dreams.
How could he have forgotten that?
He’d turned to the realtor, told her he was sorry but he’d just remembered an appointment. Then he’d gotten into the Ferrari, pointed it north and let the car eat up the miles until he’d found himself in Connecticut farmland.
He’d been driving without an agenda, figuring on turning back once he knew what in hell he was doing, but the weather was beautiful the car was purring. When he pulled out a map while he filled up at a gas station, he realized that if he went just another few miles he could check out the Song’s competition. A couple of northeastern Native American tribes had opened casinos and hotels in Connecticut. They were very successful. Why not combine business with pleasure and take a look? He might not be running the Song anymore, but he might find something interesting to pass on to Dan and his mother.
So Keir had piled back into his car and headed a little further north and east.
The Native American casinos had proved enlightening. He’d spent the rest of the morning strolling around, discreetly observing the operations. Then for reasons he’d never be able to fathom, he’d gotten back in the Ferrari and driven another hour, hour and a half, until he’d ended up on a road that knifed through tall stands of oak and maple, where his car was the only traffic and the only sound was the cry of a hawk, circling overhead.
He’d almost missed the sign.
DEER RUN VINEYARD, it read, Luncheon and Dinner Thursday thru Sunday, By Reservation Only.
It was Thursday, Keir had thought, glancing at his watch. It was almost two. A little late for lunch and besides, you needed a reservation but, what the hell?
So he’d turned down a narrow dirt road and found, at its end, a scene that might have been a painting: a handsome old barn converted into a small restaurant, a garden surrounding a patio filled with umbrella tables and a profusion of flowers, and beyond that, row after row of grapevines climbing a hill toward a handsome old stone house set against a cloudless blue sky.
Keir felt a tightening in his belly.
Yes, the hostess said, someone had just phoned to cancel a reservation for the second seating. If he’d just wait a few minutes…?
He’d accepted a glass of wine and gone for a stroll up the hill, walking through the rows of vines, drawing the rich smell of the earth and the grapes deep into his lungs…
And suddenly known that he belonged here.
He’d asked the owner to join him for coffee. Keir came straight to the point. He wanted to buy Deer Run. The proprietor beamed. His wife was ill; she needed a change of climate. They’d decided to put the place up for sale just days before. What a nice surprise, that Keir should have turned up wanting to buy it.
Keir hadn’t been surprised. Until that afternoon he’d never believed in anything a man couldn’t see or touch but something—he didn’t want to call it fate—something had been at work that day.
He’d looked at the books, had data faxed to his accountant and attorney. Before the sun dipped behind the gently rolling hills, he’d become the new owner of Deer Run.
Stupid? His accountant and attorney were too polite to say so. What they did say was “impulsive.”
Keir speeded up a little and changed lanes. Maybe they were right, but he had no regrets. He needed to change his life, and now he’d done it.
Las Vegas, ten miles.
The sign flashed by before he knew it—before he was ready. He slowed the car to a crawl.
He was not a man who ever acted on impulse and yet he’d done so three times in the past few weeks, walking out on the French deal, buying a winery…kissing a woman he shouldn’t have kissed.
Why regret any of it?
The kiss was just a kiss, the five star hotel and the penthouse in New York had been wrong for him, but the winery…the winery felt right.
No, he thought, he had no regrets at all. Not even about Cassie.
Keir turned on the radio and heard the pulse of hard, pounding rock. One thing he’d learned during this trip was you could tell where you were by listening to local DJ’s. Back east there’d been lots of Dylan and Debussy. The closer he’d come to the middle of the country, the more he’d heard Garth Brooks. Now, with the desert behind him and the Vegas strip just ahead, the sounds of rock and roll were kicking in.
Actually, what he liked best were the old standards, the stuff nobody played anymore. He’d grown up listening to those songs, Embraceable You and Starlight and the rest; his parents had always seen to it that music like that was featured in at least one lounge at the Desert Song.
The band had played lots of those numbers at Gray and Dawn’s wedding, especially as evening came on. He’d been dancing with Cassie, the two of them laughing as they moved to something by the Stones, when suddenly the music had become slow and smoky.
That was when he’d gathered her into his arms, as if the whole day had been leading up to that moment.
He knew the reasons.
People did things they’d never think of doing when they went to weddings and parties where the wine flowed and inhibitions got tossed aside.
How many toasts had he drunk? How many dances had he danced with Cassie, watching the flash of her long legs, the way her dress clung to her body when the summer breeze blew? How often had he inhaled her scent when he leaned close to ask if she wanted something from the buffet?
Why wouldn’t she have suddenly seemed a beautiful, mysterious creature of every man’s hottest dreams instead of a woman who might have been around the block more times than he wanted to count?
As he’d danced her into the garden, away from the lights, away from the other guests, he’d even imagined asking her to go with him the next day. He’d thought of what it might be like to be alone with her in some quiet, romantic hideaway.
“Cassie,” he’d murmured, tilting her face to his in the darkness. And he’d kissed her. Just kissed her…
Until she made a little sound, moved against him and dammit suddenly, his hands had been all over her, molding her to him, lifting her into him, sliding under her skirt against soft, silken skin.
Keir tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Great. He was right back where he’d been when he’d pointed his car east the night of the wedding, feeling like a damned fool for having hit on a woman who worked for him, who’d probably been afraid to say “no” or maybe figured making it with the boss would improve her chances of being something better than a cocktail waitress…
He could still feel the way she’d stiffened in his arms, hear the sound of her voice.
“Keir,” she’d said, “Keir, no.”
That was what had brought him back to sanity, the way she’d said his name, her voice shaking, her body losing its soft, warm pliancy—and maybe that had been part of the act, a game designed to make him want her all the more—except, if he’d wanted her any more, he’d have exploded.
Keir
