First Crush

by Ashley Ludwig

  Chapter 19

  In the warmth of Violet’s kitchen lights, Natalie’s adrenaline was still pumping as she watched Corie get to work.

  Nick hunkered at the bar, retelling the story over coffee while Corie whipped up some culinary magic.

  “I love the combo counters, Mrs. Hardaway.” Corie smiled as she ran her hands over them. “Butcher block and granite, together? Awesomeness.”

  She set down the glass bowls and retrieved a whisk from the drawer as directed.

  “You can call me Violet.” Nick’s mother collected ingredients from the fridge and placed them within easy reach. “Anyone who steps in to cook in my house gets first-name privileges.”

  “You got it, Violet. Dice the ham and onion, and slice the ’shrooms to about a quarter inch?”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Corie peeked inside the egg carton at the brown, speckled offering. “Ooh! Farm fresh!”

  “I got them from a sustainable ranch.” Violet told the girls it was the only place in town to purchase eggs, poultry, and beef.

  Natalie’s heart filled as she watched her sister fall into an easy rhythm. Corie was just like Mom. She could fit in anywhere, adjust to any circumstance.

  All laughter fled through the open door as Dalton stomped into the house.

  Corie continued cracking eggs into the glass bowl. Then the sound of a whisk attacking glass filled the kitchen.

  Violet sliced mushrooms and diced more ham. “You had quite a night, Son.”

  “False alarm.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Violet swiped the clinging bits of food off the knife before rinsing it in the sink. “Why can’t you boys see that is a good thing?”

  Corie added onions to a pan of sizzling butter. She gave the pan a shake, and the onions emitted a hot whoosh.

  “Where’s Dad?” Dalton scraped a stool out and sat alongside Nick at the kitchen bar.

  “Sleeping.” Violet washed and dumped mushrooms on the butcher block surface. She chopped the mushrooms and diced more ham while Corie started yet another skillet sizzling.

  “Smells good.”

  “Gotta eat.” Her gaze was blasé, but there was a veiled heat of interest. Natalie knew Corie’s tells when she was interested in a guy. That subtle pout, her wry humor.

  Dalton’s curiosity in Corie wasn’t hidden at all. He couldn’t take his eyes off Natalie’s raven-haired sister.

  Natalie sipped her decaf coffee next to Nick as they watched their siblings flirt.

  “So, you’re the sister. The chef?”

  “That’s what the diploma tells me.” Corie’s egg mixture sizzled over the ham, mushroom, and onion. She added a dusting of salt and fresh dill and then flipped the omelet with a flick of her wrist. When she judged it ready, she added freshly shredded jack cheese to top it off.

  “Talented.”

  “Hmm.” Corie slid her creation in front of him with a wicked smile. “You be the judge. Jury. Executioner.”

  “Touché.” Dalton took a bite, glanced to Nick. “How much does she know?”

  “Everything.” Natalie blew a cooling breath over the brew. “We tell each other everything. Turner family rule.”

  “Ah. Now she remembers.” Corie arched an eyebrow, leaning toward her sister across the counter. “You still haven’t told Mom, Dad, or Aaron anything about this power of attorney business.”

  Natalie sank her elbows to the counter. She wished she could sink beneath the granite surface.

  Nick’s hand covered hers in a brief squeeze. “Sometimes the truth comes out in waves. You’re doing the best you can.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that.” Violet poured a cup of coffee for Dalton. “You sure you don’t want any, Corie?”

  “Just ice water for me. Even decaf gets me jittery this late.” She set plates in front of everyone. “Who’s saying grace?”

  “For a midnight snack?” Fork raised, Dalton scoffed before sinking farther down in his seat under his mother’s glare.

  Corie shot a look at Natalie while Nick’s deep voice filled the kitchen with a simple blessing.

  Violet’s face crumpled and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t do right by them in the church department. We were always so busy on Sundays.”

  “Every family’s different.” Corie smiled under her dark bangs. “I just always think praying makes the food taste a little better.”

  “Doesn’t need anything extra,” Dalton said between bites. “It’s delicious.”

  Corie bloomed at the compliment. She watched everyone sample her work, first with tentative bites, and then with devouring gulps. Violet brought out the brownies she’d baked as a sweet end to the meal.

  “They’re from a box,” she apologized with a laugh.

  “Ah, but obviously made with love.” Corie snacked on a second gooey treat.

  First one finished eating, Dalton rolled up his shirtsleeves and shot water into the sink. “I’ll do the dishes.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Good food doesn’t stick around long.” He attempted a smile that landed somewhere around grimace. “Anyway, Mom always said if you didn’t cook, you had to clean up.”

  Violet toasted her son with her cup of decaf. “Always nice to be remembered.”

  Natalie stepped to his side to dry the dripping stack of plates while Violet turned her attention to Nick, voice low and sweet.

  “Melissa called from the hospital. Philip’s taken a turn for the worse. He doesn’t have much longer. Maybe you should go see him again tomorrow. You may not …”

  “Get another chance. Yeah. I know.” Eyes downcast, Nick nodded. Natalie abandoned dish duty and covered his hand with hers. He didn’t pull away.

  Corie wiped down the kitchen counters as Nick and Natalie said good night and then trooped upstairs to their respective rooms. Dalton hugged his mother goodbye at the door.

  “Need help, sweetie?” Violet asked Corie.

  “No, I got it. Good night, Violet.”

  The woman’s answering hug was solid and sweet. Her floral perfume remained as she traipsed upstairs.

  Dalton hesitated at the front door, his gaze locked on Corie, catching her in the act of watching him.

  “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You live here too?”

  “I have a little place on the property.” He dusted his hands on his jeans. “Dad helped me build it after I finished at the academy.”

  She nodded, approving. This family was guarded and wounded, but they stuck together in their own way.

  His expressive mouth went pensive before he spoke again. “Mom … she needs us close.”

  A depth of understanding and sympathy washed through her soul. “I’m so sorry about your sister.”

  “Yeah.” He studied his boot toes, chin ducked. He probably wanted her to drop it, but Corie wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him walk away in so much pain. Spying the crack in his tough façade, she reached for words that might offer some comfort.

  “One life affects so many.”

  “One life.” Dalton’s resonant voice thrummed through her bones as he crossed the room. She backpedaled from his approach until her back met the granite counter. “And this world still has one life too many.”

  A switch flipped in his demeanor. Below his outward need for justice, Corie sensed something else—something dangerous and dark.

  He met her gaze with an ebony stare, and when he finally spoke, his words were fueled with fire. “Your sister’s careless with her safety.”

  “Natalie?” Corie asked with a laugh. Dalton stepped through the front door to the wide porch.

  Tossing her drying cloth to the countertop, she followed him outside. She sat in the rocker next to him and set hers moving, slow squeaks joining the crickets and other night sounds. She contemplated the stars as she sought a way to reach him.

  “Natalie’s not usually careless. She’s all order and no nonsense.”

  “Maybe Nick is a bad influenc
e on her,” he grumbled. “She’s willing to put herself on the line, but the cost—it’s too great. You’ve got to get her home. Away from here.”

  “You can’t see stars like this in San Francisco. Or San Diego, for that matter.” Corie shook out her knotted hair, staring up at the stars. “Hard to believe it’s all the same great big sky.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “No. Not really.” She rocked forward. “This world’s a big place, but you can’t hide in fear. Sometimes, you’ve gotta take a stand. That’s what my mom and dad taught us.”

  “Have they ever lost someone who really mattered?” His voice cracked a bit.

  She lifted and dropped her shoulders. She didn’t know him well enough to share any deep, dark family stories. Silence welled before she continued.

  “Nat’s decided. This is her stand.” She tipped her head back for a better view of Orion’s belt. “If she stays, I’m sticking around to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Then at least we agree on something.”

  Dalton stopped rocking and stood, pulling her to her feet as well. At five-foot-ten, Corie rarely felt small in anyone’s presence, but Dalton towered over her in size and personality. Still, underneath the big personality he projected, Corie could tell he was nursing the jagged edges of a wound that would not heal.

  He tilted his head and observed her as if she was a work of art, something to admire from afar, to look at but not touch.

  She reached through his invisible shield and took his hand. “Thanks for looking out for Natalie.”

  “This guy’s getting comfortable. Reckless. But he’s not playing a game. He plays for keeps.” Dalton’s words chilled Corie to her bare heels.

  Reminding her to lock up, Dalton waited until she was inside with the bolt twisted to the locked position. With a nod, he set off into the darkness toward his apartment.

  Corie pushed her hair out of her face as she flipped off the downstairs lights. The hood light over the stove glowed softly as she crept upstairs into the depths of the unfamiliar house.

  How fast everything changes.

  What surprised her most of all was her heart; this Tom Hiddleston-esque cop with a wounded soul was turning it into a war zone.

  Natalie was standing in a robe, hair wrapped in a towel, and searching through her valise for a nightshirt when the door opened.

  Corie floated into the room that had once been Rebecca’s. Her sister angled to one of the twin beds, pulled back the pink comforter and white eyelet sheets that matched the curtains, and flopped onto the bed, defeated.

  “I thought you’d be up ages ago.” Natalie abandoned the robe for one of Aaron’s old wrestling shirts that hung to her knees. She shook out her wet hair, scenting the room with fresh sage and lavender shampoo. “What happened to you?”

  “Dalton,” Corie responded, as if that answered everything.

  With a huff, Corie got up to fetch her duffel bag. She fished for her toothbrush and then stomped across the hall to the bathroom.

  Toweling her hair dry, Natalie followed. “Tell me,” she said, leaning in the doorway.

  “He’s an idiot.” Corie shot water over the brush, squeezed some minty paste onto it, and brushed.

  “Runs in the family.” Natalie’s smile pushed up from her soul. Her eyes met Corie’s in the mirror.

  “Oh my gosh.” Corie spat, rinsed, and turned to face Natalie, wagging her toothbrush in accusation as she spoke. “You love him.”

  “No—I—”

  “Love him. With a capital L.” She hip-sat on the counter, arms crossed. “Admit it.”

  “Maybe I do.” Natalie fingered the embroidered towel hanging from the bathroom wall. “It’s only been a week. How long do you have to wait until you know?”

  “If you love him? Shall I burst into a Disney song?”

  Natalie burst out laughing. “No. Please!”

  “So … how good a kisser is Mr. Nick Hardaway?”

  “Not too shabby.” Natalie allowed herself a wicked grin, thrilling at the memory of his mouth, his eyes, his touch in the vineyard.

  Corie’s jaw unhinged. “You didn’t—”

  “No! I won’t. I made a celibacy vow, remember?”

  “Yeah.” Corie grabbed the floss and set to work, speaking around the long strand. “So did a lot of other former virgins.”

  Finished, she followed Natalie back into Rebecca’s time-trapped room. “So, go on.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this here.” Natalie waved her hands at the room. “I feel weird enough already.”

  The girls looked around the room. Dated scholastic posters, a bulletin board showcasing Rebecca’s cheerleading team, cherry lip gloss …

  Corie nodded. “It’s like a shrine.”

  “Do you think Mom would have done the same if it were one of us?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” Corie brushed out her dark, tangled hair and then set the brush down. “It must have been awful.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” Natalie pulled back the covers, carefully folding the quilt as she spoke of the Hardaway family dinner debacle, the sadness that still permeated their family. Pulling the sheet to her chin, she dished on Nick’s strong faith—and Dalton’s lack of it.

  Corie’s laugh was self-deprecating as she ruffled her hair. “He’s just my type.”

  Natalie shot up on an elbow. Fluffed a pillow with a punch. “He’s just the only available male around for twenty miles.”

  “Well, there’s—”

  Natalie raised an interrupting finger. “Nick is off limits to you, young lady.”

  “Just checking.” Corie dropped the brush to the night table. “What’s this?” She snatched the leather journal from the top of Natalie’s bag.

  “Some sort of journal. I found it in Mrs. Valence’s place.” Pressing her lips together, Natalie unveiled the secret longing. “I was hoping there might be some mention of Amanda in there.”

  “Your bio-mom?”

  At Natalie’s responding nod, Corie thumbed through the age-stained pages. “We used to daydream that you came from royalty,” she said, closing the journal. “You certainly acted like it.”

  “Har-de-har.” Natalie sat up to punch Corie’s shoulder and then plopped back on the duplicate twin bed. “I’m no princess.”

  Corie opened the book again and frowned over the pages. “It reads like an almanac or something.”

  “What are these?” She pointed to the numbers and abbreviated words.

  “I have no idea. I don’t speak German.”

  “Aaron does. We’ll ask him tomorrow when we Skype.”

  Natalie nodded. Her sister continued to scowl as if tightening her gaze would decipher the words.

  “I don’t think it’s an almanac. That could be German for yeast. Measurement. Time. Oxygen. Some sort of bizarre recipe, but I’ve never seen anything like it.” Corie plucked up her mobile. “Maybe if I can put it in a translator …”

  “Far be it from you to not work out a recipe.” Natalie battled a yawn while Corie typed into Google Translator.

  With the quilt over her head to block out the light, Natalie finally found sleep. Every time she woke up, Corie’s lamp was still on. In the vault of Rebecca’s room, her sister delved into the Valences’ secrets.

  Chapter 20

  Morning found Nick’s dad deep in the vines at the convergence of the Valence and Hardaway property lines.

  “Well?” Nick stared his father down at the collapsed section of the split-rail fence.

  His father dragged his forearm across his forehead, the heat of the August day already making him sweat. Or was it something else?

  “She wants you to broker a deal? For those?” Dad sliced off a bunch of dark, red-skinned fruit, held it to the sky, and sampled a fat, round Cab Franc.

  Nick bit back his words. Business dealings with Dad promised to be far worse than anything he’d faced at Triage.

  Lee Hardaway might not see it that way, but his f
ather had blessed him with the uncanny ability to face down just about anyone without backing away.

  Triage used to call him their hard bargainer. It was a different story when it wasn’t his neck on the line. This was about Natalie, and seeing her dreams come to fruition. No matter how cagey Dad wanted to be, he could wait him out. Usually. But this morning’s walk and talk was mostly just walk.

  His dad was a man of action, not words. And, from his morning check in with Philip’s wife, time wasn’t on his side today.

  Nick glanced sunward and figured it was about eight thirty. The girls were still sleeping in Becky’s room when he’d left with Dad for their morning stroll.

  Every fiber of his being told him to get to the hospital. Not to wait. But when Dad suggested they go take a look at the fields over coffee, Nick knew his father’s time might not be offered again.

  He could do both.

  For Natalie.

  Dad knelt at the vine and inspected the flat planes of broad leaves. He dropped them with a thick rustle.

  “No sign of infestation. Would have sworn these grapes’d be affected, blighted.”

  He turned to his property, looking at the boxes set up to ward off the grape-killing insects. The citrus trees planted beyond lured the pests even farther away. “Maybe my tactics helped here too. You know, by proximity.”

  “Maybe.” Nick ran a hand along the vines to the soil, the well at its base. “Look. See how this soil’s pushed up? This was purposeful. Someone’s been caring for these plants, making sure they produced fruit.”

  His father nodded, forehead rumpled at the sight. “I’ll talk to Alberto. He can’t stand to see anything suffering. But water’s not cheap. If he’s been—”

  “Dad.” Nick took a breath. “It could’ve been someone the old lady hired. We don’t know. She’s not available to ask.”

  “Either way.” Lee walked the vine rows, observing the many acres, each with their own grape. “This harvest is saleable.” He resettled his ball cap, nodded to the heavy bunched vines. “If I were her? I’d sell the Viognier for cash crop. With the grapes that are left, I’d crush them. Blend a nice healthy Meritage.”

  “Her own?”

  “Sure.” His father tossed him a grape. Nick caught it midair and inspected the fruit. “You’ve got the Cab Franc, Merlot, even a bit of Petite Sirah. Enough for a small run. Maybe a hundred bottles?” He stared toward the mountain over the rolling Valence property.