Chapter 4 #2
We order lunch, and I sit back in the booth, taking in the atmosphere. The other diners glance over when we walk in, but with curiosity rather than suspicion.
"This is nice," I observe. "Feels comfortable here."
Rachel smiles over her coffee cup. "That's what I thought when Mason first brought me here. The area has a way of holding onto people. Everyone you met today? They're good folks. The kind who show up when you need help and don't ask questions about why."
Our food arrives, and we eat while Rachel fills me in on the town's rhythm, the seasonal events that bring everyone together, and the quirks of valley life.
When Donna brings the check, she leans against the booth and refills our coffee. "Are you folks planning anything else today?"
"We're heading to Willow Sage before we call it a day," Rachel answers.
"You'll love it," Donna agrees. "It's a gorgeous property. Been there for generations."
We retrace our path down Main Street, and Rachel guides us toward the corner building we passed earlier, its large windows filled with displays of recent bestsellers. A hand-painted sign above the door reads "Bennett's Books" in elegant script.
A bell chimes as I pull the door open, and the scent of coffee and paper greets us.
The bookshop has the comfortable feel of a place that encourages browsing, with overstuffed chairs tucked into corners and shelves that climb to the ceiling.
Hardcovers and paperbacks fill every available surface, organized by genre.
The dark-haired woman I spotted earlier emerges from behind a display of new releases, already moving toward us with a smile that makes you feel like you just walked into a friend's living room instead of a business.
"Rachel! I saw you walk past earlier and was hoping you'd stop in." She pulls Rachel into a quick hug before her gaze moves to me, her dark eyes sharp with the unmistakable look of someone who's already connected the dots. "And you must be the brother."
"Lila Bennett, Charlie Hayden," Rachel introduces. "He bought the old Twin Oaks Ranch and moved the family operation here from Kentucky."
Lila extends her hand, and her grip is firm enough to suggest she's no stranger to hard work despite spending her days surrounded by paperbacks.
"The horse breeder everyone's been talking about.
Welcome to Stone Creek, Charlie." Her voice carries genuine warmth, the kind that's hard to fake. "I hope you're settling in well."
"Getting there," I reply. "Your town's making it easy."
"That's what we do best." Lila gestures around the shop with the pride of someone who built something she loves.
"If you're a reader, you're always welcome here.
I've got a solid western section, some good horse training books, and I can order anything you need.
" She tilts her head, studying me. "Something tells me you're more of a late-night-on-the-porch-with-a-whiskey kind of reader. "
I can't help but grin. "That obvious?"
"I've been matching people to books for ten years. I can spot a quiet reader from across the room."
Rachel leans against a display table. "How are things with you? Still doing the book club?"
"Every Thursday evening." Lila's face changes, with a light that only comes from talking about something you genuinely love. "We're reading a new mystery romance series right now, and the debates are getting heated. You should join us sometime when the baby comes and you have more free time."
Rachel laughs. "I'm not sure free time exists with a three-year-old and a newborn on the way, but I'll try."
"I'll hold you to that." Lila disappears behind the counter and returns with two paperbacks, pressing them into my hands. "Here’s a couple books on Texas ranching history. Consider them a welcome-to-the-valley gift. You can't breed horses in Hill Country without knowing the land's story."
I glance at the covers, caught off guard by the gesture. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." She waves off my protest before it even forms. "Just promise you'll come back and tell me what you think."
We say our goodbyes, and the bell chimes behind us as we step out. The early afternoon sun has shifted, casting shadows across the sidewalk.
"She's friendly," I observe, tucking the books under my arm.
Rachel smiles. "There's a reason this town is one of my favorites. The people here are special."
Twenty minutes later, we're back in the truck and heading out of town.
The road winds through more rolling hills, the landscape shifting as vineyards appear alongside the ranches and pastures.
Rows of grapevines march up gentle slopes, their leaves catching the afternoon sun in shades of green that contrast with the golden grass.
The entrance to the Willow Sage Winery comes into view, marked by a wooden sign with elegant lettering and the silhouette of a wine bottle. I turn down the drive, and the property opens up before us.
The main building sits at the heart of it all, constructed from native limestone that's weathered to a warm honey color.
Massive live oaks shade the courtyard, and behind the main building, rows of grapevines stretch across the land in neat lines.
I can make out what looks like a production facility tucked in the back.
Rachel smiles, watching my face. "It gets me every time, too. Wait until you see the view from the back terrace."
I park near the main building and climb out, taking in the details. We walk through the courtyard toward the entrance marked "Tasting Room," and I pull the door open for Rachel. Inside, the space perfectly balances rustic and refined.
Exposed beams cross the ceiling, and the bar looks like it's crafted from reclaimed wood, its surface polished smooth from years of use. Wine bottles line shelves behind the bar, and large framed photographs on the wall capture the views of the vineyards.
My gaze drifts to the left, and I freeze in my tracks.
Behind a wall of glass, a woman works among massive stainless-steel tanks, scrubbing the inside of one with steady, practiced strokes.
It's her.
The woman from the roadside. Her blonde hair is plaited in a long braid that hangs down her back, damp at the edges where the heat and work have gotten to it. She moves with the same stubborn efficiency I remember, scrubbing like the tank personally offended her.
She must feel the weight of my stare because her head lifts, and those piercing blue eyes lock onto mine through the glass. Recognition hits her face in stages—the widened eyes, the parted lips, the flash of something that looks almost like excitement before she catches herself.
For half a second, I think she might smile. Then that jaw tightens, her gaze narrows into the same scowl she leveled at me on the side of the road, and she turns back to her work as if I'm just another piece of equipment in the room.
Heat floods through me, part relief at finally finding her, part something deeper that I have no business feeling about a woman whose name I don't even know.
I've wondered if I'd ever see her again, and here she is, scrubbing wine tanks on the other side of a sheet of glass like the universe has a sense of humor.
"That's Sunny Reese. She's our head winemaker," a warm voice says from behind the bar, pulling my attention reluctantly from the glass wall.
A woman with kind eyes and a knowing smile leans against the polished wood, already looking between me and the production room like she's reading a story I didn't know I was writing.
"Rachel Freeman! It's good to see you again. What brings you in today?"
Sunny. The name lands in my chest and settles there. Sunny Reese. The mystery woman who's been living rent-free in my head finally has a name, and it fits her like a glove—all that golden hair, all that fire.
"Hi, Tabitha." Rachel steps forward, already beaming. "This is my brother, Charlie Hayden. He just moved to town and bought the old Twin Oaks Ranch. I wanted to bring him by to experience one of Stone Creek's best stops."
Tabitha's gaze sweeps over me with a thorough assessment that makes me feel like I'm being appraised at auction. "Oh, that's wonderful." A grin spreads across her face. "You must be that fancy horse breeder everyone's been gossiping about."
I bite back a laugh. My morning started at five with a mare who decided her water trough was a personal enemy, and I still have hay dust in places I'd rather not mention. "Guilty. But I’m not so sure about the fancy part," I admit.
"Well, welcome to Wildflower Valley." Tabitha is already reaching for glasses, lining them up on the bar with practiced ease. "Would you like to try a tasting?"
"I'm not drinking, Tabby. I have to stick with water." Rachel's hand drifts to her belly, and the grimace she makes suggests she's mourning the loss more than she'd like to admit. "But Charlie should do a flight."
"Oh, that's right! Congratulations!" Tabitha ducks behind the bar and resurfaces with a bottle that she presents to Rachel with exaggerated ceremony. "Sparkling grape juice. Sunny started making it a few months ago for exactly this situation. It's almost as good as the real thing."
Rachel takes the bottle and examines the label. "This looks interesting."
"Sunny insisted we have one available at all times. Said nobody should have to sit at a wine bar drinking plain water." Tabitha shrugs like this explains everything about the woman currently cleaning tanks behind the glass. Maybe it does.
The first wine hits my palate and I straighten on the stool. "Mmmmm…" Crisp white, bright with citrus and something deeper underneath, stone fruit, maybe, with a mineral edge that lingers. "This is excellent."