by Beth Andrews
Thank God.
YVONNE DESCENDED THE last step into the foyer, her jaw so tight it ached.
Bastard.
But she couldn’t let him see how furious he made her. Or worse, how much his obvious dislike for her hurt.
Here she was, back in a place where she’d never felt she truly belonged, surrounded by people she’d suspected never really wanted her here.
Not much had changed, it seemed.
She’d been… God, she’d been so…so arrogant. Had seriously thought that Diane needed her. Had imagined how she’d sweep in with her schedules and grand plans and experience and organize their efforts. That Diane’s wedding would be the talk of the South, and the Diamond Dust would be set up as the premier place to hold events in Southern Virginia. Maybe in the entire state.
All thanks to Yvonne.
Showing them all she was more than just the spoiled rich girl Aidan had brought home. The one who’d never fit in.
But Diane didn’t need her. She was using her because of her past with Aidan.
At least that was a new one. Usually people wanted her in their lives because of her name, her wealth, her connections or her looks.
No one ever wanted her for herself.
She was halfway to the front door when someone rounded the corner behind her at the back of the house.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
As with Aidan earlier that day, this voice was familiar to her. Except it belonged to a woman. One she would’ve been happy to have gone her entire stay in Jewell without ever laying eyes on.
No such luck.
Pasting on a fake, toothy smile, the one she’d used to perfection during her pageant days, she faced Connie Henkel. “That’s the second time I’ve been greeted with those same words,” she said, intensifying her accent. She knew the drawl would irritate the other woman no end. “Does everyone here have something against a simple hello? Or maybe y’all just lack manners?”
She immediately regretted her snide comment when Connie’s eyes narrowed, giving her the look of a sleek cat. A dangerous one. And, Yvonne had to admit with an inner sigh, a sexy, confident one in her tight jeans and snug T-shirt the color of a ripe plum. The collar of her own formal blouse suddenly choked her.
Connie had always made her feel as snobbish and uptight as her mother. Like Diane, the other woman intimidated her, pure and simple. She’d fit here, with the Sheppards.
A tall, broad-shouldered man came up behind Connie and the woman whirled around to demand, “What the hell is she doing here?”
He looked over her head at Yvonne, his eyes widening. “Don’t blame me. I had nothing to do with it. But if she sticks around, it’d knock Aidan on his ass.” He smiled at Yvonne. “Please tell me you plan on sticking around.”
It was that grin that helped her realize why he looked so familiar. “Matt?” she asked, taking in the changes seven years had made in the youngest Sheppard’s appearance. Gone was the gangly, baby-faced charmer. Now Matt’s face was leaner, his cheeks and chin covered in dark blond stubble, his long, wheat-colored hair held back in a ponytail.
“One and only,” he assured her with a wink.
Connie sent him a scathing glare. “Really? You’re flirting now? With her?”
He slung a companionable arm around Connie’s shoulders. “Now, sugar, you know you’re the only woman I flirt with,” he said, and though his tone was teasing, the heat in his eyes when he looked at Connie said there was more going on between these two than friendship. A lot sure had changed around here. “I’m being friendly. After all, Yvonne used to be family.”
“Used to be,” Connie muttered, crossing her arms as yet another man came around the corner from what Yvonne remembered was a large family room-kitchen area.
He was a few inches shorter than Matt, his hair lighter and cropped close to his head, his eyes blue to his younger brother’s green. But the shape of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the confidence in his posture gave him away as a Sheppard.
“Hello, Brady,” she said. “So nice to see you.”
He blinked—the only sign he gave of being surprised to find her in his mother’s foyer. “Yvonne.”
“Please tell me you just happened to be passing through town.” Connie stepped toward Yvonne, brushing off Matt’s arm. “And that you’re now on your way back to…wherever it is you took off to before.”
She looked so hopeful—almost as hopeful as Yvonne had felt about her six weeks here. Before she’d found out Diane was only using her.
“Oh, Connie, I’m sorry to have to disappoint you…” She was even sorrier to face that same disappointment herself. “But I’ve accepted a position here for the next two months. And may I just say,” she added, keeping all trace of sarcasm out of her voice, “how much I’m…looking forward to working with you all.”
She ended her performance with a soft smile, her expression composed, her grip on her laptop relaxed.
Brady and Matt exchanged a quick, loaded look, while Connie’s mouth worked but no words came out. Then she took off up the stairs, her long legs taking the steps two at a time. “Aidan!”
“Well,” Yvonne said brightly to the two men staring at her, “I should get going as well. It was lovely to see you both.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Connie paced between Aidan’s desk and the matching leather chairs where Brady and Matt sat. He’d asked them all to his office at the end of the workday so he could explain about Diane hiring Yvonne and moving up her wedding date. He’d been as quick and concise as possible, leaving out only a few minor details. Such as how seeing Yvonne again had tied him in knots.
“I don’t trust her,” Connie said, her strides not slowing in the least. “She’ll stab us in the back. You wait and see.”
Aidan rubbed at the headache brewing behind his temples, and leaned back in his chair. “How would she do that? Sabotage Mom and Al’s wedding?”
“I don’t know.” Connie tossed her hands in the air, her slim body vibrating with rage. “She could…order the wrong flowers. Or…or mess up the cake on purpose.”
“I hate to say it,” Matt interjected lazily, “but you’re sounding a bit paranoid.”
“He’s right.” Aidan held up a conciliatory hand when she looked ready to leap down Matt’s throat and rip his heart out. “Yvonne’s not going to do anything to ruin the wedding or risk it not being perfect. After all, she has as much to gain from it being a success as the Diamond Dust does. And she’d never do anything to hurt her own reputation.”
Not when appearances were everything to her.
“I’m not paranoid.” Connie sniffed. “That…woman isn’t good for the winery.”
“I think we’re all in agreement on that,” Aidan said. “But it’s only for two months. The best way to handle it is to treat her as if she’s any other employee. If we all remain focused and do our jobs, having her here won’t be a big deal.”
Connie gave him a look that clearly said she thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to work with her.”
He picked up a pen and held it tightly with both hands. Easy for him? Not even close.
“Seeing as how there’s nothing we can do about it,” he said, “I don’t see any reason to let it…to let her…bother us. All we have to do is get through the next two months, then she’ll be gone and it’ll be as if she was never here in the first place.”
Like before.
“What was your mother thinking?” Connie muttered, obviously not willing to take his damned good advice. “How could she do this?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” It was the same thing he’d said to Matt when he’d asked why their mother was blackmailing him to take part in the business.
No way was Aidan explaining that she was now playing Cupid. Hell, knowing that would push Connie right over the edge.
Matt raised his hand and pointed at his watch. “You want me
to pick up the girls?” he asked, referring to Connie’s two young daughters.
“No. I’ll go. I need to stop by the bank anyway.” She jabbed a finger at Aidan. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“How about instead of you actually finishing it with me,” Aidan said somberly, “you say your piece to Matt, then he can give me the condensed version. I just don’t see why I should be punished,” he continued, when Connie growled at him. “Since none of this is my fault.”
“You married that…her,” she said. “So don’t try and say this isn’t somehow your fault.”
And with that, the closest friend he had, the woman who’d stuck by his side during his father’s illness and death, and the crumbling of his marriage, turned and left.
“If you don’t relax,” Matt said in his slow, irritating drawl, “you’re going to break that pen. And we all know how you’d hate to get even a speck of ink one of your pristine shirts.”
Aidan glanced down to see his hands were shaking. He carefully set the pen down. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
Matt rubbed his fingertips over his cheek thoughtfully, as if just noticing he needed a shave. Aidan wished he’d notice he needed a haircut, too.
“Well, now,” his brother said, “love is a strong word. Although I am enjoying the hell out of seeing you squirm.”
“That’s because you’re an ass,” Aidan said flatly. Brady inclined his head in agreement.
“I’m just glad I’m not the only one whose life Mom is trying to control.” Matt stood and stretched his arms overhead until his back cracked. “Look, it sucks. I know that better than anyone. But at least it’s a temporary situation. One I’m sure you’ll get through without so much as a hair out of place.”
“Right. Unlike you, who was forced to stay. Tell me, does Connie know what a struggle it must be for you to get through each day, how you’re obviously resigned to your fate? Because I was under the impression you were actually happy with the way things turned out.”
“I am.” Shrugging, he grinned. “But just because a man likes his final destination doesn’t mean the trip getting there was painless. I’m sure the survivors of the Titanic would agree.”
“Profound.”
“You want my advice?”
“The day I do is the day they’d better put me in the ground.”
“Don’t fight it—it’s like one of those choke collars. The harder you struggle, the tighter the damn thing gets. Keep your head down and get through each day one minute at a time.”
Then, with a sharp salute, his cocky brother backed out of the room.
“He has a point,” Brady said.
“You don’t say one word up until now and that’s how you break your silence?”
“He’s right about keeping your head down. If you don’t play Mom’s game, you can’t lose. Unless you want to reconcile with Yvonne?”
Studying his brother’s stoic expression, Aidan slid to the edge of his seat. “You know.”
Brady straightened his left leg. “There’s no other reason for Mom to bring your ex-wife here except to try and get you two back together.”
“Guess she’s feeling cocky after her recent victory over Matt.”
“I lucked out. Mom only threatened to kick me off the Diamond Dust,” Brady murmured. “You want me to talk to her?”
Aidan snapped his head up so quickly he about broke his neck. “You’re offering to have a conversation with someone? The man of as few words as possible.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t get my point across.”
True. “I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t bother. It wouldn’t work, anyway. I’ve already spoken with Mom and she’s set on this. And we both know once she’s made up her mind, there’s no changing it.”
It was a stubbornness they all shared. Which didn’t make it less annoying, just easier to recognize.
“Besides,” Aidan continued, “it’s not like I have to go along with Mom’s little scheme.” He didn’t have to fall for Yvonne. Not again. “Yvonne and I ended it a long time ago. Believe me, neither one of is us interested in revisiting our relationship.”
Brady tapped his fingers against his thigh. Opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Aidan raised his eyebrows. “You going to spit out whatever it is you’re chewing on? Or would you rather I guess?”
His brother shifted. “Be careful.”
“Of Yvonne?”
“Of your feelings for her.”
“I don’t have any feelings for her.” Aidan stood, his chair slamming into the bookcases behind him with a sharp crack.
There was one second of blessed silence as Brady smiled. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Tucking his fisted hands behind his back, Aidan drew in a deep breath. “We were married,” he pointed out in what he thought was a rational, dispassionate tone—one that hid the turmoil bubbling inside him, “but that doesn’t mean I’m holding on to some sort of…infatuation…after all these years.”
“Keep it that way. Don’t hold on to something that died long ago.”
“This isn’t like you and Liz.”
Liz Montgomery had been Brady’s fiancée—until a year ago, when she’d written him a Dear John letter while he’d been serving with the marines in Afghanistan. Shortly after, he’d been injured during a routine patrol and his life had spiraled violently out of control, resulting in a drunken Brady crashing Liz’s wedding this past summer. He’d ended up in bed with Liz’s younger sister, Jane Cleo—a one-night stand that ended in pregnancy. Brady and J.C. were married a few weeks ago.
“I appreciate your concern,” Aidan added, “but I’m fine. It’s not as if I’ve spent the past seven years obsessed with getting Yvonne back. I moved on.”
“Good,” Brady said, as he walked toward the door.
“Besides,” Aidan called, “it’s for just a little over a month. When it’s over, she’ll leave.”
Again.
Though Brady didn’t turn around, his voice carried quite clearly back to Aidan even as he stepped out into the hall. “You sure about that?”
Damn right he was sure. Aidan began to pace, and Lily, lying in a patch of sun in front of the window, got to her feet, her tail wagging as she joined him. Yvonne wouldn’t stay. He wouldn’t allow it. And when it was all said and done, that was what mattered most. What he would and wouldn’t allow.
Ownership of the Diamond Dust was to be transferred to him and his brothers at the end of July, but now that his mother had moved her wedding date up, he’d just have to make sure the partnership agreement was moved up, as well. Then it wouldn’t matter what sort of agreement Yvonne made with his mom. He’d have control—diluted only by his brothers’ two-thirds ownership.
But he wasn’t going to take any chances. Not on something this important. He’d do everything he could to make sure Yvonne had no reason to stay in Jewell.
SHE WASN’T VAIN, Diane thought firmly later that night as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, by the light coming through the open bathroom door. She’d always been too pragmatic, too honest to indulge in vanity. The way she looked, how she presented herself, had always taken a backseat to more important things. Her family. Her business. Who she was inside.
Her teeth chattered. Goose bumps rose on her damp legs and arms, prickled her skin like tiny pins. Water dripped from her slicked-back hair onto her bare shoulders. A drop trailed over her collarbone and down her chest, where it was absorbed by the towel she held clutched at her breasts.
But though she trembled with the cold, she didn’t move. After years of giving her reflection no more than a passing glance, she couldn’t look away from the woman before her. Her blond hair with its straggly, unmanageable grays. Her rounded shoulders.
What had happened to her?
She’d always enjoyed being a woman. Having strength and softness. Being loved by a man, desired by him. But that didn’t mean she’d ever, even once, told herself that sh
e needed those things in order to be whole. To have a fulfilling life.
Behind her, her fiancé slept in her large, warm bed. But no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t lie with him there when she didn’t even know herself anymore.
They hadn’t made love in over three weeks. Every time Al reached for her, she claimed she was too tired. Too stressed first about Brady’s wedding a few weeks back, then about planning their own wedding. Her thoughts were too consumed with her impending retirement and her sons taking over the winery. Al was always understanding. Patient. His love for her never wavered.
But instead of being grateful to have found love a second time with a wonderful man, all she felt was guilty. Because she was lying to him and everyone else. Yes, she was tired and stressed and worried…so very worried. But mostly, she didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t think she could bear it.
With a deep a breath, she forced her fingers to straighten, and the towel dropped to the thick carpet.
No, she’d never been a beauty, but she’d always had her own appeal. Clear skin. Wavy hair. And curves that had garnered more than her share of interest.
She slowly turned to the side and studied her profile. Those curves had expanded by about, oh, twenty pounds or so. She could blame her protruding stomach on the slowing of her metabolism, but knew it had more to do with her love of baking. And her even greater love of eating the treats she made. Her legs were still toned, thanks to her daily three-mile walks, but her waist was thicker, her hips rounder.
Not a perfect body but one that she’d taken good care of over the years. She’d given birth to three babies and nourished them during their first year of life. Her legs had supported her; her back was strong. She’d comforted her children, hugged them with joy and pride, and held her husband when he took his last breath. No, her body was far from perfect, but it’d always been limber and healthy.
The bedcovers rustled, and a moment later, Al flipped on the bedside lamp. She watched herself wince as the light brought her reflection into sharp relief.