St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love So Sweet

by Kelsey Browning

  Apparently God was on his coffee break because the voice that barked out “Red Cellars” on the other end was deep, masculine, and made Josie shiver with awareness.

  “May I speak with Frankie, please.”

  A long pause stretched out. Finally, he said, “Can I tell her who’s calling?”

  “Trace, it’s Josie.” She half expected him to hang up on her. Instead, he went silent, then she heard the definitive clunk of the phone being not so carefully placed on the counter.

  A few minutes later, Frankie said, “Red Cellars. Frankie speaking.”

  “Hi, Frankie. This is Josie Jennings,” she pushed out the words in a rush, before her fear and shame could get the best of her. “I need to apologize and ask you for a favor.”

  “You’re pretty damn bold.”

  True, but she was desperate. And while she’d been in St. Helena, she’d heard a few stories about how bold Frankie had been in her pursuit of her own vineyard. And how bold her husband had been in his pursuit of her. “I’m coming back to St. Helena and I’d like to borrow the tasting room for an hour.”

  “I assume this has something to do with why my best tasting room employee has been acting like someone took away all his birthdays.”

  Josie should’ve been ashamed of the way her heart jolted at the news that Trace had been as miserable as she, but she wasn’t. “I love him, and I need your help to win him back.”

  The sigh from Frankie’s end was long and deep, but Josie could tell she was going to say yes. “Lucky for you, I’m a closet romantic.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, Josie connected her trailer to the truck hitch and was about to climb into the cab when she saw her dad walking through the pasture toward her, hands in his pockets and shoulders rounded. They’d barely spoken since she flew back from California, heartsick and angry.

  After all, she’d stomped into the offices at Bitter Pecan and told him she was done, that she was leaving even though she hadn’t held up her end of the deal.

  With his hair turning more silver by the day and the way his shirt and jeans hung on his frame, she’d never seen him look older or more defeated. Sorrow and pity tried to wind its insidious way through her.

  But she breathed and swallowed, shoving back that feeling of sympathy that washed over her every time he asked her for something. Still, as much as she wanted to get in her truck and slam the door against him right now, she wasn’t that kind of person.

  He was her dad, and she still loved him.

  Taking the offensive, she said, “If you’ve come out here to try to talk me out of leaving, you can save your breath. I know you want this land to bear fruit for you, but it’s not my dream. It never was, and it never will be.”

  Finally, he looked up and his eyes were dim and haunted. “Know what I see when I see you, Josie girl?”

  A sucker, she almost said, but she shook her head instead.

  “Your mama. At first, all I could see was the reflection of her when she loved this place. When she loved me. And just like I refused to see that Bitter Pecan—and I—were making her miserable, I’ve done the same with you. I wanted to believe that if I could make a decent damn wine, things would turn around.”

  Josie realized he wasn’t talking about her, not really. He’d tried to show her mother that he loved her by loving his vineyard more. Not the way most women wanted to be wooed. So Josie reached out and touched his arm. “After all this time, did you really think she would come back to you?”

  He huffed his disgust at himself. “I’m a stupid old man, ain’t I?”

  “I’d say you’re determined.”

  He avoided her gaze and slapped her truck’s hood. “Where you pointing this thing?”

  “West?”

  “To your mama?”

  “No, although I plan to spend some time with her.”

  “This have something to do with the reason you couldn’t bring yourself to steal someone else’s secret?”

  Yeah, it had everything to do with it. “Dad, have you ever loved someone so much that you’d do anything to win her back?”

  His smile was tired and resigned. “Been doin’ it my whole damn life. And I can tell you this, it don’t work worth a damn if you’ve already killed what was between you.”

  Cold fear invaded every cell of Josie’s body. Is that what she’d done with Trace—killed what they might’ve had? It was likely, but she wouldn’t let the fear inside her turn the probability into certainty. She would go to Trace and lay herself and her love on the line. If he didn’t want her, he would have to say it to her face.

  She would not live her dad’s life, and that meant she had to stop holding in her resentments against him. So she went to him and put her head on his shoulder, remembering the times she’d done the same as a little girl and felt safe and loved. “You know what I think the secret ingredient in Red Steel’s wine is?”

  “I don’t want you to tell—”

  “I don’t think it’s cranberry or coriander or cantaloupes. Dad, what makes Frankie’s wine so special is that it’s made with joy. And joy’s hard to come by when you’re living every day of your life in the past.”

  Which was the exact reason she was about to go fight like hell for her future.

  When she pulled into St. Helena a few days later, Josie’s heart was thudding with a combination of nervousness and excitement. But Frankie had agreed to let her into the winery’s tasting room an hour before Trace was supposed to come in to set up for the day.

  As promised, Frankie was there and held open the door, but her expression was serious. “He may kill me for this. And I’d hate for him to quit because I’m actually hoping he’ll stay on.”

  “If he’s mad, I’ll make sure he blames me.”

  “He’s been miserable lately. Even the ladies at the tastings have noticed, although he’s tried to cover it up. It’s hard, if not impossible, to hide a broken heart.”

  Josie had also hurt terribly over the past couple of weeks, but she’d brought that on herself. Now, she would apologize to Trace, hoping they still had a chance.

  Frankie left Josie alone to set up her eleven easels, six on the left and five on the right. Once everything was perfectly positioned, Josie parked her truck and trailer around back where Trace wouldn’t see them.

  And then she waited.

  A key turned in the lock, and Josie pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to keep it from jumping clean out of her body.

  When Trace flicked on the lights, his eyes widened and then went to slits when he spotted her. “I told you that I didn’t want to talk to you or see you.”

  “And I told you I would be back.” She pushed as much self-confidence into her tone as possible. He had to understand that she was exactly where she wanted to be, planned to do exactly what she wanted. With the one man who made it all worthwhile. She gestured to the canvasses on the row of easels. “I want to show you something.”

  “What is all this?”

  “It’s what I created when I went back to Texas.”

  “You did all this in fourteen days.”

  It calmed her slightly that he knew exactly how long she’d been gone. “Ten actually because of travel time.”

  “That’s more than a painting a day.”

  “It was important.” She approached him like she might an animal that had never been around people. One likely to turn away, melt into the woods, and never be seen again. All she wanted was to touch him, reassure him they could make this work, but by his rigid stance, she could tell he wasn’t ready. She went to his side and stood there, soaking up his warmth and presence. She’d missed him but hadn’t realized how terribly until now. What would she do if he told her to go again?

  Failure and wallowing aren’t an option. Wanting something alone isn’t enough. You have to take action, bold beautiful action.

  So she took a chance and reached for his hand. He didn’t grip back, but he didn’t pull away either. She’d accept it
for now. With a little tug, she led him to the leftmost painting. The wax on this one was thick and slightly uneven. She’d been an emotional mess when she started it, and it showed. Certainly not her best work, but it was one of her most honest pieces ever, as were the others lined up after it.

  Trace bent and looked closer. “What are those?”

  Good thing her ego wasn’t nearly involved in this as was her heart. “Bluebonnets.”

  They moved to the next painting. “Some other kinda flower.”

  “Iris.”

  “Is that a tuba?” he asked about number three. In her defense, it had been four in the morning when she painted that one.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s your Airstream.”

  “A trailer.”

  He grunted and moved to the next. “Eagle.” That had been one of her best efforts, with the majestic bird flying over Mount St. Helena.

  “Water.”

  “River.” She corrected.

  He pointed to number seven, then eight. “A sailboat and I guess that one’s wine.”

  “Three more.”

  “Josie—” with a step back, he braced his hands on his hips and stared at her, his expression completely shielded, “—what the hell are we doing?”

  “Just finish. Then if you want me to leave, I’ll consider it.”

  “Consider?” That earned her a subtle mouth quirk, which elated her. If he could smile at her, even a little, she still had a chance. “Okay, eggplant, earring, and teapot.”

  She smiled up at him, willing him to understand, but he shook his head in confusion. “Is all this supposed to mean something?”

  It was, but she shouldn’t allow her art to speak for her. She had to tell him exactly how she felt. So she released his hand and passed by the paintings again. “B, I, T, T, E, R.” She stepped across the divide between the first six and the final five. “S, W, E, E, T.”

  “Josie, I’ll be honest, just being in the same room with you is tearing me up. I don’t want to play word games with you.”

  She took both his hands and held them to her chest until he couldn’t help but look at her. “I believe there are two kinds of people in the world. And they love in two kinds of ways. Some, like my dad, only see what they don’t have. What’s always just beyond his grasp. For those people, the world tastes bitter.”

  He cocked his head to the right, and she knew she had his attention.

  “For others, it always tastes sweet. They see how even the toughest times and situations can bring good into their world. When I first met you, I’d been living in a bitter world for so long that I didn’t know anything else existed. Didn’t remember that I could even create something else.”

  “That doesn’t make up for the fact that you—”

  She plowed on before he could shut her down. “With you, I tasted something I hadn’t in so long, just that scant drop of sugar. And it scared me.”

  “If something is right between two people it shouldn’t be scary.”

  “What I feel for you is so big, so good that I could imagine myself becoming addicted to the flavor.” If he didn’t show a crack in his armor soon, Josie felt as if her emotions would simply become too big for her heart to contain and spill out right there on the floor. “And where would I be if I couldn’t live without it, without you, and you were taken away? I’d spend the rest of my life obsessed with tasting it again, until I wasted all the sweetness around me.”

  All Trace wanted to do was draw Josie closer, until she was snug in the circle of his arms. But his heart was still bruised. Bruised? Hell, this woman had beaten the hell out of it.

  He wanted to trust her, wanted to believe her, but you didn’t break cover just because it looked like the enemy was gone. You waited and checked and double-checked, or you got dead. “So you’re saying you sabotaged our relationship because you were afraid. What happens the next time you get scared or something goes sideways? Based on what I’ve seen, you’ll either bug out or do something to betray my trust. I can’t live that way. Not even for you, Josie.”

  “I’m trying. I proved that by coming back to St. Helena. I was so scared you would turn me away.”

  “But you did it anyway. Why?”

  “I’m done with living a life that’s fueled by bitterness. With what-ifs and why-not-me’s. If I want to make something of myself, make art that comes from my soul, I have to get over my fears. I have to believe and take action instead of simply wishing.”

  “Does that mean you wished for me?”

  She stepped closer to him and pulled his hands up to her shoulders so she could wrap her arms around his middle and press her body against his. It sure felt like she was telling him the truth, that she wanted him, loved him. If she was being honest with herself, maybe there was a chance she was being honest with him.

  “I wished for you, Trace Cowan, before I knew you existed. Because I wanted a man who respected my work, who cared about the people around him, who loved me—”

  “—more than wine?”

  The kiss she pressed to his chest made his heart swell with hope. “A man who loves me even though I’m not perfect, even though I haven’t always said no when I should have, even though I almost let bitterness tear us apart. I love you, Trace, and I’m asking you to give me another chance.”

  Those three words wove their way through him, slowly mending the places where she’d ripped him apart. But she had to understand he couldn’t change who he was any more than she could. “Even if that means loving a man who will always love wine?”

  Her arms tightened around him, and she smiled up at him. “Yes, because interestingly enough, someone recently taught me that not all wine is bitter. In fact, some of it’s downright delicious.”

  “Does that mean you plan to stay in St. Helena?”

  “I’m staying wherever you are—here or your family’s vineyard, if you’ll have me. I can paint anywhere. After all, emotions inspire the art, and I feel so much when I’m with you.”

  “Because of what I felt for you, it hurt like hell when I realized why you’d come to St. Helena. Or maybe it hurt like hell because it seemed like you felt nothing at all for me.”

  Josie pressed her cheek against his chest. “When I walked in here a couple of weeks ago, it took me all of five seconds to realize I’d made a mistake by agreeing to my dad’s deal. If I’d trusted myself more the weekend you and I were together in Texas, I never would’ve done so because I would’ve already left Bitter Pecan. My bad decisions almost ruined everything.”

  He touched her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. “Josie, I can promise you that I will always love you more than the grapes, but wine is in my blood. Your art showcases your talent, vision, and confidence. Wine does the same for me.”

  “Does that mean you’re going home to Sweet Ficus?”

  The smile that made its way across his face felt so damn good because he’d finally realized his future was wide open, just waiting for him to embrace it. Waiting for him to embrace Josie. “Actually, I talked Frankie into letting me stay on as her assistant winemaker for a while. Then I’ll think about where I fit at Sweet Ficus.”

  “What about us—do we fit?”

  “Better than I ever could’ve imagined,” he said and watched Josie eyes light with pleasure. “But we should probably confirm.” He leaned down and touched his lips to hers and, sure enough, he tasted it.

  A love so incredibly sweet.

  ---

  Thanks so much for reading Trace and Josie’s story! If you’d like to check out my other books, you can find them on my Amazon Author page.

  Acknowledgements

  First, a huge thank-you to Marina Adair for inviting me into her St. Helena world. As a reader, I love the books in the series, and it was such fun to play with another author’s character and setting toys!

  Big hugs of appreciation to the other St. Helena Vineyard Kindle World authors. You made my first KW experience so fun with all the advice, tips and camaraderie
. I wouldn’t have made it through the process without our amazing author group.

  Editing kudos go out to Deb Nemeth and Debbie Duffee. Any mistakes in the story are mine alone, because you ladies rocked it!

  To my beta readers—Reva, Benefiel, Teresa Fordice, and Heather Patton—many thanks for your times and your eagle eyes. You were the first to read Trace and Josie’s story.

  And where would I be without my amazing street team, the Dangerous Darlings, and my fan group, the Sass Kickers? Y’all are the reason I get up and write stories every day. Thank you so much for sharing your time and love of reading with me.

  I say this with every book, but without the support of my husband and son, none of these stories would be possible. So to Tech Guy and Smarty Boy, thank you for understanding when my hair is back in a ponytail for the twenty-bazillionth time and I stumble into the shower after a long day with people who only exist in my mind. Not all men could live with a crazy woman. Thanks for being just crazy enough yourselves to stick with me.