paused. “Long time.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it true that you can tell when the grapes are ripe by squeezing them and seeing if the juice makes a little star-shaped pattern?”
His brows crept toward his hairline. They drove a good several hundred feet before he answered, “Yep.”
Irritated all over again, she glared at the side of his face. “Feel free to jump in anytime and tell me some fun facts about making wine. Maybe we could carry on a conversation.”
“I doubt there’s anything I could say that you don’t already know.”
“What a great ambassador for the Chambers Winery you are,” she muttered. “I can hardly wait to go back home and give this place a one-star rating on all the review sites.”
They rolled up to a stop sign just then and he took the opportunity to stare into her eyes with what seemed like bewilderment and sincerity. “Livia,” he said tiredly, “at this point, I’m just trying to keep my head from exploding off my shoulders.”
Well, what the hell was that supposed to mean? Was that an insult? A compliment?
Stymied, she snapped her mouth shut, crossed her arms over her chest and kept her head turned toward the window. See? She knew she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Why’d she let her weird fascination with this guy overwhelm her good sense? They were oil and water, in case she still hadn’t gotten it through her thick head, and any conversation between them was impossible, notwithstanding all her best intentions.
Luckily, they’d arrived. Driving past the tasteful stone sign that read Chambers Winery, he pulled up to the crowded bike rental stand and put the car in Park.
“Thanks for the ride,” she snapped. Desperate to get out of his truck and be done with him, forever, she snatched her pack off the floor and reached for the door handle. “I can get the bike myself—”
“Here.” Something soft tapped her on the arm and she looked over her shoulder to discover that he’d produced a clean powder-blue Chambers Winery T-shirt from somewhere. “Put this on.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You’re cold,” he insisted.
Cold? Did he not see her sweat-slicked face? “Are you crazy?” she began, but then he gave her chest a pointed once-over and she glanced down with dawning understanding.
Oh, God. Everything—everything!—was on display down there; she might as well have photographed her girls and posted them on the nearest billboard. Cheeks burning with humiliation, she snatched the shirt and jerked it on, taking two attempts to get her right arm into its sleeve.
“You could have mentioned that earlier,” she snarled when her head emerged.
He shrugged. “I couldn’t resist the view.”
Would it be wrong to scratch his eyes out? The local police would understand given the circumstances, right? And why did she still feel this strong connection to him and, worse, the driving need to understand what went on behind the honey-colored crystal of his eyes?
“I can’t get a read on you.” It wasn’t the wisest confession she’d ever made but she couldn’t hold it back. “I can’t figure out if you’re the world’s biggest jerk or a great guy.”
Renewed heat swallowed up his amusement and that smirk disappeared, giving way to naked intensity that had her belly fluttering and her toes curling.
“Does it matter to you which one I am, Sweet Livie?”
“No,” she lied. “It doesn’t matter to me at all.”
Chapter Three
Livia tiptoed through the small foyer and inched the door of her guesthouse open just enough to let in a sliver of early morning sunshine. Peering out, she saw, to her delight, that the heavy mist seemed to have burned off since she woke from a near-dead sleep forty-five minutes ago (something about this wonderful mountain air really did it for her), and it looked like it’d be a great day for—
Bark!
Aaaannnd he was still there.
Resigned to her fate, she sighed, gave up her covert routine and stepped out onto the porch, where Marmaduke had taken up residence on one of her Adirondack chairs. Had he slept there last night, keeping a sweet but misguided watch over her little temporary home? She was beginning to think he had. He’d definitely been guarding his post when room service arrived with her breakfast oatmeal, granola and fruit earlier. Clearly she shouldn’t have slipped him that tiny piece of banana; she could see that now. It’d only encouraged him, and the Dog Wrangler wouldn’t approve of a dog being fed people food. Now she was apparently stuck with the monster.
Served her right for being softhearted.
The dog, sensing weakness, cocked his enormous head, regarded her with those melted chocolate eyes and managed to look less goofy and more cute.
“Hello, poochie,” she murmured, scratching his ears again and wishing she knew his name. His tail wagged, thumping the chair hard enough to cause splinters in the wood. “Are you trying to get more banan-aaa? Well, I don’t have any. I don’t have annn-yyy.”
The dog showed every indication of forgiving her. He gave her hand a sweeping lick with a tongue the size of a slab of beef and lurched to his feet, tail swinging and ready to begin a full day of following her around.
Right.
First thing on her agenda: complaining to the owners about J.R.
The main house was a hive of activity with people converging around bicycles lined up on the cobblestone courtyard beyond the huge front porch. This must be the daily tour she’d read about in the brochure; she’d have to sign up for the one tomorrow. Riding down these country roads through the swaying vines and past the river sounded like heaven to her, and the tour ended with a winery tour and tasting. Who could turn that down?
Skirting the friendly crowd, several of whom smiled at her with respectful recognition but showed no signs of wanting an autograph or picture with her, thank goodness, she and her four-legged shadow entered the huge main lobby.
It was incredibly beautiful in that Western opensky kind of way. Huge windows, vaulted ceiling, an enormous stone hearth with a roaring fire to ward off the morning’s chill. Seating areas with leather sofas and chairs invited people to sit, stay awhile and visit and the hearty scent of good brew wafting from the fully stocked coffee bar in the corner invited her to never leave. Ever.
Another cup of coffee was just the thing she needed before—
Wait. Was that the little girl again, over there peering at her from behind the grand piano? It was. Crouched down with only her face visible around the gleaming ebony bench, she was all wide-eyed interest and quivering excitement.
Livia smiled and waved.
The girl giggled, clapped her hand
