by Tawna Fenske
Jed sighed. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions yet. The guys from the fire department will be checking everything out. It doesn’t do us any good to speculate right now.”
June linked her arm through his and gave a weak smile. “The damage could have been worse. Someone could have been injured or even killed.”
Sheila shot a worried look at Eric. “Is it safe to be in there? Did the fire marshal clear it yet for you guys to work?”
“We can get our work done,” Reese said, “but it can’t be open to the public.”
“What about the event next week?” Larissa asked.
Reese shook her head. “It doesn’t look good for holding it inside. Not unless the guests want to smell like a bonfire.”
“The invitations went out last week,” Larissa moaned. “We’ve already got more than a hundred RSVPs. After that thing with the Reserve Pinot, the wine club already hates us. If we have to cancel—”
“Not an option,” Reese snapped, and Clay watched her straighten like a rod had speared her spine. “Our reputation is already tanking. Did you see that article from that online news site?”
Sheila sighed. “The article wasn’t so bad, but the headline—”
“‘Local Vineyard Suffers String of Misfortunes,’” Eric muttered. “They might as well have kicked us in the nuts while we’re already on the ground.”
“How the hell did they get all that information anyway?” Larissa asked. “The fire stuff I get—they listen to the scanner—but the things about the broken barrel and the construction—”
“Reporters are assholes,” Reese muttered. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time. What are we going to do about the event?”
Clay cleared his throat, not wanting to intrude, but figuring he might be able to help. “Could you hold the event outside?”
Reese gave him a sad smile. “In the Willamette Valley? In May? There’s pretty much a ninety-nine percent chance of rain.”
“What if you had tents?”
“Tents?”
“Sure,” Clay said, thinking fast. “Dorrington Construction has some of those big tents. They’re for the company picnics and some of the trade shows we go to. You could probably get a couple hundred people under them and I think we’ve got two.”
Larissa brightened. “Do they rent them out?”
Reese shook her head. “’Riss, we can’t afford that.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Clay said. “I might be able to get them for free, or at least for a really discounted price.”
All of them stared at Clay. Jed was the first to speak.
“That’s mighty kind of you, son. We appreciate the help.”
“Yes, sir,” Clay said. “I know things haven’t gone the way you wanted with the bid and construction is moving a little slowly. It seems like the least I can do.”
Reese caught his eye and looked away quickly, her cheeks flushing. Larissa gave him a knowing look, but said nothing.
It was Sheila who finally broke the silence. “I need to get to work,” she said to Eric. “Call me if anything else happens?”
“Will do.”
“Do you want to meet for lunch?”
Eric shook his head. “Gotta work straight through.”
“Be careful, okay? I’m really worried.”
He nodded and pulled her close. “Have a good day.”
“You too, sweetie.”
They kissed, and everyone averted their eyes except June and Jed, who exchanged knowing smiles and laced their fingers together.
Jed kissed his wife’s temple and whispered something Clay couldn’t make out. The two embraced, and Reese looked away, suddenly very interested in inspecting the charred edges of the building. Clay wanted to touch her hand, to do something to let her know he realized how awkward it probably felt to have parents whose affection for each other was so overwhelming.
But he didn’t want to draw attention to anything unusual between them.
“I’m gonna taste a few of the wines before I start moving barrels,” Eric said to the group as Sheila disappeared down the driveway.
“I’ll join you in a minute,” Reese called to his retreating back.
“I have to do some damage control with the media,” Larissa muttered. “Ten bucks says our asshole neighbor makes it on the morning news saying something about unsafe practices or subpar wines or some bullshit like that.”
“Fix it,” Reese said. “We can’t keep taking hits like this. How many wine club members have we lost?”
Larissa shook her head. “I’m not sure, but the LA Times called yesterday. Said they’re not going to include us in that feature on eco-friendly wineries unless we can guarantee by the end of the week that we’ll be LEED certified with the new building.”
Reese closed her eyes. “I’ve got an appointment with the bank today. We’ll get the money somehow.”
Larissa nodded. “I’m going to get a press release ready to go. I’ll e-mail you a draft.”
Everyone drifted away in opposite directions, leaving Clay and Reese standing alone on the hillside above the vineyard. Farm equipment whirred, birds chattered, and the tension between them was so thick, Clay wanted to shove it away like a low-hanging branch. He glanced around, making sure none of her crazy relatives was hiding in a barrel somewhere.
Then he looked back at Reese, who fingered the soft edge of a grape leaf and looked more than a little lost. He touched her hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
Reese nodded and looked up at him. “Everything will be fine.”
“I’m sure it will. If there’s anything I can do to help—”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
They stood there in awkward silence for a few moments longer. Reese shuffled her feet in the grass.
Clay cleared his throat. “Look, Reese. Last night was—”
He faltered, looking for the right adjective. Beautiful. Amazing. Moving. Mind-blowing.
Reese looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “A nice surprise?”
Clay nodded, feeling a sharp surge of relief. He’d half expected her to be regretful or angry or embarrassed.
“Exactly,” he breathed. “A very nice surprise.”
Reese let go of the grape leaf and turned to him. She stood on tiptoe, sliding her fingers up the back of his neck. She planted a soft kiss at the edge of his jaw, and for the briefest moment, Clay forgot to worry about Eric or anyone else seeing them.
“This is one of the lousiest mornings of my life, but I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured.
“Me, too.”
“I know we need to talk about what happened last night, and that we might have just done something really dumb, but right now—” She shrugged. “I don’t regret it.”
“I don’t, either,” Clay said, pulling her into an embrace and not caring if the whole damn family showed up and applauded. “I don’t regret anything at all.”
Even then, with Reese snug in his arms and the scent of her hair in his lungs, he knew that wasn’t entirely true.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eric dipped the wine thief into the bunghole and withdrew it, depositing a bit of the amber liquid into Reese’s glass before filling his own.
Reese leaned against the barrel as she stuck her nose in her glass. From the corner of her eye, she studied the grim set of her ex-husband’s jaw.
“That’s the first time in fifteen years you haven’t made a bunghole joke,” she observed. “You’re taking this fire pretty hard.”
“You said hard.”
“There you go.”
Eric shook his head. “I worked my ass off on this wine. We all worked our asses off on this wine. I take that pretty fucking seriously.”
Reese nodded and took a sip. There was just the fain
test hint of smokiness in the bouquet, which wasn’t the worst thing in a Chardonnay. It actually complemented the oaky undertones and added an interesting depth. She swirled the wine in the glass, checking clarity. Eric did the same, pausing to spit a mouthful into the drain at their feet. He took another sip, considering.
“We should bottle it now,” he said.
“You sure?”
“I just don’t want to risk moving it down below or exposing it to smoke for even another day.”
Reese nodded. “We weren’t planning to bottle for a while yet. I don’t think we have enough bottles.”
“I’ve got a few pallets at my place. Why don’t you go over with your dad and bring them back up here?”
“Dad’s got a meeting with the insurance guy, and everyone else is busy.” Reese glanced toward the side of the building where she’d left Clay stringing plastic over the charred side of the building to keep the rain out. “Clay wants to help. He’s got a truck. I can ask him to help move bottles.”
Something dark passed over Eric’s face, but he nodded and reached into his pocket to hand her his keys. “You know where everything is. Just be careful.”
Reese rolled her eyes, knowing full well he wasn’t worried about her breaking bottles or exceeding the speed limit.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Eric snorted. “Daddy issues. That’s just what we need to make this whole thing weirder.”
Twenty minutes later, Reese pushed open the door to Eric’s barn. She felt Clay tense beside her and turned to look at him. With his hands in his pockets, the tattoo on his left bicep peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his black T-shirt. He hesitated, then followed her inside.
“You okay?” Reese asked.
“Yeah. Absolutely. Happy to help.”
“But?”
He gave her a small smile and touched the inside of her wrist. “I don’t know. It feels funny, I guess. Being here with you at Eric’s place after what happened last night.”
Reese laughed. “We’re picking up wine bottles, not having an orgy on his bed. Besides, it’s not like Eric and I ever lived here when we were married.”
“I know, I know. It’s just this hang-up I have, okay? You’re his ex-wife, this is his house.”
“You make me sound like a car or a jockstrap. Besides, you and I were friends first, remember?”
“I remember,” he said. “I definitely remember. I guess it’s just a weird guy thing.”
She grinned and laced her fingers behind his neck, pulling him down to her. “I’m rather fond of your guy thing, so I guess I can deal.” She pressed her lips to his for what was supposed to be a quick, playful kiss.
Clay responded with unexpected eagerness, drawing her tighter against him, deepening the kiss. His hand slid into the small of her back, and Reese felt her whole body surge with lust as Clay pressed the hard length of his body up against hers. He kissed her harder and Reese swayed, bumping her hip against an old barrel.
They were both breathless by the time they drew apart. Reese smiled up at him again. “Wow. You’re pretty good at that.”
He grinned back. “Always easier to be good at something you enjoy.”
“In that case, keep enjoying me.”
“Come on,” he said, giving her a light tap on the butt. “Let’s get the bottles.”
They worked in companionable silence for a while, shuffling the heavy cases out to the truck. Clay did most of the lifting, while Reese opened box after box, making sure they grabbed the right kind of bottles and had enough of them to handle all the Chardonnay.
“He’s got a ton of these,” Clay mused as he hefted another box.
“Eric does a lot of Chardonnay. Good thing, or he wouldn’t have enough bottles for us to use now.”
“Do most guys make wine on their own like this? Seems like it would be a conflict of interest for a winemaker.”
“Not at all. Eric sources most of his grapes from other places—a lot from the Columbia River Gorge, while we grow our own. They’re totally different wines. He actually travels to New Zealand to do his Sauv Blanc.”
“I remember him being over there last winter. He sent me a postcard with a filthy joke about sheep.”
Reese laughed and peered inside a dusty box. “That sounds like Eric. He missed you, you know. He acts like a jerk sometimes, but he really cares about you.”
“I know,” Clay answered, turning away to grab more bottles. “That’s why I couldn’t come back until I got my life straightened out. Until I’d stood on my own two feet for a few years and had gotten used to the way that felt.” He turned and looked at her, his hands frozen above the boxes. “I do, you know. Have my life straightened out. Do you believe that?”
Reese swallowed. “Yes. I do. I want to, anyway.”
He nodded and reached for the box. “Last night’s bar fight notwithstanding.”
Reese bit her lip and watched as he hefted the heavy box, admiring the muscled line of his shoulders. She was dusty and tired and still numb from the devastation of the fire, and she’d never wanted him more.
Focus, she told herself, and tore her eyes off his back. She bent down to shift a case of empty Cab bottles to one side.
“Ouch!” she yelped, yanking her finger back and sticking it in her mouth.
Clay spun around. “You okay?”
“Staple,” she muttered around her finger. “Damn, that hurts.”
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine, I’m just being a wimp.”
“You’ve had a tetanus shot lately?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Come on, let me see it.”
Reese withdrew her finger and held it up. Blood welled from the tiny puncture like a little red bead.
“That looks bad,” Clay said. “Do you think you need stitches?”
Reese shook her head and turned to the small sink along one wall. She turned on the tap and ran her hands under the water, wincing as it stung the fresh cut. She grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed for a moment before turning off the tap and shaking the water from her hands. She studied the wound again.
“I think I just need a Band-Aid. Eric’s probably got a first-aid kit in the office.”
She moved around him to the musty little room. Flicking on a light switch, she began rummaging through desk drawers. “God, he’s got a lot of crap in here,” she muttered.
“Let me,” Clay said. When Reese didn’t move right away, he circled his hands around her waist and hoisted her onto the counter, maneuvering her out of the way.
Reese squeaked, not minding one bit. It was kind of sexy having him take charge.
“Let me dig for it,” he muttered. “You’re getting blood all over.”
“It’s not even bleeding anymore,” she said as she kicked her heels against the front of the cabinet and watched the back of his head. He was hunched over the drawer, pawing through paperclips and old corks and a pair of plastic lips. Finally, he produced a small red pouch with a white cross on the front. Unzipping it, he dumped the contents on the counter.
Reese reached for a Band-Aid. “I can get it, Clay.”
He caught her wrist and locked his fingers around it. “No. You take care of every other living creature on the planet. It’s my turn to take care of you.”
She saluted with her uninjured hand. “Yes, sir.”
Clay stepped into the space in front of her, nudging her knees apart as he tore open a packet of something. Reese grinned and opened her legs, giving him easier access. She could feel the heat of him through the worn denim of her jeans, and her body screamed at her to get closer.
Clay raised her hand to eye level, frowning as he studied the tiny wound. Then he began to dab her finger with an alcohol wipe.
“Ow,” she said, though it didn’t really hurt.
�
��Want me to kiss it better?”
“Kind of.”
He grinned and lowered his lips to her palm, skipping her finger altogether as he moved his mouth over the fleshy pads at the base of her fingers. He nipped at the delicate ribbon of flesh between her thumb and forefinger, and Reese wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles at the back of his thighs to draw him closer.
Clay released the injured hand and moved on to the other one, drawing her index finger into his mouth. Reese gasped, savoring the warm wetness of his tongue against the pad of her fingertip. He withdrew her finger and kissed his way down the side of it, his tongue lingering in the sensitive hollow between her middle and ring finger. Reese moaned as he licked gently there for an instant before slipping up to dab kisses along her knuckles.
He plunged her finger into his mouth again and Reese whimpered. “I never get this treatment at the doctor’s office.”
“That’s probably a good thing.”
“Want to take my temperature?”
“That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
“Stick around, I’ve got more.”
Clay grinned and drew back, reaching for a Band-Aid. “Come on, now. This is serious medical business. Hold still.”
He held her wrist again as he dabbed a bit of ointment onto the injured finger. Reaching for a Band-Aid, he fumbled with the wrapper before securing it in place. He planted a kiss on the tip of her finger and smiled at her again.
“All better?”
“Almost,” she whispered as he bent to kiss her.
Clay’s hands slid up under her flannel shirt, finding her breasts through the thin fabric of the T-shirt she wore beneath. Reese gasped as his thumbs circled her nipples, her throbbing finger all but forgotten.
She felt the slightest prick of guilt for feeling so good right now with everything going to hell back at the vineyard, but she promptly pushed the thought from her mind.
I deserve to feel good, just for a minute.
She kissed him harder and pressed her fingers into his back, feeling the firm flex of muscle through his shirt.
The humid chill of the room settled over them, with the faint smell of damp soil and old grapes. Reese breathed it in, savoring the sawdust smell of Clay, too. His hands were hot and eager as they slid under her T-shirt and Reese moved against them, loving the deftness of his fingers against her bare skin. He slid his palms up, and Reese went dizzy as he stroked her breasts through the thin lace of her bra.