Biding Her Time
Audrey thought Melanie could be one of the great jockeys someday and smiled as the petite firecracker turned to her now, an anxious frown working between her brows. “You don’t think Something’s toes are too short, do you, Audrey? His stride seems a little shorter than usual, and I know you don’t like long toes, but I’m just wondering… No offense.”
“You’re not offending me.”
As far as Audrey could tell, every shoer did some things his or her own way. Leaving a horse’s toes a bit long to lengthen its stride was the tradition at many racetracks, but Audrey’s father hadn’t believed in it, and neither did she.
Melanie had taken a particular shine to Something to Talk About, so was naturally a bit more… focused… on all the details of his care and training.
Gently, but with authority, Audrey reminded the other woman, “Studies have never shown that long toes lengthen the stride. Just the opposite. Thanks to videos, it’s a proven fact that they don’t.” It was also a fact that plenty of track farriers and even more owners still held on to the mistaken belief, so she added, “Even if it were true, some horses just can’t handle a long toe, and I’d never risk the leg to lengthen the stride.”
It was a bold thing to state in front of a racing stable’s owner—that you wouldn’t sacrifice safety to help create a winner—and Thomas wasn’t the only one who gave her his full attention.
Both Brent and Shane turned to consider her, Brent mirroring his father’s approval, Shane shooting her a keen stare lined by curiosity.
She concentrated her response on Melanie. “I watched Something to Talk About in the paddock this morning, and I think it may be worth an X-ray to see if he’s a bit flat-footed. That could change the way I file him.”
Melanie was pacified enough to offer Audrey one of the petite ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Hungry, Audrey felt her mouth water as her fingertips closed on the flaky golden biscuit, but it turned gummy on her tongue when Shane excused himself from Jenna and Brent and headed her way.
She felt both relieved and acutely disappointed when he stopped beside Thomas and struck up a conversation about the frustration of participating in claiming stakes, in which horses could be purchased prior to the race and therefore forfeited by the owner regardless of the race’s outcome.
Audrey wanted to listen. Rather annoyingly, she caught herself wanting to listen to every word Shane Preston said. Contrary to her earlier assumption, the gorgeous brunette was nowhere in sight. When Jenna announced that it was time to proceed to the dining room, no one mentioned waiting for Shane’s girlfriend.
“This is my exit cue,” Brent said, giving his mother a peck on the cheek and apologizing to his cousin for missing lunch. “The girls only have a half day at summer camp today, so we’re going on a picnic.”
“Bring the girls by later,” Jenna offered. “I’ll take ’em swimming.”
Brent agreed and headed out to his own life, which, no matter the complexities of Quest business, centered on the needs of his twin daughters.
Ushering the remaining Prestons plus Audrey to the dining room, Jenna directed Shane to the chair on Audrey’s left. Looking at the lovely table and linens and the raw silk cushions adorning each straight-backed chair, Audrey wished that she’d been less committed to individualism when she’d dressed for lunch and more concerned with being appropriate. Even Melanie, who typically dressed as if she were ready for a workout, had donned a casual summer dress.
Before she could dwell on it, Shane surprised her by pulling out her chair. Mumbling her thank-you, Audrey reached for the chair to scoot herself in, nearly cannoning into the table before she realized that Shane was smoothly sliding the chair in for her.
Her plan to continue their verbal swordplay at lunch seemed overly ambitious now. One whiff of Shane’s light cologne tangled her thoughts.
Geez, Audrey, he’s just a guy.
“How old are Brent’s daughters?” Shane asked as he took his own seat.
“Eight.” Thomas boomed the answer like a proud grandfather, earning a look of affection from his wife. “My favorite age.”
“Hey, you told me thirty-one was your favorite age.” Melanie needled, her eyes laughing at her father. “Dad pretends I’m still his favorite,” she said to Shane and Audrey, “but you can’t compete with grandchildren.”
Thomas and Jenna both demurred, but abashedly. “The twins have needed more attention since their mother’s passing,” Jenna admitted with a sigh. “I think sometimes we’re guilty of spoiling them.”
“We were all sorry to hear about Brent’s wife. I know my mother wished she could help. Being so far away, it was hard to know what to do.”
Shane’s deep, accented voice fell on the room like cotton, soft but substantial, changing the mood. Audrey saw Jenna and Melanie glance immediately to Thomas and sensed that Shane had just apologized for something more than not knowing what to do when Brent’s wife died.
Audrey had heard through the Quest grapevine that Thomas and his brother David had been estranged for years. One brother made his mark on horse racing in the United States; the other had staked his claim thousands of miles away in Australia, operating a horseracing stable there. Recently the frayed edges of the family had been knitted together when Thomas and Jenna attended some huge shindig in Australia. Knowing Jenna, Audrey figured Shane had been heartily invited to Quest.
“Nothing to do,” Thomas answered his nephew gruffly. “Even if things had been different between me and your father, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to make losing our daughter-in-law easier on Brent or the girls.”
Shane inclined his head respectfully. Audrey thought his careful inspection of Thomas was quite telling. He addressed his uncle deferentially, watching him closely, and yet she knew with a certainty that surprised her that Shane Preston did not defer to many people. Perhaps he was here on a peacemaking mission for his branch of the family?
Drawing circles in the moisture on her water goblet, she waited uncomfortably as the silence extended. Jenna seemed unusually quiet and contemplative; Thomas’s lower lip jutted out as he broke the Parker House roll on his bread plate; Melanie was clearly thinking about something that had nothing to do with anyone at the table; and Shane…
She angled her head to take a look at him. Still concentrating on Thomas, he felt Audrey’s gaze and turned slowly. Raising one thick brow the color of honey, he managed to look both challenging and amused without moving a single other part of his face.
Somehow she didn’t feel embarrassed for being caught staring. She knew he was off-limits, but that didn’t stop the heat that twined through her veins. Curiously, she took stock of her feelings.
Excited? Check.
Feeling daring? Check.
Physically aroused? That would be a double check.
At twenty-four, she had slept with two men, which placed her far behind her peers in terms of practical experience, to say nothing of the fact that she had never been in love. She’d had a terrifyingly large crush once on Robbie Preston, the youngest and most breathtakingly reckless of Thomas and Jenna’s four offspring, but that had gone the way of other youthful fantasies.
Shane resembled the two men who had been her lovers…not in the slightest, actually. They’d been studious, sweet, tame. So had the sex, though she had only her own imagination and a couple of books for comparison. But it had seemed tame. Memorable mostly for its newness.
As the meal was served, Shane turned his head to answer some question that Jenna raised, and Audrey studied his profile.
Recalling his presence in the bar, how he had stood out from the others, she doubted any woman would ever call him tame. If last night had turned out differently—if he hadn’t been with another woman, but instead had shown a serious interest in her—would she have ditched caution and made a dive for excitement?
She stared at his hands—large and strong with clean nails—as he reached for a water goblet and she had a sudden image of those big, experienced, untamed hands on her breasts.
Beneath the confines of a rather sturdy cotton bra, her nipples tightened.
For Pete’s sake.
Transferring her gaze to the salt and pepper shakers, she tried to distract her body. But the question persisted: had the opportunity presented itself, would she have seized the moment? One incredibly sexy, lusty moment the likes of which she’d never before experienced and might never again?
Would you, Audrey?
I don’t know.
Would you?
I—don’t—know.
Would you?
“Would you?”
“Yes! Yes!” In the silence that met her exclamation, Audrey glanced around the table. Uh-oh.
Fairly certain that last “Would you?” had emanated from somewhere other than her own thoughts, she looked up to see Eva Franklin, the Prestons’ brilliant cook, standing beside her. In a much smaller voice, Audrey said, “Could you repeat the question?”
“Would you like mango hollandaise, Miss Audrey?” Poor Eva looked uncertain, poised to ladle a thick peach-colored sauce atop the plate of salmon Audrey hadn’t even noticed being set in front of her. The deep spoon of sauce hovered precariously between gravy boat and plate.
Smiling brilliantly at the kind, middle-aged woman, Audrey tried to cover her tracks by nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes! I would!”
Eva smiled back and covered the fish in a thick film of mango hollandaise. Melanie regarded Audrey quizzically from across the table, while beside her, Shane smirked.
As Eva moved on around the table, Shane inquired in a wiseass undertone, “Are you a fan of all tropical fruits, Miss Griffin, or is the mango a particular favorite?”
His smile mocked her. She had the incredibly disturbing sensation that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
Picking up her fork, she took a poke at her salmon. “I try not to discriminate against produce.”
“Commendable. I’m a staunch supporter of the kiwi myself. Try to attend all the rallies, go door-to-door for the cause when necessary.”
Such a wiseass.
“That sounds time-consuming. What do you do for a living? No! Don’t tell me. I’ll guess.”
Giving him a good long look, as if he wasn’t already an indelible imprint on her brain, she ventured, “You’re an… undertaker.”
Jenna gasped. Thomas and Melanie laughed, and the man in question spit up a little bit of ice water.
The look he gave her—surprised, amused, a little irritated—sent a buzz of excitement running through her body and pooling low, low in her belly.
“What tipped you off?” he said, dabbing his lips with the napkin—the perfect gentleman, though his voice was low and laced with challenge.
In that moment, he reminded her of a tiger pretending to be full while a gazelle strolled by. No matter how relaxed he looked, he could pounce when least expected.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t convince herself to change her course.
Reaching for the roll on her bread plate, Audrey broke a piece off, popped it into her mouth and spoke around it. “The dark suits, I suppose. And the fact that you have a stick up your—”
Pausing while she faked a need to concentrate on her chewing, she swallowed and completed her sentence.
“—back.” Then she widened her eyes and tried to look innocent. “You have really good posture.”
Chapter Four
So she wanted to wrangle.
Shane came close to giving in to the temptation to cross swords with the idiosyncratic woman beside him.
Carefully avoiding eye contact with the others around the table, he slid his fork into his salmon and considered his various strong reactions to Audrey Griffin.
Even now that she was cleaned up, she looked no more formal than she had in the bar. Jeans that were designed to be serviceable rather than sexy appeared to be her uniform, a damned disappointment given the obvious shapeliness of the body beneath them. Her freckled skin was toasted to an appealing tan by the sun, and her hair, still damp from a shower, was the color of wet bricks. The lack of makeup and the plain rubber band holding her long braid made him think of a hardworking pioneer woman.
The disparity between her appearance and her personality did not escape him. A first glance at Audrey Griffin suggested someone guileless and straightforward, perhaps philosophical, definitely sweet. Then she opened her mouth and all he could think was trouble.
He was thirty-four, thank God, not twenty. Several years ago, he may have gotten to know her better for her audacity alone. Now he had a business and a life to build. A reckless young woman out for a good time was not on his radar.
“Thank you for the compliment, Miss Griffin,” he said with boring neutrality. “I look forward to telling my parents that their insistence on cotillion classes did not go to waste.”
“Did you really take cotillion?” Melanie eyed him with suspicion. “Mom tried to coerce us, but Brent and Robbie threatened to run away from home. I went twice and both times the instructor ended the class with a horrible migraine. She’d never had one before, so it was agreed all around that I could quit.” She shifted her gaze. “Audrey, did your dad ever send you to cotillion or did you escape that nightmare?”
Audrey hesitated. Lines of tension formed around her lips before she visibly forced herself to smile. “I escaped.”
She ducked her head, and Shane was certain that she blushed. Curiosity mingled with sympathy, because it was pretty damned obvious that the audacious young woman had never taken a course on manners or conventional grace.
Then Shane realized what Melanie had revealed: Audrey had had a father, but no mother. It might be the mention of that fact or something else, but Audrey was suddenly acutely uncomfortable.
While Melanie and her parents debated the merits of cotillion, he reached spontaneously for Audrey’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. To his surprise, she jumped as if he’d stuck her with his fork. Her blush deepened, flushing not only her cheeks, but also her chest and even a few splotchy areas onher arms. Fidgeting, she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, unnecessary as it was already scraped back into a braid, but the movement drew his attention to the scar on her neck.
Standing out white against her reddened skin, the scar ran from behind her ear to below the collar of her shirt.
“We’re pouring one of your wines, Shane.” Thomas commanded his attention, raising a bottle of Chardon-nay that had been uncorked in the kitchen. “We’re not as sophisticated about this as I’m sure you are. I’m a Kentucky bourbon man. So if there’s something special you want us to—”
“I’d be happy to act as your sommelier, if you’ll allow me.” Shane rose, awaiting permission to take the bottle from his uncle.
“Sommelier, huh?” Thomas huffed, half impressed and half gently mocking. “Around here we call that bartending.” He held out the bottle. “Have at it.”
Adrenaline pulsed through Shane as he rounded the table and accepted the wine.
This was why he was in the U.S. This bottle in his hands was his future. Hilary’s future.
Respectfully, he poured an inch of Chardonnay into Thomas’s wineglass and another inch into Jenna’s. He didn’t believe in gender bias when it came to choosing a good wine. And he knew his aunt was more likely to be of service to him and to Hilary on this business trip.
He watched her expression, especially, as she swirled the glass briefly and took her first sip.
Her brow furrowed just a bit, perhaps due to the fear she might not like his product. But then she relaxed and smiled. “Delicious. I’m not a connoisseur, but I’d order it in a restaurant. It has the most interesting combination of fruit and…I’m not sure…herbs?” She tasted again. “I’ll remember it.”
I’ll remember it.
Those three words were like music to Shane. He endeavored to appear relaxed and connected, despite the excitement coursing through him.
For years he’d bounced from job to job, trying to excavate some meaning out of each one. When he dug and came up empty-handed, he moved on, his hunt for purpose and passion nearly desperate. Throughout his twenties, he had responded to each dashed hope by distracting himself for a time—with women, with a broken-down boat he’d sailed from Perth to Maui, with a trek through Central America carrying nothing but a backpack and a map.
In his adolescence, he’d watched his parents and even his younger brother slot into exactly what made life worth living for them. He’d taken for granted that he would find his own reason for being, but that sense of rightness had eluded him.
There had been times when he’d wondered whether his search had been so much harder because he had craved meaning. He remembered feeling a restless hunger even when he was a kid—wanting every walk he took to leave a footprint.
He’d still been searching last year when Hilary’s accident brought him home to Australia. He hadn’t expected to find his groove running the winery that had belonged to her parents, but that’s what was happening.
Lochlain, the family’s stable, adjoined Cambria Estates Vineyard. As a boy, he’d spent almost as much time among the grapevines as he had at Lochlain. He’d worked at Cambria on school vacations when his father had granted permission not to work at the stable, but he’d never considered a career as a vintner.
He’d arrived in Hunter Valley last year, committed only to doing what he could for his cousin. He hadn’t cared that he was growing grapes. He’d have grown damned zinnias if it would have helped. But one morning, months after he’d arrived, he’d awoken thinking about grapes, smelling them, curious about every aspect of the winery. Not long after, he’d realized that—for the first time in his life—he wasn’t thinking about where to go next. Feet on the earth, hands on the vines, mind wrapped around the art and science of being a vintner, he’d found something with a history and a future. He could plant more than grapes; he could plant the seeds of his life, and they would grow into a legacy.
He planned to attend a series of wine shows in New York, Boston and Montreal, introducing his product to the international market. By the time he and Hilary returned to Australia, Cambria Estates would be the wine that people were talking about.
There was only one problem he could foresee: although he’d learned much about wine, he didn’t know a damned thing about wine shows.
By the time he’d filled each glass and resumed his seat at the table, his elevated mood had dropped a bit.
Beside him, Audrey was picking apart her salmon, lost in thoughts of her own and seeming to have forgotten her earlier desire to spar. Across the table, his cousin Melanie was happily engaged in a discourse with her father and anyone else who cared to join in. The topic, of course: horses and racing. Thomas listened avidly to his daughter while simultaneously scowling at his fish, as though he would trade his best dirt runner for a decent burger.
Shane wasn’t sure what he’d expected to achieve today; he knew only that he felt as if he were in a starting gate, about to race for his life and now facing an agonizingly long wait for the bell.
He stuck the tines of his fork into a piece of grilled asparagus, picked up his knife and told himself to be a good guest, that everything would happen in due time. He didn’t have long to wait.
“I don’t think your question about Shane’s occupation was ever properly answered, was it, Audrey?”
With a hint of good humor, Jenna pulled Audrey out of her reverie. The confounding redhead looked up and shook her head. “He’s not an undertaker?” she muttered.
Jenna arched a brow that made Audrey obediently apply herself to her meal as her employer continued. “This delicious wine we’re drinking is a sample of Shane’s work. He’s here to introduce his vineyard to the United States.”
Not exactly “his” vineyard—Cambria was owned by Hilary and her grandparents—but he supposed that was close enough under the circumstances. They had offered to make him a full partner.
“Shane will be attending several wine exhibits,” Jenna told the table at large. “What you don’t know is that he asked me to help him find an assistant to work in his booth. Wine exhibits require a minimum of two people per booth.” She pulsed with energy as she smiled at her audience. “I’ve been doing my research. One person to serve and one to answer questions and keep track of the guest book. A sole proprietor at the booth also detracts from the cache of the winery. I know it’s terribly superficial, but appearances really do count. It would have been difficult for Shane to interview and hire the perfect person all the way from Australia, which is why—” she raised her glass, the wine glowing from the lights of the crystal chandelier above their heads and the sunlight filtering through the curtained doors “—I’ve arranged everything. I think it’s best to have one assistant at all times, in New York, Boston and Montreal. The same assistant for the sake of continuity, and won’t it be pleasant to have a traveling companion? I love to travel with someone.”
Shane swallowed his asparagus. “You found a booth bunny?”
He was about to thank his aunt profusely when Melanie asked across the table—
“What’s a booth bunny?”
He smiled, a bit sheepishly. He’d heard the term several times since his first forays into the wine business and took for granted it was used in America. Though it was likely an affront to feminists everywhere, the people who greeted and handed out wine to potential customers at these affairs were typically young women with sparkling personalities, knockout figures and very short dresses. He opened his mouth to explain, but heard a snort and someone else’s voice answering in his stead.
“Booth bunnies are an attempt to sell a product by titillating the consumer instead of employing genuine marketing savvy or, heaven forbid, allowing the product to speak for itself.” Audrey sliced the tip off an asparagus spear. “I took a marketing class called ‘Sex Sells’ at the J.C. It happens in all kinds of industries, of course, but it does seem particularly obnoxious when the product’s value lies in a consumer’s ability to discern subtleties. Nothing subtle about a booth bunny. Short skirt, big hair and a brain the size of a cork.”
Emitting a snort of laughter, she popped the asparagus into her mouth and chewed. It took a moment before she realized she might have offended someone.
“Uhm, nothing personal against the girl you hired, Jenna. I just mean it’s a screwy way to approach business.” Another pause and she mumbled a sort-of apology to Shane. “Not that I mean you’re screwy.”
Of course not.
Shane harpooned a piece of salmon and stuck it in his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to point out that the stick up Audrey’s back was a helluva lot stiffer than the one she’d accused him of having.
He bristled without knowing precisely why her criticism bothered him so much. God knew he’d been under stress lately. He could use encouraging words, not potshots, while he worked his ass off building a business that would be the most important thing he had ever done in his life.
“Who’d you find, Mom?” Melanie asked, interested in the booth-bunny concept and either oblivious to the tension between her cousin and her friend or simply untroubled by it. “And how did you know where to look? What did you do, advertise?”
Shane noticed Jenna splitting her concerned glance between him and Audrey. “Why would I do that,” she murmured, taking another sip of wine, “when I had a perfectly good candidate right under my nose?”
A large forkful of finely poached salmon had just gone into Shane’s mouth when Thomas barked, “Who?”
Jenna smiled at Audrey over the rim of her glass, and every head turned toward the tomboyish redhead.
No! Shane thought, his gag reflex kicking in already. He’d explained the importance of these shows to his aunt. He was spending nearly the entirety of his personal savings on this trip. Audrey’s derogatory comments aside, he could not imagine anyone—honestly, not a single woman of his acquaintance—less suited to a job for which she had to be unstintingly polite, charming and feminine than Audrey Griffin. Jenna couldn’t mean—