Page 42 of Bitter Rival

I was so intent on proving that I’m nothing like my mother that I went to bat for him.

But I should have known he’d find a way to turn things around and come out on top.

Even more disturbing was that almost-kiss.

You wanted me to kiss you. And you would have kissed me back and begged for more.

He’s delusional.

Okay, so maybe a tiny part of me wanted him to kiss me. To grab the back of my head, fist my hair, and crush his lips against mine.

The air crackled with electricity, like we were hooked up to a power grid and I could feel him everywhere. The heat emanating from his skin. His large hand grasping my chin. His thumb brushing my lips. His hard length pressing against my stomach.

But I would have quickly come to my senses and remembered why he’s the last man I should want to kiss.

So it’s for the best that the kiss never happened. Especially now that he’s declared himself my new boss, conveniently forgetting that I hold just as much power as he does.

But isn’t that just like him?

So what if he has abs of steel and looks really, really good without a shirt? I can still envision him, hot and sweaty, swinging that axe. And the way he wrapped his arms around me from behind and showed me how to do it…my whole body tingled with awareness.

God. That was sexy.

But he’s still a dick and we still have to live under the same roof and work together. Which is what we’ve been forced into doing for the past week. So I’ve banished all thoughts of that almost-kiss and that sexy woodchopping scene from my head and focused on the job at hand.

“Sorry about this,” Pete says when we gather in the driveway to say our goodbyes.

He’s been apologizing all week but none of this is his fault. Harold completely misrepresented it. While it’s true Pete was planning to leave, he had every intention of staying until after the harvest. Until Harold told him he was no longer needed.

“I think this place will benefit from new leadership. I’m old and tired,” Pete says with a chuckle. “But you kids are still young with plenty of energy, and I’m willing to bet you’ve got plenty of ideas for how to change a few things around here.” He’s speaking to both of us, but he’s looking at Beckett. My new boss.

“So you think it’s time to stop doing things my father’s way,” Beckett says.

Translation: I’m going to do the opposite of everything my father did.

Pete strokes his jaw. “I knew your father for a long time. He was always fair with me. Treated me right. But that wasn’t the case for everyone. There were a lot of things your father did that I didn’t agree with. Things I would have changed if I were in charge. But at the end of the day, this was his vineyard, and his word was final. I stayed because I love this place and I didn’t want to see it ending up in the wrong hands.”

He looks at Beckett. “I’m hoping you’ll reconsider selling. I understand why you wouldn’t want to keep it. The way your father set this up is just plain wrong. Just like the way he treated your mother. Never got to tell you how sorry I am about that. She was a good woman.”

It takes a moment for Pete’s words to sink in but when they do it feels like I’ve been sucker punched in the stomach.

Was?

Beckett’s mother is dead?

From the corner of my eye, I watch Beckett. Back ramrod straight. Shoulders squared. Expression stoic. He tips his chin in thanks but remains silent.

“Good luck to you both,” Pete says. “I’m only a phone call away. But I doubt you’ll need me. I think you kids know what you’re doing.”

I’m not so sure about that. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive but now we’re being entrusted with hundreds of acres of grapevines, orchards and a vegetable garden.

Pete shakes Beckett’s hand and gives him a clap on the shoulder then turns to me with a soft smile on his wizened face. He’s been fatherly toward me and I’m going to miss him. A handshake doesn’t feel right so I give him a hug. “What’s next for you?”

He grins, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. “I’m taking my wife on a long overdue vacation. And then I’m gonna kick back with a glass of wine and watch my grapevines grow.”

“You planted a vineyard?”

“Sure did. A few years back. Nothing as grand as this but it’s mine. Got a nice vegetable garden too. The grandkids love it. They all want to be farmers when they grow up just like their pappy,” he says with a chuckle, and with a final goodbye he climbs into his truck and drives away, leaving me and Beckett to our own devices.

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