by Paige Rion
Still, Colton would play along, act like she needed convincing. “Come on. It’s Callaway Cove. How bad can it be?”
“Yes, and you realize there are only a couple places in town open on a Sunday.”
He shrugged and said nothing, waiting for her to agree. Which she would.
Sure enough, after a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Okay. Let me grab my coat.” She moved away from the door to a closet just off the foyer and slid a camel-colored coat off a hanger, donned a pair of leather gloves, and then exited the house.
The brisk air nipped at his nose as they made their way down the winding cobblestone walkway toward the driveway, where his black BMW SUV waited for them. If Rachel noticed the way the woman waiting in the car next to his stared at them, she didn’t say anything, and he figured it better not to press.
He had left the car idling, and after opening the door for Rachel, he got in and said a prayer of thanks for the warm confines of the vehicle. As “Rex” expertly backed out of the driveway, they made small talk, and then headed for the lake. He knew he should’ve paid more attention to their conversation on the drive. He should’ve worked his magic, charmed her, but the slushy roads had his mind elsewhere, thinking of another conversation from that morning. The one with his daughter.
Colton hated the cold. He missed the consistent climate of his hometown in Florida. He missed the sunshine and even found days where he pined for the sticky humidity that was a constant a good half of the year. Here, he couldn’t get used to the gray skies in northeast Ohio that seemed to be a continual sheet of clouds. With his strict abhorrence of the cold and snow, the fact that he had gotten stuck smack-dab in the middle of the snowbelt for a year was more than unlucky. If everything went well, however, he’d be wrapping up this case in less than a month. They’d bust the walls open on the underground gambling scene developing there, the racketeering case with Charles Beaumont, and he and his daughter would be back home to Florida before the spring thaw.
Molly claimed to love it in Callaway. Her fondness of the north and snow must have been something she inherited from her mother. Just that morning, she enthusiastically declared her infatuation with the sharply contrasting changes of the seasons here, something, according to her, Florida didn’t have—although Colton argued otherwise. She worshipped the flaming hues of the leaves in autumn before they fell from the trees. She squealed with joy every time it snowed and relished the fluffy white powder as it coated the lawns. The more the better, according to her, and because of that notion, she had grown an affinity for making a mean snowman.
He was sure she would love spring just as much as fall and winter, once it came. It was her love for the area that had him contemplating staying, so she could finish out the school year before returning home. That and the guilt he already felt about swapping schools and moving her about. Staying would at least ease his conscience a bit. And if Colton had one goal in life, it was to be a good father. Molly came first. She always had, and she always would, so in the end, if Molly wanted to stay, they would. At least through summer.
Colton slowed as they reached the heart of Callaway Cove and drove down Center Street. Lake Erie flanked them on the left, like a thick blue blanket wedged between the many lake cottages and businesses that were filled with tourists only six months ago. Now, the town seemed more like a ghost town. With only local traffic, many of the diners and souvenir shops shut their doors until May, when more people would trickle in as the weather warmed.
“Here we are,” he announced as he pulled into the lot of Lakeside Winery.
“Ah.” Rachel shifted in her seat and turned to him. “So, you want to get me drunk on our first date.” She raised a brow at him, which made him laugh.
“Actually, they’re having a live band, which I thought would be fun. The getting drunk part is totally up to you, but seeing as how your beverage of choice the other night was wine, I thought this appropriate. And probably a safe bet, considering Callaway Cove is surrounded by local vineyards. And there could also be the little problem that it was either this or Mary’s Diner.”
And, yes, he thought, alcohol has a way of lubricating the vocal cords, which would serve dual purposes: a) allow her to possibly say something that might help him, and b) give him the opportunity to get closer to her, which, in turn would also help his cause.
“Well, you’re lucky that I happen to be a wine connoisseur.” She grinned.
“See. I knew it.”
He slipped out of the car and opened her door. A wave of her scent hit him as she got out, some kind of floral and citrusy combination that reminded him of summer and sunshine. It brought to mind home, of walking the orange groves with his grandparents as a child, of summers at the farmhouse he grew up in. The memory was so vivid he had to force himself to hold still, to tighten his grip on the car door and stop himself from pulling her in close—burying his face in her hair, her arms or wherever the scent originated from—and breathing her in.
As she stood and they walked to the door, he inhaled one last time, letting the association of the perfume with his memories rest, and said, “You smell nice.”
She smiled and demurely gave her thanks before they went inside, where they took the last remaining window seat with a view of the dark waters beyond. Much of the day had been overcast, yet the gloomy gray of the clouds didn’t seem to take away from the beauty of the choppy waters below. A waitress came over to them just as they sat and asked what they’d like.
Colton glanced at Rachel. “How about a cheese tray and a tasting tray?”
Rachel nodded and the waitress asked, “Do you want two tasting trays or are you sharing?”
Colton grinned. “That’s up to the beautiful Miss Beaumont. I’m not sure if she is up to sharing from me just yet. This is our first date, see,” he said to the waitress. “So, the way I look at it, if she’s okay with sharing, I will more than likely not get rejected at the end of the evening when I try to kiss her. Which I most certainly will try because I’ve been thinking about her lips from the moment I met her yesterday.”
The waitress blushed, and he continued, not yet looking at Rachel to see her reaction. “On the other hand, if she wants two trays, this could mean one of two things. Either she might be a lush, and so she doesn’t want to share—” he pulled a face. “—Or she’s the type that never kisses on the first date, no matter how charming the man, and so I will have to be tormented, yet again by those haunting blue eyes and that full lower lip that is begging to be kissed. And now that I’ve laid out these assessments, if she chooses to share, I must only assume that I am definitely being rewarded with a kiss at the end of the night. So...” he said, turning his attention back to Rachel. “Which is it?”
“Wow.” The waitress glanced at Rachel with eyes full of admiration. “So, what’ll you have?”
Angling her head, Rachel chuckled. “How do you know it’s not that I have some first date rule about kissing, but that maybe I just don’t want to kiss you?”
Colton waved his hand in the air. “Impossible.”
Rachel’s grin spread as she stared at him. “All right then, we’ll have one tray.”
He raised his fist in front of him in victory and pumped it as she chuckled and the waitress grinned. “Congrats. Very smooth,” she said, patting him on the shoulder, before hurrying off to the bar.
“Smooth, indeed,” Rachel murmured.
“I try.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you do. Do you? Charm just comes natural to you.”
He shrugged, knowing full well he was reeling her in, at least a little bit. “So, tell me about your family?”
With a raised brow, she hesitated before saying, “Why? So you can use whatever ammunition I give you to hold over my mother and father as further blackmail to the debt they owe you? That sounds unwise. I might be blond, but I’m not stupid.”
Straight forward. Nice. He could appreciate that.
Shaking his head, he said, “It’s not like t
hat. I’m not looking for ammunition on your mother. It’s a complicated situation.” He waited, hoping she didn’t notice the way his answer skirted around the truth.
“What’s complicated about her debt for you? For us, maybe. If word gets out and we can’t pay it back, my family’s name is in jeopardy, my father’s job, our position in this town. But then, you already know that, don’t you? You’ve used that as leverage to ensure payment.”
Bringing his hand to his face, Colton rubbed the slight stubble that had formed over his jaw and chin overnight. He had to tread carefully. He wasn’t sure letting Rachel in on his real relationship with his father was a good idea. It certainly wouldn’t give anything away on his part because his role was as business partner, but if he told her the truth, as her father knew it, would she shut down completely? She already thought he was Rex-the-loan-shark who roped her mother into sky-high debt, but how would she view him as Rex, an operator of an underground gambling scheme, who was actually in cahoots with her father? The first scenario put the wrongdoing in his hands—Rex’s hands—since she viewed her mother as a victim of sorts with Rex, preying on her weakness, while the latter put it squarely and evenly into her father’s. Making a decision of which route was smarter for the sake of the investigation was made a bit harder by the fact that Rex had no idea why her father fed the rumors in the first place.
As usual, he decided to follow his gut. After all, the whole reason she was there with him had to be because she was hoping to charm him into helping her family. And as he mulled over his options, saying nothing in return, her next question proved her motives.
“Have you ever forgiven someone’s debts, at least to an extent?” She bit her lip, and then added, “I don’t even know how something like this works. Is that even possible?”
“Sometimes. Not often,” he said, deciding to go with it.
“How so?”
“I have people above me. I’m not at the top of the ladder, so business decisions of that nature don’t depend solely upon me.” The answer was a safe one. It could apply to both his real cover story, as well as, the one she believed.
The waitress arrived, and Colton leaned back in his seat as she set down the cheese platter first, followed by the wine tray, adorned with a dozen tiny plastic shot glasses, each filled with a different wine, along with a single glass and water.
“In case you’ve never been here before, there’s a silver dump bucket over there for anything you don’t like. Here is some water to swish in your wine glass between the whites and reds.” The waitress pointed to the tray. “We recommend you start with the driest, then move on to the sweeter wines.” She paused, pulling two paper pamphlets out of the embroidered “Lakeside Winery” apron across her waist. “These are a list of our wines. You can mark what you like and don’t here. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you,” Rex said.
Once the waitress left them, Rachel asked, “So, you don’t have total control?”
“Unfortunately, no. I have some power, but to an extent, I’m accountable to someone else.”
She nodded, her expression falling a bit, as if that piece of news disappointed her. He could see why. If she were there with him in the hopes to entice him into going easier on her family, the news that he couldn’t fully help her wouldn’t be welcome. That meant he needed to grease the wheel a bit, because her wanting something from him worked to his advantage. It kept her along for the ride long enough for him to seduce her into trusting him and gaining access to some much-needed information.
So, as he poured the first shot of wine into the glass, he winked at her and said, “But, hey, you never know. I’ve never been on a date with anyone related to one of my clients, so I’ve also never been in a situation where I needed to win the heart of a beautiful woman. And if you keep looking at me like that, I may do just about anything to woo you.”
That seemed to appease her as she leaned forward in her chair and took the glass of wine. She stared up at him, her eyes hooded under thick lashes, and for a moment, he could see why a man could so easily fall for her.
He cleared his throat. “So, are you going to show me how to do this? Since you’re the connoisseur and all?” He nodded toward the glass.
“Sure.” She lifted the glass slightly and swirled the ruby liquid around for several seconds, explaining, “First, you do this, which helps release the scent. Then you’re going to smell the wine, or as a true connoisseur would say, nose the wine. This is one of the most important parts of wine drinking. There’s much more to it than just taste. All your senses should be attuned. The bouquet of the wine will tell you grape variety, how it was stored, and made. These distinctions have a huge effect on taste. Think about it, when you have a bad cold and lose your sense of smell, you can’t taste, can you?
“After, it’s time to take a sip. You don’t just quaff the wine. Instead,” she said, her voice slow, soft. “You hold the wine in your mouth, roll it about your tongue. Let it move over your palate like velvet. Pay attention to the texture, the density, the feel of the wine. Once you swallow, what do you taste? Are there notes and flavors of the same things you smelled?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her if he tried. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped, never breaking eye contact. He could see the soft intake of breath, the movement in her chest. Her long lashes left small shadows over the top of her cheeks, and for a moment, he was mesmerized by her. Several seconds passed before she had completely swallowed the wine, and once she did, she smiled.
“See, just like that!” she said, her tone chipper.
He blinked and drew in a deep breath, shaking off the attraction. “Okay, so what did you taste in this”—he glanced at the sheet—“Pinot Noir?”
She held a finger out, wagging it in front of him like she would an errant child, and the thought had him conjuring all kinds of naughty things he could do to earn that same reaction from her, and then some.
Head out of the gutter, McCabe.
“No, no, no,” she chided. “You try it and tell me.”
Grinning, he took the glass of wine and imitated what she did, swirling it, and then nosing the wine as she had instructed, somehow feeling like he didn’t look quite as sophisticated doing so. Then, he raised it to his lips and took a sip. He paused a moment, frowning as he swallowed the last of it, trying to determine the flavor. Then, he wrinkled his nose and cringed, shuddering.
Rachel laughed and the sound broke through his grimace, making him smile. “Ugh. Tastes like licorice and turpentine.”
Laughing again, she shoved at his hand playfully. “The licorice flavor is actually spot-on, but it’s hardly turpentine. There are notes of cherries and hints of smoke. It’s actually an amazing Pinot. Quite refined and like velvet on the palate. Delicious.” Then, upon giving her assessment, she narrowed her eyes and stared at him a beat before she said, “You don’t even like wine. Do you?”
“Of course I do.” She continued challenging him with her stare, until he finally grimaced and shrugged. “Okay. You caught me. I hate it, actually. I’m a beer man through and through.”
She nodded as if she expected as much. “Yet you brought me here because you knew I liked it?”
“Maybe. It depends.”
“On?” She lifted her perfectly arched brows.
“Whether or not it’s going to help win me that kiss at the end of the night.”
“Hmmm...” she murmured, as she took the glass of wine and drank the last sip. “I guess we’ll have to see.”
Colton grinned and leaned back in his seat, surprised at how relaxed he felt in her presence. His gaze lingered on her a beat, but something behind him averted her attention, and it wasn’t until he noticed Rachel stiffen that he realized something was wrong.
Turning in his seat, he shifted his gaze to meet the direction of her eyes, until he saw what must’ve distracted her. Off the dining room, in an alcove by the restrooms, a burly man stood, with whom Colton assum
ed was either his wife or girlfriend. He wore a T-shirt despite the cold, revealing arms thick with as much muscle as fat. Scraggly brown hair framed his face, and a permanent scowl made up his expression. The woman, in stark contrast, was petite and mousy with long, dark hair, and as Colton watched, he noticed the way she flinched at whatever her counterpart said to her.
There was no stopping the anger fisting in Colton’s gut. He watched as the man gripped the woman’s wrist with his meaty hand. The hair on Colton’s arms rose and his skin prickled. Even from a distance he could see the indentations the man’s fingers were leaving in her skin, the way her face twisted in discomfort.
Clenching his jaw, Colton forced himself to remain seated. He was working, he told himself. He was undercover and to get involved in the situation at hand would be more than disruptive to his cause.
Regardless, he couldn’t force his gaze away. And the second the man shoved the woman against the wall, her purse falling to the ground as she cowered in front of him, Colton was on his feet. His breathing was labored, but he remained rooted to his spot. He opened and closed his fists at his side and clenched his jaw so hard he thought it might crack.
The flashbacks hit him without warning. His eyes glazed over, as he saw the wiry frame of his stepfather, the soiled white T-shirt he wore. He smelled the scent of whiskey on his breath, and envisaged his mother cowering at his feet. He saw the stain of blood—the rust and scarlet—smeared over the white linoleum.
Blinking, Colton drew in a deep breath. All he just saw was in the past. That was over. The man across the room was not his stepfather, the woman not his mother. But the hulking man’s voice rose, echoing off the walls, as he slurred at the woman. “Woman, you are about the dumbest thing I ever met. What made you think you could talk to me that way? Huh? Just wait until we get in the car. Go.”
