So satisfied, she allowed her mind to float as the sky darkened and the insects tuned up for their nightly love songs. As she was about to drift off, something Trace said earlier waved through her mind. Something about Frankie jotting down notes and leaving them behind the bar. He’d said she wouldn’t write down what made the Reserve so special, but Josie could tell her dad she’d honestly tried. She could make a guilt-free break from Bitter Pecan.
As the reality settled over her, she knew what she had to do to truly release herself from her lifelong feelings of loyalty and guilt. To be able to move on to a future with Trace. She needed Frankie’s notes.
Her dad would believe she’d done her best, and no one would be hurt. Even if she found the secret, he’d probably never make a wine that came close to Red Steel Cellars Reserve. She understood that now because her dad only had faith in science. In his mind, winemaking was not an art.
So she carefully extricated herself from Trace’s arms. It would take her less than ten minutes to sneak back inside the winery and get what she needed. She grabbed her clothes and quickly pulled them on. Then she stuck her hand in the side pocket of the backpack where Trace had stashed his keys earlier.
One last look down at the man who could be part of her future—free of her dad’s broken dreams—and Josie’s heart contracted. Then she turned and ran toward the building.
The subtle chill of the night air penetrated the thin blanket and Trace shifted to pull Josie closer, but all he got was a handful of soft fabric instead of soft woman. The first thought that raced through his mind and sent a bullet of dread into his gut was that she’d skipped out again.
He quickly sat up and patted around for the note because Josie was a good Southern girl. Proper thank-you card etiquette was ingrained. But there was no scrap of paper on the plaid blanket.
He groped for his backpack. No paper there either and his chest began to fill with lead. Maybe this time she’d ignored her manners and simply taken off.
Then he caught a flicker of light from the direction of the winery.
Of course. She might be willing to go alfresco for some things, but what woman wanted to pee outdoors? She’d obviously headed back for the facilities after he was such a rude date and went to sleep like a log beside her.
But she had worn him out—both physically and emotionally.
He smiled to himself because now he was energized, had gotten his second wind. So he would take Josie back to his place and—
The light in the distance went dark. Good. That meant she’d be back out any minute, so Trace dressed and packed up. They hadn’t gotten around to eating, so he’d feed her first thing when they made it to his place. If not, they would get wrapped up in one another again and starve.
He stuffed the blanket that still smelled of Josie and their lovemaking into the top of his pack and waited a few more minutes. Where was she? Surely she hadn’t become lost in the vines. Still, he called out, “Josie?”
Only the rustle of leaves and the increased volume of insects returned his call, so he shouldered his pack and beelined toward the winery. When he made it to the building’s backdoor, he reached into his pack for the keys and came up empty.
Where were…oh, of course Josie had them. She wouldn’t have been able to get inside otherwise. He tried to turn the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. Hmm. Maybe she’d locked it behind herself out of habit.
He knocked on the metal door with the side of his fist. “Josie, open up. It’s me.” Maybe she was still in the ladies room, so he waited a few minutes before banging again.
Still no answer.
Crap, what if the wine had made her sick? Not because it was bad wine but because as he’d said, she was a lightweight. She hadn’t drunk that much, but that might not matter on an empty stomach. He was an idiot. Food should’ve been the first thing on their agenda. Instead he was too damn determined to get her to taste the wine, share something he loved. And then he’d been too eager to taste her.
He rounded the building until he came to the frosted window inset in the ladies’ room. “Josie, are you okay?”
Nothing. Not an answer and no sound of retching. That was good.
Maybe.
So he moved on until he came to the double front doors, both full panes of glass. Although the tasting room was shadowed, he thought he caught movement behind the bar. Maybe she was trying to find water or soda to calm her stomach. He knocked again, and everything inside went still.
“Josie, c’mon! If you’re feeling bad, open up and let me help you.”
Oh, God. There was no helping her now.
Josie huddled on the floor behind the counter with papers and sticky notes all around her. The direction the bar faced, she couldn’t get out from behind it without Trace seeing her from the front doors. Maybe if she just waited him out, he would think she’d left and go away himself.
Although if he thought she’d up and left him again, it would be the death of whatever they’d started out there in the vineyard.
Why did I risk this? Risk what Trace and I might’ve had together?
Maybe she could bluff her way out. He thought she wasn’t feeling well. She could go with that. Because it was true, just not in the way he believed. So she tried to steady her shaky legs and pushed to her feet, holding onto the counter for support.
When he spotted her, Trace pressed himself against the glass, as if he could get to her through will alone. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. Can you make it over here to unlock the door for me?”
She shuffled forward, the sick feeling of deception weighing her down. It took her three fumbling tries to turn the lock. As soon as it clicked open, Trace rushed in and picked her up. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Damn, I’m an idiot. I knew you weren’t a wine drinker and talked you into trying it anyway.”
She’d loved the taste for the first time in her life, but she wouldn’t admit that to Trace right now, so she rested her head on his broad shoulder. “Maybe I should go back to my hotel room.”
“Not happening,” he said, and instead of taking her outside as she’d expected, he strode directly for the bar. “We’ve got some ginger ale in a chiller back here and that’s exactly what you need right now. Once your stomach has settled, I’ll take you to my house for a feast of saltine crackers.”
She tensed in his loving hold. No, we can’t go behind the bar! “I’m fine. I just needed some…”
But by this time, he was behind the counter, and there was no way he could miss the papers and notebooks strewn around on the floor. “Did you fall?”
“I was kinda unsteady and…”
He crouched down to set her gently on the floor and looked closer at the mess she’d made. “Josie, how did these get down here?” His voice was no longer warm and worried. It was cool and wary. “Some of these were in Frankie’s cashbox.”
“When I fell…” She dropped her head, unable to say another word. If she continued to lie, it would only be worse. She was shredding her self-respect by the second, and Trace was looking down at her as if he’d never seen her before. Like she was a monster.
Which she was.
“Why are you really here in St. Helena, Josie?”
She blew out a breath, realizing she truly was nauseous now. But this wasn’t a feeling soda and crackers could cure. This was a deep-seated disgust with herself. “My dad and I made a deal. I’d see if I could ferret out what made Red Steel’s wine so special, and in return, he’d never again beg me to stay and work at Bitter Pecan.”
Trace stooped down to gather the pieces of paper she’d been frantically flipping through before he’d started knocking at the doors and windows. “Well, I guess I finally know why you made an unannounced trip to St. Helena. To fuck secrets out of me.”
His crude words flattened her with the force of grapes being crushed by a machine. Grabbing for his arm, she insisted, “It’s not like that.”
He pinned her with a glare so sharp and icy, she felt it stab through her heart. “
It’s exactly like that.”
With jerky movements, he stood and slapped the papers onto the counter. Then he leaned over and caught her by the elbow. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask you to leave now.”
“Trace, I didn’t find Frankie’s super-secret—”
“Don’t want to hear it.” He marched her over to the front doors, opened them, and nudged her outside. Even pissed off, he still behaved like a gentleman. Would she have been so kind?
Complete misery welled up inside her. She’d ruined everything. Not only was she empty-handed, but now her heart had been torn out of her chest too. She was so stupid.
“Can…can we talk again before I leave?” she asked.
Trace wouldn’t even look at her, just kept his attention on the door, glaring as if he wanted to ram his fist into something. His voice even and removed, he said, “I don’t want to talk to you again, Josie, and I sure as hell don’t want to ever see you again.”
Chapter Ten
Even though he felt as if someone had tossed a frag grenade into his chest cavity, Trace couldn’t help himself. The next morning, when he went to the Grand Napa to see Casey, he stopped by the front desk and asked about Josie only to find she’d checked out last night.
He tried to tell himself it was better that way. If she’d still been here, he might’ve been tempted to talk with her, somehow convince himself she hadn’t simply used him to get information on Frankie’s prize wine. Because being duped was one thing, but allowing himself to be blind to it was something completely different.
And it was time for him to face facts—about Josie and about his future. He rubbed his left pec muscle over the spot where his heart had been yesterday.
When he knocked on his sister’s hotel door, she answered wearing a white towel around her head turban-style. “You’re sure up and about early for a man who looked like he was on a mission last night.”
He stalked into the room and arrowed toward the window that overlooked Main Street to stare out at Town Hall. “I’m on a different mission today.”
“For some reason, I thought you’d be a lot happier today. That reason being Josie.”
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone?” Casey pulled at his elbow until he turned to face her. “Dammit, Trace, I liked her.”
“Dammit, Casey, so did I.”
His face must’ve broadcasted not only his anger but also his soul-deep hurt, because she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “What happened?”
God, he didn’t want to tell her what a sucker he’d been because it would only reconfirm his family’s suspicions that he didn’t have what it took to come home to Sweet Ficus. But his ethics wouldn’t allow anything less. “I’m sorry I accused you of spying yesterday.”
She laughed and patted him hard on the back before pulling away. “Of course I was spying. Everyone at home wants to know how you’re doing. If you’re too pissed at us to ever want to come home.”
“Want to come home? That’s all I’ve wanted since I stepped off the damn plane from overseas, but the family decided I needed to do some type of penance.” Now he could see they’d been right, so he made sure Casey was looking up into his face when he said, “Turns out, that was a smart move. Because the one thing I had to offer isn’t working worth a damn, not since Dax got hurt. I never sensed that attack was coming.”
“Are you telling me you blame yourself for your buddies being hurt? Because you couldn’t smell trouble coming?”
“What else would I mean?”
“You were born with a heightened sense of smell, but that doesn’t make you responsible for everything that happens around you. Not when it comes to wine and not when it comes to war.” Reaching beyond him, she snatched something off the small desk. She uncapped it and shoved it under his nose. “What about this—can you smell this?”
The astringent scent of nail polish remover invaded his sinuses and he pushed her hand away.
“Or how about this?” She traded one bottle for another and proceeded to pump four clouds of perfume around his face.
God, it landed like a smoke bomb on his tongue and coated his mouth with the aftertaste of roses. He rubbed his sleeve across his mouth but couldn’t get rid of the overwhelming flavor.
“You ask me, I think your sense of smell is just fine.” With her palm, she shoved at his chest, rocking him back a step. “But your having only one valuable trait to offer Sweet Ficus is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What about your extensive knowledge of wine? Or maybe the way you charm the hell out of customers? How about the fact that what you care about, you care about deeply? You love Sweet Ficus, you love your family, but you also needed to see what else you might love.”
With the way her super spritz was making his head throb, she could be right about his nose, but her words were making his head spin. “I’m not following.”
“We want you to come home because you want to be there, not because you don’t know how valuable you are.”
Her words hit him mid-chest and he sank down in the chair by the window. In the Rangers, he’d always known he was a valued part of his team and had never doubted it. Then he’d believed he let them down, and he’d allowed that to color how he felt about everything since. He’d let it cloud his perception of Sweet Ficus and his family. Of St. Helena and Red Cellars. Now he realized he loved this town, enjoyed working with Frankie, and wanted to stay for a while. “I’ll call Mom and Dad. Tell them I plan to stick with my current job for a while. I’ve got plenty to learn from Frankie. But I will be home.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
But Trace’s momentary sense of relief at his realization and his sister’s easy acceptance was quickly squashed. “I still need to apologize to you. Yesterday, I thought you put Josie up to asking questions about the Reserve. Turns out, she was the spy. Apparently, she was here on a corporate espionage mission. She didn’t come to St. Helena because she wanted me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I caught her red-handed with Frankie’s winemaking notes all over the floor.”
“Did you give Josie a chance to explain?”
He braced his elbow against the chair’s arm and rubbed at his forehead. “When you’re under attack, you don’t offer the SOB a cup of tea and suggest you chat it out.”
“No,” Casey said, her voice low and filled with sadness, “apparently, you just shoot her down.”
Almost two weeks later, Josie sat under the awning attached to her trailer and stared at the picture she’d been working on since she returned from California. Even if she were being kind to herself, she’d be forced to admit what was supposed to be a field of Indian paintbrush looked like a steaming pile of cow crap. The colors had been off since she first picked up her wax and pigments, but she’d forged on, trying to correct it—too red, too green.
Now it was too brown, like the plants on a Texas roadside in August.
She slumped back in her chair with a huff and glared at the canvas. But hating on her art didn’t magically transform it into something worthy of hanging in a gallery. At this rate, she’d never be able to sell enough pieces to make a living.
It was almost enough to make Bitter Pecan’s accounts payable and receivable look enticing.
But not quite. So she grabbed her phone and dialed her mom’s number.
“Hey, sugar, I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been in painting mode since I got back to Texas.” The picture in front of her might be a complete waste of canvas, but it hadn’t been a complete waste of time. Sometimes you had to create garbage first and then you could lure out the good stuff.
“I thought you said you were hitching up and moving out.”
Yeah, well, that was before. Before she’d ruined everything with Trace. Now, every time she thought about leaving Texas, she imagined driving straight toward St. Helena, California. But he wouldn’t welcome her now. Not after what s
he’d done.
“Your daddy didn’t ask you to stay again, did he?” her mom said.
“No, I quit the minute I got home.”
“Well, good for you.” Her mom paused, but it was that expectant sort of pause, the kind that hinted she had more to say. “You know the longer you stick around, the more likely he’ll be able to talk you into staying for good.”
“Mama, I made a horrible mistake.”
“Oh, sugar, I know you love that man, but—”
“I do love a man, but not the one you’re talking about. His name is Trace Cowan, and his family owns a winery in California.”
“You don’t say. Did you meet him while you were out west?”
“No, he was the reason I was there in the first place.” Unable to sit still, Josie jumped up and strode around her trailer. “I betrayed his trust, tried to use him for my own gain.”
“You mean for your daddy’s gain, right?”
“It doesn’t matter because I didn’t make either one of them happy.”
Her mom’s laugh was clear and strong through the line. “Well, of course you didn’t. It’s not your job to make a man happy. Not any more than it’s his job to ensure your happiness.”
A realization she’d had in California came rushing back to Josie, and for the first time since she left St. Helena, she felt a stream of hope, saw a ray of sunlight. “My happiness, my future, is my own damn responsibility.”
“Amen, sister.”
“And for me to be happy, I only need two things—my art and the man I love.” Worry pinched Josie’s heart because Trace might be essential for her happiness, but there was no guarantee he felt the same about her.
“So whatcha gonna do?” her mom asked.
She was going to start by making a phone call to Frankie Baudouin. “I’m going to go after what I want.”
“That’s my girl.”
After hanging up with her mom, Josie didn’t give herself a second to think or talk herself out of her next move, just pulled up Red Steel Cellars’s webpage and clicked on the phone number, praying Trace wouldn’t answer.
St. Helena Vineyard Series: Love So Sweet Page 6
