Tangled Vines by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online

change in her food order. Coq au vin was, after all, only chicken cooked in wine.
    For himself, Hugh ordered the duck a l’orange, then asked for the wine steward. The sommelier arrived, wearing his chain and tastevin. With half an ear, Kelly listened while the two conferred on the wine list.
    Wine was an obsession with Hugh.
    Three years ago when he had asked her to come to New York, she had been eager – desperate – to make a favorable impression. Wine had proved to be the means....
    From the background material she had read on Hugh Townsend, his office at NBC was what Kelly had expected it to be – leather chairs, a spotless oak desk, oil paintings on the wall, a definite air of understated elegance. The grainy photographs of him, however, had not done the man justice. They had captured his sharp features but missed the patrician fineness of them, just as they had failed to register the charming arrogance of his smile and the warm gleam of his eyes.
    â€œWelcome to New York, Miss Douglas.” He came around the desk to shake hands.
    Kelly was nervous, and equally determined not to let it show. “Thank you, Mr. Townsend. It is truly a pleasure to be here.” She paused a beat, then reached in the small shopping bag she carried and removed the boxed gift. “This is forward of me, perhaps, but I grew up in Iowa. We have this custom of always bringing a little something to our host.”
    An eyebrow shot up. “A gift?”
    â€œA way of thanking you for the interest you’ve shown in my work,” Kelly replied.
    He waved her to a seat. “May I open it now?” he asked, his curiosity plainly piqued.
    â€œPlease.” She sank onto the leather chair and forced herself to appear relaxed.
    There was no careless tearing of the wrapping paper and encircling ribbon. Instead he used a knife-sharp letter opener to slice through the ribbon and securing tape, freeing the box from the tissue. She watched while he opened it and lifted out a wine bottle. When she saw his hand glide over the bottle in a near caress, she allowed herself one deep, sweet, long breath.
    His glance ran to her, sharp with question and interest. “This is an historic wine.”
    â€œI know.” Confident now, Kelly settled back in the chair. “The ‘seventy-three Stag’s Leap cabernet sauvignon was the first California wine to outscore Haut-Brion and Mouton-Rothschild in a blind tasting held in Paris in 1976. Many, though, consider the ‘seventy-three Rutledge Estate cabernet to be superior to Stag’s Leap, but it was unfortunately not entered in the competition.”
    Thoughtfully he set the bottle on his desk and cocked his head. “How did you know I enjoyed fine wine?”
    Kelly smiled. “I did my homework.”
    â€œObviously,” he replied and waited for a further answer.
    â€œOne of your biographies mentioned you were a member of a distinguished wine society,” she explained. “I took the chance that you were not one of those total wine snobs who turns his nose up at our premier California wines.”
    â€œYou took quite a gamble, Miss Douglas.” He negligently leaned a hip against the desk and folded his arms, regarding her with frank interest.
    â€œYou took a gamble on me, Mr. Townsend,” she countered.
    â€œPerhaps we shall both be winners,” he said. “Tell me, how do you know so much about the Stag’s Leap wine? More homework?”


    â€œIn a way. I was born in Napa Valley,” It had been years now since the day she left the valley had she admitted any connection to California. She had created a new past for herself, one that held none of the embarrassment pain, and humiliation of her real one. But this time her place of birth could be a definite asset.
    â€œReally? For some reason, I thought you were born and raised in Iowa.” Hugh glanced at his desk top, clear of all papers, as if to recheck her