Be Mine Forever (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (25 page)

Closing down the studio for three days hadn’t been an option, but neither was Cooper missing out on his first big campout. She didn’t want him to spend his school vacation wondering what he did to make Trey go away. Sara would be thinking that enough for the both of them.

Which was why yesterday, after a good cry in the car, followed by a pep talk where she assured herself that she would be fine, that she could survive two nights in that house alone and not fall to pieces, she’d given Roman a call. He’d been wonderful, assuring her that Cooper was going to have a great time and would handle himself like a champ, not asking the obvious questions about why Trey wasn’t going or why she sounded like she’d been bawling her eyes out.

She refused to bawl again since Roman was due to arrive any minute to take Cooper on his first mommy-free camping trip as the honorary member of Team Blaze—yesterday’s conversation with him had been embarrassing enough.

“He’s here,” Cooper said, smashing his face against the glass. “He’s here.”

Oh God, not yet. Sara looked at the clock and felt panic kick in. She was supposed to have ten more minutes to run through phone numbers, emergency instructions, a dozen or so last hugs before Roman walked in, since Cooper informed her last night that hugs were for babies and not allowed in mixed company.

“Remember, Roman has a phone. If you need me, call. If you get scared, call. If you just want to say hi, call.”

Only Cooper wasn’t listening, he was actually vibrating with excitement and waving out the window. Okay, she’d made the right decision.

“Don’t touch any red plants, or anything that slithers or has a stinger, and remember, I’m coming Monday to see the race and then I’m staying the night.”

“On the other side of the lake,” Cooper clarified. “With the girls.”

“Right, with the girls,” Sara assured him.

A knock sounded. Sara opened door and screen to say hi and felt her heart drop to her toes. Instead of Roman with his friendly, you-can-count-on-me smile, Trey stood at the door looking as handsome as ever.

Dressed in his Team Bros T-shirt, a new rucksack, and a cap that said M
ANNY
U
P
, he looked like a Hubby-for-Hire. Only she wanted permanent employment, she reminded herself painfully, and he still considered himself a contractor by nature.

“Trey!” Cooper yelled, getting airborne before wrapping his arms around Trey’s body. “You came. I knew that you’d come. He came, Mom, see?”

“I do see,” Sara said carefully. “It was nice of him to come and say good-bye.”

She was too afraid to allow herself to believe this visit was anything more than just that—a promised good-bye. And she didn’t want Cooper to get his hopes up only to be let down again.

“I couldn’t miss seeing you all geared up for your first big bro-bash, now could I?” Trey said, hugging him back. His gaze met Sara’s, tired and unsure. “You look like you’re all packed and ready to go.”

Cooper unraveled himself from Trey’s legs and smiled up at him. “Yup, I made a list, like you told me to so I didn’t forget anything. ’Cept the tent, I don’t have a tent.” And there went the hands in the pocket and the nervous swaying. “Or your flashlight.”

“I brought the flashlight.” Trey reached in his pack and pulled it out. It was silver, metal, and completely normal, but somehow it did look brighter.

“Wow.” Cooper’s eyes went wide with awe. “I have one too. Batman. With extra batteries. But it isn’t shiny like yours.”

“That’s the magic working.”

“I can tell.” Cooper said with a reverence to his voice that made Sara’s chest pinch.

One didn’t have to be a kid whisperer to figure out that Cooper took Trey’s unexpected appearance as a sign that he’d changed his mind and Team Bros was back in business. Sara went to defuse the situation before things got bad—strike that, worse—when Trey ruffled Cooper’s hair and squatted before him.

“I know that you are sleeping in Roman and Matt’s tent, but if your mom’s okay with it, I’d like to tag along.” He was talking to Cooper, but his attention was solely on Sara.

“Really?” Cooper looked up at Sara with so much hope in his eyes, breathing became impossible. “We can be Team Bros just like you said?”

“If it’s all right with your mom.”

“Why don’t you go grab a juice box from the kitchen for the trip and let me and Trey talk about this?” Sara said quietly.

Cooper studied the two adults, then with a jerky breath looked utterly crestfallen. He gave a small nod and turned to leave. Sadly, he already knew how this worked, because he stopped at the hallway and turned back. “If Mommy says no, will you go away before I get back?”

Sara watched Trey struggle to swallow. “No, buddy. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

After Cooper’s sneakers disappeared down the hall, Sara pushed through the pain and managed to speak without breaking down. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here, but thank you. You made Cooper’s day.”

“I made him a promise and I want to show him that I’m not the kind of man that bails on promises.”

“Oh.” She forced herself to smile through the tears. Now she and Cooper were two other people he was afraid to disappoint. She didn’t want him here because he felt morally obligated, she wanted him here because there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Trey set his pack next to Cooper’s smaller one and reached out to take her hand as though what he’d just said hadn’t hurt. Or that yesterday, a part of her world hadn’t ended.

“I also came because we never finished our dance.” He pulled her into the perfect proper dance position and Sara felt all of the tears she’d been holding inside fight for release.

“So you came here to dance?” She loved him with everything that she was, but this was just too hard. She took a step back, out of his arms. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane or in Italy?”

“It doesn’t matter, because where I need to be is here, with you. And Cooper.”

“Trey, Cooper and I will be just fine. He’s going to camp, I have it arranged so I can see the race, everything worked out,” she said, hoping he’d just leave. It had taken everything she had not to lose it in front of Cooper, and she was holding on by a thread, but if he kept talking about her as another item on his list to be checked off, she’d crumble—and wouldn’t that be humiliating. “So see, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You don’t. I get that you made a promise, but life happens and Cooper will understand. This time he will understand, next time it will crush him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, or you ever again.”

“Then go,” she pleaded. “Our life is here and yours is waiting for you, just a plane ride away until you get to start breathing again, following your dreams, living the kind of life that you want. Believe me, I understand.” At least the logical part of her did, her heart unfortunately wasn’t listening. “You were honest about what you could offer. I was the one who changed mid-adventure.”

“You are my life,” he whispered, closing the distance. “You make me happy. And around you, I can be the kind of man my nonno would have been proud of. My whole life has been a series of adventures and stopovers, Sara. The only place I have felt connected to since my parents died is right here.” He pulled her into his arms, his palms sliding down her back to cradle her against him. Slowly, he started swaying. “You and me, just like this. This is my home, Sara.”

“For how long?” she whispered, because she wanted to be his home. She wanted to be his family.

“When you asked me to be your February,” he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, “I think I was half in love with you then, but I was still too busy running to realize it. I’m tired of running, and I want to come home to you and Cooper. Every night.”

She stumbled slightly and sucked in a breath. “You love me?”

“Every piece of you,” he breathed, his hand tightening around her. “I love the way you smell, the way you feel in my arms. I love the way you love your son and that you don’t take my crap. And I love the way you look in those skirts.” With a low sound of male appreciation, he pulled her flush, waltzing them slowly around the family room. “God, I love dance skirts. I even love station wagons, because I read online that they have one of the highest safety ratings, and what’s not to love about safety ratings?”

She gave a little laugh, but it came out more of a half sob.

“And I love you. I don’t need Italy or a new job. I need you, Sara.” Trey gently draped her over his arm in an elegant dip. Their gazes locked, their bodies pressed tight, his mouth hovered over hers, and Sara felt her heart swell. “But you know what I love the most?”

Unable to speak through the tears, she shook her head.

“I love how you look when you’re happy. And if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making you and Cooper happy. Building a life here in St. Helena or wherever you want to live. As long as it’s with you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.

He smiled and everything inside her stilled. Garrett was her first love and would always be her first love, but she knew in her heart that Trey would be her last.

“Sara, will you be my forever?”

“Only if you’ll be mine,” Sara whispered.

Trey captured her lips in a kiss that shook her to the core. It was gentle and possessive and so right, she knew that this was what she’d been waiting for. He was who she’d been waiting for. Everything in her life had merged to prepare her for this one moment—this one man.

The kiss ended and Sara buried her face against his chest, breathing him in, listening to his heartbeat while they gently swayed. And Sara knew, at last, what forever felt like.

READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT MARINA ADAIR’S NEXT ROMANCE SET IN ST. HELENA

FROM THE MOMENT WE MET

Available Summer 2014 on
Amazon.com

M
ost women spend an average of 150 hours fantasizing and dreaming about the perfect wedding. Not Abigail DeLuca. Nope, she’d spent the past seven years planning the perfect divorce, which as of—she glanced at her watch—eight hours ago had finally been granted. And nobody was going to ruin her first day as a happy divorcée.

Nobody, she thought grimly, looking at the bear of a man in grease-stained coveralls standing on her front porch, except her pencil-dick of a two-timing ex.

The man pulled his Rodney’s Recovery, Repossession & Party Rentals trucker hat low on his forehead and flashed a copy of Abby’s marriage certificate. “Are you Abigail Moretti, wife of Richard Moretti?”

“Ex-wife. As of today,” she clarified, pulling her robe tighter. Her new, silky blue robe that did amazing things to her skin—and her cleavage. She’d bought it specifically to wear today, wanting a perky start to her new life. A bold and confident start. None of which included coming face-to-face with Rodney. “And my name is DeLuca. Abigail DeLuca.”

She stopped going by Moretti the day she discovered that Richard’s favorite pastime during intern season was playing hide the salami.

“Abby?” A weathered voice called out from over the picket fence that separated her property from the busiest busybody and gossip in St. Helena, save her Nonna ChiChi. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kinkaid. Just getting the morning paper.”

“Well, you might want to invite your gentleman friend inside before tongues start wagging,” Nora chided, peering over the fence. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Nora was the self-appointed Neighborhood Watch Commissioner of the cul-de-sac and took her job seriously. She meticulously chronicled her neighbors’ comings and goings, being sure to report any odd findings on her Facebook wall. Even issuing citations for infringement of the Good Neighbor Code.

Nora had been looking for a reason to cite Abby ever since her cat, Cujo, allegedly sharpened her claws on Mrs. Kincaid’s magnolia tree.

“He’s not my gentleman friend,” Abby said, and because she was raised in a house where being rude to one’s elders was considered a sacrilege, she refrained from pointing out that spying on thy neighbor was not a respectable hobby.

“If you say so,” Nora said, unconvinced. “It would be a shame if the neighborhood became a drive-thru for the town’s bachelors.”

Nora would be ecstatic if that happened, because she’d capture each and every transgression on film and post it on Facebook. Not that there would be any transgressions of the male variety. Abby was finally single and she meant to keep it that way.

So with a polite smile she said, “And he was just leaving.”

Only Rodney didn’t budge.

Raising a brow, Abby reached for the door handle and, as though anticipating her next move, which was to disappear back inside her house, pull the curtains, and toast her first D-Day with a mimosa, he took a step forward. And wasn’t that just like a man: self-centered, domineering, and, even though he was the one who was crapping all over her good morning, determined to be heard.

Abby took in the receding hairline, frown marks, and tow truck parked at her curb—her gaze landing on the R
EPOSSESS
part of his title—and rolled her eyes. “If you’re here to repossess Richard’s car, you wasted your time, because like I explained only seconds ago, that’s my car in the drive and Richard is not here.”

Nor was he her problem.

“So if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for an appointment.” Which was not until tonight. But standing on the front porch in her sexy robe, talking to a strange man, while her neighbors idly placed bets on whether he was the first post-D-Day walk-of-shamer, was not her idea of easing into a respectable singlehood.

“I’ll make it quick then. The name’s Rodney, of Rodney’s Recovery, Repossession & Party Rentals.” He pointed to the logo on the front of his hat as though that was all the identification required and extended a newspaper clipping. “I need to confirm if you are the Abby Moretti, uh, the Abby who placed this ad in the local paper.”

Abby’s face heated as she looked at the front page of the
St. Helena Sentinel
. It was a copy dating from last summer, boasting a missing person’s announcement with a photo of Richard that had been taken on their wedding day. He was dressed in a tux, looking handsome and faithful, and like a man in love. Abby nearly snorted.

“Yes, I was trying to locate my estranged husband so that I could”—she paused, her face heating—but this time with anger. “Wait. Don’t tell me that the son of a bitch is trying to sue me for defamation of character? It was an ad. That I had to place because he refused to show his cheating face so I could serve him with divorce papers.”

Richard had successfully managed to elude her, her family, and the law for the past seven years.

Rodney raised a brow. “The headline reads, H
AVE
Y
OU
S
EEN
M
Y
D
ICK?
”

“It was the question of the hour for women everywhere, I assure you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, you are Abigail Moretti, who married Richard Moretti in St. Helena, California, eight years ago.”

When Abby only crossed her arms, Rodney gave a decisive nod. Turning around, he waved his hand, signaling—who, Abby had no idea, but her stomach sank all the same when he hollered, “Bring it on in. This is the right house.”

Before Abby could process what was happening, a loud beeping echoed throughout the cul-de-sac announcing the ginormous truck backing up—right over her lawn, the garden bunny one of her piano students had painted for her, and straight through the center of her dahlia garden. Her beautiful dahlias that she’d planted and nurtured into a masterpiece of horticulture supremeness.

It was the centerpiece of her yard. Hell, it was the centerpiece of the whole damn neighborhood.

“What are you doing?” Abby yelled, racing down the steps and waving a signal of her own. “Stop!”

“Sorry, but we only get paid if we make the delivery as per the instructions.” Rodney hollered after her. “And we had some pretty specific instructions on this here delivery.”

“But my dahlias!”

Rodney at least had the decency to look apologetic, but the truck didn’t stop, not until it had torn up a good half of her lawn and smashed every last bloom in her garden. Then the beeping became more alarming and the open flatbed of the truck lifted and that was when Abby knew that Richard was a complete bastard.

Before she could say a word or throw herself in front of the oncoming disaster that was quickly becoming her life, an Adonis-inspired statue slid down the ramp of the truck, landing gracefully on her lawn with a small thud.

“Oh my,” Nora sighed with an expression of sheer appreciation. “Isn’t that an eyeful?”

Eyeful indeed.
Standing well over six feet tall and, except for the embellished bulge and generous amount of hair, the marble statue was a spot-on replica of her ex. Even down to the smarmy smile and trademarked wink.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Rodney said, making Abby realize that she was staring.

“I’ll say.” Nora started fanning herself and a series of impressed grunts came from the two men who exited the delivery truck to take in the sight.

“He wasn’t that big,” Abby felt the need to point out, then realized how
that
sounded and clarified. “Tall. I meant that he wasn’t that tall. The man was only five ten. With lifts.”

Looking extremely satisfied with himself, Rodney extended a pen and a clipboard. “I need you to sign here, here, and here.”

“And I need you to remove that”—Abby waved a hand at the statue—“monstrosity, before I call the cops.”

“No can do.” Rodney rocked back on his heels. “I got paid for a delivery. It’s been delivered.”

“Then I’ll pay you to deliver it somewhere else.”

Mulling over her request, Rodney sized up Abby, then took his time sizing up the statue, finally shaking his head in pure-male awe. “You sure? It’s a statement maker. Really brings out the character of your yard.”

“My yard has plenty of character and
that
is not the kind of statement I want to be making.”

“Plus it’s in violation of GN Code 27C,” Nora explained. “Garden art can’t be more than three feet tall with a base not exceeding half the height, unless it has a water element to it, and then you must get board approval of the fixture.”

“Oh, it’s got a water feature all right,” Rodney explained ever so seriously, resting his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “All Mrs. Moretti’s got to do is run a water line to the base and then water shoots out his—”

“There will be no shooting,” Abby insisted, her right eye beginning to twitch. “And it’s not staying. In fact, I will pay you to deliver it back to where it came from.”

She was tired of being manipulated by men. There was no way she’d let Richard weasel his way into her life—not again. She wasn’t that lost, heartbroken college student anymore. She was a successful, independent, man-free woman who was in charge of her own destiny and—

Oh. My. God.
Abby froze at the sight of a real-life Adonis pounding the pavement—pavement that happened to be covered in her Neighborhood Watch territory. Moving with a confidence and masculine grace that was far too natural to be manufactured, Abby had no doubt that Jack “Hard Hammer” Tanner was 100 percent unadulterated male perfection—no embellishment needed.

At six feet five and two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, Jack Tanner was a mountain of testosterone and sculpted male perfection. He was sporting a pair of black jogging shorts slung low on his hips, a San Francisco 49ers ball cap, and matching T-shirt, which—
sweet baby Jesus
—dangled from his waistband instead of covering his chest, leaving miles of tan torso that made her mouth dry and her palms wet.

Which was why she sagged with relief at the sight of him jogging down the cul-de-sac and past her house.

Her premature celebration ended when, as though her morning wasn’t complicated enough, Tanner’s footsteps slowed as he passed her lawn and, without warning, abruptly retraced his steps, coming to a stop at the curb of her driveway. He took in Shrine de Richard, then his gaze drifted to Abby, pinning her with an amused look before releasing a lethal smile that left more than just her hands wet.

Another in a long list of reasons to stay away from him.

“Before we can talk terms,” Rodney said, and Abby had to strain to understand him over the blood pounding in her ears, “we have to close out this transaction.”

“Fine.” Abby grabbed the clipboard and scribbled her name. A here, here, and here later, she was one step closer to eliminating Richard from her life, and it gave her something to do besides gawk at the way Tanner’s muscles played as he jogged up the driveway—straight toward her.

Rodney took the clipboard. “I can get your package—”

“It’s not my package,” she clarified as Tanner strode up. He didn’t talk, just silently situated himself way too close for her to ignore. But she did her damnedest.

“That signature there says it is,” Rodney reminded her, his meaty finger stabbing at her signature scrawled on the delivery slip. Then he flipped the page and wrote up a new delivery form and handed it to her. “Now, if you want to hire me to ship it back, then that’s going to cost you nineteen-oh-four, with tax.”

“Fine. I’ll go get my purse.”

“We don’t take checks.”

“I have cash,” she said.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable carrying that much money around on my person,” Rodney said, running a greasy hand down the front of his coveralls.

At his comment, Abby looked at the total he’d scribbled on the paper and felt her heart plummet straight to her toes. “You’re going to charge me two grand to return a statue that isn’t even mine?”

“You signed for it so it’s—”

“Mine. Yeah, yeah,” Abby mumbled. “But two grand?”

“You see the size of him,” Rodney said, his eyes straying back to Richard’s package.

“He wasn’t that big!”

“Need any help?” Tanner offered sweetly from beside her. She could feel him staring, feel his amusement pressing down on her.

“Nope, I’ve got it.” Abby squared her shoulders and signed the form.

Last year, she’d set out to get herself a divorce and living arrangements that didn’t include her childhood bed or her nonna as a roommate. Check. And check. This year, she was determined to prove to this town—and herself—that she could stand on her own two feet. Starting today.

And that didn’t include a man.

“Do you take credit cards?” Abby asked, the twitching behind her eye now encompassing the entire front lobe of her head.

“Yup. Let me call the station and make arrangements.” Rodney disappeared into the cab of his truck, leaving Abby alone with Tanner.

“I got to hand it to you, if that’s your solution to ward off would-be suitors, it’s working, darling.” The way he said darling, low and husky, felt like an intimate caress. Too bad he was staring at Richard’s over-embellished ego. “It’s enough to give most guys a complex.”

“You intimidated, Jack?” she asked, pulling her robe even tighter.

“Nope.”

Of course he wasn’t. The man was far too capable and accomplished to give into anything as silly as intimidation. Most people admired that about Tanner. Abby just found it annoying.

Almost as annoying as the way her heart picked up as Tanner’s gaze took a lazy journey down her body. She resisted the urge to smooth down her hair, just like she resisted the urge to kick him in the shin, when his gaze reached her feet and he chuckled. She didn’t need to look down to realize that she was wearing her Godzilla slippers—they were big, green, badass, and growled every time she walked.

“And I’m not just any guy,” he said, leaning in until she could smell the clean sweat and male perfection wafting off of him. “I’m a Hall of Famer.”