Dynasties: The Ashtons. Maureen Child

      Lots of exposed wood, subdued lighting, great views…nice room, yes, but it suffered from split personality. It couldn’t make up its mind whether it was rustic or modern. “What did you have in mind for the remodel?”

      “Nothing’s decided yet, but we want to unify the look, tie it to the theme of the promotional campaign.” The tense set to Mercedes’ shoulder didn’t ease. “The offices are upstairs. Eli’s out in the vineyard, so I’ll take you to Cole.” She headed for a door at the back of the room at a good clip.

      Dixie didn’t move.

      “Dixie?” Mercedes paused with the door open, looking over her shoulder with a frown. “Are you coming?”

      “Not until you tell me what has you wound tighter than a cheap watch. And don’t pull that princess face on me,” she warned. “It won’t work.”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “You’ve turned polite,” Dixie observed. “Always a bad sign. What is it? Is Cole upset that you hired me for the illustrations?” The flash of guilt on Mercedes’ face made her exclaim, “He does know, right? Mercedes?”

      “Not…exactly.”

      Dixie closed her eyes and put a hand on her stomach. Yep, things were churning around nicely in there. “Am I going to be fired before I start?”

      “He can’t do that,” Mercedes assured her. “We’ve got a contract, and he and Eli gave me full authority to hire you. That is, they didn’t know it was you, but I told them all the places your work has appeared, and they were eager to sign you on.”

      “And here I was afraid you’d grown risk averse,” Dixie muttered, opening her eyes. “What were you thinking?”

      “That Louret Winery needs you for our new ad campaign. You’re the best.”

      “I won’t argue with that,” Dixie said, not being one to underestimate her talent. “But it doesn’t explain your vow of silence.”

      “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your two big brothers for bosses?” Mercedes demanded. “I did not want to waste time arguing with Cole. Come on, Dixie. I know this is a little awkward, but it’s not like you’re really shook. You?” She grinned. “A tornado wouldn’t rattle you.”

      Shook, no. Pit-of-the-stomach scared…yeah, that was about right. “Cole’s face ought to be an interesting sight when I walk in.”

      Mercedes laughed, relieved. “I’m looking forward to it. And then I’m ducking.”

      “Thanks. You’ve made me feel so much better.”

      Behind the tasting room was a short hall with doors leading into the winery proper and stairs to the office area. Not luxurious, Dixie thought as she started up the stairs after Mercedes, but several notches above utilitarian. It looked as if the winery was prospering.

      Eleven years was a long time. What was she afraid of, anyway?

      That he hated her.

      She put a hand on her stomach again. It had been a long time, yes, but Cole was not a tepid man. He ran hot or cold without lingering much in the temperate zone…though most people didn’t see that, fooled by the glossy surface.

      Cole did have shine, she admitted. But so does a new calculator.

      At least he used to. Maybe he’d gotten fat. Mercedes hadn’t mentioned it, but Dixie hadn’t exactly encouraged her to talk about her brother. “Hey, Merry,” she said as she reached the top of the stairs, “has Cole been putting weight on?”

      Mercedes gave her a puzzled look. “I don’t think so. Why?”

      “Ah, well. Can’t win them all.” However this turned out, she could take comfort in one thing. Cole wouldn’t have forgotten her. “Here,” she said, digging into her pocket. “After you cut and run, you can go get Hulk out of the suvvy and put him in my room.”

      Mercedes accepted the keys. “Um…suvvy?”

      “SUV sounds ugly. Suvvy sounds cute.”

      “Suvvy. Right.” Mercedes shook her head, smiling—and impulsively reached out and hugged Dixie with one arm. “I’m so glad you moved back. Sorry for the reason, of course, but glad to have you close again.”

      “Me, too,” Dixie said quietly. “On both counts. Well.” She ran a hand through her hair, straightened her shoulders, and said, “How does that poem go? ‘Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!…Into the Valley of Death…’ I can’t remember the rest.”

      Mercedes grinned. “Something about ‘cannons to the left of them, cannons to the right.’ I’m pretty sure Cole doesn’t have any cannons in his office.” She turned and rapped smartly on the door on her right.

      “I notice you’re not disputing the Valley of Death part.”

      Mercedes ignored that and opened the door. “Cole, our artist is here. Shannon’s sick, so I’ve got to man the tasting room in twenty minutes. I thought you might show her around.”

      “I’d be happy to,” said a smooth, almost forgotten baritone. “As soon as I…” His voice trailed away as Dixie stepped in behind Mercedes.

      He hasn’t changed. That was her first thought—and it was quite wrong.

      Cole was still lean as a whip with mink-brown hair cut short in an effort to tame the curl. He had neat, small ears set flat to the head, a strong nose and straight slashes of eyebrows. But the face that had been almost too good-looking eleven years ago had acquired character lines that rubbed off a bit of the gloss.

      Then there was the way his mouth was hanging open. That was definitely different. She liked it.

      Dixie smiled slowly, hardly noticing when the door closed behind Mercedes. “Hello, Cole.”

      Cole’s face smoothed into a professional smile. “Welcome to The Vines. As I was saying, I’d be glad to show you around…as soon as I’ve killed my little sister.”

      Dixie burst out laughing. “And here I’d been thinking you’d be all cold and businesslike.”

      “And I know how you feel about businesslike. I’ll try to avoid it.” He gave her a thorough, up-and-down appraisal that stopped an inch short of insult. “You’ve always tended to run late, but eleven years is excessive, even for you.”

      She shook her head. “You aren’t going to fluster me that way.”

      “I can try.”

      Time to switch topics, she decided, and glanced around the office, which was ruthlessly neat everywhere except for the big, dark-wood desk. A spotted canine head poked around the corner of that desk, brown eyes looking at her hopefully. “Oh!” She bent, smiling. “Who’s this?”

      “Tilly. She won’t let you pet her.”

      “No?” Challenged, she held out her hand for the dog to sniff—and the animal cringed back out of sight behind the desk. “She is timid, isn’t she?”

      “That, yes. Also neurotic and not too bright,” he said, reaching down to fondle the animal Dixie couldn’t see. “Tilly’s scared of storms, other dogs, birds, new people, loud noises—you name it, she’s afraid of it.”

      Dixie moved around to the side of the desk so she could see the dog. “She’s some kind of Dalmatian mix?”

      “That and greyhound, the vet thinks, with maybe some plain old mutt mixed in. I found her on the side of the highway about a year ago.”

      “How in the world did you get her to go with you if she’s scared of everyone?”

      He glanced down at Tilly, his smile amused—and slightly baffled. “She seemed to think