Chapter 4
KICK
Igot home a few minutes after one in the afternoon. The drive back from the airport had taken less than an hour, but my hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel, and my jaw ached from clenching it the entire way.
Isabel was gone. On a plane to Italy. Walking away without looking back.
I sat in my truck, staring at my house, before cutting the engine. For the past few years, I’d been gone far more than I was home while Snapper and I chased the team-roping championship at every rodeo we could get to. Coming back to an empty house had never bothered me before.
It bothered me now. Maybe because I wouldn’t be heading out again any time soon.
The companionship, the parties, and the women were now a thing of the past. Snapper’s shoulder injuries had sidelined both of us, and while he’d told me it wouldn’t bother him if I found another header, I never would.
Snap and I had been a team since we were kids.
It would take years to develop the same intuitive approach he and I had when it came to roping a steer in under four seconds.
Hell, I’d heard someone just did it in three point two.
No way we’d come close to that, especially at our ages.
I’d turned thirty a couple of months ago, and Snapper was two years older than me.
The two guys who won this year’s NFR were both twenty-three.
Sure, there were guys older than us who still competed and made damn good money at it.
But with every passing year, the injuries happened more often and got worse. Just like my brother’s.
What I hadn’t figured out yet was what the hell I’d do with the rest of my life.
I could work at our family winery full-time.
I helped out whenever I was home. It was good, honest work, and I loved being in the vineyards, but as the youngest of seven, I wouldn’t be in the running for head winemaker until I was in my seventies.
Not that I aspired to be. That was the problem.
Other than being a roper, I hadn’t aspired to a damn thing.
I forced myself out of the truck and went inside, where the silence pressed against my eardrums and thoughts of Isabel swirled around in my head.
Why had she looked like she was going to a fucking funeral rather than her family’s swanky villa in Tuscany?
I tried to shake my worry. She was fine.
Not thinking about me—or us—at all. Then again, I was doing enough of that for her and me combined.
So why did my gut keep insisting something was off?
I dug out my phone and opened Instagram. Her last post was from three days ago—wine bottles at the Van Orr estate with some caption about holiday vintages. I scrolled through her feed, looking for updates. Airports. Planes. Italy.
Nothing.
Maybe she just hadn’t posted yet. The flight was long, and she’d just gotten in the air. Or maybe she’d outgrown social media like most of us had.
I closed the app and tossed my phone on the counter.
The rest of the day dragged. I unpacked my bag from Christmas. Did laundry. Fixed the fence in the backyard that had been sagging since November. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off Isabel.
It didn’t work. Even after I finally went to bed, sometime around two, she plagued my dreams.
The following day, Snapper called and asked if I wanted to help at the vineyard. Relief hit me before I even answered. Two days ago, my brother and I weren’t speaking. Now, he was inviting me back to work alongside him like he used to.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
We worked side by side, and while the rhythm was familiar, there was a carefulness between us that hadn’t been there before.
Like we were both aware we’d almost broken something we couldn’t fix.
He didn’t push for conversation, and neither did I.
Being together was enough. The easy comradery would come back on its own if we didn’t try to force it.
Physical work helped. My shoulders ached by midday, and my hands were raw despite the gloves. Physical pain was easier—it made sense in a way heartbreak didn’t.
“You staying for dinner?” Snapper asked as we loaded tools into the truck bed. “Ma’s making tamales.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not? They’re your favorite.”
“Tired, I guess.”
He studied me. “When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep?”
“Don’t know.” I didn’t say it, but it felt like it had been weeks.
“Come up to the house. Ma will give you some to take with you.”
I shook my head. “She’ll try to talk me into staying.”
“You’re right. I’ll bring some over to you later.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He smiled as if he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll be there anyway. Saffron’s moving in tomorrow. Permanently.”
I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man. Have you set a wedding date yet?”
He cocked his head and looked at me like I’d grown an extra one. “We’ve been engaged less than a week, Kick.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Go sleep. Take something if you have to. I’m worried about you.”
Exactly how exhausted I was became apparent almost immediately when I felt myself tearing up. Which, of course, my brother noticed.
“See ya later, Kick,” he said as he walked toward the house and I went in the direction of my truck.
December twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth passed the same way. Work at the vineyard. Come home. Think about Isabel. Try to sleep. Toss and turn instead. Rinse and repeat, as they say.
New Year’s Eve arrived cold and clear. The big auction was tonight—the culmination of everything Snapper and Saffron and, at the end, Isabel had worked on.
The Christmas Blessing Wine would be sold, and the Hope family’s foreclosure would be paid off.
Everything they’d fought for would come together.
I should skip it. Let Snapper and Saffron have their moment without me hovering in the background. But Ma had made it clear that all the Avilas were expected to attend, and I wasn’t ready to explain why I wanted to stay home.
I showed up at the venue just after seven. The place was packed—wine industry elite from around the world were dressed in their finest, ready to bid on history. Bottles of the legendary wine sat on display at the front of the room, catching the light.
I found Snapper near the bar. He looked good. Happy. Saffron stood beside him, her hand in his, and the way they looked at each other made my ribs ache.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” Snapper said.
“Ma would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”
He laughed. “True.”
We talked about nothing important while people filed in and found their seats. I scanned the crowd out of habit, looking for familiar faces. Everyone we knew was here, along with a whole lot of people we didn’t.
I noticed Baron Van Orr standing near the front, talking to another winemaker, Malcolm Warwick.
He looked the same as always—expensive suit, cold expression, the posture of a man who owned everything in sight.
I wondered if he’d heard from Isabel. But as much as I wanted to ask, I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to bring it up that wouldn’t make me look like a lovesick idiot.
Which I was, not that I wanted anyone to know that.
The announcements were made. The auctioneer went through the preliminaries, building anticipation for the main event, and when he finally brought out the first lot, the room went quiet.
Bidding was fierce. The numbers climbed fast—not that I was paying attention.
Originally, when Saffron came to Snapper for help, she’d proposed a partnership.
The Hope family would take half the earnings, and the Avilas the other half.
When the Van Orrs got involved, that split became complicated.
It was quickly resolved when Brix, my oldest sibling, who’d stepped into the role of family patriarch when our dad died suddenly when I was just a kid, suggested that everything beyond the Hope’s cut should be given to charity.
We’d taken a family vote, the support for Brix’s idea was unanimous, and when he presented the plan to Baron, he was all for it too.
By the time midnight rolled around, the auction had long since ended and most of the guests had left. Only a few of us remained, mainly family.
Deciding there was no reason for me to hang around any longer, I walked over to Snapper and Saffron. “Hey. I just wanted to say congratulations again. Tonight was incredible.”
“Thanks.” My brother’s eyes scrunched when he looked into mine. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Just—” I paused. “I’m really happy for you both. The way you brought all that together, the wine, the auction, everything.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” said Saffron. “Without everyone.”
I was about to argue and say I didn’t do much when Baron approached.
“Sorry to interrupt, but, Kick, have you heard from Isabel?” he asked.
“No, not since I took her to the airport a few days ago. Why?”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Your villa in Italy. I assumed you knew. Is something wrong?”
Baron’s face went pale. “She never arrived.”
“What?” I asked as a feeling of dread washed over me.
“I’ve been unable to reach her, so I contacted the caretaker this morning. She isn’t there.” He sounded controlled, but anger simmered underneath. He leveled a look he was well-known for at me. All intimidation. “Where is she?”
I shook my head while my mind raced. “No idea. Like I said, I dropped her off at the airport. That’s the last I saw or heard from her.” While I hoped I sounded nonchalant about it, I was anything but.
Baron’s jaw clenched. “If you hear from her, you’ll let me know immediately.”
It wasn’t a question.
He walked away before I could respond.
I felt the world tilt sideways.
If Isabel never arrived in Italy, it either meant something had happened to her or she’d lied. To me and to her father.
“Kick? What’s going on?” Snapper asked.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve had a bad feeling since I watched Isabel walk into the airport terminal.”