by Diana Stone
“That’s why I’m taking you away for the night. You need rest and lots of good food. No skimpy diet for you,” he asserts.
“What about your reputation? This truck has your ranch name on both doors. You’re pretty well known.”
“I’m not worried about Yvette. She legally screwed herself with that domestic violence stunt.”
I murmur an acknowledgment.
He looks at me for a second. “Would you like a little reward for being good?”
What does he mean?
“Yes. I guess.” It sounds a little too suggestive.
I have to make a fast decision. “I need to call our emergency wrangler to lead the rides. Veronica and Marc are away for a week.”
I’m feeling unsettled. I had been chasing him, but now he’s suddenly taking the lead, in a forceful way.
“Make some phone calls,” he instructs, “I’m taking you away.”
Pulling out my cell, I scroll down to “Scott-emergency wrangler.” I reach him without having to leave a message. He says he’ll be happy to lead our rides. Then he reminds me I called him and already asked this morning. Oh oops, what happened to my memory? Perhaps this is stressing me out too much.
Now that my schedule is clear, Jack calls his assistant and asks her to get us his favorite cottage for the night.
The cab is quiet as we drive along the open highway. I’m stressing over this turn of events. It feels too sudden. I’m a step-by-step, methodical woman. On the other hand, shouldn’t I want this? Hold on, he said his favorite cottage. Who has a favorite cottage just an hour from home? Is it a place for liaisons?
Entering Paso Robles, he asks if I’m hungry, “I thought I’d take you to a great little place.”
“That sounds nice, but I’m getting really tired,” my fatigue is catching up with me.
A few minutes later he swings to the curb and stops beside a classic small-town square.
Swiveling in his seat to face me, “You look wiped out. A sandwich will help you.”
“Oh, I thought you meant a restaurant.” He said a great little place. Doesn’t that mean something nice and expensive, with a great chef?
The sandwich shop is quaint and tidy. I order a ciabatta sandwiches with fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil. The one at Jack’s was good this morning, and I don’t have the energy to figure out what I want. At least I’m reviving by moving around the shop and seeing food.
“We’ll get them to go. There’s a piece of property I might buy. I’ll show you,” he tells me.
“That sounds nice,” I think.
Why isn’t he asking me? Instead, he’s telling me. Maybe it’s a manly thing I should appreciate.
We drive past another beautiful winery. I notice that each one has a different motif. At one of the smaller places, Jack slows and stops right in front. It isn’t even a parking place. “I’ll go grab a bottle. This is another of my favorites when I’m in Paso. Be right back…”
Leaving the truck idling, he strides to the door of the rustic tasting-room. I watch him with an appraising eye. He stands apart from others by the way he carries himself. He’s a hell of a good-looking man. Glancing around the lot, I see other people and other cars. I feel set apart from them. I’m with a landowner, a powerful man in the industry. It feels good to be moving up in the world, but it may be temporary.
Within minutes, he’s striding back to the truck with a bottle in one hand and two crossed wine glasses in the other. “This is a good Cab. They’ve been here for over 20 years.”
“How nice.”
Am I with him, or am I just along for the ride? His attitude is confusing me. There isn’t anything wrong with what he is saying and doing. It’s the current running underneath. I don’t understand it. It feels aggressive, almost angry—like I’ve done something wrong, and he’s taking it out on me.
Adelaida is a two-lane country road. On the tight curves, our tires are partway into the opposite lane. Oak trees canopy over and grow right up to the edge of the asphalt. It’s more untamed than in the Los Olivos area. He touches the brakes as a wild turkey runs across in front of us. The road keeps climbing, and then we reach a plateau, around 2000 feet. Between the trees, I catch bits of the view. There are rolling hills as far as the eye can see. It’s majestic and wild.
He slows and pulls off the road onto a dirt track, then stops at an old iron gate. “We can walk from here,” he says.
I grab the sandwich bag, and he carries the wine and glasses. The track leads through the trees and into the dense shade. For several minutes we walk in silence. Then the scene opens up to a grand view. The rolling high hills alternate with views of vineyards and of wild land.
“This is gorgeous!” My eyes travel to an old barn down in the valley.
“I thought you’d like it,” he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace. A moment later he steps back and gazes directly into my eyes. “You are a beautiful woman.” He reaches up and aggressively pulls my head to his searing lips.
He takes my hand and walks me to a large, flat slab of rock. It’s been absorbing the sun all day and is lovely and warm in the late afternoon. I feel the heat radiating off it. Looking at the view, he says we’ll sit here. With his arm around me, sitting side by side, we watch the setting sun with its flash of brilliant colors.
“I’ve been looking at this property for a friend. It’s a good value and a good location,” he discloses.
“It’s spectacular, especially this rock. It’s warm.”
“I’ll make you warm,” he says in a throaty voice. He pulls me toward him with his hand tangling in my hair. He’s more rough and determined than I’ve seen him.
I’m not keeping up with this pace. He seems to be on a run without me. This whole afternoon he has been commanding me. I felt it, but kept brushing it off. Does he have a dark side?
His other hand moves around to the front of my jeans. He fumbles with the button and tries to slide down the zipper.
“Hey, you misunderstood…” I shove his hand away. “Have some tact, or control!”
Silence….
“You’re lucky to have someone like me who wants you. You’re a little nobody leading trail rides. You’re throwing away a great opportunity,” he shakes his head in disgust. He stands and adjusts his pants. “Better get yourself up unless you want to walk home,” he turns and stomps back to the truck.
It seems I have indeed pissed him off. I grab the sandwich bag and scramble after him. The rock can keep his bottle of wine.
We both sit in silence while he speeds through the canyon. As soon as we hit the 101, I figure he can now safely drive without my additional wide eyes.
Giving this some thought, I’ve seen his arrogance at every step of the way. He hasn’t asked, he has told me everything we will be doing. Is this what a rich man does? I wonder what his wife has to say. What was she like before she married him? Maybe she actually does deserve the 5 million dollars.
I can ease this unpleasant situation. It will be a mind game. It will mean nothing to me. I don’t care what he thinks. It’s similar to the way I used to talk suspects into jail. It’s easier than a fight. I don’t have to worry about my ego because it’s a game.
I break into the sandwich bag and begin the unwrapping process. Just the sound of the crinkly paper is like a Pavlovian sound to me. “Would you like your sandwich?” I ask unconcernedly.
Silence.
A few minutes and a few mouthfuls later I advise in a sweet voice, “You’re right, that is a great little place for sandwiches.”
“Sure I’ll have mine,” he grumbles.
Over the course of the sandwich, he thaws a little.
“You don’t need to play the virgin with me. I’ve already had you,” he rubs in that fact.
Oh, you’re such a gentleman… NOT. “I understand, but like you said, I’m just a girl who leads trail rides. You’re the rich landowner. I’m out of my element.” There, I verbally flogged myself. Let’s see if
he has any decency and says something nice. I look over at him and wait…
He clenches and unclenches his jaw. I can see the idiot thinking. He waits a few moments for a dramatic effect. “That’s alright, you have spirit,” he relents. “And you’ve never moved in these circles before.” He can’t resist a final dig.
I’ll let him have the last shot. I don’t care anymore.
My insight said he isn’t right for me. Now I have proof.
Join Jessica for more Misadventures in the Wine Country in:
Dressed in Green.
About my Books
Overlooking Santa Ynez Valley
I began writing Dressed in Pink after a trail ride with Vino Vaqueros in Los Olivos, California. At the time, I was wondering how to bring long-lost fun into my life. I thought about the adventures I could have if I led trail rides on the weekend, and slept overnight in my horse trailer. That’s what Jessica does—and she found Misadventures in the Wine Country.
Though I’ve had fun and nibbled on great pastry, her adventures far outshine mine. I usually drive up once a month for wine festivals, bird watching in the vineyards, and an occasional trail ride. Yes, I do have adventures of my own.
I love to write. I snack on chocolate when Jess snacks on chocolate. I go on research trips to taste Smorgasbord so I can describe her lunch. I have a glass of wine on my desk as I explain the nuances of tasting. When Monica makes liqueur, I make faux-liqueur with vodka and jam and lots of sugar. I’ve also made mead, though not as extensively as Jessica and Eric do.
But editing is never-ending. I pour over my books. I have a proofreader, and I check for punctuation and spelling with two computer programs. When you do find an error, please try to move past and enjoy what I intend it to be—a breezy adventure.
I like to write in the first person narrative style, rather like a diary. While some events in my books haven’t occurred, many of them are true-ish with a little tweaking. That’s why I consider this series like a woman’s adventure-travel-guide.
Most of the scenery is as I describe. I’ve modified the bakeries.
Vino Vaqueros is owned by trail guide Jaye Ganibi. The barn is really there and her horses are gentle. She took my picture, and she’ll take yours too.
Citronelle isn’t real, but you’ll have dozens of other wineries to choose from.
The veterinarian Charlie Simon is my vet by another name. The real Charlie also works late into the night, talks about esoteric things with his clients, and likes chocolate. It’s a shame he can’t visit Monica’s every morning. He would also love the vortex.
My Monica’s Bakery is on the N/E corner of Grand and Alamo Pintado. The real store doesn’t have a bakery, but it does have whitewashed shelves and delicious jam, similar to Monica’s.
The garden shop on Alamo Pintado Ave is real and stocked with chimes, treasures and garden ornaments. I seem to come home with something each time I visit.
About the Cover
I paint my covers on canvas. For me, the hardest part was adding my name and the title. It takes graphic design skills, which I lack. Hours passed while I struggled with something that should be reasonably easy. Finally, I found a program and have streamlined the process. Now it’s fun and not something I dread.
My idea is that the swirling colors show action. The tipped wine glass indicates trouble, and I use a real object from the plot, such as a sand dollar, a flower, or bullets.
Except for Dressed in Pink, one of the plots translates into the main color. Dressed in Green has something buried under a green tree. Dressed in Blue is the ocean and takes place on Santa Cruz Island off the California coast. Dressed in Orange, with the tangerines, takes place at the Wednesday farmer’s market in Solvang.
About The Author
I write about adventures that have happened, that may happen, and that will probably never happen. “Dressed in Pink” is the first book in my Misadventures in the Wine Country series of cozy mysteries.
Aside from writing, my other passion is horse riding. When I was in the sixth grade, I had saved enough money to buy my first horse for $415. Six years later, after being bucked off one too many times, I had enough money to upgrade. This time I bought a horse who was happy to ride with me.
I am a former police officer with the Los Angeles Police Department. Though I’m no longer with the Department, it always finds its way into my thoughts and writing.
Bunny and Juliette are my horses that also find their way into my writing. We live in Ventura, California.
To see photos from these and future adventures, follow me on
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As a new author, I’m struggling for reviews. They are valuable, and hard to get. Thousands of readers, yet few have the time. Thanks in advance.
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Two weeks before my book was published, another Dressed in Pink came out. Remember, mine has a wine glass and bullets.
Also by Diana Stone
Dressed in Pink
Dressed in Green
Dressed in Blue
Dressed in Orange
Dressed in Black
Dressed in Red
Dressed in White
Dressed in Chianti: A novelette
