St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love So Sweet

by Kelsey Browning

Josie choked out a laugh.

  Ida barreled on, “We were the talk of town for weeks. A downright scandal. But the market had a run on whipped cream and cherries not long after that. People all over town were having…ahem…lots of sundaes, if you get my meaning.”

  Yeah, he got it. Ida Beamon was certifiably nuts.

  With a smile, Josie said to Ida, “Why are you here again today? Did you miss yesterday’s tour?”

  “Oh, honeybunch…Peggy, Clovis, and me, we take several tours a week,” Ida said. “Every time, we’re hoping it’s the day Trace decides to lead it shirtless.”

  Josie’s eyes sparkled with laughter, the most genuine expression he’d seen on her face since he looked up last night and spotted her across the room. “I can see how that might make the tours more popular.”

  “Oh, they pretty much sell out when he’s the tour guide. But let’s be honest, if he started taking off his clothes, the sheriff would have to come down here and toss half the women in St. Helena in the pokey.”

  “That would probably make jail more fun,” Josie offered.

  “Nah,” Ida said. “Our sheriff’s a stickler for the rules. Handsome as sin, but by the book.” She wound her arm through Josie’s. “Why don’t you stick with me during the tour?”

  Just what Trace needed…two wily women staring at him while he tried to tiptoe the line of educating people about wine without boring them. Answering questions without going over their heads, all while—

  “Hey there, big brother.”

  At the sound of the woman’s teasing tone, Trace’s skin shrank a size, because sure enough, he looked up and there stood his sister, Casey. She was a brick of C-4 in a five-foot package, and the smile she was wearing was wide enough to replace the Golden Gate Bridge. He wasn’t sure if it was his shrinkage or her presence that pissed him off more. So he cleared his throat and tried to smile. “Caseydilla, you didn’t tell me you were coming to St. Helena for a visit.”

  Visit his ass. This was a family spy mission if he’d ever seen one. And if one more woman in his life showed up unannounced, he might have to surrender.

  “Caseydilla?” Josie asked her. “Is that really your name?”

  His sister did the age-old eye roll. “For some reason my family thought it was funny to nickname me after a cheesy tortilla dish.”

  Ida stuck out her hand. “Well, I can tell you I’ve never met Tex-Mex I didn’t like. Ida Beamon, owner of Cork’d and Dipped.”

  “Casey Cowan, sales manager for Sweet Ficus Vineyard.”

  Trace knew what this meant. She’d been sent down here to see if he was ready. If he was worthy of going home and taking his proper place in the business.

  What that proper place was, none of them had quite figured out.

  Casey turned to Josie, who hesitated and then said, “Josie Jennings, painter.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the cutest accent,” his sister exclaimed. “Let me guess…Oklahoma.”

  “Texas.”

  “Close enough.”

  Josie laughed in a way that challenged his sister’s claim. “Not really. Texas is its own country.”

  “I like your friend, Trace,” Casey said, patting Josie on the shoulder.

  How in the world had she known Josie wasn’t simply a customer here to take a tour? Damn, his little sister was savvier and sneakier than he’d thought. And that was saying something.

  He checked his watch and realized he didn’t have time to grill Casey about why she was here. After all, he had his suspicions, and if he didn’t start the tour promptly at four, the natives would get restless and his sister would probably dock him on whatever mental evaluation she had stored in her head.

  “Welcome, everyone,” he said calmly but in a volume that cut through the chatter in the room, “We’re about to start the tour, but first, I want to say welcome to Red Steel Cellars.” Then he went on to give a brief history of the winery Frankie and her husband Nate DeLuca owned. By the time he was done, all eyes were on him, and Casey was actually nodding as if agreeing he’d given a great tour.

  He motioned for the group to follow him into the back part of the building. Once they were all through the door and crowded around the grape crusher, he said, “Red Steel has twenty acres of vines, including six varietals of grapes. The winery produces several wines but is best known for its Red Steel Reserve.”

  For the half hour he was immersed in a tour, he let go of family expectations, forgot past failings, and just allowed himself to discuss something he loved. Grapes and the magic they made.

  After explaining everything from the fermentation process to what the different parts of a wine label meant, he answered questions. Why did red wine sometimes result in headaches? What was the deal with those new synthetic corks? Which state really produced the best wines in the US?

  He was about to round everyone up and return to the tasting room when Josie’s hand went up.

  “Yes?”

  “On the Reserve, did you use the same varietals in the same percentages as last year?”

  Why would Josie ask a question like that when she’d emphatically told him she had no interest in wine? Oh, he knew. Damn Casey. She’d stuck close to Josie all during the tour and had obviously put her up to digging for intel on Red Steel’s most popular wine and most well guarded secret. “More or less,” he responded and started to turn toward to door.

  “And do all those varietals come from Red Steel’s own vines or do you buy grapes from other vineyards?”

  No way was he giving up any proprietary information, so he looked directly at his sister and said, “As a tasting room employee, I’m not qualified to answer that question.”

  Casey’s eyes rounded and her mouth flattened. Yeah, she didn’t like being called on her bullshit underhanded attempt to get him to commit corporate espionage.

  “Now, if you’ll follow me,” he said, “the tasting room staff has glasses set out for everyone.” He held open the door to let the guests pass him, but when Casey tried to make her escape, he leaned close and said, “It’s okay if you’re checking up on me, but spying is low. Way below the Cowan family and Sweet Ficus.” With a nudge, he sent her through the door, which put him face to face with his last tour taker.

  Sweet Josie who’d been manipulated by his sister. “No matter what she says, don’t ask any more questions for her.”

  “Okay. Sure.” She blinked and slid her hands down her hips, which only encouraged him to slide his gaze down after them. Damn, he wanted his hands on those curves. Then he could remind her how much she’d enjoyed having his hands on them. But more than that, how much they’d enjoyed being with one another. And that they could again.

  If Josie was leaving tomorrow night, he had little more than a day to convince her they should see one another again. Convince her wine—and in turn he—wasn’t a bad thing.

  His plans for tonight had to be perfect. “I’m done right after the tasting. I’d like to have dinner with you. Catch up.”

  “Catching up can be dangerous.”

  He leaned in so he could catch her almond scent, and his lips brushed her earlobe when he said, “The way I like to do it is definitely dangerous.”

  Chapter Five

  Thank Jesus that Ida and Trace’s sister had hit it off like two long-lost cousins. Because after Trace’s threat-slash-promise—thromise?—about their catching up being dangerous, Josie hadn’t been able to focus on a damn thing. Now, she, Ida, and Casey were all sitting together at a small table, with an open bottle of wine and some bread and cheese in front of them.

  “—don’t you think?”

  It took a nudge from Ida for Josie to realize Casey had asked her a question. “What was that?”

  “I said I thought the naked Chardonnay was more buttery than the stainless steel-fermented one.”

  “Mm-hm.” Josie nodded.

  “Then again,” Casey said, “it didn’t seem as round and fruity.”

  Josie had done everything she could to avoid
having to taste any of them. The bar area had been so crowded after the tour that she’d been able to slip away and spend some quality time in the ladies’ room. By the time she meandered out fifteen minutes later, the wines had all been poured. She thought her absence had gone unnoticed, that was, until Trace looked straight at her over the heads of his customers and raised his eyebrows.

  Yeah, he knew she hadn’t taken a single taste of any of Red Steel’s offerings.

  “What about the red blend they’re so well-known for,” Josie asked. “What’s so special about it?”

  The woman who’d talked wine nonstop seemed to have suddenly found herself at a loss for words now that they were on a topic of interest to Josie. “It was…”

  Was what? Someone as knowledgeable as Casey should have insight into what made people think the wine was so spectacular. C’mon, Casey, you can do it.

  She tried again. “It was…”

  “Orgasmic?” Ida said.

  Josie couldn’t imagine any wine affecting her that way. Hurl and headache were more her response, but she needed the inside scoop on that wine. She asked Casey, “What do you think they put in it?”

  Casey swirled the red wine in her glass, gazing at it intently, as if the grapes might suddenly make a reappearance and tell her the recipe. “Well, it’s no secret that it’s a blend of two Cabernets and a Syrah.”

  Unfortunately, even Josie knew that. The winery’s website stated it, plain as day. But just because three grapes were smushed together didn’t mean the wine would come out tasting as wonderful as other people thought this wine did. “So that can’t be the difference.”

  Casey drew back and took another sip from her glass. “Of course not. Winemaking is as much art as it is science. It pulls at something inside you. It’s sensual and primal.”

  Ida sighed and drained her glass. “Prime male. That’s what I used to say about my Sam.”

  Men and wine and science and art. Quite a combo of things that didn’t completely mesh in Josie’s mind. But then again, when she painted, she felt that same visceral pull at her soul.

  “I detect a hint of coffee overlaid with blackberries and—”

  “Something red,” Ida said.

  “Strawberry?” Josie asked.

  “Too ordinary.” Casey sipped again and contemplated the ceiling.

  “Raspberry?”

  “No, I think it might be pomegranate.”

  Oh my God, that was something her dad had never even considered. “Is that unusual?”

  Casey smiled, and Josie could see a hint of her brother in her face—his easy way with people, his natural charm. “There’s nothing usual, nothing ordinary about any wine. Even a two-buck bottle of KIB has its slight charms.”

  “KIB?”

  “Knock it back.”

  Making certain the table covered her movement, Josie pulled out her phone and blind-texted her dad. Pomegranate?

  With a smack and a cluck, Casey finished off her glass. “Hmm or that red taste could even be rhubarb.”

  “Or cranberry,” Ida said.

  Damn it. If she sent her dad a list of three different fruits, one of which—the cranberry—he’d already considered and dismissed, he would realize she hadn’t fulfilled her promise. And if she didn’t come through on her end, he’d ask her to stay at Bitter Pecan with his sad, your-mama-left-me eyes.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand. That’s it! I knew you could do it.

  Somehow she didn’t think he wanted to hear the rest of the story. Maybe she could pretend pomegranate was the flavor, the secret. Then she could fly home as soon as she could grab a plane and be back in Texas by midnight central time. She would hook up her trailer and pull out before her dad had a chance to realize he wasn’t any closer to the magical grape elixir than he’d ever been.

  But she wanted him to find success. Wanted him to be happy. Because then she could finally shake off the burden of his lifelong disappointment and chase her own dreams.

  She was trying so hard to believe she wouldn’t end up living a life like her dad’s—where she always shot for the stars and found herself falling painfully back to earth. Her art was different. She was different.

  She wasn’t relying on outside forces to be successful. She painted on nights and weekends, improving her craft, but not all of her pieces were gallery ready. Not yet, but once she had the time and mental space to truly focus, there’d be no stopping her.

  Soon. She blew out a silent sigh and sat back in her chair. That’s when she noticed the tasting room was slowly emptying. His arms loaded with two cases of wine, Trace was walking a group of customers out the front door, nodding and smiling. Because of him, those tourists would probably call back to order ten more cases once they returned home.

  “God made that boy to butter people up, that’s for sure,” Ida commented and gave Casey a piercing look. “So why the heck is he here in St. Helena when he should be working at his family’s vineyard?”

  That was an excellent question, and Josie leaned forward to catch Casey’s answer.

  “He left,” she said simply.

  With an aggressive finger wag that would’ve made a puppy wet himself, Ida said, “From what I hear from Dax Baudouin, Trace left home so he could protect this country of ours. Sounds to me like he’s being punished by his own flesh and blood for that.”

  “Every Cowan that ever lived loves wine, loves the wine business. Trace included. Yet he tossed it all aside. How do we know he won’t do it again?”

  “So what, this stint with Frankie is some kind of test he has to pass?”

  “We figured if he was willing to work an entry-level job at someone else’s winery and tough it out for a year, then he was truly ready. It would break my parents’ hearts to have him come home, use his amazing gift, and then leave again. He’s one of the reasons Sweet Ficus’s wines were so delicious ten years ago. The vineyard has made it without him, but the wines haven’t been quite the same.”

  “Gift?” Josie asked. “What gift?”

  “His nose. Trace can sniff out individual subtleties—tiny hints of chocolate, charcoal, anything. And just identify them. Somehow, he knows what those scents mean.”

  If he could do that, the man knew exactly what made the Reserve so special, yet he hadn’t answered her questions earlier. Looked like she wouldn’t be climbing on a plane tonight after all. Because she now needed Trace’s nose even more than she wanted the rest of his body.

  All afternoon, he’d been sneaking looks at Josie and thinking about what he had planned for dinner. He felt like a kid who’d been promised a trip to Disneyland—antsy, excited, almost unable to breathe. Now, if he could get everyone out of this room, including the indomitable Ida Beamon and his sister, things would start looking up.

  By the time he’d carried more cases of wine than he could count out to the parking lot, he walked back inside to find only three women remaining. Casey and Ida were still talking up a storm. Josie, on the other hand, had her chin resting on her palm and was staring into the distance. He followed her line of sight to the wall of wine cubbies, each of them filled. From the looks of her cute, crinkled forehead and pouty mouth, whatever she was thinking about must’ve been serious.

  He wanted to kiss that pout away. Maybe if he did that and kept on kissing her, she’d finally talk to him about why she’d come to St. Helena since she exaggerated the interest of the local gallery owners.

  If not for the galleries, maybe for him?

  He’d know before the evening was out because even the strongest woman couldn’t hold out against the romantic picnic he’d planned. So he strolled over to the table and smiled. “Ladies, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the tasting room is about to close for the evening.”

  Ida picked up her glass and drained the rest of her wine in one swallow. “You ask me, these tour and tasting events never last long enough. Tell Frankie she should really consider some entertainment.” She gave Trace the once over as if imagining him wearin
g a construction worker’s vest and tear-away pants.

  “She’s been thinking of bringing Mittens in once a month.”

  At the mention of Frankie’s pet alpaca, Ida said “Hmph” and gathered up her purse.

  Casey stood and carefully pushed the glasses and breadboard to the center of the table without looking at him. “I thought you and I could have dinner to—”

  “Are you here to tell me I can come home or are you just here to check up on me?”

  “Trace, I—”

  “Tell Mom, Dad, and the others that I said “hey.” Be sure to let them know I love my job here at Red Steel and that I’m damn good at it. In fact, I might decide to stay.”

  Her mouth popped open at that. “Wha…what do you mean stay?”

  “It’s a relatively simple concept. It means remaining where I am.”

  “But…but…”

  “But nothing. The family might think my loyalty and dedication needs to be tested, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He reached down and took Josie’s hand to tug her out of her chair, savoring the warmth of her skin against his. “Besides, I have plans tonight.”

  “I’m staying at the Grand Napa if you change your mind and want to talk,” Casey told him.

  With his free hand, he rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “Caseydilla, I love you, but I don’t want to talk to you. And definitely not tonight.”

  Chapter Six

  Josie had a feeling Trace had shocked his sister into complete compliance, and it hadn’t taken him long to sweep her and Ida out of the tasting room. But he’d given Josie a searing look and told her not to even try to wiggle her way out of dinner.

  Now he was clearing the remainder of the wineglasses and snack plates, and she was following behind him, wiping down the small tables.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “It’s kind of soothing.” It was true. After all the chit-chat noise from the wine tasters, it was nice to bask in the silence. The stillness. Being with Trace was so natural, so easy. Yet everything about her being here was complicated and painful.