LITMIR.BIZ

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claim it. Starting today, it would be the only indulgence she allowed herself. She closed her eyes as the milk began to steam, the sound propelling her back to the mornings when she’d make two. She and Harry would drink them while they traded sections of the paper in bed. Her dream ended with a last hiss and sputter.

      The coming sun was only an aura on the horizon. As she stepped barefoot onto the wood boards of the porch, the crisp air hit her exposed skin and damp leotard. Shivering, she set the cup on a small wood table and scooted back inside to grab a sweater. Barney trotted ahead on the return trip, then down the stairs to examine the vines that began ten feet from the porch. She settled in the Adirondack chair, pulled her legs up, wrapped the bulky sweater around her knees and took a deep breath of dirt and early morning air.

       It doesn’t get any better than this.

      She sipped her coffee, and hope rose with the progress of the sun. Doubtless the day would bring more worries to pile on the old. But right now—in this moment—her jumble of emotions bowed before the perfect day. The home that Bob built at her back, Harry’s sweater wrapped around her and the view of the grapevines they’d all loved sent tendrils of peace spreading through her core, unfurling in her dark, empty places. She savored it, trying to trap the feeling inside for later, when she’d need it.

      Maybe it would all work out; she just needed to give it time to—

      “Holy shitballs!” Danovan popped from behind a grapevine four rows in to her left.

      “Jesus, dog!”

      * * *

      WHENSHERECOVEREDfrom surprise, she called, “Barney, come!” The thump of big feet came closer and, ears flapping, her laughing dog barreled around the last row, vaulted the steps and skidded behind her chair. “What happened?”

      Danovan strode to the end of the row, annoyance plain on his face. “Damned dog stuck his cold nose in my crack!”

      She couldn’t help it. Hiding her face in a fistful of sweater, she giggled. “Shitballs? Really?”

      His face turned a shell pink that matched the last tint of sunrise at the horizon. “Sorry.”

      After a final indelicate snort, she forced herself to stop. “Thanks for the laugh. Feels like I haven’t done that in forever.”

      Today he wore a blue jacket and his jeans were dark below the knee, stained with dew. He stopped at the rail of the porch and leaned on it. “Can’t you keep that mutt on a leash?”

      “Aw, Barney was just being friendly.”

      “Well, he and I don’t know each other well enough to be on butt-sniffing terms.” And from his tone, they never would be.

      “You don’t like dogs?”

      “Not particularly.”

      How could you trust a man who didn’t like dogs? “Whyever not?”

      “They’re always jumping on you, wanting attention. They’re just so...easy.”

      “You have a problem with easy?” Not from the way I’ve seen women react to you.

      Though she had to admit, she could understand the attraction. Something about the hardness of the planes of his face and the softness of the look in his eyes as he surveyed the rows tugged at her. That and the sadness clinging to him...

      He turned toward her and stared straight at her. There were gold flecks in his eyes. And interest.

      She snatched her gaze away. It wasn’t as easy to do as it should have been. “Never mind.” She put her feet down. “You want coffee?”

      “No, thanks. I’ve got to get—”

      “I’m talking fresh brewed latte.” She waved her cup. Barney walked from behind the chair, tail waving. She put a hand on his silky head. “Besides, Barney insists. He’s sorry.”

      The corner of Danovan’s mouth lifted. “Well, maybe one.”

      “Come on up and have a seat while I get it.”

      Holding the sweater closed, she opened the screen door and stepped in. She kind of owed him after cutting him off at the knees last night. But when he’d pushed...she’d balked. The cabin was so isolated and it had been dark. She didn’t really know Danovan DiCarlo.

      She cleaned out the press, refilled it and snapped it back into the machine. While the coffee brewed, she ran to the bedroom and threw on sweat pants, a sweatshirt and fluffy slippers. She refused a look in the mirror on her way out of the bedroom. After all, he wasn’t a guest. He was an employee.

      From his glance when she returned, he noticed the quick change. She handed the latte over the porch rail. “Don’t you want to sit?”

      The cup almost disappeared in his long-fingered hand. “I’m good here, thanks.”

      Had he picked up her fear last night? Or was he worried about keeping a professional relationship? “Any time. Nothing better than enjoying this view with a latte.”

      “You’re right about that.” He sipped, studying the vines like a king surveying his kingdom. “I love the peace I get from checking my vines as the sun comes up.”

      The willpower she’d discovered this morning gathered in her upper chest, hardening, pushing back her shoulders to make room. His proprietary gaze on her vines flash-froze that willpower into crystals of resolve. His kingdom, only for now. “Can I get those textbooks from you today?”

      He turned to her, the tiny tilt of his head conveying surprise. “Sure thing.”

      She was eager to discuss the state of the business, but wouldn’t do it in slippers. “I’m going to catch a shower. I’ll meet you in your office in, say, twenty minutes?”

      * * *

      TWOHOURSLATER, Danovan looked from his list to his boss. The downward tilt of her eyes gave her a perpetually sad look, but as he recited the winery’s long list of problems, her face changed to an expression as mournful as her dog’s.

      She dropped her head onto the desk. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it? You can tell me. I can take it.”

      He snorted. “Yeah, you look like you can take it. But luckily, you won’t have to. This is all fixable.”

      She lifted her head, disbelief narrowing her eyes. “Really?”

      “With a lot of work.”

      Her shoulders lost some roundness. “I’m not afraid of work.” She leaned back in the chair.

      Those smooth, manicured hands were testament to what she considered work. Most likely her former “work” was planning Hollywood parties and supervising housekeeping staff. But that opinion he’d keep to himself. “Good. That’ll help.”

      He stood and stepped to the white marker board behind him. He uncapped the black marker and made three columns. “Let’s categorize and prioritize the most time-critical items, so we can make a plan.” He wrote WINE at the top of the first column. “Last year’s product has faults.” He pointed the marker at Indigo. “Not flaws. You’ll learn in the wine chemistry book I loaned you that faults are repairable. Flaws go down the sewer.” He wrote the first bullet point. “Our merlot is not acidic enough, the Chardonnay is too acidic. Thankfully it’s in the final racking stage and not yet bottled. I can fix this in a day. We’ll add more items to this list, but this is the most time-critical.”

      He moved to the second column and wrote VINES at the top. “We need to aerate the soil and fertilize. Like, yesterday.” He wrote the bullet point. “I haven’t found any fungus, but we have to keep a close eye on the humidity and the water content of the soil. But first, there’s the cleanup we talked about the other day.” She scribbled more notes. “This should already have been done, and we have no vineyard rats.”

      “At least there’s some

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