Crazy About Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series -The Winslow Brothers) (9 page)

She sighed heavily as she reached into her blue-painted bureau and took out her frumpiest cotton bra and panties, determined to behave herself and stop acting like a moony schoolgirl, and then pulled on her jeans and a white cotton buttoned-down shirt. Leaving it untucked, with two buttons open, she took a navy-blue and white silk scarf from the top of her dresser and bound her hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.

“Coffee’s ready,” he called up the stairs. “I poured us each a cup. How do you take it?”

“Milk, please.”

“Sure.”

She pulled on a pair of white tennis shoes, then hurried back down the stairs just in time to find him coming out of the kitchen with two steaming cups of coffee, one of which he extended to her.

“Good morning,” he said like the awkward, delicious, electrically charged ten minutes since he’d arrived had never happened—though his grin at her, from over the rim of his cup, maintained that it had.

He was such an unintentional tease, she couldn’t help smiling back. “Good morning.”

“Breakfast?”

She nodded, sitting down on the love seat, and tried to ignore the flutters of her heart when he sat down beside her, his jean-covered thigh pressing flush against hers.

“This looks delicious.”

“Swiss Haus,” he said.

“My favorite bakery!”

“Mine too.”

“Enough for an army.”

“I didn’t know what you liked.”

She reached for a pineapple cheese puff. “This favor you need . . . it must be a big one.”

“That depends.”

“On what?” she asked, looking up at him.

His eyes were soft and tender as he gazed back at her.

“What?” she asked, brushing at her lips. “Powdered sugar?”

“I haven’t seen your hair down since you were little.”

“My father didn’t approve of us wearing it down.”

“Braids,” he murmured. “It was always in braids.”

She nodded, gulping softly. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry I pulled them,” he said, reaching up to run the pad of his thumb gently over her lip. When he pulled it away, he pressed it to his lips and licked it slowly before adding, “Powdered sugar.”

Her cheeks flamed, and her breathing was short and quick as she stared at him. “The, um, the favor you needed?”

He nodded, reached for his coffee mug and took a sip. “I need your vineyard.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know that my sister is getting married?”

“To Alex English. Of course.”

“Jess was supposed to be married at Winterhaven, but due to some bullshit clause in the rental contract, they’ve withdrawn the availability, which means she doesn’t have a venue. The wedding’s just a few months away. She’s a wreck.”

“Poor girl.” Margaret cringed. “I can’t imagine.”

“You said you wanted to have weddings and events—”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “Eventually! Not in
twelve weeks
.”

“Why not?”

“Did you see the tasting room and winery building? It’s dilapidated. It’s practically falling down.”

“I saw it,” said Cameron, sitting back, but still looking at Margaret, who took another bite of pastry. “I also saw the barrel shed and ferment shed. They’ve been renovated. And this cottage—”

“Yes, but I don’t have a contractor scheduled to do the tasting room yet. I haven’t decided on the plans, and then there’s the landscaping and signage, and the—”

“Meggie.” Cameron placed his hand on her thigh, which sucked all the air out of the room. “Not to be presumptive, but unless I’m mistaken, you have a trust fund in the millions. Surely you can find someone to do the work whenever you want it done. Why not now?”

Actually, Margaret’s bank account wasn’t quite that flush. Her father kept a tight rein on her trust fund and only released a certain amount of money in January of each year. So far, Margaret had spent a considerable sum on purchasing the vineyard, renovating the sheds and the cottage, plus paying Shawn and Owen and their workers to clear and reseed several unused acres and care for the existing grapes. Not to mention the equipment she’d had to buy: all new crush equipment, pumps, tanks, and barrels, including the very expensive French oak barrels. And last, but not least, the small wine cellar she was having built in her apartment. No, Margaret wasn’t a pauper, and she never would be, but her expenses had almost outweighed her income this year, and right now she didn’t have enough cash to finance another extensive renovation. She hadn’t planned on moving forward with it until next year.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently, placing her pastry back on the platter like she didn’t have a right to it anymore. “But it’s just not possible.”

There was an awkward silence between them for several moments until Cameron said, “I don’t accept that answer.”

“Ha!” she laughed, snapping her head up to look at him. “Well,
I’m
sorry to tell you that you have no say in the matter. This is
my
vineyard.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, his face serious, his voice low and uncompromising. “I promised Jessica.”

“Then you’ll have to explain that you had no right to make that promise.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No? What do you mean . . .
no
?”

“My sister’s getting married here in September.”

“No, Cameron, she’s not.”

His eyes burned into hers, his jaw tight as he searched her face for weakness, for cracks. But she kept herself implacable and unmoving under his scrutiny, blazingly aware of his fingers tightening on her thigh, the heat of his hand scorching her skin through the denim.

“She’s my little sister,” he whispered in a tightly controlled voice. “I’ll do anything.”

Staring at his desperate eyes, she felt her body relax, and she covered his hand with hers and squeezed gently. The prospect of honesty was humiliating, but she had to trust him. She couldn’t bear for him to believe that she was willfully withholding her help for no good reason.

“I don’t have the money,” she said. “I get a set allowance each year, and I’ve run through most of it buying this place. The updates, the sheds, the new equipment, this little cottage. Even the renovations on my apartment. The existing winery needs to be demolished and rebuilt as a modern winery and tasting room. It’ll cost upwards of fifteen million to get the building I want, and I won’t have that money replenished until January. I need to wait until next year.”

“Your father keeps you on that tight a leash?”

“He’s careful with our inheritances.”

“Finance it,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “Storys don’t do debt.”

“There must be a way.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t.” Taking another sip of her coffee, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry I can’t help Jessie.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Cameron sighed. “Well, I guess I should just . . .”

Suddenly, Margaret couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving. Last night had been so terrible, but since the moment Cameron had arrived this morning, she hadn’t thought about it. She knew that, once he left, her father’s ugly words would surround her again like a shroud.

“Please stay,” she said. “You drove all the way out here. At least let me show you around.”

He looked surprised at first, but then his lips—his full, beautiful lips, which she’d fantasized about kissing since she was ten years old—tilted up in a smile.

“I’d like that.”

***

Three hours later, Cameron and Margaret had toured the outbuildings and walked through the acres of grape rows, with Margaret pointing out the different grapes grown in each section and explaining which wines would be produced from which grapes.

Losing his father as a teenager meant that Cameron’s mother, Olivia, had been the anchor of his family, and he had the utmost respect for women, viewing them as equals to men on all levels of life and business. And yet he felt himself particularly impressed with Margaret, not necessarily because of her business acumen, but because of the infectious excitement in her voice as she talked about her plans for the vineyard. For years he’d slogged away at a job he didn’t love because C & C Winslow had been started by his father and because he felt stuck there, both by duty and complacency. Seeing Margaret’s bright and animated face, her words exuberant and confident, reminded him that there was so much more to work than drudgery, and that work could be glorious when it was driven by passion.

From time to time, as they walked beside each other, his hand would brush against hers, and he was aware of that clenching feeling deep inside that surpassed even his attraction to her. It was a frank longing for more from this woman, who smiled freely as she walked in and out of the vines, occasionally plucking a grape from its stem and biting into it, then offering him the other half. Walking in front of him, she stopped from time to time to lift a grapevine against her palm, stroking the leaves or gently squeezing a grape, and Cameron was jealous of every touch, every attention.

She grinned up at him and handed him another grape, her skin and hair lustrous in the afternoon sun. Why was she all alone? Why hadn’t some lucky man claimed this gorgeous creature for his own?

“Where’s Olson today?” he blurted out.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking down, her smile fading, the warmth suddenly draining from her voice.

“Is everything okay?”

She looked up at Cameron, her eyes troubled. “He proposed last night.”

The words ricocheted through Cameron like a bullet, ripping through his tender parts on an agonizing, visceral level. He reached for Margaret’s elbow, yanking her around to face him.

“What?”

She nodded. “He asked me to marry him.”

“What did you say?” he bit out, panic making him tighten his grasp on her arm.

“I said no.”

Cameron released the breath he’d been holding, gentling the clawlike grip of his fingers.

“So you broke up with him?”

Her eyes flooded with tears, and she blinked up at him before dropping her eyes to the earth beneath their feet. “Not exactly.”

“Christ, Meggie, then what?”

“It’s complicated!” she said, her voice breaking as she brushed the back of her hand under her eyes.

She looked so miserable, he couldn’t help himself. He pulled her against his chest, drawing her into his arms and circling them around her small body. She resisted for only a moment before leaning into him, against him, sighing as she lay her cheek on his chest like she was so weary she couldn’t hold up her head anymore.

“
Everything’s
complicated,” he said gently, thinking of the work waiting for him at home, letting his lips fall to the top of her head and rest there in a tender kiss.

She nodded, sniffling softly. “It was pretty awful.”

“Was it?” He tried not to chuckle, but couldn’t help a soft burst of laughter from escaping.

“Yes, it was, and it’s not funny, Cameron,” she said, but she didn’t pull away.

He adjusted his hold on her, rubbing her back soothingly for a moment before folding her in his arms. He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. But he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, resting his chin on the top of her head, the smells of warm woman and earth and lilacs combining into the sweetest scent he’d ever known.

“Let
me
pay to renovate the winery,” he said softly, looking up at the dilapidated building at the head of the rows. “And you can reimburse me next year.”

“I don’t have the time to manage the project right now,” she said. “I work all week at Story Imports. I’m only here on the weekends, I spend all of my time with the grapes, and—”

“Then
I’ll
manage it.
I’ll
take care of it. I’ll do everything the way you want, but without any of the burden on your shoulders or bank account. I’ll find the architect and contractor. I’ll pay the workers and arrange for the permits. I’ll manage the whole job. If you like it, you can pay me back. If not, you can knock it down and start over in January, and I won’t ask for a dime.”

She leaned back, looking up into his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

There was simply no way he could offer her anything but honesty. “Because I love my sister, and I made her a promise.”

She searched his face, her wide, brown librarian eyes studying him from behind her glasses—so serious, so grave in their scrutiny, like she couldn’t believe he’d make such an offer, like maybe she
wanted
to believe it, however remarkable.

“Are you hotheaded,” she asked, “or just impulsive?”

“Say yes,” he whispered, ignoring her question.

“Yes,” she said, softly, thoughtfully, almost like the single word was an extension of the thoughts in her head.

Cameron’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”

“Yes,” she said again, chuckling softly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but okay. I give you permission to renovate the winery for Jessica’s wedding.”