Guarded: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Rachel Leigh

  Nodding, I offer him a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His glance holds for a moment before he turns back to the guide.

  “So, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you inside where you can sample some of our wines that are available for the make-your-own.” Gary, the guide, waves for us to follow him down the cement staircase that leads to the basement of the castle.

  Nash and I are last in line, and I use this as one more opportunity to clear the air. “It was nothing, Nash. Don’t think too much into it.” I look at him as I speak, but he holds his stare on the back of the elderly couple in front of us.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He plays dumb. He knows exactly what I’m talking about. But here we are again. He’s shutting down and putting his walls back up.

  It’s probably best if I just leave it alone.

  We sample three different wine options and both decide on the blackberry merlot. “Mmm, it’s sweet. I think this is a good choice.” I smack my lips together, wanting more.

  “Not bad. A little too sweet, but they might let us ease up on the sugar. I’m not really sure how that works.” He chuckles, and I’m grateful that the day isn’t completely ruined.

  Gary claps his hands together, snapping me out of me thoughts. “All right, if you’ve all made a decision, we will head to the fields for the fun part. Picking your fruit.”

  A large wagon with an ivory canopy cover is waiting for us about twenty yards from the castle when we emerge from the basement. The driver sits on a green John Deer tractor attached to the wagon. The sun is now hiding behind the clouds and there’s a stillness in the air. A feather could drop and fall straight down to the quiet fields. Even the other couples with us have gone silent, following the nonstop chit-chat while sampling.

  After a long couple of minutes, the engine of the tractor roars and Gary leads us over. It’s a big step up and I feel the firm grasp of Nash’s hands wrap around my waist, giving me a boost. Taking in a deep breath and not thinking too much into the way his hands felt on me, I take the first seat on the horizontal wooden bench. There is one on each side that extends the full length of the wagon. Nash sits down next to me as the other three couples scatter out. Nash leans close, his face brushing against my hair. “I’m sorry.”

  Shocked, I jerk my head around to face him. “For what?”

  “Being such a dumbass. Thinking too much into everything. Like you said, it’s no big deal.” He shocks me even more. How much wine did he drink? I’ve never heard Nash express any sort of emotion.

  Lips curling at the seams, I whisper back, “You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just enjoy the day.”

  His hand slaps down on my leg. “You’ve got the right idea, sis.”

  There it is. Like a splash of cold water straight to the heart. I’m not sure why it bothers me so much. I am Nash’s sister-in-law. He is married to Gemma. Even if I did catch any sort of feelings for him, he’s off the table. He is not even sitting at it.

  The wagon stops and lets off two of the couples. The elderly duo who are definitely marriage goals, and another who I don’t think have even said a word to each other. When we start moving again, it’s only two minutes before we stop and let off the other couple at the grape vines.

  “Just around the bend and you’ll be at the blackberries.” Gary assures us with a white bucket in his hand.

  When it’s our turn, Nash takes the bucket and Gary tells us to pick at the end of the first row. When I heard we’d be making our own wine, I didn’t realize that we pick our own fruit. I’m not complaining at all, but I definitely see why the boots were needed. The terrain isn’t muddy by any means, in fact it’s bone-dry, but it’s definitely not meant for flip-flops.

  “How many do we pick?” I ask Nash as he pops a blackberry in his mouth while we walk.

  “I guess we fill this bucket.” He lifts the bucket up. “Then maybe they’ll let us squash them with our bare feet.” He picks another as we pass by a bush then throws it in the air, trying to catch in his mouth, but he misses.

  “That’s gross. Do people actually do that?”

  “You’ve never heard of wine stomping?” he asks, like I should have heard of it. “It’s a real thing. Back in the day, we didn’t have all these fancy presses. They had to get the juices somehow.”

  “I sure hope these people washed their feet.”

  “I think it sounds cool. Walking around in a big ol pile of grapes and letting them squish between your toes. Almost as cool as walking through a pasture of cow manure.”

  “Okay”—I swat at him—“now I know you’re fucking with me.”

  He laughs. “No, it’s a real thing. Come on, I know you lived in the city the past couple of years, but I thought you and Gemma were country girls. You should know this stuff.”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “Never heard of walking through cow shit and I don’t feel like I’m missing out by having no intentions of ever doing so.” I pause for a beat. “Besides, just because we grew up in a smaller town doesn’t mean we were country girls. We just weren’t given a choice in the matter.”

  We reach the end of the row and the bushes are bursting with blackberries. “Well, now that we’ve talked about it, I’m putting it on my bucket list.”

  “You enjoy that,” I say, plucking a berry from the bush and sticking in my mouth. Mmm, so good.

  “We will, because you’re on that list with me.” He smirks and begins drawing in the air with his finger. “Must take Rowan to a cow farm to walk in cow dung.” We both start laughing. “I’m not even going to begin telling you how these fields are probably fertilized. We’ll save that for another day.”

  Plucking a few more berries, I drop a handful in the bucket, save one for tossing it right at Nash’s face. “I’ll go with you to fulfill your bucket list wish, but if you try putting these pretty bare feet in any feces, you’ll be rolling in it.”

  Lifting his head, mid-berry-pick, he looks at me and bites the corner of his lip. “Is that so?”

  It does something to my insides. Warmth quivers between my trembling legs. Off balance with my mind in a fog. Unable to peel my eyes off from his lips, even when his teeth drag across and are no longer visible. A glimmer of blackberry juice mingles in the corner and I fight the urge to press my mouth to his and taste its sweetness. He says something, but I can’t even comprehend the words. “Hmm.” My eyes slide up to his.

  “I said, do you really think you could take me down?” He tosses another berry at me and although I see it coming, my body tenses and it hits me right on my forehead. Then he just laughs and resumes picking.

  What the hell is going on with me? Who the hell is this man standing next to me? It can’t be my sister’s husband, because I would never get weak in the knees for a married man. Let alone Gemma’s man.

  Looking over at him while he’s oblivious to my gawking, I see him in a different light. Suddenly, every move he makes is enticing. The way his blue veins bulge out when he bends his tanned arm. The wispy strands of his golden hair that rest on his forehead, the tips dampened by the bead of sweat on his hairline. His chest. My God, the way his shirt hugs so tightly to his chest that I’m able to see the outline of every ridge. My fingers beg to weave through his clipped chest hair while feeling his strong arms around me.

  Yep, I’m screwed. I’m falling for Nash.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nash

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at another blackberry again.” Rowan sits cross-legged next to a blackberry bush while I continue to pick. The bucket is only about three quarters full and we’ve been out here for almost two hours.

  I look down at her and she pops another berry in her mouth. “Then why are you eating them?” I chuckle.

  “I don’t know. It’s like I can’t stop.” She picks another.

  “We’d get done a lot quicker if you’d put them in there.” I point at the bucket.

  “Are you sure we need to fill the entire thing?”<
br />
  “I hope not, because I think we’ve stripped every bush in this row.” And that’s saying a lot, considering we’ve traveled down a few rows after stripping the one we started in. Then we took a turn and ended up on the backside of the bushes.

  “Hear that?” Rowan tips her ear to the sky.

  The roar of the tractor can be heard in the distance. Alas, they are coming to take us away from blackberry hell. “Thank you, Jesus.” I fold my hands in prayer.

  It started off good. Had a few laughs, ate a few berries. But one can only stand in this heat and pick for so long before going into a state of delirium. I may be exaggerating, but it sure as hell feels like we’ve been out here slaving away for a bottle of wine for a decade.

  Rowan sticks her tongue out of her mouth and fans herself, “Must get water.”

  “Come on, you camel.” I put my hand out and her palm meets mine. I give her a pull up as the wagon comes into view at the end of the row.

  “Whitmores. This way,” Gary shouts while waving us down the trail.

  I grab the five-pound bucket and we make our escape. Never doing this again. I’ll pay a thousand bucks for the made and aged stuff before I ever pick another blackberry again. On our way down, Rowan has me shaking my head as she still continues to pick and eat. “Girl, you’re going to get sick.”

  She laughs. “I told you, I can’t stop. I think they have some sort of addicting agent in them.”

  “It’s called willpower. Use it.”

  Finally, we make it to the wagon, only to find that it’s empty, aside from Gary, who is waiting with a scowl on his face. Something must have pissed the young man off.

  “I specifically said to stay on the trail we dropped you off on. I’ve been searching for thirty minutes for you two.”

  Looking over at Rowan, she presses her lips into a thin line and looks like she’s fighting back laughter. “I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t even get the bucket full and we picked all the berries at the end of that row.”

  He spits, “Full? Let me see that.” He leans over and looks into the bucket in my hand. “Mr. Whitmore! You were not supposed to fill the bucket. Your bottle of wine only requires one pound. You’ve picked enough for an entire gallon.”

  Unable to hold it back any longer, Rowan bursts into laughter. “Are you serious? You’re telling me we’ve spent two hours picking these little black demons for nothing.” She grabs one from the bucket and I contemplate slapping it from her hand, but she’s too quick and sticks in her mouth.

  “Yes. The pick generally takes thirty minutes. The others have already begun the bottling process.”

  “So, what do we do with all of these?” I hold up the bucket.

  “I suppose you will just use one pound for your wine and buy the others outright.”

  Gary leads the way to the wagon, and I give Rowan another boost up. Once we are seated, we remain silent. Gary seems a little ticked and it’s probably best to just hold back our humor in the situation.

  Every couple of minutes, I look over at Rowan, who is still battling the giggles. This is one experience I’ll never forget.

  When we reach the castle, the sun is beginning to set over the mountains. The colors in the sky mimic that of the leaves and there is a slight nip in the air that I find refreshing. “You cold?” I ask Rowan, who resumes hugging her chest.

  “I’m fine.” Which can mean many things coming from a female. More likely than not, she wants me to think she’s fine when really she’s probably freezing in the sixty-five-degree temperature. Meanwhile, I’m still sweating my ass off.

  Pulling up to the castle, we get out. “Is the gift shop still open?” I ask Gary.

  “Yes. It’s open for another hour.”

  I turn to Rowan. “You go ahead and get started inside. I’ll be right back.”

  She gives me curious eyes, but does what I ask and heads down the stairs.

  Walking around the side, I head for the main entrance to the gift shop that I noticed when we first arrived. My eyes skim the room and land on a gray hoodie with grapevines on the front and the words Pelton Family Farms in purple. Once I find a size small, I pay for it then head back to the cellar on the backside.

  Rowan is already smashing berries and doesn’t even notice when I walk up behind her. Startling her, she turns around. “Where were you?”

  “Went to get you this.” I pull the hoodie out of the bag and hold it up.

  A smile spreads across her face. “You got this for me?” She takes it from my hand and holds it up. “But why?”

  “You were cold.” I shrug it off like it’s no big deal. It’s not really. We probably should have packed some sweatshirts to bring with us, but the thought never crossed my mind. “So what are we doing here?” I turn my attention to the mashed berries as she pulls the hoodie over her head.

  “It’s pretty simple, actually. We just press and turn this lever and smoosh our berries. Works much better than feet if I do say so myself.” She grins.

  “Don’t knock it until you try it.” I step over and take hold of the lever, giving it a few pumps. It resembles a stainless steel bucket with a grate that pushes and turns to squish the fruit.

  Gary walks over with his hands behind his back. Ogling with whatever authority he thinks he has, he leans over and nods in pleased like manner. “Nice job, you two. I think you’re ready for the next step.”

  Next we add some sugar, yeast, and a few other powders that I didn’t pay attention to, along with some water. We pour the wine into a bottle and Rowan corks it for us. “We will hold this for forty-five days and give you a call as soon as it’s ready to be picked up. Next, let’s get you a label made.” Gary instructs us. “What name would you like to give your wine?”

  I wasn’t aware that we had to wait forty-five days for the wine. Rowan will be long gone by the time it’s ready. At least we got the crazy experience out of it all.

  I look at Rowan, leaving the decision about the name up to her. “What do you think we should name it?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t even think straight right now. I ate too many damn berries.”

  That’s when it hits me. “Demon Berry Blood,” I spit out. “I think that suits our wine pretty well, don’t ya think?”

  Rowan laughs. “Yes! That’s perfect!”

  Five minutes later, we are checking out and I’m paying a bill of three hundred dollars for a ripe and ready bottle of Moscato, three pounds of berries, and a bottle of Demon Berry Blood that is staying with the sitter for the next month and a half. Expensive? Yes. Worth it? Hell yes.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, all I see is a stained tunnel of darkness. Not even a flicker from another car. We are the only ones on the narrow, cratered backroad. The entire area is desolate. Not a house to be seen. Overgrown fields and unattended to roads. Rowan could be sleeping for all I know. It’s hard to make out her face as she rests her head on her shoulder.

  Regardless, I speak. “The day before I got the news about Gemma, I lost a brother. A man who would have taken a bullet for me. I never even grieved his death because I was too busy wrapping my head around Gemma’s. They called me a hero because I saved one man. But for what? So another could die?”

  Rowan tucks her legs underneath her and turns toward me. I look over and although it’s dark, the neon glow of the dash sheds light on her downcast expression. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Nash. You can’t blame yourself, though. Regardless of the way things worked out, I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.”

  “Don’t be. That’s life, isn’t it? We live, we love, and in the end we lose both.”

  “Maybe. But you’re not at the end, yet. You’re still living.”

  Peering over at her for a fleeting moment, I turn onto my road. “Am I? Because most days I just feel like I’m getting by.” She doesn’t respond as I pull into the driveway and shift into park.

  With the truck still running, I stare back at the house in front of me. Curtains of blackn
ess, a home that was once full of life, now just a place of shelter. Rowan turns her body toward me and pushes herself onto her knees in the passenger seat. I look down when she lifts my hand off my own leg. Her tepid, soft skin fused with my callused, cold shell. Bringing my hand up, we both watch the movements as she places it on my chest. “Do you feel that?” Her eyes slide up as mine do the same, the streetlight casting shadows on her face. “That’s proof that you are living. Your heart is beating with purpose. Just because you’ve lost your way, doesn’t mean you’ll never be found.”

  Swallowing hard, all I can focus on is her eyes. The longer I stare, the deeper I fall into them. Like a black hole that is sucking me, and I, no matter how hard I fight to turn away, I need to know what’s inside. Tranced and completely out of control, I put both hands on her face and pull her into me. Our mouths collide with so much tenacity that I couldn’t stop right now even if I wanted to. Amble and gentle escalates quickly to fast and hard as I cup her face tighter in my hands. Sliding back to her neck, I drop one hand, letting it rest on her leg. Our tongues tangle in a mess of unfulfilled desire, slowly filling each other up with feeling again. Her warm breaths hit my cheek as her nose presses against it. I struggle to catch my breaths as they run rampant—staggered and lacking. My dick threatens to burst through the fabric of my pants when she sucks my bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Rowan,” I mutter into her mouth. Her hand grazes against the stubble on my cheek, coaxing my lips back to hers. Our teeth clank together while the windows fog up around us. I don’t even care. I kiss her harder. Merciless and forbidden, she tastes so sweet. Like a demon blackberry sent to bring me to my knees. She showed up on my door dressed in temptation and it’s just now that I realized I can’t resist her any longer.

  Her knees move closer and closer before she drapes her leg over me and straddles me in the driver’s seat. Reaching down, I press the lever to move the seat back so the steering wheel isn’t digging into her, then recline slightly. “Do you want me to stop?” she asks, her doe eyes beaming into mine.