Michelle Major - A Stonecreek Christmas Reunion

“But he loved her,” Trevor said, shaking his head and looking suddenly far more sober than he had a few minutes earlier. “Why would it matter how things started? And you had nothing to do with any of that.”

“I don’t quite understand it,” Griffin admitted, “and Dad isn’t saying much from beyond the grave.”

“Damn, Grif,” Trevor muttered.

“It wasn’t easy for Mom to share it with me.” He took another drink of beer then laughed. “Although it was better than the explanation I’d come up with on my own, which basically boiled down to questioning whether Dad was my real father.”

Trevor made a face. “You look like Mom, but you’re a chip off the old paternal personality block.”

“Maybe, but I’d had fantasies as a kid of some Clint Eastwood–type guy showing up and claiming me as his own.” He shrugged. “I could imagine every moment up until the point where I had to leave Harvest. Then it got fuzzy.”

“You left anyway.”

“Dad and I would have torn each other apart if I’d stayed.” He blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry you felt like you didn’t have a choice in the path your life took, Trev.”

His brother massaged two fingers against his forehead. “It seemed like one rebel in the family was enough.”

“You do have a choice.” Griffin sat up straighter. “I’m not trying to push you out. If you want to stay at Harvest, we’ll find a way to run the business together. But Calico might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. No one would blame you for wanting to do something for yourself at this point.”

“You want to check with Mom before you start making promises?”

“I don’t need to,” Griffin insisted. “She’s not like Dad. You know that. She wants you to be happy, no matter how that looks or where it takes you.”

Trevor leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest. “I always figured the family business was my only option. Dad made it clear—”

“He’s gone,” Griffin interrupted then shook his head. “The old man did a number on both of us, but I have to believe he meant well in his own narcissistic way. You can’t let everything that came before dictate what comes next for you. You have big ideas and you’re damn good at what you do.”

“I love it,” Trevor said softly. He looked down at the drink in front of him then added, “But I want more. I want to take the job.”

Griffin nodded. “We’ll talk to Mom in the morning, explain what’s going to happen. She’ll understand. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you.” Trevor’s gaze lifted to Griffin’s and there was a mix of anticipation and relief in that familiar gaze that made Griffin’s chest ache. Why hadn’t they talked like this before now? They’d lost so many years... Griffin had wasted so much time on anger and resentment. He hated himself for it, but all he could do now was vow to change.

“You ready to head home?”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to end up passed out on the sidewalk.”

“Let me walk with you anyway. I have some big brothering to catch up on.”

“Fine,” Trevor grumbled but he didn’t seem upset by Griffin’s insistence. “I’m holding you to the offer to be there when I talk to Mom. She’s going to freak out.”

Griffin thought about their mother’s calm reaction when he brought Joey home with him. “I think she’ll handle it okay,” he told Trevor with a smile.

They each climbed out of the booth, waved to Chuck and headed out into the cold December night.

Chapter Three

Jana opened the front door the following morning and felt her jaw go slack. Instead of her younger son, who Griffin had told her would be stopping to discuss something with both of them, Jim Spencer stood on the other side.

Her hand automatically lifted to smooth the hair away from her face. She wore no makeup and was afraid she looked every day of her fifty years. Joey’d had another nightmare at three in the morning. She and Griffin had spent over an hour trying to get him back to sleep, resulting in very little rest for Jana after that.

She stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Griffin was working in the office that had been her late husband’s, a room off the kitchen, while Joey remained asleep. Although she didn’t approve of Griffin keeping Joey a secret from Maggie, she respected that the decision was his. Obviously, he wouldn’t want Maggie’s father discovering the boy before he was ready to share the news himself.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her tone harsher than she meant it to be.

Jim frowned, inclining his head to study her. He’d always had a contemplative air about him, the soul of an artist even before he became the renowned sculptor he was today.

“Are you okay, Jana?” he asked softly, reaching out a finger to gently trace the frown line between her eyes. A fat lot of good that would do. One of her friends had recently suggested a dermatologist in Portland who was known to be an expert with Botox. Jana had smiled and said she liked that her face told a story. Now she wished she’d called for an appointment.

“Fine,” she answered, shifting away from his touch, which still elicited a tingling along her spine, much as it had when they’d been teenagers. Only she was nowhere near the naive girl she’d once been. “Griffin is on a call,” she lied, “so he needs quiet.”

Jim nodded, although the excuse was lame even to her ears. The old farmhouse was plenty big to accommodate the two of them without disturbing her son.

“We’d scheduled a meeting to discuss your commission,” he said, holding up a slim file folder. “I did initial sketches and pulled some ideas into a file for you to review.”

Right. The commission for a sculpture she’d discussed with him at the hospital fund-raiser she’d chaired over a month ago. What had she been thinking?

That she wanted something for herself.

That she wanted to feel alive again.

That she wanted another chance with the man who’d broken her heart over three decades earlier.

Jana kept her features placid even as panic and embarrassment washed over her in equal measure. She’d like to blame her impulsive request that he create a sculpture for the vineyard on the emotional highs and lows of menopause. What else could explain reaching out to Jim?

She’d moved on from her first lost love. For heaven sakes, they’d lived in the same town for years and she hadn’t revisited her feelings.

“I’m sorry,” she said coolly. “I know we agreed to meet after the Thanksgiving holiday, but I’ve been busy.” She licked her dry lips. “Griffin had a rough time while he was away.”

Jim’s gentle eyes hardened as he shook his head. “I can’t bring myself to have any sympathy for him. Not after what he did to Maggie.”

“I know he feels terrible for hurting her.”

“He’s a scumbag.”

“Jim.”

“You’d think the same if our positions were reversed.”

“Like when Maggie walked out on Trevor minutes before the wedding?”

One thick eyebrow lifted. “Because she discovered he was cheating on her. I hardly think it’s the same thing.”

She shook her head. “I hate that my sons have hurt your daughter.”

“I’m afraid Maggie is somehow paying the karmic price for how I hurt you once upon a time.”

“That isn’t how karma works,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to manage anything steadier. It was the first time he’d acknowledged the pain he’d caused. “We both moved on a long time ago, made our own lives.”

He turned, looked out toward the view of the fields below. She’d always loved how the old farmhouse was situated so that from every window she could see the rows of vines thriving in the rich, loamy soil of Central Oregon’s Willamette Valley. Her late husband had resented the farm and everything it stood for. Even though Dave had made a success of the land he’d inherited, he’d never been truly happy here. He’d longed for adventure and excitement, not the relentless life of a vintner.