Chapter 1
One
THREE MONTHS LATER
The fire crackled softly in the stone pit, casting dancing shadows across the faces gathered around it.
Devon’s entire family had assembled, as they often did, for a night of good wine and conversation.
However, tonight, the air hung heavy with unspoken grief, the darkness alive with hushed voices and shared sorrow.
But Devon couldn’t focus on the latter. He swirled the cabernet in his glass, watching the liquid catch the firelight, his attention drifting to the gravel driveway beyond the circle of warmth.
Any minute now, Emery would pull through those gates, and this careful balance he'd been maintaining for the last few months would shift into something entirely new.
He didn’t know what that looked like, or how he’d manage it. This was uncharted territory. She’d made it clear the moment his family got serious about hiring her that they couldn’t ever be anything other than friends. He’d done his best to accept that.
Only, it wasn’t working out so well. Having feelings of love wasn’t something that he understood—that was Bryson’s department.
“I can’t believe David Callaway is dead,” Walter, his father, said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the group.
“His wife called me a few hours ago. Based on the medical scare he had last year, they think he had a heart attack.
The medical examiner will be able to confirm that in a few days. "
“I sent over a few pans of lasagna and some muffins,” Brea, his mother, said, reaching for his father’s hand. "He was only what, sixty? That's far too young."
"Sixty-one,” his father confirmed. "I didn't always see eye to eye with David, but he was a good man. Built Callaway Wines back up after his dad’s…” his father glanced up with that twitch in his eye that he always got when he was about to say something that didn’t settle well in his gut. “…troubles."
Devon not only caught the uncomfortable expression, but the careful way his father phrased it.
Jasper Callaway's criminal activities were old history.
Still, in a small town like Stone Bridge, some stories never quite died—especially since Gabe Maxwell was related to someone associated with the illicit activities.
But for the Boones, it was water under the bridge.
“I wonder if any of the rumors are true,” Ashley, one of Devon’s little sisters, said, bringing up another potential shadow hanging over Callaway Wines.
“Now is not the time for idle gossip.” His mother lowered her chin. Her disapproving gaze still had the ability to make all her children recoil and rethink their actions.
“I’m sure I’m the only one wondering if David Callaway had an illegitimate child who’s going to appear out of nowhere and stake a claim on his legacy.” Ashley sank into her chair, lifted her glass, and took a big sip, ignoring the glares from their parents.
Devon remembered the first time he’d heard that rumor. Winston had gotten into a fist fight with some idiot in the center of town. He’d been all of fourteen, and Devon had to admit, if he’d been in Winston’s shoes, he would’ve punched that kid, too.
The rumor circulated every once in a while, and Devon barely paid attention to it. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. At least not the way people in this town gossiped about it.
“First, it’s not our business,” his father said. “Second, the Callaways are grieving. The last thing they need is for this town to whisper about something like that during a time like this.”
"I feel bad for Winston and Callie,” Riley, Bryson’s girlfriend, said softly. "Losing a parent is devastating.” She raised her hand and wiped away a tear that had fallen to her cheek.
“It’s never easy.” His father set aside his wine glass and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “In time, you learn to go on. Live your life. But the loss is always there.”
“I might not like Winston, but I called him as soon as I heard the news. He sounded pretty shaken up by it.” Bryson shifted. “He’s going to have his hands full taking over the winery—especially the winemaking process, and he knows that. David was very hands-on and was an excellent vintner.”
“He was incredibly controlling,” his father mused. “However, David and his children have always had different philosophies about the business.”
“So have we,” Devon added.
“Not in the same way.” Bryson lifted his glass. “You and I might fight like we’re still a couple of kids in pre-school, and our sisters are insanely opinionated, but we know when to check our egos. Dad has taught us all well.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” His father’s eyes beamed, and his smile was wide. But there was a sense of loss in the way his father spoke—slow and deliberate.
Three months ago, it had been Riley’s father—a life-long friend to Walter and all of the Boones, who’d died. David might not have been their father’s closest ally. In fact, he was their biggest competitor. But David was still a decent man. Kind. Fair. And always fun to be around.
“I must say that I’ve never felt as though I’ve had to hover over you kids when it comes to this business.” His father took a slow sip of his pinot—a family favorite.
“You’ve also never told us we had to be a part of it,” Hasley, his other sister, said. “That makes a difference.”
“David never forced Winston or Callie,” Devon’s mom said. “But there was some pressure, because of the… well… past.”
“You don’t have to dance around the topic of my grandfather and how he was tied to Jasper Callaway and what either one of them did,” Gabe said.
“What happened is a part of the history of this town. Even with time and space, it’s still going to come up on occasion.
Heck, some wine tours talk about the murder and my grandfather when they drive by the location. ”
His mother reached out and rested a hand over Gabe’s. “We’re just trying to be respectful.”
“You always are.” Gabe smiled.
“Dad, you think Winston and Callie will be able to carry on the same level of commitment to the family winery as his dad did?” Ashley asked.
"Hard to say," Walter replied. "Winston's got the education—went to UC Davis, same as Bryson and Gabe. But he's never shown the same passion for winemaking that his father did. Never spent the time honing that craft. More interested in the business side. And he’s made some solid decisions. However, he often rushes into things and occasionally puts his foot in his mouth.”
“Not to mention he’s arrogant,” Hasley added quietly. “And slightly chauvinistic.”
“I’m with Hasley on this one.” Ashley waved her hand wildly in the air, as if she were trying to swat an annoying fly.
“I ran into him on my birthday last year, and he had the audacity to not only hit on me—as if I’d ever be interested—but he went on to say that any woman who was with him would never have to work again.
That he didn’t understand why I didn’t focus on charities over the vineyard.
” She raised her drink. “Mind you, Winston had been drinking that night, and I doubt he’d admit to the conversation—especially the part about hitting on me, considering he used the line, hey, your brother, my sister, so, why not us. ” Ashley shivered. “It was gross.”
“I still can’t believe you dated Callie.” Bryson chuckled.
“Yeah, well, you married—”
“Can we not have this childish argument again?” his father interrupted. He held his glass up, swirling it, staring at the red liquid as the orange and yellow flames amplified the wine's rich tone.
“Honey, what has your brow wrinkled?” Devon’s mom rested her hand on his dad’s thigh.
“David and I had our fair share of arguments over the years,” his dad said softly.
“I didn’t—I don’t—agree with his methods, and he had opinions about mine.
But even I can admit Callaway Wines are a decent product.
I worry about what will happen to future harvests.
Without a good vintner, a wine will end up wrapped in a brown paper bag and consumed for effect—not taste. ”
Devon observed his father's expression. There was history between the families—complicated history. They all knew the connection. Understood it—but it was one of those things that was rarely discussed and wouldn’t be with Gabe present.
“There are many good wine makers in the area,” Bryson said.
“I can name two off the top of my head who’ve been working as assistants and would love the chance as head vintner, especially when they won’t get the opportunity in their current roles for decades to come.
” He shifted his gaze toward Gabe. “I just hope you won’t be one of them. ”
“You’re talented, but we’d be lost without you as our operations manager,” Devon said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Gabe took his wine glass and finished off the last drop. “At one time, I might have had my sights set on being a head winemaker, but that notion left a few months into working here. I have no intention of going anywhere.”
A long silence filled the air. The only noise was the crackle-pop of the flames which pointed like fingers toward the sky. Devon checked his watch. With every second that passed, his pulse increased. Devon held his glass by the stem, swirling the red liquid.
"You're going to wear a hole in that glass if you keep staring at it," Ashley observed, clearly ready to change the subject from their deceased neighbor.
"I'm appreciating the complexity of the blend," Devon replied smoothly, though he caught Hasley's knowing smirk from across the fire.
"The complexity of the blend, or the complexity of your feelings about Emery?” Hasley leaned forward with the kind of grin that suggested she was enjoying this far too much.