Forever A Hero

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?”