The man stopped. “Who’s asking?”
I opened the door of my truck and motioned inside. “I’ve got a delivery for her.” Not that I really did. Other than myself.
“Somebody mentioned she’s working in vineyard block seven.”
I glanced over at the closest plot marker and saw it was block four. “That way?” I asked.
He nodded once, then went in the opposite direction.
I walked the equivalent of a couple of football fields, not surprised when I didn’t run into anyone else, given it was Sunday. At the height of the season, it didn’t matter what day of the week it was. In January, when not a whole lot was going on, most of the bigger operations gave their permanent workers the day off.
Gravel crunched under my boots as I walked up a short incline. When I reached the top, I saw her.
Isabel stood about twenty feet away, working on a vine with pruning shears. She wore jeans, boots, and a heavy jacket—no designer labels visible, no diamonds, no carefully styled hair. Just a simple ponytail, dirt on her hands, and the fierce concentration on her work. Even from here, she looked ten years younger.
The polished princess had disappeared. In her place was someone comfortable in work clothes and vineyard mud.
I’d never seen her more beautiful.
Another ten feet, and she raised her head, and for a moment, we stared at each other across rows of vines.
Shock turned into recognition, and color drained from her face so fast I could see it happen. Then the blood rushed back, flooding high on her cheekbones.
She dropped the pruning shears and ran in the opposite direction.
“Isabel!”I broke into a sprint.
She cut through the vine rows toward an equipment barn on the far side of the property faster than I’d anticipated as she weaved between them with the desperation of someone running from more than just a person.
But I was faster. Longer legs and better wind from years of rodeo work gave me the advantage. As I closed the distance, she glanced back, saw me gaining, and pushed harder.
She made it to the equipment barn before I caught her arm and spun her around.
She crashed into my chest. For one terrible, wonderful second, all I felt was relief that she was alive, that I’d found her.
Then she shoved against me. “Let go of me.”
I didn’t. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I lied. I’m obviously not in Italy. You found me. Congratulations. Now, let go.”
“Why?”
She wrenched free and put distance between us. “How did you find me?” She sounded panicked. Raw and sharp and undeniable.
“Small world, Isabel.” I stepped closer. “Why are you hiding?”
“You can’t tell my father where I am.”
“Okay, but why?” I asked for the third time.
“He, um, cut me off.”
I raised a brow. “He sure didn’t let on when he asked me if I knew where you were. He’s concerned, Isabel. He filed a missing person’s report with Vader.”
She looked off in the distance and shook her head. “That isn’t worry; it’s lack of control.”
“Call it what you want, but law enforcement is looking for you, Isabel, and if I can find you, so can they.”
