But judging by the attentive expressions around the room, he wondered if anyone peered beyond the smile.

“Welcome to Bonneville Vineyard’s first annual fund-raiser for Austin’s Crisis Center. Our vineyard has been here for over twenty years and though we don’t make our own wine, we hope to by this time next year. Tonight, I want to introduce you to Philip Louis, who is supplying tonight’s wine from Sun Valley Vineyard in Fredericksburg.” She grinned at Louis. He smiled back at her, his gaze hungry and excited. “Bonneville supplied the grapes to Mr. Louis who, at his winery in Fredericksburg, turned them into several lovely wines.”

“Greer.” Louis’s voice was smooth, even, and deep. His smile was quick and easy. “Thank you for having Sun Valley Vineyard here tonight. It’s a great honor to introduce our wines to such a sophisticated audience.”

People in the crowd responded well to the compliment. Louis coaxed people to follow like a damned pied piper.

Bragg shifted his attention to Greer, curious about her reaction to Louis. She didn’t shy away from him nor did she lean toward him. Her smile was genuine but not flirty. She liked Louis, but he suspected she saw him as a colleague and not a potential lover. Good.

“The winemaker and the wine grower must have a close relationship,” Greer said.

“But great wine begins on the vine,” Louis added. “If not for Greer’s talent for reading the soil, air, and water, I would not have such stunning grapes to put into my winery. We will be sorry to lose Bonneville grapes next season but anticipate tasting their wine. And now that we are neighbors, we hope to grow grapes as rich and succulent.”

An older woman dressed in a sapphire-blue dress raised her hand. “Greer, the soil here looks awful. Why on earth choose such a rocky, hot place as Bonneville?”

Greer relaxed when attention turned to Bonneville. “The vines need to suffer to produce grapes of character. When the roots must burrow into the earth and fight to survive, they develop a wonderful complexity. The struggle is what makes them so flavorful.” She spoke about careful strategizing, of watching the grapes closely, of taste-testing the fruit. “Great art comes from stress and hard work.”

Greer, like her vineyard, was the product of struggle and hardship. If she’d lived a pampered life in Austin, she’d not have been as unique or interesting.

As waiters filled the patrons’ first glasses with a white wine, Greer watched as Louis talked about the first wine, a Viognier. “Tasting is not drinking. You drink with food but you taste the wine naked.” He held the glass high and talked about the color and how it should be admired. He then swirled the wine in the glass and put his nose into the flute.

Louis’s explanation about wines held no interest for Bragg. He found the whole party a foolish dog-and-pony show. You either liked what was in your glass or you didn’t.

However, his interest for Greer remained keen. He watched as she smelled her wine, closed her eyes, and tasted. Her face softened and took on a sensual, seductive quality. Bragg’s body tensed with desire and he imagined peeling the dress from her honeyed skin. Would she show him that same expression as he kissed her?

Unsettled by the veracity of his attraction to Greer, he stepped outside. For a moment he stood with his back to the tasting room, staring at the stars blinking in the black sky.

The door to the tasting room opened and Winchester and his wife, Jo, appeared. Jo’s smile suggested the two had slipped away from the crowd for a private moment.

“Party’s inside,” Bragg said.

Winchester grinned and held his wife close. “I like the one outside better.”

Jo jabbed her husband in the ribs. “Brody.”

Winchester shrugged as his grin widened. He showed no sign of loosening his hold on his wife.

Bragg watched the two banter for a moment, wondering what it would be like to have a woman at his side. He’d never given it much thought, knowing the life he’d chosen didn’t leave room for families. He’d never questioned the decision until Mitch had made him accountable for someone other than himself.

“Well, I for one am ready to leave,” Winchester said.

Jo smiled. “I suppose you’ve done your duty and mingled.”

“You leaving?” Winchester said.

Bragg nodded. “In a minute or two.”

Winchester glanced past Bragg to Greer, who stood at the front of the room. “There a reason to stick around?”

“No reason. Just enjoying the night air for a minute or two.”

“Well, we’ll leave you.”

Jo smiled. “Night, Bragg.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”

Bragg lingered outside watching Greer. She moved with an easy confidence he’d not seen when they’d first met or before this evening. He shouldn’t care one way or the other, but he liked seeing her smile.

The door opened, the din of laughter escaping into the night as a tall slim man stepped outside. The door closed and the man glanced up at Bragg. “Good evening.”

Bragg touched the brim of his hat. “Evening.”

The man cocked his head and extended his hand. “Texas Ranger?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hope it’s not trouble bringing you out here tonight.”

“No, sir.” He wasn’t sure really what had brought him out here tonight.

The man extended his hand. “Dr. Andy Stewart.”

The name registered immediately. “You speak to a group of veterans?”

“I speak to them regularly.”

“My nephew is a marine. Mitch Bragg. He’s been in your group.”

Dr. Stewart nodded in recognition. “Mitch. Good guy. I thought he didn’t have family. Said his mother died and his father ran off.”

“He’s got me.” The words tumbled out with surprising authority. “Is it your doing he’s working out here?”

The doctor shrugged. “I connect people who might be of help to each other. Greer needed someone to help with the vineyard. Mitch needed work and purpose. Seemed a good fit.”

Bragg managed a smile for the doctor, but couldn’t decide if he liked him or not. “I hear it was your idea for the fund-raiser.”

“It was.”

“And Ms. Templeton jumped at the idea of inviting everyone out here?”

He chuckled. “It took some coaxing,” he offered. “She’s a bit shy.”

Bragg tossed a line in the water, wondering what the good doctor might offer. “I read about the accident. She’s had a tough road back.”

Dr. Stewart’s sympathy for Greer was evident. “That’s why she’s such an invaluable asset to the center. She understands tough times.”

“She’s a stubborn gal,” Bragg said. “You must have done some real fast talking to get her to do this.”

“I did.”

“How does she handle herself at the Crisis Center?”

“Very professional. Effective with callers.”

“How so?”

“She’s good with people.”

“I suppose her past left a lasting mark.”

Dr. Stewart smiled. “Ranger Bragg, I coax information out of people for a living. I know when someone’s on a fishing expedition.”

Bragg grinned. “Hazard of the job.”

The door to the tasting room opened and a laughing couple emerged. “Well, it’s been a long day. I need to get going.”

“Nice meeting you, doc.”

“You as well, Ranger Bragg.”

As the doctor walked toward his car, Bragg’s gaze trailed him. When he’d driven off, Bragg’s gaze skimmed the horizon and landed on a glimmer of light up on a distant hill. It was a house. He thought about the pictures of Greer that had been taken with a telephoto lens. The angle would be about right to get some of the shots.

He looked back inside at Greer, who stood near a group of folks made of money. Now that her presentation had ended her smile had faded. When she wasn’t talking about her grapes she wasn’t happy. Doing penance was the sense he got.

She felt guilty. Unworthy. Was it the accident or was there another secret she was hiding from everyone?