Wild Abandon by Jeannine Colette Page A

a woman will reject him if she is not attracted to his soul.” I lean in slightly and lower my voice for dramatic effect. “And, in case you were wondering, I have many, many hidden assets, and my looks are only a percent of what I have to offer.”
    “Here’s your check.” Laurie is back and places the bill on the table, directly under Gavin’s nose.
    I smile at that move as I walk to the farthest end of the bar, around the corner from where my table was. There is a cordless phone sitting on the edge, so I grab it and stand, pretending to be on a call, as I watch Gavin rise, leave money on the table, and stalk out of the bar.
    When he is gone, I slam the phone back in its nearby holder and walk over to the bartender, who is pouring a drink for a customer.
    I point my finger at him. “I did not need to be saved!”
    He doesn’t take his eyes off the pour. “I can see that.”
    “What were you thinking?” My foot stomps in a childlike manner.
    He places the drink in front of the patron and then walks over to where I am standing. The bar is between us, and while I am standing here, hand on my hip and my stiletto tapping, he is poised, looking at me, practically eye for eye—aside from the fact that my chin is raised and his is lowered.
    “I was thinking that guy was an idiot who didn’t understand the value of a woman.”
    “And you do?”
    He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stares at me with this blank expression.
    Folding my arms over my chest, I add, “It was also incredibly cheesy. I can’t believe he fell for it.”
    He incredulously looks at me. “Really? You’re surprised that buffoon fell for a stupid line like, Doctor, you have a call ? I’m surprised you were even out with him. You came to Napa to find love, and he’s the guy you go for?”
    Whatever exciting physical connection I thought I shared with him the last time I saw him has been shattered. I still want to touch him, but this time, it’s to punch him in his perfect nose. And, instead of some witty comeback or jab I can throw at him, I have nothing.
    My words are reduced to that of a fourteen-year-old girl. “Just don’t do that again. I can hold my own.”
    “I know. You’re from New York.”
    His mouth tilts up in a way that I would have missed if I wasn’t staring at him hard. I clench mine tight, not to return it.
    “Yes, I am. And I can take care of myself.”
    He slightly nods his head.
    “And I can order my own drinks.”
    “Okay.”
    “Okay.”
    His forehead crinkles. “Is that all?”
    Oh, damn him. “Yes, that’s all. Good night.” I turn on my heel and start to leave.
    “Good night, Doctor.”
    And, for some stupid reason, I smile at that comment.
    But he doesn’t see it.
    Thank God.

chapter FOUR
    When someone tells you to arrive at nine a.m., you assume they’ll be there to greet you. Not Ed Martin. The old man is nowhere to be seen, so I push open the steel back door and step onto the veranda. The paint on the pergola above is warped from sun and rain, yet the structure still looks sturdy. Empty pillars where plants once lived are begging for something to thrive in them, and an old teak table that seats about twelve needs a polish.
    I am about to walk over to the garage when I spot him in the rose garden. Stepping off the stone steps, I make my way toward him. He is seated on a small stool in between two rows of rose bushes. His khaki pants are hiked up at the ankles, revealing argyle socks. Today, he has on a short-sleeved bowling shirt and a brown stockman’s hat. And, if I’m not mistaken, he’s singing a song from “Hello, Dolly!” as he prunes the plant in front of him.
    I take a moment to stop and smell the roses. I’ve heard the expression, but I’ve never gotten it until now. I’ve never stood in a field of them before. The smell is fruity with hints of apricots, pears, and apples. The deep purple-red burgundy color reminds me of a fine wine, something heady and rich. The blooms are large