Книга - Falling For The Wrong Brother

Falling For The Wrong Brother
Michelle Major


Minutes from marrying the wrong groom!Runaway bride Maggie Spencer doesn’t anticipate the fallout from fleeing her wedding.But the town’s rival families are in turmoil and her reputation in question. Could former bad boy Griffin Stone be her only hope?Maggie and Griffin will return in Second Chance in Stonecreek and A Stonecreek Christmas Reunion.







Minutes from marrying...the wrong groom!

Book one of the Maggie & Griffin trilogy

Runaway bride Mayor Maggie Spencer doesn’t anticipate the fallout from fleeing her wedding. But both the town’s rival families are in turmoil, and her reputation is in question. And riding to her rescue is her ex’s brother! Once, bad boy Griffin Stone ran from challenges, but now, though the timing and the town are against them, he’ll have to fight—for Maggie and their forbidden 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 (#ulink_4e32b634-3c77-5223-9e6d-d17714e22146)

Coming Home to Crimson Sleigh

Bells in Crimson Romancing the

Wallflower Christmas on Crimson

Mountain Always the Best Man

A Baby and a Betrothal

Her Soldier of Fortune

A Fortune in Waiting

Secrets of the A-List

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Falling for the Wrong Brother

Michelle Major






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07811-5

FALLING FOR THE WRONG BROTHER

© 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Amy: thanks for being a fantastic friend

and co-mom. I couldn’t do it without you! XO


Contents

Cover (#uc2767392-9d77-5f91-92da-a5bcbc743857)

Back Cover Text (#u2061e8d6-341d-5392-8a1a-7c2cfdf6af5f)

About the Author (#u6ab2edf9-01ac-50cc-8b13-e38d3215c750)

Booklist (#ulink_c2bbc933-50e1-567d-b620-04baaf453064)

Title Page (#u6143e1d7-3ea5-5584-8754-3b2bb1c15450)

Copyright (#u8d9e07d3-341e-5e4c-8103-2862f165f1a8)

Dedication (#ueb72cf01-fe7e-5f15-bfaf-d4e38608edf3)

Chapter One (#ue380924c-91d2-578e-9c27-8c0fcc1dd45c)

Chapter Two (#u59f35652-8560-5ac5-89a1-bae976214766)

Chapter Three (#ub0788721-c56a-5f70-9013-e756714fccfb)

Chapter Four (#u35faad58-3052-5d89-b406-bc5ca90da766)

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)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u5977e61f-9e4f-582f-8d68-9530ecbfba97)

Why did wedding dresses have to be so white?

The question flitted through Maggie Spencer’s mind as she hurried down the tree-lined street in Stonecreek, Oregon, the town that had been her family’s home and passion for over a hundred years. Away from the First Congregational Church, away from her family and friends and from her remorseful, apologetic and cheating fiancé.

Oh, yes. Far away from Trevor Stone.

Hurried might not be the right word. It was difficult to hurry wearing five pounds of satin and lace plus high heels that pinched her feet to the point that she was ready to lop off a baby toe just to ease the pain.

She refused to take off the shoes because the physical discomfort distracted her from the ache in her chest. Tears threatened each time she thought of the repercussions of running away from her wedding five minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin.

The clock in the tower overlooking the town square a few blocks away began to chime, echoing the rhythmic lurch in her stomach. The wedding was starting.

Without her.

She gathered bunches of fabric in her hands and draped the dress’s train over one arm. Grammy had insisted on a dress with a train, mainly so Maggie’s younger sister would have a reason to hold it, putting Morgan on display for the good people of Stonecreek.

“It worked for Pippa,” Grammy had commented drily. “Morgan’s backside is just as worthy of going viral if you ask me.”

Although no one needed to ask Grammy’s opinion because she was happy to offer it unsolicited.

A car drove past, honked once. It wasn’t every day that a bride took a stroll in her wedding gown. Sweat trickled between Maggie’s shoulder blades, despite the June breeze fluttering the blooms on the oak trees that canopied the street. Not a cloud marred the robin’s-egg-blue sky, a stroke of good luck for the marriage, according to Maggie’s grandmother.

So much for positive omens.

Maggie kept her gaze forward, sending out a silent prayer the honking driver was no one she knew. Then again, most everyone Maggie knew was waiting in the church. Close to three hundred people crammed into the pews to witness the two most powerful families in Stonecreek finally united by marriage.

Or not.

She picked up the pace, wincing as her heel caught on a crack in the pavement and her ankle rolled. She’d just righted herself when a hulking SUV pulled up next to her.

“I’m fine,” she called, holding up a hand and keeping her eyes trained forward as she lifted her dress higher off the ground.

“You’re going the wrong way, Maggie May,” a voice said, the tone a deep timbre that sent shivers along her bare arms.

The fabric dropped from her hands as that voice ricocheted through her. The tip of one heel tangled in her wedding dress, and she tripped and fell hard to the pavement. She managed to get herself to all fours, tears pricking the backs of her eyes, as much from embarrassment as the sting to her palms and knees.

She focused on drawing in a few deep breaths, but the air escaped her lungs when a pair of scuffed cowboy boots moved into her line of sight.

“Need a hand?”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, giving a little shake of her head. A thousand rattlesnakes could have her surrounded and she still wouldn’t accept help from Griffin Stone.

Faking composure, Maggie started to stand, then yelped when her right ankle screamed in protest.

“You’re hurt.” Griffin wrapped his hands around her arms and lifted her to her feet like she weighed nothing.

Glancing up through her lashes, she saw that a decade away from Stonecreek had honed him into every inch an alpha male, rugged and broad-shouldered. His dark blond hair was longer, curling at the ends as it skimmed the collar of the crisp white dress shirt he wore under a suit jacket. She knew he was well over six feet—even in her heels he towered over her. A few years older than she was, he’d been the cutest boy in high school—and the wildest by far—but now his looks were downright lethal.

“I twisted my ankle,” she confirmed, shrugging out of his grasp and trying not to put weight on her right leg. “Stupid shoes. I still don’t need your help.” She glared at him. “What are you doing here anyway? Trevor said you weren’t coming back for the wedding, and you never RSVP’d.”

He inclined his head and she felt more than saw his smile, a slight softening around the corners of his stormy green eyes. “Last-minute change of plans.”

“You’re late,” she muttered, sweat beading on her forehead as the pain in her ankle began to radiate up her leg. She needed to get away from Griffin and take off the stupid heels her bridesmaids had convinced her to buy.

“Apparently, I’m not the only one.” He took a step forward, then reached around her to open the passenger-side door on his vintage Land Cruiser. “You don’t have to like me, Maggie, but get in the car before you pass out from the pain of whatever you did to your ankle.”

She bit down on her lip to keep the tears at bay. Of all the people to see her in this state, why did it have to be Griffin? He’d been the star of every one of her foolish teenage fantasies. She hadn’t even cared that bad-boy Griffin Stone barely acknowledged her existence, even though she and Trevor had been friends since she’d thrown up on him their first day of kindergarten.

Griffin was three years older and a world apart from Maggie. He’d made it clear in the sneering, searing way he had that he thought her nothing more than a silly, spoiled princess. Now she was a pathetic mess.

It grated on her nerves to have Griffin bear witness to the most humiliating moment of her life. Chances were good he’d eventually congratulate his younger brother for escaping a lifetime shackled to the darling of the Spencer family. That thought was equally irritating since her only sin had been trusting the wrong man.

She gingerly put her right foot on the ground, hoping the pain might have miraculously disappeared. Instead, a sharp stab of pain caused her to whimper, and she turned without a word and hobbled the few steps to the Land Cruiser.

To his credit, Griffin didn’t say anything or try to help her. It was like he could sense that her composure was as thin as an eggshell and might splinter into a thousand pieces if he got too close. She hated feeling fragile, hated being hurt, hated Trevor and his litany of excuses.

Griffin shut the door when she finally managed to get herself up into the SUV and gather the dusty fabric of her wedding gown’s train into the vehicle.

He’d left the Land Cruiser running, and Maggie was profoundly grateful for the cool air blowing from the vents. The strap of the heel cut into her flesh, but she didn’t pull off the shoe. There was a decent chance she’d scream or throw up if she did, and neither was going to happen in front of Griffin.

“I’m guessing we aren’t headed back to the church,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

“I bought Grammy’s house a few years ago. She lived—”

“I know where your grandmother lived.” Griffin’s knuckles turned white gripping the steering wheel. “I grew up here.”

She had the odd sense she’d hurt his feelings, although that would be far-fetched on a good day. Griffin had always made his derision for Stonecreek crystal clear, and he’d left them all behind the first chance he got. Still, she couldn’t help being a champion for the town. It was in her blood. “The neighborhood has a lot of young families now. It’s nice.”

Griffin’s response was a noncommittal grunt, and Maggie let out a sigh. She shouldn’t be trying for small talk, not under the best of circumstances, and let alone when she was running away from her wedding to his younger brother.

Trevor had promised he’d stall as long as possible, so Maggie figured she had about thirty minutes until her family descended on the two-story Cape Cod–style house she’d purchased from her grandmother three years ago.

Grammy wasn’t going to take the news well, no matter how justified Maggie was in walking away.

Another complication, because Maggie couldn’t tell her grandmother the truth. She’d promised Trevor—

“What did he do?” Griffin asked suddenly, like he could read her mind.

“It wasn’t Trevor.” The words were sawdust in Maggie’s throat. “He’ll always be a friend, but we were never suited for marriage.” She gave what she hoped was a bittersweet smile. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

That was good. She sounded regretful but not angry. Surely, people would accept her explanation. Everyone knew Maggie Spencer wouldn’t lie.

“Is he gay?” Griffin asked conversationally.

Maggie’s eyes widened. “No. We had a healthy... I mean, we’re both busy so it wasn’t exactly... Just no.”

“Another woman? A gambling addiction? Internet porn?”

“Why can’t you believe I made the choice to walk away?”

“Because you always do what’s expected, and a union between the Spencers and the Stones is something people around here have wanted for ages.” He pulled up in front of her house and threw the Land Cruiser into Park. “You don’t have the guts to defy them.”

Too stunned to move as Griffin got out of the SUV, Maggie watched him walk around the front toward her side. It was like he’d clocked her with a sledgehammer. A man she hadn’t seen for almost a decade—a man who’d never said a nice thing to her in all the years they’d known each other—had just summed up her life in one sentence, and it didn’t reflect well on her.

Especially because it was true.

“You don’t know me,” she said through clenched teeth as he opened the door. She went to push past him, a challenge with her ankle, but it didn’t matter. Griffin scooped her into his arms, ignoring her protests, and stalked toward the front door.

“Is it locked?”

“No,” she muttered, “and put me down.”

“Once we’re inside.”

He shifted his hold to reach for the doorknob, pulling her more tightly against his chest. She couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of him, tempting and dark like every rebellious thought she’d ever had but never acted on.

His heat enveloped her and she fisted her hands in the lapels of his navy suit jacket. She had the unbidden urge to press her mouth to the suntanned skin of his throat and forced her gaze to remain fixed on his striped tie.

The house was quiet, and he set her gently on the sofa, then knelt down in front of her.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking your ankle.” He pushed up the fabric of her gown, revealing her open-toe sandals with the delicate pearl detail across the straps. The shoes were elegant and glamorous and she needed them off her feet about as much as she needed to breathe.

Yet Griffin touching her was too much when she was in pain and emotionally vulnerable.

“I can handle it.”

“Let me look.” He undid the ankle strap, and she was amazed at how gentle his calloused hands were as they gripped her leg. “I was a combat medic during my time in the army.”

The pain had lessened slightly, or maybe she’d become numb to it. “You wore your dress blues to your dad’s funeral.” It was the last time Griffin had been home to Stonecreek, although she doubted he considered the town his home any longer.

His broad shoulders stiffened, but he nodded.

“Are you out of the army now?”

Another slight nod.

She winced as he manipulated her ankle, rotating it gently to one side then the other. “Why did you leave?”

He glanced up at her, his gaze both guarded and intense. “Why didn’t you marry my brother?”

“I already tol—”

“Trevor did something, Maggie.” He lowered her foot to the floor and sat back as he studied her. “Tell me what it was.”

“So you can rush off and slay my dragons?” she asked with a laugh, flipping her gown down over her knees. “Playing the part of hero doesn’t suit you, Griffin.”

Something flashed in his gaze, but it was gone before she could name it. “An understatement, especially coming from you.” He stood and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Your ankle should be fine when the swelling goes down, but you might want to rethink your heel height in the future.”

She bent forward and undid the strap on her other shoe. “It was my wedding day. The shoes were special.”

“It’s a strange phenomenon,” he said quietly, “the focus on the details surrounding a wedding. Seems to me the only important part is a man and woman committed to loving each other for the rest of their lives.”

Emotion clogged her throat. “Yes, well... Trevor and I love each other. We’ve been friends forever. Everyone knows it.”

Griffin raised a thick brow. “Then what are you doing here?”

A car door slammed, saving her from answering.

“My family,” she whispered, glancing around wildly like she could find a place to hide. A ridiculous idea, because there was no hiding from what she’d done today. Not in Stonecreek.

“I’ll go out the back, then circle around to get my car.” Griffin was already moving toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “No one is going to want me here for this.”

I do, Maggie wanted to tell him, although she couldn’t figure out why. Griffin was nothing to her.

“Are you staying in town long?” she blurted, using the arm of the sofa to lever herself to standing. She needed to be on her own two feet—or at least the one that wasn’t screaming in pain—to face her grandmother.

Griffin looked over his shoulder, raking a hand through his already-tousled hair. The air between them sparked, his gaze going dark as Maggie sucked in a breath.

“Put some ice on that ankle,” he said instead of answering, then disappeared down the hall.

A moment later the front door burst open and various members of her family flooded through.

“Are you okay?” her father asked, tugging at his black bow tie.

“Are you crazy?” Vivian Spencer, Maggie’s grandmother, asked, pushing past her son. “You can’t call off the wedding, Mary Margaret. It isn’t done.”

“She just did.” Maggie’s sister, Morgan, followed Grammy into the house, picked up a cardboard box from a wingback chair and then sat down.

“No sass from you,” Vivian scolded, wagging a finger at Morgan.

Sixteen-year-old Morgan, the picture of teenage petulance, responded with an eye roll and a dismissive sigh. Grammy’s eyes narrowed, although her angry gaze returned to Maggie.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said, looking at each of her family members.

Her fourteen-year-old brother, Ben, shrugged out of his rented tux jacket. “You should have seen how bad people were freaking out,” he told her, his eyes going wide. “Trevor’s mom looked like she wanted to shank someone.”

“Definitely me,” Maggie muttered.

“Jana Stone wasn’t going to shank anyone,” their father said. “Naturally, she’s upset and confused.” He glanced toward Maggie and then away. “We all are.”

Ben didn’t look convinced. “If someone handed her a rusty knife, she would have gutted Maggie like—”

“Not helping, Ben.” Jim Spencer leveled a glare at his teenage son.

Undeterred by the gruesome talk, Vivian moved toward Maggie until they were inches apart. Grammy barely reached Maggie’s chin and she’d proudly been a size-two petite for as long as anyone could remember. Her hair was teased into a silver pouf, and she wore a rose-hued coat and matching crepe dress that made her look like she took fashion advice from the Queen of England.

Her diminutive stature belied the fierceness of her spirit. Maggie’s grandmother was more than the family matriarch. She was the backbone of the Spencer clan, still with a hand in actively managing most of the family’s business holdings in town and the land they owned throughout the valley.

The Spencers, along with the Stones, had founded Stonecreek in the mid-1800s. It still grated on the nerves of various relatives, Grammy included, that the town had officially been named Stonecreek instead of the planned Spencerville.

The Stones claimed that founders Jonathan Spencer and Charles Stone flipped a coin for naming rights. According to Spencer family lore, Charles got Jonathan drunk, then sneaked out to file the town’s name in the early-morning hours while his friend slept off a night of whiskey and women.

That spark lit the fuse on the Hatfield-and-McCoy-esque rivalry between the two families. The friction had ebbed and flowed over the decades until settling into a civil, if awkward, truce.

Recently, the animosity had heated up again. The Spencers had been the more successful family for years, owning most of the businesses in town, as well as much of the land in the surrounding area. But Griffin and Trevor’s father took over the struggling family farm when the boys were still in diapers. Dave Stone began growing grapes in the volcanic soil and within a decade had turned the vineyard into one of the leading producers of pinot noir varietals in the lush Willamette Valley.

Suddenly, power shifted, and the rural farming family began to assert its muscle in ways the Spencers didn’t appreciate. The power play was subtler these days, with deals over dinner and drinks more than fistfights at town meetings. It had been Vivian who’d pushed Maggie to view Trevor as something more than a platonic friend.

Both of them had gone away to college, then returned to Stonecreek to work with their respective families. It had been easy to ramp up the childhood friendship to a more intimate level.

They’d dated for three years, and Trevor had been at her side when she’d won her first mayoral election, becoming the youngest person to hold that office in the town’s history.

If you asked her grandmother, it was the two families’ combined support that had propelled Maggie, relatively inexperienced in politics, to victory in the election. But Trevor had made her feel like she’d won on her own merit, and remained quite possibly the only person in either of their families who believed it.

He’d proposed last Christmas. Of course, Maggie had said yes. So what if their relationship was more of a comfortable partnership than romantic or exciting? She didn’t need excitement and believed Trevor felt the same. Oh, how wrong she’d been.

“You embarrassed me today,” her grandmother said, pale blue eyes flaring with temper, “and brought shame to the Spencer name.”

Maggie swallowed and purposely put weight on her right foot, focusing on the physical pain instead of the emotional sting of her grammy’s words.

“Mom.” Maggie’s father let out an exasperated sigh. “Let her explain.”

“Can you explain yourself, Mary Margaret?”

“I changed my mind,” she whispered, her gaze trained on the corsage pinned just below the collar of her grandmother’s dress. “Trevor and I realized we don’t love each other in the way two people who are getting married should.” She couldn’t look Grammy in the eye as the half-truths spilled from her mouth.

Not complete lies. She went into the wedding with a bone-deep understanding that her marriage to Trevor had more to do with her family than any kind of grand passion. But she would have gone through with it if she hadn’t walked in on him locked in a furtive embrace with the curvaceous date of one of his groomsmen.

“What did Trevor do?” Grammy demanded, much like Griffin had earlier. Good thing Maggie wasn’t a gambler because she clearly had no poker face.

“Nothing.” She lied outright this time. She’d decided at the church that she’d rather be the bad guy in this scenario than the poor, duped and undesired fool. Trevor had agreed. He would have agreed to anything Maggie had asked. “I’m sorry, Grammy. I’ll take back the gifts and write apology notes to each of the guests. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

Vivian held up a weathered hand, the manicured tips of her fingers trembling. “This cannot be undone, Mary Margaret.” She turned to Maggie’s father. “Take me home, Jim.”

He glanced between his mother and older daughter. “Maybe Maggie doesn’t want to be alone right—”

“She made her choice,” Vivian said through clenched teeth. She waved a hand at both Morgan and Ben. “Let’s go.”

Morgan stood and placed a hand on her dad’s sleeve. “I can stay with—”

“We’re all going,” Vivian insisted, walking toward the front door without a backward glance.

“It’s fine,” Maggie whispered when Morgan’s delicate brows drew together. “I’ll text you later, Mo.”

Her father took a step toward her, but Maggie shook her head. “It’s okay. Go. I’m fine.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but she forced a smile and motioned for him to follow Grammy. Right now she needed time alone.

“I love you,” her dad whispered, then walked out behind Grammy and Morgan. Ben turned back to her with his hand on the doorknob.

“I wouldn’t have let Mrs. Stone shank you,” he said gravely.

Maggie managed a watery smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

He nodded, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked, Maggie’s knees buckled. She collapsed to the hardwood floor with a sob, her life in pieces around her.


Chapter Two (#u5977e61f-9e4f-582f-8d68-9530ecbfba97)

Griffin pushed open the church doors and strode through, ignoring the gasps and stares of the small crowd still gathered near the front of the sanctuary.

His younger brother stood in the center aisle between the pews, talking to a woman Griffin didn’t recognize, although she seemed vaguely familiar.

Growing up it felt like Griffin had known everyone in the close-knit community, and he’d chafed at both the expectations and scrutiny of being part of one of Stonecreek’s founding families. How could he expect anonymity when the town bore his family’s damn name?

He hadn’t asked for any of it. Small-town life had been stifling enough to a rambunctious kid without the added pressure of trying to live up to what his parents wanted from him. It had been presumed he’d be groomed to take over the helm of the family vineyard. Everyone in town—except his father—had seen his future like it had already come to pass.

Griffin knew Dave Stone would never have allowed him to take over the business. Griffin hadn’t been able to please his demanding father, and by the time he’d hit his troubled teen years, he’d stopped trying. Let Trevor be lauded as the family’s favored child. Griffin had always been more suited to the role of black sheep.

He watched as Trevor smiled and inclined his head as the older woman patted his shoulder, playing the part of the brokenhearted groom to a T. If he hadn’t been set on becoming the family scion, Trevor could have had a career in Hollywood. This little performance showed he was a consummate actor, although Griffin didn’t believe a moment of it.

People turned as he stalked up the aisle, but his full attention was on Trevor. He hadn’t seen his brother since their father’s funeral four years ago. Trevor was a couple of inches shorter than Griffin, his hair a shade lighter, making him look even more the golden son.

“Griffin.” Trevor’s deep voice boomed through the nearly empty sanctuary. He opened his arms, preparing to greet the prodigal brother with a hug. As if that would ever happen. “Good to see you, man. Sorry you came all this way for—”

Griffin slammed his fist into Trevor’s face without a second thought, the sharp pain in his knuckles a welcome outlet for his frustration.

Trevor muttered a curse as he stumbled back a few steps, covering his left eye with one hand. “What the hell was that for?”

“You tell me.” Griffin shook out his hand, then turned to meet the shocked gazes of the people still standing in the back of the church. “If you folks will excuse us, my brother and I need to speak in private.”

“Maggie left him,” said the older woman, whom Griffin finally recognized as his high school health teacher. “She walked out just as the ceremony was starting. It wasn’t his fault. Trevor’s the victim here. His poor face.”

“Victim,” Griffin repeated. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know anything,” Trevor said, the skin around his eye already turning a satisfying shade of purple.

“Really?” Griffin crossed his arms and arched a brow, letting Trevor know without words that he wasn’t fooled by the jilted-groom act. “Do you want to have this conversation here or in private? Think long and hard about your answer, Trev.”

Griffin was bluffing. Maggie had told him nothing, but he couldn’t shake his suspicion that she’d had more of a reason for playing the runaway bride than she’d let on. Walking away wasn’t in her character, and he didn’t buy his self-important brother as the jilted groom for one minute.

Trevor stared at him for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then a muscle ticked in his jaw, and Griffin wanted to punch him again. He recognized Trevor’s tell from when they were kids, and Griffin knew without a doubt his brother was guilty of something.

“I’m not going to bore these nice people with our family drama,” Trevor said, his tone smooth like Harvest Vineyards’ flagship pinot.

“It’s not boring,” the health teacher—Mrs. Davis if Trevor remembered correctly—said enthusiastically.

Trevor flashed the most charming smile he could with his swollen eye. “You’re a sweetheart, Mrs. D, and I’d appreciate a few of your famous oatmeal scotchies the next time you bake a batch. Right now, I’m going to take a minute with my brother.” He glanced around the church, as pious as a choirboy. “This isn’t the place for violence.”

Immediately, Griffin regretted letting his temper get the best of him. Or at least he regretted hitting Trevor in a church. His mother would have a fit when she heard about it, and he’d already caused Jana Stone enough trouble to last a lifetime.

“I’ll talk to you all soon,” Trevor called to the rest of the onlookers. “Thanks for the support today.”

Griffin looked over his shoulder as he followed Trevor toward the vestry. The few people who’d witnessed his outburst were whispering among themselves and met his gaze with a round of angry glares. Only an hour back in Stonecreek and he was bristling to escape again.

He didn’t bother closing the door as Trevor walked to a small refrigerator positioned in the corner of the room and pulled a bottle of water from it.

“Did you talk to Maggie?” he asked, wincing as he pressed the water bottle to his eye.

“Yes. I was late for the ceremony and saw her walking down the sidewalk.”

“I’m surprised you recognized her.”

“She was wearing a damn bridal gown.”

Trevor sighed. “I told her she could take my car when she left.”

“A gentleman to the end,” Griffin muttered, pacing to one side of the room and running a hand along the edge of the bookshelf lined with hymnals.

“What did she tell you?”

Griffin forced himself not to stiffen. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Maggie promised she wouldn’t talk. She said she understood.” Trevor blew out a frustrated breath. “Neither one of us meant for it to happen. I tried to cut things off. Hell, she was here with Tommy. He was one of my groomsmen. I introduced them four months ago. You remember him, right?”

“The fool who accidentally set himself on fire at homecoming your freshman year?”

“The bonfire after the football game got out of hand,” Trevor said almost reluctantly. “He’s grown up a lot since then. Sort of.”

“So you set your mistress up with an idiot? Nice backup plan.”

“I chose Maggie,” Trevor insisted. “But if she won’t forgive—”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” he said through clenched teeth.

Trevor’s mouth fell open. “Then how did you—”

“I didn’t,” Griffin interrupted. “Not until this moment. Maggie’s version was that she realized the two of you were better as friends and she couldn’t go through with the marriage.”

“It’s the truth,” Trevor said, dropping into a chair positioned next to a rack of black robes.

This cramped room wasn’t quite the pulpit, but Griffin still felt a stab of guilt for his violent thoughts under the church roof. “Not the whole truth.”

“Hell, Grif, I tried. We both did. This wedding meant more to the families—more to the town—than to either of us.”

“What a lame excuse for cheating.”

Trevor’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I wasn’t cheating today. Not really.”

“Then what did Maggie see?”

“Julia and I were kissing. A farewell kiss.”

“In the church before your wedding ceremony?” Griffin laughed without humor. “You’re going to act holier-than-thou because I punched you in the sanctuary? The angels were probably cheering me on.”

“What do you care?” Trevor demanded. “You told me you weren’t even going to be here today. Suddenly you feel the need to come to Maggie’s defense? You never liked her when we were younger. You have no relationship with her. I don’t get it.”

Griffin turned away toward the window overlooking the glen behind the church. The towering maple trees provided a lush green canopy, and tulips in a variety of colors lined the cobblestone path. Lilac bushes bloomed with lavender flowers, a short burst of color that would be gone by summer.

He’d spent most of the past decade in war-torn countries across the Middle East. Places baked by the sun, where it was as common to breathe in sand as air. There’d been moments where he’d felt like his throat would always be coated with the stuff, and he’d closed his eyes late at night and imagined himself back in this verdant valley.

He’d foregone college and joined the army against his parents’ wishes. Life in Stonecreek had felt like it was choking him after a stupid mistake fractured any possible relationship with his father. It wasn’t until he’d traveled halfway around the world that he’d realized how much home meant to him.

He hadn’t wanted to come back here. Too many demons from his past lurked in the shadows. It seemed like he’d never be able to shrug off the disappointment and failure that were part of who he was in this town.

Trevor was the living embodiment of that. Three years younger, his brother had a knack for causing trouble but not being caught up in it. It was like Trevor wore a coat of armor preventing people from seeing anything but the best in him. The polar opposite of Griffin.

He might not have a relationship with Maggie, but the connection he felt had been immediate and almost palpable. He’d seen her walking down the street in that fancy gown, and his heart stuttered. How had the annoying, gangly girl he’d grown up with morphed into such a beautiful—and achingly melancholy—woman?

Every one of his boyhood transgressions had been magnified by the insinuation that he made his family look bad in front of the upstanding Spencers. Maggie had been their goody-two-shoes princess. The fact that she and Trevor had been friends despite the animosity between the two families hadn’t surprised Griffin. They’d both been textbook perfect. But today she’d seemed truly alone. Griffin had always been a sucker for another loner.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he lied. “I felt sorry for her, and obviously with good reason.”

“You don’t need to feel sorry for Maggie. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

It never is, Griffin thought to himself.

“Do you love this Julia?” he asked.

Trevor pressed his fingers to his eyelids as if the question gave him a headache. “Not exactly, but I can tell you I never felt anything like it with Maggie.”

Griffin snorted. “Two years ago I ate some bad scallops in Dubai, and I’ve never felt anything like what came next.”

“Shut up, Grif.”

“You can’t let Maggie take the fall for—”

“You’re back!”

Both men turned as Jana Stone raced into the room. She spread her arms wide and Griffin walked into his mother’s embrace, his heart swelling as she pulled him close. At five feet two inches tall, his mother barely grazed his chest, but a hug from her made him feel like he was a kid again.

He’d lost count of the times he’d been sent to his room by his father for one transgression or another. His mother had always sneaked upstairs to give him a hug and reassure him of his father’s love.

He’d even spent one full Christmas dinner alone, sulking on his bed, after he’d accidentally knocked over the tree while he and Trevor were wrestling. The fight had started when Trevor purposely broke a radio-controlled robot Griffin had unwrapped earlier, but it didn’t matter to his dad.

Griffin was the older brother who should have known better, so he’d been the one punished. When his mom couldn’t convince Dave Stone to give him a break because of the holiday, she’d boycotted the family meal, making up two plates and joining him in his room.

They’d eaten cross-legged on the floor, taking turns choosing Christmas carols to sing. It had been one of the best Christmases Griffin could remember, free of the tension and awkward silences that accompanied regular family dinners at the vineyard.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she asked, giving him another squeeze before pulling away. She sucked in a breath as she glanced toward Trevor. “Oh, my gosh. What happened to your eye?”

Trevor helpfully pointed at Griffin, who yelped as his mother pinched him hard on the back of the arm.

“You hit your brother? What were you thinking?” She placed a hand on her chest. “Tell me you didn’t fight with your brother in church.”

“Can’t do that, Mom. Sorry.”

“You should be sorry, Griffin John Stone. After all Trevor has been through today. I swear I wouldn’t put it past Vivian Spencer to have orchestrated this whole fiasco just to embarrass our family.”

“I highly doubt it,” Griffin muttered.

“Maggie had to follow her heart,” Trevor said, sounding like the benevolent son his mother knew him to be. “No one is to blame.”

“She is to blame,” their mother countered. “You’re the vice president of marketing for Harvest Vineyards. You’re a public figure, Trevor. We did a special blend for the occasion.” She threw up her hands. “With personalized labels. Press releases went out. This could hurt the brand.”

“Mom.” Griffin shook his head. “This was supposed to be a wedding, not a publicity event.”

He glanced at his brother, who lifted his brows as if to say I told you so.

“You’ve been away from Stonecreek too long, Griffin. Social media has blurred the lines between our private lives and public branding for the company. There’s too much competition these days to think otherwise.”

She moved toward Trevor, gently touching the swelling around his eye. “We certainly have no time for nonsense between the two of you. I guarantee the Spencers are already doing damage control. What do you think this will do to Maggie’s prospects for reelection in the fall?”

“Nothing,” Trevor said immediately. “She’s done a great job as mayor this first term so there’s no reason to think she won’t win again.”

Jana tsk-tsked softly. “She won the first time because we endorsed her—she had the support of the whole town.” She straightened and turned to Griffin. “Your second cousin is running against her. He’s been giving me the ‘blood is thicker’ line for months. Everyone has seen that Mary Margaret Spencer can’t follow through on a commitment of the most important kind. How can they trust her running Stonecreek? Especially given the Spencer single-mindedness in promoting a civic agenda benefiting her family’s business interests.”

Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. He’d returned because his mother had asked him to, but he didn’t want any part of this small-town drama. “Hasn’t the animosity between the two families gone on long enough?”

“We thought so,” Jana admitted. “I know Jim wants peace between us. I do, too.” She worried the pad of her thumb back and forth over the ring finger on her left hand, where she’d worn her wedding band for over two decades until her husband’s death. “Today changed everything.”

“Do you have something to add to this conversation?” Griffin asked Trevor.

His brother only shook his head and whispered, “Not now.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Griffin turned toward his mother. “There are things about today you don’t understand. Like the reason I hit Trevor.”

The bejeweled purse hanging at her side began to buzz incessantly. “It’s your grandmother,” Jana said, pulling out the phone. “I’m late to pick her up. She’s going to help me take the flowers from the reception site. We need to get to them before Vivian does. They’ll work for a tasting event at the vineyard tomorrow night, but you can bet Vivian Spencer will use them for the inn if given half a chance.”

“Mom, we need to talk.”

“Later tonight,” Jana promised, already heading for the door. “Family dinner at the house.” She glanced toward Griffin. “Did you drop your stuff there already?”

“Not yet.”

“I cleared out the caretaker’s apartment above the garage like you asked, although I don’t know why you won’t move back into your old room. It’s far more convenient.” She blew each of them a kiss. “No fighting, you two. I mean it.”

“Moving back?” Trevor asked as soon as she was gone. “To Stonecreek?”

“It’s only for a few months,” Griffin said, examining a scratch on one knuckle. “While I build the new tasting room.”

“Wait a minute.” Trevor stood and held up a hand. “You’re the contractor Mom hired?”

Griffin nodded. “I asked her not to mention it to you.”

“No way. You don’t get to waltz back in here and start taking over. I’ve dedicated the past five years to the family business.”

“I’m not a threat to you,” Griffin said quietly. “I know my place.”

“Since when?”

Griffin ignored the verbal jab. “I also know my way around a construction site and have a sense of the history of the vineyard. Mom wants it to be right, and I owe it to her.”

“I’m the vice president—”

“Of marketing,” Griffin interrupted.

Trevor narrowed his eyes. It was no secret his dream in life was to run Harvest Vineyards. Both of them had grown up working the land and learning the ins and outs of the wine-making process. As Griffin grew older, the animosity between him and his father had grown until the two hundred acres they owned felt like a cage, the home he’d lived in since he was born, a prison.

“Dad wouldn’t have wanted this,” Trevor said harshly. “After what you did...”

“Not his decision to make any longer.”

Their father had died four years ago when the private plane he’d chartered crashed just after takeoff. The accident had been a shock to them all, and a huge blow to their mother. But Jana took her role as president of the board as seriously as if she’d been born into the family.

Griffin had come back for the funeral and stayed for the family meeting his mother insisted on presiding over the morning after the service. He knew Trevor had expected to be named CEO but instead Jana had offered the position to their longtime employee, Marcus Sanchez.

“I still should have been told.”

“And you still need to tell Mom about why Maggie walked away,” Griffin countered, unwilling to debate his worthiness to return to the vineyard with his younger brother.

Trevor studied him for a long moment, then flashed a sanctimonious grin. “You won’t stick, Grif. You never do.”

Fists tightly clenched, Griffin watched his brother walk out of the room. How could he argue when the desire to climb into his SUV and drive away made his skin itch like a junkie looking for his next fix?

He wasn’t meant for Stonecreek. He’d been a different person here, a punk kid he didn’t like very much. But he also had no idea how to be anyone else when faced with his past.

So where did that leave him?

He sure as hell wished he knew.


Chapter Three (#u5977e61f-9e4f-582f-8d68-9530ecbfba97)

“Do you hate me?”

Maggie paused in the act of folding the last of the tablecloths that would have been used at her reception. It was nearly eleven at night, and the Miriam Inn’s ballroom was dark other than one dim bulb glowing in the entry, where Brenna Apria stood, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Does it matter?” Maggie asked, then placed the tablecloth on top of the pile with more force than necessary. Nancy Schulman, who managed events at the inn, had called her earlier to report that Trevor’s mom and grandma had descended on the venue and were scooping up the vases of flowers that Maggie and her bridesmaids had arranged and placed around the room the previous day.

The Spencers owned the inn and event center, and Maggie had recommended Nancy for the manager position after a nasty divorce nine months ago. Maggie appreciated that the woman still felt some loyalty, when Grammy had made it clear in a barrage of texts and voice mails throughout the day that everyone else thought Maggie was either crazy or downright cruel to have left poor, sweet, upstanding Trevor Stone at the altar.

Maggie hated to admit how much it hurt that people who’d known her since she was in diapers could turn on her so quickly, but she wouldn’t let it show. That was something she’d learned from her mother, who’d put on a brave front even when ovarian cancer ravaged her, metastasizing throughout her body.

She’d told Nancy to let the Stone women take whatever they wanted and that she’d clean up the rest after. Then she’d called the florist, the DJ and the photographer to personally apologize and assure them she’d pay each of their bills in full.

Even knowing they were getting their money, none of the vendors had been happy. Working the Spencer-Stone wedding was more than a regular job. The two families were practically royalty in the growing town, and Harvest Vineyards was quickly gaining a national reputation for its wine.

But the loss of visibility and free marketing couldn’t be helped. At least not by Maggie. It was rapidly dawning on her exactly what she’d done with her promise to Trevor about keeping the real reason she’d walked away a secret.

Now the woman she’d considered her best friend, who’d known about Trevor’s cheating, was standing here looking for what? Forgiveness? Absolution?

Maggie was fresh out of both.

“It matters. You’re my best friend.” Brenna walked forward, in and out of shadows, but Maggie could see how miserable she looked. Her dark eyes were red, her high cheekbones stained with the tracks of dried tears. Maggie didn’t care. Her own face was puffy from crying and even now, when she thought she had no more tears to shed, she could feel moisture prick the corners of her eyes.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “How long have you known?”

“Trevor promised he’d change,” Brenna insisted instead of answering the question, then broke off at the glare Maggie sent her. “That it was a onetime lapse in judgment. I wanted to believe him, and I didn’t want you to be hurt.”

“That backfired,” Maggie muttered.

“You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

“I am,” Brenna whispered.

Maggie grabbed the tablecloths and shoved them into a cardboard box. “You were aware my fiancé was cheating and didn’t tell me. I caught him swapping spit with another woman minutes before the wedding, and you weren’t even shocked. Did you know about Julia?”

Brenna’s full lips pressed into a thin line. “I thought it had ended, but they were flirty at your engagement party. I asked Trevor about it, and he said I was overreacting. He told me I’d ruin both of your lives if I said anything.”

“Don’t you think it would have been worse if I’d ended up married to a cheater?”

“He told me—”

“You must know you have terrible judgment when it comes to men,” Maggie said through clenched teeth, unable to stop herself, even though she knew the comment was hurtful.

Brenna grimaced. “I know.” She picked up a stack of napkins and thrust them toward Maggie. “You can hit me if you want, like Griffin did with Trevor. I deserve it as much as him.”

Maggie stilled as unease snaked along her spine. She hadn’t admitted anything to Griffin, so it was difficult to imagine him defending her to his brother. And yet... “What do you mean Griffin hit Trevor?”

“Decked him in front of the pulpit. Mrs. Davis was standing just a few feet away. She said Griffin looked like he wanted to kill Trevor but only threw one punch. Apparently, Trevor has a nasty shiner.”

“Have you seen him?”

Brenna shook her head. “I also didn’t realize Griffin was back in town. I thought he said he wasn’t coming to the wedding.”

“He had a change of plans,” Maggie told her.

“You talked to him?” Brenna’s brows shot up.

“As I was leaving the church,” Maggie said with a nod. “He ended up giving me a ride home.”

Brenna’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet space. “What does he know?”

Maggie bristled at the implied accusation in her friend’s—former friend’s—tone. “Nothing he heard from me. Trevor was the one who betrayed me, Brenna. I understand that, but it doesn’t change how hurt I am that you didn’t tell me what you knew.”

She walked to the far side of the reception hall, where they’d set up a table for the buffet line. Thankfully, after a few hours off her feet with an HGTV-watching marathon, her ankle felt almost normal again so she wouldn’t have to recount her embarrassing fall to Brenna. At one end of the long table stood a framed photo of Maggie and Trevor—their official engagement photo.

It had been taken just after Christmas, the two of them standing together on the bridge that spanned the creek snaking through the park in the middle of town. Snow covered the trees and their cheeks were rosy from the cold air. They looked happy. She’d been happy, or so she thought.

“I don’t know why I agreed to take the blame for canceling the wedding in the first place.” She lifted the picture off the table, gripping the frame so tight her knuckles went white. “How is it better this way?”

“It shows people that you were in control,” Brenna suggested weakly.

“They hate me.”

“No one could ever hate you,” Brenna countered but they both knew that wasn’t true.

“Why, Brenna?” Maggie hated the catch in her voice. “Why not talk to me? If I’d known, I would have broken up with him months ago.”

Brenna put up her hands, palms out, defending herself from Maggie’s simple line of questions. “I believe he loved you, and you deserve happiness more than anyone I know. I’d never do anything to hurt you. At least tell me you believe that.”

“I do,” Maggie agreed reluctantly. She and Brenna had met soon after Maggie returned to town when they’d taken a yoga class together. It was an unlikely friendship—Maggie had just been elected mayor and Brenna had just filed a restraining order against her latest ex-boyfriend. “Can I ask you a question?”

Brenna nodded. “Of course.”

Maggie appreciated both the other woman’s commitment to making her life better and the fact that she didn’t seem to care about Maggie’s angelic reputation or who her family was in town. Brenna had been the first person since Maggie graduated college and returned to Stonecreek who liked Maggie for herself.

Brenna had a six-year-old daughter, Ellie, whom Maggie adored, and the two women had become fast friends. So much that when Jana Stone needed to hire a new assistant to work in the family’s office and manage the vineyard’s tiny tasting room, Maggie had recommended Brenna for the job.

She hadn’t had a moment’s doubt about her fiancé and where Brenna’s loyalty would lie if it came to that. On paper, Maggie and Trevor were perfect, and she’d been willing to ignore the rather flat chemistry and lack of spark in favor of all the practical things they had in common. She’d assumed he felt the same. What an idiot she’d been.

“Do you think...” She paused, looking for the right words. When none came she simply blurted, “Was Trevor that desperate to not marry me?”

“Maggie, don’t go there.” Brenna wrung her hands in front of her waist. She’d changed from her bridesmaid’s dress into a pair of black yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt but other than her blotchy face, she was still a knockout. A few inches taller than Maggie’s five-foot-six-inch frame, Brenna had curves for days. Combined with her olive skin and thick caramel-colored hair, men noticed her wherever she went.

“I need to know. Was he using the affair to force me to walk away so he didn’t have to?”

“I believe so.”

The simple statement was a physical blow. It was bad enough to believe that Trevor had betrayed her because he’d found his soul mate in another woman, but hearing that he just couldn’t stand the thought of marrying Maggie? It was too much.

“You don’t think they’re in love?”

Brenna shook her head, a strand of shiny hair escaping the elastic band at the back of her hair.

“He should have told me he didn’t want to go through with it.” Maggie pressed her fingers to her temples. If she really examined the last couple of months, she could see the cracks in her relationship with Trevor turning into gaping chasms. They hadn’t been intimate since...well, far too long. He’d shown no interest in wedding plans, which she’d attributed to him being a man and nothing more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Brenna repeated, and her voice cracked. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Maggie sighed. She didn’t want to end the friendship, despite Brenna’s dishonesty. Trevor was the one to blame in all this. She’d never admit it out loud, but the more she thought about a life without him at her side, the more relief spilled through her.

Had she really gotten so caught up in planning a wedding that she ignored the fact she didn’t want to marry the man whose ring she wore? What did that say about her and how much she’d allowed her life to be dictated by what her family and the town expected of her?

“I’ll call you next week,” she offered, because the breach of trust still stung.

“Okay,” Brenna agreed, swiping at her cheeks. “If you need anything...”

“Time,” Maggie said quietly. “I need time.”

“You deserve better than him,” Brenna whispered, then turned and left Maggie alone in the empty reception hall once again.

“You’re also too nice,” a deep voice said from the back of the hall. “I remember that now.”

She turned to see Griffin emerging from the door that led to the kitchen area.

Annoyance pricked Maggie’s spine at the subtle condemnation in his words. As if being nice was a bad thing. “She apologized, and your brother’s the one who cheated. What would you have me do?”

“Tell her she’s a sorry excuse for a friend,” Griffin suggested. “Yell and scream at her for not having your back.”

Maggie grabbed another pile of napkins and shoved them into the box. “Or give her a black eye like you did to Trevor?”

One side of Griffin’s mouth hitched up as he examined the knuckles on one hand. “It felt good.”

“I told you I don’t need you to defend me. Walking away from the wedding was my choice.” She stalked forward, maneuvering around tables until she stood toe-to-toe with him. “What are you doing here anyway? Do you have some new sixth sense for predicting my lowest moments so you can watch and gloat?” She couldn’t conceal the anger in her tone. Maggie always kept a tight hold on her emotions, but with Griffin she seemed unable to hide anything.

“Mom sent me over to pick up the cases of wine.”

She stilled as he reached out a finger and traced it along the curve of her cheek. The touch was featherlight, and she resisted the urge to lean into it. Maggie had lived every day of her life surrounded by family, friends and the town she loved...until today. Now she was alone, and the solitude chafed at her in a way that made her feel weak. She hated being weak. “Brenna was right about one thing,” Griffin told her. “My brother doesn’t deserve you, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve your tears.”

“It’s my canceled wedding,” Maggie said, making her voice light. “And I’ll cry if I want to.”

Griffin’s green eyes softened, but he dropped his hand as if he realized the moment was too intimate. “What next?”

“Back to life.” Maggie stepped away. “We weren’t scheduled to leave on the honeymoon for a few weeks, so Monday it’s business as usual at city hall.”

“Right.” Griffin gave a slight nod. “You’re Stonecreek’s incumbent mayor.”

The thought of facing everyone at work and the members of the town council made a sick pit open in Maggie’s gut. “When do you take off?”

Griffin didn’t answer, so Maggie turned back to him, holding the cardboard box in front of her like a shield. He watched her, his gaze unreadable. “What?”

One broad shoulder lifted and lowered. “I may not be leaving for a while.”

She concentrated on breathing, feeling like a thousand-pound weight sat on her chest. “How long is a while?”

Another shrug. “My mom wants me to build the new tasting room at the vineyard, and I’ve tentatively agreed. I owe her since the fire in the original building was my fault.”

“It was a stupid accident. Everyone knew that.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I think Dad never rebuilt because he wanted the reminder of how badly I’d failed him. Mom claims it’s important someone in the family oversees the project. We still need to work out the particulars, but I might be around a few months.”

“Oh.” Her lips formed the word as her brain scrambled for purchase. Griffin Stone back in town. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t affect her, not after everything that had happened today. But it did, and her reaction to him made all the other chaos in her life lose focus.

The only thing she could see was the tall, handsome man who’d come to her defense—even when she’d told him not to—standing in front of her.

“I’m going to start loading the wine,” he said, still studying her. “See you around, Maggie.”

She gave a small wave, then continued packing up boxes, telling herself Griffin didn’t matter to her.

Too bad her heart refused to be convinced.


Chapter Four (#u5977e61f-9e4f-582f-8d68-9530ecbfba97)

Monday morning Griffin stood on the hilltop that overlooked the estate vineyard, emotion pinching his chest as he breathed in the musky scent of earth. The rows of vines spread across the property, neat and orderly like soldiers in a procession.

As a kid he’d spent hours running through the fields, measuring the progress of the seasons by the height of the vines and the colors of the grapes. The vineyard below him was called Inception, the first Dave Stone planted when he’d converted the farm, which had been marginally successful at best, to a vineyard.

Griffin had loved everything about the land until it became clear that his father didn’t think him worthy to be involved in the family business. It had never made sense to Griffin. He was the older son, and he felt a connection to the vines in his heart, unlike Trevor, who’d been more interested in the flashy side of wine making only—the marketing and brand positioning.

But his dad had ever only found fault with the innovations and ideas Griffin suggested. Even the way Griffin hand harvested the grapes was never right. Eventually he’d stopped trying, at least when his father was around. He’d watch the workers during the harvest, pretending he was too interested in his own life to care about the vineyard.

It had always been a lie.

“Jana told me she’d convinced you to return,” a voice said from behind him. “I wasn’t sure I believed her.”

Griffin turned as Marcus Sanchez, Harvest Vineyards’ current CEO, walked up from the direction of the main office.

He held out a hand and Marcus shook it with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Only temporarily,” Griffin clarified.

Marcus inclined his head. He was nearing fifty but still had the build of a younger man, with broad shoulders and a thick crop of dark hair. “You’ve been away from home too long, Grif. You belong on this land.”

Griffin swallowed and kicked at a patch of dirt. Strange how much those words meant to him after all this time. Marcus had worked at Harvest for almost fifteen years, so he’d had a front-row seat to Griffin’s teenage battles with Dave Stone.

Although he worked for Dave, Marcus had always been kind to Griffin, unlike many of the employees who seemed to feel like part of their loyalty to Dave included shunning Griffin. “Mom says she’d be lost without you around here. Thanks for taking care of her.”

Marcus flashed a grin. “Your mother can take care of herself, and we both know it.”

“I’m surprised she was able to lure you away from the grapes.” He inclined his head toward Marcus’s pressed jeans and dress shirt. “You clean up nice.”

“Jana is a difficult woman to refuse.” Marcus adjusted his collar with tentative fingers as if he was still unused to having his shirts starched. He’d come to work as a picker and quickly risen through the ranks until being promoted to vineyard manager a decade earlier.

“Tell me about it.” Along with most everyone associated with Harvest, Griffin had expected Trevor to be made CEO after their father’s death. Instead, Jana convinced Marcus to move from the fields into the corner office.

“Have you visited the winery yet?” Marcus asked.

Griffin shook his head. “I walked the fields but haven’t made it inside yet. The expansion looks great.”

“We took cuttings from the original vines to plant the newest vineyard. Your mother named it Promise.” Marcus nodded. “The entire operation is certified sustainable now, and we’ve started bottling with eco-friendly glass and managed to eliminate some of the high-risk chemicals that were originally used for fertilization and in the pesticides.”

“How’s that going?” Griffin felt himself clench his hands into fists.

“It’s making Harvest more responsible and adding to the efficiency of the operation. Just like you told your dad years ago.”

Griffin blew out a breath. “I’m sure the technology has come a long way since then.”

“It was still your idea,” Marcus said softly. “And a good one.”

“Thanks.” The tension coiling through Griffin eased slightly. The argument about protecting the long-term health of the land had been one of the last he’d had with his father before their final, irrevocable falling-out.

Griffin had been a senior in high school and planning to go to college to study viticulture. Back then he’d still believed if he could prove to his father that he could offer value to the business that Dave Stone would find a place for him. But his dad had brushed aside the suggestions, asserting that it was too soon to worry about the future when they were still trying to establish the brand.

“There’s more to be done,” Marcus suggested quietly.

“You mean besides rebuilding the tasting room?” Griffin massaged a hand against the back of his neck. “Mom told me about her plans for a restaurant and guest cottages on the property.”

Marcus shook his head. “I’m talking about additional sustainability measures. Making Harvest Vineyards not just a steward of the land but a true innovator in the industry. You could help.”

“Not me. I’m here for the construction project and nothing more.”

“You know this land and you have a sense of the business.”

“Maybe I did back in the day, but not anymore. I work with my hands.”

“That’s what wine making is.” Marcus held out his weathered hands, turning them over to expose the calluses on his palms.

Griffin chuckled. “You haven’t gone soft yet.”

“I spend time in the fields whenever I can.” Marcus lifted a heavy brow. “I could do more if I had someone to take over the business end.”

“You have Trevor.”

“I’m not talking about designing labels and schmoozing distributors.”

“You can’t deny it’s part of the industry.”

“Your brother is immensely talented, but he doesn’t see the big picture of the legacy of what your dad started here. He never did, Grif.”

“But Dad wanted him, not me.” Griffin pressed his lips together, hating the bitterness in his tone. He was a grown man. You’d think he’d be over not being his daddy’s favorite by now. But it was more than that.

Marcus bent forward, plucked a blade of grass from the hillside and twirled it between his fingers. “You’re a lot like your father.”

“You don’t have to say that.” Griffin shook his head. “Hell, I don’t want to be anything like him...except...”

He didn’t need to finish the thought. Marcus knew. In a moment of weakness when Griffin was seventeen, after a blowout with his dad, he’d escaped to the fields and found Marcus carefully pruning a row of vines. He’d admitted out loud his biggest fear in life—that Dave Stone was not his biological father.

Neither of his parents had ever given him any indication that was the truth, although it would explain so much about his tense relationship with his dad. Griffin knew his parents’ courtship had been a whirlwind and although he’d never had the guts to ask his mom outright, he’d often wondered if there had been someone else before his dad.

“He was your father,” Marcus said. “Don’t doubt it. You got all your bullheadedness from him.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Griffin said, even though they both knew it did. “You’ve done a great job around here. You don’t need my help.” He turned to survey the area where the new building was set to be constructed. “I’ve gone over the plans from the architect. There are a few things I’d like to tweak, but it’s a solid design.”

“We still need to get approval from the town council’s development committee.”

Griffin nodded. He’d worked with enough building departments over the past couple of years to understand what hoops they’d need to jump through.

“Everyone knows the fire was an accident.” Marcus opened his fingers and the blade of grass fluttered to the ground. The words were a direct echo of what Maggie had told him.

“Dad didn’t,” Griffin muttered, repeating his stock answer. “I still can’t believe he never rebuilt the tasting room. Using the lobby of the office for all these years makes Harvest Vineyards look like an amateur operation. Visitors expect an experience when they tour a winery, not being shoved into a cramped room.”

Marcus sighed. “Your dad was too stubborn for his own good. We can thank Trevor for pushing the idea of building a new tasting room. It’s part of his overall branding strategy.”

“My brother’s not stupid,” Griffin said. Then he added, “At least when it comes to the business. His personal life is another story.”

“I thought Maggie called off the wedding?”

“Let’s just say she had more reason than just cold feet.”

Marcus groaned. “Then Trevor’s a fool. He isn’t going to find a better woman than Maggie Spencer.”

“Agreed.” Griffin pressed three fingers to his chest where it tightened at the thought of seeing Maggie again. He had no business with her, and it was stupid to go anywhere near her for a dozen reasons, not the least of which was the canceled wedding. But erring on the side of caution was never his strong suit.

“I’ve got a conference call in a few minutes with one of our distributors.” Marcus glanced at his watch. “Let me know if there’s anything you need to move things along with construction. And when you’re ready for more, my office is open to you.”

Griffin huffed out a laugh. “You’re like a dog with a bone,” he muttered.

Marcus smiled. “Whatever it takes.”

* * *

Brenna practically jumped out of her chair when the door to the main office opened. She breathed a sigh of relief as Marcus Sanchez walked through. Marcus was not quite six feet tall, with the lean frame of a man who’d spent most of his life working the fields.

She knew he missed the vines now that he was in the office most days. He favored pressed jeans or khakis with tailored shirts but had extras hanging in the hall closet since he often returned to the office after lunch with dirt stains on his shirts.

Whether clean or rumpled, Marcus had the air of a man who tolerated nothing less than perfection, which made him all the more intimidating to Brenna. She knew she was outwardly pretty but her inside was a jumble of insecurity and downright fear. Fear that she’d disappoint her daughter. Fear that she’d mess up her life more than she already had. Fear that she’d never find the happiness she so desperately craved.

“Are you okay?” His gentle brown eyes searched her face like he could read her innermost thoughts.

Terrified at the idea, Brenna pasted on a bright smile and tapped a finger on the edge of the computer monitor. “You startled me, that’s all. I’m working on the schedule for the rest of the month. Trevor sent an email adding a few events.” She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to stop babbling to Marcus.

The vineyard’s serious CEO didn’t need Brenna blathering on about her duties. But she was so worried about a possible confrontation with Trevor that adrenaline spiked through her, making her stomach jittery and her nerves strung tight.

Marcus gave her a warm smile. “How much coffee have you had this morning?”

“Oh, my gosh.” Brenna popped out of her chair, banging her knee on the corner of the desk in the process. “I’m sorry. I forgot to make a fresh pot,” she said, turning and hurrying down the hall toward the small kitchenette that was the company’s break room.

She made coffee every morning, often pairing it with homemade muffins or sweet bread. Her official title was office assistant, but for the past six months she’d also managed the makeshift tasting room set up on one side of the Harvest Vineyards lobby.

Trevor had been the one to promote her into that position, and she was grateful for the additional responsibility and bump in pay. They didn’t get a ton of tourist traffic like some of the larger vineyards, although the plan was for that to change with the opening of the new tasting room. But Brenna made sure the visitors who did find them got not only samples of their best vintages but also a warm welcome to the area.

Most of her work was with Trevor or the winery’s operations manager. Although he was the CEO, Marcus liked to schedule meetings and handle personal correspondence himself. She tried not to take it personally but secretly wondered if he didn’t ask for her assistance because he didn’t trust her to do a good job.

Now she wished she had the tall, handsome leader in her corner. She hadn’t spoken to Trevor since Maggie had walked out of the church. But he must know Brenna had been the one to confirm that the kiss was more than a onetime lapse in judgment. Why hadn’t she told Maggie about his cheating before?





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/michelle-major/falling-for-the-wrong-brother/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.