The Villa

general strangeness of it, it's nice to see her have a good man who makes her happy. I hope you'll give her a chance."
    "It doesn't matter what I do. Or think. Or say." Defiant misery, Sophia mused. Yes, she remembered that, too. "Yes, it matters. When someone loves us, what we think and what we do matters." She looked over at the sound of running feet. "From the looks of it, somebody loves you."
    "Maddy!" Breathless, David plucked his daughter off her feet. He managed to embrace and shake her at the same time. "What are you doing? You can't go wandering off like that after dark."
    "I just took a walk."
    "And cost me a year of my life. You want to fight with your brother, be my guest, but you're not to leave the house again without permission. Clear?"
    "Yes, sir." Though secretly pleased, she grimaced. "I didn't think you'd notice."
    "Think again." He hooked his arm around her neck, a casual habit of affection Sophia had noticed. And envied. Her father had never touched her like that.
    "Partly my fault," Sophia told him. "I kept her longer than I should have. She's a terrific sounding board. My mind was going off in too many directions."
    "You should give it a rest. You're going to need all circuits up and working tomorrow. Is your mother free?"
    He didn't notice the way Maddy stiffened, but Sophia did. "I imagine. Why?"
    "I'm slogging through reports and memos, in Italian. It'd go faster with someone who reads it better than I do."
    "I'll tell her." Sophia looked at Maddy now. "She'll want to help."
    "Appreciate it. Now I'll just drag this baggage home and pound it awhile. See you at the briefing. Eight o'clock."
    "I'll be ready. 'Night, Maddy." She watched them walk through the fields toward the guest house, their shadows close enough to merge into one form in the moonlight.
    Hard to blame the kid for wanting to keep it that way. Hard to make room for changes. For people, when your life seemed just fine as it was.
    But changes happened. It was smarter to be a part of them. Better yet, she decided, to initiate them.
     
    Tyler kept the radio and the TV off. He ignored the phone. One thing he could control was his own reaction to the press, and the best way to control it was to ignore the press altogether. At least for a few hours.
    He was working his way through his own files, his logs, every record he had available. He could, and would, ascertain that the MacMillan area of the company was secure.
    What he couldn't seem to control were his own questions about Margaret. An accident, suicide or murder? None of the options was appealing. He eliminated suicide. She hadn't been the type, and he sure as hell didn't have the towering ego that suggested she'd killed herself in despair because he'd broken a dinner date.
    Maybe she had been interested in him, and maybe he'd ignored the signals because he hadn't felt the same way. And hadn't wanted the complications. Life was complicated enough without tangling up business and personal relationships.
    Plus, she just hadn't been his type.
    He didn't go for the fast-track career woman with attitude and an agenda. That kind of woman just took too much energy.
    Take Sophia.
    Christ, he was beginning to think he'd explode if he didn't take Sophia. And wasn't that the point? he reminded himself as he roamed restlessly downstairs again. Thinking about her that way muddled up the mind, strained the body and complicated an already complex business association.
    Now more than ever it was essential he keep his mind on his job. The current crisis was going to pull his time and energy away from the vineyards when he could least afford it. Long-range forecasts warned him that frost vigils would be necessary. Several casks of wine were on the point of being ready for bottling. Disking had already started.
    He didn't have time to worry about police investigations, potential lawsuits. Or a woman. And of all of them, he was finding the woman the hardest to shove out of his mind.
    Because she'd invaded his system, he thought. And she'd be stuck there, irritating him, until he got her out again. So why didn't he just march over to the villa, storm up her terrace steps and deal with it. Finish it.
    He knew exactly how pathetic and self-serving that was as rationalization. And decided he didn't give a damn.
    He grabbed a jacket, strode to the front door and yanked it open.
    And there she was, stalking up his steps.
    "I don't like irritable, macho men," she told him as she slammed the door at her