"A philosophy," Alex deadpanned, stepping out in front of him. "Well, that explains it. I mean, all this time, my lawyers and accountants have been thinking it's a winery."
Travis grinned, grabbed her by the waist and spun her around.
"Growing grapes, making wine—it's a mystical experience, Princess."
"Uh-huh."
"Go on, scoff. I'm telling you the truth."
"So, in other words, if I light some incense, sacrifice a couple of chickens, maybe dance around a tree, naked, on a moonlit night..."
"I like the dancing naked part." Travis put his hand under her chin, tilted her mouth to his and kissed her tenderly. "But no, I didn't mean that kind of mystical experience. See, you have to love the whole wine-making gestalt."
"The gestalt," Alex said solemnly. "I don't know... is that anything like goulash? Because I have to tell you, Travis, I really don't like—"
She squealed as he dragged her into his arms and kissed her.
"Wine-making," he growled, "is best done by those who are willing to break their backs in the fields and empty their bank accounts just so they can someday point to a bottle of twenty-dollar vino and proudly say, `There it is—and it only cost me fifty bucks to produce."' He smiled. "In other words, you have to be nuts to go into this business."
Alex smiled into Travis's eyes, rose toward him and placed her hands on either side of his face.
"Nuts, like you?"
He caught her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the palm.
"I've thought about it," he admitted.
"But?"
"But, I have a law practice, and a life four hundred miles south of wine country. Plus, establishing a winery with a vintage good enough to make it profitable takes years." He linked his fingers through hers and they started walking. "Like the grapes, you have to settle in, put down roots, commit yourself to making it all work..."
"Sounds a lot like marriage," Alex said lightly.
A muscle knotted in Travis's jaw. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it does." His hand tightened on hers. "And I've already gone that route, Princess. Settling down, marriage... It didn't work. Heck, it doesn't seem to work very well for any of the Baron clan."
"I'm not sure it works for anybody." Alex raised her eyes to his. "I'm not looking for marriage," she said bluntly, "if that's what you're asking. My mother was unhappy with my father, right up until the day she died. And my marriage ... well, you already know about that." She took a deep breath. "I was an obedient daughter, and belonged to my father. Then I was a dutiful wife, and belonged to my husband. Now, I don't want to belong to anybody but myself."
Travis nodded, reached out and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.
"That sounds perfect, Princess. And I'm glad we got it all out of the way, right upfront."
They smiled at each other and then Travis cleared his throat. "So," he said briskly, "did I happen to mention I dew my own plane here, from L.A.?"
"No," Alex said, just as briskly, "no, you didn't. You mean, that Porsche isn't yours?"
He grinned. "You'd be amazed how hospitable a dealer can be when he knows a guy's a sucker for every new Porsche that comes blowing into town. What do you say, Princess? Will you trust yourself to me for the flight home?"
She smiled. "Absolutely."
Travis smiled, too. How lucky could a man get? He'd found a beautiful, wonderful woman, one who pleased him more than any other he'd ever known. And she'd made it clear that she didn't want to smell orange blossoms, or hear wedding bells...
"Come here," he said gruffly.
He gathered her into his arms and kissed her ...and tried not to let it trouble him that she'd basically just told him she was more willing to trust him with her life than with her heart.
CHAPTER TEN
TRAVIS had been flying his own plane since he was a kid.
So had all the Barons. Espada sprawled over so many thousands of acres that there were times it made more sense to cross it by plane than by horse or Jeep.
He loved to fly, loved the freedom he found in the air. But he'd never enjoyed it as much as he did on the trip back to Los Angeles.
And it was all because of Alex.
He could tell that she was a little nervous, when she first climbed into the Comanche.
"It's smaller than I'd expected," she said, flashing him a quick smile as she secured her seat belt.
Travis looked around as if he'd never seen his plane before. Compared to the Ultra-Light he and the rest of the Los Lobos gang had built the summer he was fifteen, the four-passenger Comanche was downright enormous. On the other hand, he figured it might seem a bit cramped if a person had only flown in the first-class compartment of a jumbo jet.