desk. “So far, business has been pretty slow. Which, of course, is a good thing.”
Mace realized he was fresh out of sparkling conversation. He sat down in an orange plastic chair, opened an outdated copy of Field & Stream, read one paragraph of an article about trout fishing in Montana and gave up.
Another hour passed, during which an elderly woman was brought in with respiratory problems, and the young couple returned with a prescription and their child, now sound asleep, head resting on the man’s shoulder. Mace nodded in greeting, and the man nodded back.
Soon afterward, Sheila Draper came out, spotted Mace and smiled as she approached. She was a good-looking redhead with a figure that did great things for the blue scrubs she was wearing.
“Hey, Doc,” Mace said. Sheila had grown up on a neighboring ranch, and the two families were longtime friends.
“Hey, yourself,” Sheila responded. She carried an electronic tablet but didn’t consult it, and there was a twinkle in her bright green eyes. “You can rest easy, Sir Galahad,” she said. “Kelly isn’t seriously injured, just shaken up and a little dehydrated. I’m admitting her overnight, for observation and the appropriate fluids.”
Something unclenched inside Mace. He heaved a deep sigh. And even as the question took shape in his mind, he wondered why he needed to ask it. He’d done what he could for Kelly, and he knew she was in good hands, had been from the moment he’d brought her in.
He asked, anyway. “Could I see her?”
Sheila shook her head regretfully, touched his arm. “Not tonight, Mace. I gave Kelly a sedative, and she’s on her way upstairs. I’m guessing she’ll be zonked before she gets to her room.” The rest went without saying—Kelly needed sleep, not visitors.
He nodded again, sighed again.
Then he thanked Sheila, said goodbye to Ellie and left for home.
* * *
MACE CARSON DIDN’T remember her. Not quite, anyway.
That was okay for now, Kelly decided, rummy from the sedative she’d been given minutes before. She remembered well enough for both of them.
She closed her eyes against the bright overhead lights and the dizziness as she was wheeled, lying on a gurney, into an elevator, then down a long hallway. She flashed back, momentarily, to another hospital, another night, over a decade before.
The recollection made her want to curl into a fetal ball, but the medication and the IV needle lodged in her arm rendered any such movement impossible. Too much effort.
Another memory flooded her mind, soothed her. Mace had been with her that other time, too. He’d accompanied her to the hospital, holding her hand. He’d told her everything would be all right, that she was safe now, that nobody was going to hurt her. He’d promised to be there when the police came to question her, and he was as good as his word when she was discharged the following morning. He’d driven her to the police station, sat with her while two SVU detectives questioned her about the events of the night before, when, walking to her dorm, she’d been assaulted and nearly raped.
Mace, a student at the same California college, had heard the scuffle, hauled the man off Kelly and restrained him until the police arrived.
How could Mace have forgotten all that? Perhaps he made a habit of saving people. Did it happen so often that one incident blended into the next until it was all a blur?
She giggled at the thought.
Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, she would see Mace again. If he still didn’t recall their first meeting, she’d just have to refresh his memory, though that wasn’t her first priority.
She’d come to Mustang Creek to do business with the man, after all, not to renew their old—and brief—acquaintance. Great Grapes International, the company she worked for, wanted to establish a partnership with Mountain Winery, something they’d done successfully with other vintners.
Big of them, Kelly thought. As far as she could tell, the board members had zero doubt that everything would go their way; their confidence bordered on outright arrogance, in her opinion. She didn’t know much about Mace Carson as a person, after one dramatic encounter and a few brief meetings during her attacker’s trial, but recent online research had filled in a lot of gaps.
Carson wasn’t likely to be swayed by the money GGI was prepared to offer, as the Carsons were among the wealthiest families in Wyoming. Mace’s company appeared to be a labor of love, rather than a source of income; the winery was debt-free, and the net profits went to various charities.
Kelly had explained these things to upper management, of course, or tried to, anyway. And she had gotten exactly nowhere.
Failure wasn’t an option, her boss, Dina, had informed her cheerfully. If GGI had a motto, it would be Rah-rah-rah.
Thinking about it, Kelly sighed. She knew the power of a positive mind-set, especially after years of company-sponsored “you can do this!” seminars, ranging from standard motivational talks and “trust exercises,” like depending on someone to catch her when she fell backward, to trekking barefoot over beds of red-hot coals.
She’d done all those things and, yes, it was true—the experience of walking on burning embers did cast a new light on what was possible.
It was also true, however, that no amount of positivity or fearlessness or persistence was going to sway someone who didn’t want to be swayed. Mace Carson, she was all but certain, fell into this category. He liked his independence far too much...
Kelly was in over her head this time, and she knew it, but she had too much riding on this deal to give up without even trying. She was up for a promotion of life-changing proportions, with some heavy-duty perks, such as profit sharing and stock options, access to company jets, opportunities to work overseas, six-figure bonuses and more than double her present salary.
The equation was a simple one: no deal, no promotion.
Lasso the moon, or crash and burn.
Bruised and scraped, dazed by pain meds and good old-fashioned exhaustion now that the adrenaline rush had subsided, Kelly closed her eyes. Sighed again.
She could worry, or she could sleep.
She chose the latter.
WHEN KELLY OPENED her eyes again, morning was in full swing, and bright sunshine had replaced yesterday’s rain. She took a few minutes to orient herself—she was in a hospital room in Mustang Creek, Wyoming. There were three other beds, all empty.
She performed a brief mental scan of her body.
A mild headache.
A few aches and pains.
In other words, nothing major.
A nurse’s aide appeared, carrying a breakfast tray and sporting a cheery smile. Her name tag read Millie.
“If I were you,”
