why not. I could always go and live in one of those condos. In Beverly Hills, or somewhere,” she added vaguely. “And you could open as many restaurants as you like. You might even find time to meet aman and get married, give me some grandchildren.” Miss Lottie smiled teasingly at her. “I could call my friends, find out how their grandsons are doing. There’s bound to be one or two still left unattached.”
“On the shelf,” Ellie said gloomily. “That’s what you think I am. Well, this should please you. I have a date tonight.”
Miss Lottie’s faded blue eyes brightened. “With a man?”
“Of course with a man.”
“So? Tell me about him. Do I know his family?”
“Probably not, but he’s a local boy. He taught me to surf when I was eight years old.”
“A
surfer?”
“Oh come on, Gran.” Ellie laughed. “Of course he’s not a surfer now. He was a cop. A homicide detective in Manhattan. Now he’s bought a winery out here. Running Horse Ranch.”
“Running Horse?” Miss Lottie sifted through the faulty computer in her head. “Never heard of it, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve not heard of half the stuff I used to know. Is it a big success, then?” She nibbled on her scone.
“Not yet, but I’m sure it will be. He seems a very determined man. I’d bet that whatever it takes, he’ll do it.”
“I like that about a man. Determination. But a
homicide cop?”
Miss Ellie shuddered. She watched
NYPD Blue
and knew the score. “Ellie, dear, are you sure you’re moving in the right circles? However did you meet him?”
Ellie licked the cream from the top of her scone, and Buck imagined what he would like to do to that sexy mouth; biting the cream from her lips until they bled,red as strawberry jam. He was fascinated by every move she made, the tilt of her head, her rich glossy red hair; he could almost feel the smoothness of her bare golden arm under his predatory fingers.
Ellie said, “I smacked up his brand-new car, right here on Olive Mill Road. I’m surprised he even spoke to me after that.”
“Young people meet in such strange ways these days.” Miss Lottie shook her head, bewildered. “When I was young it was all arranged. You went to parties and dances or the theater with people you knew, or friends of people you knew. Nothing was hit-and-miss, the way it was with you and the homicide cop, literally, with the new car.”
She glanced up, surprised, as the manager hurried toward her. Behind him walked the pastry chef, bearing a pink frosted cake in the shape of a gaily wrapped package, with a single lit candle.
Everyone turned to watch as the wait staff and the chefs gathered round and sang “Happy Birthday.” Then Miss Lottie, pink-cheeked with pleasure, blew out her candle and everyone, including the other diners, applauded. After that the manager produced a bottle of champagne.
“As usual, it’s our pleasure to see you here, Miss Lottie,” the manager said, holding up his glass in a toast to her. “Because Lottie Parrish and the Biltmore are institutions, and each has been here almost as long as the other.”
Buck fought back the overwhelming urge to leap at her, there and then. He’d fix his hands round her old throat and they’d never get him off, those pearls would be embedded in her flesh for all eternity. Trembling, he summoned a waiter and ordered a double bourbon. Hegulped it down quickly, never taking his eyes off the two women.
In the past, when he was free, he took women as and when he wanted. They were never more than a commodity to him, breakable and expendable. His usual icy reaction, the way he thought, felt, everything was now in turmoil.
He could see his father,
their
father, in Ellie’s face. He saw himself as he had been two decades ago, when he was young, like her. Vital. Alive. Before they locked him away. Could it be that, making him feel this new emotion? Or was it the luminous quality of her skin, the rich tumble of hair, those
“On the shelf,” Ellie said gloomily. “That’s what you think I am. Well, this should please you. I have a date tonight.”
Miss Lottie’s faded blue eyes brightened. “With a man?”
“Of course with a man.”
“So? Tell me about him. Do I know his family?”
“Probably not, but he’s a local boy. He taught me to surf when I was eight years old.”
“A
surfer?”
“Oh come on, Gran.” Ellie laughed. “Of course he’s not a surfer now. He was a cop. A homicide detective in Manhattan. Now he’s bought a winery out here. Running Horse Ranch.”
“Running Horse?” Miss Lottie sifted through the faulty computer in her head. “Never heard of it, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve not heard of half the stuff I used to know. Is it a big success, then?” She nibbled on her scone.
“Not yet, but I’m sure it will be. He seems a very determined man. I’d bet that whatever it takes, he’ll do it.”
“I like that about a man. Determination. But a
homicide cop?”
Miss Ellie shuddered. She watched
NYPD Blue
and knew the score. “Ellie, dear, are you sure you’re moving in the right circles? However did you meet him?”
Ellie licked the cream from the top of her scone, and Buck imagined what he would like to do to that sexy mouth; biting the cream from her lips until they bled,red as strawberry jam. He was fascinated by every move she made, the tilt of her head, her rich glossy red hair; he could almost feel the smoothness of her bare golden arm under his predatory fingers.
Ellie said, “I smacked up his brand-new car, right here on Olive Mill Road. I’m surprised he even spoke to me after that.”
“Young people meet in such strange ways these days.” Miss Lottie shook her head, bewildered. “When I was young it was all arranged. You went to parties and dances or the theater with people you knew, or friends of people you knew. Nothing was hit-and-miss, the way it was with you and the homicide cop, literally, with the new car.”
She glanced up, surprised, as the manager hurried toward her. Behind him walked the pastry chef, bearing a pink frosted cake in the shape of a gaily wrapped package, with a single lit candle.
Everyone turned to watch as the wait staff and the chefs gathered round and sang “Happy Birthday.” Then Miss Lottie, pink-cheeked with pleasure, blew out her candle and everyone, including the other diners, applauded. After that the manager produced a bottle of champagne.
“As usual, it’s our pleasure to see you here, Miss Lottie,” the manager said, holding up his glass in a toast to her. “Because Lottie Parrish and the Biltmore are institutions, and each has been here almost as long as the other.”
Buck fought back the overwhelming urge to leap at her, there and then. He’d fix his hands round her old throat and they’d never get him off, those pearls would be embedded in her flesh for all eternity. Trembling, he summoned a waiter and ordered a double bourbon. Hegulped it down quickly, never taking his eyes off the two women.
In the past, when he was free, he took women as and when he wanted. They were never more than a commodity to him, breakable and expendable. His usual icy reaction, the way he thought, felt, everything was now in turmoil.
He could see his father,
their
father, in Ellie’s face. He saw himself as he had been two decades ago, when he was young, like her. Vital. Alive. Before they locked him away. Could it be that, making him feel this new emotion? Or was it the luminous quality of her skin, the rich tumble of hair, those
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