Heron's Landing: The Complete Series

by Iris Morland

  Nothing he did mattered.

  I believe you’re innocent. For what it’s worth.

  Grace’s words poured through him, a balm to his wounds. She had a sweetness about her, and lightness and, yes, grace, that had intrigued him since he’d first met her five years ago. He hadn’t expected she’d go against her brother and support him, but she had. Her declaration wouldn’t keep him from facing charges, but someone believed him. Someone knew he was innocent.

  The dream from earlier was like a mist over his mind. He could’ve almost believed it had been real: the smells, the sounds, the touches. He’d never had a dream like that about Grace Danvers—but he hadn’t kissed her before either, had he?

  Graciela, what am I going to do about you?

  When he arrived at River’s Bend, the sky was cloudy and he wondered if it would rain. He parked his truck and, going inside, greeted Kerry. He made his way to the kitchen, putting on his apron, and then going to the coffee pot in the corner before starting the day. A few of his cooks were milling about, but generally speaking, they didn’t start until Jaime arrived. To his annoyance, Eric was nowhere to be found.

  “Coffee ready? Oh, Jaime.”

  Jaime turned to see Chris, the overseer of the fields and harvesters in the fall, looking at him with a strange expression his face. A middle-aged man, Chris had been at River’s Bend back when Adam’s father Carl had run it. With his salt-and-pepper hair and skin tanned the color of a walnut, Chris had a distinguished mien. He demanded authority, although he had a soft spot for dogs and his wife (in that order).

  “Coffee is almost ready,” Jaime replied. “Are you going to be around for lunch?”

  River’s Bend served lunch on a smaller scale and often that included the employees. But Chris just raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged.

  “Not sure I’ll have time. Have a lot going on.”

  Jaime wasn’t sure what all he had going on, since this was the time of year when the harvest was already in and nothing was growing. Perhaps Chris had more to do with making the wine than usual? But then again, they usually sent that out to another company to do before receiving bottles of wine to then sell.

  “Well, if you want a plate, let me know.” Jaime walked around Chris, who didn’t seem inclined to move out of the way, to enter into the kitchen. The older man’s shoulder bumped into him, and he looked at Chris over his shoulder, a dark eyebrow raised.

  But Chris just stared at him, his eyes narrowed. His gray mustache twitched.

  “I was surprised, you know, when Carl hired you. I thought you were too young for the job, but he wanted to try something new. And now here we are.”

  Jaime bristled. He wasn’t so stupid as not to understand what Chris was implying, and God almighty, he wanted to punch the old man in his face. But that would merely but be proving Chris’s point.

  So instead, Jaime acted nonchalant, a tight smile on his face. “Here we are, aren’t we?” He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. He refused to make a scene in front of other people. “If you have a problem with me, tell me. But don’t act coy and then refuse to say what you mean. I don’t have time for that shit.”

  He moved away, waiting for Chris to explain, but the older man said nothing. He just watched Jaime, assessing, and then the coffee pot dinged, sounding that it was ready.

  Jaime motioned to the coffee. “Be my guest.”

  The day proceeded about as well as the beginning did. Eric showed up an hour late, yawning and laughing about his late night, so Jaime set him on pumpkin prep duty. Pumpkin prep was the worst, mostly because it involved shaving off the hard rind and then scooping out the mound of squishy pumpkin guts and seeds. But people loved pumpkin-everything around here, and Jaime liked to use it on the fall menu.

  “Why don’t we just get the canned stuff,” Eric muttered, shaking his hand of pumpkin guts and making a disgusted noise.

  “Because canned is never as good as fresh. Stop bitching and get to work, or you’ll be doing that for the rest of the week.”

  Eric scowled and proceeded to prep pumpkins as slowly as humanly possible.

  Jaime didn’t have time for his useless sous chef. He chopped, diced, stirred, sautéed, and baked alongside the rest of his team. He didn’t care if Eric bitched and moaned all day long: this was Jaime’s kitchen, and if Eric didn’t like it, that was his problem.

  When lunch rolled around, though, Jaime was about to throw his sous chef out the window. He’d left to go to the bathroom, and thirty minutes later, still wasn’t back.

  “Aiden, can you go find Eric for me?”

  Aiden, a short kid with bright red hair who was interning at River’s Bend, said, “Let me finish whipping up these eggs whites…” He kept whipping, wiping sweat from his red forehead with his sleeve.

  Jaime tossed his last bit of zucchini into a mixing bowl. “Never mind, I’ll do it. Keep whipping, but don’t put too much air into them.”

  “Right-o, boss.”

  Jaime rolled his eyes and went to the men’s restroom, where he found a grand total of zero Eric’s. Surprise, surprise. He went to the front desk and asked Kerry if she’d seen him, but she just said as she tapped her chin, “I haven’t seen him since this morning. Maybe try out back?”

  Jaime squinted at the windows. It was raining, but not much. He didn’t really want to go outside and freeze his ass off. But as he walked to the front door, he saw a figure not far away, and the cold disappeared under the burst of anger.

  “Eric! What are you doing out here?” he called, walking up to his sous chef. Eric was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, hands in his pockets.

  “Taking a smoke break. What’s it look like?”

  “You’ve been on break—without my permission—for over a half hour now. I’d recommend you get back to work or you can pack your things and leave. Your choice.”

  Eric, though, didn’t make a move. Instead, he inhaled on his cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke drifting through the haze of light rain.

  “I’m not sure you understand what’s going on here,” Eric said.

  Jaime walked up and plucked the cigarette out of his hand, crushing it beneath his shoe. “I’m thinking you’re the one who doesn’t understand. You have five seconds to get to your job that you were hired for, or you’re fired. Is that simple enough for you to understand?”

  Jaime knew that Adam would be pissed if he’d fired his fourth sous chef in a year, but he didn’t care. Eric could rot: he was lazy and useless and hadn’t added anything positive to his kitchen since the moment he’d arrived.

  Eric shrugged. “I’m not sure you have the authority to fire anyone right now. Not when you’ve been caught stealing money from your boss.”

  Jaime stilled. His fists clenched, and he almost picked Eric up by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. The rain fell a little harder, cold and piercing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Now get inside before I change my mind about firing you.”

  “You can’t fire me. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Adam wouldn’t have it, and neither would my dad.” Eric turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “I’d recommend you not try to mess with me, especially since you’re the one who’s looking at charges for theft.”

  As Jaime watched Eric walk back inside, he closed his eyes. He breathed in and out, trying to stem the flow of emotion roiling through him. He swore—in English and in Spanish—and because he couldn’t get his hands on that little weasel, he slammed his fist against the wall. He barely felt the pain. He glanced down to see his knuckles bleeding, although the blood washed away with the falling rain.

  It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?

  Ice trailed down his spine. Even if the investigation led elsewhere, Jaime was still tainted by it. He’d still been looked at, considered. He’d been doubted. And not only did his sous chef use that against him, but Chris, a man he’d considered a friend, had already judged him and found him wanting.

>   Jaime wiped the blood from his knuckles, only wishing it was someone else’s blood instead.

  As the afternoon waned on, Adam asked Jaime to come to his office. Jaime had no real desire to speak to his friend, but Adam was also his boss, so he followed him inside his office without protest.

  “What happened to your hand?” Adam asked, his voice concerned.

  Jaime glanced at his bandaged knuckles. “Knife slip.”

  “Be careful. We need you.” Then Adam sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, complete with bags under his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you that an investigator is coming to the vineyard next week to talk to everyone. We’ve verified that money has been stolen, and now the police are essentially digging deeper to find out who is responsible.”

  Adam didn’t say the words, but Jaime could hear them anyway.

  “I’m the person they want to talk to?” Jaime asked. He gripped one of the chairs, his hand smarting under the pressure.

  “They want to talk to everyone,” Adam assured him. “Not just you.”

  “But they want to talk to me the most.” When Adam said nothing, Jaime swore. “I knew it.”

  “Look, there are still no charges being filed against you. And I know you’re innocent, because you are a good, decent man. I’m behind you, Jaime.”

  Jaime didn’t say anything, just stared as blood seeped into the bandage around his hand.

  “I’m not going to throw you to the wolves,” Adam continued. “We’ll get through this, and we’ll find who’s really responsible. Okay?”

  Jaime nodded tightly.

  He didn’t know if even Adam could do anything, but having one—no, two—people believe in his innocence? It helped. At least he maybe had a slight chance of getting through this without his life ruined completely.

  5

  “I ’ll get the dishes, Julia. Grace, do you want to help me?” Joy raised her eyebrows, and Grace had a feeling her brother’s fiancée wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “Sure, I would love to.” Grace began piling the dishes from dinner while Joy picked up glasses and serving plates. The Danvers tried to have family dinner a few times a week, although everyone’s schedule didn’t necessarily line up. Tonight, though, both Adam and Joy had attended, for which Grace had been infinitely thankful. Her parents could focus on someone else for a change, instead of grilling her with the same five questions.

  “Thanks, you two,” Julia said. “Let us know if you need any help.”

  “I think we got it.” Joy went into the kitchen, setting the glasses in the sink with Grace following. The Danvers’ house was old enough that it hadn’t been built with a dishwasher, and Carl hadn’t wanted to spend the money since then to install one. Thus, everything needed to be hand washed. Grace was used to it, and she found it kind of soothing: the same motions, the warm suds, washing, rinsing, until you were done.

  Joy turned on the water and squirted dish soap into the sink, causing it to froth and bubble.

  “I think you have enough soap,” Grace couldn’t help pointing out.

  Joy wrinkled her nose. “Adam has the shitty soap in his place so I’m used to using twice as much.” She watched the bubbles rise…and rise. “If it overflows I’m blaming you.”

  Grace scoffed. “They’d never believe it.”

  At Joy’s grin, Grace couldn’t help but smile back. She’d been so preoccupied as of late—her parents, Jaime, her lack of career, Jaime—that she hadn’t spoken to her friend in a few weeks. Even though Joy was Adam’s fiancée, she and Grace had become friends first. She was one of the few women close in age who Grace felt comfortable enough to talk to. A lot of women in Heron’s Landing were already married, some with kids, and many of them didn’t understand Grace’s need to paint and create art.

  Grace began washing dishes while Joy rinsed and placed them on the rack to dry. They settled into a rhythm, and Grace’s mind was about to drift off when Joy asked, “So what’s up with you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Grace shrugged. She scrubbed at a spoon extra hard, trying to get potato residue off of it. “Just working at Trudy’s, trying to avoid my parents, the usual.” She could feel Joy looking at her, expecting her to say more. Joy knew how she felt about Jaime, but what did it matter? She hadn’t told her about their kiss, or about their time down at the river, or anything that had happened. For some reason, she’d wanted to keep that close to herself. It was like if she revealed what had happened, it would pop and disappear like the bubbles foaming beneath her fingers right now.

  “Adam told me he saw you and Jaime together at River’s Bend.”

  Grace looked at her in alarm, her heart pounding. “He did?”

  “Yeah, you were about to fall out a window? Were you?”

  Grace went back to washing. She doesn't know about the kiss. She doesn’t know. “Was I what?”

  “About to fall out a window.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sort of. I tripped, Jaime kept me from toppling out the window. That was it.”

  Joy didn’t say anything. She rinsed the glass Grace had handed her, filling and refilling it with water more times than necessary.

  “You know,” Joy began, “I won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. But, I think I’m astute enough to know when my friend is keeping something from me.”

  Grace dropped a bowl, and it clattered in the sink. When she didn’t move, Joy fished the bowl out of the sink, set it on the counter, and turned off the water. She placed a hand on her hip, turned toward Grace, and waited.

  Grace didn’t look at her. She knew she was blushing, though. Her hands were shaking, and she was acting like Joy had found out she’d murdered someone.

  “Geez, do you need to sit down? I didn’t mean to upset you.” Joy touched her arm, and Grace jumped.

  “Oh, no! I mean, I’m fine. Just kind of stressed. And tired. I haven’t been sleeping.” She switched on the water and began scrubbing the dishes with a vengeance.

  “Did something happen? Between you and Jaime? Every time he’s mentioned you jump like a rabbit caught by a fox.”

  Grace hummed underneath her breath. Was she just a rabbit and Jaime was a fox who was toying with her? Oh God, now she was thinking in animal metaphors? She handed Joy some silverware and then realized she’d scrubbed everything already. She stared at the running water, unsure how to answer.

  Everything happened, nothing happened. What do you do when a guy kisses you and then tells you it was a huge mistake?

  “I’m not going to twist your arm,” Joy said quietly. She shut off the water again. “But I’ll say this: be careful. Jaime’s a good guy, but he’s…”

  “Not the type of guy who’d go for someone like me?”

  “Good lord, no. But you’re young, and I’ve never seen him commit to a relationship longer than a few months.”

  Grace turned, narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been in Heron’s Landing for not even six months. How would you know?”

  Joy smiled. “Point taken. I meant, Adam has mentioned that he has never seen Jaime commit to a relationship beyond a few months.”

  “And my brother isn’t at all biased with this?”

  “Why would he be? Look, just watch out for yourself. That’s all. Take my advice, or don’t, because you’re an adult. But I’d hate to see your heart broken.”

  Grace traced a line of water on the edge of the sink. “What happened to you telling me to be honest with him? Or is that no longer a good idea?”

  “I guess, just don’t give your heart away unless you know the risk you’re taking. Does that make sense?” Joy sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m making no sense. I’m just worried about you. You’ll come to me if you need help, right?”

  Not with this. “Of course.”

  Joy gave her a quick hug, which Grace returned. But then she heard the front door open and Jaime’s voice saying, “Sorry for coming by so late…,” which made her jump away like that rabbit Joy had been talking abou
t.

  Joy frowned. “What’s Jaime doing here?”

  Grace wondered if she could sneak upstairs to her room, but she didn’t have time. Jaime had walked inside and seen them in the kitchen. He gave a wave, which Grace didn’t return. Why was he here? Could she never get away from this man?

  She heard Jaime and Adam chatting, with Julia and Carl asking some questions. Did her parents know about the missing money? She had a feeling Adam was trying to keep things quiet as much as possible, and luckily, her parents didn’t get out much these days. But it was unavoidable that they would eventually find out.

  Joy touched her elbow and went into the dining room. Grace heard her greet Jaime, but she couldn’t move. Instead of doing the polite thing, she opened the back door as quietly as she could and sneaked outside. Rubbing her arms at the chill, she tipped her head back and looked up at the stars, bright in the November sky. One of the advantages of living in the middle of nowhere was that you could see the constellations. Grace spotted Cassiopeia and then Andromeda, the latter of which was chained to a rock to be eaten by a sea monster before Perseus had swooped in to save her.

  Grace felt a little like she was chained to a rock, except of her own making. Will anyone save me? she wondered. Or can you be saved from yourself?

  She instantly felt embarrassed for such self-pity, and she huffed out a breath, which turned into a white cloud that floated out into the distance. She didn’t need Perseus or a savior or even a key to unlock her chains. She just needed to figure out things—whatever that even meant.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  Grace turned, and upon seeing Jaime walking toward her, she experienced the oddest feeling: inevitability. It was inevitable that he’d find her, that he’d talk to her, that he’d stand next to her, his face in shadows. It was inevitable that she’d love him, even when he’d never love her back.

  “I came to give Joy her bracelet. She dropped it in the kitchen and had been asking about it,” Jaime said, explaining his presence without Grace asking.