by Brynne Asher
Vines
A Killers Novel, Book 1
by Brynne Asher
Text Copyright © 2016 Brynne Asher
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copy-written materials in violation of author’s rights. Please purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction.
Other Books by Brynne Asher
Overflow – The Carpino Series, Book 1
Beautiful Life – The Carpino Series Book 2
Athica Lane – The Carpino Series Book 3
Table of Contents
Vines
Copyright
Other Books by Brynne Asher
Dedications
A Note from the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Cows Are Girls
Chapter 2 – The Country Life
Chapter 3 – You Don’t Look Like an Addy
Chapter 4 – This Changes Everything
Chapter 5 – Laffy Taffy
Chapter 6 – Flush
Chapter 7 – Carpool
Chapter 8 – Disintegrated
Chapter 9 – Innocent
Chapter 10 – Work For It
Chapter 11 – A Game Without Rules
Chapter 12 – Blame it All on the Dimple
Chapter 13 – Tuesday Nightie on Friday
Chapter 14 – I Can Keep a Secret
Chapter 15 – Comply
Chapter 16 – Are You Going to Hug Me?
Chapter 17 – The Ass-Kicking
Chapter 18 – Slimy Chum-Bucket
Chapter 19 – Anything and Everything
Chapter 20 – Messages
Chapter 21 – The Heavy
Chapter 22 – Goodbye
Chapter 23 – Headaches
Chapter 24 – Hacked
Chapter 25 – Not Unusual
Chapter 26 – Blinding
Chapter 27 – Death
Chapter 28 – Live
Chapter 29 – Cow Daddy
Epilogue
Thank You
About the Author
Dedications
To the Mister –
Thank you for supporting my day dreams. After twenty-one years of marriage, it just gets better and better. Love you.
To Elle –
What a year. It feels like just yesterday we were standing in a winery in Virginia doing a tasting when this new world popped into my head. The next thing I knew, Crew and Addy were born. Thank you for giving me the name Crew. He’s perfect and I love creating characters with you. You’ll always be the first to read my words.
To Layla Frost and Sarah Curtis –
I can’t remember the last time a day has gone by and we haven’t connected. You’ve become the sweetest friends and I treasure you both. The Three T’s will unite someday and when it happens, the world had better brace. Thank you for supporting me and always being there to straighten out my possessive/non-possessive issues.
To Rae Larand, Ivy, Laurie, Penny and Kristan –
Time is one of the most precious gifts one human can give another. Thank you for yours and all your efforts in making Vines everything I dreamed. I adore you all.
And finally, to all my readers and bloggers –
Thank you for taking a chance on my books. Without you, I couldn’t do this.
A Note from the Author
When I moved to Virginia over two years ago, I had no idea I’d be living in wine country. It took one trip to a local winery to fall in love, and I have to admit, research was not chore. Whitetail is a beautiful blend of the region and history I was blessed to experience during my time there.
When I first put my fingers to a keyboard in 2013 to see if I could even manage a chapter, I never thought I’d end up where I am. As much as I’d love it to be, writing still isn’t a full-time gig. Vines took almost a year for me to write since we were relocated again. Thank you, precious readers, for sticking with me and waiting over a year for a new book from this little author.
I hope you enjoy reading Vines as much as I loved writing it.
Prologue
“Are you sure I can’t show you something in the District? Perhaps Georgetown or a brownstone in Arlington would better suit you. Your commute from way out here will be a bear.”
I stare out the window from one of the top-floor bedrooms, wondering what I’ll do with all this square footage. Shit. I wonder what I’ll do staying put for more than a few days at a time. Looking over the snow-covered mountains, or what they consider mountains in Virginia, I think about space and privacy. I need both now more than ever.
She moves closer, her spiked heels clicking on the aged wood echoes through the empty room. “With your loan approval, you can afford a lovely penthouse overlooking the Potomac. Do you boat?”
Fuck. Do I look like I boat? I wish she’d shut up. I’m sick of her talking. My loan approval is a fake, because at this point, it’s none of her business I’m paying cash.
“Mr. Vega?” she calls for me and I have to exhale to keep my patience.
Ignoring her, I deliberate on the only drawback to the property. I wanted three hundred and sixty acres so I don’t have a neighbor. “You said this is two hundred and seventy acres. Who shares the section of land?”
It’s her turn to exhale, her voice going bored. “A vineyard. I looked into it when you insisted on viewing this property. It’s changed hands four times in the last nine years. Apparently everyone thinks they can make wine. The new owner has seen some success. There’s no need for anxiety. The building and land are on the National Register because of its history and the age of the original structure. I believe it dates back to the sixteen hundreds. Properties such as these are hardly ever broken up. If you insist on the country life, your neighbor shouldn’t be of concern.”
I’ll run that background myself.
Turning to her, I cross my arms. “You said the outbuildings have heat and water?”
She sighs, realizing she isn’t going to sell me a penthouse in Georgetown. Not that her commission on this place won’t be a mint.
“Yes. The previous owner was a mechanic specializing in large farm equipment. There’s heat for the winter and air for summer months,” she utters, flipping her jeweled hand toward the window.
We won’t need much heat and absolutely no air in the summer. It’s part of the program—they have to learn to live in the conditions.
I nod, looking back out over the countryside thinking this could be it. I’m ready for something different, ready to retire from the life I’ve lived the last ten years, even if it means I have to train my replacements.
“I need to make a phone call and look at the outbuildings.” I turn back to her and raise an eyebrow, glancing down at her feet. “You want to trudge through the snow with me, or should I meet you back at the cars?”
Her look turns resigned, her voice bland when she replies, “Take your time. I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
I reach for my phone and start for the door mumbling, “Perfect.”
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, my call has barely rung once when Asa answers, a smile in his voice. “Vega. What’d ya think of Stacey?”
“Fuck you, old man,” I growl as I head out the front door to round the house.
“Me?” he feigns. “That was Stacey’s job. You didn’t like my welcome home gift?”
“Don’t know if I’m home. It’s been a long time.” I crunch through the snow in my combat boots.
“You’re home, boy. Don’t question that,” his voice turns serious.
/> I make my way through the barren woods that’ll be perfect when it’s thick with growth, toward the largest outbuilding. There’re three, but I only need to make one comfortable or Grady’ll be a thorn in my side.
“I need a favor,” I say, my breath visible in the cold.
“Thought I was doing you a favor by sending Stacey,” he grumbles.
I ignore him. “If these buildings check out, I’m making an offer today. Ready to get this shit done.”
“Fine, what now?” he complains.
“I need a background check on the owner next door. It’s a vineyard on a quarter section, adjacent to this property. I need it in an hour.”
“Done. I’ll hit you back.” He’s all business and abruptly disconnects.
As I make my way up the so-called mountain, I stop when I come into view of the neighboring property. The vines are bare like everything else, but there aren’t any houses or buildings in view.
I turn and look back to my new house, thinking this is good. No direct sight—I can make use of the far side of the property for privacy. As long as the owner’s background comes back clean—this is it.
A new chapter. A new start. And fuckin’ finally, just maybe, a life.
Chapter 1 – Cows Are Girls
Addy -
“Harry!”
“Moo.” Scarlett nudges my shoulder roughly.
I push my hair out of my face. My naturally frizzy locks haven’t been the same since I moved here. If I had known the humidity was this bad, I never would have settled in Virginia. It doesn’t matter what the temps are, the humidity in the middle of summer is the worst. Heaven forbid it rains, not only is it bad for the vines, the humidity jumps to a gazillion percent.
I’ve got to get Morris to fix this section of fence. Harry has over forty acres to roam. You’d think forty acres would be more than enough for five cows. It’s not like I have a herd. Harry’s always the loner, poor girl.
I trudge up over the hill in my Hunter rain boots. The ticks are thick this time of year—no way am I going to risk walking with the cows in anything else. It gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. Over the last year, I’ve come to enjoy my morning walk with the girls. I don’t get out here every day—it depends on the schedule. Today is Thursday and it’s slow. The tasting room doesn’t open until eleven and even though I have meetings, my first event isn’t until late this afternoon.
“Harry!” I call again.
“Moo.” Scarlett nudges me harder than before.
“No-no.” I try and push her away. “You’re so needy and it’s too hot for you to crowd me. Go graze with your sisters.”
Of course she ignores me and nuzzles my ear. Jimmy, Maria, and Jax act like normal cows, grazing the way a cow should while lazing their days away in the meadows. Scarlett lives up to her namesake—she’s melodramatic and boisterous. And poor Harry, she only wants to be by herself, to the point of escaping to the neighbor’s property. She knows her space—she’s lived here longer than me and cows are smarter than I ever would have guessed.
I never thought I’d own a cow, let alone five, but I inherited them when I bought the vineyard. I also inherited my caretaker, Morris, and his wife Beverly. Oh, and there’s the winemaker, Van, the tasting room manager, Evan—who’s barely old enough to legally taste wine himself—and the chef, Maggie. I didn’t know all these people came along with the vineyard when I bought it, but the day I signed my closing papers and walked into my new home and business, there they were waiting for me. They proceeded to tell me how things ran and why the previous three owners didn’t work out for them.
That first day, I got the distinct impression I was interviewing to be their boss. It didn’t matter whose name was on the loan or officially owned the establishment. When they explained to me all the reasons the past owners failed, I knew then and there if they didn’t like me, I’d fall flat, too. It didn’t matter that I’d sunk every penny to my name into a struggling winery.
Morris and Bev live on the property in the caretaker’s home where they’ve been for eighteen years. I might own that teensy little house on the far side of my land, but it’s very much theirs. Morris knows the land and vines well. No way could I get rid of them, even if he is ill-tempered.
Bev doesn’t officially work for the winery, but she’s usually around. Actually, she’s always fussing about like she owns the place since they’ve lived here so long. She keeps all the flowers watered, the tables wiped, and when the spirit moves her—she’ll wash a few dishes. I asked if I should make it official and put her on the payroll. She insists she likes to hang around when she feels like it but when she doesn’t feel like it, she can go her own way. She quickly informed me I pay her plenty in wine and she’s pretty sure that in the end we’re—in her words—Even-Steven. I’ve learned to go with the flow and keep her in wine because she’s as lovable as Morris is irritable.
I might’ve bought a vineyard, but I’m a beer girl who happens to be creative when it comes to business. I knew nothing about wine but when I found a great deal on a small struggling vineyard. All I saw was opportunity. I immediately knew how to turn it around.
As finicky as Van is about crafting wine, I knew I needed him. I try and ignore all the female customers whose sole reason for visiting is to lust after him. He’s a manwhore in his forties who resembles a young Robert Redford. There’s no other way to describe him. The women know he’s a manwhore, but they don’t seem to care one bit. I’ve never seen anything like it, but he brings in his share of business, so I’ve learned not to care, either.
Maggie is a young widow in her early fifties who can make a mean soup and sandwich. Her desserts are hit or miss. Well, mostly miss. I’ve started ordering from a local bakery even though it pisses her off. Lately she’s been experimenting with fancy salads for summer—so far they’ve been a hit. Is she really a chef? No, but she runs an interesting deli out of the tasting room kitchen and customers seem to like her creativity. Even after a year, she still frightens me a tad.
Evan’s been around slightly longer than me and though he’s merely twenty-four, I’ll never be as refined as the likes of him. Somehow, he can taste ripe apricots glazed with brown sugar butter in a white wine, and a woodsy fall day underlying a white pepper and smoky cheddar in a red. People ecstatically agree—wondering how they didn’t taste it on their own to begin with. Customers eat that shit up. I don’t get it— It all tastes like wine to me. But the customers love him and so do I.
There was no way I could get rid of any of these people when I took over. I had no choice but to work hard to make them like me. I think I’ve done okay. One thing’s for sure, I’ve never had so many people in my life.
I climb up the hill, toward the old fence that’s rotting away to look for her. “Harry!”
“You lookin’ for someone?”
I shriek, jumping at the sound of a deep voice coming from my side. I must have startled Scarlett because she moves quickly, pushing me off balance. Letting out another yelp, I fall to my ass with a thud, landing in the morning dew-covered grass.
“Ouch,” I mutter, twigs and rocks pressing into my palms where I tried to catch myself.
“Moo.” Scarlett nudges the side of my head.
“You okay?” I hear and look up.
When I do, I have to squint. Blinded, I can’t see his face so I bring my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun.
The man with the voice is standing across my dilapidated fence, looking down at me. I still can’t see his face, but his body’s covered in a sheen of sweat. He’s wearing an old wife-beater and a pair of cargo shorts with running shoes. The tank is plastered to his tanned skin, covering muscles so distinct, every swell of his chest and abs is visible through the dirty, sweaty material.
“Need a hand?” he asks and starts to move my way, easily stepping over my broken fence.
He’s tall and muscular, so when he moves his body blocks the sun, letting my eyes travel to his face. He’s scruf
fy, to the point I wonder if he’s starting to grow a beard. I bet he hasn’t shaved in over a week, but underneath the scruff are facial features so rough and masculine, I let my eyes widen to take all of him in.
Standing over me, he extends his long sinewy arm, offering me a big callused hand. “Help up?”
“Uh, sure.” I brush gravel and grass off my hands before putting my left in his right.
His big warm hand envelops mine, he gives me a yank and I’m instantly pulled to my feet. Steadying myself and looking up, I’m face to face with the sweaty stranger standing on my land.
His dark brown hair is sticking to him, falling onto his forehead where perspiration’s dripping down his temples. I let my eyes travel to his lips. They’re full, but frowning. This makes me yank my hand out of his and retreat quickly, pulling myself out of my surprised haze.
“Who are you?” I clip, putting space between us.
He tips his head ever so slightly, narrowing his deep brown eyes, matching the dark themed package he’s got going on. They might be dark but what they are is sharp. In fact, now that I’ve stepped away to take him in all at once, I realize everything about him is razor sharp. His eyes, his expression, even how he holds his body. As much as he’s sweating, he’s not breathing hard as if he was working out. His breathing is relaxed, like he was lounging on the sofa. He appears to be a bevy of contradictions—aloof yet alert, tense yet relaxed, detached yet discerning. Everything about him is simple, but still, he’s exceptionally complex.
I’m jerked out of my contemplation when his full lips form the words, “Your neighbor.”
Oh, thank goodness. I let out a breath of relief. I don’t care if he is tall, dark, and gorgeous, he’s a tad scary looking. Plus, I feel like he snuck up on me. I’m glad to know he’s my neighbor and not a creepy trespasser.
The tension leaves my body. “Sorry, you startled me. I didn’t even hear you. You bought Mr. McCray’s farm?”
