by Jo McNally
“Whitney! Oh, my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” Evie jumped up from a bar stool. “Look at what Mark gave me tonight! It’s his high school ring—he saved it all these years for me!”
The ring hung from a heavy gold chain around Evie’s neck. Whitney pasted on her brightest smile, which felt thin enough to break.
“Evie! Mark! Wow, that’s great. You two finally got your act together, huh? I’m happy for you!” Evie showed Luke the ring, and he nodded absently. Asshat. If Whitney could act civil, so could he. She nudged her hip hard against his, and he got the message, holding his hand out to Mark with a gritty smile.
“Glad you two worked it out, man.”
“I wasn’t going to take a chance of letting her get away again. I wasted so much time trying to be someone I was never meant to be. When I think about how I could have lost her forever... Well, I wasn’t going to give up when I loved her so damn much. When you love someone, you fight for them, right?”
Luke gave some strangled grunt of a response, looking everywhere but at Whitney. Damn it, she wasn’t giving up on love, and neither was he, whether he knew it yet or not.
She gave Mark a quick hug, then turned back to Evie. “We have to run, but I definitely see a girls’ night out in our future. I want to hear all the details.”
Evie studied her face closely for the first time. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! We’re just working ourselves ragged getting ready for the festival. And we still have more to do tonight...” Luke wasn’t any help. His attention was focused elsewhere. Doug Canfield was walking their way. She grabbed Luke’s arm. “Let’s go.”
But Luke didn’t budge. Doug stopped in front of them, glaring at Luke but speaking to Whitney.
“If you were dating this loser, Whitney, all you had to do was say so that night. I wouldn’t have come within ten feet of you if I’d known you had that kind of taste.”
“I wasn’t dating anyone—”
Luke talked over her. “It’s none of your business who she dates. Just know it’ll never be you.”
Whitney held up her hand. “Okay, we’ve already had this conversation once.” She glanced over her shoulder at Luke with a pointed glance. “And I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”
Doug wasn’t as drunk as he’d been that night at the farm. But he was well on his way. He puffed out his chest, making his already-too-small black T-shirt stretch nearly to bursting.
“I know you’re still new around here, but you shouldn’t be seen around town with a Rutledge. It’s not good for your reputation.”
Mark stepped forward. “Go home, Doug. You’re drunk.”
Doug brushed him away. “Step back, Hudson. This ain’t about you.”
The mood in the bar was shifting fast. People were backing away, and the bartender had his phone to his ear. Mobile phones were coming out to record the scene. Luke was behind Whitney, silent but vibrating with emotion. She tried again to defuse the situation.
“Doug, I’m sorry things didn’t click between us, but that has nothing to do with Luke.” And then her mother’s words fell from her mouth. “Let’s all take a breath, okay?”
Luke’s chest brushed up against her back. She planted her feet and stood firm against him. He couldn’t get involved. As much as she hated the stupid “Rutledge” business, if he got into a fight in a public place like this, he’d be playing right into the gossip narrative.
“Nothing to do with him?” Doug looked Luke up and down, his voice rising. “He punched me in the face at Falls Legend Winery!”
There was a collective gasp in the bar, followed by low murmurs. She was living in a soap opera scene. Doug was intentionally adding fuel to the Rutledge legend. And now he was trying to throw shade on the winery, too. Her voice amped up a notch. Two could play that game.
“Yes, he did punch you, Doug. After you manhandled me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Remember that, Doug? When you slammed me up against your truck and Luke rescued me from you?” The fresh gasp from their audience let her know she’d evened the score.
“Whitney...” Luke’s voice was low and tight. “Get the hell out of my way.”
She ignored him. He was mad. She got that. But she wasn’t moving.
Doug sneered. “That’s cute, Rutledge. Your little woman’s fighting your battles for you now. Must be a family trait—hiding behind people instead of admitting guilt.”
With a hand on each arm from behind, Luke firmly moved Whitney aside, but she wasn’t giving up that easily. She scrambled to get back between them, shrugging off Evie’s attempts to pull her away. A bar fight was the last thing Luke needed. There wasn’t much space between the two men, though. They were eyeball to eyeball. Luke’s voice was hard.
“You need to think real hard about what you’re doing, Doug. Both our brothers were shitfaced that night, but your brother was driving the car. He’s dead and my brother will never walk without pain again. Haven’t we all paid enough?”
“If he hadn’t been hanging around with your family of losers, Larry would still be alive.” Doug chest-bumped Luke. “The Rutledges are why he’s dead.”
No wonder Luke felt the way he did, if all he ever heard was this bullshit from the people in this town. She grabbed Doug’s arm.
“Stop it! He’s more than just a last name, damn it!”
“Whitney, get back.” Luke’s voice cracked like a whip.
“No! This isn’t fair! People can’t keep blaming you or your family for every damn thing that happens. It’s stupid.”
The bartender’s voice cut in. “I’ve called the cops, guys. Break it up or take a ride.”
The two men glared at each other. Then Luke stepped back, lowering his head and raising his hands.
“I’m done.”
But Doug wasn’t ready to let it go.
“Oh, sure, go hide behind her skirts.” Doug looked at Whitney. “Careful, girl. I don’t know what your auntie sees in this asshole, but he’ll end up ripping her off, if he hasn’t already. He can’t help himself. It’s in his fucking blood.”
Many things happened at once as that last sentence fell in the tensely silent bar.
Luke let out a curse and stepped forward.
Doug told Luke to “bring it.”
The door opened behind Doug and two police officers walked in.
Doug cocked a fist and took a swing.
Whitney tried one last time to get the men apart.
At that point, everything went into slow motion. She saw herself jumping forward—to fight Doug, to protect Luke, to stop a disaster—who knew? A fist coming forward. Luke’s hand grabbing her arm. People shouting. And finally, a thundering impact on the side of her face that turned her world silent and dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“LUKE, SHE’S OKAY. I promise.” Helen’s hand rested over his to stop his fingers from drumming on the kitchen table. The sun had come up two hours ago, and two cold, empty coffee mugs sat in front of them. There were a million things that needed to be done to get ready for the bottling truck. To get ready for the festival. To get ready for the harvest.
Luke didn’t give a gold-plated damn about any of it.
Helen sighed. “Why don’t you go up and check on her this time?”
Whitney had refused to go to the hospital last night, insisting she was okay. The EMTs didn’t argue hard enough to suit Luke. They agreed she probably had a mild concussion at most. But how could they know for sure? They told Luke to make sure she was woken every couple of hours for the next twenty-four hours to make sure she was still coherent.
“Luke? Go on upstairs and check on her. You need to look at her and see her breathing so you can relax.”
That’s the last thing he needed. He already had the night’s events running on a constant loop in his head. Seeing her would make it t
hat much worse. But he couldn’t tell Helen he was afraid. He cleared his throat. Twice. “It’s not about what I need, Helen. I’m the last person she needs to see.”
“You’re the first person she asked for, Luke. Go on—”
“No, damn it.” He grimaced, eyes tightly shut. He didn’t intend to raise his voice against Helen, but he wasn’t going to change his mind.
Helen stood slowly, her voice resigned. “Okay. I’ll go. But honestly, she’s—”
“Don’t tell me she’s fine, Helen. She got punched in the face because of me.”
A soft voice came from the doorway.
“I got punched in the face because I tried to stop a fight. I just didn’t intend to use my face to do it.” Whitney gave them a half smile. “My first ever bar fight.”
Luke jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. Looking at her nearly brought him to his knees. The left side of her beautiful face was swollen. Circles of angry red and purple bruises were already forming around her eye.
“Jesus...”
She huffed out a quick laugh. “That pretty, huh? I was afraid to look in the bathroom mirror.”
Helen got up and reached into the freezer. “Here, honey. Frozen peas make the best ice packs.” She handed the green-and-white package to Whitney. “I’m taking you to urgent care this morning.”
Whitney had barely opened her mouth to reply before Luke jumped in.
“You’re going. No argument.”
A spark of defiance glimmered in her eyes, even the one that was bloodshot and half-closed. Luke breathed a little bit easier, knowing she still had some fight in her. Maybe she wasn’t hurt that bad after all, but only a doctor could say for sure.
“I’m fine. Just a little—”
Luke struggled to keep his voice from rising. Every word came out like a full sentence.
“You. Were. Punched. In. The. Face.” He scrubbed his hands down his own face, trying to erase the knowledge that it was his fault. “You were out cold.”
He couldn’t stop reliving it. The sickening sound of Doug’s fist hitting Whitney’s face. The feel of her as he caught her dead weight in his arms. The blessed sight of her eyelids flickering open less than a minute later.
“I know. I was there,” Whitney said. “I was out for a split second. And I barely even have a headache. Luke...” She waited for him to meet her steady gaze, only partially obscured by the bag of peas she was clasping to one side of her face. “I really am okay. I promise. Helen said Doug was arrested?”
Luke walked to the window, his legs heavy. He was lost between wanting to run from the kitchen or run to Whitney and hold her safe in his arms. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. As much as he wanted to keep her safe and happy, he clearly wasn’t capable of it. No wonder she’d been job hunting. He’d only bring her pain—maybe not physical pain like she’d received last night. But she’d forever suffer the sharp looks and knowing whispers of anyone in town who believed the Rutledge hype Doug and his pals had spread. The thought made his chest burn, and he buried his clenched hands in his pockets. He didn’t want that for her.
“Luke?” Whitney asked. “Last night? Doug was arrested?”
He cleared his throat. “That tends to happen when you punch a woman in the face in front of the police and twenty cell phone cameras.”
“But he wasn’t trying to punch me...”
He closed his eyes, feeling the direct hit of her words.
“No. He was trying to punch me. But you stepped right in front of his fist.”
She adjusted the bag on her face. “Not on purpose, believe me. Will I have to testify or anything?”
Was she worried about having to hang around town?
“If Doug has half a brain, which is questionable, he’ll plead guilty. The whole bar saw him take the swing. The police saw it, and it’s on video. It’s not like he can deny it.”
The only reason Luke hadn’t swung first was that he was determined not to be that Rutledge. Tony used to tell him a man should never live down to other peoples’ expectations. He’d walked away from a lot of fights to prove that point. It didn’t matter, though. He was a trouble magnet. And Whitney got hurt because of it.
“I know Doug’s father,” Helen said, “and Doug Sr. isn’t going to want this to drag out any longer than it has to. It doesn’t reflect well on his ‘family-focused’ flooring company with all those ads featuring sweet little babies sitting on their floors. His oldest son hitting a woman?” She tsked, then gave a little laugh. “He’ll do everything he can to make it go away fast.”
Whitney set the peas on the table. “Meanwhile, we have a lot of work to do. I need to call the movie prop company and figure out what to do with the moose. Mooses. Whatever. The replacement wine labels came in yesterday, and, assuming they’re the right color this time, we need to get them on a bunch of bottles before the festival. I’ll see if I can come up with some temporary trifold brochures locally to replace the misspelled booklets. They won’t be as impressive, but it’ll work. We need a new idea for the float. And—”
“And you’re not doing any of that today.” Helen’s voice was firm. “You’re going to the doctor, and then you’re going to rest, young lady.”
“There’s no time for that, Helen. We have to—”
Luke pushed away from the window. Between the talk about that asshole Doug and discussing Whitney’s head injury, his nerves were starting to fray and twitch. He hadn’t let Whitney play make-believe with him yesterday, and he wasn’t going to let her play make-believe with Helen. “Helen’s right. The winery is our problem, not yours.”
Helen’s eyes went wide. “That’s not what I said—”
Whitney’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
His agitation was making it hard to think straight, so he stopped thinking and blurted out the words.
“Didn’t Whitney tell you, Helen? She’s taking a job in Dallas.”
Whitney sat ramrod straight. “I never said I was—”
He talked over her. “The winery problems are ours to solve. I don’t know about you, but I don’t give a damn about some stupid float, or booklets, or stupid signs we don’t need. I only care about the wine. We’ll bottle the rest of the Legacy blend on Monday, and the pinot, too.” He was on more solid ground discussing grapes and business. “We also have a harvest to get ready for.”
Helen was staring at her niece across the table. “You’re leaving?”
Whitney’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I haven’t accepted any job offers. Yet.” She shot Luke a quick glance. “But... Helen...” she stammered. “Look, when I came here, it was supposed to be...temporary. But then I...”
Those words hurt more than any look ever could.
It was supposed to be temporary...
If only she’d let his heart know before he’d lost it to her.
Whitney’s voice turned icy. “Luke’s made it clear I have some decisions to make.”
Who was she kidding? She’d already made her decision. And it was the right one.
Helen sighed, speaking almost to herself. “Stubborn hearts and foolish brains.” Luke wondered if maybe he should have that tattooed on his chest. Helen nodded toward Whitney. “You’re not making any decisions today. You’re going to the doctor, then you’re sitting your butt on the porch and doing nothing.” Helen held up one finger to stop Whitney’s objections. “And that’s that. As for you...” Helen took that finger and pointed it at Luke. “You are going to get our wine ready for bottling and our grapes ready for harvesting. Out!” She gestured toward the door, and he didn’t hesitate to make his escape. The farther away from Whitney Foster he was, the better.
* * *
WHITNEY TIPTOED PAST HELEN, who was asleep in her recliner with the cat curled up in her lap, and slipped outside. The sun had set, but
the sky above the vineyard was still a riot of oranges and pinks. After an entire day spent sitting or napping, she couldn’t take it anymore. She had to see Luke. She tried the tasting room first, then his apartment. Both were empty.
Molly’s bark caught her attention as she walked across the driveway. Luke was coming out of the barn carrying the old tool bag, and he didn’t look happy to see Whitney standing there. Molly, on the other hand, came galloping over, tongue lolling out, big doggy grin on her face. She’d managed to win the dog over just in time to lose the man.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” Luke’s voice was painfully neutral, as if he was talking to some stranger. It hurt her more than anger would have.
“I’m not headed out for a jog or anything. I’m just standing here.”
He looked down at the lake, avoiding her eyes. Avoiding the bruises he’d decided to blame himself for. “Helen told me the doctor said you were going to be okay.” He gave her a quick glance, as if he couldn’t help himself. “But that you should stay off your feet and rest.”
He’d spoken to Helen about her. That showed he cared, right?
“I told you I was going to be okay this morning. And the doctor said I should listen to my body and not push myself. But if you want me to sit, you could join me on the tasting room porch.” She gestured to the four new rocking chairs sitting there.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Helen told me you barely slept last night, and you’ve been working all day. You can sit for a few minutes. We either have this conversation while I trot around behind you as you work, or we have it sitting down.”
His mouth thinned to an angry straight line. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“And yet, here we are. Talking. Your choice—sit in chairs or I chase you around the vineyard. Either way, there will be a conversation.”
He stared at the ground for a moment, then tossed the tool bag aside and stomped his way onto the porch. They were getting off to a great start. She bit her tongue and followed, sitting and gesturing for him to do the same. He gave a sharp shake of his head and leaned against the railing instead, arms crossed.
