A Model of Perfection Page 4

"What is it?"

  He got into his side of the car and watched her open the bag, take out the bright blue scarf and wrap it around her neck.

  "It's beautiful." She turned to him. "Thank you. "

  She reached over and kissed his cheek, reaching up to touch the spot where her lips had been. "You have a scratchy face. Like Lilly's."

  "Guess I should have shaved this morning." He watched her mouth, and her smile made him warm all over.

  She angled her head, reaching up to touch him again. "No. You look just right."

  He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her in for a real kiss, but the quarters were a little tight, and the console between them kept their thighs from touching. He ached to feel those lips, a deep ache from chest to groin, which heated everything in between.

  Instead he fired up the engine and they headed back to St. Helena. He had to be careful. He was falling fast and hard. But she was still fragile.

  And she still had a problem the size of Texas they weren’t any closer to solving.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They had a quick lunch at Stan's Soup and Service Station before Matt dropped her off at Cassie’s house. The scarf was warm against her neck, and she stroked it while she watched him drive away. She hadn't expected a gift, and was touched by how thoughtful he was. Plus he'd left her the remaining éclairs.

  Her phone rang as she went into the house. It was Cassie's ring, and she picked up right away. "Hey. How's it going? Are you accepted as a future daughter in law?"

  "I like Nick's dad, and I think he likes me. But I'd be lying if I said there weren't any tense moments. How are you doing?"

  "Good. Matt took me out to the alpaca farm, and I got to make friends with Lilly."

  "You got to keep your clothes on?"

  "No spitting, no gurgling. I think she smiled when I fed her an apple. At least she bared her teeth."

  Cassie snorted into the phone. "Getting cozy with Matt, huh? Did he come over to retrieve his shirt?"

  "Oh, my gosh, I forgot I had it. It's still in the laundry."

  The pause lengthened. "A guy named Mario called, said he was a friend of yours, trying to track you down."

  Vickie stopped breathing. "What did you tell him?"

  "I told him I don’t know where you are, that we aren’t close, and as far as I know you live in New York."

  "What did he say?"

  "The jerk asked me if I was really your sister. I told him I was, but we don't see each other much anymore."

  "Do you think he believed you?"

  "I don't know." She paused. "Vickie, what's going on? I didn't want to press you, but when I loaned you the money, you promised to tell me."

  "I...okay...do you have a minute?"

  "Spill. This is killing me."

  She told Cassie what had happened, waiting for the how-could-you-be-so-stupid lecture, which didn't come. When she was through, Cassie offered to come back home.

  "No. You stay. Matt knows because he recognized me, and you said he’s one of the good guys."

  "He is. I trust him with Bomber, don't I?"

  "I guess that's a compliment."

  "Seriously, let me know if you need me. I can come back now I've met the ogre and he didn't eat me."

  "I'll be fine." They made small talk for a few more minutes, then she hung up and sank onto the couch. So Mario had connected her to Cassie. Thank God Cassie didn't have a landline in the house. She said there was one at the office and she didn't need one at home. Which meant Vickie didn't have to listen to ringing phones, wondering if her blackmailer was on the other end.

  She wanted to go back to the library, but now she was afraid to go out. What if he hadn't believed Cassie and was on his way to St. Helena? If he found her phone number, surely he had her address, too. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  No, dammit. She would not be intimidated. She would not confine herself to the house. If he showed up, she'd stall him. He didn't know about the contract clause. She wouldn't give him another dime.

  Brave words.

  Edith didn't know about the threat. She hadn't wanted to worry her. But she was aware of Vickie's uncertainty about continuing to model. Edith had told her to weigh the pros and cons carefully, and to make a decision based on her own needs.

  I won’t let her down.

  Rain pounded on the roof of the house.

  Vickie took a deep breath, put on Cassie's heavy raincoat, grabbed an umbrella, and headed toward the library. She'd check out the books she picked out before, add one on alpacas, and hole up for the rest of the day in front of the gas fireplace.

  And instead of wringing her hands because she was a victim, she'd think about what she was going to do with the rest of her life. And maybe she'd daydream about a big, sexy guy with moss green eyes and a kick-ass attitude, a guy who’d suddenly become her number one superhero.

  ・・・

  Matt shoved his phone in his pocket and leaned back in his desk chair, trying to digest what he just learned. He'd called his friend at Sonoma Raceway to find out what he might know about Mario. All Steve knew was Mario lost his sponsors and was no longer on the Indie circuit. A self-centered guy who thought everyone adored him, Mario surrounded himself with flashy cars and gorgeous women. He was known to have a few temper outbursts, but as far as Steve knew, he'd never been violent, and was well-liked in racing circles in spite of his character flaws.

  While it was a relief, it was also unsettling. It meant Mario had time on his hands...and he needed money.

  Might be time to pay a visit to his friend Jonah Baudouin at the sheriff's department.

  No, it wasn't his problem. What he needed to do was convince Vickie to go to the police. But she was stubborn, and he was afraid she hadn't thought through all the possible consequences.

  He wandered into the garage, where the smell of gasoline was strong today. Cade had drained the tank on a 1961 candy apple red Corvette to look for a leak, and the cap was off the barrel where they kept their used fuel.

  He picked up a rag to mop up a spill, his thoughts still on Vickie.

  When he pictured Cassie now, he could actually see a resemblance between the sisters. Different heights, different builds, slightly different hair color, but both had high cheekbones, expressive, chocolate-brown eyes, and personalities that sneaked into your heart and made you want to go all Ninja protector.

  How many times had he told Cassie Bomber wasn't a classic car, and she should take it to Stan over at the service station for repairs, only to have her look at him through her long lashes with lip quivering for a nanosecond before he gave in.

  Stan had told her Bomber was a piece of junk and flatly refused to waste his time on it. Stan was eighty and got away with speaking his mind.

  He'd seen the same look on Vickie's face, and it had made his insides go soft. His two skirt-chasing brothers would hoot with glee if they knew a female had finally caught him.

  He was caught, all right. Hooked and reeled in.

  ・・・

  He left Cade and headed home, stopping at the end of his driveway to get his mail. A copy of the St. Helena Sentinel was in the pile. Tossing it on the kitchen table, he opened a beer and sat down to go through his mail Most of it was junk—he paid his bills online—but there was a letter from his mother he'd read later. She was old-fashioned, still wrote long letters in a flowing script, and was a happy divorcee living in Houston.

  The small living room of his two-bedroom house had a large, overstuffed leather chair, two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a man-sized television built into the wall between them. He'd never gotten around to furnishing the place. Didn't need to. If anyone visited, he pulled over a couple of kitchen chairs.

  Another thing his materialistic brothers would chide him about.

  "Why do you have to be so damned independent?" His father's words still rang in his ears. He'd told him he was leaving the company business to strike out on his own. He wanted to grow grapes and work on
cars. Offices stifled him. Suits and ties made him itchy. He wanted his own space, away from the family, away from the drudgery of endless meetings, away from the responsibility of investing family profits.

  "I'll disinherit you if you walk out the door."

  "Suit yourself." He'd slammed the door when he left and never gone back.

  He didn't know if he was disinherited or not. And frankly he didn't care. His father wasn't anywhere near death's door. The old man was healthy as a horse, and had a new filly on his arm every other week. He didn't know how his mother put up with him for so long before divorcing him.

  But he missed his grandfather. He'd been a rancher most of his life until he found oil in the northeast corner of the property. He retired then, but still lived on the property. When he set up the trust funds for his grandsons, he made sure they never forgot their roots.

  He died a few months before Matt left.

  The St. Helena weekly rag was thin, like most print media these days, and contained more social news than anything else. He perused Stan's ad. Not that he was competition. Stan also refused to work on what he called "muscle cars." Lots of his business came from Stan's referrals.

  He scanned the police blotter and the obituaries. Letters to the editor were next. The editorial was all about the new anti-litter campaign launched by the Daughters of Prohibition. A tiny picture of Lucinda Baudouin's cat, Mr. Puffins, sitting in a cat box, was prominently displayed under a slogan, "Even kitties don't litter."

  Rolling his eyes, thinking “only in St. Helena,” he turned the page. Staring up at him was a two-column picture of Vickie with the headline “Purity Model Spotted in St. Helena.” The photo looked like it was shot in the library.

  Had Vickie seen this?

  He punched in her number, hoping it didn't go to voicemail. It rang several times before she picked up.

  "It's me, Matt. The local newspaper is running a picture of you. Thought you should know."

  She sighed into the phone. "I just came back from the library."

  "Did anyone say anything to you?"

  "No, but I didn't browse. I picked up a couple of books and left." She paused. "Who could have recognized me? I've only been here a few days, and I haven't been out much."

  "I recognized you."

  "Yeah, but it wasn't my face you remembered."

  She was right. It was the heart-shaped tattoo. But the library was full when they were there before, and they had drawn some attention with their hasty departure.

  "It must have been the woman we annoyed in the library."

  "You're right. I forgot about her."

  He hadn't. It was Nora Kincaid.

  "Lock your doors and call me if you want company."

  "I'm staying in tonight. Cassie left enough food for a month. And I still have the éclairs." She hesitated. "I don't want to be stuck in the house, Matt. I refuse to be a victim."

  "I know."

  "I'm going to call Edith tonight and let her know what's going on. Then I'm going to have a quiet night of reading, and tomorrow I'm determined to figure my options."

  "Good girl. If you need help, let me know."

  "You've become a good friend in a very short time, Matt. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I tend to react. You’ve made me sit and think about my past actions and what I need to do going forward."

  "Glad to be of service, darlin’."

  He ended the call and flipped on the TV. He'd catch the news, have some dinner, and have his own quiet night of reading.

  Vickie's dilemma distracted him and he threw down the book. Surely there was a solution.

  He went to bed, but there'd be no sleep tonight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Vickie carried her breakfast into the dining room. The sun streamed in from a cloudless sky, brightening the room and lifting her spirits. After dinner last night, she called her agent and explained the situation. Edith said a lot of reassuring words, but couldn't hide the worry in her voice.

  If Vickie could lie low until the end of the week, they'd both be home free. Mario didn't know about the morals clause in the contract. If he did, he'd be more aggressive, and would be asking for more money.

  Maybe I should pretend to go back to him.

  She wasn't an actress. He'd know she was pretending the minute he tried to kiss her and she threw up all over his gold neck chains.

  She wanted to laugh when she visualized his reaction. Mario was so fastidious, he'd be in the shower for hours if something like that happened.

  She finished her cereal and rinsed the bowl. The dryer beeped, and she took the clothes out to fold. Matt's shirt fell on the floor. She hung it up, wondering if she should call him to come get it.

  As if her thought waves had zipped out over the sky and settled on the person she was thinking about, he called.

  "Hey, I was just thinking about you. I have your shirt."

  "Are you wearing it?"

  "No it’s folded neatly in the laundry basket, right under my...er..."

  "Hold it. Let me get a visual."

  She giggled. It felt good.

  "I'm taking a flock of sheep over to a winery down valley. If you'd like to go with me, I can pick you and the shirt up at the same time.”

  "Do they spit?"

  "Nope. Very well behaved. And hungry."

  She looked back out the window at the sunlight. "I'd like to get out."

  "See you in an hour. And bring those éclairs if you still have them. I'll pack a picnic lunch."

  She'd eaten one of the remaining eclairs, but he could have the other.

  She sang as she got dressed, putting on the soft scarf Matt gave her. He'd turned out to be such a good friend in the space of a few days. She couldn't remember ever opening up to someone so quickly.

  Must be the sexy Texas drawl.

  No, the attraction was his confidence, his we'll-think-of-a-solution-together mind-set. Not that he was bad to look at, with all those muscles and the tawny mane of hair she'd love to run her fingers through.

  Damn, my hormones have been on vacation too long.

  And that mouth...made for kissing. He took her by surprise when she tried to keep him from saying her professional name out loud in the library. He'd leaned in, and she was sure he was going to kiss her before reality intervened.

  Maybe he’d kiss her today. She was sure he’d take it nice and slow.

  She sighed as she dabbed a bit of perfume behind her ears. Habit. Sheep wouldn't care how she smelled, and Matt would be busy with them.

  A big truck pulled up with a trailer full of bleating animals. She peered out the window, noting people across the street standing on their porch. Great. Let's alert the entire neighborhood.

  No. I'm not hiding anymore.

  She answered the door with a big smile, but Matt slanted a glance at her shoes and shook his head. "Don't you have any boots?"

  "In New York. In my closet."

  "Can you fit into any of Cassie's?"

  "They're pretty ugly."

  "The uglier the better for this job."

  She shrugged and went back to Cassie's bedroom, hollering over her shoulder. "Éclair is on the kitchen table in a plastic bag. I grabbed a couple of waters, too."

  The old scuffed boots were a bit big, but with another pair of socks they'd be fine. Military surplus with steel toes. Great with designer jeans.

  "Ready."

  He looked down at her boots and his eyes rose slowly, like he was memorizing every dip, every curve of her body. Nodding in approval, he opened the door with a mock bow. "After you."

  ・・・

  The truck lurched and grumbled as they headed east, crossing a stone bridge, and turning south at the Silverado Trail. Hills were bright with new grass, and fruit trees already sported pink and white flowers.

  "Are the hills always this green?"

  "This year they are. We've had double the usual rainfall." Matt shifted and turned left onto a paved driveway. Wrought iron gates s
tood open, and a stone building resembling a French chateau hovered in the distance.

  At a fork in the driveway, they turned down the road marked Service Entrance, and continued past steel tanks and a warehouse, to the edge of the vineyard. A gently sloping hillside lay beyond. Matt backed the truck to the edge of the slope, where another gate stood open.

  The truck stopped and he hopped out, coming around to open her door. "This is the flock’s dining area, and the grass out there is the plat du jour."

  He let down the back of the truck and the sheep filed out. Most scampered into the field, but one stopped and refused to move.

  "No you don't." He gently smacked it on the rump, and it headed off with the others.

  Hanging around a veterinary clinic growing up, Vickie had seen lots of cats and dogs. But her parents didn't handle farm animals, so this was new.

  "How long do you leave them here?"

  "A day. I'll come back at dusk and load them up. I don't leave them anywhere overnight because of coyotes. Eight sheep will eat the grass down to a nub on this slope in a short period of time. It's the most environmentally friendly weed control on earth."

  He closed the gate and they went back to the truck. Walking over to the winery, they went into the dark interior of the tasting room. It was a weekday and the winery was remote, so only a few tasters were present.

  "Let's pick a wine for lunch."

  "An entire bottle?"

  "They have half bottles here. I'll let you pick out one."

  She sipped the offerings carefully, choosing a light, fruity white wine. Ordering a half bottle, they took it and glasses provided by the winery out to the farthest picnic table, overlooking the grazing sheep.

  Matt spread a checkered cloth on the table, and set out some paper napkins and an array of cheeses, olives, and long, thin baguettes. Tearing off a piece of French bread, he lathered on soft brie and took a bite.

  His eyes closed as he swallowed. "Wow, that's good."

  "How long have you had the sheep?"

  "About two years. Seemed like a good investment, plus sheep are a lot easier to take care of than cattle."

  "You know about cattle?" She picked up an olive and popped it into her mouth.