7. Violet
seven
Violet
DAY 1 AT SILVER LEAF… ONLY 85 TO GO
I turn down the volume in my car until Aerosmith is barely audible and concentrate on the instructions given by my GPS. Estimated time of arrival at Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard is thirty minutes.
Anticipation flickers in the hollow of my throat, but I tighten my fingers on the steering wheel and force myself to appreciate this moment. It’s a big one, and I don’t want to miss it.
The morning sky is all blue today, with only a few cottony clouds scudding along the horizon, and the fog has all but lifted, so I’m graced with views of never-ending fields and vineyards that meet green hills and low mountains. The beauty of Sonoma Valley is breathtaking.
I’ve lived in San Francisco for a decade and never been here. Wine country is the kind of place you go for romantic escapes with a boyfriend or boozy weekends with the girls. I have neither a boyfriend nor the girls, so I’ve never had a reason to visit.
The truth is, I’ve never traveled anywhere. Never chased adventure. Never spent any time away from home. I’m twenty-eight years old and about as worldly as a toddler. I owe it to myself to live this experience. I owe it to my dad, too.
When we said goodbye this morning, he was positive in a way that felt real, which made me think that even though neither of us expected this separation, it might be good for him.
Before I know it, I’m outside the tall white wooden gates of Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard. I pull over and hesitate, leaning over the steering wheel to get a better look at what’s inside.
There’s a long, wide driveway bordered by tall trees with silvery foliage, giving it the look of a quiet country lane. It’s too long to see what lies at the end, and sitting here doing nothing isn’t settling the butterflies, so I take a breath, turn the wheel, and ease my foot onto the gas pedal.
I go easy over the loose gravel because I’m not used to driving on anything except city roads, and I’m captivated by the ranch itself. I lower my window to get the full experience. Summer air that smells like clean, damp earth. Lush green vines in perfect rows and empty fields lying beyond. Woodlands behind that. Glimpses of water—a river, maybe? A lake? Mountains in the distance. A panoramic picture of paradise.
Eventually, a bright white structure with a sign declaring Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard above it comes into view. Hedgerows appear on either side of the driveway just as perfectly planted garden beds turn the wild landscape into something tamed but no less beautiful. Next thing I know, I’m pulling around a turning circle in front of a building with a welcome sign and easing into one of a dozen car spaces marked guest .
I shut off the engine and take a deep breath. I did it. I’m here.
And… I’ve got no idea what to do next. I peer out the car windows, front, back, both sides, but there are no signs of life. My only instructions were to be here at ten a.m., but I’m early, and I’m in no rush to see Chord Davenport again, so I sit back in my seat and nibble my lip while I debate my next move.
I’m still sitting here five minutes later, knees bouncing and stomach getting tighter, when a tap on my car door scares me half to death.
A woman about my age, maybe a couple of years older, gives me a polite smile. She’s got warm brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and a black shirt with a Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard logo embroidered on one side.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but you’ve been sitting here a while, and I thought you might be lost.”
“Oh. Thanks, but no. I’m not lost.” She steps back as I open the car door, and I thrust my hand at her in an awkward attempt at confidence that’s fooling nobody. “I’m Violet James. Chord Davenport is expecting me.”
The woman shakes my hand, but her professional friendliness fades away at the mention of Chord’s name. “I’m Charlie, Chord’s sister. It’s nice to meet you, Violet, but you must have your wires crossed. Chord’s not here.”
My heart, which only a moment ago was flying like a bird in my chest, freefalls to the ground. “He’s not?”
“No.”
Charlie walks away, and I practically fall the rest of the way out of the car, scrambling to follow her long strides toward the building behind us.
“I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing but—” She cuts off, turning and regarding me with narrowed eyes. “Are you from the press?”
“Me?” I squeak. “No!”
“A puck bunny?” She shakes her head and huffs out a disgusted chuckle. “You’ll have better luck going to his games, and tell your friends, too. Save yourselves the drive and the embarrassment.”
“A puck bunny ?”
She takes off again, gravel crunching under her boots, and I hurry after her.
“No, I’m from the San Francisco Fury and—”
“It doesn’t matter where you’re from.” Charlie stalks toward the set of enormous white timber doors fronting the reception building, then tugs one open and holds it ajar. “Like I said, Chord’s not—”
“Aunt Charlie!”
A little girl comes careening around the corner of the building, skipping and skidding over the loose stones. She’s a curious sight in a red cowboy hat, khaki camouflage tee, neon pink tutu, and tiny cowboy boots caked in mud and dust.
I smile a little as she slides to a stop in front of Charlie, then grins up at her from under the brim of her hat. “Guess what?”
Charlie lets the door swing shut as she leans down and tweaks the little girl’s chin. “What?”
“Uncle Chord’s here!”
Charlie’s head jerks up, and she looks at me like I’ve tricked her. My stomach drops as I raise my palms, not sure what to say, and two more people stroll around the side of the building.
I release a sigh when I recognize Chord, looking so sexy in a simple black t-shirt and dusty Wranglers that I’m at risk of choking on my own spit. But my relief is short-lived once I see the hard look on his face. Any hope I might have had that Chord would be softer—or at least less intimidating—around his family evaporates on the spot.
“You’re early.”
My mouth pops open. Yes, I’m early. In some parts of the world, that would make me responsible. Reliable. An enthusiastic go-getter. In Chord Davenport’s world? It makes me a nuisance.
“Chord.” Charlie’s glance bounces between us, and her suspicion is obvious. Does she think we planned this? The idea would make me laugh if I wasn’t at risk of sounding hysterical. “When did you get here?”
“Just this morning.”
Charlie crosses her arms and blinks with disbelief. “And you were going to tell me… when exactly?”
“Daze?” Chord turns to the woman he arrived with, a pretty blonde with big hazel eyes and a mouth that looks on the verge of smiling. I get the impression it’s always like that—she’s got a warmth about her—and I wonder if she’s Chord’s girlfriend. Not going to lie, they make an odd match. “Take Izzy back to the main house for breakfast, will you?”
The girl—Izzy—skips toward him. “But I already had breakfast, Uncle Chord.”
“Have it again,” he replies. The way his tone softens is subtle, but I hear it, and I’m surprised. He straightens the hat on her head. “Little girls who want to ride big horses need to give their body energy to grow nice and strong.”
“Did you hear that, Aunt Charlie? Uncle Chord’s going to buy me a horse!”
An odd noise sticks in Charlie’s throat, and the blonde woman chuckles as she lifts Izzy’s hand. “Careful, Izzy. You’re going to give Aunt Charlie a few more gray hairs.”
Izzy giggles. “Aunt Daisy! She doesn’t have gray hair. She’s not a grandma!”
Ah. Another sister, then. For some reason, I’m relieved. Chord on his own will be hard enough. Chord with a girlfriend? The stuff of nightmares.
“Wrinkles, then?” Daisy pushes at the crease between Charlie’s brows, trying to smooth out the line.
Charlie swats her away, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “I don’t have wrinkles, either.”
Daisy chuckles. “Not yet anyway.”
Daisy leads Izzy away, and I’m tempted to take a long step back as Chord and Charlie stare at each other, but they’re glaring so hard I already feel as good as invisible. It takes my discomfort to all new levels.
“So.” Charlie shifts her feet as she crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Izzy invited me.”
She gives him an exasperated look. “Our six-year-old niece invited you?”
“That’s right. To a family game night.”
Charlie rolls her eyes to the sky. “Good Lord.”
“And I’m not sure if you heard but I signed with the San Francisco Fury.”
“I—” Charlie clears her throat and shakes her head. “No, I didn’t know that.”
I’m not an expert at these things, but I get the impression Charlie just told a big fat lie.
Chord pins his arms over his chest, mirroring Charlie’s defensive stance. “Yeah. I’ll have a place in the city soon, but until I get that all worked out, I’m going to hang out here.”
Charlie’s brows shoot up. “Here? For how long?”
His nostrils flare a little, and tension feathers in his sharp jaw. “Until the season starts.”
“October? You’re going to be here for the entire summer ?”
“I’ve got a house here, Charlotte. I have every right to stay. Silver Leaf is my home too.”
She snorts. “Yeah, sure. Home.”
A vein throbs in Chord’s neck, but instead of losing his cool, he shakes his head and expels a loud breath. That’s when I notice I’m holding mine as well.
“This is Violet.” He waves in my direction but doesn’t look at me. Maybe I should be relieved about that, but it makes me feel like more of a nobody than I already do. “She’s my personal assistant. I need you to find a cabin for her to stay in while I’m here.”
Charlie’s chin dips as her brows shoot up. “ You need me to find her a cabin to stay in for three months ? What do you think this is, Chord?”
“A hotel?” he snaps.
“It’s a business ,” she retorts. “And I run it. Not you. There are no cabins.”
“There were twelve cabins last time I checked.”
“And none of them are available.”
Chord’s hands, tucked under his hard biceps, flex in and out of fists, but his tone stays even. “Not one cabin is free for the entire summer?”
“No. Not one.”
Charlie lifts her chin, daring Chord to argue, and a silent moment passes when I think he might. This is so awkward. I’m the reason they’re arguing, which is bad enough, but it also feels like witnessing a family moment that should be private.
I take a small step back, but gravel crunches under my sneakers and I freeze. They whip around to pin me with identical frowns, and Chord’s eyes are cold enough to make my heart sputter.
Charlie shakes her head with a nasal grunt of disapproval. “If you’re so rich and so important that you need a twenty-four-seven personal assistant, Chord Fergus Davenport, you can find a room for her in that big fancy house of yours.”
A laugh that sounds suspiciously like a whimper bubbles up my throat. She wants me to live with Chord for three months ? His middle name is Fergus ?
Chord glares at his sister as blood tips his ears red, but he remains silent. It’s a standoff until, to my surprise, Charlie breaks it by turning to me.
“It’s nothing personal, Violet. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Sure.” My nervous humor fizzles into dread as my eyes bounce between Chord and Charlie. Is he really not going to say anything? My heart has never raced this fast. “Uh, thank you.”
She gives me a tight smile before she turns on her heel and disappears behind those huge, heavy white doors. I watch them in case she returns to tell me this was all a big joke, but there’s only silence.
“Key.”
I whip my head around to Chord, who is standing closer than I realized, all irritation replaced with blank coolness, watching me with his hand out, palm up expectantly.
“I’m sorry?”
He twitches his fingers and raises his brows, distracting me with that sexy scar. “Give me your car key.”
“Oh. Sure. Okay.”
I don’t stop to wonder why he wants my key. I’m too busy processing what’s happening while dealing with the fact that Chord is talking directly to me. His smooth, rich baritone slides down my spine as I fumble in my satchel, pull out the car fob, and offer it to him. When he takes it, his fingers brush across mine and sparks fly all the way to my elbow. My eyes widen at the feel of it, and Chord gives me a curious frown before turning away.
My stomach does a tight little flip. My nerves are out of control.
Chord takes a few long strides toward my car, and when I don’t follow, he stops and turns with an exasperated look. “Are you coming?”
“Yes. Of course.”
I hurry over as he reaches the car and slips behind the wheel. I get in on the passenger side just as he’s adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate his long, athletic legs, but it hardly helps at all. He slides the seat forward, then back. Forward again. Back again. The car is small and he’s simply too big for it, and his chiseled jaw hardens as he battles to get comfortable. The sight of this big, powerful hockey player folded into my little old car is suddenly irrationally funny, plus… Fergus . I let out an unintentional giggle that sounds too much like I’m choking back a snort.
Chord shoots me an irritated look as he starts the engine. “Everything all right?”
My heart stops and my eyes grow wide. “What? Oh, yes. I was just thinking that uh… I can drive if you want. It’s my car, after all, and it’s small. You don’t look… comfortable.”
His eyes drop to his legs at the same time mine do, but whatever I found funny about this situation is gone like it never existed. I’m distracted by the way his dark jeans strain over his thick, muscular thighs, and… Oh, God. I’m ogling him.
I look away as fast as I can, but he’s too attractive and he smells so delicious that I can’t find anything else to focus on. My glance darts back, and I’m met with the hard curve of his tricep and the broad lines of his shoulder. I skim my gaze down his arms, but his forearms are muscled, too, and there are his hands—huge, strong, tan, gripping the steering wheel like he knows how to handle it. The skin over my chest starts burning as I try to meet his eyes, but they’re too cool, and by the time I’ve traced his perfect jaw, the smooth column of his neck, and the way his dark hair curls around the edges, I panic and glance at his crotch.
His freaking crotch .
My cheeks flame as I spin around and stare out the window, my breath coming too fast and prickles springing up on the back of my neck because I can feel him watching me.
Holy hell, I’m not fit for society.
It’s quiet for an awkward moment, and I don’t trust myself to turn around when Chord clears his throat and backs out of the car space. “I know the way, and this car isn’t made for rough terrain. It’s safer and faster if I drive.”
“Okay.” I wrap my hands around the leather strap of my satchel, then brave a sideways look at Chord. He’s concentrating on the road, expression blank, and I breathe a little easier. Maybe he didn’t notice the way I practically undressed him with my eyes.
Oh, crap. Now I’m thinking about him naked. The smooth hard muscles of his chest, his shoulders flexing as I gaze up at him from the pillows. Hovering above me and touching me with those incredible hands. They’d be gentle but rough. Calloused from hockey. Confident, of course. Firm. Demanding. Talented. Relentless.
My cheeks blaze again, and I jerk my head away, staring hard at the scenery sliding past the car.
I’m suddenly thankful that Chord Davenport is the way he is—cold, distant, and difficult to read. Even under the same roof, he’ll want as little to do with me as possible, and it’s so much better that way. I’ll feel better that way.
It might be fun to think about a man like Chord looking at me in a way that makes my breath catch, but I’m not ready for that. I’ll never be ready for that.
Chord’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met, but I’ll never understand him or be comfortable when he’s around. If I want to survive the summer and keep my job, I need to focus on the work and make myself all but invisible to the person sitting next to me.
I kind of want to laugh again because who am I kidding? He’s the hottest, richest, and most recognized player in the NHL. I’m a plain little marketing assistant with a confidence problem and a sketchbook full of broken dreams. Chord Davenport would never look twice at a girl like me.