Marina Adair - Autumn in the Vineyard

“Armed intruder?” Francesca laughed, sliding Nate an amused look before lowering the gun and smiling up at the sheriff—who smiled back. “I was just walking my property, Sheriff.”

Frankie’s grin faded as her mountain of a brother, Deputy Jonah Baudouin, slid out of the passenger side of the car. He was impressively dangerous looking and, Nate reminded himself, packing. On a normal day, when unarmed, Nate could hold his own against the deputy. But he knew that when it came to protecting baby sisters, men could be ruthless. Hell, he’d do just about anything to make sure his sister Abby was happy and safe.

So when Jonah stood there, silently watching Frankie with a total lack of emotion on his face, Nate found himself wondering just what their relationship was like.

“Frankie,” Jonah said tipping his hat as though she wasn’t his sister. Then he turned to Nate with the same expressionless look. “What’s going on?”

That’s exactly what Nate wanted to know. Why did Frankie look like she’d been busted? And why was Jonah asking Nate when Frankie was the one holding the gun?

“I’m sorry,” Frankie began, her voice shaking with something that did stupid things to Nate’s chest. “I was going to tell you about the property, but I wanted to make sure—”

Frankie trailed off because— holy shit —Miss Bad Ass looked close to tears and Jonah wasn’t even reacting, just patiently waiting for her to continue.

“Actually, it’s my property,” Nate clarified, wanting to get that on the record, and get everyone’s attention off Frankie. “So there’s nothing to tell except that she had a gun and I didn’t know it was her, so I called you guys just in case. I know armed robberies carry four times the fatality rate.”

“Let me guess, you read that in one of your fancy magazines,” Frankie said with a small smile and Nate didn’t respond because she was right, he’d read it in the Wall Street Journal —and because she didn’t look like she was about to cry anymore.

Then her smile faded and her eyes narrowed, and damn it if he hadn’t imagined the whole vulnerable woman act. “Wait! Just what are you accusing me of robbing?”

“My alpacas,” he finally said, ignoring the way the two men exchanged shit-eating grins, and felt even stupider. “Last week there was a herd of them and I noticed this morning that they were all gone. Well, except for her.”

Nate jerked his chin toward the animal who immediately started stomping her hooves in typical female fashion. Then her lips started working overtime and Nate took a giant step back. “Is she going to spit? I read online that alpacas spit when they get mad.”

“So then you called to file a stolen property report?” the sheriff asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mustache twitching.

“The property , being the house and the alpaca, is mine,” Frankie said, stroking the fluffball’s head.

“So, there’s no report then?” the sheriff asked.

Frankie ignored the sheriff and glared at Nate. “And she is male, which explains the need to stomp his hooves and spit when he’s mad.”

With a loud exhale, the sheriff unclipped his walkie-talkie. “Dispatch, this is Sheriff Bryant. Tell all units responding to Sorrento Ranch that they can go available.” There was some squawking back, and then, “Nah, it’s just a domestic dispute, we can handle this call.”

“Domestic?” Frankie spat. “There is nothing domestic about us. I don’t even like him.” She flapped a hand furiously back and forth.

Nate leaned in. “That’s not what I remember you panting a few months ago.”

Frankie leaned in too, her full mouth so close he could feel her breath tease him—from his lips all the way down to his dick. Damn, he usually had better control.

“I was drunk and bored. You misunderstood. Plus, I like my men to pack a bigger set than me.” She glanced down and then back up through her water spiked lashes. “Never going to happen, DeLuca.”

“Who owns the land?” the sheriff interrupted loudly, taking off his hat and rubbing at his forehead.

“I do,” they both said in unison. And Nate meant it. He was tired of being fucked with.

“So let me get this straight. You are both claiming ownership of the house, guardianship of… that there,” Sheriff Bryant nodded at the alpaca, who nuzzled Frankie’s hair and started humming. “And there’s arguing, threats, and loaded weapons on the premises?”

Frankie shrugged.

“Sounds like a domestic dispute to me.” The sheriff looked at Jonah, who ran a hand down his face.

“God damn it, Frankie,” Jonah said on a long exhale, his cool fading. Nate found himself relating to the guy. “I have to haul both of you in.”

Hell, no. That was not going to happen. “How about I drop the charges? Francesca and I can settle this like rational adults.”

“Rational?” The deputy pushed his sunglasses down to the end of his nose and looked at Nate over the rims. “We are talking about the same girl and the same piece of land, right? Because my sister knows how to use that thing and she will shoot you if you try to take this place.”

“I wouldn’t shoot him,” Frankie said. Jonah spared her a disbelieving glance. “Fine, I might shoot at him, but I wouldn’t shoot him.”

Nate had to smile. Gun or not, it was hard to feel threatened by a woman who had once, long ago, cried herself hoarse in his arms.

“Either way, I’d be called back out and the town would think that I was somehow aiding in this stupid old feud.” Jonah walked around the back of the cruiser and opened the back door. “Now you both going to go easy or do I need to get out the cuffs?”

Investment-quality wine?” Jonah placed his hands, palms down, on the assessor’s map and slid it across the table in the Sheriff’s station break room, making sure to shove all of his big-brother disapproval in her face. “Please tell me this isn’t why you cashed out your trust account?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes,” Frankie said, shoving a little something of her own back.

“Christ, Frankie.” Jonah unfolded himself from the too-small seat, rose to his full, six-foot-two height and started pacing. He did that a lot when dealing with her. “What were you thinking?”

“Gee, Jonah, I don’t know.” She leaned back in her metal chair and kicked her boots up on the table, going for unaffected. It was hard to pull off since Jonah never got agitated unless he was really pissed. Or worried. And Frankie hated worrying him. “That it couldn’t be any more risky than Grandpa slapping one of the most respected names in wine on a bottle of supermarket Syrah? Or maybe, that one of the best plots in St. Helena Appalachian history went on the market and I actually had a shot at owning it.” She paused. “Wait? How did you know?”

Jonah walked over to the coffee pot, but not before raising an eye at her feet, which she ceremoniously dropped to the floor. He filled two paper cups with coffee and went about doctoring them up. “Phoebe called. I guess she had to sign off on the transaction.”

“What?” Oh my god, her mother knew. Frankie couldn’t imagine a worse situation. Other than Nate owning that other parcel of land, which she was pretty sure he did. “She isn’t coming here, is she?”

“No.” Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. “Thankfully, she has an art show in Mendocino this weekend that she has to prepare for. Then she leaves Monday for a three week commune with her inner goddess.”

“A commune with her inner what?”

“God, don’t make me repeat it.”

Frankie smiled and felt her shoulders relax. In the craziness of the morning, she’d forgotten about her mom’s yearly trip to her favorite artists’ commune in Arizona. A trip that couldn’t have come at a better time. The last thing she needed right now was her mom to pay her a visit and discover that Frankie had been fired. Phoebe would go all mama bear on Charles, who’d say something hurtful in return, then her brothers would feel obligated to intervene—and once again her family would get caught up in some nasty fight with Frankie at the center.