After half an hour, brief intermission was called. Vickie checked the audience again, but no Mario, and no Matt. A trickle of unease dusted down her spine. Surely Matt hadn't done anything to Mario. She'd begged him to let her handle it.
The cat music started, and she went to the tiny dressing room to change into her ball gown. Mr. Puffins was already adorned in his red velvet cape, but his crown dangled from Lucinda's fingers.
The dress was strapless, with an A-line skirt. Her fake tiara, nestled in a crown of braids, glittered in the mirror. Noticing she looked pale, she redid her lipstick. The audience had come to see pet attire, not to see her, but she didn't want to disappoint.
Two cats, held tightly in their owner's arms, had been taken out to the end of the runway. Hissing and spitting could be heard even backstage. The audience howled. She rolled her eyes and slanted a glance at Mr. Puffins. No reaction.
Good boy.
The next model, a black Tom in a tiny yellow slicker, squirmed as he and his owner headed toward center stage. "Settle down,” the owner whispered to her cat. “Here we go."
As soon as they stepped out on the runway, the cat leaped out of its owner’s arms and scurried frantically back toward the curtains. The titters in the audience turned into a roar as the cat took a wrong turn into the dog area to an explosion of barking.
Shay went out and calmed the audience. "Stage fright. It happens."
It was quieter now, with only an occasional "woof." Fortunately, the tom had been cornered and disrobed, and was safely back in his cage, his owner reaching through the door to pet and calm him.
The tiny outfit was wrong for him. Tori knew cat clothing was not popular, but it could be designed if you understood the anatomy of a cat. Even then, personality was key. Cats couldn't tolerate anything that felt like confinement.
Dogs, on the other hand, were more accepting of fashions. Anything cuddly or soft and close-fitting gave them the feeling of security. She'd lived around cats and dogs most of her life, and had pretty good ideas about what they'd put up with.
Maybe she'd go into the pet clothing business. Most of the pet outfits for the show came from a supplier the Paws and Claws Day Spa used, but they weren't local. She was a fair hand at sewing, and had designed clothes for people. Why not set up a custom pet boutique?
If she wasn't going to be a model, she had to do something. At least she was thinking.
Two more cats, and then the grand finale.
Vickie ran her palms down the velvet skirt, adjusted the straps on her silver shoes, and took the pearl leash from Lucinda.
"I've never seen a calmer cat," said Vickie. "Did you give him a tranquilizer?"
"Heavens, no. He's always been like this. You see, he thinks he owns the world."
Vickie nodded. "Oh, that’s right. Dogs have owners, cats have staff."
"You've got it. Exactly his attitude."
The music stopped, and Shay's voice thanked everyone for coming. "And now for our showstopper, followed by our grand finale dance routine."
A recording of Pomp and Circumstance filled the chamber as Vickie and Mr. Puffins strolled down the stage. As if on cue, the cat raised his fluffy tail as he pranced ahead, his crown slightly askew. Victoria frowned as the crown slipped further to the side. When they paused, she leaned down to pull it back up and her breath caught. Matt was standing inside the door—with Mario.
Her knees wobbled and she momentarily lost her balance. Mr. Puffins gave her the evil cat eye, and she caught herself, regained her composure, and stood up. Nora Kincaid's camera was rolling, so she smiled while she and Mr. Puffins turned and sauntered back. Reaching the main stage, she bowed, scooped up the cat, and hurried back between the curtains.
"What happened out there?" Lucinda took the cat from her, removed the crown, but left the faux ermine-lined cape.
"Crown slipped. I had to pull it back up between his ears."
"I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you bend down."
"It didn't faze him a bit. He's a terrific cat, and you're lucky to have him."
She scratched Mr. Puffins under the chin, then hurried into the dressing room, putting on her skinny jeans and a designer blouse. Although the silver shoes added three inches to her height, she left them on. Striding toward the exit door, she stopped to sign a few autographs, then made her way to the rear of the building. She planned to go straight to the hotel, make the exchange, then go home, eat a bowl of Fruit Loops, and take a long soak in the tub, and maybe chug a bottle of Cassie and Nick's wine.
Matt and Mario were waiting for her—together. Mario laughed, like Matt had just told him a joke. Matt was unsmiling and quiet. He looked lethal.
What the hell was going on?
Where did he meet Mario, and why were they together?
They hadn't seen her, so she stopped, thinking she might go back inside and head out another way.
"Hey, Vickie. Over here," Matt called out to her, and she froze. Too late now to backtrack. Besides, she was curious.
Mario looked contrite. He had something in his hand.
Matt put his arm around her and nodded toward her ex. "Mario here has something to say to you."
"I've been an ass. I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?" He gazed into her eyes, his trademark smoldering look doing nothing but irritate her. "Here." He thrust an envelope into her hand.
It was the same size as the one before, only this time it had something more substantial inside. She opened the flap. Negatives.
The cashier's check was still in her purse. Was she supposed to hand it over?
Matt hugged her. "Mario is not going to bother you anymore. Are you, Mario?”
"No. I'm leaving town. Today."
Anger flared. "How do I know this is the end? How do I know you haven't digitized these pictures, and I'll see them in a tabloid or in the Enquirer? You're a fucking blackmailer, Mario. A loser. And no, I don't forgive you."
Matt looked at Mario. "Why don't you go back to the hotel now. I think we're done. She hasn't turned you in, but your luck might change any minute now.
He hurried away, and she stomped her foot. "What just happened? And why didn't I know about it? What gave you the right to interfere? I was going to handle it."
Steel entered his voice. "Yeah, you handled it, all right. You were going to pay him again, and when you ran out of money, you'd be ogled like a stripper on the internet. You’re not thinking, Vickie.
“You're a role model for thousands of young girls. You might live down the damage to your reputation professionally, but what about your self-esteem? Today you became part of St. Helena. How many autographs did you sign? How many were young girls who want to be beautiful and accomplished like you? I guarantee Mario isn't going to bother you anymore. But it's time for you to start using that brain of yours and think about someone other than yourself. Until then, I don't want anything to do with you."
Matt stomped off, jumped into his car, and roared out of the parking lot. All Vickie could do was watch him speed down the street.
Tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks, but she held in her heartache. People were streaming out of the building, and soon she'd be surrounded. She squared her shoulders, took off her shoes, and walked home.
・・・
The check was still in her purse, and the hateful envelope in her hands. When she reached Cassie's, she flung open the door and marched straight to the fireplace. Lighting a match, she watched the edge of the envelope curl and blacken.
Exactly like my relationship with Matt. A bright flame, gone in an instant, leaving a pile of ashes.
She lay on the couch until the shadows faded into darkness. Matt had started to mean something to her. He was strong and caring. She loved watching him with his sheep, remembering how he pulled the lamb to safety. His smile was quick and broad, and his drawl made you want to curl up in his lap. He'd been there for her, made her laugh, talked books, and let her peek inside his dreams.
And his kiss made
her ache for more.
He was right.
She'd been brainless and selfish, willing to pay Mario one last time, then suffer the consequences of having those blasted pictures on the internet—remorseful on behalf of of her parents, but having no idea what else she could do. And she hadn't considered the effect on her fans, most of whom were teens.
He won't bother you again.
What had Matt meant by that?
She jumped off the couch. She needed to see Matt. To thank him with all her heart, and tell him she’d been wrong, and rude, and ungrateful. She was curious, too, but a more compelling reason drove her. She cared about Matt, maybe even loved him. Their relationship had just started to bud. It needed a chance, one she wouldn't have if she didn't make this right.
She pulled on a sweatshirt to ward off the chill, picked up the shirt she'd forgotten to return, and headed over to the shop. He stayed open until six.
Please let him still be there.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Streetlights were on, although it wasn't quite dark. The garage was open, but only Cade remained. The MG was gone.
"Matt's gone for the day?"
"He is."
Cade slammed down the hood of a car she didn't recognize. "Can I help you with something?"
She shook her head. It was fine to be without a car in St. Helena. It was a compact community, with most everything within walking distance. But tonight she needed transportation. She needed to get to Matt.
"Does Uber or Lyft come this far up valley? I took an airport limo when I came here."
He eyed her. "You need to go somewhere? I'm heading home. I can drop you off."
"Would you?" She sounded eager to her own ears. "I need to get to Matt's. I know it's probably out of your way, but I have to return his shirt."
He looked skeptical, a sly smile on his face. "That right? I guess I can take you."
"Thanks, Cade. I'm sure Matt can bring me home."
He grinned and went to the sink to clean up.
They got into Cade’s 1957 Chevy pickup and headed north toward Calistoga. Turning off onto a long gravel driveway, he stopped at an old one-story Victorian-era cottage with a barn and nearby well house.
"This is it."
He let her out and drove off.
She stood at the gate in awe of the symphony of sounds around her. Wind whispered through a stand of nearby oaks, and ruffled the fronds of a lone palm tree in front of the house. An owl hooted from somewhere over her shoulder, and she thought she heard coyotes yipping in the distance.
In the gloaming, the trellised vines on the hillside were bathed in fading light, like a painting in a dimly lit museum. Beyond were corrals. A faint bleating caressed her ears, the sound coming from the barn next to the house.
She'd been nearby when she helped Cassie survey a neighboring property, but they'd come up a different way, and she hadn't seen these buildings.
She took a deep breath.
She could sketch her designs here in this peaceful place, feeling the breeze on her face, and hearing an occasional bird as it flew into the branches.
The house was dark, but a light was on in the barn. She followed the fence to the wide double doors and peered through the narrow opening. The sheep were here, milling around. Matt knelt next to a ram.
She slid it open and went in. "Matt."
He looked up, but didn't seem annoyed. Maybe he'd cooled off.
"How'd you get here, Vickie?”
"Cade dropped me off."
He scooped his fingers into a jar of salve and applied it to the ram. It made a guttural noise and moved away.
"You were good with the lamb in the field. See if you can distract this guy while I put salve on him. He cut himself somehow, probably on the fence. I'll have to find it tomorrow."
She bent down and took the Ram's face in her hands. He shook his head and bleated. "Hey fella, you sure are a handsome devil. Let's put some nasty stuff over your wound so flies aren't attracted to it." She held him as best she could while Matt finished and got up, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Want a glass of wine? I have a bottle of chardonnay made from my grapes."
"Thank you, yes." She hadn't eaten since breakfast and was starved. Maybe he had a few nibbles to go with it.
The kitchen was tiny, with wooden counters and cupboards with glass doors. A red checkered tablecloth covered a trestle table with a bench seats. She recognized the tablecloth from their picnic.
He brought out a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator and opened it. Pouring a glass for her and one for himself, he took out a box of assorted crackers from the cupboard and set it on the table.
"Why are you here, Vickie?" His voice was deep and calm, his brow furrowed, no smile on his face.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping to sound rational. "I need to know what you did."
He gave her a sideways smile, but not in a good way. "Curious, huh?"
"I guess so." She sipped her wine. It was good. A bit of vanilla on the nose, and a light, fruity aftertaste.
He sat next to her, not touching.
"I made Mario an offer he couldn't refuse."
"And what was that?"
"I loaned him the MG."
"You what?"
She knew he'd done something, but this would never have occurred to her, not in a million years. The MG was his baby, his showpiece, his look-what-I-can-do advertisement. Nobody drove it but him. He'd made that clear the first time he allowed her to ride in it.
"You were right. He owes money everywhere. But he's joined a vintage car racing circuit, and has a sponsor, as long as he can get a car with a real chance to win. He was going to use your money as a down payment on an old Fiat.
"I thought he'd faint when he saw the MG. He slobbered all over it the day he was out showing your picture around. Cade said he jumped in and got behind the wheel before I came out of my office.
"So I offered him a deal. The negatives for a chance to drive the car in his vintage car races. If even one digitized picture shows up anywhere, the car gets yanked and we—you and I—go to the police."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Knowing Mario and his love of racing cars, it probably been the only thing that could have worked.
Matt sipped his wine, watching her face. She wasn't sure what he might be seeing, because she was in shock. He'd given up his beloved car.
For her.
"Matt. I don't know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems so lame, so...paltry. For you to sacrifice your pride and joy..."
The tears burning her eyes finally slid down her cheeks, and he wiped them away with his finger. "You don't have to say anything. The guy is bad, but he isn’t evil. He was scared. He was sure you'd press charges and he'd go to jail. And he obviously didn't know about the clause in your Purity contract. You paid once, and he thought he'd try again. I guess he figured if you hadn't turned him in by now, you wouldn't. He even claimed he was going to pay you back."
She took a few deep breaths. "Where is he now?"
"On his way to Fontana. There's a sports car show and race there later this month. I don't think you'll be bothered by him again."
He looked directly into her eyes and she held her breath.
"I can take you home now."
She held his gaze, her lip trembling. She bit down hard. "Why, Matt? Why did you do this?"
He got up from the table and held his hand out to her, drawing her up in front of him. "Because you're important to me." He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. Her knees weakened, and she was glad his hands were on her waist. "I want us to have time to get to know each other. I think I'm in love, darlin', but since I've never had this feeling before, I need to wear it awhile...to be sure."
The next kiss was powerful, demanding, overwhelming. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her tight against him, and the room spun around her when he deepened the kiss and his tongue found hers.
Maybe it was lust, but she didn'
t think so. She wanted to stay right here in this little house, help with the animals, learn about tending a vineyard, and put someone else's needs before her own.
She wanted to be with Matt.
She leaned back just enough to look into his eyes. "I'm falling for you, too. But you're right. We need time. And after tomorrow, I have all the time in the world."
"You're going to stay in St. Helena?"
"Yes. I still have to go back to New York and close the apartment. It was month to month. Not a problem. And I have enough money saved—now Mario isn't taking it—to explore some options here." She paused. "I still can't wrap my mind around what you did for me. I am so grateful, but it was over the top. You're a mechanic and a farmer. You can't afford to give away a valuable car."
He pulled her against him again. "I've got a few secrets of my own I haven't shared yet. Good ones. But let's not talk right now. Let's start with the getting to know you part."
She tingled with anticipation as he led her to the bedroom. There were no curtains on the window, and moonlight streamed in. He placed her gently on the bed and took off his clothes, then hers, as careful with her as he was with the lambs.
Their bodies bathed in moonlight, they began their journey together, a journey through life she knew had just begun.
He loved her, flaws and all.
And she'd never have to be a model of perfection ever again.
<<<<>>>>
About the Author
Pamela Gibson grew up in a small historic town in Southern California a few miles from the Pacific Ocean. She's been a journalist, an appointed city official, and a mom and wrote several history books before turning to her favorite genre . . . romance. Today she lives in Northern California’s wine country when not on her boat, cruising the waterways of the U.S. and Canada. She loves the feel of soft sand under her bare feet, the smell of a newly opened wine, dark chocolate and people who love books. See her other books at her Amazon Author page, https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Gibson/e/B00MKVB4XE. Sign up for her newsletter at www.pamelagibsonwrites.com , like her Facebook page at Author Pamela Gibson, or follow her on Twitter @pamgibsonwrites.
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