The Sweet Spot

by Heather Heyford

  “Is this really happening?” he half whispered into her neck.

  “Please,” she begged, opening his shirt, snap by snap. “It’s been way too long coming.”

  A corner of her mind swirled with questions, wondering how he’d found her, what his intentions were, and why she was reacting the way she was, not only giving in to his apparent sudden whim but madly urging him on. But those eyes told her all she needed to know. The details could wait.

  Impatiently, Hank ripped his remaining snaps apart and shimmied out of his shirt, revealing his firm, muscled chest. Then he enveloped her in his arms again, savoring the feeling of warm skin against skin.

  Jamie melted into his embrace. “These, too,” Jamie said, fingering the top button of his faded Levi’s.

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Hank enthusiastically. “I aim to please.” He took over the job and had them off in a flash—underwear, too.

  She kicked off her heels and together they tumbled onto her duvet, smiling into each other’s eyes in the firelight that filtered in from the living room.

  He was magnificent. Long and strong and firm. For endless minutes, their hands explored each other, touching. Stroking. Loving.

  When he sensed the time was right, Hank reached between her thighs.

  * * *

  Jamie was drowning in desire. It was as if they’d been unexpectedly launched on some wild, foreign sea and were being carried away on a magical current.

  “I’ve wanted this for so long,” Hank whispered as he rhythmically stroked her again and again.

  Nothing in the world mattered anymore except his hand, driving her inhibitions away, taking her somewhere wondrous, up over the edge of that enchanted ocean. She rose up, up, up, clinging to him for dear life.

  “I’ve got you. Let go,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ve got you right here, right in the palm of my hand. Let go. Let me catch you. I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall . . .”

  From somewhere far away she heard a voice cry out his name.

  For a few shimmering moments she hovered high above her body. Then, gradually, she floated down, down from the heights to which he’d lifted her, until at last she came back to her senses and found herself safely tucked into the shelter of his arms.

  It was just like in her dreams. But this time it was real. He was real, really there to fill her, wholly and completely.

  Before she knew it, he climbed between her legs and took possession of her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and matched his cadence with abandon.

  * * *

  Much later, Hank lay on his side watching Jamie, playing lazily with her hair.

  “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you since forever. What color do you call this?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I never really thought about it,” she murmured sleepily without opening her eyes.

  And he’d thought everything was settled. Now he would have to keep studying it in all kinds of light as she accompanied him through his life, riding Dancer and Blitzer through the meadows at dawn, worrying over bunch rot in Oregon’s infamous drizzle, and later, curled up together on the old leather couch, sipping wine by candlelight.

  With a satisfied grin, he sighed and rolled onto his back, knowing he would sleep better that night than he had in ages.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  A New Year

  For Hank and Jamie, that New Year’s Day rang in more than a new year. It was the start of a whole new life.

  At the end of Jamie’s school day when her headlights streamed down the lane to the vineyards, the silver sky, behind the shaggy outlines of the horses’ winter coats, was already streaked with gold.

  Later, Hank would build a fire and they’d eat supper—a very simple supper—curled up on the leather couch, savoring the luxury of having the great room all to themselves in the off-season.

  One evening deep in January, when Jamie handed Hank a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on it for the third time that week, she sensed that he had something he’d been wanting to say but didn’t know how.

  “What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” he said, examining his sandwich.

  “Tell me,” she said, curling up next to him with her plate on her lap, taking a bite.

  “What happened to those great casseroles you were starting to make at the end of the summer?”

  She set her plate on the coffee table and helped the long string of cheese into her mouth, then licked her fingers.

  She had known this day would come, but she still wasn’t prepared.

  “You’re blushing,” he said, amused.

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “Don’t tell me.” He fell back onto his old leather couch with abandon, confident that this time, the back was high enough to catch his head.

  She made a guilty face.

  “Theresa,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.” She hung her head. “When it comes to cooking, I’m afraid I’ll always be hopeless.”

  “Come here,” he said, gathering her into his arms.

  He studied Jamie’s face, glowing in the firelight.

  “We’ll survive, living on love.”

  “And wine,” she added, clinking her glass with his.

  “I’ll drink to that,” he replied.

  * * *

  February through April, Hank fulfilled his occasional winter travel obligations while Jamie continued to teach.

  The May concert was the highlight of the school’s spring calendar and the culmination of months of work. At the conclusion of the final number, Jamie was thrilled to turn around from her podium to take her bow and see Hank lead the audience in a standing ovation.

  One fine Saturday in early June, a crowd gathered around the pond in back of the inn. Jamie’s family and Kimmie had flown out for the occasion. The entire staff of the Sweet Spot, from the head winemaker to every last field hand, had accepted their invitation. Jamie had even surprised the guests by delivering invitations to their cabins herself.

  Some of the men carried the trestle table out into the yard and set it in the shade of the oak tree. Joan and Theresa had heaped it with fried chicken and all the fixings, prepared according to Ellie’s recipe. And there was a case of pinot cooled to the perfect temperature, with corkscrews sitting at the ready.

  When all the guests were seated, Jamie was about to conduct her chorus of Newberry schoolchildren, the boys freshly shorn and girls with flowers in their hair, when Bill rose and looked out at the road, where two men in dark shades were getting out of a black sedan.

  “Realtors,” said Bill. “I’ll get rid of em.”

  “Wait,” said Jamie. “Tell them to come in and join us.”

  Bill looked at Hank, who had come walking over. “You sure?”

  “Why not?” said Hank. “We’re immune to them now. At least for another generation.”

  Bill sighed and shook his head. “You say so.”

  A minute later, seats had been found for the confused men, and Jamie led her school children in singing Disney’s “Part of Your World” while Sally, her sister, walked down the aisle to a flower-bedecked arbor that led to the vineyards beyond.

  The song ended to appreciative murmurs and applause. Jamie pressed her hands together at her heart center and bowed to her kids, then walked the short distance to the bottom of the aisle formed by the guests’ chairs, where her father waited.

  At the other end stood Hank, grinning from ear to ear.

  She smiled softly at him as she fingered the loose bouquet of flowers and herbs freshly picked from Ellie’s garden.

  The fiddlers drew their bows. Brynn strummed a chord, and a stylized wedding march filled the air, pricking up the ears of the horses grazing in the paddock.

  The eyes of the Willamette Valley were on Jamie as she slowly walked down the grassy aisle on her father’s arm.

  When she reached Hank, she handed her bouquet to Sally and together she and Hank f
aced Joe Bear.

  “Hank and Jamie, before you met, you were two halves, unjoined. The opposite wings of a bird. Two halves of a seashell. Slaves to searching.

  “You were apart, yet connected—two lost spirits seeking a common ground.

  “Now you have found one another, and today, before friends and family, you vow to share all of life’s trials and blessings, knowing that, in binding yourselves together, you become free.”

  Hank turned to face Jamie, took her hands in his, and brought them to his lips. “Jamie, thank you for your patience with me.”

  From the rear of the crowd where some men stood, there came an anonymous snort.

  Properly chagrinned, Hank smiled, then went on. “From the time our paths first crossed, we were meant to be. Now, our joining is like a tree to earth, a cloud to sky.” He slipped a simple gold band onto her finger and his lips met hers softly, firmly, without hurrying.

  Over in the paddock, Dancer whickered.

  “Jamie.” Joe Bear nodded to her.

  “Beloved partner,” said Jamie. “Keeper of my heart. Love like ours conquers fear, removes doubt, and establishes an unshakeable foundation. It is from this foundation that we can maintain perspective in times of trouble and rise from the ashes of our mistakes. Let our love be always clothed in summer blossoms so the icy hand of winter never touches us.”

  Joe Bear placed his turquoise-ringed hand atop their clasped ones in conclusion of the simple rites. “Bless the union of these two spirits, so alike that the Creator has designed them for life’s endless circle.”

  Hank and Jamie turned to face their loved ones to cheers and the merry sawing of fiddles.

  Roy danced with Kimmie, and Theresa danced with Jamie’s dad, and the field-workers lined up to dance with the Sweet Spot’s new official first lady.

  “How’d you know to send her my way?” Hank asked Jamie’s dad as he watched her mingle among their guests, referring to the way he had encouraged her to vacation in wine country.

  Charles Martel shoved his hand in his pocket and jingled his change.

  “Girl needs wide-open spaces. Even when she was a little thing, she was more likely to be out in the fields while Sally was inside with her mother. That’s all done with back where we’re from. All built up now.” He looked around. “Vineyard’s a perfect fit for her.”

  Late that night, when the kitchen had been cleaned and the guests were secure in their cabins, Jamie and Hank sat on the back-porch steps, leaning into each other.

  “It was a great wedding day,” Jamie murmured.

  Hank smiled up at the stars. “Ellie would’ve loved it,” he replied.

  “I feel like she’s here with us,” said Jamie.

  All was quiet again, except for the call of an owl.

  “Well,” said Hank with a sparkle in his eye. “Only one thing left to do.”

  He stood and reached for her hand.

  No sooner had she gained her feet than he swept her off of them again with a mighty grunt.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  “Did you think I was going to let you cross the threshold yourself on your wedding night?” he panted, carrying her up the steps to the back porch, with his tongue out.

  “Yes, actually, I did,” she said, giggling. “But I should have known better.”

  * * *

  They had been married less than a month when one afternoon Hank said to Jamie, “I believe I promised you a plane ride, Mrs. Friestatt.”

  He held out his hand and helped Jamie into the passenger seat of the Beechcraft Bonanza he’d bought upon earning his license to fly solo.

  He got in and brought the engine to life.

  “Nervous?” he asked Jamie through the headphone mic.

  “In a good way.” She smiled back.

  “Hold on tight. Here we go.”

  They hurtled down the narrow runway at Ribbon Ridge Airport, Jamie’s breath catching as she felt the ground fall away.

  By the time they reached altitude, she was accustomed to the noise.

  Hank had flown over the valley countless times while logging his required flight hours. He knew not only the viticultural areas; he could also point out the specific vineyards in each area, even the blocks within each vineyard.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better tour guide,” Jamie said.

  “Wait and see,” Hank said. “I saved the best for last.”

  A short time later he pointed down and asked, “Recognize that?”

  She looked down at the irregularly shaped fields resembling corrugated cardboard.

  “That’s the Sweet Spot!” said Jamie. “That’s ours.”

  He grinned. “I got some news a couple weeks back. I’ve been saving it for when I could finally take you up.”

  She turned to him. “Tell me! Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “We got our certification. You’re looking at Ribbon Ridge’s newest biodynamic vineyard.”

  In the fullness of the moment, Hank’s eyes found Jamie’s. He reached over the controls and rested his hand on her growing belly.

  The Sweet Spot wasn’t a cross to be borne. It was an enduring gift to be opened again and again. When the time came, he would pass it on to his children, and they, in turn, to theirs.

  He took several passes until he’d pointed out each individual block.

  “Now, whenever you run on about a certain block, I’ll be able to see it in my mind,” she said.

  For a while, they soared along without speaking.

  Finally, he said, “It’s getting late.”

  “It’s still plenty light out.”

  “Tonight’s the solstice. We have a long night ahead of us.” Now that Ellie was gone, Jamie would step into her shoes to help Hank bury the cow horns in the annual ritual. “We’re going to be up way past midnight.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”

  She nodded. “Theresa left supper in the oven.”

  Hank grinned. “Hiring her away from the school cafeteria was pure genius.”

  He turned the yoke and the plane rolled sideways and headed for home, the evening sun glinting off its wings.

  Craving more wine and romance from

  Heather Heyford?

  Be sure to check out her

  Napa Wine Valley and

  Oregon Wine Country romances

  Available now wherever ebooks are sold.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of

  the first books in each series

  A Taste of Chardonnay

  and

  The Crush

  From A Taste of Chardonnay

  Chapter One

  Friday, June 13

  “Are you my Realtor?”

  Chardonnay St. Pierre tried to hide her wariness as she approached the man who’d just stepped out of his retro pickup truck. This wasn’t the best section of Napa city.

  Their vehicles sat skewed at odd angles in the lot of the concrete building with the AVAILABLE banner sagging along one side. Around the back, gorse and thistles grew waist-high through the cracks in the pavement.

  A startlingly white grin spread below the man’s aviators.

  “Realtor? You waiting for one?”

  For the past half hour. “He’s late.” Char went up on her tiptoes, craning her neck to peer down the street for the tenth time, but the avenue was still empty. She tsked under her breath. She should’ve taken time after her run to change out of her skimpy running shorts, she thought, reaching discreetly around to give the hems a yank down over her butt. And her Mercedes looked more than a little conspicuous in this neighborhood.

  Where was he? She pulled her cell out of her bag to call the Realtor back. But something about the imposing stranger was distracting her, demanding another look. “Have we met?” She squinted, lowering her own shades an inch.

  He turned sideways without answering and examined the nondescript building, and when he did, his profile gave him dead away.

  Oh my god. Char’s breath caught, but h
e didn’t notice. His whole focus was on the real estate. She’d just seen that face smiling out from the People magazine at the market over on Solano when she’d picked up some last-minute items for tonight’s party.

  “What have you got planned for the place?” he asked, totally unselfconsciously.

  Then she recovered. To the rest of the world, he was Hollywood’s latest It Man. But to Char, he was just another actor. Who happened to have a really great dentist.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first.”

  Though she wasn’t at all fond of actors, her shoulders relaxed a little. Obviously, she wasn’t going to get raped out here in broad daylight by the star of First Responder. It was still in theaters, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t afford the press.

  Still. This building was perfect. And it’d been sitting here empty for the past three years. Just her luck that another party would be interested, right when Char was finally in a position to inquire about it.

  To Char’s relief, a compact car with a real estate logo plastered from headlights to tailpipe pulled up and a guy in his early thirties bounded out with an abundance of nervous energy.

  “This business is insane,” he said by way of introduction. “Dude calls me from a drive-by and wants me to show it to him, like, now, right? So I drop everything, even though I’m swamped with this new development all the way over on Industrial Drive. And then he doesn’t show up till quarter of—”

  He caught himself, pasted on a proper smile, and extended his hand toward It Man.

  “Bill Diamond. And you’re Mister . . . ?”

  “McBride.” The actor shook his hand, then turned and sauntered back to the building with his hands on his hips and his eyes scrutinizing its roofline.

  “Ryder McBride?” asked Diamond. “The Ryder McBride? Oh!” A smile overspread his face. “Cool! Very cool. Nice to meet you, man.” He nodded once for emphasis.

  Char stepped up, removing her sunglasses and slipping them over the deep V of her racer-back tee.