?” he asked good-naturedly.

Mace made the introductions. “Kelly Wright, meet Tom Harper.”

Kelly and Tom shook hands. The man had a thick head of dark hair, bright brown eyes and a great smile.

“Tom is the proverbial jack-of-all-trades,” Mace told Kelly. “As you’ve just seen, he isn’t above loading trucks, but his official title is wine master.”

Tom acknowledged Mace’s remarks with a slight nod. “Kelly Wright,” he said musingly, making a lighthearted pretense of trying to place her. Then his eyes flashed with a smile. “That’s right,” he said, all but snapping his fingers in that now-I-remember way. “You’re the damsel in distress.”

Mace glowered at him. “Hardly,” he said.

Kelly smiled, amused at Mace’s reaction. “That would be me,” she told Tom, “though, as you can see, I escaped the dragon unharmed.” She turned and batted her eyelashes at Mace. “Thanks to the prince here.”

Tom chuckled. “In case you’re wondering, my boss—aka, the prince—didn’t say a word about what happened the other night. My wife’s a nurse, and she was on duty when Mace brought you to the hospital.”

Kelly vaguely remembered telling Dr. Draper all about what had happened while she was being examined in the emergency room. A nurse had been present, as well—Mrs. Tom Harper, no doubt.

Mace gave Tom a benign but pointed look. “Must be about quitting time,” he said.

Tom ignored Mace’s annoyance, although he must have noticed. “Good to meet you, Ms. Wright,” he said. “And I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” Kelly smiled, liking the guy more with every passing moment. “And it’s Kelly, not Ms. Wright.”

“Guess I’d better run,” Tom said.

“Best idea you’ve had yet,” Mace grumbled.

Tom laughed, said his goodbyes and left the winery through a side door.

“Nice guy,” Kelly said when she and Mace were alone again.

“Yeah,” Mace agreed, finally lightening up a little. “Except for his big mouth.”

Kelly laughed. “Relax. I know you didn’t brag all over town about saving the poor, silly California woman from certain disaster.”

Even though you did save me, like it or not.

Twice.

Mace glanced away, sighed, muttered something to himself.

“Why are you so sensitive about this?” Kelly asked, serious now.

He turned his head, met her eyes. “It was no big deal,” he said.

“It was to me,” Kelly told him, still solemn. And when Mace didn’t reply, she spoke again. “What’s really going on here, Mace? Why are you so touchy about taking any credit for what you did?”

He was silent for a long time, although he never looked away from her face. Then, after another sigh, deeper than the last and more exasperated, he said, “Because I don’t want you thinking you owe me anything in return. You said thanks and that was enough.”

Kelly was at once intrigued and frustrated. “Are you afraid I’m going to follow you around from now on, adoringly, babbling words of gratitude?”

Mace seemed taken aback. “No,” he said.

She wasn’t letting him off the hook. “What, then?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders, his touch light, even tentative. “All right,” he muttered. “It’s just that I think something might be...starting. Between us, I mean. And I’m not talking about any business deal here.” He drew a long breath, released it. “Maybe it’s just my imagination and I’m making a damn fool of myself, but if we have a chance, the two of us, we need to be equal partners from the start.”

Kelly stared at him, momentarily speechless.

When she finally found her voice, it was barely more than a whisper. “It’s not your imagination,” she murmured.

That was when he kissed her.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TOUCH OF Mace’s mouth was gentle, warm, more promise than demand.

More question than answer.

It never occurred to Kelly to push him away, or turn her head. No, she rose onto the balls of her feet, became neither giver nor recipient, but part of the kiss itself, part of Mace, as he was part of her.

He didn’t use his tongue, though she would have welcomed that—and a lot more. She felt charged in every cell, as if she were dancing on an arc of lightning.

When Mace broke the connection, Kelly plunged from the heights like a skydiver without a parachute, half expecting to strike hard ground and shatter into pieces.

Mace cupped her right cheek in his hand, thumbed away a tear she hadn’t known was there.

Kelly couldn’t speak. The ordinary world felt thick around her, as though she’d been caught in a mudslide, or quicksand, and might be sucked under at any moment.

Reflex made her grasp Mace’s shoulders, hold on for dear life.

He covered her hands with his own.

“Are you okay?”

“Um, I think so,” Kelly murmured, loosening her grasp on Mace by degrees as she settled back into herself. There were so many questions she wanted to ask—had he felt the power of that kiss, the way she had, or was it just another flirtation to him, soon to be forgotten? And if he had felt it, what did it mean?

“If that was too much, too soon...”

“No,” Kelly said so quickly that heat stained her cheeks. Then, again, more slowly, “No.”

Mace drew Kelly close, kissed the top of her head. “This might be a good time to show you the vineyard,” he said.

Kelly allowed herself to lean into him, just a little. To rest against the hard width of his chest, listen to the steady thud-thud-thud of his heart.

It had been so long since she’d taken shelter in a man’s arms, felt safe there.

“This would be a very good time to see the vineyard,” she said with laugh.

They left the winery then, neither one saying a word, and after Mace had punched in another code to lock the doors, they headed for the leafy rows, the vines rimmed in the last fierce light of the day.

Mace didn’t hold her hand as he had before, but their arms brushed against each other at intervals.

Kelly had that strange, otherworldly feeling again, although it wasn’t urgent, like before, when Mace had kissed her. She wondered if she’d bumped her head, after all, when her rental car went off the road, and done something to her brain, something the scans hadn’t picked up.

They walked along the rows in comfortable silence, and Kelly reveled in the scents of leaves and fertile dirt and ripening fruit. She’d visited so many other vineyards, in so many other places, but, strangely, this one seemed all new.

Maybe, she thought, it wasn’t the vineyard that made her want to put down roots right here in this rich soil and simply grow, like the plants all around her, to blossom in spring, flourish in the summer heat, bear fruit in the fall, stand leafless and vulnerable in the winter snow.

It was a crazy, whimsical idea, completely unlike her.

If this strange mood continued, she decided, she’d follow Dr. Draper’s advice and seek medical help.

In the meantime, though, she intended to savor the experience.

* * *

“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.”

Mace grinned. “Well,” he said, “there is that.”

Kelly laughed and gave him a playful shove in the chest. “Anyway, I need my rest. I plan to get up early, get some work done.”

“Such as?”

“Such as proving to a certain winemaker that my company can triple his business,” Kelly said on a light note. “That’s what a partnership with us can do.”

Mace’s frown was nearly imperceptible, but it still worried her a little. In fact, she might have panicked if it hadn’t been for the gleam in his eyes. “Suppose this winemaker is happy with his business the way it is?”

Kelly couldn’t allow herself to think how much was riding on this one deal, and she regretted tipping her hand a moment before. “If he’s willing to hear me out,” she said carefully, “I believe I can convince him.”

Mace tilted his head back, studied the stars, and his gaze was steady when he looked at her face again. “Fair enough,” he said. “He’ll listen. No promises beyond that, though.”

“No promises,” Kelly agreed.

A silence fell, brief and oddly comfortable, given the directness of Mace’s statement. But then, would she want him to be anything but direct? He clearly didn’t play games, and that was refreshing.

Mace spoke first. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned how long you’ll be in Mustang Creek,” he said cautiously.

Kelly didn’t hesitate. “As long as it takes,” she said. “I can always change my flight back to LA, and the rental car deal is open-ended.”

That made him smile, a bit wickedly. “Well, now,” he answered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That might inspire some foot-dragging. On the winemaker’s part, I mean.”

Kelly laughed, filled with a strange, vibrant joy that she was standing under that canopy of gleaming stars, facing this man, within touching distance. “Good night, Mr. Carson,” she told him.

He opened the rental car’s door for her, bowed ever so slightly. “Good night,” he replied.

She didn’t want the moment to end, but prudence won out. If she stayed too long, she knew, the charge of anticipation between them might spark a blaze she couldn’t extinguish.

Wouldn’t even want to extinguish.

“Can you fit in a meeting tomorrow?” she asked.

“I can work it into my schedule,” Mace responded. “As long as it’s on horseback.”

Kelly swallowed. “Horseback?”

“That winemaker you were talking about convincing?” Mace said. “He’s three parts cowboy.”

A sweet, scary thrill raced through Kelly’s bloodstream at those words, and she bent her head, rummaging through her purse for the car keys—and a minute to collect herself, let the pink in her cheeks subside a little. “Then it’s settled,” she said when she managed to look at him again. He was still holding the car door, and starlight sparkled in his hair. “What time?”

“Whatever works for you.” It was an easy drawl, a gentle challenge.

“Afternoon,” Kelly decided. “I have some things to do in the morning.” Like buying a pair of boots and doing some stretches, so she wouldn’t have sore thighs when the ride was over.

“One o’clock?” Mace asked.

“One o’clock,” Kelly agreed.

He closed the door, then stepped back, lifting a hand in farewell as she started the engine and shifted into Drive. She made a three-point turn and headed down the long driveway.

She drove carefully through the deep and quiet country night, alert but oddly jumbled inside, too, full of contradictory emotions and wild thoughts.

She was crazy, thinking the things she was thinking.

She’d never felt so sane as she did right now.

She was falling in love.

She was determined not to fall in love.

She’d worked hard to build a life in LA, and she cherished her independence.

She was, as hard as it was to admit, lonely.

No matter what, she needed to make some changes; she knew that much, anyway.

What changes?

That was the question.

* * *

DINA CALLED THE next morning, while Kelly was finishing a light breakfast in the resort’s bistro, her laptop on the table beside her—usually a no-no, like watching TV during a meal. She answered with a cheerful, “Hello, Boss Lady.”

Dina cleared her throat. There was something tentative, even reluctant, in the sound. “So,” she began, after a deep and audible breath. “How’s everything? Any more near-disasters?”

Kelly might have been alarmed by what she heard—or sensed—in Dina’s voice, but that morning, with the glorious panorama of the Wyoming countryside beckoning from just beyond the restaurant windows, she was simply happy.

She smiled as Grace Carson waved, passing by the doorway. Waved back. “No more disasters, near or otherwise,” she replied. “As for the business aspect, Mace and I will be getting together again this afternoon.” No need to mention that the meeting room would be the wide-open spaces, and the chairs would be saddles. For some reason, she wanted that tidbit of information to belong to her and no one else. “I think we’re making progress.”

“Okay,” Dina said, drawing the word out.

Kelly tapped a few keys on the laptop, then closed it with a snap. “Dina, what’s going on?” she asked. “I can tell something’s up. What is it?”

Dina heaved a sigh. If Kelly’s job was high-pressure, Dina’s was doubly so. She had a board of directors to report to, dozens of employees to oversee, numbers to crunch.

Strangely, Kelly was briefly transported back to the peaceful vineyard where she’d walked with Mace and once again found herself wanting to be a part of the vines and the earth that nurtured them.

Dina’s reply brought her back with a mild jolt. “I’ve been offered a new job, Kelly,” she said. “In London.”

“Oh,” Kelly said, absorbing the news, struggling to grasp the implications. Obviously, from Dina’s tone and mood, there were some. “Are you taking it?”

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