Heron's Landing: The Complete Series

by Iris Morland

  Grace laughed. “Adam wouldn’t sue you. He’s just…cranky. Plus, the vineyard’s been struggling for a while, so I know that’s stressed him out a lot.”

  Her ears perking up suddenly, Joy found herself leaning forward to hear more. It wasn’t any of her business, but the damned nosy writer/bloodhound inside of her loved this kind of information. She also—despite her internal protestations otherwise—wanted to know more about Adam. What made him tick? Why did he look perpetually constipated? How did he get his dark hair so perfectly wavy?

  “Why is it struggling? Bad harvest?” Joy switched over to her right hand, painting her thumbnail the crimson red with slow strokes.

  “That, and the weather has sucked for the past three years. My dad always thought global warming was a hoax until it began wrecking the business. Last year there was a drought, and before that, tons of rain. Same thing this year: rain, rain, and more rain.” Grace sighed as she leaned back into the couch. “We’ve talked to him about doing events again, but he’s stubborn. He doesn’t want to change things.”

  Joy nodded. She could see Adam being stubborn as hell while also being resistant to change. Whereas she liked to shake things up as often as possible—she moved to this teeny town, for Christ’s sake—he seemed like he’d hate moving to a big city. Or even a medium city. She couldn’t really fault him for planting such deep roots here, and a small part of her envied him that.

  “I thought you guys already did events,” Joy said, thinking about the wine-tasting class she’d seen going on when she’d gone to the vineyard. “Do you mean like parties?”

  “No, more like weddings. We tried to do weddings a few years ago when Dad was still the manager, but it didn’t work out so well.” Grace wrinkled her nose. “I know that after that, Adam basically swore off ever trying it again. But Jaime says that it’s probably one of the best bets to bring in revenue…” Her voice trailed off, and Joy glanced up to see the younger woman biting her lip.

  After spending only a small amount of time with Grace Danvers, Joy had discovered two things: the girl was a brilliant artist but lacked confidence in her own talents, and she was also madly in love with the chef of River’s Bend, Jaime Martínez. Joy had only seen Jaime a few times from a distance, but she couldn’t fault the girl for her taste. He was handsome, tall, and could cook, and he probably saved orphans and nursed puppies in his spare time. If Joy weren’t already preoccupied with her own mess of a life, she’d go after Jaime herself. Well, and if Grace weren’t making goo-goo eyes at him every chance she got.

  Enjoying this change in subject, Joy screwed the cap back on the nail polish and sat back into the couch. “How is Jaime, by the way?” she asked with a smile.

  Grace immediately grabbed a fistful of popcorn, which she ate kernel by kernel in some attempt to avoid Joy’s question. Finally, probably knowing she was being rude, she said, “He’s fine, I guess. I don’t see him much since he’s always working. Why do you ask?”

  Joy waved her hand to air dry her nails. “No reason. Just that I’ve noticed you seem to watch him anytime he’s around. Yesterday you stopped speaking to me for at least five minutes when he entered Trudy’s.”

  “I did not.”

  “Mmmm, pretty sure you did. And then when I thought you’d at least tell the man good morning, you scurried off into the back like he had the plague.” Seeing that Grace was getting agitated, Joy knew she shouldn’t tease her too much longer. “Have you ever thought about asking him out?”

  Grace’s eyes widened so much that, clearly, the idea had never come to mind. “What? No. Why would I? He’s my brother’s employee. No, I couldn’t.” She grabbed more popcorn, eating it so quickly Joy was half-afraid she’d choke on it.

  “Well, you like him, obviously. Seems natural you’d see if it could go anywhere.”

  Silence fell, with only the sound of Grace chewing in the room. They hadn’t yet put on a movie—and Joy almost got up to do so to give Grace a respite—but then the girl blurted, “It wouldn’t matter anyway. He’s only ever seen me as Adam’s little sister.”

  Ah, that explained it, Joy thought. Getting up, she popped Sleepless in Seattle from its DVD case and placed it into the player. Sitting back down, she said, “You’ll never know if you don’t try,” she said simply.

  Grace didn’t reply, but Joy knew she was mulling over her words the rest of the evening.

  Joy, for her part, couldn’t concentrate on the movies, but instead couldn’t stop thinking about Adam, River’s Bend, and the vineyard potentially shutting down. That vineyard had to be one of the bigger sources of revenue for Heron’s Landing, and if it shut down, she was sure the town would end up hurting as a result. It attracted tourists from all over the state and the country. She didn’t really understand why Adam was resistant to doing events, but maybe he felt like he couldn’t do it without assistance?

  An idea sprang to mind. She was no events coordinator, but she knew enough about marketing and social media to lend a hand. Plus, if she wrote about the vineyard doing weddings and had it published in a nationwide magazine? Jackpot.

  She began filing away ideas in her mind, thinking about who’d she’d contact about writing the story, and how she’d go about getting Adam to see the light. Perhaps if she just went ahead and did it, he’d see the positive results and go from there? Her logical side said that he’d probably be furious if she went behind his back, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t plan behind his back, either.

  Joy had a deep need to be useful to those around her, and in the two weeks she’d been in Heron’s Landing, she’d only gotten so far as to interview Mike in the general store about a new kind of grape he was stocking. It wasn’t breaking news or Nobel-prize winning journalism, but she liked that she was writing about things that a few people in the town would like to be aware existed. After getting as much out of Mike as she could—the man was of few words, and it was like pulling teeth to get him to say complete sentences—she’d written a short article, titled “Heron’s Landing Great New Grape.” Not her best work, but hey, she could generate some revenue from Google ads at the end of the day, too.

  The article had gone up this morning on the newly created Heron’s Landing blog, while Joy had also verbally told as many townsfolk as she could about the new online publication. Most people were nonplussed, while a few of the younger people were interested, but again, it was a start. Joy didn’t plan on making tons of money, and her other freelance gigs were paying the rent, but she liked to think she was making her mark on this small town all the same.

  Grace soon overcame her mood and became the bright, bubbly young woman who Joy was rather enjoying having as a friend already. And thankfully, she’d agreed to call Joy by her first name. Joy felt a little guilty teasing her about Jaime—who knew how deep that infatuation went?—but obviously, Grace wasn’t one to hold grudges or get easily offended.

  When Grace was leaving, though, she said in a soft voice, “Sometimes I don’t think I know what I want to do.”

  Joy, standing at the front door, didn’t know how to respond. She preferred to keep things light and funny, not serious. But Grace’s face was taut with some emotion Joy couldn’t identify.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Joy said with as much assurance as she could. “You’re young: you have your entire life to figure things out.”

  Grace smiled sadly before she turned to go. She said a goodbye, but Joy wondered how much of her words were about Jaime, or about her life in general. Sometimes Joy saw a kind of loneliness in Grace that surprised her, and even a lost-ness of sorts. Despite the bubbly exterior, something else simmered underneath.

  Joy closed her door, leaning against it with a sigh. She had a feeling she was getting in over her head with the ever-increasingly complicated Danvers family.

  WHY WON’T you return my calls?

  Joy glanced at the text from Jeremy and almost blocked his number entirely. He’d texted her twice previously, and now he wouldn’t let up. Wha
t did even want from her? He was the one who’d cheated, not her.

  Cranky and tired, she replied, Because you cheated on me and I don’t want to talk to you? I’m not sure why this is so complicated.

  She probably shouldn’t antagonize him—sometimes she thought Jeremy loved fighting as much as anything—but she was tired of this. She’d left Chicago for a number of reasons, and having one of those big reasons still dogging her steps didn’t help her mood at all.

  The three dots appeared, and then: I don’t get why you won’t talk to me at all. I’m trying here, Jo-Jo.

  She snorted. Trying so hard that he cheated on her with her best friend Regina? Yeah, that sure was trying very, very hard. But Jeremy hated when people ignored him, and he still thought he had a right to be in Joy’s life despite everything. Thus, the incessant texting.

  Jeremy had been fun and kind and hilarious in the beginning. But after a year or two, he became increasingly paranoid about her cheating on him, which ironically turned out to be the reverse situation. What had been a charming devil-may-care attitude had evolved into a cloying immaturity as Jeremy got older. Then, as accusation after accusation of Joy cheating piled up, their relationship suffered, and they were on the verge of breaking up when the bombshell came: Jeremy had slept with Regina and he was leaving Joy for her.

  To say that Joy hadn’t reacted well would be an understatement.

  Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk, okay? Can you respect that for once? she texted.

  Nothing. And then: I know you think it was all my fault, but you need to take responsibility, too. We both fucked up.

  Anger surged. He was really blaming her for him cheating? She’d laugh at his unmitigated gall if she weren’t so pissed. She may not have been always the happy, supportive girlfriend, but she’d never betrayed Jeremy, either.

  Her fingers furiously typing, she sent him a terse, Leave me alone or I’m blocking your number before she turned her phone off. She didn’t care if someone needed to get a hold of her. They’d live.

  Staring at the walls of her apartment, she suddenly couldn’t stay inside for one more second. Tossing her phone onto the couch, she grabbed her keys and walked outside. The sun had already set, twilight seeping through the dark green trees. Fireflies danced around her, and she’d admire how idyllic the town seemed at this hour if she weren’t so angry.

  She stomped down a path toward a creek she’d found a few days before, her fists clenched and a scream choking her. She wished she could just stand in the middle of the forest and scream her throat raw, kicking her feet like she would when she was a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. The anger was so raw, so overwhelming, she didn’t even see where she was going. It only increased with every step, a variety of voices pushing each other inside of her mind.

  Fuck Jeremy! I hope he dies in a fire!

  He’s such a fucking narcissist he’d blame his own mother for committing a murder.

  God, I can’t believe I dated him and was going to marry him.

  And the worst of all: what if she could’ve prevented him from cheating in the first place?

  Standing at the creek, she stared into the trees and watched the fireflies and breathed and breathed until a sob ricocheted from her throat. Tears flooded her eyes, and she swiped at her face. She’d always been an angry crier, and she was so angry she didn’t know if she could cry enough tears to purge the rage inside of her.

  I hate him I hate him I hate him. She hated him and she hated herself. She cried for what they’d had and maybe for the fact that they’d never had anything to begin with. Sitting down on the bank with her arms around her knees, she cried her heart out until she was snotty and her face was soaked and so were her knees. She was glad it was so dark, although she wondered how she’d get back home without breaking her neck on some tree root.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Light from a phone flashed on her feet, and Joy jumped. She scrambled up, but not before scraping her hands on some rocks. She cursed.

  “Miss McGuire? What are you doing out here?” The dark figure came closer, and she realized, not with surprise but resignation, that it was Adam Danvers. Of course it was. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

  “I’m fine,” she replied in clipped tones.

  He stood only a few feet from her, but it was dark enough that she couldn’t see his face.

  Then: “Are you sure? Do you want me to help you back home?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t need your help, and I don’t need men constantly thinking I need them to hold my hand like I’m some delicate flower.” She knew she was ranting like a loon, but she didn’t care. He thought she was crazy, anyway.

  She swiped her hands down her shorts, hissing in a breath at the pain. She couldn’t see, but she could bet she’d done a number on her hands.

  Adam stepped closer, and before she realized it, he’d taken her hands in his. He’d placed his lit-up phone in his front pocket, and it provided just enough illumination now for her to see his face. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  “I fell.”

  “Clearly.”

  And then he looked at her face, and she hoped against hope he couldn’t see that she’d been crying. Although he’d probably heard her sobbing like a toddler.

  He didn’t let go of her hands, holding them gently in his much larger ones. Joy felt the calluses on his fingertips and how warm his hands were. The moment expanded, like it had outside of Mike’s store only a few days prior. That electricity sparked between them, and she shivered despite herself.

  “Miss McGuire,” Adam said in a low voice. And then to her surprise, “Joy.”

  Her heart pounded. She wanted him to kiss her, with a sudden desperation that shocked her. She wanted him to pull her close and kiss her until she forgot everything about this day.

  As if sensing her need, he let go of one of her hands and cupped her cheek. His thumb stroked her face, and her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes closing.

  When he finally kissed her, she wondered if there could be a moment as pure, as crystalline, as fantastical as this one. With the fireflies around them, the cicadas humming, the breeze twirling the leaves in the trees overhead. But all of that dissipated like a breath in a storm when his mouth touched hers. His lips were soft, warm, and he kissed her with soft-lipped kisses that made her melt.

  The kisses were like a question—is this what you want? he seemed to be asking.

  She twined her arms around his neck, answering him.

  Yes, this is what I want, she thought.

  They kissed until time stopped, mouths moving against one another in exploration. Joy’s heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy, and she was glad she had his solid form to hang onto. Pressing against him, she kissed him harder, and he soon took the lead. His tongue tangled with hers, and the kisses became deeper and deeper. She felt like he was subsuming her entire being. It was heady, glorious.

  Terrifying.

  When they parted, neither said anything. Eventually, he pulled away and said, “Let’s get you home.”

  She nodded, letting him lead her home without once doubting he’d get her there safely.

  6

  A dam had hoped that the sunshine of the past few weeks would hold up until the harvest. But on a Monday morning in early July, he awoke to claps of thunder. Getting out of bed, he opened the blinds to see torrential rain falling like bullets from the sky. Hail pinged the roof, and a bolt of lightning burst across the sky.

  The rain continued all day. It stopped for a bit in the evening, but started up again by Tuesday morning. By Wednesday, it had rained so hard that flash flood warnings had been issued across the state, and the river was about to flood from its banks. There was so much water that the unpaved roads around Heron’s Landing—and there were plenty of them—turned to mud, and many of its citizens had to stay home or walk to their destination, as any vehicle would get stuck the moment it was put in drive.

  By Wednesday afternoon, the s
un had come out, but Adam knew it was too late. Going into the fields with Jaime and a few others of his staff, they all saw how the rain had decimated the remaining buds. The delicate petals scattered across the ground, a small hope crushed. Bending down, Adam fingered a few of the waterlogged buds, breathing through his nose in an attempt to calm his pounding heart.

  No one said anything. What was there to say? Everyone knew what this would mean for the harvest. No buds meant no grapes meant no wine. Some of the hardiest buds had managed to hang on, but there was so little white remaining on the vines that Adam didn’t know how the harvest could be salvaged.

  Jaime came to stand by him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly.

  Adam had to restrain himself from snapping back. But he knew his friend meant well, and that he’d do anything to help River’s Bend and Adam. Standing up, he replied, “I guess we’ll have to, won’t we?”

  Leah, a middle-aged woman who did the wine-tasting classes part-time, walked along the rows of vines, clicking her tongue. A small-statured woman with a sharp tongue, she generally considered any event like this one of God’s divine retribution. Devoted to the church, she’d never married, but preferred to read her Bible and come out to Heron’s Landing to show unsuspecting tourists how they had no idea how to drink and appreciate wine properly. Today, though, she said nothing, and Adam knew that that wasn’t a good sign. Leah always had an opinion.

  The day was sticky with humidity, and he slapped a mosquito off of his arm. Continuing to wander along the rows, he found one length of vine that was mostly intact. It was a small hope, in the grand scheme of things, but seeing those white buds bursting from the vines felt like the greatest of victories. At least there was something. At least they could harvest a few grapes. It wouldn’t be nearly enough, but Adam was determined not to despair entirely.

  Later inside, closeted with his employees, Adam went over their options. “As you all could see for yourselves, the weather this year has not been kind to us. Without buds, there are no grapes. And you already know what that means. If this had been just this year, we could’ve salvaged things.” He swallowed, thinking about the previous two years of bad harvest. His temples throbbed, and he wished he could go home and drink until all of his worries faded away in a haze of liquor.