My Secret Fantasies

I put the old Highlander in Neutral as he’d asked, and switched on the hazards, then hurried back to his truck, since Damien was already climbing into the driver’s seat. I got the impression he’d never wasted a second of time in his life.

Everything about Damien Fraser screamed that he did not suffer fools lightly. And me? I’d practically been born with a touch of foolishness. I considered it part of my charm. Up until recently, that is, when I realized that being on a reality show—if only for a few weeks—had made it easier for people from my past to find me and harass me.

Too bad Rick, the main offender, hadn’t stayed married to my sister. I’d always hoped him being married to Nina would keep the creep at arm’s length, but since their divorce, he seemed way too eager to see me again.

As if.

“Ready?” I smiled up at my rescuer as I buckled my seat belt again, but the effort was wasted, since he shifted into low gear and focused on pulling out onto the highway.

More silence.

“So, Mr. Fraser—”

“Damien,” he corrected, checking his side mirror.

“So, Damien. You have a Thoroughbred farm?” If I kept him talking, that meant I wouldn’t be talking. Which meant I couldn’t possibly say anything to potentially wreck my chances of buying the property.

“We breed racing stock. Sell shares in prospective winners.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but this seemed to say it all as far as he was concerned. I knew something about farming from growing up in Nebraska, but a Thoroughbred operation was a far cry from a small family farm that specialized in a few hybrid kinds of corn.

“And the property you’re selling. You just don’t need it?” I took in the stark interior of the truck cab. There was no iPod plugged in or coffee mug in the cup holder. No mail on the seat.

Tough to be nosy when there were no good clues to work with.

“It’s a good retail location with proximity to Highway 1, and there’s already a building there. That little patch of property is worth more to me if I sell it rather than convert it into anything usable for the farm.”

“Do you get many tourists up here?” I hadn’t done much market research to see who might support a tearoom in this area. I figured I had Joelle in my corner to help me figure out how to make the business a success. Plus I’d had years to gather ideas of my own while watching her work.

“We’re situated right along the Coast Highway. Some people come out to California just to see the sights up and down this road.”

And yet it looked plenty rural to my eyes. I’d been really enjoying the scenery until the SUV bit the dust a few miles back. There were trees and hills, the scent of the sea in the air. Every now and then you turned a corner and caught a view of the Pacific, so blue it made your eyes hurt.

This was going to be a big improvement over L.A. When I first moved there, I’d just wanted out of Nebraska and away from Rick’s betrayal. He’d upgraded to my sister after leading me on, wooing me out of my virginity and making me feel like a total loser in bed. The guy was a head case, and he’d done more than a little damage to my mental well-being in the process.

My sister’s response to the news that her future husband had already been a jerk to me and showed flashes of a scary-as-hell temper? “Stay away from my man.” Not in so many words, but...yeah. Nina felt totally threatened and had been convinced I’d done the leading on.

So Los Angeles or New York had seemed like logical choices as big cities to get lost in and forget about my family. I had literally flipped a coin. No one seemed terribly disappointed when I didn’t go back for Nina’s wedding.

Now I knew myself better. I’d really enjoyed working at the Melrose Tearoom in L.A. but thought a business like that in a quieter area would be more fulfilling. Less of a spotlight. More anonymity after the dumb reputation I’d gained from Gutsy Girl. Plus, I guess I hadn’t lost my love of wide-open spaces. A part of me would always miss Nebraska.

But I’d learned to love the Pacific and the sense of peace the West Coast gave me. The Sonoma area had looked perfect when I’d been hunting online for likely places to open a shop.

Damien switched on his blinker and turned off to the right, near a small sign for Fraser Farm.

Intrigued, I saw four rail fences on either side and wondered if I’d missed the property I wanted to buy. It felt as if we’d turned right into horse country, with Thoroughbreds swishing their tails in green fields dotted with shade trees.

“Here it is.” He pulled off the road to the left, in front of the building I’d seen online. It looked smaller in reality, probably because it was surrounded by vast expanses of horse pasture.