“So, Vicki,” Emily said, “why did you come today instead of in time for the party last night?”
Because my sanity depended on it. “Jordana and I talked last night, and it just seemed like the right time.”
“Did she tell you what’s going on with her?”
“Going on?” Victoria asked innocently.
Wendy and Emily exchanged glances. “She doesn’t look well,” Emily said. “In fact, she looks worse than you. We’re really worried.”
“I think she’s fine,” Victoria answered. “She’s dealing with some stuff. No, don’t ask. She’s not sick. Wendy,” she said, changing the subject. She couldn’t wait a second longer. “Did Marcos ever figure out who got me out from under the debris? I would like to talk to him.”
“He’s pretty sure it must have been Garrett Stone.”
Garrett Stone. Her heart skipped a beat or two. She finally had a name to put to him, a strong name, solid. Heroic. “Where does he live?”
“He’s got a ranch—although I’m using the term loosely—outside town called Pete’s Retreat. He’s born-and-bred Red Rock, but he’s left town a couple of times, for several years at a time. There’ve been rumors about him, apparently.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, he was involved in some kind of scandal years ago with a young woman. That forced him to leave town the first time. For another, no one knows how he makes a living. Plus he’s a loner. He’s got dogs and a few horses. Strays gravitate to him.”
Victoria remembered he was a man of few words, and also how his hands had been gentle on her.
Now that she was here, she wanted to get it over with. To see him. To thank him. To take back her life. “Could you give me directions to his place? I’d like to go there now.”
“I can call Marcos and ask,” Wendy said. “But I think it would be better if one of us went with you.”
“Why?”
“In case he’s rude or something.”
“Standing-on-the-porch-holding-a-shotgun rude or just brusque? He can’t be totally without civility. He saved my life, after all. And besides, I’m not without charm, you know,” she added, fluttering her eyelashes.
“I doubt anything in your past has prepared you for Garrett Stone,” Wendy said. “Face it, Vicki, the easy appeal you have comes from having led a charmed life. We all have. If you’re expecting him to welcome you with open arms and listen to you shower him with gratitude, you’re deluded. I gather people don’t venture out to his ranch. There must be a reason for that. I’m not sure he’ll be nice to you.”
“I’m not a princess,” Victoria said, crossing her arms. “If he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, so be it. At least I will have done what I need to.”
“Wow. You’ve really gotten snippy.”
Victoria dug for patience. “I’m sorry for my attitude. It’s just been weighing on me.”
“I see that. What I think is that you’ve got a big ol’ case of hero worship, some big fantasy you’ve worked up in your head about him without knowing the whole truth,” Emily said. “And although we may not wear crowns, we Fortune daughters have been protected and pampered since birth. You can’t deny that. But the men of Red Rock are different from the men in our social circle back home.”
“Meaning what?”
“Have you ever been rejected, Vicki?”
“Of course I have. But it’s not like this is a love connection, you know. I just have a few things to say.” Except that she’d been fantasizing about him, too, that he’d carried her far away, her hero.
Emily raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, then. At least you’ll know what to expect if you go there.”
Victoria frowned, thinking it over. She had been rejected. Maybe not by anyone who mattered, but then she’d never been in love, either. Perhaps because she’d never developed any long-term relationships, something that had irked her parents to no end. As old-fashioned as the notion was, she’d been expected to find a future husband while she was in college. Her parents were old-school, with traditional expectations, and she hadn’t lived up to them. It was different for her four older brothers, who were still single, their martial status not even an issue.
Armed with directions from Marcos, Victoria headed out twenty minutes later. She’d brought a bottle of eighteen-year-old single-malt, award-winning Scotch whiskey. She’d never tasted it herself, preferring sweet, fruity drinks, but the whiskey was praised by most men she knew.
It wasn’t a long drive, but an increasingly desolate one. Why anyone would want to live so far from civilization puzzled her. She liked her creature comforts, which meant shops and restaurants within walking distance and the theater and opera close enough to attend frequently. It was the reason why she lived in a condo in downtown Atlanta. She loved the action.
Finally she saw the mailbox Marcos had told her to watch for. She turned into the property. There was no sign announcing she’d arrived at Pete’s Retreat, no welcoming fence-lined driveway, just a long dirt path. After a minute, she spotted a corral with three horses, then some dogs began to bark, several rushing up to her car. She slowed way down, afraid of accidentally hitting one. Garrett Stone may take in strays, but he sure didn’t train them well. Or maybe he wasn’t home to call them off—
No. There he was, coming from a barn. Strolling, actually. Or maybe moseying, that slim-hipped stride she associated with cowboys, no-nonsense and no-hurry at the same time. He was as tall as she remembered, a foot taller than she, and she was five-four.
She stopped the car in front of his house, an old but well-maintained, single-story ranch style. He came to a halt in front of her vehicle and stared at her through the windshield, apparently not recognizing her. He still hadn’t called off the dogs, who barked and jumped. She felt imprisoned in her car.
Finally he made a motion with his hand and the dogs dropped to all fours and stopped barking. They sidled closer to him. With another hand motion, all but two dogs headed toward a barn.
Victoria opened the window and called out, “Hi! You probably don’t remember me. I’m Victoria Fortune. From the airport? The tornado?”
“I remember.” His face was shadowed by his hat, so she couldn’t judge his reaction, except she thought he was frowning.
“Will your dogs attack me if I get out of the car?”
“Probably not.”
She expected him to wink, as he had at the airport, but his expression never changed, no sign to indicate whether or not he was joking. Even though she felt unsure of her welcome, she grabbed her gift and opened the door. When the dogs didn’t growl, she climbed out, grateful she’d changed into jeans and boots so that she fit in better. Still he didn’t move.
“I was in the neighborhood…” she began. Nervous now, she brushed at some dust on her jeans, giving herself something to do, wishing he would pick up the conversation.
His mouth quirked, but whether it was a sign of annoyance or humor, she didn’t know.
She thrust the whiskey at him, apparently a little too hard. It hit him in the stomach and bounced off obviously strong abs. He grabbed for the container. The bottle fell—
He