by Jo McNally
Luke and Whitney had been having a tug-of-war for power from the moment she’d arrived and they’d fought over Tony’s tool bag. And yet, despite all the book club’s efforts to find a good match for Whitney, here she was watching Luke move through the vineyard with hunger in her eyes. Helen sighed.
“Luke was a scrawny thirteen-year-old kid the first time he showed up here. Tony caught him stealing tomatoes from the garden.” She nodded when Whitney’s head spun around. “We’d watched him doing it for nearly a week. He’d come just after dawn, take a couple tomatoes, maybe a zucchini, and, of course, a fistful of blueberries. We knew who he was. Who his parents were.” Helen turned away to refill her coffee mug. She held up the pot, but Whitney shook her head.
“What happened when Uncle Tony confronted him?”
“Oh, Tony didn’t confront him. He went out and gave Luke a sturdy basket so he could carry more produce. We figured he was trying to feed his siblings.” Helen sat at the table, staring into her coffee.
Luke had been a sight—long dark hair flopping across those angry, fearful eyes. Clothes hanging off his thin frame. Canvas sneakers with more holes than canvas. He’d pulled back like a feral cat at the sight of Tony approaching, ready to bolt. But Tony pointed to a towering tomato plant and told Luke how to tell when a tomato was ripe for picking. That a bright red tomato was pretty, but might not last as long as a slightly green one that could ripen on a windowsill. Then he’d filled Luke’s basket himself, with the boy watching in stunned silence.
“After Tony loaded him down with vegetables, he sent Luke on his way with one request. If the boy was going to reap the harvest, he should help maintain it. There was weeding to be done in the garden and in the vineyard, and if Luke wanted to help with that, he could have all the produce he wanted.”
Whitney leaned against the windowsill, still watching Luke with distant eyes.
“Uncle Tony saved Luke’s pride.”
“He did. And damned if we could get rid of the boy after that. He followed Tony around like a lost puppy who’d been kicked too many times, but still wanted to be loved.” She lifted her shoulder. “Luke had a temper, but your uncle had a soft spot for that kid. He even taught him to cook, so Luke could give the other kids at home more than cold tomato sandwiches. He taught him about growing grapes, and, probably younger than he should have, how to make wine. The more Tony gave, the harder Luke worked.”
Whitney nodded, looking back out the window. “Because Luke has honor.”
“Lord only knows where he got it from, but yes. The boy knew right from wrong, and he always wanted to do right by Tony. And me.”
Whitney stared out the window for a while. Suddenly she straightened and turned to Helen.
“I need to finish working on your accounts. I have to find the gap in the bank statements and figure out exactly what’s going on.”
Helen had a hunch Whitney’s focus had changed from hanging blame on Luke to clearing his name. She thought of the boxes up in her closet.
“Before you do that, there’s something I need to show you.”
* * *
WHITNEY HAD SPENT a lot of time staring at this dining room table over the past month or so. But now she could finally see a glimmer of hope. Once she’d recovered from the shock of Helen showing her those boxes in her closet earlier, they’d started a whole-house search for more. Helen insisted she hadn’t hidden any others, but they found a box in the laundry room, and two paper bags full in the upstairs linen closet. Those hidden gems went back to the first few months after Tony’s death, when Helen had been at her lowest.
“I...panicked, I guess.” Helen wouldn’t look Whitney in the eye when they found the last of it. “I’m not stupid. I just... I guess I figured if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t there. I shoved it all out of sight. But then it kept coming. All the bills and statements and solicitations and legal stuff and...” Her shoulders slumped. “I guess I am pretty stupid, aren’t I?”
While Whitney couldn’t imagine doing what her aunt had done, she’d never been through a trauma like Helen’s. And she felt partially responsible, because Helen had asked her to come to Rendezvous Falls a year ago, and she’d been too busy to realize what a cry for help it was. She could have prevented this if she hadn’t been so self-absorbed.
Whitney gave Helen a hard hug. “You were grieving. You were scared. It was self-preservation, and I get it. But we can fix this. I can fix this, now that I have all the missing pieces. You go down to the tasting room and get ready to greet customers, and I’ll get busy.”
It was almost four o’clock now, but she’d emptied the surprise boxes and bags and put everything where it belonged chronologically. Her laptop was set up next to the piles of opened bank statements. Now she could finally start reconciling the accounts.
“Holy...” Luke stood in the doorway, eyes wide and fixed on the table. “How are you ever going to get through all that?”
“The same way I’ve gotten through every other audit. One line at a time.”
But she didn’t want to talk about audits. She wanted to talk about the intoxicating scent of outdoors and sweat and wine that swirled into the room ahead of him. She wanted to talk about his tousled hair that was begging her fingers to run through it. The long, lean body she knew was under that shirt and those jeans. Was he still commando?
“Hey, my eyes are up here, lady.” There was a light, teasing laughter to his voice. It was something she hadn’t heard from Luke until last night. He’d laughed a few times in her presence—usually at her expense. He’d teased a few times—usually to get her riled. But she hadn’t heard lightness from him. It made her heart hurt to think that very few people had probably ever heard that.
Was this where they were now? A light, teasing friendship? A light, teasing coworker-with-benefits relationship? A light, teasing...
Luke moved forward and tugged her to her feet and into his arms. She put her hands on his chest in warning.
“Helen...”
“Helen went grocery shopping. She told me you were doing paperwork and that I should come up here to see if you needed any help taking more recyclables outside.”
Whitney frowned. That was a little...convenient. Helen had never sent Luke to help her before. She’d generally tried to keep them working in separate parts of the vineyard to avoid what Helen called their “squabbles.”
“Do you think she suspects anything about last night?”
He didn’t release her, but his grip relaxed.
“I don’t know how she could. We covered our tracks pretty well. But would it really be a problem if she did?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to figure out what it means for me, much less how it affects her and you and the business.” She couldn’t help glancing at the papers, and he took it the wrong way.
He released her like she was on fire, stepping back and hardening his expression.
“Do you think you have a conflict of interest in your investigation now? Are you suggesting I seduced you to distract you from your search for incriminating evidence against me?”
After last night, she understood why his first reaction to anything was to defend himself. Before that, she’d have thought those stormy brown eyes meant he was angry. But it was so much more than that. He was feeling judged. He was hurt, and ready to lash out.
“No, Luke. And if you’ll recall, I did most of the seducing.” She moved closer, and was stung when he tried to back off, but the wall got in his way. This was getting ridiculous. “Look, in order to believe you arranged everything last night, I’d have to believe you set me up with Doug Canfield so he could play grab ass with me so you could come to my rescue and punch him. Then you’d have to know I’d be upset enough to suggest a shot of whiskey, and once that happened, I wouldn’t be able to resist dragging you up to your bed.” She poked him hard in the chest with her finger. “An
d, of course, you figured all that great sex would render me incapable of doing my job. That’s quite a diabolical scheme you came up with, Luke Rutledge.”
They glared at each other in silence, her finger still resting over his heart. His brows were low over his eyes, angry and hard. Wait. Was that a little spark she saw? His cheek twitched. She would not smile. She was angry. She would not smile. But when the corner of his mouth quirked upward, hers did the same. He covered her hand with his, raising it up to his mouth and kissing her fingertip. The zap of energy went straight from that fingertip to her belly, which tightened with desire. His eyes softened to gold-flecked chocolate.
“Great sex, huh?”
Her laughter bubbled up.
“You’re such a man. All those words, and the only two you heard were ‘great sex.’”
“No. I also heard you admit you seduced me. And just so you know—that was hot.”
Whitney tried not to preen, but in her mind she was sweeping her hair back, brushing off her shoulder haughtily and saying Hell, yes!
Behind her, a few bank statements slid from their stack to the table as the cat made his hourly trek across the table. Boots was such a good little helper. Luke’s defenses started to rise again, but she grabbed his arm.
“I’m not doing an investigation, Luke. I may have acted a little skeptical at first...” She sighed when he arched a brow at her. “Okay, I was skeptical at first. Downright suspicious. But not anymore.” She glanced over her shoulder at the paperwork. “This is a mess, but I don’t think there’s anything criminal here. It’s just...a mess.”
His face lowered toward hers. When he spoke, the lightness had returned to his voice, which made Whitney happier than it probably should have. She shouldn’t be so invested in Luke’s lightness, but it was rare and precious and she cared far more than she realized.
“And you’re not saying that because of the great sex we had?”
“No, never.” She smiled, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It really was pretty amazing, wasn’t it?”
His lips touched hers, and lightness evaporated. Her arms slid around his neck and his arms were hard around her ribs as he pulled her in and turned his head to give himself better access to her mouth. Access she gladly gave him, moaning in a highly unladylike way as her fingers twisted into his hair at last. His hands slid down to cup her buttocks and she could feel him growing hard against her. In Helen’s dining room.
“Luke...” She pulled away from his kiss, but he trailed more down her neck. “Luke...we can’t... Helen... Wait...”
As soon as she said that last word, he stopped, dropping his forehead to her shoulder.
“Damn, woman. I get within ten feet of you now and I can’t not touch you. Breakfast was freaking torture this morning.” He lifted his head and set her away from him, making her ache for the feel of his body against hers. “You’re right, though. Helen doesn’t need to know anything until we’ve figured out what we’re doing.”
“And what do you think we’re doing?”
She hoped he’d tell her, because she had no idea.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
So much for that plan.
“Well, we’ve only had one night.” She turned away, needing the space. “It’s not like it’s a relationship or anything.”
“True.” Looking away hadn’t helped. His voice still set her skin tingling with awareness. “I suppose we could call it a one-night stand and let it go at that. We’re both adults. We know how the world works. We don’t have to get all emotional about it.”
Whitney nodded. She’d done it before. An evening romp with a guy, no strings attached. No expectations of a phone call the next day. Luke had been in this town his whole life, and surely he’d had a few hookups along the way. She turned to face him.
“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
His eyes went wide. “Uh, no. Last night wouldn’t have happened if I was. You?”
She shook her head, probably more sharply than necessary. “Nope.”
Luke sighed. “Okay, that’s one set of complications out of the way. Look, we don’t have to figure this out right now. I’ve got to get to work, anyway.” He shrugged at her questioning stare. “Many jobs, remember? There was a private party at the Shamrock last night, so they didn’t need me, but it’s back to normal hours tonight.” He reached for her hand, pulling her close. “I liked last night. A lot. I’d be happy to do it again. But not if you’ve got any doubts about what we’re doing. The festival’s only a month away. We’re going to be working some long hours together. And then you’ll be gone, because me and this place are too small for the likes of Whitney Foster.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he talked over her. “My point is, whatever’s happening between us is temporary. We have an expiration date, so we may as well be up front about it. The only question is whether we want to blow off a little steam together until then, with no expectations of anything more.”
She didn’t like summing up the sex they’d had as just “blowing off a little steam.” It felt more substantial than that. But he was right about having an end date, and the need for similar expectations. He was being annoyingly logical.
“You’re suggesting we sneak away for a little afternoon or evening delight whenever we can, but keep things the same between us other than that?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. This has to be a mutual decision. But afternoon delight is definitely an option.” He winked. “We both like being together. And we both know there’s no future to it. I’m not crazy about the friends-with-benefits tag, but...”
She couldn’t resist staying in character. “That would require us to be friends first, right?”
He chuckled, then swept in for a smoking kiss that took away her snark as well as her breath.
“Sounds like a lot of pressure. I gotta run, but you think about it and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? But that was so far away...
He left after she loaded him down with a large box overflowing with empty envelopes, useless pages and junk mail—all the refuse from the surprise boxes and bags. She sat at her computer and started entering data. Fortunately she could enter the numbers without a lot of thought. Her brain was busy trying not to think about Luke’s proposal.
He was suggesting they keep everything the same between them, but hook up for sex when the mood arose. Judging from both their reactions today, the mood might arise a lot. No expectations. No complications. Just a month or so of really, really good sex, then they’d part ways as if nothing had ever happened. She’d salvage her career somewhere, somehow. He’d stay here at the winery, living in a town where he thought people assumed the absolute worst of him.
How could he handle the whispers and side-eyes? That was what chased her out of Vegas as a teen—everyone pointing at her mom and laughing or rolling their eyes. And Chicago became unbearable once Harold Carmichael started his whisper campaign against her. When she ran into her former coworkers, they looked at her with suspicion, or worse—pity. Leaving was the only way to escape. But Luke stayed here, working hard and ignoring everyone.
“How’s it coming in here?”
Whitney jumped so high at Aunt Helen’s entrance that her finger sent a row of 7s flying across twenty columns on the spreadsheet she was working on.
“Oh! You’re back! I...um...it’s good. I think the numbers are starting to make sense. I just need to finish the puzzle.”
“Did Luke hook up with you?”
“Aunt Helen!” Whitney caught herself. “I mean...what?”
There was a quick flash of amusement in Helen’s eyes, then she looked away toward the doorway.
“The boxes? Did Luke get the recyclables?”
“Oh! Yes. Yes. He was in and out...” Whitney winced. Helen coughed, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. Maybe this arrangement
wouldn’t be as simple as Luke suggested. “I mean...yes. He got the recyclables.”
Helen didn’t answer, just nodded and left the room. Hiding this no-strings relationship from Helen would be a chore. It meant lying to a woman she and Luke both adored. Maybe this was a sign that it was a bad idea. It was a high cost for a summer affair that had no hope of going anywhere. Sure, the sex was fun...
Who was she kidding? The sex was fantastic. But could they keep it all as simple as Luke suggested? A little tryst behind the wine barrels in the afternoon? A tumble by the falls at sunset? Sneaking into each other’s rooms at midnight? And when they weren’t trysting, they’d do their work as if nothing happened? It sounded impractical. Too good to be true. Unworkable. A recipe for disappointment and possibly flirting with disaster. No sex in the world was worth that.
“Oh, Whitney?” Helen called from the kitchen across the hallway. “If you have any more recyclables to go, it looks like Luke is getting into his truck now.”
Luke was on his way to his job at the bar, not the county waste management center. Instead of telling Helen that, Whitney grabbed one of the bags, barely half-full of scrap paper. It was one way to see him before tomorrow, and maybe talk to him about tonight.
“Good idea, Helen! I’ll run this out to him.”
She cut across the yard. The truck tires slid in the gravel when Whitney ran in front of it at the base of the driveway, out of sight of Helen’s kitchen window. Luke jumped out as soon as it stopped.
“Jesus! I almost hit you. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Or everything... I don’t know. But...” She handed him the bag. He took it as if she was handing him a bomb. And there could be a lot of land mines waiting ahead of them. “Here’s more recyclables.”
“I’m not going...”
Before she lost her nerve, or maybe the moment she lost her mind, Whitney jumped forward and flung her arms around his neck. He dropped the bag to the ground and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her long and hard. They didn’t stop until they heard a car coming up the road. They might be hidden from the house, but they’d be visible to anyone who drove by.
