by Mary Burton
“You made a hell of an impression on him.”
She refused to attach to the anger and frustration building in her. “If you are here to enjoy the party, then please do so. But if you’re here to dig up my past, I’m not going to play tonight. I’ve made a commitment to raise money for the Crisis Center and I won’t be effective if you reduce me to tears.”
His eyes sparked with humor. “You don’t look like you’re about to cry to me.”
“Don’t believe it.”
He shook his head. “You’re one tough gal, Ms. Templeton. I bet you do exactly what needs to be done no matter how tough the job.”
“That good or bad?”
“Suppose that depends on what job needs to be done.” He studied her a beat. And then as if rethinking his line of questioning, he said, “How’s Mitch doing?”
“Quiet. But a hard worker. I like the kid.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “He’s patient and kind with the animals. Beauty is not an easy horse, but he keeps his cool no matter how difficult she can be.”
He rested his hand on his hip inches from his badge. “Tell me why you hired Mitch.”
Insistence underscored his words, and she had the sense he’d not take her standard line of making the world a better place. She shoved out a breath and opted for the pure truth. “He reminds me of myself.” And my brother.
“How so?”
“I know he served in Iraq and he saw some bad stuff. I know he lost friends. I also know the kind of pain that goes with losing someone you love. I thought I could give him a place to heal.”
“What makes you an expert?”
“In all honesty, I don’t know if what I’m doing is right. But sitting around and isolating himself is not doing him a bit of good. Working with the animals helped me. Spending hours in the vineyard pulling weeds and picking grapes gave me a focus. I thought it might help him.”
He glanced toward the empty corral. “My nephew is not a project to make you feel better about yourself.”
“No. No, he is a young man who needs time to heal.”
“And when he’s better, you’ll cut him loose?” Anger edged the words.
“He may cut me loose. He may wake up one morning and feel like his old self and take off. I have no idea what’s going to happen. Like I said, I don’t have a master plan.”
Bragg didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who had a family. She couldn’t imagine him living in a house with the white picket fence. “You must have been young when Mitch was born.”
“He’s my older sister’s boy. She was nineteen. I was fifteen.”
No elaboration. Mitch had said she’d died three years ago. Her death had left a hole in their lives. As much as Greer wanted to ask, she didn’t. Tec Bragg’s personal life was none of her business, even if it intrigued her. “Mitch is a good kid.”
“He is.” He settled his hands on his hips. “Keep an eye on him. And keep me posted on his progress. Let me know what he’s thinking.”
“We’ve been through this. I already addressed that.”
“Not to my satisfaction.”
She laughed. “Your way or the highway.”
“That’s right.”
She found herself waiting for a smile to soften the words and let her know he wasn’t that black and white. None came. “I can only do what I think is best for Mitch. If he confides in me, I’m not going to go running to you with the information.”
Frown lines deepened. “He’s my family.”
“He’s a man.”
“I know that.” Annoyance flashed. “He had another dream last night.”
“That explains the bruise on your chin.”
“Kid’s got a punch like a jackhammer.”
She shook her head. “The best we can do is give him the opportunity to work through and find his way out of it.”
“We. Good. Then we’re a team.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
The door to the tasting room opened and the sounds of conversations and laughter trickled out. “I need to go.”
He frowned but simply nodded. Unsure of what else to say to him, she returned to her party, surprised she was happy to reenter the lion’s den if it meant getting away from Ranger Bragg.
Bragg watched Greer disappear back into her party. He didn’t need a guest list to know the people inside were the Who’s Who of Austin society. And though Greer had been born into that world, he recognized she didn’t fit there anymore. She smiled. She moved from couple to couple chatting. She filled wineglasses. But she was the outsider. People stared at her oddly when she walked away. They talked about her.
Twelve years had passed since the accident and her suicide attempt, and yet she remained cut off from her old life. Though he sensed the society crowd could be judgmental and hard, he also realized Greer was as much a party to her isolation as anyone. She’d built a wall around herself: always polite, guarded, and distant.
Greer punished herself with her self-imposed isolation. She hadn’t rejoined the world, choosing purgatory instead.
She’d maintained a distance with him, but that didn’t really surprise him. Most folks didn’t cozy up to Rangers right away, and publicity surrounding his work on the border had changed how people viewed him. Leeriness now simmered under the respect. Some folks were flat-out afraid of him.
Mitch wasn’t afraid nor were the Rangers, but most everyone else kept their distance. Greer met his gaze directly, no hint of fear. If she’d heard about his past, she gave no sign it bothered her. She noticed the scar as well, but didn’t appear put off by it. And he was oddly glad.
Curious, he moved inside and stood in the back of the tasting room. His gaze scanned the room quickly and then settled on Greer. A stunning dark dress hugged her figure just right. Her hair glistened in the soft light. But if he had to choose, he preferred her in her jeans, T-shirt, and hair in a thick braid.
She now stood at the front of the room next to a tall slim man who wore an expensive suit, white shirt, but no tie. Blond hair swept off a face of chiseled features and smooth skin. Appreciation glistened in the man’s eyes as he stared at Greer.
Bragg shifted his stance, annoyance snapping at his heels.
Greer rang a bell and soon the hum of conversation in the room faded. She clenched and unclenched her fingers and then offered a big bright smile. To the casual eye, her smile was radiant but there were subtle cues indicating the opposite. A stiff back, raised chin, and a slight quiver in the corner of her mouth told him the smile was a lovely front.
But judging by the attentive expressions around the room, he wondered if anyone peered beyond the smile.
“Welcome to Bonneville Vineyard’s first annual fund-raiser for Austin’s Crisis Center. Our vineyard has been here for over twenty years and though we don’t make our own wine, we hope to by this time next year. Tonight, I want to introduce you to Philip Louis, who is supplying tonight’s wine from Sun Valley Vineyard in Fredericksburg.” She grinned at Louis. He smiled back at her, his gaze hungry and excited. “Bonneville supplied the grapes to Mr. Louis who, at his winery in Fredericksburg, turned them into several lovely wines.”
“Greer.” Louis’s voice was smooth, even, and deep. His smile was quick and easy. “Thank you for having Sun Valley Vineyard here tonight. It’s a great honor to introduce our wines to such a sophisticated audience.”
People in the crowd responded well to the compliment. Louis coaxed people to follow like a damned pied piper.
Bragg shifted his attention to Greer, curious about her reaction to Louis. She didn’t shy away from him nor did she lean toward him. Her smile was genuine but not flirty. She liked Louis, but he suspected she saw him as a colleague and not a potential lover. Good.
“The winemaker and the wine grower must have a close relationship,” Greer said.
“But great wine begins on the vine,” Louis added. “If not for Greer’s talent for rea
ding the soil, air, and water, I would not have such stunning grapes to put into my winery. We will be sorry to lose Bonneville grapes next season but anticipate tasting their wine. And now that we are neighbors, we hope to grow grapes as rich and succulent.”
An older woman dressed in a sapphire-blue dress raised her hand. “Greer, the soil here looks awful. Why on earth choose such a rocky, hot place as Bonneville?”
Greer relaxed when attention turned to Bonneville. “The vines need to suffer to produce grapes of character. When the roots must burrow into the earth and fight to survive, they develop a wonderful complexity. The struggle is what makes them so flavorful.” She spoke about careful strategizing, of watching the grapes closely, of taste-testing the fruit. “Great art comes from stress and hard work.”
Greer, like her vineyard, was the product of struggle and hardship. If she’d lived a pampered life in Austin, she’d not have been as unique or interesting.
As waiters filled the patrons’ first glasses with a white wine, Greer watched as Louis talked about the first wine, a Viognier. “Tasting is not drinking. You drink with food but you taste the wine naked.” He held the glass high and talked about the color and how it should be admired. He then swirled the wine in the glass and put his nose into the flute.
Louis’s explanation about wines held no interest for Bragg. He found the whole party a foolish dog-and-pony show. You either liked what was in your glass or you didn’t.
However, his interest for Greer remained keen. He watched as she smelled her wine, closed her eyes, and tasted. Her face softened and took on a sensual, seductive quality. Bragg’s body tensed with desire and he imagined peeling the dress from her honeyed skin. Would she show him that same expression as he kissed her?
Unsettled by the veracity of his attraction to Greer, he stepped outside. For a moment he stood with his back to the tasting room, staring at the stars blinking in the black sky.
The door to the tasting room opened and Winchester and his wife, Jo, appeared. Jo’s smile suggested the two had slipped away from the crowd for a private moment.
“Party’s inside,” Bragg said.
Winchester grinned and held his wife close. “I like the one outside better.”
Jo jabbed her husband in the ribs. “Brody.”
Winchester shrugged as his grin widened. He showed no sign of loosening his hold on his wife.
Bragg watched the two banter for a moment, wondering what it would be like to have a woman at his side. He’d never given it much thought, knowing the life he’d chosen didn’t leave room for families. He’d never questioned the decision until Mitch had made him accountable for someone other than himself.
“Well, I for one am ready to leave,” Winchester said.
Jo smiled. “I suppose you’ve done your duty and mingled.”
“You leaving?” Winchester said.
Bragg nodded. “In a minute or two.”
Winchester glanced past Bragg to Greer, who stood at the front of the room. “There a reason to stick around?”
“No reason. Just enjoying the night air for a minute or two.”
“Well, we’ll leave you.”
Jo smiled. “Night, Bragg.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
Bragg lingered outside watching Greer. She moved with an easy confidence he’d not seen when they’d first met or before this evening. He shouldn’t care one way or the other, but he liked seeing her smile.
The door opened, the din of laughter escaping into the night as a tall slim man stepped outside. The door closed and the man glanced up at Bragg. “Good evening.”
Bragg touched the brim of his hat. “Evening.”
The man cocked his head and extended his hand. “Texas Ranger?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hope it’s not trouble bringing you out here tonight.”
“No, sir.” He wasn’t sure really what had brought him out here tonight.
The man extended his hand. “Dr. Andy Stewart.”
The name registered immediately. “You speak to a group of veterans?”
“I speak to them regularly.”
“My nephew is a marine. Mitch Bragg. He’s been in your group.”
Dr. Stewart nodded in recognition. “Mitch. Good guy. I thought he didn’t have family. Said his mother died and his father ran off.”
“He’s got me.” The words tumbled out with surprising authority. “Is it your doing he’s working out here?”
The doctor shrugged. “I connect people who might be of help to each other. Greer needed someone to help with the vineyard. Mitch needed work and purpose. Seemed a good fit.”
Bragg managed a smile for the doctor, but couldn’t decide if he liked him or not. “I hear it was your idea for the fund-raiser.”
“It was.”
“And Ms. Templeton jumped at the idea of inviting everyone out here?”
He chuckled. “It took some coaxing,” he offered. “She’s a bit shy.”
Bragg tossed a line in the water, wondering what the good doctor might offer. “I read about the accident. She’s had a tough road back.”
Dr. Stewart’s sympathy for Greer was evident. “That’s why she’s such an invaluable asset to the center. She understands tough times.”
“She’s a stubborn gal,” Bragg said. “You must have done some real fast talking to get her to do this.”
“I did.”
“How does she handle herself at the Crisis Center?”
“Very professional. Effective with callers.”
“How so?”
“She’s good with people.”
“I suppose her past left a lasting mark.”
Dr. Stewart smiled. “Ranger Bragg, I coax information out of people for a living. I know when someone’s on a fishing expedition.”
Bragg grinned. “Hazard of the job.”
The door to the tasting room opened and a laughing couple emerged. “Well, it’s been a long day. I need to get going.”
“Nice meeting you, doc.”
“You as well, Ranger Bragg.”
As the doctor walked toward his car, Bragg’s gaze trailed him. When he’d driven off, Bragg’s gaze skimmed the horizon and landed on a glimmer of light up on a distant hill. It was a house. He thought about the pictures of Greer that had been taken with a telephoto lens. The angle would be about right to get some of the shots.
He looked back inside at Greer, who stood near a group of folks made of money. Now that her presentation had ended her smile had faded. When she wasn’t talking about her grapes she wasn’t happy. Doing penance was the sense he got.
She felt guilty. Unworthy. Was it the accident or was there another secret she was hiding from everyone?
Their group had been tight-knit. Two boys and three girls. None had known each other before camp but now they knew they’d be friends forever.
Forever. Forever had proven to be fragile for the three remaining teenage girls standing around the campfire holding hands, matching red rope bracelets dangling. Fingers clasped tight, they fought tears. Their numbers were dwindling. First Sam had left and then Rory. Elizabeth didn’t have Sam’s address but Rory had given his freely so she’d written him and told him how much she missed him. Every day when mail arrived she rushed to the counselor’s office to see if he’d written. No correspondence from her mother. Not a card or letter from Rory. She’d grown accustomed to her mother’s silence since Jeff’s death, but Rory’s silence stung.
Tomorrow Joan would leave and soon Robin would go. Elizabeth prayed they didn’t abandon her like the others.
Tears ran down Robin’s face as she shook her downcast head. “I swear I’m going to write and call and visit. I know we’ve not heard from Rory, but I will be different. I’m not going to forget you guys.”
Joan nodded. “Me, too. I’m not like Rory. I promise I won’t forget.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand a little harder. “I’m sorry Rory didn’t love you enough to stay connected.
”
Elizabeth wasn’t such a young fool that she didn’t realize Rory was weak and needed support or that Joan wanted him. In here she’d been his support. But out in the real world, there was no telling whom he’d turned to. And she didn’t want to lose him. She loved him. She’d already lost so much. “Please don’t forget me.”
Joan frowned. “I will be different. I won’t forget.”
“Me, either,” Robin said. “It will be different with us.”
It will be different with us.
The words swirled in Elizabeth’s head. But when she turned to hug her friends, they were gone.
She was alone.
She searched the circle frantically for Robin and Joan but couldn’t find them.
From the woods an owl hooted. She stared into the dense ring of trees expecting one of her friends. But there was no one.
And when she turned back to the campfire, the embers had died and darkness swooped on her like a net.
Greer sat up in bed, her heart racing, and sweat matting her hair against her forehead. She dragged shaking fingers through her hair and allowed a sigh to shudder from her.
The other night she’d dreamed of the accident and now Shady Grove. Rory. Tonight’s party. Both events had triggered too many past losses.
When she’d come to Bonneville she’d made the choice to put the past behind her. And she had. It had taken time to build herself up but she had. She’d not only learned how to work on the estate but how to run it. She was Bonneville. She was not the frightened teen at Shady Grove.
And still her hands shook. And her heart raced.
Sara woke up in stages. Her head pounded and her mouth was as dry as cotton. She pushed up from the floor, her brain confused. She couldn’t figure out where she was now.
