Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.
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Dear Readers,
Welcome to the St. Helena Vineyard’s Kindle World, where romance is waiting to be uncorked and authors from around the globe are invited to share their own stories of love and happily ever after. Set in the heart of wine country, this quaint town and its cast of quirky characters were the inspiration behind my St Helena Vineyard series, and the Hallmark Channel movie, AUTUMN IN THE VINEYARD. I want to thank these incredible authors for spending time in St. Helena, and all of you readers who are adventurous enough to take the journey with us.
I hope you enjoy your time here as much as we have.
Warmly,
Marina Adair
LOVE IN FOCUS
The Laffertys, Book 2
by
Anna J Stewart
Also by Anna J Stewart
THE LAFFERTYS
Straight to His Heart
HONOR BOUND
More Than a Lawman
Reunited with The P.I.
Gone in the Night
BUTTERFLY HARBOR
The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor
Recipe for Redemption
A Dad for Charlie
ANTHOLOGIES
Christmas, Actually
Make Me a Match
NOVELLAS
Bells Are Ringing
Once Upon a Christmas
The Christmas List
THE TREMAYNE FAMILY ROMANCES
Asking for Trouble
Here Comes Trouble
The Trouble with Nathan
Dedication
For my fellow St. Helena Vineyard Kindle World authors.
Thank you for welcoming me into the family.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to:
Marina Adair for inviting me back and for creating such an amazing world.
Melinda Curtis for her editing prowess.
Annissa Turpin-Giannone of Annissa Turpin Graphics for the amazing cover.
Cari Lynn Webb for her invaluable insights in helping me flesh out Dante. Our job really sucks, doesn’t it?
Debra Lyon and Gale Sroelov for being my second and third pairs of eyes
Kate Kissett, Tara M. Cromer, and Grace Conley for their last-minute offer of assistance.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
The click, click, click of a camera snapped Nissa Drummond back to the crisp late-summer day. The hairs on the back of her neck shot to attention and she shivered against the sudden chill. Shielding her tired eyes, she leaned forward on the park bench she’d inhabited for the last hour and scanned the park.
The sound of kids squealing and laughing on the playground in the distance—a last hurrah before the start of the St. Helena, California, school year in two weeks—provided an odd sense of comfort. Residents moseyed, observed, and went about their day while couples lay stretched out on blankets over the lush, green grass. Across the street she saw the Pita Peddler Streatery easing its way toward the Sheriff’s department while behind her, horns blared in the parking lot of the senior center. The unusually warm summer continued to cling to the wine country town as they rode into fall. The surrounding trees and shrubs rustled in the light breeze and, as Nissa rose to her feet and turned around, her heart skipped a beat.
She stood stone still, trying to stave off her legs trembling. What had she been thinking, sitting alone in the park? Of all people, she should know how much cover the thick shrubbery provided; the perfect hiding place for …
Her breath froze in her throat as her heart slammed to a stop against her ribcage. For an instant, she was back in the rainforest of South America, crouched behind dense trees, her camera lens aimed at the thick fauna as she waited—some would say in vain—for the elusive lemur leaf frog to make an appearance in its natural habitat.
Before all hell had broken loose.
“Damn it!”
The voice made her jump, but she stood her ground. She couldn’t jump like a rabbit at every unexpected noise. Not if she was going put the past firmly behind her. Not if she was going to retain custody of her kids.
A man appeared from behind a tree, an old-fashioned film camera caught between two very large, sturdy hands.
Nissa blinked and her mind fizzled. Somehow, she’d been transported from the horror-filled jungle to a time when the Gods themselves fashioned perfect male specimens for their viewing pleasure. Men like this should come with their own theme song, if not their own fog machine. He was, in a word, stunning.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man made her feel so short. Or so…feminine. And yet, not vulnerable.
His dark shirt stretched taut across a chest that made her fingers itch to explore beneath the navy-blue tee. His biceps tightened as he struggled with the camera, but Nissa found her gaze pulled lower, lower, over snug jeans with belt loops just the right size for a woman’s fingers. When she managed to pull herself together long enough to focus on his face, she had to blink the stars from her eyes.
And oh, what a face it was.
Tanned skin accented by thick, rich, black as night hair and a five o’clock shadow that was made to scrape a woman’s skin. She caught the glimmer of white teeth behind frustration stretched full lips; his nose was slightly off kilter, as if it had been broken more than once. But it was his eyes—rich, deep, turquoise eyes that called to mind the pristine seas of Greece and dazzling sheet-tangling nights. He had sinewy muscles that could overpower, but that contradicted the calm she found in his eyes. Her entire body went hot, as if the sun had exploded inside of her. As if something deep inside thought it best to remind her that she was a sexual being.
What was wrong with her? She never reacted to men this way. She rarely reacted to men at all. Just ask her ex-husband, who had made it his mission early on in their marriage to remind Nissa she could have replaced the ice machine in their freezer.
“Don’t suppose you know anything about cameras, do you?”
Nissa’s breath caught in her chest. God. Not only was he an intoxicating binge for the eyes, but his voice may as well have been set to music. That low timbre, the way it vibrated through her as if she were a violin being bowed…
“I, uh.” Nissa cleared her throat and forced her attention to the camera he’d dropped to his side. Bushes. A camera. Dread seeped in along the dazed edges of her mind as the unwelcome panic clawed inside her. “Actually, I do know a little something.” A little something? She’d been a photography major in college. She’d made her living capturing moments on film. She’d been stripping, rebuilding, and focusing cameras since she was ten years old. From the second she’d first picked one up, she knew she’d found her calling. “What are you having problems with?”
“The film’s stuck. I think.”
“Film, huh?” She approached, still wary, still coaching herself to be brave. Sometimes she just wanted the old-fashioned connection to 35mm. Also, with two rambunctious kids, holing up in a dark room held its own solitary appeal. If o
nly the idea of a new darkroom didn’t equally excite and terrify her.
“It’s my father’s camera.” The man shrugged. “We used to go to the park when I was a kid, take all kinds of pictures, then go back home and develop them.” His smile dimmed. “He’s in a care facility now. Thought maybe I’d take some pictures and have them framed for Christmas. At this rate it might be in ten years, though.”
A man who loved his father. Nissa pressed her lips into a tight line as the picture of perfection solidified. Family. Was there anything more important? There had to be something wrong with the man. Serial killers lurked in bushes, didn’t they? Even more so than photographers. Yep, a serial killer seemed the way her luck ran these days. He probably had some kind of dungeon or S&M room in the basement of his house. Or worse. He was married.
She flicked her gaze to his left hand and found no ring. Not that that meant anything. Her ex-husband had stopped wearing his soon after she’d slipped the band on his finger. An allergic reaction, he’d said. He hadn’t been wrong: he’d soon broken out in bleached botoxed blondes with lips a blow-up doll would envy.
Nissa shifted her attention to the camera as she took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of clean, woodsy male. Every cell in her body popped and her divorce-dormant hormones woke up and said “howdy”, clearly agreeing with her sister-in-law’s insistence she needed to jump back in the dating pool. “Can I see it?”
“See what?” There was that grin again, the one that could work as well as a siren’s lure had she been a sailor at sea.
But she wasn’t a sailor. She was a photographer. And a mom, one who had to be there for her children when something went bump in the night. “The camera.” She held out her hand. “I promise, I won’t damage it.”
He placed the camera in hers. “As you wish.”
And he could quote her favorite movie. Because a storybook swashbuckling pirate was what was missing from this scenario. Her skin went clammy as the camera settled in her hand. The weight was negligible aside from the unease shooting through her veins. The panic that, if she surrendered to it, would drive her to her knees.
Not now. Not here. Not again.
After South America she’d needed the reminder that open air and fauna could serve as a refuge; proof there was still beauty in the world despite the cruelty and greed that existed. She was ashamed to admit how long it had taken her to build up the courage to walk through the park let alone sit still for any length of time. Everywhere she looked she remembered…The quiet. The lushness. The shock of…
She pulled herself out of the memory undertow, focusing in the equipment in her hands. Reminding herself she hadn’t been raped or assaulted. She’d only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And seen the wrong thing.
None of which was the camera’s fault, she told herself. Not this camera. Not even the one she’d brought back from her assignment and buried in a box she had yet to reopen. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d snapped a picture. She hadn’t even been able to gather the courage to unpack her photography equipment in the new house she’d just moved into last week.
She took a long, steadying breath. Focus. This isn’t about you. She wasn’t the one taking the pictures and even if she did, it wasn’t as if she was going to capture a heinous crime on film in St. Helena.
Blanking her mind, she clicked the power button and lifted the camera, aimed at the tree above, adjusted the lens. The solitary branch came into focus, then the leaves. Then a leaf. And the ladybug making its way across its glistening green surface. When she snapped and forwarded the film, there was no tension. At least not in the camera. “You load this today?” She popped open the back and examined the loose film strip.
“Apparently not correctly.”
He’d moved in close, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. Hot, strong. Pulsing and steady.
Nissa swallowed hard and readjusted the film into the slot, turned the receptacle, and snapped the cover closed. “Okay. Try it now.” How could the camera cause more upheaval inside of her than a stranger standing so close not even air could pass between them? And yet…she didn’t move away. She didn’t want to move away. She inched her chin up, arched a brow and tried not to fall back on her butt. “You need to be sure the film is inserted into the…slot.” Her cheeks went pyromaniac hot. If he caught the double entendre, he didn’t let on. For an instant, Nissa wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Sweat broke out on her forehead and she rocked back on her heels, resisting the urge to duck her head to reboot her internal sensor.
He slipped the camera out of her hand, held it against his chest and smiled into her eyes. “Thank you. Guess I was lucky to have found you.”
“Ha. Yeah, well, I’d be hard to miss. I spend a lot of time in the park these days.” Distractions. It was also why she’d been pulling double shifts at her family’s restaurant. “You should be able to get those pictures for your dad now,” she told him. “Um. Maybe introductions are in order? I’m Nissa Drummond. Lafferty. Drummond.” She shook her head as she offered her hand. “Lafferty.”
“Identity crisis?” That smile of his made his eyes twinkle like the superheroes in Wyatt’s comic books.
“Something like that,” she managed as he folded her hand into his.
“Dante Thanos.” The words, or maybe it was his touch, seeped through her like molten lava. Holy Hell in a hand basket this man was dangerous with a capital D. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nissa Drummond. Lafferty. Drummond. Lafferty.”
Dante Thanos. Clearly his parents hadn’t been satisfied with the blatant Y chromosome; they’d needed to boost his name with extra testosterone.
“Likewise, Dante.” Likewise? She must have left her social skills back at her wedding day. “Are you new to town?”
“Passing through. Can I buy you a coffee as a thank you? There’s this little place on Main Street, The Sweet and Savory. I could mainline their drinks.”
“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I have a shift at my folk’s place in a bit. Beatha. Irish restaurant a little way from here.” She shoved her hands into the back pocket of her jeans and took a step back.
“I’m a fan of Ireland.” He aimed the camera at her and, before she could blink, he snapped a picture. She tried to swallow the flicker of fear that had lodged in her throat. “Ten bucks says this is out of focus. Or maybe it’ll be a surprise. It seems a day for them.”
“Yeah.” Yeah, it did. She backed away suddenly conscious of every one of the fifteen pounds she’d never taken off after Wyatt’s birth. “I’ll see you around, Dante Thanos.”
He smiled at her and she’d never envied a camera more as he ran his fingers over the lens. “I hope so.”
Nissa turned away before she made even more of a fool of herself. She didn’t hurry, purposely put one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world. She didn’t have limitless days. She had seven. Seven days to get her head on straight before Lance brought the kids back.
She couldn’t afford to be distracted by godlike smiles. If Lance found out what had happened in South America and how it affected her, she wouldn’t have seven more days with Caley and Wyatt. She’d be the parent without primary custody.
*
Dante kept Nissa in sight as he returned to the rented SUV he’d parked on Adam Street. He tossed the camera on the passenger seat, glancing in the side mirror as she disappeared around the corner. A quick glance at his watch had him relaxing, but only long enough to climb behind the wheel and make an illegal U-turn. A few seconds and a few turns later, he passed the Lafferty’s restaurant only to watch Nissa head inside Anam Cara, the shop next door.
The sister-in-law’s business, Dante noted as he sped up. The doll repair shop seemed oddly appropriate given the charm and pace of St. Helena. The small businesses lining Main Street and the surrounding area felt like a throwback of sorts, before big box stores locked their greedy hands around what had to be valuable w
ine country property. The place felt so removed from his own studio apartment in New York that he may as well have traveled to another solar system.
In the two days he’d been in town, he’d familiarized himself with most of those businesses, from the bistros and breweries to the Napa Grand Hotel where he’d reserved a suite. From the quirky Cork’d & Dipped to The Pungent Barrel Wine & Cheese shop, the eclectic offerings were as charming as they were unique. Small towns had their benefits as they were the perfect hub for gossip and information as long as one didn’t bring attention to oneself by asking the wrong questions. Or asking too many questions. He’d quickly realized Nissa hadn’t been in town long enough to really make an impression on anyone.
He made a left on Spring Street and, after another few turns pulled into an empty spot at the end of Nissa’s block. He killed the engine, reached out, and clicked open his glove box. He shifted his Sig Sauer aside, searched through the box for his detective’s “badge” in case he came across any attentive neighbors, and dug out his custom lock picks. He shoved both into his back pocket before he climbed out and headed around the corner.
The two story house sat neatly back from the street, surrounded by a lush front yard where crepe myrtles exploded in bright pinks. The subtle grey siding accented by white trim was more welcoming than it should be. He knew there weren’t dogs in the home and, as he made a quick scan of the street, the neighbors weren’t particularly visible. Besides, it was mid-afternoon on a weekday. People were still at work or enjoying the final days of summer. He wasn’t so brazen as to walk right through the front door, however.
The back door would suffice.
He rounded the side of the house, his black work boots crunching through the scattering of leaves and debris lining the brick walkway. He glanced in the side windows as he passed, noticed the stacks of boxes piled against one of the walls of the living room. Still unpacking. Understandable since his boss had told him she’d only just moved in last week.
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