First Crush

by Ashley Ludwig

  Nick freed a few rainbow-striped pieces, their wrappers crinkling in his hand. He saluted the shopkeeper with them. “Start running my future kids a tab, then.”

  Mr. Dillon’s laugh at his back, Nick glanced at his phone and wondered if he’d given Natalie enough time with Fife—then worried he’d given her too much. He wanted to protect her from Clint just like he wanted to protect her from the unknown tire slasher.

  Something about her—the tilt of her head, the scent of her next to him—had him thinking about tomorrow with a smile for the first time in forever. But the past wasn’t far behind him.

  Heading back, it seemed every mistake he’d ever made ate at his heels.

  Chapter 6

  Natalie shifted in the leather chair and stared at the electric fireplace. How long was this attorney going to make her wait?

  The over-the-top mountain lodge theme of Fife and Fife Attorneys at Law didn’t hide the fact that he was almost thirty minutes late for their meeting. She looked up from a hiking magazine to the flat-screen television situated on the mantle playing a continuous video of a mountain creek. Ethereal music played on loop as water trickled over stones and conifers wavered against a bright blue sky.

  Electric candle warmers scented the waiting room with manly aromas of pine and musk. By the little cards and catalogs stacked on the receptionist’s desk, Valery Harper moonlighted as a candle rep.

  Valery clacked away at a keyboard with manicured nails, an earbud in place for answering phone calls. Her red hair was coiled in an updo. Porcelain skin highlighted pale blue eyes that focused on the computer screen as her painted red lips whisper-read each word as she typed.

  Natalie turned from Valery to inspect the rest of the room. Rock climbing, skydiving, scuba, and even extreme skiing pictures lined the walls. The same sandy-haired man was featured in all of them. He appeared with a cocky grin set on a suntanned, handsome face, his eyes often hidden behind ski goggles or sunglasses. The red-headed receptionist appeared beside him in a few photos.

  On the far wall, Natalie counted plaques for ten seasons’ worth of local baseball teams, all sporting the Fife and Fife Attorneys at Law logo.

  Who was this guy?

  Her cell buzzed and she cringed at her supervisor’s number.

  “Hey, Margot. Did you get my message?”

  “I got it.” Margot’s voice was clipped and to the point, just like always.

  “Um. There’s been a delay—”

  “Delays are one thing.” She could almost see Margot’s nostrils flaring in futile disappointment. “I was counting on you to come in today.”

  Natalie knew this game well. Knew how to wait Margot out by dragging out the silence. At last, Margot exhaled a long sigh. “Not another church thing, I hope.”

  “Just—um—family business.” Margot’s slight was familiar, but that didn’t alleviate the sting.

  “I see.”

  “It’s complicated.” She rubbed the tension out of her brows, thinking that things just kept getting more complicated. “Look. I’ll check in when I’m through. Maybe even make the afternoon shift if you’re still shorthanded.”

  “It’s fine. Evan can cover.”

  “Great. Then why don’t you pencil me out for tomorrow, too. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Evan will be thrilled to step in for you.”

  She could just picture Evan, shifty, lurking his way into her position. He wanted her job, and he’d be more than eager to snatch up her promotion too.

  “Great, well—” But the line was dead, just like her shot at management.

  Natalie returned her phone to her pocket and glanced up to see Valery peering at her over her monitor.

  “He’s running a little late.” The receptionist’s red lips parted in a wide smile. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. No problem.”

  With the tires, the late appointment, and now Margot’s sniping words, maybe she did need a full day and night off—and heaven knew an actual vacation. She had the hours saved to go halfway around the world if she wanted.

  Natalie dragged a fishing magazine off the pile, revealing a Deer and Deer Hunting cover with the image of a man holding a rifle and a carcass. She flipped it over with a shudder.

  Faux pine filled her throat and a gag rose, her stomach roiling in discontent.

  “Is there a restroom?”

  Hustling in the direction Valery pointed, she found the bathroom. Cool water from the pedestal sink did the trick.

  “Get a grip.”

  Her reflection offered no answers as she dabbed her wet face with a paper towel. Returning to the waiting room, she saw the man from all the pictures leaning at Valery’s desk.

  “You must be Natalie Turner.”

  He offered a hand and she shook it, stifling the notion that with his smooth skin and manicure, he and Valery probably went to the nail salon together.

  “Come on in to my office. We’ll get started right away.”

  Natalie followed him, discreetly taking inventory of the outdoorsy attorney.

  Hair bleached by the sun, he stood taller and leaner than Nick. Fife straightened his tie and unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat behind a large, glossy redwood desk.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I’m sure Mrs. Valence would appreciate it.” The grin tinted his brown eyes with a well-rehearsed amount of concern, even a touch of sorrow.

  Natalie settled her purse on her lap like a shield. Her mind spun, sifting through all her thoughts to bring the questions to the surface.

  “If I may, mine was a closed adoption. How did you find me?”

  He splayed his hands. “I have an excellent researcher. Mrs. Valence’s prognosis was grave after her accident, and we were brought in to handle the estate as there was no next of kin.” His shark’s smile didn’t budge as he continued. “Or so we thought.

  “Her will had a codicil—a special amendment—attached. Once her request to find you was made known, you weren’t that difficult to track.” He ticked through the social networks and the professional sites she was registered for. “We knew certain details of your birth, subsequent placement …”

  She ran her hands across the leather straps of her purse just to hold on to something. “The only information I had was my birth mother’s name: Amanda.”

  “Mm. The daughter. Yes, she disappeared shortly after you were born.”

  “Disappeared? Mr. Fife, you’re really catching me at a disadvantage here.”

  “Mr. Fife’s my father. Call me Clinton. Please.”

  Again, the grin.

  “Clinton, then.” Natalie gripped the purse straps and leaned forward. “Tell me what you know about the Valences.”

  “First things first.” He pulled a file containing a sealed manila envelope from his desk drawer. “There are a few issues with the estate.”

  “Estate?”

  “Mm.” He turned a page. “One of the original buildings in wine country. It’s been a winery, a bed and breakfast … Shut down after Mr. Valence passed.”

  A bed and breakfast?

  Her heart thrummed with curiosity, but she forced herself to remain still. She waited for him to continue.

  Clinton leafed through the documents, murmuring, until he found what he was looking for.

  “The property at 55574 Via Lomita, specifically, and all contained therein. Unfortunately, Mrs. Valence is an old woman, alone for many years. The house is in drastic disrepair, abandoned mid-renovation project. Mortgaged to the hilt.” He caught sight of her worried gaze. “Borrowed against, hefty taxes, that sort of thing.”

  He flipped the file closed, knit his fingers together, and continued with lawyerly detachment. “Your best option is to sell it. Use the money to pay for her care and medical bills until she’s—well, until she passes.”

  “I’m to pay for her care,” Natalie repeated slowly.

  “You are the sole heir to Mrs. Valence’s worldly possessions, including her property, h
er accounts, and all she is responsible for. While she’s alive, you have power of attorney and can act on her behalf. As she’s not of sound mind or body, you’re it, kiddo.” He grinned. “Congratulations.”

  “She’s dying.” Natalie swallowed around the shards of his words. “It hardly seems like a congratulatory moment.”

  “She’s had her life.” He splayed his hands wide. “This is your chance for yours. Here are the accounts, the passwords.” He slid a sealed envelope across the desktop. “I’ll keep the keys and meet with the realtor myself so you don’t have to deal with all the nasty business of property transfer.”

  Natalie swallowed. It was probably for the best. She had to leave, get out of here, get back to the real world and her real life.

  There was no financial windfall here, not with words like mortgage and disrepair.

  But once upon a time the estate had been a bed and breakfast? Her lifelong dream of owning her own hotel bubbled. Maybe her love of hospitality was biological?

  Gramma Anne’s words about a bird in the hand flitted to mind. Natalie mentally stuffed the quip back where it came from and slid the envelope open—accidentally slicing her finger open as well. A bright line of blood welled to the surface as she read the contents. Her heart stuttered. She’d never seen so many zeroes. “Is this for real?”

  He nodded. “Unfortunately, I have to give you this, as well.” She accepted the file of spreadsheets showing amounts owed against the property and the totals of varying accounts.

  Quickly subtracting in her head, she fought a smile, keeping the thrill deep inside. The balance remaining wasn’t nearly what she’d imagined last night, but it was still a tidy sum.

  “Since the accident at the house, we’ve taken the liberty of making payments and keeping the property out of arrears. It’s really more than a girl—well, someone like you—should have to take on.”

  Natalie shot a long look his way. What was this, the nineteen-fifties? The little woman can’t set accounts to rights?

  Finding her voice, she held a hand out. “I’d like the property keys, please.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he settled the ring of keys in her hand along with his business card. “I’ve located an agent and a buyer for you. Let me know when you decide to sell.”

  “I don’t know if that’ll be necessary.”

  “One look at the property and I think we’ll be talking again.”

  Anger rolled through her belly in an irrational ball. “I wouldn’t be sure of anything. I like to make my own decisions. Clinton,” she finished with a grin. She enjoyed how he sat back in his chair, a flummoxed look on his chiseled features.

  Had she really almost let this man bully her into handing over land, property, and whatever else lay out there without even seeing it first?

  Victory laced up her spine as she stood. “I’m also interested in hearing more about my birth mother. If there’s information for me.”

  “Nothing at present.” His tight mouth told her otherwise, and after a moment of her measured silence, he gave in. “Those files are sealed until after Mrs. Valence passes.” Clinton came around the desk and guided her to the door. She fought a flinch when his hand found the small of her back.

  “Perhaps there’s something at the house.” She spoke the wish aloud, immediately regretting it.

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. The Valences’ history is muddled with bad business deals and worse luck, I’m afraid, Miss Turner.”

  With one hand on the knob, his other hand remained where he’d placed it on her back. “If you’re hungry … I’m happy to take you to lunch? Show you around town?”

  “Thanks, all the same.” Natalie blanched at the unwanted intimacy and the suggestion in his grin.

  “I wish I had better news to offer about your family.” He leaned against the doorframe.

  “I’ll do what’s necessary to lend assistance since Mrs. Valence has no one else, but let me make one thing clear, Mr. Fife.” Keys and legal papers in hand, Natalie’s thoughts churned with an inner battle of blood versus spirit. “The Valences aren’t my family.”

  Chapter 7

  The white van idled off Via Lomita on the well-hidden dirt road in wine country.

  He’d sufficiently clipped her wings and Natalie—whoever she was—wouldn’t fly anywhere anytime soon.

  She wasn’t prey. She wasn’t worthy.

  And he had things to do.

  With her car disabled, she would be as pinned and flightless as a butterfly to a page.

  He sat back against the vinyl seat and watched crows flutter down to rest. The dipping power lines were populated with the dark creatures to a vanishing point.

  With the one cigarette he allowed himself a day stubbed in the ash tray, smoke lingered in his senses and on his uniform. Addiction was weakness. His grandfather’s was gambling. His father’s, alcohol. He refused to let cigarettes gain a hold on his powerful body.

  Stepping out onto the dirt road, he unfolded his muscled frame from his vehicle and stretched.

  The sun warmed his knotted shoulders as he rolled them, the ache dissipating. It was difficult for his six-foot frame to remain crouched and still in the shadows so long, but the girl had taunted him as she’d watched the moon from her balcony last night.

  He swallowed at the memory, a thrill rushing through his blood. How he’d wanted to plunge forward, take his target and feel the life rush from his victim. But the watching, the waiting—it was worth any amount of agony.

  Standing at the hill’s apex in the alternating light and shadow cast by a windmill blade, he stared across the valley. By rights this land was his. All that he could see, from the ripple of Long Valley Creek in the east to the slopes of the western hills, was originally built, planted, and tended by his grandfather’s hand.

  Behind the sway of green-leafed olive trees, his heart reached for the castle in the valley: his family home by birth and by right.

  The grey stone structure of the main house beckoned with a crenelated roof and twin barrel-shaped rooms at either end.

  It was all his.

  No silver passed from the Valence family to his grandfather would change that. His weak, alcoholic father accepted work here, slavery here, while drowning in whiskey and wine. But, then again, his father didn’t have what it took to watch it for the signs. But he’d grown up watching, waiting, just as Mother taught.

  Without worry of discovery, he walked the scraggly path between the grapevines, their thick and gnarled stems telling tales of seasons gone by.

  Drought. Rain. Insects that sought to destroy them. But the aging vines were ripening and ready.

  The signs were there: bright bunches of grapes in the twist of shadows. The blush of rich Cabernet, subtle sweetness of golden Viognier. Alcohol—even wine—led weak men to their folly. And the weak were dust.

  The signs were everywhere since the girl’s arrival. Discovering her in the hospital was a sign to wait. If he’d rushed ahead with the old woman, perhaps they would have found him. He’d been patient for years. As with wine, the best things in life were worth waiting for.

  Walking among the curling shoots and leaves, he focused his attention to the tiniest detail.

  Row after row, he inspected the sturdy leaves, searching for signs of rot. Spying a withered darkness among the bright green, he knelt to study the imperfection, saw how it ate along the grape leaf’s edges.

  Disease.

  He broke it off with a snap. The leaf crumpled in his fist and he let the pieces fall to the ground like rain and ash and dust upon the fertile soil, as was his right.

  Lunchtime approached with no sign of Nick amid the press of Old Town shoppers. Scents of barbecue wafted on midday air across the street, and she considered waiting at one of the outdoor tables instead of by Nick’s pickup truck.

  She called the auto shop, and the mechanic said her car wouldn’t be ready until five. Natalie hoped that Nick wouldn’t mind hauling her around until then.

>   Summarily stranded, she called the hospital to check on Mrs. Valence.

  “No change today.” The head nurse rattled off vitals and then said, “There’s no point in coming in today. The doctor’s seen her and she’s stable. For now.”

  For now.

  The nurse’s words lingered in her mind while outdoor speakers twanged Alison Krauss and Brad Paisley’s “Whiskey Lullaby,” the solemn lyrics at odds with the bright day.

  Flipping open the file, she reviewed the information Clinton had given her. The responsibilities that had once intrigued now felt more like millstones.

  What do you know about starting a business? You can’t even change out a tire.

  “Four tires,” she mumbled aloud.

  “Car ready yet?”

  She looked up at Nick’s voice. He carried a bright bunch of fluffy pink blossoms. A yellow rosebud was tucked in-between.

  “No. Not until tonight.” Eyes wide with apology, she added, “I’ll just wait at the hotel. You don’t have to be my driver.”

  “And I was just about to buy myself the hat.” He shifted the blooms from one hand to the other.

  Natalie pressed her lips together, a small thrill warming her heart. What girl wouldn’t go weak-kneed at a handsome man bearing flowers?

  Nick roughed his neck with a free hand. “For Mom.”

  Embarrassment washed over her skin. Of course they weren’t for her. At least she hadn’t gone gaga over them.

  His head was ducked in that same hang-dog way as whenever he brought up his family. “I’m heading out there later.”

  “Her birthday?”

  “Nah. An ‘I’m sorry’ for not getting home sooner.”

  “How will she know you were dodging her?”

  “Dalton. He tells her everything.”

  “Ah.” She moved to change the subject. “Let’s talk about your family’s misdeeds over barbecue. I’m starved.”

  He led her past the seat yourself sign and found a place for them by the window. Natalie reached for a menu, but Nick pushed it aside.

  “Trust me?”

  At her nod, he ordered a platter of pulled pork sliders to share, slaw for both, and a couple of sodas.