Second Chance In Stonecreek

by Michelle Major

  But apparently she couldn’t ignore her father when he decided to come out of his studio and play at being a responsible parent.

  “I know,” she relented with a shrug. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m trying.”

  “You are,” he agreed, and she knew he meant it.

  Guilt washed over her in response.

  She hadn’t meant to damage the building out at Harvest Vineyards. She’d been over the moon for a stupid boy, earning herself months of grounding and a one-way ticket to working the whole summer to pay for repairs to the tasting room building. She’d also lost her chance with Cole Maren, not that she’d ever really had him.

  A boy like Cole wouldn’t have time for a girl like her.

  “Want a piece of marionberry pie before bed?” her dad asked. “Your grandmother brought one over earlier.”

  Morgan’s stomach rumbled. Grammy’s pie was her favorite. “Do we have ice cream?”

  “Vanilla bean,” he confirmed with his lopsided smile.

  “Yum.”

  Maggie came home while Morgan was slicing the pie. Her sister joined them for a late-night snack, dutifully reporting on what they’d missed at Fall Fest, which wasn’t much in Morgan’s opinion.

  Of course, she didn’t ask if Cole had been there. He spent almost all his free time working at Harvest, so Morgan suspected he was behind the scenes at the winery’s expansive booth. She’d seen little of him over the summer. He’d been avoiding her and now that they were back in school, he pretty much ignored her completely. It was awful.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Maggie as they washed the plates after eating.

  “Sure,” Maggie said. “Just tired.”

  “Oh.” Morgan studied her nearly perfect sister from the corner of her eye. Maggie had haphazardly wiped away the butterfly painted on her cheek, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair mussed like she’d been running anxious fingers through it. “Was Griffin at Fall Fest?”

  Maggie stilled, then flipped off the faucet. “He was there with a woman. A date, I think.”

  “I’m sorry.” One more thing for Morgan to feel guilty about. Her sister’s relationship with Griffin had gone off the rails after the fire. Apparently Griffin had said some unkind things about Morgan, most of them probably true. But Maggie was loyal, so they’d fought and that was the end of it.

  “Me, too,” Maggie whispered.

  “Fries before guys,” Morgan teased, hoping to make her sister smile. Needing Maggie to smile.

  She did, and Morgan breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m heading to bed.” Maggie draped the towel she’d been using to dry the dishes over the handle of the stove. Dad had gone to the family room as soon as he’d finished his pie. He’d watch The Tonight Show, Morgan knew, and fall asleep in the tattered recliner he loved.

  “Good night.” She hugged Maggie.

  “Foods before dudes,” Maggie told her.

  Morgan groaned. “So bad, Mags.”

  “’Night, Mo-Mo.”

  Morgan went up to her room and pulled the phone from her desk drawer. She was supposed to be grounded from it, too, but she’d placed her case upside down on the shelf in Dad’s bedroom and he hadn’t noticed the phone wasn’t in it.

  She responded to the flurry of text messages she’d received during her family bonding time, then tucked a pillow under her covers in the shape of a sleeping body and opened the window to her second-story bedroom. A huge maple tree grew just in front of it. Trying to keep her heartbeat steady, she reached for a branch, swung onto it, then shimmied down the trunk.

  A car was waiting at the end of the driveway, headlights turned off. With one look over her shoulder at her darkened house, she ran toward it through the shadows, pretending the guilt that flared inside her was excitement instead.

  Chapter Three

  Monday morning, Maggie turned her car up the winding drive that led to Harvest Vineyards for the first time since she and her father had brought Morgan to the Stone family home after the fire.

  With less than two weeks until the hospital fund-raiser, she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She’d managed to hold the gala committee meetings at the hospital or at her office in town. Jana Stone, Griffin’s mother, had attended all of them. She either hadn’t noticed—or was polite enough not to comment—on Maggie’s reluctance to make an appearance at the winery.

  Today they were meeting to discuss decorations and a seating chart, so it couldn’t be avoided any longer. Although that was exactly what Maggie wanted to do after her run-in with Griffin at Fall Fest. She felt branded by the unexpected kiss, all of the emotions she’d locked up tightly now spilling forth, like a dam had broken inside her.

  The vineyard seemed almost fallow now that harvest season was over. As she drove closer to the heart of the operations, she could see the rows of vines spread out along acres of land, the leaves turning colors of burnished orange and yellow with the change of seasons.

  In contrast to the serenity of the fields, activity bustled outside the new tasting room. Several cars and trucks were parked in front of the building, although Maggie didn’t see Griffin’s Land Cruiser. That wasn’t a guarantee of his absence, so why did disappointment spear through her for a quick moment? It would be easier if she didn’t see him today, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to see him after the kiss. Better for both of them.

  The building had a rustic farmhouse exterior with a stone veneer covering the bottom half. There were two chimneys and rough-hewn trusses that spanned the length of the building. A covered patio area took advantage of the expansive views of the vineyard below, and she could imagine tourists and locals alike enjoying long summer evenings around the built-in fire pit. The space was incredible and would definitely attract new visitors to the winery.

  She took a deep breath as she exited her Volkswagen. The earthy scent of decaying leaves filled the air and although the vineyard was only twenty minutes from downtown, it felt like a world away. Had the property seemed this magical when it had been a regular farm, before Griffin’s late father, Dave, had planted the first grapes that would transform the land and his family’s fortunes?

  “Hey, Maggie.”

  She turned to see her former fiancé moving toward her. It had only been four months since her runaway-bride move at the local church, where half the town had been waiting to see the powerful Spencer and Stone families united, but to her it felt like ages since she’d been with Trevor.

  Well, ages wasn’t too far off since the bedroom had never played a big role in their relationship. Theirs had been a union of convenience and practicality. Despite what he’d done to her and the price her reputation had paid for not revealing his betrayal, no emotion pinged through Maggie at the sight of him. Unlike with Griffin.

  Trevor was safe, which was part of the reason she’d been with him in the first place.

  “Hi, Trevor.” She smiled and allowed him to give her a quick hug. “The building looks great.”

  He inclined his head. “I hate to give Griffin any credit, but he did a decent job.” Trevor was a couple inches shorter than his brother and considerably leaner, with neatly trimmed hair and the kind of expensively tailored clothes that would have been more appropriate for the big city. Maggie had never quite understood what had made him return to his family’s winery after college, although he was quite talented at his job as vice president of marketing for the vineyard.

  In the five years since Trevor had taken over, Harvest had gone from a well-respected but relatively unknown winery to a national darling with several national and international award-winning vintages. Of course, a big part of the success was the quality of the wine, but Trevor’s efforts at marketing and branding played a part, as well.

  “It’s more than decent,” Maggie said gently. She understood the animosity that had simmered for years between the brothers: Griffin, t
he elder rebel, and Trevor, the golden boy and apple of his father’s eye. But even though Griffin had hurt her with his rejection, she couldn’t let Trevor discount what he’d done here. “It’s incredible, Trev, and we both know it, especially given the setbacks he had because of—”

  She broke off as Cole Maren, the former object of her sister’s affection, walked out of the front of the tasting room, carrying a rolled-up set of plans under one arm. He glanced over and his steps faltered for a second as he met Maggie’s gaze. His mouth curved into a ghost of a smile in greeting before he headed around the side of building.

  “Yeah, incredible,” Trevor admitted reluctantly. “Although I can’t believe he kept that degenerate kid working here after his part in the fire.”

  “The fire was Morgan’s fault,” Maggie said clearly, “and she still feels terrible.”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “I still think she’s covering for him.”

  “You know that’s not—”

  He held up a hand. “I don’t want to argue with you. I know how you are when you believe in something.” His mouth quirked. “A bulldog in a St. John’s suit.”

  “It’s Calvin Klein,” Maggie corrected, color flooding her cheeks. In truth, she was as overdressed as Trevor for this meeting but she’d worn the chic fitted jacket and pencil skirt like a warrior might have donned his armor in medieval times. The suit made her feel braver than she knew herself to be. “Anyway, I appreciate how much your mom has done for the gala this year.”

  “She’s enjoyed it.” Trevor rocked back on his heels. “It gives her a purpose other than trying to come up with bonding experiences for Griffin and me.”

  “You’re both dedicated to the vineyard. Isn’t that something to bond over?”

  “He walked away from us a decade ago.” Bitterness laced Trevor’s tone. “Had his own life in the army and working in construction until he deigned to once more grace us with his presence. That’s not dedication. It’s convenience and guilt over leaving in the first place. We’ll see how long he lasts once his debt is paid.”

  By debt, Maggie knew Trevor was talking about the fire that had damaged the original tasting room, accidentally set by a teenage Griffin and several of his friends while they were partying. The careless mistake had led to a huge fight between Griffin and his dad, resulting in a rift among the Stone family that still hadn’t been fully repaired.

  “We’ll agree to disagree,” she said simply, unwilling to engage in this argument.

  Trevor studied her for a long moment. “He’s not here today, if you’re wondering.”

  “I wasn’t,” she lied.

  “He went to Seattle with his ex-girlfriend.”

  Maggie couldn’t help but notice the note of triumph in Trevor’s tone and kept her features placid. “We weren’t expecting him at this meeting anyway. Is your mom around?” She glanced at the driveway. “The rest of the committee should be here shortly.”

  Trevor nodded. “She’s finishing up a call. That’s actually why I’m here. She sent me over to tell you she’ll be a few minutes late.”

  “No problem.”

  An awkward silence descended between the two of them.

  “You don’t have to wait with me,” she told him after a moment.

  His mouth tightened. “I miss our friendship.”

  “We’re friends.” She shrugged. “Just not the same kind as before.”

  “Want to grab a beer after work one night?”

  “I...” She paused, unsure of how to answer. “Things are crazy with preparations for the gala.” His mouth pulled down into a frown and she saw him sigh. “But after it’s over, I’ll have more time. Maybe then?”

  “Great.” Trevor flashed the boyish smile that was his trademark. “It’s a plan.”

  He strode away from her and Maggie blew out a breath. Most of the time she loved living in a small town. She liked the familiarity of knowing her neighbors and the comfort that came from her routine. But some moments made her wish for the anonymity of big-city life. Like breaking up with someone and not having to worry about running into them or their mom or their brother or a dozen other mutual friends.

  Her phone pinged and she pulled it from her purse. Her grandmother texting instructions on the size and placement of the centerpieces. She regretted encouraging Ben to teach Grammy how to text. It had quickly become her favorite means of lecturing Maggie.

  “Ms. Spencer?”

  She looked up to find Cole standing in front of her, looking like he hoped the ground would swallow him whole.

  “Hey, Cole. I hear you’ve been a big part of keeping the tasting room renovations on track. Things look great.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered, his gaze darting to hers before dropping again. The kid had probably grown three inches since Maggie had last seen him. He wore jeans and a Harvest Vineyards T-shirt with a small hole in the arm that looked like it came from catching it on a nail or something.

  “I wanted to talk to you.” His brow furrowed. “Duh. Obviously.”

  “What did you need?” She smiled, feeling sorry for the teen and his level of discomfort.

  “It’s Morgan.” He looked at her, then away.

  Maggie’s smile froze. “What about her?”

  “You need to—Your dad needs to watch her better. She’s still running with the bad crowd.”

  “Your crowd?” she asked.

  He gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’m steering clear of them, and Morgan should, too. They’re not her real friends.”

  Maggie shrugged. “I appreciate your concern, Cole, and I’ll talk to her. But we can’t control who she’s friends with at school. I wish—”

  “What about on the weekends?”

  “She’s still grounded,” Maggie said with a frown.

  Cole took his phone from his back pocket and keyed in a code to unlock the home screen. He punched the screen again and then held up the phone to show Maggie a photo from one of the popular social media sites. Morgan had her arm around another girl, both of them wearing too much makeup and holding up red plastic cups.

  The picture had been tagged “Saturday night shenanigans.”

  “When was this taken?” she demanded.

  “Two nights ago.”

  After they’d had pie together and she’d gone to bed.

  “Why are you showing it to me?”

  He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I’m telling you that group she’s trying so hard to be a part of is bad news. Trust me, Ms. Spencer.”

  “I do,” she murmured and Cole’s gaze returned to hers, something like gratitude flashing in his eyes. Maggie knew her sister had a wild streak, but she’d thought the fire had taught her a lesson. Apparently not.

  “Do you two...um... Are you friends anymore?”

  He shook his head. “We never were.”

  “That’s not what Morgan thought,” Maggie told him. “I don’t mean romantically, although I know she had those kinds of feelings for you until...” She glanced at the tasting room and saw Cole squirm.

  “She’s too good for me,” he said, his voice flat, “just like she’s too good for the rest of the dumba—” he cleared his throat “—the idiots she calls her friends.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” Maggie insisted, “and my sister clearly could use some friends who really care about her.”

  He closed his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip like he couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say. “Yeah,” he mumbled finally.

  “Think about it,” she told him.

  “Her dad... Your dad wouldn’t like that,” he said suddenly.

  “Our father wants what’s best for Morgan. He’d get used to it.”

  Cole tilted his head to one side, digesting that information. “I need to get back to work,” he told her as a car pulled up the driveway.<
br />
  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He turned and walked toward the building. Maggie pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling nauseous. She hated to think of her sister still rebelling. Morgan had been hit hard by their mother’s death from ovarian cancer, somehow taking the loss to heart in a different way than Maggie or Ben. She had a lot in common with their father, actually. Dad had retreated into his art and Morgan had dealt with her grief first through acting out in little ways and now in a full-blown rebellion.

  But Maggie wouldn’t give up on her sister. Morgan had a huge heart and so much potential. The election, fights with Grammy and Maggie’s own tattered heart weren’t nearly as important as Morgan. Maggie would do anything to make sure her sister stayed safe. Anything.

  * * *

  “Everyone was impressed by your work here.”

  “Great,” Griffin answered absently, nailing a strip of weathered shiplap to the wall behind the tasting room bar. Most of the big items had been checked off the list: updated lighting for the room, expanded bathrooms for customers and a newly vaulted ceiling lined with reclaimed barn wood. The bar he’d had custom built by a renowned furniture maker north of Portland was due to be delivered next week.

  The rest he was handling himself, with help after school from Cole. He was good at the general contractor piece, managing all the different subs and phases of a project. But he enjoyed working with his hands most of all, the satisfaction of creating something from nothing.

  “It’s going to be a wonderful event,” his mother continued. “We’ve sold close to two hundred tickets.”

  The hammer stilled and he turned around at that bit of news. “Really? That seems like a lot of people.” His skin itched at the thought of all those bodies and the conversation he’d be expected to make. Trevor thrived on that sort of stuff. His brother could glad-hand a fish if he thought it would increase exposure for the vineyard. Griffin still preferred to work behind the scenes.