Hot Alphas
Page 25
He had the words he wanted to say, and he was going to get them out. No matter what.
She opened the door, giving him a puzzled smile.
“I thought maybe I could take you out on a date,” he said, while rain dripped down his face.
“Ah … well, the boys are here.” She looked past his shoulder to stare out at the pounding rain. “It’s raining kinda hard.”
“I wanted to take you out. The boys. All of us.” He swiped the rain from his face as Joey and Nolan appeared in the doorway, one on either side of her. They grinned up at him.
“Take us where?”
“On a date.” He reached out, hoping she didn’t see how his hands were shaking, just a little. “What do you think, guys? Can I take your mom out? You two?”
They didn’t even blink. “Yeah! Let’s go!”
They whooped and darted into the house while Ali continued to look at him, bemused. “A date,” she murmured, while he moved up and caught her hips in his hands.
“A date.”
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, sighed as her scent, warm and sweet, flooded him. The remnant ache in his heart faded.
“Tate, you’re going to get me all wet again. You know that?”
“Yeah.” He lifted his head and stared down at her. He frowned and stepped back, looked down.
She caught him, looping her fingers in his belt loops. “I don’t care. So … tell me, what are we doing on this date of ours?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
She laughed and pressed her mouth to his. “That sounds absolutely wonderful.”
TANGLED
by
Kate Douglas
To my longtime agent, Jessica Faust, BookEnds LLC, who knows me way too well, and yet represents me anyway. And to the amazing winemakers and grape growers of Dry Creek Valley, who made research on “Tangled” so much fun.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My sincere thanks to the folks at Bella Vineyards and Wine Caves (www.bellawinery.com/), for answering what might have sounded like really stupid questions (okay … they probably were really stupid questions) and who have a much nicer wine cave than the one at my mythical Tangled Vines Winery. And to the David Coffaro Estate Vineyard (www.coffaro.com/) and their wonderful Web site and online diary—a truly entertaining resource. A very special thank-you to all the winemakers and growers of Dry Creek Valley for producing such wonderfully inspirational world-class wines.
CHAPTER 1
“Well, shit.” Nate Dunagan stood on the wrong side of the locked gate currently barring him from reporting to his new job at the Tangled Vines Dry Creek Valley vineyard, and honestly didn’t know whether to laugh, cut loose with a primal scream, or just keep cussing. He really should have expected this, considering the day he’d had. After a ten-hour drive from Paso Robles that should have taken less than five—thanks to a grid-locked San Francisco Bay Area—a call from Marcus Reed, his new boss, telling Nate he’d be unable to meet him tonight as planned, and a dead cell phone, the locked gate was totally apropos.
Daylight was fading fast and the charger for the dead phone was stuck somewhere in one of the boxes with all his belongings in the back of the Silverado. According to his new boss, the winemaker would let him in. All he had to do was give her a call.
“Crap.” Nate let out a frustrated breath, glanced at the dead phone in his hand and then stared up the driveway to a nice-looking farmhouse at the end. The farmhouse was dark, but there was a light in a small cottage nearby, and a brighter light on the top floor of a fairly large barn set a couple of hundred yards north of the cottage.
That was probably his apartment. The one he couldn’t get to. Marcus Reed had said it was the second floor of a remodeled dairy barn.
Nate glanced at the truck and muttered another curse. He’d stopped in the little town of Healdsburg to pick up a pizza and a couple of cold beers before heading up the valley. By now, the pizza was probably cold and the beer warm. He glanced toward the lighted cottage, back at the cab of the truck and figured, desperate times and all that.…
After he locked his truck and stuck the keys in his pocket, Nate climbed over the gate. Certainly not the way he’d planned on showing up for the new job. There’d damned well better be someone here who could let him in, or he’d be spending a long night in the truck with cold pizza and two warm beers for company. Still, as he trudged down the gravel drive toward the cottage, he had a feeling it was asking for a little too much, to think something might go right today.
* * *
Cassie fumbled for the cell phone that had somehow worked its way to the very bottom of her tote bag, dragged it out, and checked caller ID. Staring at the screen through two more bars of “Proud Mary,” she thought seriously about sticking the phone back in her bag.
Of course, that wouldn’t work. Not at all. “Hello.”
“Cassie?”
“Yes.”
“Marc Reed here. Has the new vineyard manager arrived? Nathan Dunagan. I was supposed to meet him at the ranch, let him into the apartment over the barn, that sort of thing, but I got tied up in a meeting. He should be there by now, but he’s not answering his phone. Have you seen him?” Without giving her time to answer, he added, “Make sure he has keys, show him where everything is. Get him settled. Tell him I’ll be there in the morning. Early.”
“Yes, sir.” She imagined a salute. Again, probably not appropriate.
“I gave Nate your cell number. He’ll call when he gets to the gate so you can unlock it.”
“I’ll let him in.”
“Good.” The line went dead.
She stared at her phone. Jackass.
Shoving the phone in her pocket and shoving the brand-new absentee owner out of her mind, Cassie stared out the window. Damn she was going to miss this place. The cottage was okay, but nothing like this, her mom’s kitchen with all the windows across the back and the breathtaking view of vineyard and redwood-covered hills.
This was her favorite time of day, when the sun slipped behind the trees.
Her favorite place in the whole world.
It should have been hers. Damn it all. It really should have been hers.
The perfect view wavered. Angry, she swept her hand across her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. It was too late for tears, for what ifs … for wishing she’d known before it was too late.
“Dad, I’m so glad you don’t realize what you did. But damn…”
She took one last swipe across the spotless granite counter, folded the plain, white cotton towel over the edge of the sink, and walked out the back door of the only home she’d lived in for all her twenty-eight years.
Locking the door behind her, she walked across the yard without looking back. The guest cottage lay just beyond a tangled hedge of old roses, their stems unpruned for the past two years as her father slowly descended into the dementia that stole more of him each day.
When Marcus Reed and all his start-up billions bought Tangled Vines before the bank took it, she’d seen his purchase as both a blessing and a curse. He’d saved them from bankruptcy and paid enough that she could afford the assisted living facility her father’s failing health demanded. Plus, Marcus had offered Cassie a decent job when he’d insisted that she and her wine-making skills be included in the deal.
As if she had a choice. She’d wanted to hate the man for buying the vineyard and small winery for a fraction of its worth, but he’d continued to surprise her. So far, he remained an owner in name only, and things had essentially stayed just the way they’d been when her father was still healthy and running the place with Cassie in charge.
She was still in charge to a certain extent, but she was no longer one of the owners, and no longer living in what used to be her home. Marcus Reed wanted the main house for his own occasional use and the apartment over the barn for the new vineyard manager. He’d offered Cassie the small cottage, the original house her mom and dad had lived in before Cassie was born. The catch w
as Cassie’s promise to stay on as winemaker for at least the next five years.
Five years? Sounded like forever, but it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go.
She’d aired the cottage out and moved some of her belongings in this past week. The rest, including most of the furniture remained in the main house. The new owner had said she could leave what she wanted and they’d deal with everything later. She appreciated that. She really couldn’t deal with another thing. Not now.
Except now it appeared she had to deal with the vineyard manager. Her original plan—opening a bottle of their best Zinfandel wine and drinking it all by herself—was going to have to wait.
“Excuse me. Are…”
“What tha…?” Cassie bit off a scream and spun around, almost tripping over her feet. A strange man stood just a dozen feet away; she knew the gate was locked and no one should be anywhere near, so …
“I’m sorry.” He took a quick step back, held up both hands, and smiled.
He didn’t look dangerous when he smiled. Not that he’d looked dangerous before. Actually, he looked pretty impressive. Lean and rumpled in faded jeans and wrinkled camp shirt, but still dark and sexy and way too much man for her comfort level.
Especially on this side of her locked gate.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, answering what she was opening her mouth to ask. “I’m Nate Dunagan. Marcus Reed hired me. You are Cassie Phillips, aren’t you?”
She let out a soft breath. Relieved, and more than a little interested. “I am.” Smiling, she added, “I thought you were going to call.” She glanced about, looking for his vehicle, except she was certain Lupe had locked the front gate. The hired hand never forgot things like that. “How’d you get here?”
He smiled again, but she thought it looked a bit strained. “I drove, but your gate’s locked. I would have called, but the battery on my phone’s dead, and I would have arrived a lot earlier, except I’ve had the trip from hell trying to get here. Would you mind unlocking the gate so I can get my truck in?”
“C’mon, Nate.” She laughed, somehow feeling lighter than she had all day. “Your day doesn’t sound any better than mine.”
* * *
She was damned easy on the eyes. Nate glanced at her, sitting beside him in the cab of the Silverado with the box of cold pizza in her lap. He pulled in beside the barn he’d spotted from the road, and took another, more thorough look. Cassie Phillips was beautiful, in an offbeat way, with long hair that wasn’t quite red curling past her shoulders; waves of curls that stopped just short of frizzy. He guessed the color was what his mom called strawberry blond, but it fit her. So did the freckles across her nose and the blue eyes, the snug purple tank top, worn jeans, and work boots.
Talk about fit—those faded jeans fit her like a second skin.
She turned and gazed steadily at him for what felt like a really long time. Long enough to be pretty unnerving. Finally she sort of nodded at the box in her hands. “This pizza smells really good, I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I’ve had just about as crappy a day as you have. How about I help you unload your truck, show you where everything is, and then we take the pizza over to my house and reheat it.” She shrugged and then smiled.
That smile changed everything.
“I’ll share my salad if you’ll share your pizza.”
He returned her steady gaze long enough for her to look a little unnerved. It seemed only fair. “Works for me,” he said. “C’mon. Show me where I’m going to be living for the foreseeable future.”
She unlocked the door into what looked like a sturdy old barn on the outside. Inside, it had obviously been upgraded to serve as a tasting room. Simple and attractive, but definitely not a place he wanted to live.
“This way.” She grabbed a couple of his bags, carrying them with the ease of someone used to heavy lifting. Impressed, Nate picked up a large box of miscellaneous stuff. Packing had never been his strong suit, but he followed her up a flight of stairs to a spacious second-floor studio apartment. It was comfortably furnished with a small kitchenette and a spectacular view of the vineyards and old oaks. The sun was long gone and the sky already a deep, dark blue. He imagined it would be absolutely beautiful in the morning when the sun rose over the hills to the east.
Best of all, it had a king-sized bed that was freshly made up, clean towels folded in the bathroom, and a coffeepot and fresh coffee in a canister on the counter.
All the necessities.
The two of them had all his stuff unloaded after a couple more trips.
“Is that it?” Cassie had already picked up the pizza, so Nate grabbed the two beers he’d bought. They were definitely warm, but at this point he was so tired he really didn’t care.
Cassie led him to the small cottage instead of the big house. For some reason, he’d figured she lived in the house.
“No,” she said when he asked. “Mr. Reed wants it for when he’s here visiting, but I’ve got the cottage rent free. I hope that’s the same deal he gave you on the apartment.” She pushed the door open with her butt and he followed her into the small house.
“It is. He doesn’t seem to worry much about money, does he?”
“I’ve noticed.” She turned on the oven and stuck the pizza directly on the rack. “I’ve got cold beer in the refrigerator. Those are probably warm by now.”
“Thanks.” He opened the door on the refrigerator and sighed over an entire rack filled with bottled craft beers. Glancing over his shoulder, he shot her an appreciative grin. “This is impressive. I could fall in love right now.”
She laughed, a sound so joyful Nate stopped in the process of opening his beer to look at her. She stood there in front of the stove with a huge grin on her face.
“My dad always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. My mom would shake her head and say no, it was through the quality of beer she kept in the refrigerator. I always keep cold beer on hand for when I bring my father home for visits.”
He noticed she hadn’t mentioned another man.
She rummaged through a drawer and a cabinet and pulled out napkins and silverware, then grabbed paper plates out of another cabinet and set them on the bar separating the living area from the kitchen. Nate stayed out of her way while she mixed a big bowl of salad with what looked like homemade dressing and filled another paper plate of salad for each of them.
Last she took the hot pizza out of the oven and placed it on a wooden cutting board she’d set on the bar. Standing back, she studied the setting for a moment and sighed. “I’m beat. There are real dishes here somewhere, but I’m too tired to hunt for them.”
“It’s a lot fancier than I ever do. Smells wonderful.”
“Sit.” She reached for a bottle of wine sitting out on the counter, used a puller to get the cork out like she’d done it a million times—which, given her profession, she probably had—and poured herself a glass. Then she paused, grabbed another glass, and poured one for Nate.
“I’ve got my beer.”
She stared at the goblet in her hand. “Yeah, but this is my wine. I want you to know what those grapes you’re going to be babysitting are used for.”
One sip and Nate knew for certain he’d made the right decision. He held the glass up to eye level and noted the deep red color of the wine, the way light barely made it through the heavy red. “This is amazing.”
She tipped her head, accepting his compliment. “Thank you. I took over as Dad’s winemaker when I graduated from Davis. I’d helped him from the time I was a kid, but he’d basically done it himself for over twenty years. He was good. I think my wines are even better.”
“Did he retire?” He took a bite of pizza.
She didn’t look at him. Stared, instead, toward the dark window. “Dad has Alzheimer’s. It was so subtle at first that I didn’t really notice, but before long it was obvious he was changing. It’s horrible, really. Steady and inexorable, a truly grim march toward death.”
She laughed. “You’re on the right side of close. I’m twenty-eight, but lately I’ve felt years older. Dad’s eighty-five. He married late, after he retired from government service, and bought the land in 1984. It was originally a dairy but the cows were long gone and there were some grapes planted. Overall, it was pretty run-down when he took over.”
Shaking her head, she chuckled softly. “He said he’d always loved a challenge, that this was one of his biggest. He met my mom shortly after he moved in. He’d already fixed up this cottage, and even though there were over twenty years between them, they fell in love. They got married, and had finished building the house next door by the time I came along a couple of years later.”
“Your mom?”
Cassie shrugged and glanced away for a brief moment. Then she focused on Nate. “Mom died of breast cancer when I was fourteen. That left my dad with a teenaged girl to raise on his own.” She shot him a sly little smile. “That’s how I learned wine making. He figured keeping me busy in the cellar was better than wondering where I was all the time. I thought it was cool because I got to taste the wine.”
“It’s got to be tough, watching him now.” His grandfather’s slow decline had been painful beyond belief.
“It is. He had a damned good life, but it’s so wrong, watching time steal from him when no one else could ever get the upper hand. What makes it so hard is that he’s well aware he’s losing ground. He was an army colonel, a decorated veteran who spent years in the Secret Service.” She took a slow sip of her wine.
Nate watched the subtle ripple along her throat as she swallowed, the way her eyes slowly closed as she savored the taste. But was she savoring, or grieving what she’d lost? Not only her parents, but the home and vineyard where she’d been raised, the winery with an amazing reputation that she’d helped build. All now belonging to someone else.