bridesmaids and Jackson’s assistant; he turned to face Jackson directly. “I know you and Diamond are set on matchmaking, but you know your girl stood me up, right?” Donovan hurried on when Jackson would have argued. “She didn’t meet me because something, or more specifically someone, came up. But the fact that she wouldn’t offer any explanation as to why his seeing her with me would have been a problem, after telling me that this guy wasn’t an ex-boyfriend but an ex-friend?” Donovan shook his head. “It’s just too strange and complicated for me, you know? Besides, I have enough on my plate right now.” He observed Jackson’s doubtful expression. “Really, I’m good.”
“Yeah, well, you should let your face know,” was Jackson’s dry retort. “Because when I see you look at Marissa…your face tells a different story.”
Donovan turned and walked away. Since Jackson was such an expert at interpreting body language, he figured that the “I’m done with this conversation” move would be an easy read. Through three courses he continued to brood. Deciding to skip dessert, he nodded at a couple of the groomsmen as he made his way from the private dining room where the rehearsal dinner was being held to the veranda beyond it. He opened the door, stepped out into the warm wrap of a June evening and inhaled his mother’s contribution to the resort’s design: gardenia, jasmine and honeysuckle flowers climbing up arbors, clinging to lattices and lining the planters that ran the length of the porch. The sky was clear, with brilliant stars shining like diamonds against an inky sky. One of the things he loved about the sky over Temecula was how the shades of blue played off of one another long into the night. Even now, at almost ten o’clock and with the sun long since having bid its adieu for the evening, earth’s ceiling did not strike a monochromatic chord. The sky was streaked with shades of blue, and wisps of nearly transparent clouds added a hazy, almost surreal quality to the night. Donovan peered at the sky, the deep, deep blue and thought of…navy slacks and plump behinds and how he’d like to—
Buzz.
Thankful for the interruption, Donovan quickly fished his cell phone from his slacks and checked the ID. “Hello, Sharon. This is a surprise. What are you doing up so late?” Donovan’s longtime assistant Sharon Brockman’s early bedtime ritual was a running joke between them. If she were up past ten o’clock, weekday or weekend, it was a late night.
“Donovan, I’m in the hospital.”
“Oh, no, Sharon. I’m so sorry to hear that.” And he was, for many reasons. Like Kathleen Fitzpatrick, Sharon had worked at the vineyard for years, almost from the beginning. She was less an employee and more a member of the family. “What happened?”
“The pain came back, but stronger this time. They just ran a battery of tests on me and, Donovan, I’m afraid that my coming back to work on Monday doesn’t look good. The doctors think I’ll likely have to have surgery. I know we were trying to avoid that, or at least put it off until sometime next month, but my body isn’t cooperating.”
As much as he needed his assistant right now, Donovan was immediately concerned more about Sharon’s welfare and less about how her absence would affect the company’s productivity. When she’d felt the sharp pain a couple days ago, Sharon had told him she thought it was an embarrassing case of internal hemorrhoids, something she’d dealt with off and on since having her now-grown children. She’d taken over-the-counter medicines and, with the help of prescription-strength aspirin, had come back to work the next day saying she was as good as new. Obviously, that was not the case.
Donovan’s voice was laced with concern. “Do they know what it is?”
“A colon tear, brought on by an infection that I didn’t know I had. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t even think about apologizing for something you can’t control. The main concern here is you getting better. I don’t want you to focus on anything but that.”
“But the project. I know how you feel about the confidential nature—”
“Don’t worry about it. Sharon, I’m serious. There’s nothing more important than your getting well. We’ll be okay here until you get back.”
“How does one’s colon’s tear anyway?”
An inquisitive mind, a love for research and attention to detail were just a few of the qualities that made Sharon a top-notch assistant. “I’m sure that before you leave that hospital, you’ll know at least as much about what’s going on as the doctor.”
“Donovan, my daughter is rushing me off the phone. Because of her, I’ll probably feel more pain in the you-know-what than if I had hemorrhoids!”
“Ha! Give Patrice my phone number so that during your surgery she can keep me updated. And I meant what I said, Sharon. Don’t worry about work—we’ll be fine. Focus on getting better.”
Donovan ended the call and then heaved a sigh. Talk about bad timing. A couple unplanned sales trips, not to mention his increased jaunts to Louisiana, plus the festivities surrounding Diamond’s wedding had put him way behind. They were all part of the reason the Herculean task of setting up the database and then inputting the more than ten thousand potential customers for this group of exclusive wines, plus marking out business partners and naming the product—all tasks requiring the utmost confidentiality—had been pushed back to the two-week period following the wedding when the resort had calmed back down. This delay, and another inevitable interruption, otherwise known as the upcoming Fourth of July holiday, and he was pushed right up against an unmovable timeline. Attorneys, accountants, consultants and other participating third parties were all lined up, waiting and ready to put their piece of this new financially rewarding puzzle in place.
Dammit!
“Wow, it’s beautiful out here.” Donovan closed his eyes against the sound of the woman that Sharon’s call had helped put out of his mind. Marissa stood beside him as he leaned across the railing. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“It’s public property,” Donovan replied huffily. He pushed off of the railing, stuffed his hands in his pocket and moved away a couple feet.
Marissa eyed his actions in slight amazement. Was he really still simmering over what happened months ago? That she hadn’t shown up for a lousy glass of wine? She’d told him that she’d arrived at the bar and she’d told him why she had left. What else did he want from her? An apology written in blood?
The rehearsal dinner was over so the logical thing for Marissa to do was to turn around without another word and head back to the peace and quiet of her San Diego apartment. But logic had obviously gone on vacation and its nemesis, crazy, was calling the shots. So Marissa pressed forward. “The rehearsal dinner went well, and the hill is such a perfect place for the ceremony. Diamond’s wedding is going to be lovely.”
His silence was deafening.
“I would wonder whether or not you’ve been taught manners, but since I’ve met your mother, I know that answer is yes. So I can only assume you’re being a jerk, still smarting over a slight that happened months ago.” Nothing moved on the veranda, not even the wind. “I can be ignored by you all night.” How well I’m dealing with it is another story altogether. There hadn’t been a moment all evening when Marissa hadn’t been aware of Donovan’s presence, how good he looked as Jackson’s best man and how much he was admired by the other women. “Your sister is marrying my boss, which means our paths may cross on occasion. I don’t think being civil is too much to ask.”
Donovan wheeled around in a manner so uncharacteristic that Marissa took a step
