Page 62 of Kisses Sweeter than Wine

“I hope this is all over soon. I can’t deal with this crap any longer. I’m running out of money.”

“I’m going to take care you.” He wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her close.

For twenty-one years she lived in fear.

Merlot made her feel safe again.

13

MERLOT

Merlot slipped from the bed as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb Talbot. He knew her mind weighed heavily with her father in town and she’d tossed and turned most of the night. He found his jeans, a fresh shirt, snagged his weapon, and tiptoed out of the room. The smell of coffee smacked his nostrils and startled his brain awake.

He passed the guest bedroom. The door was ajar so he poked his head in.

No Corbin. He wasn’t on the sofa either.

Merlot entered the kitchen and poured himself some bitter brew from the fresh pot that Corbin must have made, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

The back door rattled.

He reached for his gun.

“Whoa. Relax.” Corbin set his rifle down, leaning it against the counter. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t do that again.” Merlot arched a brow. “I might not be a sniper, but I do know how to use this thing.”

“Dumb question, but why go from being a parole officer to working at the winery?” Corbin took a cup from the cabinet and handed it to Merlot. “Better yet, why did you become a parole officer in the first place.”

“Long story short, I got pissed off at my parents and my two older siblings and flew the coop.” Merlot handed Corbin his coffee and went about finding the pancake mix and all the fixings. “When I started on my path in criminal justice, my dad figured I would be a lawyer. That was laughable. I thought about being a cop. Between all the corruption that had gone down in the local sheriff’s office with Richard and a buddy of mine that was wrongfully accused of something, I wanted to right a few wrongs, but ended up in the parole office.”

“Not everyone there carries a gun.”

“Nope.” Merlot nodded. “But I had some difficult cases early on and learned quickly that a weapon wasn’t bad.”

“Have you ever had to use it?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Twice on the job and once as a civilian.”

“You shot someone?” Corbin asked.

Merlot nodded. “Wounded two of my clients who drew on me first.”

“And what about the third time?”

“Not something I like to talk about.” Merlot measured out the mix and dumped it in the bowl. He’d only been twenty-six years old when he’d pulled into the gas station on the way home from work. “I witnessed an armed robbery. More like I was smack-dab in the middle of it. This asshole had a young mother and her toddler in a death grip while he pressed his gun to the mom’s head. The dick face had already shot and killed the store owner. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate. When I got a clean shot, I took it.”

“Jesus,” Corbin muttered. “It’s one thing in war, but I can’t imagine doing that.”

“It fucked with my head for long time. In therapy it had come out that I had been terrified of missing and hitting the woman more than being upset over my actions. I had tried to talk him down and wait for backup, but it had escalated so fast.”

“I’m sure she was incredibly grateful.”

Merlot tapped the egg on the side of the bowl. “I still talk with her and her family every once in a while. They are good people.” He added the water and began blending with a whisk. “Happy birthday.”

Corbin laughed. “Now my mom won’t get on my case for having a beer now and then.”

“We can start the day off with a mimosa or some Irish coffee if you’d like.”

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