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,” Millie began, deftly maneuvering the bed table into place and setting down the tray, “I’d go out and buy myself a lottery ticket. Considering what could have happened, you’re a lucky woman.”
Kelly smiled. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
“How do you feel?” Millie asked, lifting a metal lid to reveal a plate of runny scrambled eggs, limp toast and two strips of transparent bacon.
“Much better,” Kelly answered, eyeing her breakfast with a wariness she hoped wasn’t too obvious. Until about five seconds ago, she’d been hungry.
Millie chuckled, evidently the perceptive type. “First we patch people up,” she joked, “and then we confront them with hospital food. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Kelly grinned, picked up a slice of toast and nibbled at the edge. Her headache was already beginning to subside; this woman’s mere presence was a tonic. “I don’t suppose you know when I’ll be discharged?” she ventured.
Millie sighed, though her smile didn’t waver. She removed the plastic lid covering a cup of coffee. “Can’t say,” she replied. “The doctors are making their morning rounds, though, and I’m sure one of them will have an answer.”
With that, she headed for the door, nearly colliding with a tall, dark-haired man in jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt, boots—and a badge. He smiled down at Millie, took off his hat and stepped aside to let her pass before entering the room.
“Ms. Wright?” he asked.
Kelly nodded, set down her coffee cup.
“My name’s Spence Hogan,” the man said, “and I’m the chief of police. Mind if I come in?”
Kelly was only half kidding when she answered. “Not at all. Unless you’re here to arrest me for leaving the scene of an accident, that is.”
His smile was the kind that probably caused a seismic shift every time it flashed across that tanned, rugged face. “You’re in the clear, Ms. Wright,” he said, crossing the room to stand a few feet from her bedside. “I’m here to take a statement, that’s all. And, unfortunately, to tell you that your rental car is a total loss.”
“I figured it would be,” Kelly said, wondering why he’d come to the hospital personally rather than sending a deputy or someone from the office.
Clearly, he’d guessed what she was thinking, because there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I came by to look in on a friend who’s recovering from an emergency appendectomy. It made sense to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and pay you a visit, too.”
“Oh,” Kelly said.
He took a smartphone from his shirt pocket and tapped an icon. “I just need a few details about what happened,” he told her. His voice, deep and laconic, reminded her of Mace’s, a fact that both jangled and soothed her nerves. His eyes were clear and direct as he met her gaze. “First, though, I have some news. The rental car people have been notified, and they’re sending a replacement from Jackson. Should be here by the end of the day.”
“That’s good.” Kelly hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “My things—my handbag and laptop and suitcases—were any of them recovered?”
“The purse and the laptop came through all right—evidently, they were thrown from the car while it was rolling down the hill, because my deputy found them on the bank.” Spence Hogan paused, winced humorously. “I’m afraid everything else went up in smoke when the rig exploded.”
Kelly gulped. “The car exploded?”
“Yes,” Hogan answered, solemn now. He was probably thinking how easily Kelly herself might have been blown to flaming pieces; she certainly was.
“But it wasn’t burning when Mace—Mr. Carson and I left. And the rain was really coming down hard.”
Hogan raised one shoulder slightly, lowered it again. “Must’ve been some kind of delayed reaction. It happens.”
A shudder ran through Kelly. She felt herself go pale and, for one awful moment, she thought she might throw up.
Concern furrowed the chief’s brow, and he slipped the smartphone back into his pocket. “We’ll talk about the accident later,” he decided. “Do you want me to call a nurse or a doctor?”
Kelly swallowed hard, shook her head, attempted to smile. “I’m okay,” she said.
And she was. Thanks to Mace Carson.
Talk about déjà vu.
She’d come to Mustang Creek to see Mace again—but not for personal reasons; she was on an important mission for GGI, and he was a vintner with a flair for innovation. She was here on business, in other words.
The opportunity to reiterate her gratitude for his help ten years ago was a bonus.
Chief Hogan took a business card from the same pocket housing his phone and laid it on the bedside table. “When you’re feeling better, give me a call.”
Kelly, busy breathing her way through the what-might-have-been scenario splashing across the screen of her mind, promised she’d be in touch. Hogan excused himself and left.
Five minutes later, Dr. Draper, a titian beauty