Читать книгу The Ashtons: Jillian, Eli & Charlotte: Just a Taste / Awaken the Senses / Estate Affair - Bronwyn Jameson - Страница 11

The sun was still sleeping when Jillian rose. She tiptoed from her second-story bedroom and down the winding staircase without missing a step in the near-dark. She’d taken the same path so many times she imagined she could do it blindfolded. This was her family home, where she’d grown up and lived into her twenties, and she’d moved back after Jason’s death.

She didn’t mind living with her parents. It wasn’t as if she had a social life—or, Lord help her, a sex life—to consider. Safe, secure and nonthreatening, her life at The Vines was everything she’d rushed to escape in her early twenties and everything she wanted in her future.

At the foot of the stairs, she swung toward the kitchen…and barreled right into her mother.

The solid impact drove a whoomph of breath from Caroline Sheppard’s lungs. Surprise startled a squeak from Jillian’s. With one hand flattened over her wildly thumping heart, she peered through the wan predawn light into her mother’s face.

“Good grief, Mom, you scared a year off my life! What are you doing skulking around at this hour?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

“As it happens, I do have a reason.” Jillian held the riding boots she carried aloft. “I’m on stable duty this morning and I have to be finished before eight.”

“Another builder?”

“Yes.” Unfortunately.

The sigh in her answer must have sounded as weary as she felt because her mother’s hands came up to gently squeeze her shoulders. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, Jillie. There’s no rush.”

“After dealing with the crush over Easter?” She shook her head ruefully. “The remodel needs to be done before summer, Mom, and the sooner the better.”

Yesterday seemed about perfect to Jillian.

After a week of calling and chasing and calling again, she had exhausted her A-list of builders. Every morning she woke with nothing more concrete than, “I’ll do a quote and get back to you.” And today she faced Louret’s weekly business meeting with no solid quotes and only one builder of questionable reputation showing any solid interest. Cole might well decide that he should be overseeing the job.

“I can do this, Mom,” she said, straightening her shoulders. And she would, once she found a builder who wasn’t booked solid right through summer. Or who didn’t think he knew better than she how her tasting room should look and function.

“I know you can do it, hon.” Her mother gave another reassuring squeeze. “So, who is it this morning?”

“Travis Carmody.”

Caroline frowned. “I can’t say I know him.”

“He hasn’t been in California long.”

“Is he any good?”

“He’s available.” Which, somehow, had moved way up Jillian’s priority list. She bit her bottom lip, worried all over again. “Or at least he says he is.”

“You don’t trust his word? Isn’t that telling you something?”

“That I have deep-seated trust issues?”

Caroline smiled at her wry attempt at humor, but it was a small smile tempered with maternal concern. “Or perhaps he’s not the right man to hire. Have you tried Seth Bennedict?”

“He gave me a straight ‘can’t do it.’”

Her mother’s finely shaped brows arched expressively. “Well, I am surprised that Seth wouldn’t help you out.”

“I didn’t want him to help me out, Mom. I wanted him to quote the same as anyone else. A business deal. No special favors.”

She met Caroline’s eyes, and the circumstances of her previous dealings with Seth Bennedict arced between them. They had never discussed the nitty-gritty of Jillian’s marriage, and her mother, God bless her, had never asked for explanations. She’d simply offered her love, the sanctuary of her childhood home and a shoulder to cry on.

Yet Caroline had been in a similar place herself after the crushing demise of her marriage to Spencer Ashton. Jillian saw that empathy in her mother’s eyes now, and her throat tightened with emotion.

She flung her arms, boots and all, around her neck and held on tight.

“What’s this for?” Caroline managed to gasp around that constrictive hug.

“Just because.” Jillian’s smile wavered and her vision misted for a second before she blinked the gathering moisture away. “And I haven’t had enough sleep to do emotion real well at the moment.”

“Oh, honey.” Her mother gathered her into an even tighter hug, then saved the moment and both their tears by suddenly pulling clear. “You know what you need?”

Jillian shook her head, her emotional state too rocky to chance words.

“A good bracing gallop to clear your head.”

Oh, yes. That sounded perfect. She and Marsanne both needed a rousing blowout.

Instantly enthused, she dropped down on the bottom step and pulled on her boots. Then was struck by an even better idea. “Why don’t you come too, Mom? We haven’t been out riding together in ages.”

They’d galloped, a little more sedately than Jillian’s long-legged thoroughbred would have liked, but she’d held Marsanne back in deference to her mother’s elderly mount.

Now, with that initial burst of energy spent, both horses were content to walk on a loose rein. Their elevated breathing puffed clouds of steam into the air, adding warmth to the cool ribbons of mist that wisped off the lake.

A perfect spring morning, Jillian decided, breathing the commingled scents of warm horse and fresh growth and the crisp chill of the dawn air. Perfect both from her own perspective and that of the vines that stretched in flawlessly drilled lines to their left and right.

The frost alarms had remained silent last night. Good news for the sensitive new growth that grew apace with the warmer, lengthening days. Good news too for the vineyard staff, including Jillian, who bounded out of bed to turn on overhead sprinklers at the first shrill of those temperature-triggered alarms.

“That smile looks good on you,” her mother commented.

“Well, it feels good, too.” Jillian’s smile turned into a laugh of pure and simple pleasure. “Thank you for suggesting this, Mom. You always have the best ideas.”

Something changed in her mother’s expression, the tiniest hint that she didn’t agree. Jillian felt it as much as she saw it, and her ebullient mood faltered. Caught up in her own troubles, she hadn’t considered her mother’s state of mind. And an awful lot had happened in the last months—the last week, even—to trouble Caroline’s mind.

“You haven’t told me,” Jillian commenced in a casual, reflective tone that matched their ambling progress through the vineyards, “why you were wandering around the house at the crack of dawn.”

“I woke early.” Her mother smiled, but the effort didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Lord knows I love the man, but Lucas snores loud enough to rattle bottles in the cellar.”

“You’re stewing over this Spencer ruckus, aren’t you?”

“This Spencer ruckus” had blown up in January, when they’d discovered a whole unknown chapter in Spencer Ashton’s past. Another family in Nebraska. An earlier wedding that made his vows to Caroline bigamous.

It hadn’t only blown up within their family circle, either. Every sordid note had played, loud and embellished, through both the tabloid and mainstream media. Ashton-Lattimer shares had hit an all time low after the latest revelation: an illegitimate child born from an affair with his former secretary.

Was that particular association disturbing her mother’s sleep?

“I hope you’re not worried about us, Mom. About us thinking we’re illegitimate or something.” To reinforce the concern she felt tight in her chest, Jillian leaned across and rested a hand atop her mother’s. Just for a second. “I mean, it doesn’t matter whether you were married to Spencer or not as far as I’m concerned. We all think of Lucas as our father.”

“I know, honey. But I can’t help wishing he were your father in the eyes of the law. I wish he could have adopted you, that you all could have taken his name.” Regret coated Caroline’s words, but then she shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Just listen to me, bemoaning what I can’t change.”

“If wishes were horses…?”

Their gazes connected, mother and daughter, and a whole world of understanding flowed from one to the other and back again. A sharing of present strife and past misgivings, some unspoken but none forgotten.

Then, with uncanny timing, Marsanne snorted and jiggled her head, breaking the gravity of the moment and surprising a bark of laughter from Jillian—perhaps simply to release some of her pent-up tension.

“Was that a laugh?” she asked her horse, leaning forward to stroke the gray silk of her neck. “Or a suggestion that it’s past your breakfast time?”

Marsanne didn’t answer, although her ears pricked and her stride lengthened as they turned by the lake to head back to the stables.

“I have been thinking a lot,” Caroline said, after they’d walked in silence for several minutes. Silent but for the hwark of a wood duck they startled from its nest by the water. “And, yes, a lot of it while I should have been sleeping.”

Jillian smiled her acknowledgment.

“But not over the legality of my marriage to Spencer. I said my vows before God and I stood by them. In my mind and my heart, it will never be anything but a real marriage since it gave me four of my greatest gifts.”

Eli, Cole, Mercedes and Jillian.

They had both reined their horses to a halt, as if tacitly acknowledging the significance of this conversation. Too important to continue while idling along on horseback.

“I no longer care how it started or why it ended,” Caroline continued, her voice as soft as the morning light. “But I am so very glad that it did end. Otherwise I would not have found Lucas. I would not have all this.”

And although she waved one hand in a delicately expansive gesture, Jillian knew she referred to more than the rich physical landscape and the boutique winery she had fashioned into one of Napa’s finest.

“All this” encompassed the solid strength of love she’d found with Lucas and the happiness she’d forged for herself and her family.

This is what worried her sleep—the threat of further disharmony within her family due to Spencer Ashton. Caroline had lost out badly in the divorce settlement, and finally they’d agreed to seek legal counsel. Since there’d been no marriage, there could be no divorce settlement, right?

“You don’t want to pursue legal action, do you?” Jillian asked.

“I’m afraid it will cause more hurt, more bitter words, and for what? What will it achieve? I have everything I want right here.” Caroline waved that same hand around, this time with more vigor. “Already this brouhaha has sent Cole and Dixie running off to elope.”

Because they hadn’t thought it an appropriate time to arrange and celebrate a wedding, with all that was going on. Of course that bothered Caroline. She’d married Spencer quickie-Vegas-style, and Jillian had followed suit.

Not exactly happy precedents.

“Selfish, I know,” she said softly, “but I wanted to be there.”

Jillian leaned across and took one of her mother’s hands in her own. “No, not selfish. A mother’s right.”

One they all should have recognized earlier, one they’d lost sight of in all the acrimony. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to make amends…

“You know what I’m thinking?” she said, a smile brimming as the idea gathered momentum.

“Please, Jillian, if it is anywhere near as wicked as that glint in your eyes, you can stop thinking it right now.”

“Wicked? I don’t think so.” She tipped her head to the side, considering. “Unless we make it a surprise party—and that would serve them right, seeing as they surprised us all by running off to tie the knot.”

The smile started in Caroline’s eyes, then spread all over her face. Her fingers curled around Jillian’s and held on tight.

“A party to celebrate Cole and Dixie’s marriage? Oh, yes, Jillie, that is a fine idea!”

They sat a moment, hands still linked, smiling at each other and the possibilities. A family celebration, a reason to laugh and dance and remember what mattered. Oh, yes, it was a very fine idea, even if she did say so herself!

“If Travis comes through—” Jillian mentally crossed both fingers and toes “—if he can do the renovation right away, we could hold it in the tasting room.”

“A wedding reception cum launch party,” Caroline murmured. “When?”

“Would early May be good?”

“Spring. The season of rebirth.” Jillian felt her mother’s hand move, felt the touch of her thumb against the wedding band she wore. Never had she commented on that symbol’s continued presence, and she didn’t now. She simply looked into her daughter’s eyes, rubbed her thumb along the gold band again, and said, “It’s the perfect time to forget past problems and concentrate on new beginnings, don’t you think?”

Jillian felt herself tense. Oh, no, this was not about her, not in any sense.

She started to shake her head, but Caroline blinked and her gaze shifted, as if distracted by something out of Jillian’s view. She pulled her hand away and pointed. “That will be your builder, stopping up by the stables.”

Now why would he do that? Was he lost, despite her specific directions to meet at the winery?

Jillian frowned as she gathered up her reins and urged Marsanne around.

“He’s early. Now that’s a change for the—” The rest of the sentence died on her lips as she caught sight of the truck. Her mouth probably hung open for a second. Her pulse definitely jumped.

“Is something the matter?” Caroline asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” Jillian answered slowly. Except for the fact that Travis Carmody drove a weather-beaten red truck, and this one was a distinctive shade of blue.

Her hands must have clenched with involuntary tension because beneath her Marsanne started to prance, her muscles bunching as if preparing for flight. Jillian settled deep in the saddle and soothed her in a low voice.

“I think she’s keen for a last gallop home,” Caroline said. “Why don’t you go on ahead?” When Jillian demurred, she shooed her off. “Go on, Jillie. I’ll potter back at my own pace. If your builder finds the barn deserted, he might not hang around.”

“Sorry, bud, I didn’t understand a word of that. I don’t speak horse.”

Seth didn’t feel all that comfortable speaking to a horse either, but this particular horse seemed to expect a reply…although calling the short-legged equine a horse might be stretching things. Whatever, the animal had a real gift of gab. Not your usual horsey neigh or squeal—his pony-mad Rachel had mastered both, along with a credible mane toss—but an eloquent combination of sounds and facial expressions.

A regular modern-day Mr. Ed, only shorter.

Mini Ed’s ears pricked up, his attention shifting to the open doors at the end of the barn. Seth heard it then, the thud of hooves striking the ground in a deep rolling rhythm, and his body quickened with expectation.

His companion whinnied and snorted. Seth managed not to, at least out loud.

He strolled over to the doorway in time to see horse and rider loom into sight. He knew Jillian rode, that before marrying Jason she’d competed in three-day events, but he’d never seen her on horseback. And the five minutes he’d spent cooling his heels in the barn hadn’t nearly prepared him for the impact.

Sure, he knew those mile-long legs would look spectacular wrapped around pretty much anything, including a huge gray horse. But he’d pictured her straight-backed and ladylike as she approached at a collected pace, not bent over the monster’s neck and thundering up the hill at full speed.

Not out of control, he decided, although that didn’t stop his whole body tensing for the eight seconds it took her to steady and slow to a walk. Seth let his breath go on a long gust that mixed relief with a strange sense of discovery. This was a Jillian he hadn’t seen before, her face flushed with exhilaration, her eyes shimmering as they locked with his.

So, the cool and prissy lady got off on speed. Who would have thought?

“Nice morning for a ride,” he said pleasantly.

“Nice?” One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Nice doesn’t do this sort of morning justice.”

“Point taken,” Seth murmured as she reined the horse to a stop.

When she swung her leg over and started to slide down, he moved in to catch her. After all, it was a long way to the ground. And somehow—despite his architect’s eye for perspective and measurement—he managed to misjudge the distance. Probably because he was distracted by the curves of her backside, clad in stretchy riding pants that fit like a second skin, coming right for him.

His vision actually glazed over for a second. The next, his hands were on her hips and sliding to her waist as that tight little backside connected with his front side. Quick, accidental, over before the heat burned right through his pants.

Yet the quick hitch of her breath, the instant tension in the lithe body beneath his hands, told him she’d felt something, too.

Yeah, well, she had cause.

Reluctantly he let her go, stepping back enough that she didn’t elbow him anywhere delicate when she started doing whatever had to be done with her saddle. It appeared to be quite a bit.

“Need a hand?” he asked after several seconds of watching her tug and fuss with straps.

“I can manage. And I’m actually quite competent at getting off my horse unassisted, too.”

He made a note for future reference.

“What are you doing here, Seth?” She glanced over her shoulder, her face prettily flushed. From the ride, Seth reminded himself, not from the impact of that sliding dismount. “I was expecting someone else.”

“So I heard.”

Her brows pinched together. “You heard that…where?”

“From Eli.”

“My brother called you?” she asked on a rising note of disbelief.

“No, I called you this morning to see if you’d found a contractor. Eli answered. He said you were out riding and then he mentioned that Carmody was coming to quote.”

He tried, but obviously didn’t succeed, in keeping his tone flat and free of condemnation. Her gaze narrowed a fraction as she turned around to face him. “And you don’t approve?”

“You said you wanted the best. Carmody doesn’t come close.”

“The best isn’t available. Travis Carmody is.” The clear green of her eyes deepened. “Unless that’s changed since Monday. Is that why you’re here, Seth?”

“I’m here to save you from employing a substandard tradesman. Hell, Jillian, I offered to give recommendations. I would have helped you line up someone dependable.”

“No one else is available. Not Terry Mancini or the Maine brothers or O’Hara. I tried them all. Travis is my last alternative.” She crossed her arms, sighed and met his eyes. “Exactly how bad is he, Seth?”

“After I got off the phone to Eli, I jumped straight in my truck and drove out here. Before my first cup of coffee. What does that tell you?”

“That bad, huh?”

Her smile was game, but deep in her eyes Seth saw the gathering shadows of disenchantment. He almost caved, almost offered…anything, but then she unfolded her arms and broke eye contact. She studied her hands, and he saw her twist that damn wedding band back and forth.

Rubbing in everything that was wrong about him wanting to offer her anything and everything, this woman who still loved his brother two years after he’d died. Two years after she’d discovered what a lying, cheating bastard he was.

Then she straightened and leveled her eyes right on his. “It’s a small job, Seth, but it means a lot to me. Would you reconsider taking a look at my plans?”

“Since I’m here anyway?”

“Yes. Since you’re here.”

That direct green gaze didn’t waver, and she stood tall and still and proud as she waited for his answer. She had asked for his help and he didn’t stand a prayer of saying no.

“No promises.” Cautioning himself as much as her. “But I’ll see what I can work out.”

“You’ll take a look at my plans? Now?”

“I’m not agreeing to take on the job or even to quote. But I’ll take a look and help you work out a solution.”

“I understand.” She huffed out a rueful-sounding breath. “And I’m not about to look that gift horse in the mouth a second time.”

Seth’s gaze dipped to her mouth, to the relieved smile that itched around its corners, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of a suitably light and witty response. Kissing her was out of the question, he supposed, but that was all he could think about doing, just bending forward and tasting the warmth of that smile in the quiet morning air…

“Seth Bennedict?”

Jillian started backward. Seth turned slowly and realized he’d—they’d both—been so engrossed that they hadn’t heard Caroline Sheppard’s approach. She entered the stable yard on a considerably smaller horse and at a much more sedate pace than her daughter.

And she smiled at Seth with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. “It is you!”

“How are you doing, Mrs. Sheppard?”

“I would be doing much better if you called me Caroline. ” She started to dismount, waving away Seth’s offer to help. “I have all morning to lever myself out of this saddle, and I’d be much happier doing so without an audience, thank you all the same.”

Given his recent experience helping with the out-of-saddle procedure, Seth conceded her point. Which prompted him to turn and seek out Jillian.

In the process of dragging the saddle from her monster horse, she met his eyes with a surprising note of humor. “Don’t even think about helping me again, Seth. I can handle this myself.”

“We know you can,” Caroline interceded, her gaze flicking from one to the other with carefully contained curiosity. “But if you two have business to attend to, I’ll look after the horses and finish up here.”

“That would be great, Mom. Seth’s agreed to take a look at my plans after all.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Seth, once you’re done?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I promised I’d be home to take Rachel to day care. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Then we’ll catch up another day.”

“I’d like that.” He turned to Jillian. “Ready?”

“Once I get rid of this saddle.”

She hurried off into the depths of the barn. So, okay, she didn’t want his help toting saddles but he couldn’t just stand here and watch, right? Not when watching took in the quick left-right hitch of her backside.

Funny, but he’d always thought those beige riding pants a bit starched and prissy. Not anymore. He followed those fast-moving pants inside—in case there was a door to open. Or something.

Off to his right he heard Mini Ed snicker. Probably at him. Seth Bennedict, unable to say no to the lady, despite his promise to keep a healthy distance and save himself this torture of seeing and wanting and not touching.

He knew he would lament this morning, from his foolhardy charge out here to save her from the mistake that was Travis Carmody, to his offer to look at her plans and help her find a workable solution. Then he remembered how she’d stood tall and looked into his eyes and all but admitted she needed his help.

And he couldn’t for the life of him summon up one scrap of regret.