A Model of Perfection

by Pamela Gibson

He paused and seemed to stare over her shoulder. "Yeah, I know cattle. My granddaddy ran cattle in Texas on a section of land...that's six hundred and forty acres. It was a tough, dirty business. I spent every summer on his ranch, helping him, from the time I was fourteen."

  "So you've always been a rancher."

  "You might say that."

  "And does your grandfather still have cattle?"

  "Nope. He passed away a few years ago."

  She put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. It sounds like you were close."

  "We were. He was a fine man."

  "And your parents? Do they still live in Texas?

  "They do."

  He seemed quiet, not his usual talkative self. Maybe it was the reference to his grandfather. She sliced the baguette, put a few pieces of bread and cheese and an assortment of olives on a paper plate. It was a perfect day for a picnic, but Matt seemed awfully pensive .

  She sipped the delicious wine and studied his profile while he looked out over the sheep grazing peacefully on the hillside. She wanted to know more about him, his family, what he wanted out of life. She knew he was successful, and loved books as much as she did. But today he seemed reluctant to share more, so she'd back off and simply enjoy the sunshine.

  Maybe she shouldn't have involved him in her problems. Maybe he had issues of his own. Most people did.

  He turned his adorable smile on her and changed the subject. "I made some inquiries about your blackmailer. Hope you don't mind."

  It was her turn to be quiet. "I don't. Who did you ask?"

  "A friend who manages a racetrack. He filled me in on Mr. Cardozza's current status and whereabouts."

  He had her attention now. "What did you find out?"

  "You pegged him right. He's broke. Racing his own car when he can on a minor circuit. He's in Alabama right now, looking for a sponsor."

  She chewed a piece of baguette with herbed goat cheese and nodded. That sounded right. Talladega was his favorite track. He had friends there.

  Matt reached across the table and folded his fingers over her hand. Those green eyes looked directly into hers. "Maybe he'll be too busy to think about releasing those pictures. If he gets around to threatening you again, you'll have more options. You can go to the police then."

  "No, I'll tell him to go to hell."

  He sighed and squeezed her hand. "You sure you aren't from Texas?"

  "Seattle, born and bred."

  He stood and gazed out at the corner of the field. "Uh-oh. One of the lambs has a problem."

  He ran through the field, and she followed him, aware of the uneven ground, and trying not to trip. He slowed and then bent over the bleating animal and touched a back leg.

  When she reached them, she stood back and watched him work, his deep voice soothing as he tried to free the hoof from a hole.

  "Vickie. Can you hold her still? Grab her around the neck and talk to her like you would a dog or a cat."

  She swallowed and dropped to her knees in front of the lamb. Holding it as instructed, she smoothed her hands over its pelt and spoke directly into the animal's ear.

  "Hey there, you're going to be fine. Hold very still, and quicker than you can blink, you'll be back over there eating your fill."

  "Got it."

  She let go, and the lamb scampered off to join the flock.

  He reached down and pulled her up. "Thanks for the help."

  "Is she going to be okay?"

  "The gopher hole was deep, and she was good and stuck, but we got to her before she injured her leg."

  "I'm glad." She looked up into his eyes and swayed toward him. He reached out to grasp her shoulders, then pulled her closer after hesitating, probably to see if she'd pull away. When she didn't, his mouth covered hers, and the world and everything in it faded to pure feeling. His lips were warm and soft, and as delicious as she’d imagined. When she opened to him, his tongue danced with hers, and she moaned with pleasure.

  He wrapped his arms around her back and she pressed her body against his, aware of the solid feel of his chest against her breasts, and the hard ridge pressing against her belly. A wave of heat flowed over her as his hands stroked her back and reached down to cup her butt.

  She whimpered in response as her heart pulsed in all her sensitive spots. She rubbed against him, and tendrils of heat sparked along her nerve endings and snaked all the way to her toes.

  Breathing hard, he suddenly pulled away. The intensity in those long-lashed eyes told her he didn't want to. She moved toward him again, craving the searing jolt of sensation she experienced only seconds before, but he held her at arm's length and grinned. "We have an audience."

  She glanced back over her shoulder at the top of the hill, where winery patrons filled the picnic tables. A flush crept up her cheeks. She seemed to have a knack for public displays. Thank God they were at the edge of the property, far away from the tables of tourists. But they had to walk back up the hill to their own table.

  She looked down and kicked a clod of dirt. "Sorry. I got a little carried away."

  He stopped and touched her chin, making her face him. "I'd say we both did. Whenever you want to take up where we left off, just say the word. But maybe not in full view of a busload of tourists." He chucked her under the chin, grabbed her hand, and pulled her along with him.

  Even the touch of his fingers twined with hers made her tingle in her private places.

  Geez, hormones, give me a break.

  They gathered up the lunch and stowed it in the truck. Time to get back to reality. But this peaceful place, this gorgeous man, and their unforgettable kiss would stick with her for a long time.

  ・・・

  She was in love. Or was it lust? She didn't care. She wanted the feeling to go on and on. It made her giddy and warm and languid. She kept reliving the morning...the touch of those soft lips, and that wicked tongue, and the sensation of hard muscles against her body.

  She docked her smart phone into a speaker and punched up her favorite playlist. Today she wanted to dance while she loaded the dishwasher and zoomed around the hardwood floors with the dust mop.

  Singing along with Taylor Swift, she added soap and fired up the dishwasher. The music was on so loud she almost didn't hear the doorbell.

  Maybe it's Matt. Maybe I should give him a key.

  Wait. This was Cassie's house. She couldn't do that. But oh, she wanted to.

  She turned down the music and peeked out the drapes, wishing Cassie's door didn't have thick inset leaded glass panes you couldn't see through. It wasn't Matt. A teen-aged girl and an attractive woman not too much older stood on her doorstep.

  Breathing deeply, she gave herself a pep talk. She was not going to hide. Too late, anyway, since her picture appeared in the paper.

  Opening the door, she smiled. "Hi."

  The woman stepped forward and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Shay Michaels from St. Paws Animal Rescue, and this is Ava Schultz, one of the volunteers who's helping out during spring break. We'd like to talk to you, if you're not busy."

  They probably wanted a donation, and her purse was a bit light, but for an animal cause, she'd find the cash somewhere. "Come in." She opened the door and led them into the freshly cleaned living room.

  Shay spoke while Ava gazed at her in awe. Vickie was casual today, her hair hanging down her back, wearing yoga pants and a tank top, her favorite cleaning attire. But out of habit, she'd made up her face and brushed her hair until it gleamed.

  "We read about you in the newspaper, or I should say, Ava did. We don't know how long you're going to be here, but we assumed you might be housesitting for your sister."

  She could characterize her hiding out as housesitting.

  "That's right."

  The woman took a deep breath, as if she was screwing up her courage. "St. Paws is sponsoring a fashion show...for pets. Ticket sales have been slow." She swallowed. "We need a draw. We were wondering if you would be willing to help us. It's Saturday."

 
; Fashion show? She hadn't done runway work in two years. When she left Mario, she'd concentrated on print ads, modeling shoes and jewelry. The Purity contract was the first to feature her face and body.

  "I don't know what to say."

  "It's to raise money for St. Paws. We have several events, but this is one of our new ones," said Shay. She nodded toward Ava. "We have several local girls in the show, too. Ava's coordinating that part. We need a big name to fill the hall, and yours is very big, plus you're here."

  "We're hoping to raise enough to pay for medical services for the older pets," said Ava.

  "So I would be a name, really. I wouldn't be modeling anything?"

  "You'd only have to walk out the first animal. And the showstopper at the end, of course." Shay sat forward, a hopeful look in her eyes.

  She couldn't do it. There would be publicity, and photographers, and a local busybody whose name was Nora something, would make a video and put it on her Facebook Page. A simple internet search would have Mario on her doorstep.

  But this was the environment she was raised in. Injured animals surrounded her growing up, many of them recovering from surgeries, or abandoned and waiting for a forever home. Her parents were veterinarians. Even when she'd been her meanest to Cassie, the pets in the house were sacred.

  And didn't she tell herself yesterday she was not going to let Mario get away with intimidation? She was tired of running. She refused to pretend to be part of the woodwork in Cassie's house. She was allowed to do benefits. Edith encouraged it of all her clients. Helping a local charity solve a problem would give her brownie points with Cassie, who loved this town.

  And with Matt.

  She took a deep breath and smiled.

  "Of course I'll do it. When is your next rehearsal?"

  The teenager covered her mouth and squealed. "OMG, I’ll be on a runway with Tori L. Wait till Mom hears this!"

  Shay rose from the couch. "I can't tell you how much this means to us. We do our best to place the animals in good homes and get the word out about our services, but we're still overpopulated."

  Vickie shook the woman's hand and showed them out. "I'll be here until Cassie and Nick get back, so this works for me." She penned her phone number on the pad Cassie kept on a table by the front door. "Give me a call with the schedule."

  "I will as soon as I get back home." Shay grinned. "I promise you'll love Mr. Puffins. He'll be your show animal and is the feline fashion statement in St. Helena."

  She closed the door. Mr. Puffins? Feline fashion statement? What have I done?

  You've committed to doing something good, something to benefit others instead of yourself. It's a nice change, isn't it?

  The pounding in her chest slowed. She would not panic. If Mario showed up early, she'd give him the money and he'd go away. It was only a few more days.

  Then Edith would be safe, and she'd be free.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Matt closed the hood of the old Ford Mustang he just acquired. It was in good shape for its age, but it needed a new fuel tank, one he might be able to order online from a specialty parts dealer in the Midwest.

  He'd always been fascinated by classic cars, preferring to work with his hands, dressed in greasy coveralls, rather than sitting in front of a bank of computer screens in a stuffy office. Thanks to granddaddy's oil, he and his brothers' trust funds were replenished at the end of each year, as long as they fulfilled one requirement.

  Every year they were required to spend at least one night in his grandparents' original Texas homestead, to remind them of the hard work that was the source of their money. They had to take a selfie outside the original wooden farmhouse, and spend at least one night there, breathing dust and feeling the bite of the wind. The pictures were emailed to the firm in Dallas who administered the trust.

  Matt always made his pilgrimage in the winter, when the St. Helena tourist season was slow. He didn't know when his father and two brothers went. Nor did he care.

  But he loved the idea of having the money to occasionally add to his own vintage car collection. He showed the cars on occasion, and recently sold one ... a former racing Bentley from the European circuit. With the addition of the Formula car, he was back to three. A modest number, but he wasn't acquisitive. He loved working on the cars more than driving them. And when he sold one, he donated most of the money to charity.

  Cade ambled in and stowed his sack lunch in the garage refrigerator. "You see this?" He took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Matt.

  It was an eight by ten poster, the kind you put in store windows. It advertised a fashion show to raise money for the local animal rescue, and it featured a full-face come-hither picture of Tori L.

  What was she up to now?

  He hadn't talked to her since the day they took the sheep out to the winery. After dropping her off, he went back out to pick up the flock, and yesterday he'd been busy in the garage.

  He strode into his office and picked up his cell. Punching in her number, he waited for her to pick up. She didn't. Getting involved in a local charity event wasn't the end of the world. But this was a sure-fire way to get the ex-boyfriend breathing down her neck.

  He shrugged out of his greasy coveralls and cleaned his hands with Fast Orange. Heading back out into the garage, he waved to Cade. "I'm stepping out for awhile. The owner of the T-bird should be in to pick it up this morning. Invoice is on my desk."

  ・・・

  The morning was crisp but cloudless, so he decided to walk the few blocks to Cassie and Nick's neighborhood. He stopped at the Sweet and Savory and picked up a couple of lattes and made it to the front door without spilling a drop.

  Setting them down on the wide wooden porch rail typical of Craftsman cottages, he rang the bell. "Vickie? It's Matt."

  She opened the door, a panicked look on her face. Handing her a latte, he strode in and pulled the flyer from his back pocket.

  "What's this I hear about you doing a fashion show?"

  She glanced at it and shrugged. "Oh, God, Matt, I don't know why I said yes. I guess I want a normal life like other people."

  Her voice faltered, and he put his drink on a table, put hers next to it, and wrapped her in his arms. Her body was warm, and she smelled of lavender soap. She clung hard to him, and he rested his chin on top of her head. "I know. You're tired of running. When Mario shows up tomorrow—and I’m betting he will—you're going to drain your accounts and pay him. Then he'll go away until the next time. Only then you won't care what he does."

  She stepped back and looked up at him. "Is it so wrong?"

  He took a deep breath and pulled her back into his arms, feeling every curve and indentation. "Yes. I believe it is. But I'm not going to judge you. You have to do what you think is right."

  "Thank you."

  They stood in silence, wrapped in each other's heat. No longer able to resist the temptation, he leaned down and dropped kisses along the edge of her cheek, on the soft spot behind her ear, and on the curve of her jaw. He felt her tighten her hold while a soft moan escaped her.

  Emboldened, he took her mouth in a searing kiss, stroking her lips with his tongue until she opened, allowing him to taste, while he skimmed his hand up to the curve of her breast. She was soft and supple, and when she moved to give him better access, he nearly lost it. Looking at her made him hard. Touching her made him painful.

  The couch was only a few steps away. He moved backward, bringing her with him, and sat, positioning her on his lap. She offered her mouth as her fingers wound into his hair, wrapping him in the tight threads of a powerful sensual need.

  There was no audience today. Just the two of them in the empty house.

  His chest tightened. He had to taste her—all of her—here, now, in broad daylight, in her sister's living room. He fumbled with the buttons on her shirt while he nibbled her ear and neck. The parted fabric revealed tanned skin in black lace, and that delectable little heart nestled between her breasts. He kiss
ed it, and she gasped in response.

  He was on fire, the flames stoked by the soft sounds coming from her throat. He traced the edge of her sexy bra with his tongue, and settled his mouth over the fullest part of the lace, tugging at the tiny nub beneath. She arched up, her hands now under his shirt, stroking his back, her head against his arm.

  She was delicious...soft, eager, tousled...and he wanted more. He reached around her back with one hand to unfasten her bra as his mouth took hers in a drugging kiss.

  The phone rang.

  He lifted his head. "Don't answer it."

  Her eyelids fluttered. "I have to. It's Cassie's ring."

  He took a deep breath and set her off his lap, moving away to ease his jeans.

  ・・・

  Vickie's hand shook as she grabbed the sides of her blouse and hurried to the kitchen. She reached her phone before it went to voicemail. "Hey. What's up?"

  "Mom called. She's worried because she hasn't heard from you."

  "I know. I've let her calls go to voicemail. Does she think I'm still in Belize?"

  "She doesn't know what to think."

  "Did you tell her I'm at your house?"

  "No. You asked me not to. I keep my promises."

  "Thanks. I don't deserve you."

  Her comment was met with silence. "Are you okay? You sound funny.”

  Vickie dropped into the kitchen chair, her body wrapped in powerful feelings, her legs no longer able to hold her. "I'm good. Just a little out of breath. Have you had any more calls from Mario?"

  "No. I think he gave up."

  She paused. She hated what she had to say next, but Cassie needed to know. "For now, but he may show up here yet."

  Cassie coughed. "He'd have to be pretty sure you're there."

  "I...I did something."

  Cassie's groan was loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "What now?"

  "I agreed to do a charity fashion show...the one for St. Paws."

  "Are you kidding me? They'll plaster your picture all over town. Not that I don't support St. Paws. Shay has done a bang-up job with the place, and needs all the help she can get. But really? I thought you were keeping a low profile."

  "I'm turning over a new leaf. Standing up for myself."