Chapter 4
EBERLY
My father’s car wasn’t in the garage when I pulled mine in, and while I breathed a sigh of relief, I remembered him saying he was dropping Nancy off and coming home.
Even if he had been here, it wasn’t like he’d get up and ask me why I was rolling in at four in the morning, in the same way, when I’d see him later, I wouldn’t ask where he’d been.
I was eighteen when my mother died, and that fall, I left for college in the northern part of the state. Sometimes, I came home for breaks, but more often, I traveled with friends. When I graduated, I hadn’t planned to be home longer than a visit.
Shortly after, though, I’d started dating Tiernan.
It made no sense to get a place of my own since, early on, he’d made it clear his intention was for us to marry.
Once we were, he said I’d move in with him.
That he hadn’t wanted me to until then, even after we were engaged, should’ve bothered me more than it did.
Or worried me. Instead, it hadn’t fazed me in the slightest.
Once upstairs, I wriggled out of the ridiculously uncomfortable dress I’d been wearing for close to ten hours, removed my makeup, and got in the shower, letting the hot water soothe my sore shoulders.
As much as I hadn’t wanted to leave Trevino, I knew he’d be uncomfortable if he woke up and I was still there. As it was, I’d lingered too long. He’d slept most of the night, which based on my experience with my mom, meant his migraine pain had eased.
So why had I stayed? Because I knew Monday morning, when I showed up for work, Trevino would put the distance between us that I’d grown accustomed to.
That would be if I saw him at all. More than likely, he’d avoid me for as long as he could, and that would be okay too.
I had work to do, mostly getting the gardens ready for spring, when the event business would pick up again.
Soon, it would be time to plant the bulbs that would grow and bloom in March and April, but for the time being, there were several native plants and cool-season annuals I could get started.
Being outdoors, even when the weather was chilly, was a boon for my soul.
Planting flowers and vegetables was something my mother and I had done together from the time I was a child.
Dad reminded us more than once that we had several people on the vineyard payroll who could do it for us.
Mom and I got to the point where we ignored him rather than mention again how much we enjoyed doing it.
Trevino had said the same thing to me the day I showed up dressed to spend my shift “playing in the dirt,” as I’d told him.
“Do you want some help?” he’d asked.
I’d almost told him I’d love it—thinking he was offering. Fortunately, I’d bit my tongue since he added he could send some of the guys who worked in the vines over to help me plant.
“I like doing it myself,” I’d said instead.
“Understood,” he’d responded, leaving me on my own for the rest of the day.
Deciding I probably wouldn’t sleep, I went downstairs, made a cup of coffee, and dug out the sketches I’d done of the grounds around the old winery, as Trevino called it.
When I raised my head and saw it was close to nine, I was stunned. First, by how much time I’d lost track of but also that my dad still wasn’t home.
“I guess he’s entitled,” I muttered to myself, closing my sketchpad. I was about to leave the kitchen when the landline rang—something it rarely did since its only purpose was to buzz someone in the front gate. I thought about not picking up, but did anyway.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Eberly? It’s Trevino. I’m out front. Can you open the gate?”
“Um, sure,” I said, trying to remember how to do it. “Hang on one sec.”
“There should be a code.”
“Right. Of course.” I hit the side of my head with my palm. How could I have forgotten? It was my damn birthday. I pressed the corresponding keys on the phone and, seconds later, heard the gate opening.
I ran my hand over my hair and glanced at my reflection.
At least I’d combed it after getting out of the shower, and while I wasn’t wearing pajamas, I hadn’t bothered putting a bra on when I donned my favorite sweatpants and T-shirt.
I folded my arms in front of me, then opened the door, waving when Trevino pulled in and parked.
“Good morning,” I said when he got out of his truck. I’d never told him, but I loved it. I didn’t know enough about vehicles to have any idea how old it was or even what kind. It was green and white and sat high enough that someone my size would probably need a footstool to get in.
“Mornin’, Eberly.”
“It looks as though you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks to you,” he said, stepping closer.
“Do you want to come in?”
“Are you in the middle of something?”
“I was thinking about making breakfast,” I lied. “Want to join me?”
He hesitated and looked down at his feet. “I probably shouldn’t.”
“Sure, um, of course. So, why’d you come by?”
His eyes met mine. “I didn’t say no.”
“Oh, uh, okay.” I spun around and went inside; he was right behind me. “Coffee?” I asked.
“Do you have decaf?” he asked.
I pointed to the selection of pods we kept in a basket next to the smaller of our two coffeemakers.
“This one’s good,” he said, choosing one. “I can do it,” he added rather than hand it to me. “What are you making?” he asked while I pulled things out of the refrigerator.
“Breakfast tacos?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
“Err, asking?”
“I’m not picky.”
“Tacos it is.”
“I’d offer to help, but I’d be in the way.”
I cooked often, whether it was for myself, for me and my dad, or for friends I had over, so there was no reason I should be nervous making something so simple.
Except I was. Shaking, in fact. “Why are you here, Trevino?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder to see him pull a stool at the counter and sit down.
“To apologize.”
I broke several eggs into a bowl and whisked them. “What for?”
“First, running out on you rather than thanking you for bidding on me. Alex probably worried no one would.”
“It wasn’t me alone.”
“Yeah, but you paid a lot of money. That was nice of you.”
I’d tell him being nice had nothing to do with it. It was the opposite. Yeah, I knew nothing romantic would come of our date. Still, a girl could dream.
“You said, first. Was there something else?”
“You took care of me.”
I added chorizo, then poured the egg mixture into a pan. “Are you apologizing for it?”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have let you.”
I turned up the heat under the eggs and moved them around the pan with more force than was necessary. So, I set the spatula down, put a hand on my hip, and turned to face him. “You could thank me.”
His eyes bored into mine.
I shook my head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He stood and walked in my direction. When it looked as though he didn’t intend to stop, I took a couple of steps backward until I was up against the refrigerator.
Trevino stood as close to me as he could without making physical contact. “I shouldn’t be here.”
I raised my chin. “Why not?”
He touched the side of my face with the tip of his finger. “When you don’t have makeup on, you look like a kid.”
I bristled.
His finger trailed down my neck. “You didn’t care for that.”
“Would you?” My voice shook, making me sound more like the kid he’d called me.
He leaned forward, and the warmth of his breath near my ear tickled. “I’m older than you are, so I can’t say it would bother me.” He took a deep breath. “I like that, by the way. A lot.”
My shoulders tightened. “That I look like a child?”
He leaned away slightly. “I said you look like a kid, not a child. And no, that isn’t it.”
“What, then?”
“You got mad at me.”
I shook my head, but when I tried to scoot around him, he bracketed me with his arms.
“The eggs will burn.”
He glanced over his shoulder and turned the heat off, then leaned into me so our bodies were flush.
“Why do you want me to be mad at you?” My voice had gone from shaky to breathy.
“I didn’t say that either. I said I liked it that you did.”
His hardness resting against my thighs pulsed when he lowered his hand to my bottom and squeezed.
While I’d thought about being with Trevino, it was never this way. What he was doing far exceeded my imagination. I shuddered when he squeezed a second time.
He brushed my lips with his but didn’t kiss me. “I shouldn’t be here,” he repeated.
I tensed when I heard another vehicle pulling in. “My dad’s home.”
Trevino took a step away, then relit the burner under the eggs. “Finish making breakfast.”
He was seated at the counter by the time my father came in. I still hadn’t moved.
“Hey, Trev,” my dad said to him before walking over to kiss my cheek. “What are you making?” he motioned to the stove.
“Breakfast tacos.”
“Yum. Too bad I already ate.”
I stopped myself from saying they weren’t for him anyway.
“Okay, kids, enjoy.”
Kids? God, I was beginning to hate the word.
I moved the eggs and chorizo around in the pan, lowered the heat, then sprinkled cheese on top. As I wrapped the tortillas in a damp paper towel and stuck them in the drawer microwave, I looked up at Trevino for the first time since my dad left the kitchen.
“What?” I said when his eyes scrunched.
“Why does being called a kid bother you so much?”
I took a knife out of the drawer and plunged it into an avocado. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman.”
“Twenty-three?”
“You hired me. I assumed you knew my age.”
“I didn’t pay attention.”
“Now, you know.”
“That you’re not a kid?”
“That’s right.” I opened the microwave, put two tortillas on a plate, then took it to the stove to add the eggs. “Do you want hot sauce?” I asked, setting it and the smaller plate where I’d put avocado slices in front of him.
“Yes, please.”
His eyes widened when I set it down harder than I meant to.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“You will be,” he said under his breath.
My mouth gaped. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
I put both hands on my hips. “What will you do, fire me?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No, Eberly. I won’t be firing you.”
“What, then?”
He took a bite of his taco, then wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin I’d set next to his plate. “Don’t ask questions you might not care for the answers to.”
“Other than taking my job away, I can’t imagine anything you’d do that I wouldn’t.”
He took another bite and raised a brow. “I bet you could if you tried.”
“So, um, why do your brothers call you Bit?” I stammered in an awkward attempt to change the subject.
He wiped his mouth again and grinned. “Because they were all bigger than me.”
My eyes opened wide, and he chuckled.
“It’s true. I was a late bloomer.”
I turned around to plate a taco for myself, not that I had much of an appetite. “You more than made up for it,” I said under my breath, sighing before walking around the island to sit next to him. I’d just hoisted myself up on a stool when he spun it so I faced him, then spread my legs.
“I should fire you, you know?”
I looked down at his hands resting on my thighs, right above my knees. “Why?”
“As soon as I put my hands on you, I crossed a line.”
I stared him down, unable to guess what he’d do next. Would he inch his fingers up my legs, or would he restrain himself? Instead of doing either, he squeezed my flexed muscles.
“Powerful. I like that.”
I nearly whimpered when he released me and turned his body away from mine.
“Be careful what you wish for, Eberly. You might not like it as much as you think you will.” He stood and took his plate to the sink. “See ya Monday,” he said as I watched him walk out the same door he’d come in.