Back in His Bed. Heidi RiceЧитать онлайн книгу.
any soap opera plot to shame.
But she’d have to meet with Jack eventually. The thought kicked her heartbeat up a notch, and all the cleansing breaths in the world couldn’t help calm it. She needed to be an adult about this. She needed to concentrate on the present and not let the past interfere.
Her glib response to Ted was starting to sound pretty good: a meeting on neutral ground, with lawyers doing most of the talking so she wouldn’t have to. This was business, not personal, and surely she could swallow all the competing emotions long enough to get through a business meeting.
Many years ago Jack had told her how important it was to keep her personal life from rolling over into her business dealings. “Don’t ever let one affect the other,” he’d said. It was a major point of pride with him, and it seemed to work well as he expanded Garrett Properties all down the west coast.
Jack would want to keep this strictly business. If she could do that, it would make things a lot easier. For everyone, but most especially for her and her sanity.
Brenna took a deep breath, feeling a little better after her self-therapy session. They could come to a workable situation. One that was business only and ignored all the messiness of the past.
The fact she’d been crazy enough to marry him once wouldn’t be a problem at all.
Jack sincerely hoped insanity didn’t run in the family. That Max’s will was merely an act of early-onset senility caused by too much wine over the years, or even some kind of weird joke on Max’s part. There had to be an explanation, and he’d love to have just five minutes with his father to find out what the punch line was supposed to be.
Otherwise, insanity was the only explanation he had for the fact he now owned half of a winery in Sonoma. Him personally—not the company.
And the other half belonged to Brenna Walsh.
Brenna should be a footnote in his dating history—a cautionary tale about youthful infatuation and reckless decision-making—not a recurring character in his life.
Bad decisions must go hand-in-hand with anything Brenna-related, because he spent most of the drive out to Sonoma questioning his decision to handle this in person. His attorney, Roger, had offered to take care of it, but for some unknown reason, he felt this was a discussion he and Brenna should have face-to-face. The closer he got to the vineyard and Brenna, though, the more he realized this probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. God knew he had enough work on his desk waiting for him, and his trip to New York to negotiate the expansion of Garrett Properties should be his main focus right now, but he’d decided to get this off his plate first.
He rolled his eyes. He should have waited, gotten through more important, more pressing issues first, instead of letting his desire to cut ties with this place override his common sense.
The vines almost covering the sign welcoming him to Amante Verano had matured in the five years since he’d been out here for Brenna’s mother’s funeral, and grapes hung heavily from the canopy. As he turned on to the property the acres of vines laid out in perfectly aligned rows, the white stucco house at the top of the hill, and the weathered wooden winery building created a picturesque scene straight out of a movie’s stock footage file.
Change came slowly to Amante Verano—if it ever came at all—and it looked much the same as it had when Max had bought the winery twelve years ago.
That had been before Max’s hobby had turned into his obsession. Before he’d left San Francisco for good and moved out here full-time to play in his grapes. Before Jack had become the Garrett in charge of Garrett Properties and the responsibility had consumed his entire life.
He drove slowly past the little house—that was Brenna’s free and clear now, even if Max had converted it into the winery’s shop once Brenna and her mother had moved into the main house—and noted the gravel parking lot was empty. Well, it was still early in the day for the tourists on their trips to wine country.
Where to find Brenna? Her lab? The office? He just wanted this over and done with as quickly as possible, so he could get back to civilization and his life. This place hung like an albatross around his neck, and the sooner he could get Brenna’s signature on the documents, the better.
He didn’t even like wine, for God’s sake.
As he crested the next low hill he could see a tractor lumbering its way in the direction of the winery, the trailer overflowing with grapes.
He had never learned the intricacies of grapegrowing or wine-making, and what little he had picked up he’d tried hard to forget, but even he knew it was early for harvesting. A strange turn of events, but it answered his first question nicely.
Brenna would be somewhere in those damn vines.
He sighed. He could either trudge through the vineyard looking for her, or he could wait at the house until she was finished for the day.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered to himself.
Cursing the entire ridiculous situation, Jack took his overnight case and laptop into the house, dropped them in what had used to be his room, and headed down the hill on foot to find his ex-wife.
“Brenna, they need you at the building. The pump’s acting up again,” Ted called from the end of the row she was working on. “Rick kicked it and nothing happened, so he asked me to get you.”
Brenna sighed. The new pump was on backorder, and wouldn’t be here until sometime in the next couple of weeks. Which would have been in plenty of time for the crush if Ted’s grapes had kept to their usual timetable. “Did he kick it in the right place?”
Ted nodded. “Twice.”
Straightening, she slid her clippers into her back pocket and pulled off her gloves, before wiping a hand across her sweaty forehead. “Great. Exactly what I didn’t want to do today. Do you have this under control?”
“Of course. I didn’t need you out here to begin with,” he teased.
They didn’t have time for this, and they would only get further behind if she had to take the whole pump apart again. Beads of sweat rolled down her spine, and she grimaced at the feeling. At least she’d be out of the heat sooner than planned. She’d call Dianne and get her to bring a clean shirt along with their lunches.
She pulled her cellphone out of her other pocket, replacing it with her gloves. Dialing Dianne as she walked, she didn’t see the man who stepped into her path until she ran face-first into him. The force knocked her hat off her head, and the cellphone hit the dust at her feet.
“Sorry,” she said, as strong hands closed around her arms to steady her. In the split second that followed her brain registered the fine cotton shirt—far too nice for any of her guys to be wearing while they worked—the strangely familiar feeling of the man’s grasp, and the subtle spicy scent tickling her nostrils.
And then her brain shut down altogether as one thought crystallized: Jack.
“It’s a bit early to be harvesting, isn’t it, Brenna?”
His deep voice rumbled through her, causing her brain to misfire in shock, but the bite of sarcasm brought her world back into focus. Shrugging off his hands in what she hoped was a casual way, she tried to match his tone. “The grapes are ready when the grapes are ready. You should know that.”
She made the mistake of meeting his eyes when she spoke, and the smoky blue stare caused her to take a step back. She bent to retrieve her hat, but as she stood, she saw the assessing roaming those eyes made down her body, taking in her sweat-darkened T-shirt, battered jeans, and dusty work boots before settling back on her face.
She just hoped the flush she felt on her cheeks looked like a response to the heat of the sun, not the heat of his stare.
One of his dark eyebrows arched up at her in surprise as she captured her ponytail under her hat and pulled the brim down to shade her eyes.
“You