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Nothing about Paige’s day had gone as planned. Despite having climbed into bed at a decent hour, she hadn’t gotten anything close to a good night’s sleep. Instead she’d tossed and turned, and had strange dreams about dancing in fields of bluebonnets with one especially good-looking former hockey player. Who the heck danced in bluebonnets anyway?
On today’s agenda, the Governor had given her the day off to actually do her job. Since she had zero interest in touring the hotel options in and around the arena, she was happy to be able to get back to the thing she loved—making great wine. Of course the catch was that for the better part of her day, she’d been frequently distracted with thoughts of Daniel. For a man who once made his living in what she’d considered a Neanderthal sport, he had proven to be charming, smart, funny, and… well, sweet. And was very quickly worming his way into her world.
Finally she decided the only thing to keep her mind off Daniel and on her job and the upcoming competition would be to venture down to the cellar and play with her new wines. Despite the miserable clay soil in Texas, she’d spent a small fortune to build a good old fashioned wine cellar just below the tank room so the wine could age in it, as well as properly store some of her best blends.
Shaking her thoughts of former hockey stars out of her mind, Paige straightened and actually said a silent little prayer. She’d just poured the liquid from a tank and hoped some characteristic of the grape that she’d liked before pressing would still be in the flavor after fermentation. Swirling the glass in her hand, she stared at the contents. The fine coating of sugar on the inside of the glass did not have quite the consistency she had strived for. The color was good but the legs on it weren’t exactly where she wanted them to be, but that was a lesser concern. She stuck her nose into the glass and took a large breath. If she liked the taste now, a barrel would be next for this vintage.
Her prized cellar had two doors, one upstairs, discretely blended into the paneled wall, and another downstairs at the entrance to where she’d been playing with her wines. About to take notes on her observations, the rattling sound of the door handle across the large room caught her attention, followed by a soft thud and then a few quick bangs. Someone was taking great efforts to open it. Setting down the glass, she trudged over. Giving the door a strong tug, one of Paige’s employees burst into the room. Running her hand along the side of the door, she turned to face her boss. “How long has that been sticking?”
Paige sighed. “A while. Probably the humidity. It never ends in Houston.”
“I’ll make a note to have maintenance deal with this.”
Paige should probably have done that herself, but somehow, compared to everything else going on at the winery, the door had never held much importance. “No need. I’ll handle it.”
Her employee nodded.
“Did you need something?”
“No. I was just checking on you before I leave. I’d stay till you’re done, but the wind has picked up. It’s probably nothing, but I’m heading home.”
“Thanks. Lock up the tasting room, I’ll take care of everything else.”
“Don’t work too late.” Her employee waited for Paige to nod in agreement before turning toward the door. She probably knew as well as Paige did that some days when she was engrossed in a project, staying until all hours of the night was nothing unusual. “I’ll prop the door open.”
“Thanks.” Her mind already back on the vintage she was working on, she tossed a, “thank you” over her shoulder, returning to the table where the glass sat. Pulling a stool closer, she examined the wine under the light and sighed. The color was ruby red. She’d hoped the Cabernet grape she’d used would have been darker.
Frowning at the glass, she said one more prayer and hoped that perhaps the taste would be better than the color implied. She took a sip and as she held the liquid in her mouth, the wine coated her tongue. The flavor was smooth and fruity, and when she swallowed, the finish delighted her.
Now hunched over the table, she scribbled tasting notes on an index card. Once again, the rattling of the door knob disturbed her peace. Now what? Intent on her notes, she dismissed the sounds.
The rattling grew in intensity and she remembered all the employees had gone for the day. Her pen stilled over the card. She blinked, dragging her mind away from wine and focused on her dark and isolated surroundings. This time the rattling had been replaced by the scraping of something heavy against the concrete floor. It had never occurred to her to put a panic button in this room. Or at least an intercom. Of course that wouldn’t do her any good if there was no one else in the building.
Looking up toward the darkened stairwell, a light tapping that had replaced the rattles and scrapes, gave way to a stronger knocking and someone clearing their throat. Surely bad guys didn’t clear their throats? Actually, bad guys wouldn’t have made near so much noise. Just in case, she pushed to her feet and reached for a nearby bottle of wine. Noticing the blend, she shook her head and setting it down, grabbed an inferior bottle she’d never liked, and held it up in the air. “Who’s there?”
“Me, Daniel.”
Rolling her eyes, she set the bottle down before anyone noticed she’d been watching too many horror flicks with women too stupid to live hiding out in dark basements. In a few short steps, she came within view of the door. Sure enough, Daniel stood there, a grin on his face, and a bag of something in his hands.
“My designated committee member and guide for today had to call it an early day. His son dislocated a shoulder during football practice. I called ahead and a friendly young woman said she was on her way out the door but I’d probably find you working down here. Clay let me in.” He held up a bag in each hand. “I brought some dinner.”
Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled. “I guess I may have forgotten to eat today. Come on in.” She turned back toward the table and waved him in, remembering the sticking door a fraction after she heard the latch catch.
Daniel took in the expression on her face, followed her gaze to the door, and faced her again. “Is something wrong?”
“Let’s hope not.” Strolling past him, she reached for the handle and gave the door a good tug. Nothing. Trying again, still nothing.
“Let me.” Daniel repeated her efforts and the door wasn’t anymore cooperative than it had been with her. Slowly turning on his heels, he leveled his gaze with hers. “To quote Tom Hanks, ‘Houston, we have a problem.’”
There were two ways to look at the stuck door. Yes, being unable to open the door was a problem. On the other hand, it was also an opportunity to spend alone time with Paige. Very alone. Not that he would have done anything like this on purpose, but if fate saw fit to lock out the real world, who was he to argue?
“This is so not good. I really should have put in a panic button.” She was trying to make light of the problem, but he could hear the concern in her voice.
“I suppose it’s a moot point now, but I for one don’t problem solve well on an empty stomach.”
Her gaze spun around to meet his. “What?”
“I have dinner.” He gestured toward where he’d set the two bags down. “We’ll both think better after we’ve eaten, then we can brainstorm our way out of here.
