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Any sensible woman would say no. So of course, she said, “Sure.”
    She understood the depth of the mistake when she watched him smile.
    He appeared so satisfied. He looked like a mountain lion that had just jumped off a big rock and brought down a doe. She sort of felt a pair of fangs in her neck.
    She rose to her feet. “I’ll want to go home and clean up. How about I meet you at Chez Henri at Tlaquepaque in half an hour?”
    He nodded. “Sounds good.”
    “It’s the first driveway as you approach the complex, the parking lot off to the right. Just in case, here’s my cell number.” She pulled a card from her desk and handed it to him.
    “Perfect. Half an hour. See you then.” He headed for the door then disappeared into the lobby.
    Carly moved to her desk and put the folder away that contained the new medical plans. She’d made a mistake and needed to change the last page. Not tonight, though.
    After locking her desk she went into the lobby.
    “Any messages or business I need to take care of?” she asked.
    Tina lifted a pink post-it and waved it in the air. “A message from Grace. She said she’s worked up the final designs for the winery house and wants you to take a look at them.”
    Carly felt a little burst of excitement. “That’s fantastic.” She and Grace had been working on the designs for the past six months. Grace was a brilliant interior designer and had won numerous awards. She was also a paraplegic and had built her design business in Sedona against great odds. It meant a lot to Carly to be able to give her this business.
    Once in her car, she put her earpiece in, punched in Grace’s number and headed out of the Jeep bay. When Grace answered, she gave her a quick run-down on the Quint Barron situation. “I’d come over tonight, but I’m having dinner with him with one intention, to impress him with his need to get out of Dodge.”
    Grace chuckled. “I’ve always admired your spirit.”
    “Ditto. I’ll call you soon to set up a time so that we can get this ball rolling.”
    * * * * * * * * *
    Just a little after six, Carly sat down opposite Quint at Chez Henri . She smoothed the linen napkin over her lap.
    “Are you doing anything special tomorrow to celebrate the Fourth?” he asked.
    The harmless question surprised Carly. For some reason she’d expected him to browbeat her into giving him the winery. On the other hand, small talk could be a tool to smooth the way yet from her point of view any part of the evening not talking about her winery was time well-spent. “I always drive tours on the Fourth of July. We don’t have as many as we usually would, of course, but that allows me to give time-off to any driver wanting to spend the day with family. How about you?”
    He laughed. “I guess we share a similar work ethic and since I have contacts around the world, and the Fourth is of course only celebrated here in the States, I take advantage and make a dozen or so international calls.”
    The waiter arrived taking drink orders. She chose a Sauvignon Blanc. He ordered a Cabernet.
    “So, how did you come by the winery?” Quint asked.
    Maybe if the questions stayed on the straight and narrow she would be all right.
    “The winery-line ends with me, it’s as simple as that. I barely knew my second cousin who died almost a year ago to the day. Our family history defines the nature of feuds. My great aunt and my grandmother fought from their cribs. At the same time, my ancestors failed on the reproductive level—I’m an only child of an only child and so was my second cousin and he never married. I think I saw him once in the past ten years. He was at least fifteen years older and I know he always thought of me as a child. I hadn’t been to the winery in a couple of decades when I inherited. The property looked like a tornado had come through and he’d used a bull-dozer to just move things around now and then.”
    He smiled. “I take it then that your parents are no longer