A Hero’s Home

by Tessa Layne

  They probably weren’t the only ones. Jason refrained from rolling his eyes. “I’ll go find her.” His curiosity and confusion grew as he made his way up the hill. The first vineyards were neatly pruned, obviously well cared for. But as he came upon the far vineyard – Millie’s – he was surprised to see row upon row of wild-looking vines. Unpruned, and bearing way too much fruit. He paused to examine a leaf, pulse kicking. Were these her cabernet franc grapes? A hollow formed in his stomach. He’d only seen leaves like this one other place – in an experimental acre on the far corner of his family’s estate. But how in the hell would they end up here? The seasonal workers were closely monitored, and no one was ever allowed on the back side of the estate. Coincidence?

  A breeze danced through the row, carrying with it an offensive aroma of decaying plants, antiseptic, and a faint hint of tobacco. Ugh, the stuff was vile. “Millie?”

  “Over here,” she called from a distance. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

  Jason skirted the rows, looking down each one until he spied her, barefooted, and dressed in a thin, gauzy white strapless dress, holding a five-gallon container of the vile tea. What on earth? Nuttier than a fruitcake. Although he had to admit, if this was how she dressed for the grapes, he’d help her anytime. A breeze ruffled her curls, glowing brightly as she turned and broke into a smile.

  For a moment his heart stopped. They locked eyes, and he walked toward her as if pulled by the weight of her gaze. He was close enough now, that he caught a faint whiff of perfume coming off her skin. Much more pleasant than the tea. “Hi.”

  Her smile widened, eyes sparkling. “Hi,”

  He loved the husky softness of her voice. It did strange things to his insides, made his mouth water to taste her again, to hear her moan. The mission is not Millie. The mission is the vineyard. The mission is not Millie. The mission is the vineyard. So why had he thrown a few condoms in his pocket, just in case? He swallowed hard and forced himself to step back. Dick brain would not win tonight, no matter how enchanting she looked. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. Dick brain 1, smart brain 0.

  “Thank you.”

  She dropped her gaze, and he could have sworn she blushed. Vineyards, pests, tobacco tea. Focus on the mission. His cock was having none of it. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “What would you like me to do?” The look on her face said definitely not pest control. Helping her would turn into pure torture at this rate. She nibbled on her lower lip, brows scrunching together. Heaven help him.

  She offered up her container. “You know how to work one of these?”

  He took the container and wand, letting his fingers linger over hers just a little too long. “It’s been a while, but yes.”

  “There’s a fifty-gallon drum of the tea at the end of this row.” She motioned to the opposite end of the row. “With two of us working we can be done in a couple of hours.”

  Just so long as he was working far away from her.

  “I’ll go get another sprayer and start on the next row.” She hurried down the row, luscious ass swaying hypnotically.

  Millie is not the mission. Millie is not the mission. But there was no way he was taking his eyes off her. The recollection of that beautiful ass in his hands as he’d buried himself inside her, rooted him to the ground. And when she cast a look over her shoulder as she reached the end of the row and caught him looking, heat raced through him. So what if she caught him staring? Unashamed, he gave her a slow smile, and turned his attention to spraying only when she’d vanished out of sight. By the time Millie returned, he’d finished the row. Without talking, he skipped the next row, leaving it for her, and started down the next opening. They worked quickly, developing a comfortable rhythm without talking. Simply spraying and refilling, then spraying some more. About eight rows into their work, calm settled over him. The same kind of calm he’d experienced working with the mustangs on Resolution Ranch. As if, for this one moment, time stood still. Distractions fell away until he became hyper-aware of the hiss of the sprayer, the crunch of his feet against the occasional stone, the wind rustling the branches. By the time they finished, it was dark, but the moon glowed bright enough to see without the aid of a flashlight.

  As he waited at the end of the last row for Millie to finish, he studied the vines more closely. Without taking a cutting and sending it back to California, it was hard to say whether or not these were his family’s proprietary hybrid. The leaf-size was right – slightly bigger than the average cab franc leaf to provide more shade in hotter climates. To be honest, his curiosity was peaked, now that he’d tasted Millie’s wine from the previous season. Had they hit upon a strain that could grow in Mid-America? There was money to be made from that. How many non-coastal growers would pay handsomely for heat-tolerant vinifera stock?

  And what would the wine taste like when harvested from properly pruned vines? “How come you haven’t pruned this acreage?” he asked, when Millie paused beside him. “If you want better wine, the first thing you need to do is get rid of the extra plant matter. You’re putting unnecessary strain on the plant by letting the vines grow helter-skelter like this. Fewer grapes yield better fruit.”

  She sighed heavily, shoulders drooping. “I know. But these vines are special. They let me talk to them.”

  He bit back a laugh. “You still need to prune them.”

  “My mom, she was a master gardener. She talked to the plants, and I swear, it was like they listened. Everything she touched exuded vitality. It was like she gave her life-force away to all the plants and had none left over for herself.” Millie gestured toward the vines. “I know I should, but I… my mom helped me plant this. Pruning it feels like I’m pruning her.”

  Longing flooded him, the ache so intense, he couldn’t breathe. The closest thing he’d felt to the kind of love pouring out of Millie was with his band of brothers. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t… this. And he’d never felt this from anyone in his immediate family.

  Moving on instinct, Jason pulled her into his arms, engulfing her in a protective embrace. He had no words of wisdom to offer her, what did you say to someone who desperately missed her mother? “I don’t remember my mother,” he murmured into her silky hair. Surprised by his disclosure. He never discussed his family with anyone, and twice today, he’d volunteered that information to virtual strangers. Although Millie was rapidly moving out of stranger territory and into newer, more dangerous territory.

  With a noise that sounded startlingly close to a sob, she burrowed into him, arms coming around his waist. A sense of comfort stole over him as they stood there, quietly in the dark. Neither speaking, but definitely communicating. He’d stand there all night, holding her, if she’d let him. He bent and kissed her head, inhaling her fragrance, finding that it calmed the turbulent places in his psyche. Settled him a way nothing else did.

  She took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, breath warming his chest. When she stepped out of his embrace and patted her cheeks, he felt the loss of her warmth, keenly. As if a cold wind had blown out the sole candle in a room.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Sometimes it still feels so fresh. Like she was here yesterday.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Sort-of.”

  She cupped his cheek. “You sweet man. Just a baby yourself when you lost your mama?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It explains so much about you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I googled you.”

  “Wait. Why?”

  She cocked her head at him. “You’re good-looking and all, but I had to make sure you weren’t an ax-murderer before I invited you to the farm.”

  He barked out a dry laugh. “I’m many things, but ax-murderer isn’t one of them.”

  “Your brother, though. Seems like he could be.”

  “Who, Nicholas?” Bile pooled in his gut. “No ax-murderer, but definitely a piece of work.”

  “Is that why you came to the Ranch?”

  Her q
uestions were hitting entirely too close to home. And he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It was like all this shit he’d held in for so long wanted to come out, and somehow Millie knew exactly which buttons to push to get him to talk. “Is this an interrogation? Let’s get working on the grapes. We’ll be out all night, otherwise.”

  “Why did you come to Resolution Ranch?” she pressed.

  “Are you always this persistent?”

  “Does it bother you?”

  Right now it bothered the hell out of him. She had this way of tunneling under his carefully constructed defenses, finding the most vulnerable point, and then tumbling them with a word. He raked a hand over his head with a sigh. She wasn’t the type to let something go. If he didn’t answer now, she’d pick it up again in fifteen minutes, and he didn’t have the energy to avoid her all night long. His knee-jerk reaction was to believe she was just like all the other women he’d met. It was the easier world-view. Yet some last little shred of hope buried deep in the recesses of his heart said otherwise. Millie was special. And that scared the shit out of him.

  After a long pause, he shook his head. “Nah. I’m just not used to it. The short answer is that I was dying a slow, painful death back in California. Sterling thought being outside, working hard, would help me find my purpose.”

  “And has it?” Her eyes were big and wide, like an owl’s.

  “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 11

  It was slow work, studying each vine and determining which branches to prune. Once they developed a rhythm, Jason could see Millie had a good eye for training branches. They’d have to be pruned again in the winter, but pruning now would at least help this season’s harvest. He reached to snip a cluster that was too close to another, and not as hearty.

  “Stop.” She laid her hand on his arm, and a frisson of electricity snaked up it. “Don’t cut that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t want to be cut.”

  It doesn’t want to be cut? Kill him now, he’d heard it all. “What do you mean, it doesn’t want to be cut?” Jason wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan in frustration.

  “It wants to thrive.”

  Jeezus. She really was nuttier than homemade granola. He narrowed his eyes. “And you know this, how?” He held up a hand. “Wait. Let me guess. Its life-force spoke to you?”

  Her wide eyes danced in the moonlight. If they’d been talking anything but grapes, he’d have his hands filled with her silky curls and his mouth devouring hers. But she’d asked for his help, and by God, he was going to give it, aching balls or not.

  “Mama always said she knew what plants to prune because they spoke to her.”

  “I think your mom was pulling your leg.”

  She blinked at him.

  “Millie, sweetheart,” he said shaking his head. “If you want my help, you have to trust my expertise. These grapes here–” he gestured to the bunch in question. “Are weak. They’re not thriving. There are too many for the vine. If you leave them, they’ll suck the life from the heartier grapes. This is why your wine tastes muddy. You want good wine? You need to ruthlessly prune.”

  “The way you pruned away your family?”

  How did she do that? Zero in on the one thing he didn’t want to discuss? His heart bumped hard against his breastbone. “I haven’t pruned them.” His voice came out a little too clipped, a little too defensive.

  She arched an eyebrow and waited for him to speak. And dammit, he did. He couldn’t seem to control his mouth or anything else around Millie Prescott. “You don’t understand. My family – they’re not like yours. They’re complicated… and there’s…” He searched for a metaphor that would make sense. “Vine rot.”

  She kept staring.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said gruffly. “I have to go.” Offering to help her had been a terrible lapse in judgment. A stupid decision made by his dick in the heat of the moment. But he’d helped her enough to fulfill his promise. Liar. He turned to go, but stopped when she placed a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Wait. Please? Don’t go?” Her voice sounded desperate. Pleading.

  The way he imagined it would when she was begging him to bury his cock deep inside her. Where had that thought come from? His body went rigid at the picture. He was here in a strictly professional capacity. Nothing more. They’d agreed.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes these thoughts pop into my head, and I just say things. I’m not judging you, I swear. I know family can be difficult.”

  He glanced sideways, melting at her obvious distress. “I had to keep myself intact.”

  “Can I help?”

  The knot in his chest unraveled a bit more. Why did she care? It made no sense. They barely knew each other, and yet talking with her was the most natural thing in the world. As if their shared history went back years instead of days.

  He captured a curl, winding it around his finger, then unwinding it before his dinosaur brain got ideas. “Ahh, sweet Millie. Always wanting to make things right in the world.”

  She tilted her face, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Dancing helps.”

  He huffed out a small laugh. “Of course it does.”

  “I’m serious. When was the last time you spun until you fell over?”

  His laugh grew. “Never.”

  She laced her fingers through his, giving a tug. “Come on, then.” She bounced as she walked, and he envied the dirt between her toes. When they reached the end of the row, she turned. “This is my favorite spot. I like to think of it as the heart center of the vineyard.” It wasn’t much, just a crossroads of sorts between one planting and the next, maybe twelve feet across at most. She dropped his hand and stepped back, raising her arms. “Look up, and start spinning.”

  He folded his arms, shaking his head. “Negative.”

  She spun. “You should try it. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  He cocked his head, marveling at how she looked like a top at the carnival, a swirl of color, spinning faster and faster until she collapsed in a heap, giggling like a four-year-old. He rushed to her. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

  She grinned up at him, eyes sparkling, hair splayed out across the ground like a silvery blanket. She lifted an arm. “Help me up.” He offered his hand, and she sprung to her feet, staggering a little as she righted herself.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Never better. Again. But this time you’re going to try. Just a few twirls.”

  He nodded, even as the words were on his tongue to decline. But he couldn’t say no to her. Not when she danced in the moonlight like a creature from a fairytale. She placed her hands on his hips and gave a push. At first, his turn was awkward, the torque through his right knee, a foreign sensation. He was confident with lateral movement, but he was usually careful to move in ways that didn’t require torque. Not impossible to manage, they’d taught him how in PT, just something he hadn’t practiced. It’s not like he was ever going to be a candidate for Dancing with the Stars. By the fourth turn, his movements evened out, confidence growing with each step.

  “That’s it,” Millie encouraged. “Now open your arms.”

  Thank heavens it was dark out. “Do you know how dorky this is?” he muttered under his breath.

  Her laughter washed over him. “It’s not dorky at all. It’s magic.”

  “It’s spinning.”

  “But doesn’t it make you feel better?” She spun in circles around him, completing two revolutions for every one of his, moving around him in a wider circle, like a cog fitting into a gear.

  But it was the strange little sing-songy tune she hummed that made his breath catch. “What is that?” he asked gruffly, still feeling entirely too self-conscious.

  “A song my mother made up to get me to go to sleep when I was little.” She spun by. “The go to sleep song, but she made up new words every day. She shot him a coy smile over her shoul
der as her voice, clear and sweet, filled the air. “Dance with me, dance with me, dance and spin with me, my love. Dance with me, dance and spin, Dance and spin with me, my love.” She spun to a stop in front of him, breathless.

  “But I’m not your love,” he said, voice gritty with too much emotion.

  “Maybe not right now.” Her mouth slowly curved into a knowing, sexy smile. “Or maybe you are, but you just don’t know it yet.”

  He snorted in disbelief, shaking his head. “Sure. That’s it. Because spinning in the moonlight releases all the love from the little plants into the air and we breathe it in and fall in love.” He waved his fingers.

  He’d meant to be sarcastic, but the laugh she let out as an answer, sent a shot of awareness straight to his balls. “You’re funny, Jason Case, you know that?”

  He reached for her hand and pulled her close. “And you are the most surprising, delightful, confusing, crazy woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Is that all?” She bit on her lip, obviously pleased with his compliments.

  He lowered his head, grazing his mouth against her temple. “And I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

  “Maybe you’re not supposed to stay away from me.” She tilted her chin, offering her mouth.

  And damn him for taking everything she gave, like a dog begging for scraps. He kissed her, slowly at first. Tentatively, reacquainting himself with her sweet taste. But the purring sounds that came from her throat spurred him on. He flicked his tongue inside her lower lip, and she opened like a flower, pressing herself to him, her soft curves a counterpart to his hardness. He slid his hands down her spine, once again surprised to discover the absence of undergarments. He could get used to this whole ‘underwear is optional’ thing.

  Giving her ass a squeeze, he pressed her against his growing erection, delighting in her answering wiggle as she ground against him.

  “I’ve never made love in the vineyard before,” she murmured breathlessly, fingers moving across his scalp.

  “I brought condoms.”