Second Chance In Stonecreek
Michelle Major
Is their second time the charm?No matter how much mayor Maggie Spencer avoids bad-boy Griffin Stone, there's only so far to go in Stonecreek. Only so much she can deny an undeniable attraction. And only so many times she can relive their amazing night together. Is it desire…or is it love?Maggie and Griffin will return in A Stonecreek Christmas Reunion
Is their second time the charm?
Maggie and Griffin’s story continues....
No matter how much mayor Maggie Spencer avoids bad boy Griffin Stone, there’s only so far to go in Stonecreek. Only so much she can deny an undeniable attraction. And only so many times she can relive their blazing night together. Their families are feuding, the gossip is threatening her reelection, but nothing can keep her away. Is it desire...or is it (gasp!) love?
MICHELLE MAJOR grew up in Ohio but dreamed of living in the mountains. Soon after graduating with a degree in journalism, she pointed her car west and settled in Colorado. Her life and house are filled with one great husband, two beautiful kids, a few furry pets and several well-behaved reptiles. She’s grateful to have found her passion writing stories with happy endings. Michelle loves to hear from her readers at michellemajor.com (http://www.michellemajor.com).
Also by Michelle Major (#u40edd0c4-b0d6-5bbc-bed3-2348bde592cc)
Falling for the Wrong BrotherComing Home to CrimsonSleigh Bells in CrimsonRomancing the WallflowerChristmas on Crimson MountainAlways the Best ManHer Soldier of FortuneA Fortune in WaitingSecrets of the A-List
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Second Chance in Stonecreek
Michelle Major
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07823-8
SECOND CHANCE IN STONECREEK
© 2018 Michelle Major
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To everyone at Mills & Boon—thank you for making
the stories I write into real books. I’m so grateful.
Contents
Cover (#uabeeff9d-4cec-5577-845c-babcd88d21b4)
Back Cover Text (#u359619fc-86ca-5708-840b-af14f93008f7)
About the Author (#u465e1d5e-2f98-5c02-9750-9d51f1868b45)
Booklist (#u12b6d218-425a-5c3f-aa81-93059340eb22)
Title Page (#u16fd738e-4bf8-54ba-b4ca-0e7b1f1fd9e3)
Copyright (#u0eead3a4-b459-5b1b-83ed-216467033bbd)
Dedication (#u814797c4-733a-5e0c-b5a3-ec898c927829)
Chapter One (#u9aea2f93-ac0b-5516-927b-a863a55b3ac6)
Chapter Two (#u6f23052a-1e24-5333-b60f-3167ba25fc08)
Chapter Three (#u3b872f13-c9c5-5d60-8ceb-47d1a58b867d)
Chapter Four (#ub1414ca4-e271-55ef-84aa-0410742667cf)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u40edd0c4-b0d6-5bbc-bed3-2348bde592cc)
“It won’t do for people to see you staring off into space like you’re high on the wacky weed or something.”
Maggie Spencer blinked, then turned to her seventy-nine-year-old grandmother. “Grammy, did you just use the term ‘wacky weed’?”
“I’m not as behind the times as you seem to believe,” Vivian Spencer shot back, adjusting the collar of her Jackie O–inspired tweed coat. “I know what’s going on with teens today.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” Maggie pointed out. A gentle autumn breeze whistled across the town square in Stonecreek, Oregon, her beloved hometown. She pushed away a lock of hair that had blown into her face. “I don’t smoke pot or anything else. You know that.”
She waved to Rob Frisbie, who owned the local grocery store, walking past on his way to the beer booth. How Maggie would have liked to join him at the moment.
“You could eat it,” her grandmother suggested tartly. “That’s a thing, you know.”
“I know,” Maggie answered, struggling to keep her smile in place as she greeted a couple that approached her information booth, neither of whom she recognized. “Welcome to Fall Fest,” she said brightly. “Are you visiting for the afternoon?”
“We drove down from Portland,” the woman offered as both she and the man at her side nodded. “We’re doing a wine tasting at Harvest Vineyards later this afternoon.”
“We’re glad you stopped by the festival,” Maggie said. “I’m Maggie Spencer, Stonecreek’s mayor.” She picked up a tourism pamphlet and one of the flyers she’d printed for the annual festival. “Here’s some information on things to do around town and a list of the activities happening today. If you have five vendors stamp your flyer, bring it back, then you’ll be entered to win a weekend stay at our own local Miriam Inn.”
The woman smiled and took the papers as Grammy said, “I’m Vivian Spencer, Maggie’s grandmother and former mayor.” She leaned forward as if imparting a great secret. “She’s up for reelection next month. It’s a surprisingly tight race given that she inherited the position. I held it for almost a decade with barely any opposition.”
Heat rose to Maggie’s cheeks as the woman’s smile turned awkward. “Well, good luck, then,” she said and hurried away with her husband.
“I didn’t inherit the position,” Maggie said through clenched teeth. “I was elected and I’ve done well during my first term.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Vivian patted her silver hair, which was swept into a neat chignon on the back of her head. “Is it any wonder I question whether you’re on drugs with how you’ve been acting lately?”
“I’m not taking a tone,” Maggie said, making her voice gentle. “Or doing drugs. The campaign is going fine.”
“Fine isn’t enough to win the election.” Vivian reached out a crepey hand to squeeze Maggie’s arm. “I want this for you, Mary Margaret. It’s your destiny.”
Maggie sighed. Being the mayor of Stonecreek wasn’t exactly on par with a lightning bolt scar on her forehead, but she loved her town and her role as mayor. Her grandmother meant well. Grammy had stepped in to help raise Maggie and her siblings when their mother died almost twelve years ago. Maggie’s father, Jim, had struggled with being a single dad of three children. Grammy had been a constant source of love and support, and if she was a trifle overbearing and autocratic, Maggie could deal with it.
After all, she’d been content to let her grandmother steer the ship for years. It was only in the past few months that Maggie had finally wanted out from under Grammy’s manicured thumb.
“I want it, too,” Maggie said, wrapping an arm around Grammy’s shoulders. “Plans for the debate are going well. We have lots of volunteers on the campaign.”
“Debate.” Vivian sniffed. “I still cannot believe Jason Stone challenged to you to a public debate. It’s undignified.”
Maggie stifled a laugh. “It’s politics, Grammy.”
“Not in Stonecreek.” Her grandmother straightened the already neat stacks of pamphlets on the table in front of them. “Spencers have held the position of mayor for decades in this town. Your great-great-uncle and then your grandfather—rest his soul—and then me. For Jason to think he has a right to challenge you is preposterous.”
“Why do people say ‘rest his or her soul’ when talking about a dead person?” Maggie asked, grasping for any way to change the subject before her grandmother latched onto—
“I have no doubt that upstart will make an issue of your wedding, or lack thereof.” Grammy gave a quelling look, ignoring Maggie’s off-topic question. “You wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d married Trevor Stone.”
“You’re right,” Maggie agreed, keeping her tone even. What her grandmother didn’t know was that she’d found Trevor cheating on her minutes before she was supposed to walk down the aisle. So there was a good chance she’d be in another predicament entirely. “I guess it was his loss.”
Grammy sniffed again. “Stupid boy.”
“He’s a grown man,” Maggie countered, “although I’m with you on the stupid part.”
“No better than he should be,” Vivian muttered.
“Another saying I don’t under—”
“Although still a better option than that brother of his.”
Maggie’s chest tightened at the mention of Griffin Stone. The prodigal son of the Stone family had returned to Stonecreek for the wedding and ended up rescuing Maggie when she’d fled the church after discovering her fiancé’s betrayal. They’d struck up an unlikely friendship and so much more from Maggie’s point of view. But her romance with Griffin had been short-lived.
He was still in town, once again rebuilding the tasting room at his family’s successful vineyard after fire had ravaged part of it for a second time in as many decades. Only, Maggie’s sixteen-year-old sister, Morgan, had caused the fire at the beginning of summer. The fallout of that tragic accident plus the tension that existed between the Stones and Spencers, fueled by a rivalry that dated back to the founding of the town, had driven a wedge between Griffin and Maggie that she had no idea how to combat.
And Griffin hadn’t even wanted to try. That was how little she’d meant to him.
Megan Roe, the town’s version of a girl Friday, approached the booth. “Hey, Maggie,” she called. “Hi, Mrs. Spencer. I’m here for my shift.”
Megan was in her early twenties and had grown up in Stonecreek, just like Maggie. In fact, she’d babysat the three Roe sisters through most of high school. As mayor, one of Maggie’s biggest concerns was attracting young people to the town. She wanted to keep things current and make sure there were good jobs to be found in Stonecreek so the town stayed relevant. Harvest Vineyards brought in tourists, but they also needed a strong foundation of other businesses to keep the local economy strong.
Grammy looked the young woman up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing to represent this town?” she asked, disapproval clear in her tone.
Luckily, Megan didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah.” She pulled at the hem of her minidress, which looked like an overlong flannel shirt with a red-and-black-checkered pattern. Her heavily highlighted hair was down around her shoulders and she wore black ankle boots with a chunky heel. “I got it last week when my sister and I went shopping in Portland. There are so many cool stores in the city. Around here, it’s online shopping or nothing.”
“Next time try nothi—”
“You look great,” Maggie interrupted her grandmother, gently pushing her from behind the booth. “Thanks for volunteering. We’ve had a steady stream of people stop by. Entries for the night on the town giveaway are starting to roll in. It should pick up before the band starts in an hour.”
“No problem,” Megan said with a smile. “My boyfriend is coming by to keep me company.”
Maggie squeezed Grammy’s elbow when the older woman tsk-tsked. “I’ll be around for a bit. Text if you need anything.”
The woman waved as Maggie ushered her grandma away from the booth.
“She looks like an unwashed vagrant,” Vivian said, wrinkling her nose.
“She’s stylish,” Maggie countered.
“Dirty hobo is a style now?”
“Grammy, don’t be mean. Megan is great and it was nice of her to volunteer.”
“I’m not mean. I’m honest. That girl could benefit from some constructive criticism. Did you see how short her skirt was? If she bends over, everyone will see her—”
“She looks fine.” Maggie shook her head. “You can’t worry about every little thing, Grammy. You’ve retired. The town isn’t your responsibility anymore.”
Vivian clasped a hand to her chest, her index finger gliding up to the pearl necklace she’d worn since Maggie could remember. “You’re going to break my heart with that kind of talk, Mary Margaret. You know this town means everything to me.”
“I know,” Maggie whispered, hugging her grandmother. She hated feeling at odds with anyone, especially Grammy, who Maggie loved with her whole heart. But Vivian Spencer was part of the old guard, with ideas and plans for the town that didn’t necessarily benefit the diversity and enterprise Maggie wanted Stonecreek to be known for. She had to find a way to minimize her grandmother’s influence while still showing the older woman the respect she deserved. “I love you, Grammy.”
“You, too, sweetheart.” Vivian drew back. “I’m going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow for Sunday dinner?”
“Of course.”
Maggie watched her grandmother walk away, then turned for the bustling town square. Booths lined the perimeter with local artisans selling jewelry and gifts and local restaurants serving a variety of tasting options. Maggie had put in countless hours with the festival committee to make this year’s Fall Fest a success.
Despite what she’d told her grandma, she did have concerns about the upcoming election. Jason Stone had been running a subtle smear campaign, a portion of it reflecting on her decision to walk away from her wedding without outing Trevor as the rat fink cheater he was.
But the more insidious digs at her came from her relationship with her grandmother. Her opponent was insinuating exactly what Grammy had just stated out loud: that Maggie had been elected because of nepotism and not on her own merits. She hated giving any credence to the idea, but the doubts pinging through her head made it even more essential that she win the election.
She sighed and started forward toward the bustling midway. Unfortunately right now, schmoozing and socializing seemed about as appealing as downing a bowl of cockroaches. Maggie was working overtime on the overtime she normally put in to prove her dedication to her job. She was tired, so the thought of making small talk for a couple of hours had her stomach tightening.
“You look like you’re walking into a gathering of flesh-eating zombies,” a voice called from behind her.
She turned to see her best friend, Brenna Apria, and Brenna’s young daughter, Ellie, walking toward her.
“All zombies eat flesh,” Ellie announced as they got closer.
“Aren’t you too young to know that, squirt?” Maggie asked, crouching down and holding her arms wide. Ellie ran forward, wrapping her thin arms around Maggie’s neck.
“I’m either going to be a zombie or a vampire cheerleader for Halloween,” Ellie told her matter-of-factly, “so I’m doing research on both of them.”
“She loves to be scared.” Brenna gave a mock shudder. “I don’t know where she gets it.”
“Marcus and I watched Gremlins last weekend,” Ellie reported. “It was PG but still Mommy had to cover her eyes for the scary parts.”
“How is Marcus?” Maggie lifted a brow in Brenna’s direction.
Her friend tried to hide the enamored smile that curved her mouth. “He’s good. Things are getting back to normal after harvest season at the vineyard.”
“Harvest season,” Maggie murmured. That meant all hands on deck at the vineyard, although the winery also stayed open. Each year, Brenna coordinated grape-stomping competitions and the opportunity for the public to pick grapes in designated vineyards. But Maggie had not gone to any of the community events this year. It was too difficult to be near Griffin, which was stupid and possibly pathetic on her part.
Although she’d known him her whole life, he’d been a jerk as a kid and all through high school, three years older than her and definitely not interested in a rule follower like Maggie.
That had changed, to her great surprise, when he’d returned to Stonecreek. Even so, they’d only been friends for a few weeks and spent one blissful night together before her little fairy tale had come crashing down. Or maybe she’d just imagined their powerful connection.
The great sex had been a real thing. She hadn’t made that up. Everything else... Well, she always did have a vivid imagination.
“You okay?” Brenna asked, her brow furrowing.
“Just tired.” Maggie forced a smile. “Not really up for doing the mayoral thing tonight.”
“You’re welcome to hang with us,” her friend offered.
“Come with us,” Ellie shouted, grabbing her hand. “We’re going to get apple cider and kettle corn and have our faces painted.”
The warmth of the girl’s fingers wrapped around hers made the band of tension wrapped around Maggie’s stomach ease ever so slightly.
“It’s a real girls’ night out,” Brenna added with a smile at her daughter.
“Then count me in,” Maggie said.
They headed into the square, stopping at each booth. With Brenna and Ellie flanking either side of her, Maggie was able to relax, greeting old friends and various townspeople and remembering why she worked so hard at her job.
She loved this little corner of the Willamette Valley, from the terra-cotta and classical revival-style buildings to the bright yellows and golds of the leaves in the fall.
“At least I’m not getting a ton of side-eye anymore,” Maggie said to Brenna as they stood a few feet from the face-painting booth, waiting for Ellie to be transformed into a Bengal tiger.
Brenna toasted her cider cup against Maggie’s. “I told you all they needed was time. People were a little shocked that you walked away from the wedding, but that doesn’t change what you mean to this town.”
“There are still a few who haven’t forgiven me.” Maggie lifted a finger to touch the small butterfly one of the teenagers working the face-painting station had drawn onto her cheek. Ellie had insisted Maggie get her face done before the girl would agree to sit. “My grandmother might be one of them.”
Brenna made a face. “I can’t help you there. Oh, no. Don’t turn around.”
Maggie immediately looked over her shoulder to see Griffin walking toward them, an unfamiliar woman at his side. The woman was beautiful, with flowing, raven-colored hair, a fashion-model-thin frame and long legs tucked into vintage cowboy boots. She wore a baggy dress that just grazed her thighs, but the shape of a dress didn’t matter when a woman looked like that. Griffin towered over her and was leaning close as the woman gazed up at him.
Maggie’s heart stuttered.
No, they weren’t heading toward her. The two of them were so engrossed in each other they could have been walking on a deserted street for all they noticed the crowd around them.
Until Griffin looked up. His green gaze caught on Maggie, the heat from it like being stabbed with a hot poker.
“What part of ‘don’t turn around’ confused you?” Brenna muttered under her breath.
“It’s fine,” Maggie said, her voice weak as she faced forward again. “Who is she?”
“Maggie?”
Heat pooled low in her belly at the sound of Griffin’s rich baritone. Pathetic. She was the most pathetic woman on the planet. This man had rejected her four months ago. She had no reason to be twitter-pated over him. She had no reason to feel anything for him. To borrow from one of Maggie’s favorite old-school pop songs, tell that to her heart.
But she spun around, pasting a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Griffin. How’s it hang—”
She yelped when Brenna pinched the back of her arm. Hard.
“Hey,” Griffin said slowly, darting a dubious glance between the two of them. “I’m...um...doing fine. How are you?”
“Hunky-dory,” she said, then inwardly cringed as Brenna groaned. “I’m fine, too,” she amended, her cheeks feeling like they’d just caught fire. “Fine.”
“Great.” Griffin nodded and she watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “I wanted to introduce you to an old friend.” He indicated the woman standing next to him. “This is Cassie Barlow. Cassie’s an interior designer up in Seattle. We’ve worked on a few projects together over the years.”
Is that what the kids are calling it now? Maggie thought to herself. She held out a hand, her cheeks aching from the perma-grin plastered across her face. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” the woman said, her eyes bright. “Great butterfly.”
Seriously, could cheek muscles grow so hard they cracked? “I had my face painted,” Maggie said, then sighed. Master of the obvious. How charming.
“My daughter demanded it,” Brenna offered quickly. “Maggie did it for Ellie.”
Griffin introduced Brenna to Cassie and then Cassie turned to Maggie again. “Grif tells me you’re mayor of this town.”
Grif. She called him Grif. Oh, yeah. They worked together. Worked together on getting busy, most likely.
Maggie blinked when she realized everyone was staring at her. “Yes, mayor,” she agreed like an imbecile. “I’m mayor.”
Cassie tilted her head and Maggie thought the other woman must think her the biggest ninny she’d ever met. But Cassie’s eyes remained kind. It was ridiculously difficult to hate someone with such kind eyes.
Ellie ran up to Brenna at that moment, her face painted in black and orange stripes. The girl held up her hands like claws and growled at her mom, then turned to Maggie and roared loudly.
“I’m ferocious,” she announced.
Maggie cowered in mock fear, never so grateful for the interruption. “Oh, scary tiger,” she said, making her voice tremble. “Have mercy on this little butterfly.”
“You’re too tiny for me to eat,” Ellie said with a nod. “I better go get a corn dog.”
Maggie grinned, then looked up at Griffin and Cassie. “You heard the tiger. We’ve got to feed her before she starves.”
“It was lovely to meet you,” Cassie said softly.
“You, too,” Maggie agreed. She gave a casual wave. “See you around, Grif.”
Griffin gave a sharp nod but didn’t respond.
And even though Maggie wanted nothing more than to escape this awkward interaction, she couldn’t quite force her legs to walk away from him until Ellie took her hand and tugged.
Chapter Two (#u40edd0c4-b0d6-5bbc-bed3-2348bde592cc)
“She thinks we’re together,” Cassie murmured as Maggie disappeared into the crowd milling about the town square.
“We are together.” Griffin unclenched his hands, which had ended up fisted at his sides, and concentrated on keeping his expression neutral. It took every bit of willpower he possessed to watch Maggie turn away. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and bury his face in her hair, breathing in her flowery scent.
“As in we’re dating.” Cassie rolled her eyes.
“We’re not dating,” Griffin said as if his old friend needed clarification. “We haven’t dated for years.”
Cassie smacked him hard on the shoulder. “I know that, you idiot. Your Maggie doesn’t.”
“She’s not mine,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He continued to stare in the direction Maggie had walked. Every few seconds he’d get a glimpse of her caramel-colored hair or a flash of the bright butterfly painted on her cheek as she turned to say something to Brenna. This was the first time he’d seen her since he’d ended what was between them. Ended it before it had really had a chance to start.
Stonecreek was a small town and, as mayor, Maggie was a very visible resident. He’d holed up at the vineyard for most of the summer, repairing the damage to the tasting room from the fire that Maggie’s sister had accidentally started when her plans for teenage seduction had gone awry.
Cole Maren, the boy Morgan Spencer had set her sights on that night, had worked tirelessly at Griffin’s side. Despite the kid’s past and less-than-desirable family situation, Cole seemed determined to stay on the right track. Griffin wished he’d made that choice when he was younger. It had taken him years of running from the stupidity of his youth to straighten out his mind and soul.
A weight settled in his chest like a lead balloon as he watched Maggie and he wondered how successful he’d actually been.
“You look at each other,” Cassie said, moving toward a vendor selling handmade soaps and lotions, “like you belong together.”
“You don’t understand how it is in Stonecreek,” Griffin said with a sigh.
Cassie dabbed a sample of lemon-scented lotion on her hands, turning to Griffin as she rubbed it into her skin. “What’s there to understand? You care about her. She cares about you. All that other family history stuff is just noise. It doesn’t have to matter, Grif. Trust me. I’m all about cutting away things that don’t matter these days.”
Griffin opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. Cassie had paid this unexpected visit to him to share that she’d been diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was due to start treatment in Seattle in a couple of days and said the doctors had given her a great prognosis. But the news had changed her—maybe for the better—as she seemed at peace in a way he hadn’t ever known her to be.
“You have to try,” Cassie urged.
He glanced beyond her and spotted Maggie talking to a tall guy who looked to be in his midthirties. Brenna stood a few feet away watching Ellie play in the bouncy house, like she was trying to give Maggie and the stranger space. The man handed Maggie his phone and she punched something into it. Her number, Griffin assumed, and felt adrenaline stab his gut.
“Give me a few minutes,” he told his friend, earning a wide smile.
“I’ll meet you in front of the stage,” Cassie agreed. “The band is starting in a few minutes.”
He nodded and headed in Maggie’s direction, absently waving to the people who called out greetings.
“We need to talk,” he told her, moving to stand between her and the man.
Her fine brows furrowed. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on, Maggie,” he coaxed. “It won’t take long.”
“Everything okay?” the stranger asked.
Maggie looked around Griffin and smiled at the man. “Just a little bit of bothersome town business.”
Griffin felt his eyes narrow.
“It was nice meeting you, James,” she said sweetly.
“I’ll call you next week,” the man answered, and Griffin’s hand itched to deck the guy.
Maggie held up her index finger to someone behind Griffin—Brenna, he guessed—then looked up at him, her gray eyes cool. “So talk.”
“Not here.” Before she could protest, he circled her wrist with his hand and led her away from the crowd.
“Is this necessary?” she asked tartly.
“You sound like your grandma when you use that snippy tone,” he said, flashing a smile at her.
She glared in return.
He continued to the edge of the park that took up one full square block in the middle of downtown Stonecreek and moved around the side of the town hall building.
“Griffin, what are you doing?” She dug in her heels and tugged her wrist from his grasp.
He turned and could see the freckles that sprinkled her nose and upper cheeks and the bits of gold around the edges of her eyes. He smelled the light scent of her shampoo and damn if he didn’t want to press his face into the crook of her neck. As much as he thought he had his feelings under control, the reality of this moment still slammed through him with the force of a tornado.
Then she licked her lips and it was too much. All of it. The return to Stonecreek, the acrimony he couldn’t manage to fix with Trevor, their mother’s expectations and the constant undercurrent of his past mistakes that seemed to follow him everywhere, trailing behind like a child’s blanket.
He did the only thing he could think of in the moment.
He pressed his lips to Maggie’s mouth. It was perfect. Her softness, the sweet taste of apples, the feel of her body so close to him. All of it perfect.
Until she slapped him.
She shook out her hand, seeming as shocked by her reaction as he was. His cheek stung, although he figured he deserved that snap of pain and so much more.
“You kissed me.” The words were an accusation and he had the good sense to realize how out of line he’d been.
“I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
She made a noise in the back of her throat that might have been a growl. “Are you crazy?”
“About you?” He flashed a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I—Oof.” He stumbled when she pushed on his chest. Hard.
“No, no, no,” she said, her voice low, almost a snarl. Each exclamation was punctuated with another shove. “You don’t get to do this, Griffin Stone.”
He’d seen many sides of Maggie, but never had he seen her so angry. Color stained her cheeks and her breath was coming out in ragged puffs. “I’m not—”
“You rejected me.” She jabbed one finger into his chest. “You said horrible things about my sister and my family.”
“I was angry.” He wrapped his fingers around hers, pulled it away from his body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I’ve moved on,” she announced, yanking her hand from his. “Just like you.”
“Like me?”
“The woman you introduced me to. The one who calls you Grif. Oh, Grif...” She gave an overly girlish laugh. “You’re so handsome, Grif. So strong, Grif. Oh, Griffy-poo.”
“Cassie has never called me ‘Griffy-poo’ in her life.”
“Not the point,” Maggie ground out.
Right. What was the point? Why had he pulled her away from the festival in the first place? It certainly hadn’t been to kiss her. If he’d been thinking about anything other than how much he missed her, he would have known that was a horrible idea.
He’d wanted to talk to her about Cassie. She’d misinterpreted and—
“I’m dating someone.”
The statement jolted him back to the present moment.
“No.” The word came out as a puff of breath.
Her eyes narrowed again. “Yes. Well, not yet exactly. I’m going to date someone.”
“Hypothetically?” he demanded, feeling a muscle tick in his jaw. “Or in real life?”
“Real life. The man you saw.” She paused as if searching for a detail she’d forgotten. “James. He’s a doctor.”
“Bully for him.”
“For both of us,” she agreed. “I met him working on the hospital fund-raiser.”
“The one I’m hosting at the tasting room?”
“Your mother is the official host,” she pointed out, not very helpfully in his opinion.
“It’s my vineyard.”
“Your family’s vin—”
“You know what I mean,” he interrupted.
“I know...” She blew out a long breath. “We are not together. Your choice, Griffin. Has something changed?”
Panic spiked through him. He wanted to say yes, but it wasn’t true. He was as messed up as he’d been four months ago. Their past was messy, the present just as complicated. He’d told her he didn’t do complicated. He’d hurt her. The pain he’d caused still reflected in her gaze and he hated himself for it.
He’d grown so damn tired of hating himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, then shook his head.
She gave him a sad smile. “So many apologies between us.”
“I want it to be different.” As if that mattered when he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.
The smile faded from her face. “Me, too.”
“Maggie—”
“I need to get back to the festival.” She straightened her fitted red turtleneck sweater. The bottom edge of the butterfly on her cheek had smeared slightly where his thumb had grazed her face. “Brenna will be wondering about me.”
He nodded. “Have a good night, Maggie May.”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a small diamond stud glimmering in her lobe. She had beautiful ears. Every inch of her was beautiful to him.
“Have fun with Cassie,” she said, then whirled and hurried away.
He wanted to call after her, to explain there was nothing between him and his ex-girlfriend. But what good would that do? Would it change everything that prevented him from committing to Maggie?
No. It felt like nothing ever changed in Stonecreek.
Cassie had told him the noise around them didn’t matter, but it was all Griffin could hear, drowning out even the beat of his own heart.
* * *
Morgan Spencer shoved her phone into the top drawer of her desk when she heard her father’s footsteps on the creaky staircase of the house where she’d been born. Literally born in the bathtub down the hall.
This home and town were all she’d ever known. Her perfect life and her perfect family and she didn’t fit in at all.
There was a soft knock on the door and then her dad entered.
“Hey, Mo-Mo. No Fall Fest for you this year?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m grounded. Remember?”
Her father grimaced, looking slightly sheepish. “Of course. I remember. Fire at Harvest Vineyards. You and a toppled candle.”
“It was an accident,” she said, shame pulsing through her at the reminder of her stupidity.
“I understand, but there are still consequences to your actions, young lady.”
“I’m not so young,” she shot back.
“You’re sixteen.”
“Duh. It’s a wonder you even remember.”
“Attitude isn’t going to help, Morgan.” Her dad’s tone had turned abnormally disapproving. Jim Spencer was a big man. At fifty-one, his shoulders remained broad and only a sprinkling of silver darted his thick brown hair. Tonight he wore faded jeans and a ratty sweatshirt. From the earthy scent emanating from him, Morgan knew he’d spent the evening in his art studio. He spent most of his time there, immersed in the casts and sculptures that seemed dearer to him than his own children.
Morgan was probably the only one who cared about inattentiveness. Maggie had been fifteen when their mother died. She’d grown up quickly, stepping in to help raise Morgan and their younger brother, Ben, who was fourteen now and taller than Morgan. Ben had always been easy—‘the Buddha baby,’ Dad had called him. As long as he had snacks and video games, that boy was happy. Grammy had helped with all of them, but Maggie had always been the apple of Vivian Spencer’s eye. Morgan’s sister was smart and driven, polished and self-possessed in a way Morgan could never be.
Had never tried to be. She was the black sheep of the family, more so now that she was in high school and her inclination toward rebellion had found an outlet with the fast kids at her high school. She tended to fade into the background in the face of Maggie’s perfection and Ben’s affable nature. So when she’d discovered that she could get attention from the popular kids at school just by doing stupid things like playing chicken on the train tracks or toilet papering the principal’s house, it had been fun. It made her feel like she belonged for the first time in her life. Who wouldn’t want to belong?
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 (#u40edd0c4-b0d6-5bbc-bed3-2348bde592cc)
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, the 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.
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.
“All those people are going to raise a lot of money for the new pediatric wing at the hospital.”
“Sick kids are a big draw,” he muttered.
“Griffin Matthew Stone.” Jana Stone could communicate more saying his full name out loud than most politicians did throughout an entire career of making stump speeches. The blatant disapproval in her tone felt familiar, if off-putting.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s a worthy cause. I know that. Today was rough.”
“Cassie’s doing okay?” his mother asked, her voice gentling.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen someone with such a great attitude. If optimism could cure cancer, she’d be well tomorrow.”
Jana frowned. “I thought her prognosis was good.”
“There’s no sure thing,” he answered, “and I can’t shake the feeling she isn’t telling me the whole truth. The business about a friendly visit down here, then insisting I go back to Seattle with her for a day to meet her son? It was strange.”
“People have different ways of dealing with that kind of news. You did a good thing by making time for her.”
“The boy is cute...” He picked up another board from the stack piled near the wall. “If you’re into kids.”
“Which you aren’t,” his mother said with an overdramatic sigh.
“There’s time for that.”
“Maggie was here yesterday,” Jana said casually.
He straightened and pointed the hammer at his mom. “That was the worst transition in the history of the world.”
She shrugged. “Subtlety isn’t my thing.”
“No doubt.”
“Sass,” she said, lifting one brow.
“How is she?” He went back to measuring his next board as he asked the question, knowing if his mom saw his face she’d be able to read exactly what he was thinking. She’d always had that ability. It was damn annoying.
“Efficient and capable as ever. It’s thanks to the changes she made to the event registration that helped us increase ticket sales so much. There’s an app for RSVPs and it even tracks the silent auction items. People are already bidding and the gala isn’t for two weeks. That girl really knows her stuff.”
“Since when did you become such a Spencer fan?” he asked, biting down on the edge of a nail while he lifted the shiplap into place.
“I’m a fan of Maggie,” his mother corrected.
He began hammering the wood, not wanting to continue this conversation. At all.
“So is Dr. Starber,” she said loudly.
Griffin cursed as the hammer slammed against his thumb. He squeezed his fingers around the throbbing digit, bending forward and trying hard not to spit out the vilest words he knew. And that was saying something thanks to his years in the army and on various construction sites around the Pacific Northwest.
His mother tutted. “You should be careful. I can grab an ice pack from the main house.”
He shook out his hand. “It’s fine. Who’s Dr. Starber?”
“He’s the chief of pediatrics at Willamette Central Hospital,” she reported. “He’s a member of the planning committee and drops in on some of our meetings. We wanted his input on seating hospital staff.”
Griffin snorted. “What kind of doctor has time to go to gala meetings?”
“The kind,” Jana said with an eye roll, “who is interested in dating our Maggie.”
Your Maggie. Our Maggie.
A muscle ticked in Griffin’s jaw. In truth, he’d always thought of Maggie Spencer as her own person.
“What’s this Dr. Feel Good look like?” he demanded.
“Tall, with sandy-blond hair, ruddy cheeks and blue eyes.”
The man he’d seen talking to Maggie at the festival.
“He’s not nearly as handsome as you.” His mother patted his arm.
“I wasn’t aware I was competing with him.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Mom, you know there’s nothing going on with Maggie and me.”
“There was not so long ago,” she countered.
“It got complicated.” The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He hated that word. Complicated.
“It’s a relationship with a woman, Griffin.” Jana sniffed delicately. “Of course things got complicated. She isn’t a blow-up doll.”
“Mom.” He groaned. “Geez.”
She waved off his embarrassment. “All I’m saying is that you’d better do something if you don’t want to lose her.”
“She isn’t mine to lose.”
“She should be.”
He opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. “Why are you pushing this?” he asked instead. “You don’t even like the Spencers.”
“That’s not true.” Jana crossed her arms over her chest. “Vivian Spencer is a bully and always has been. I don’t care for her, but the rest of the family... They’re good people.”
“Even Morgan?”
“Those who live in glass houses...” his mom said gently and shame winged through Griffin. He’d been the king of adolescent stupidity in his time. “Morgan is a careless teenager who made a careless mistake. I don’t think it means she’s a terrible person. Maggie... Well, I’ll admit I was upset with how things ended between her and your brother.”
Griffin dropped the hammer to one of the sawhorses and tapped a finger on his chin, as if contemplating her words. “I’m fairly certain you had visions of tackling her to the ground and clawing out her eyes.”
“Always with the sass.” She shook her head. “I see now that the match never would have worked. Trevor...” She paused. “Your brother has done an amazing job with the Harvest brand. But he has bigger dreams than Stonecreek. I don’t want this life to limit him.”
“He made the choice to come back after college,” Griffin pointed out. “Dad made him the heir apparent. Trevor loves that.”
“Trevor feels loyal because of that,” she corrected. “It isn’t the same thing. The vines aren’t in his blood.”
Griffin frowned as he thought about that. He’d never considered what it meant that his brother didn’t feel the same way about the vineyard as he did. He was too busy being angry that Dad had chosen Trevor as his favorite and all but told Griffin he wasn’t worthy to be a part of the family legacy.
“Anyway,” his mom continued, “you’ve done an amazing job here and—”
“Was Dad my real father?” he blurted.
Jana’s face paled and her eyes widened. “What would make you ask such a thing?” she asked in a choked whisper.
He wanted to close his eyes against the pain he saw in her gaze but forced himself not to look away. He favored his mother’s family in looks, the green eyes and olive-toned skin, whereas Trevor was the spitting image of their father. Griffin hadn’t thought much about it as a kid, but as he’d grown older and his relationship with Dave Stone had deteriorated, he’d begun to question why his dad had seemed so unwilling to love him.
“He never liked me,” he said and his mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I just thought...if there was an explanation like—”
“You were his son,” she said flatly. “His biological son.”
“Huh.” Disappointment and relief flooded Griffin in equal measure.
“Oh, Griffin.” His mom moved forward, coming around the sawhorses to wrap her arms around him. “I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, and it kills me that you paid the price.”
“What mistakes?” He pulled back to look at her. “If there wasn’t another man...”
Jana wiped at her cheeks and sniffed.
“Mom, don’t cry.”
“It’s fine,” she told him, taking a step away. “I’m fine. But there was another man. A boy, really. We were so young, and I was in love. My family had moved here the summer before my senior year so my dad could take a job as a field hand. We were struggling, and Dad tended to be a messy drunk when he got down about our situation. We weren’t exactly good stock.”
“That’s not how I remember Pops,” Griffin argued.
“He cleaned himself up,” she said with a nod. “But back then, it was bad.” She smiled at him. “It’s why I’m so proud of how you’ve taken Cole under your wing. I wish I’d had someone like you in my life.”
“You had Dad.”
Her smile turned wistful. “Yes, I suppose I did, but it cost both of us. I’d been in love with someone else when I first met your father. The relationship didn’t work out.”
She looked so sad as she spoke the words. Outrage flared in Griffin at the thought that someone had hurt his mother. “Why?”
“It was complicated,” she said, laughing softly. “I started dating your dad right after we broke up. Things progressed quickly.” She shook her head. “I was on the rebound and we both knew it. He didn’t care because we were having fun. Then I got pregnant.”
“Did Dad think I wasn’t his?” Griffin asked, his mouth dry.
“No, but I’m not sure we would have lasted without a reason to get married. Your father and Trevor had a lot in common. He had big dreams. Staying in Stonecreek wasn’t part of his master plan, but with a wife and a baby... I didn’t leave him with a lot of options.”
“He shouldn’t have blamed you,” Griffin argued. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to get pregnant.”
Her gaze, which had always been the steadiest thing in his world, faltered. “I wanted a baby,” she whispered. “I wanted something that belonged to me. Someone who couldn’t leave me. Like I said, I was young and selfish, not thinking beyond what would make me happy.” She looked up, her eyes bright with another round of tears. “You made me so happy.”
“Dad didn’t feel the same way.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “It all worked out. He inherited the farm and planted the vines. Actually, he had you and me to thank for that.”
“How do you figure?”
“Your dad had saved enough money when I met him to go backpacking through Europe before he started college in the fall. He dropped out of school to get a job when I got pregnant and used the money for a down payment on the first house we bought. But when his dad died, we sold that house and moved here. I insisted he take the money and go to Europe. He came up with the idea for converting the farm to a vineyard in Italy.”
Griffin laughed without humor. “Did he ever thank you for that? Because I don’t remember his gratitude.”
“It was there.” Jana sighed. “He loved you in his own way.”
“Just not the same way he loved Trevor,” Griffin said, embarrassed that even as a grown man he still felt the lack of it.
“He’d be proud of who you’ve become.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Griffin said, although he wasn’t convinced. At least he understood where his dad’s animosity had come from, although the reason behind it was bogus.
She hugged him again. “Maybe you should ask Maggie to the gala.”
“I wasn’t planning on—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” she said, squeezing his arms as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re going. You’ll wear a tux. You’ll dance and make nice with people. And you’ll like it.”
“I won’t like it.”
“Fine. You don’t have to like it, but it would mean a lot to me if you attended.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’re having fun with this, Mom. It suits you.”
“It does.” She winked. “Back to work now. We’re close, but the tasting room has to be perfect.”
“It will be.”
“I know,” she said as she walked away, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I trust you.”
The words made his heart lighten. Despite everything they’d been through—all the complications life had thrown at them—his mother had always believed in him. Maybe she had a point and he shouldn’t worry so much about complicated. There was the distinct possibility things were only as complicated as he made them to be in his mind.
One thing was simple to understand.
He hadn’t stopped wanting Maggie. It might be time to focus on that once again.
Chapter Four (#u40edd0c4-b0d6-5bbc-bed3-2348bde592cc)
“How could you do it?” Morgan demanded, slamming her hand against Cole’s open locker. The metal banged shut and he pulled off his wireless headphones to stare at her.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said flatly.
“You ratted me out to my sister.” She’d been trying to track down Cole since Maggie and their dad had laid into her on Monday night, but she knew he wouldn’t respond to her texts and he hadn’t been at school yesterday.
He shrugged. “I talked to her. It’s not a crime.”
Even though a full day had passed, she was as angry as she’d been when first confronted about sneaking out. “I was already grounded. Now I have to go to her stupid office after school.”
His gray eyes flashed with anger. “You might have been grounded, but that didn’t mean you were staying home.”
“How would you know?” she demanded. “You’ve dumped all your friends this year.”
“They’re not my friends.” He stepped closer, looming over her like he was trying to be intimidating. “They aren’t yours, either.”
“My life,” she snapped, “is none of your business. You made it very clear you have no interest in me.”
“I never said that,” he whispered and unexpectedly reached out a finger to trace the seam of her ruby-red lips. “You’re prettier without all the war paint.”
She glared at him. “It’s makeup,” she said through clenched teeth. “Way to insult me.”
One side of his mouth pulled up in the closest thing to a smile she’d seen on his face in months. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“Oh.” Morgan dabbed at the corners of her eyes, embarrassed and angry that tears pricked the backs of them. She glanced down at her fingertips, which came away black from the heavy eyeliner she’d taken to wearing because it bothered her grandmother so much.
“I was trying to do you a favor by talking to your sister,” Cole said, his tone low and rumbly. Unlike a lot of boys in her class, his voice had changed completely, deepening so that he sounded like a man. He acted more mature than most guys she knew, too, even though the trouble he’d caused with his teenage antics before moving to Stonecreek was still plastered all over social media.
He’d told her—told everyone—that he’d changed. Maybe it was true. No one really saw him other than when he was at school. Morgan knew his home life was awful and he spent most of his free time out at Harvest Vineyards, working for Griffin.
“I got in more trouble,” she said, jutting out her chin. She wasn’t quite willing to forgive him so easily.
“Not as much trouble as you’re going to find if you don’t drop the losers.”
She gritted her teeth, unable to muster a decent comeback. The friends she hung out with now were the school’s wild kids, more interested in ditching class and smoking pot under the bleachers than any kind of learning. Morgan didn’t do drugs. She hadn’t yet anyway, and although she always accepted a cup of whatever drink they were passing around, she mostly pretended to down it.
“I’m in with them now,” she whispered. She’d worked so hard to rebel. The thought almost made her laugh. What kind of poser had to make a concerted effort to do the wrong thing? But it was easier to embrace the role of family miscreant. Compared to perfect Maggie and easygoing Ben, she was the oddball out. At least that was how she felt after her mom died eleven years ago.
Her throat stung as she grasped for memories of her kind, gentle mother. Mom had always loved Morgan just the way she was. Unlike Grammy. And who knew who Dad wanted her to be? He was so preoccupied with his studio that it was a wonder he even remembered her name.
She’d tried to follow in Maggie’s footsteps—but the straight and narrow had never been a great fit for Morgan. She hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere until she’d started running with the wild kids last year. Ripped clothes, a constant sneer and the right kind of makeup, and she was set.
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