The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

bimbo at all.”
    “Well, this is the wrong era for you,” Dixie said, falling into step beside Mercedes. “I’m the one with a body straight out of the forties or fifties. You’d look great in flapper clothes—long, lean and sophisticated.”
    “I am so not the flapper type.”
    “You’re wearing a button-down oxford shirt with that suit, Merry. You need help.”
    Mercedes held a hand up, half laughing, half alarmed. “Oh, no, you don’t. Do not help me. I’m not up to it right now.”
    “Hmm.” Dixie stepped up on the porch and looked around. Eleven years ago this had been a smaller, less stylish building. “Someone does good work. The expansion is invisible—it looks like it was always this way. Now show me your lair.”
    “If you mean the tasting room, it’s through here. We’re talking about a possible remodel—Jillian’s idea.”
    Dixie tipped her head to one side as she stepped inside. Mercedes was tense, which was weird. She was the one whose stomach had every right to be doing the bubble-bubble-toil-and-trouble bit. “Hey, this is nice.” She took her hat off and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, looking around.
    Lots of exposed wood, subdued lighting, great views…nice room, yes, but it suffered from splitpersonality. It couldn’t make up its mind whether it was rustic or modern. “What did you have in mind for the remodel?”
    “Nothing’s decided yet, but we want to unify the look, tie it to the theme of the promotional campaign.” The tense set to Mercedes’ shoulder didn’t ease. “The offices are upstairs. Eli’s out in the vineyard, so I’ll take you to Cole.” She headed for a door at the back of the room at a good clip.
    Dixie didn’t move.
    “Dixie?” Mercedes paused with the door open, looking over her shoulder with a frown. “Are you coming?”
    “Not until you tell me what has you wound tighter than a cheap watch. And don’t pull that princess face on me,” she warned. “It won’t work.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “You’ve turned polite,” Dixie observed. “Always a bad sign. What is it? Is Cole upset that you hired me for the illustrations?” The flash of guilt on Mercedes’ face made her exclaim, “He does know, right? Mercedes?”
    “Not…exactly.”
    Dixie closed her eyes and put a hand on her stomach. Yep, things were churning around nicely in there. “Am I going to be fired before I start?”
    “He can’t do that,” Mercedes assured her. “We’ve got a contract, and he and Eli gave me full authority to hire you. That is, they didn’t know it was you, but I told them all the places your work has appeared, and they were eager to sign you on.”
    “And here I was afraid you’d grown risk averse,” Dixie muttered, opening her eyes. “What were you thinking?”
    “That Louret Winery needs you for our new ad campaign. You’re the best.”
    “I won’t argue with that,” Dixie said, not being one to underestimate her talent. “But it doesn’t explain your vow of silence.”
    “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your two big brothers for bosses?” Mercedes demanded. “I did not want to waste time arguing with Cole. Come on, Dixie. I know this is a little awkward, but it’s not like you’re really shook. You?” She grinned. “A tornado wouldn’t rattle you.”
    Shook, no. Pit-of-the-stomach scared…yeah, that was about right. “Cole’s face ought to be an interesting sight when I walk in.”
    Mercedes laughed, relieved. “I’m looking forward to it. And then I’m ducking.”
    “Thanks. You’ve made me feel so much better.”
    Behind the tasting room was a short hall with doors leading into the winery proper and stairs to the office area. Not luxurious, Dixie thought as she started up the stairs after Mercedes, but several notches above utilitarian. It looked as if the winery was prospering.
    Eleven years was a long time. What was she afraid of, anyway?
    That he hated her.
    She put a hand on her stomach again. It had been a long time, yes, but Cole was not a tepid man. Heran hot or cold without lingering much in the temperate zone…though most people didn’t see that, fooled by the glossy surface.
    Cole did have shine, she admitted. But so does a new calculator.
    At least he used to. Maybe he’d gotten fat. Mercedes hadn’t mentioned it, but Dixie hadn’t exactly encouraged her to talk about her brother. “Hey, Merry,” she said as she reached the top of the