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.