by Cait London
In the approximate location where the cruiser had been last night, Nick cut the motor and held very still, surveying the huge black swells for a sign—anything to take back to Maggie.
He saw something in the water, lying low and flat, and started the motor, steering toward it. Close now, Nick identified it as a log, and once more cut the motor, scanning the swells.
The wind rose slightly and Nick tilted his head, listening to the faint sound. It could have been Mac Donovan’s collie down the road. Or a tourist’s dog on a leash.
Or it just could be Scout.
He tossed the remainder of the coffee into the lake and powered the motor, traveling toward the sound and then stopping once more.
In the predawn and the fog, Monique’s tiny island was an impossible distance for a wounded dog to swim—especially in a storm.
Yet the sound came again, a dog’s excited bark, and Nick shoved the controls into full forward, heading for the island.
“He should have waited for me.”
Maggie stalked the beach, watching the cruiser moving swiftly over the water toward her. She’d already made a fast run up and down the shore. She’d searched for Scout’s body and Nick had gone searching on the lake without her.
She braced her hands on her hips and decided that he could just take her out again.
“Look at that,” she muttered to herself as the cruiser came closer. “He’s grinning, proud of himself. He’s been out conquering the world, doing the dirty work to save little old delicate me from—”
Then Scout’s black head popped up beside Nick, and Maggie held her breath—and prayed that she wasn’t dreaming.
“Scout!” She waded into the water just as her dog leaped from the boat, swimming toward her.
Scout met her in a final lunge that took her under water. Only knee-deep, she struggled against the sucking waves, and suddenly she was being hauled up by her sweatshirt.
When she sputtered and shook the water from her face, she found Nick frowning at her. While Scout barked and bounded around them, he mopped the water from her face and shook her slightly. “Are you okay?”
Maggie blinked at him. She moved her feet, struggled to find her balance while Nick peered at her, and her left canvas shoe came off. Scout happily snatched it and ran to shore, ready to play fetch. “Am I dreaming?”
“If you are, it’s a good one.” Nick grinned and chuckled and hefted her up to his shoulder. “Come on, Scout. She’s fine, just a little flesh wound. I don’t know how she managed to make it to a small island. We’ll take her to the vet as soon as you change clothes—”
“No, now—”
“Maggie, sometimes you are just better off not arguing with me.”
She braced her hands on Nick’s backside. “You can put me down now.”
“Not a chance. Scout is too excited to obey and she’ll take you down again. I saw you in danger enough last night.”
“You love this he-man stuff, don’t you?”
Nick didn’t answer, but his pat on her bottom confirmed her accusation.
Maggie smoothed his taut butt, letting her hand wander between his legs. Nick stopped walking up the hill. His body tensed and that little hip-wiggle thing said he wasn’t averse to her prowling hand, which wandered around to firmer fare. “What.”
“All this macho stuff is turning me on.”
This time Nick’s pat turned into a caress, gliding over her backside. “You’re going to have to wait…. I can feel your heat through our clothes. Maggie, you are not starting something we can’t both finish now.”
“My hero. You deserve a nice warm reward. One of those flavor-ripening, peak-temperature, full-fruit-bursting kind of things.”
Nick’s coarse, choked sound said he understood perfectly. But then he served her a simmering invitation of his own. “Harvesting at the perfect time means waiting for that plump, skintight fruit, juicy on the inside, to give a full-bodied taste. It’s going to start at the top of your head and work down to the bottom of your feet. And there are a few interesting areas between, the supple, fruity kind.”
Nick eased her down from his shoulder. He reached for her face, cupping it as his lips and tongue devoured ruthlessly. “That will have to do, love. Because eventually you’d fret about Scout, and once we start, it could be a very, very long session. I want to know and feel that you are alive and with me and I don’t want any interruptions.”
She nestled close against him, her breasts already peaked and aching and ready for harvest, just like the rest of her. But there was more, so much more, and it ran tender and sweet between them now. “Then it could be a long session. I need to know the same.”
“You’re shivering. You’re getting in the shower before we go anywhere.” He eased her damp hair back from her face. “You didn’t panic under water. You were already surfacing when I hauled you up.”
Maggie hugged him tighter, laying her head on his chest, where his heart beat strong and safe. The sound of Celeste’s chimes seemed happy, and the clumps of grass remained damp from the fog that was slipping away to a beautiful day. “I knew you would fish me out, and Scout was alive. I don’t think I’m afraid of water anymore.”
This time when he lifted her face, his kiss was brief and tender, matching the softness in his dark eyes. “Good. I’m glad.”
When they were in his pickup, driving to Blanchefleur, Maggie held her sister’s locket. It was time to let Glenda rest. “Nick, I want to go to that island.”
“Why?” Nick smiled briefly. “To escape the lecture Lorenzo is set to give you?”
“Oh, I know that is coming for sure, and I appreciate him putting it off this long. I should have called him when I sensed you were in danger. I know now that he would have listened to me, when others hadn’t. And he’s already told me that I’m going to work that mistake out by baby-sitting…There’s something I have to do. After Scout sees the vet and we’re finished with whatever statements we have to make, please take me to that island where you found her.”
Nick sat on his haunches and built the campfire. Through the smoke and ash, he watched Maggie walk along the island’s tiny shoreline, Scout at her side. The late August night was cool, foretelling of fall and Nick’s ripening harvest.
In the exhausting sessions of interviews and statements and working at his winery, Maggie had been withdrawn, speaking little, but curling into his arms every night as if Nick were her safe harbor. They moved through the necessities of day-to-day living, and Nick realized that she was working through the past, trying to heal.
Camping on the island for a couple of days was a good idea—getting away from telephone calls and business, and making sense of all that had happened. Maggie needed this time, nothing else mattered. At times she walked to him and simply slid into his arms, her head on his chest. Lovemaking was long and sweet and reassuringly tender without words.
He understood the tears that Maggie silently shed as he held her, the dampness warm upon his skin.
Nick stood as Maggie went down on her knees. He silently walked closer, because if she needed him—
Maggie turned, and the moonlight caught her face, pale and haunted. “Come here, Nick. I know you’re there.”
As if she were inviting Nick closer, Scout trotted to him, heeling perfectly as he walked slowly to Maggie.
The necklace was a stream of silver in the moonlight, flowing from Maggie’s hands as she cradled the locket. Nick went down on his knees beside her, his arm around her. “I’ve never seen you open that.”
“I couldn’t, but it is time now.” Slowly, she opened the locket and there was her sister. Maggie’s finger traced the smiling image so like her own. “Her sons look like Glenda. She needs peace. Celeste said she did.”
With a deep breath, Maggie reached inside her light jacket’s pocket and held the scrap of Celeste’s scarf. Silently, she dug a hole in the sand. She carefully placed a lacy handkerchief inside it.
“That was our mother’s,” she exp
lained softly as she placed the locket and the red scrap in the handkerchief and folded the edges over them. “Goodbye, Glenda. Goodbye, Celeste. Sleep tight. I’ll always love you.”
EPILOGUE
By mid-September, Nick was exhausted. By working from before dawn until late at night, he was slowly getting the winery in shape for the crop that would be full and luscious in another week.
Nick had had to make some personal attitude adjustments: Lorna was obviously the best fix-it “man” around when it came to anything mechanical, and Nick had been forced to admit that to her. The sight of Lorna swaggering around in greasy coveralls with a tool belt strapped around her hips was too much.
Another full-blown argument with Maggie had made him feel like a jerk. After a hard work day, he settled in to brood over a glass of Pinot Noir at the family dining room table. Closed for the night, the restaurant was quiet as his family came to sit at the table.
Echoes of his last argument with Maggie circled him:
“You need me, Nick. You’re short on help, with too much to do. I know the inventory. Don’t be so bullheaded.”
“I will not have you working for me without pay. In fact, I don’t want you to work for me at all.”
“It’s your pride. You don’t want to be compared with Ryan, who basically used me. Nick, this is different, you know it is. I love you and I want to help.”
“You’ve done enough. Just do whatever you have to do, but you’re not working for me. A man likes to think that he can provide—”
At that point, Maggie had picked up the dinner rolls she’d just finished baking and started throwing them at him. Nick had caught a few and then simply let the rest of them bounce off his body. “Now that’s a waste.”
“If you think that you’re anything like Ryan, forget it. You’ve got this man role–woman role thing going on. I can’t just sit on my hands while you’re working yourself to death. I want to help you.”
“That’s what we are, Maggie. A man and a woman.”
“All this comes down to me not telling you everything—”
“We were lovers. I had a right to know about your life and your nightmares. I had a right to your trust. I love you, Maggie.”
“Those nightmares are gone, Nick. Those grapes are coming in and you need help.”
“Not you.”
With just two weeks to go before the harvest at the end of September, Nick had dug in firmly—he refused to let Maggie help him put the winery back on its feet. Or to lend him the money that Celeste had left to her. Or cash the bonds her mother had left her for absolute down-and-out “bottom money.”
Just after Brent’s death, Maggie had been locked in a struggle with the past, and Nick had ached for her every minute. She’d taken long walks, watched Lake Michigan, and cleaned his yard—and his house. Gradually, she’d eased away from all but the necessary gym classes, keeping those clients with definite health problems.
Nick understood that she was distancing herself from a life and a profession that she didn’t really feel were hers.
Every foot of his house had been scrubbed and polished, the furniture rearranged. Since this seemed to be therapeutic for Maggie, Nick hadn’t complained. And then she’d regrouped, and all hell broke loose—a mix of arguments, sulking, determined lovemaking, and stalking him.
Not that he minded Maggie stalking him, or her persuasive methods—such as that night she appeared in the vineyards carrying a blanket and a basket of food. She hadn’t been wearing anything beneath that peasant blouse and full skirt.
Nick swirled the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. Maggie had licked the wine she’d dropped onto his body and in the moonlight had moved over him…
“I love you,” she’d whispered, nuzzling his stomach and working her way up to his nipples.
That soft, sweet lovemaking was the perfect end to a day he never wanted to repeat.
While Nick brooded over Maggie and his current standoff with her, his father asked, “Where are the girls tonight?”
“Lorna, Sissy, Beth, and Maggie are at Celeste’s house, settling details. Vinnie wants to buy the house for Lorna, and Beth is going to move to Iowa, but be a partner in Journeys.”
“Your mother is with them. I don’t like it—”
As if on cue, Rosa and Maggie entered through the back door. Dante was with them. He looked half terrified and half hopeful. His hand shook as he poured a glass of wine and quickly downed it.
Maggie came to look down at Nick, her expression tender as she smoothed his hair. “Hi, Big Guy. You look tired.”
She came easily when he tugged her into his lap, kissing her. Nick leaned his head against hers. Everything he’d wanted in the world was in his arms, giving him peace—unless she brought up working at the winery. “Hi.”
Rosa tied on her apron with a firmness that said she had made up her mind. “We’re going after my grandson tomorrow. Anthony, you and Tony move Dante’s things in with Tony. Sissy will baby-sit during the day—or I will. We’re a family—we’ll do this together and Dante and his son will be together. Maggie said it’s time, and I think so, too. A little boy will feel better with his grandmother and a future auntie coming to get him with his father. Dante, you go call that woman who calls herself a mother. Make the arrangements. As Maggie says, ‘We’re settling in as a family.’ We have things to do, all of us. And Nicholas, you must realize that a woman wants to help her man. Just as I help your father—because it is my place to do so. You cannot stop Maggie from—”
Maggie lifted her face to study Nick’s expression. She toyed with his hair. “He’s cute when he sulks, isn’t he, Rosa?”
Rosa beamed at both of them. “Very cute.”
“My son is terrified of me,” Dante said unevenly. “I don’t think—”
“Oh, shush,” both women said at once.
At Nick’s house, Maggie took her shower, and the erotic sounds she made soon had Nick joining her.
Their hunger shot into heat immediately, and Nick had hurriedly carried Maggie to his bed—where she belonged.
They’d made love gently, thoroughly, many times, but this time was fierce and demanding, rising to the peak and then easing, only to rise again.
Panting delicately, Maggie held back her orgasm, one that Nick demanded from her.
Because he was fighting her demands as Maggie pitted herself against him, biting lightly, suckling, undulating beneath him.
Nick had pinned her hands at her side, their fingers locked, rising over her, pressing deep within the cradle of her thighs. “You like this, don’t you? Testing me?”
“It has its pleasures. I like the other sweet times, too. You’re just a big, fantastic playground. I’m an athlete, dear heart. I enjoy our bodies, and you’re so easy.” She panted, fighting the release he demanded of her, because his own was threatening to escape his control.
“You’re going to marry me.”
“Yes, I am. Because I love you. Every stubborn part of you. I think I showed you that a minute ago before you started rushing me. It’s time, Nick. Now,” she whispered breathlessly.
“When are you going to marry me?” He plunged in to taste her breasts, not sparing her, seeking that rich, luxurious clenching of her body, the ripe fruit that was his to claim.
Maggie pushed back, her hair damp against her face, her lips swollen with those deep kisses that drove them both—“No more waiting until the flavors blend just right. You’re full and ripe now, Nick. Just ready for harvesting. One crush, just one squeeze and you’ll—”
With all his strength, Nick controlled his release, easing slightly away. “When? When are we getting married?”
“When I come to you. There are things I have to do—”
Nick shuddered, fighting the warm, enticing clench of her body. “After Dante’s boy—like what?”
“Like this—” With a high, keening sound, Maggie went into herself the way he loved, holding him tightly, her pulses became his, and Nic
k gave himself to her.
When he could breathe again, Nick nuzzled Maggie’s damp throat as she stroked his scarred thigh, soothing him. “Like what? What do you have to do before we get married?”
Maggie gripped the gearshift of the moving van and eased the heavily loaded vehicle onto the dirt road leading toward Alessandros Winery and Vineyard. In the first week of October, she was hot and tired and dirty, pushing across country from San Francisco to Michigan—but she’d never felt so good, so clean and new and excited. Professional movers could have helped—but this was her journey, one she had to make by herself, coming from the past into her future with Nick.
At the winery, cars were parked in the visitors’ lot. In the vineyard, the Alessandro family appeared to be just finishing tidying up. Dante stood near his parents, a small boy sitting on his shoulders. The boy’s black hair shone in the sun, his grin matching Dante’s.
Nick was still arguing with Maggie before she flew to San Francisco to collect her family’s things and see her nephews. “I’ll come with you. Just wait until harvest is done and—”
“You’re not letting me help you, and I’ve got things to do. I want to clear my life, the past, and then I’ll be back. Stop pushing me.”
“I like pushing you. You like pushing me, so what else is new?”
“Everything,” she’d said. “Everything is new and wonderful—with you.”
Nick hadn’t liked Maggie going alone, fearing for her. But she knew that he loved her and understood—as much as he could.
Through the dirty windshield, Maggie saw Nick—shirt open, jeans dusty, hair even longer and blacker than she remembered, a red bandana around his forehead.
Her heart did that little roll-over thing that said she loved him, and she eased the rented moving van to a stop. The man watching her didn’t smile, but across the distance, she felt the impact of that hard body, the tenseness riding him.
She tilted her head a little, admiring Nick’s walk toward her—that unhurried masculine swagger as he took off his gloves.