Never Too Late
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for T. R. McClure and…
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Never Too Late
by
T. R. McClure
The Flower Basket Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Never Too Late
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by T. R. McClure
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-909-4
The Flower Basket Series
Published in the United States of America
Praise for T. R. McClure and…
FLYING HOME:
“Colleen is so strong and so independent that it’s no wonder she would still be single. I bet she's intimidated more than one man! Add in the fact that she’s a highly ranked ex-military and you understand the issue. But Colleen didn’t count on meeting Matt, who will make her rethink everything she thought she knew. Plus Matt is hot! Even this story couldn’t hide the handsome book nerd who makes Colleen’s pulse race. Throw in some funny family members from both Colleen and Matt’s family and you’ve got a great read.”
~Long and Short Reviews (4 Stars)
Dedication
To my twin daughters, who inspire me every day
Chapter One
The gelding’s hooves pounded the hard ground in a rhythmic cadence. Man and horse followed the familiar dirt trail up through the pasture and into the sparse woods where the late afternoon sunlight shafted through the trees. Ahead, a huge oak, victim of a recent windstorm, lay across the path, the dirt-encrusted root ball reaching for the sky.
As the request formed in the man’s mind, the animal’s muscles tensed beneath him in preparation for the jump. In one fluid motion, he tilted his upper body forward, lifted his rump off the saddle…and waited for the magic moment of flight. With a final thrust, the horse was airborne.
Time stood still, and sounds became muffled. Alex Marino caught a whiff of fresh soil as they topped the massive trunk. A gust of cool air brushed his cheek and then, with a touch of the front hooves, the pair returned to earth. As Alex eased onto the saddle, he gave a slight tap of fingers on the reins to settle the horse into a smooth canter. Remaining on the trail while leaving the woods, they circled down the hill and into a grassy pasture.
As if determined to make one last showing, dazzling beams of sunlight pierced blue sky sandwiched between a distant horizon of the coastal mountains and a bruised-looking cloud cover. Drops from an earlier rain glistened on wires supporting rows of bare grapevines stretching into the distance.
When they reached the dirt road running between the neat rows of dormant vines, Alex asked the gelding first for a sedate trot and finally a walk. He leaned forward and, with the timeless rider-to-horse thank you, rubbed the neck of his eighteen-year-old mount, the horse that had taken him to the endurance championships in Abu Dhabi as a twenty-one year old.
Sam was as reliable a mount as ever and Alex relished their time together, although neither did endurance runs anymore. His heart swelled with pride as he surveyed the acres of grape vines, bare in the thin January sunshine of central California. Except for two tours of duty overseas while in the service, he had worked the vineyard ever since he was big enough to pull off a grape.
Making a mental note to finish pruning the last two rows in this section, he dropped his feet out of the stirrups and let his legs dangle. The knee injury from a long-ago motorcycle accident only acted up when he pushed it, like he did today. No matter. The exhilaration of the run through the woods was worth any pain. Sailing worked, sometimes a motorcycle ride into the hills, and once a paragliding run off a mountain in the Alps gave him the adrenalin rush he craved, but nothing matched the thrill of riding a horse as magnificent and responsive as Royal Image, known around the barn simply as Sam.
Leaving the rows of arbors behind, he approached his childhood home. The Victorian-style white farmhouse glistened in the slanting light of the late afternoon sun. Surrounded by massive oak trees and flowering shrubs, his home never failed to please him. Carried on the slight breeze, the scent of oranges from the citrus trees in the side garden elicited a stomach growl, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Sam had automatically turned toward the stables when Alex caught sight of an unfamiliar car approaching the house.
The small sedan crawled down the lane lined with rose bushes and slowed for a moment before driving into the turn around and coming to a stop behind a florist van parked at the base of the front porch steps. The driver’s side door swung open and a woman emerged, pulling the hood of her coat over her head. She looked around before going to the trunk and popping it open.
Straining for a better look at the woman, Alex fought down a throb of despair as his thoughts turned to Friday night’s adventure. He had not wanted to go. His brother had asked him. His brother’s wife had cajoled him. And his mother, with her soulful Italian brown eyes ever watchful for conflicts among her three sons, had implored him.
So he went…to sister-in-law Wendy’s favorite watering hole, The Wild Pony, an Irish pub in Almendra. Alex realized too late he should have stayed home and done something constructive like cleaning out Sam’s barn stall, or fixing the irrigation lines to the vineyard. Instead, while nursing a dark beer and trying to mind his own business, he had been descended upon by a woman whose diminutive size contrasted markedly with her determination to talk Alex’s ear off.
The waitress wanted to be a painter, she said, and invited him home to see her paintings. He’d thought only guys used that line. She continued until midnight when he convinced her he had to go home to take care of his dog. She would have accompanied him if she hadn’t needed to visit the ladies room, allowing him time to make his escape. Unfortunately, she’d managed to swipe his phone number and had called three times on Saturday and twice today.
Hoping against hope the visitor wasn’t that woman, Alex turned Sam toward the vehicle. If the visitor did turn out to be the dynamo of the black spiked hair with the wide fuchsia streak, he would head her off before she entered the house. The family was disrupted enough since youngest brother Tony’s arrival with a new wife and equally new baby.
Sam snorted softly in protest at the unexpected change of direction but continued on, his hooves quiet on the hard-packed ground. As they approached the car, the shrill whinny of Sam’s barn mate, a sturdy pony named Pumpkin, reached their ears. The two had traveled the world together and although Sam could accept the occasional separation, Pumpkin was highly incensed. Pointing his muzzle at the sky, Sam issued a hearty whinny in reply.
A
lex was accustomed to the neighing back and forth of the horses. If he had realized the woman leaning deep in the confines of the car’s trunk had no idea a horse stood within fifty miles, he would have asked Sam to keep down the noise.
At the instant of Sam’s throaty response, just feet from the car, the woman’s head jerked up and hit the trunk lid with a resounding thump. When she turned and caught sight of the huge bay, her eyes, barely visible behind a pair of black-framed glasses, widened and with a choked-off scream, she toppled into the deep confines of the narrow trunk. As her head hit the edge of the car, another thump resounded.
Alex cringed and without thinking rubbed his own head in sympathy. “Ma’am, are you okay?” A crazy urge to laugh at the situation started somewhere deep inside, especially when he saw the woman was a blonde rather than his black-haired companion of Friday night. Relief coursed through him as he fought to disguise the crazy laugh as a friendly smile.
“Ach Du lieber,” the woman muttered, rubbing her head as she lay sprawled across a paisley suitcase.
“Ma’am, do you speak English?” Concern replaced Alex’s urge to laugh. Maybe she had a concussion. She was speaking gibberish.
“Of course, I speak English.” She struggled to pull herself upright. “I’m in California, why wouldn’t I speak English? Just because you Americans…”
Resting his hands on his thighs, Alex studied the irritated young woman who, despite strenuous efforts, was having no luck escaping the deep confines of the trunk. His smile threatened to explode into a full-fledged grin and he fought to contain it, pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate his enjoyment of her predicament.
He absolutely couldn’t help it. Arms and legs flailing, she looked like an upside-down ladybug…albeit a cute bug. A flowing red-and-white polka dot skirt encased her legs and the long red scarf wrapped around her neck had snagged on a protrusion in the trunk. Both hands tugged at the silky material encasing her neck. Curly tendrils of blond hair, freed from the confines of the bun at her nape, lay across a pale face. Black plastic-framed glasses slipped partway down her nose as she freed one leg, flipped it in the air, and lost a black leather shoe, which flew straight for Sam’s nose.
The animal’s superior training allowed him only a dignified excuse me snort. His hooves remained firmly planted.
Alex pulled his gaze from the bare foot and shapely leg and returned it to the woman’s face. Two bright spots of red on her cheekbones contrasted sharply with the pale skin. The struggling ceased and she glared upward, bright blue eyes flashing a warning.
Ignoring the danger, he grinned, leaned down from his mount, and offered his hand.
****
Katerina Bauer sprawled in the trunk of her rental car, her head on a bulky carryon bag, feet hanging over the edge of the trunk, and heart pounding like a bass drum. When she spun at the sudden, shrill whinny, the sun, just touching the horizon, blinded her. All she saw was a huge, hulking, dark shape which was enough to send her, heart in her throat, tumbling into the trunk of the car.
Only now, when the sun dropped enough she could see, and she bothered to translate, did she realize the person on top of the creature, a horse, had asked if she spoke English. In the few minutes she lay struggling in the trunk, the sun dropped lower, the horse sidestepped, and she found herself looking at a tall, black riding boot attached to a muscular thigh encased in tan riding breeches, an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome sight. She propped an elbow on the suitcase to lift herself up but her elbow slid between two pieces of luggage. Heart pounding from effort, she struggled for breath as the red silk scarf tightened around her neck. “Just a minute,” she wheezed as she pulled at the scarf with her fingers.
“Ma’am, allow me to give you a hand.”
A gloved hand appeared by her knee—her bare knee, she realized with a start as she struggled to simultaneously rearrange her long skirt while loosening the scarf. Two gloved fingers pinched the fabric at the hem of her skirt and pulled it over her knee. With a ripping sound, the scarf tore loose and she gasped a welcome breath of air into her oxygen-starved lungs.
The gloved hand appeared again as the man leaned lower.
Eying the leather glove, she briefly considered her options. Despite her efforts, she remained firmly entrenched in the trunk. Either she remained flat on her back, staring at the black boot and muscular thigh, or she could investigate the rest of her rescuer. She reached out her hand, glanced up, and could only stare into a pair of eyes as dark as the night sky. On its own accord her mouth dropped open.
The man’s dark, curly hair brushed the collar of a puffy brown vest overtop a long-sleeved, black turtleneck shirt. His deeply tanned face and flashing dark eyes could have been gazing from the pages of a magazine, so handsome did he appear.
Had she stumbled into the production of a commercial? Perhaps one of those manly cologne commercials filmed in California? Hollywood, movie stars, handsome men… She looked around for a camera as much to convince herself she hadn’t landed in the middle of a commercial as to tear her gaze away from the hypnotic gleaming black eyes.
The steps where she had parked led up to a double oak door with leaded beveled glass sidelights. The porch, stretching the length of the house and complete with a swing and two rockers, sat empty. No cameraman. Her head swiveled to the lane down which she had approached the house. Seeing no one, and fully aware she was completely and indisputably stuck, she tentatively grasped the butter-soft glove. With the ease that only strong men possess, he pulled her up onto the edge of the trunk. The gloved hand was warm; the smile equally so.
“None the worse for wear, I hope.”
The voice had a gravelly pitch, as if he were getting over a bad cold…or just gotten out of bed. Katerina shivered at the unbidden thought and reluctantly withdrew her hand, convinced the crazy thoughts popping into her brain were a sure indication she was losing her mind. “Thank—” her voice croaked and she massaged her throat, loosening the scarf even more, “—you. Your horse startled me and I was a bit…clumsy.” As her heart rate slowed, she took a deep breath. Oxygen deprivation, that’s why she wasn’t thinking straight. She inhaled again.
“Not your fault. We should have given you fair warning.” Resting gloved hands on his thighs, the man studied her for a moment.
Pulling her gaze from the riding breeches, Katerina unwound the red scarf from her neck and filled her lungs with air. Uncomfortable under his close scrutiny, she searched for something to say. “Do you work here?”
“I do.” He leaned an arm on the saddle horn and narrowed his gaze. “Are you here for a wine tour?”
“No.” Katerina looked around, noted the neat fences, the long rows of grape arbors, just like her family’s vineyard in Germany, except her family’s rows were planted on hills, rather than the flat fields stretching before her, and a twinge of homesickness tugged at her heart. Her perusal of the surrounding area brought her gaze back to the man on the horse. “I’m supposed to meet Wendy Marino. Her sister, Colleen Berk, arranged everything.”
After three cramped weeks in the tiny efficiency apartment provided by the college, she’d jumped at the opportunity to stay at the vineyard. Her thoughts wandered back to the first day on campus. No sooner had the department head acted as escort to her office before he was called away to handle an emergency.
Dressed in her best suit, she had sat alone at the desk, stared out the window at the laughing American students crowding the sidewalks, and wondered what on earth had possessed her to agree to a semester at Almond Valley College. Especially since her absence left her widowed father totally dependent on her errant younger brother. Es macht nichts. She would endure the six months as a visiting professor and then return to her orderly life.
“Guten Tag, Fräulein Professor.” A young auburn-haired woman stood at the door, one hand poised to knock. “Wie geht’s?”
Katerina’s heart leapt at the sound of her native tongue. In three weeks, the only German she heard were the embarra
ssed attempts of the students in the beginning language classes. At least this woman spoke more comfortably. “Very good.” Smiling at the woman, she came around her desk, eager to meet the friendly stranger. “Come in, come in.”
“I’m Colleen. My husband is a professor here. We saw you arrive and I wanted to introduce myself. I was based in Germany a few years ago.” Taking her hand from the pocket of a dark blue warm-up suit, she reached out to shake. “However, I’m sure my pronunciation leaves much to be desired.” She held out her hands, palms up. “I try.”
“You do extremely well.” Katerina shook her hand, surprised at the woman’s strong grip. “Never the less, it is good to hear German after being surrounded by English all day. I had no idea my stay would be like this. I thought I had a good vocabulary, but some of the sayings…” she waved her hands in the air and rolled her eyes.
Colleen nodded, her green eyes twinkling. “I can only imagine. If it makes you feel any better, Matt and I don’t understand half of these sayings either. It’s as if each generation has their own language.”
Moving a glass paperweight left by the previous occupant, Katerina perched on a corner of the desk. “That’s the reason I’m here. My supervisor wants me to become more familiar with English, specifically American, slang.” She motioned her visitor to a chair, happy to converse with another woman. Although the department had female professors, her schedule was at odds with theirs and they had yet to find time to talk.
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Colleen settled into one of the black vinyl chairs facing Katerina’s desk and crossed her legs, her sneakered foot bouncing. “Where are you staying?”
When Katerina informed Colleen she was assigned one of the graduate student apartments, Colleen had frowned, made a quick phone call, and invited her new friend to stay at the vineyard. So here she was.
The horse snorted, bringing Katerina back to the present and the imposing man close by. When she caught the handsome stranger’s gaze, she blushed and tried to remember what they had been talking about before her thoughts had drifted. Oh yes. Colleen’s sister. Explaining why she was at the vineyard was where the topic had been headed. “Do you know Wendy?”