Chapter 34
The Dinner Guests
The stables were quiet by the time Izzy returned. Her hands were finally steady, but her skin felt cold, the memory of Grant’s weight on her and the look in Wade’s eyes still haunting her.
Miller, the stable manager, was waiting by the paddock. “Mr. Cal is in the house, ma’am. He was asking for you.”
Izzy walked toward Cal’s residence, a masterpiece of modern architecture—stone, glass, and cedar that looked like a high-end gallery.
Inside, the kitchen was bathed in the warm glow of copper pendant lights.
Cal was waiting, leaning against the marble island.
He looked effortless, dressed in a crisp white linen shirt that made him look polished and completely put together.
On the counter sat a bottle of red, already decanted into a crystal carafe.
“There she is,” Cal said, his smile bright.
He didn’t look like a man with secrets; he looked like a man who had finally found something worth waiting for.
He gestured to the wine. “I thought we’d start with this.
It’s an award-winning Syrah from Blackwood Estate.
Mabel’s pride and joy. I think you’ll find it’s a bit more refined than the coffee at the Scott farm. ”
“It’s lovely, Cal,” Izzy said, leaning against the island. The scent of his sandalwood-and-citrus cologne was clean and soothing, a sharp contrast to the smell of rain and horses she’d been carrying all day.
Cal poured two glasses and handed her one, his fingers lingering against hers. “I wanted a quiet evening with you, Izzy. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
She took a sip, the wine velvety and rich, and for a moment, she let herself lean into the comfort of it. Cal was charming; he was attentive, and he wasn’t pushing her away.
* * *
It was 7:15 PM, and they had moved toward the terrace doors when the front door chimed. Cal’s smile faltered, a flash of genuine annoyance crossing his face. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
He stepped out and returned a moment later, his posture noticeably stiffer. Behind him walked Wade Hollis and a younger man who moved with a predatory grace.
Izzy’s breath hitched. She recognized him instantly. The man from the airstrip. The man standing next to the crates.
Wade’s voice boomed through the open-plan room. “Hope you don’t mind a few more plates, son. Vance flew in from Miami, and he was famished. I told him my son has the best chef in the county.”
Cal stepped closer to Izzy, leaning in to whisper against her hair. “I am so sorry about this. I didn’t know they were coming. I wanted tonight to be us.”
“It’s fine,” Izzy whispered back, though her heart was currently trying to hammer its way out of her ribs.
Wade turned his gaze to Izzy, his eyes twinkling with a shark-like charm. “Vance, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure. This is Isabella Moreno. The art expert from Denver.”
Vance Varga didn’t smile. He stepped forward, his eyes—cold, dark, and entirely vacant—locking onto hers. He didn’t offer a hand. He looked at her as if he were deciding where to put a price tag.
“Isabella,” Vance said, his voice a low, melodic rasp. “Wade tells me you’ve been spending a lot of time outdoors today. Exploring the property.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Izzy said, her voice a masterclass in feigned elegance. “I’d like to freshen up before we sit for dinner.”
“Of course, darlin’,” Wade said, gesturing toward the hallway.
The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, Izzy collapsed against the vanity.
She leaned over the sink, her breath coming in jagged, silent gasps.
Did they see me? How could they not have seen me?
The image of the warehouse, the crates, and the man standing directly across from her now flashed in her mind.
Move, Izzy. Move.
She fumbled for her purse, her fingers feeling like lead. She pulled out her phone and sent Caitlin the photo of the manifest with a single line: Get this to Burke. Now.
As soon as the ‘Delivered’ notification popped, she did something that felt like a betrayal of her own life’s work—and of Clara: she deleted the photo and cleared the deleted items folder.
She took a deep breath, applied a fresh coat of crimson lipstick with fingers that still wouldn’t steady, and stared at her reflection until the “Isabella” mask was perfect.
The table was set with fine china and silver. Wade stood, raising a crystal glass. “A toast,” he announced. “To new friends and old mysteries. To the prosperity of the ridge, and to the lovely Isabella for bringing a bit of class to our mountain table.”
“To the ridge,” Vance repeated, his voice a low threat.
Dinner was a blur of high-stakes theater. Every time Vance asked about her “interest in the local history,” she steered it back to art, to the technique of the sketches, to the market value of mountain landscapes. She played the shallow city girl to perfection.
* * *
After Wade and Vance finally departed, the silence on Cal’s porch was absolute.
“Who is he, Cal?” Izzy asked, leaning against the railing. “Vance Varga. He’s… intense. I’ve never seen anyone like him in Sylva.”
Cal let out a short, dismissive breath, standing behind her. “Vance? Honestly, I don’t know him that well. He’s an associate of my dad’s—his father was an associate of my grandfather’s before him. Some kind of legacy business. Logistics, I think.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “But I don’t get involved in that side of things. I have enough on my plate with the horses and this side of the farm. I prefer to keep my life a lot simpler than my father’s.”
He seemed so sincere, so separate from the darkness of the warehouse, that Izzy almost allowed herself to believe him.
Cal leaned in, his mouth finding hers. It was smooth and confident. For a split second, Grant’s face flashed in her mind—the rain, the tack room, the rejection. No, she thought, shoving the memory away. Grant doesn’t want me. Cal does.
She leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Cal’s neck, deciding to be in the moment, to let the sandalwood cologne and the expensive wine be enough.
The kiss deepened, but Cal took her surrender as a green light. His touch moved from her waist to the curve of her hip, with a force that felt less like passion and more like the same quiet claim she’d seen in Wade’s eyes at the table.
Izzy stiffened. The “gentleman” was gone, replaced by the same “Hollis” entitlement she’d seen in Wade. She broke the kiss, her hands coming up to create space.
“Cal… I can’t,” she breathed. “Tonight… it was just too much. I’m exhausted.”
Something like hurt flashed across his face. Then it calcified. Cal stayed where he was, his eyes dark with a sudden, petulant irritation.
“Right,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “The long night excuse.”
“I should get back,” Izzy said, reaching for her bag.
“I’ll drive you,” Cal said. He didn’t ask. He walked toward the silver Escalade, his stride long and stiff, a sulking weight in the dark.
Izzy followed, her heart still hammering. She had survived the dinner and had the photo sent, but as she watched Cal’s rigid silhouette, she realized she had traded a monster for a man who didn’t know how to handle the word “no.”