Page 1 of Taurus

Chapter one

Parker

There’sonlyonestoplight on the main street of Summer’s Grove, Georgia.

I hated it when I was a teenager. It stays red too long, making your tearful escapes take that much longer.

But as a thirty-year-old, back for the first time in over a decade, I am finding myself praying to whichever almighty deity that actually exists, it will stay red for a little while longer.

Green means go and go means my foot will press on the accelerator, bringing me that much closer to the stark reality I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to avoid accepting. My grandfather is really gone, and I’m here to take over for him and settle all of his affairs. It’s moments like this that I miss my parents even more than normal. I don’t want to do this alone.

My flight from Washington D.C. was delayed, which meant I got to have dinner and a couple of drinks in the airport before boarding a flight to Atlanta, then waiting in line for nearly an hour to rent a car, only to drive two hours north into the mountains and, finally, into Summer’s Grove. The sun set long ago, considering it’s after midnight, so the streets are empty, leaving me with nothing but this goddamn, glowing red light and memories.

Luckily, before my mind can take me too far down that path, the glow flips to a bright green and I press the gas, taking me straight through the town square and back into the winding, mountain roads toward my grandfather’s pride and joy, and the main source of tourism for this town, Pesca Vineyard and Winery.

I never imagined I’d be back here one day, let alone as the owner of something that held so much importance to my grandfather and this town. I don’t even know what this is going to look like for me. I just know that I needed to get here, have a few conversations with his lawyer and determine the best course of action. What I’ll be doing with the property as a whole is something I have plenty of doubts about. I’ve made my life over the last ten years in D.C. I can’t just… walk away, leaving it all behind to start my life over in the podunk town I escaped once upon a time.

I shake my head and tousle the thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead of me. I don’t know anything yet. I shouldn’t buy any stress until I have answers and options. I tap the buttons on the steering wheel to turn up the music, letting the soothing sounds of “Champagne Problems” by Taylor Swift fill the car and create a story in my head that helps me forget, just for a moment, what I’m here to do.

Before I know it, I’ve wound my way through trees and onto a gravel road with vines lined perfectly on either side, all the way up to where the winery sits on the hill, and the small house just to its right.

It looks exactly as I remember it, but some of the equipment I’m able to see from my car has been updated, of course. All in all, it’s what I expected it to be.

What I’m not expecting, however, is the old red truck parked in the driveway of the house. The sight of it alone is enough to make my stomach twist into knots.

The number of memories in that truck could fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool three times over. Summer nights, sneaking out and parking on the high ridges above the town… kissing, touching… Falling in love… and heartbreak so intense I can still feel it to this day.

Austin Kane’s truck was a war zone as much as it was a place of solace for me from the time I was seventeen until I left Summer’s Grove the day after my nineteenth birthday.

From the looks of it, it’s been parked here for a while, as the tags on the back are out of date. I’m not sure why it’s here. My grandfather was always trying to fix things for everyone, so maybe he took that on before he got sick. He did always have a soft spot for Austin, except for the times I’d come home crying after a particularly bad fight.

But those are memories I can’t drag myself back into right now. I’m exhausted and simply want to crawl into bed and escape into my dreams, just for a little while.

Against my better judgment, I decide to bring all of my luggage in with me right now rather than just coming back out to get it in the morning.

Traversing the gravel with a rolling suitcase isn’t easy, so by the time I’m actually bending over to find the hide-a-key underneath the small flower pot, I’m thoroughly frustrated and pissed off.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath when I realize I will need to dig for my cell phone in my pocket to use the flashlight, because I can’t see a goddamn thing here.

I release my grip on my suitcase, letting it topple over from the weight, then I squat down, dropping my purse to the ground and dig for my phone, which has apparently been lost to the black hole that resides in the bottom of all purses.

I’m so focused on finding my phone that I miss the crucial sound of the front door just ahead of me creaking open, and by the time I rise back to my feet and shine the light from the screen toward the door, I shriek in surprise and stumble backward.

I brace for the impact of my body hitting gravel, but the pain never comes. I’m suspended mid-fall by a strong hand gripping me on the bicep, keeping me from going all the way to the ground.

“Parker?” an all too familiar voice rings through the dark silence. It’s just as silky smooth as it was all those years ago. I don’t even have to look at him to know who the voice belongs to.

Austin rights my stance, making sure I’m steady on my feet before releasing me and reaching a hand in the door behind him to flip on the small light, just to the right of the doorframe.

The warm glow gives me a much better look at the man who stands before me. No longer is he the toned, barely twenty-year-old who I was head over heels in love with, with a bit of scruff on his face and a baseball cap twisted around backward. Now, he’s all man.

He’s not wearing anything other than a pair of low-slung sweatpants, and even his feet are bare. What is it about men and their bare feet? Is it because it makes them look even more primal and Tarzan-like? Like at any moment, they could toss you over their shoulder and carry you off into a cave somewhere for their wicked way with you.

To say that he’s not even more fit would be an understatement. You’d have to be completely blind to not notice or acknowledge how good he looks now.

And don’t get me started on the full, brown beard he’s now sporting. It’s almost enough to make me forget I hate him.

Almost.

---