Page 40 of My Three Rivals

Atticus rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt and joined us as I shook my head.

“Uh… no. The roast is in the oven. I used the groceries you guys bought, but I can replace them.” My words spilled out in my nervousness, this bold move uncharacteristic and soul-baring for me, but none of them made me regret it.

“It’s for all of us to eat,” Atticus offered magnanimously. “We were just coming in here to make dinner, but whatever you have going smells much better than what Wyatt had planned.”

He smirked at his friend, who slipped onto a kitchen chair, and Maverick gave him a faux glare.

“Really? You’re not going to do anything?” Maverick demanded.

“After you insulted my cooking skills? I’m too hurt,” Wyatt replied in his usual, dry manner.

I finished mixing the glaze and turned to cover the roast in the oven, distinctly aware of how they checked out my ass in the process. I blushed, wondering if they all knew about one another.

“Also,” Atticus added when I stood again, shoving the squeaky oven door shut. “We have a proposition for you.”

“More of an idea,” Maverick jumped in.

I studied the three of them, a familiar spike of apprehension jabbing through me.

“What is it?” I asked curtly, wishing that I hadn’t put so much effort into making dinner now. It wasn’t going to change. They were just going to keep coming after me until I—

“We want to help you restore the vineyard, house, and winery to its original state,” Wyatt blurted out.

I hadn’t realized my hands had closed into fists until he said that, my fingers relaxing from a fighting stance as I gawked at him.

“W-what?”

“I would have presented it with a little more finesse, Wy,” Atticus told him reprovingly, as he leaned back against the counter to study my reaction. “But what he said.”

I stared at them, unsure of what to say, waiting for my gut to kick in and warn of a trick, but as they returned my gaze, evenly and without guile, I sensed the truth in that.

“You’re giving me the vineyard back?” I gasped, a small wave of dizziness overtaking me.

“Woah, no,” Atticus said quickly, and my eyes narrowed again. “But we’re not going to build here anymore. We’re taking the funds we were going to use for the building and allocating them to restoring the house and vineyard.”

“And winery,” Maverick added.

“If it’s cost efficient,” Wyatt concluded. “We’ll have to get an inspector out here to look at the house…”

Atticus shot him a warning look, and Wyatt stopped talking, his cheeks paling suddenly, as if he wished he hadn’t said anything.

Warily, I glanced from one face to the other, each remarkably different from the other, and yet, at the core, they all shared a similar hardness, a guardedness that I knew all about.

“We’ll do what’s necessary,” Maverick interjected, playing peacemaker, as he always did. “But half of the property and business still belong to Suncrop.”

I pressed my lips together, considering their offer, my pulse quickening. “And what do you want from me?” I asked cautiously, not wanting them to see how much the offer thrilled me. I was making them dinner as a peace offering, but they were offering me so much more.

Was there a catch? There was probably a catch.

“Well, stop sabotaging our efforts, for one,” Atticus replied wryly, sliding his well-sculpted ass onto the counter, his leg brushing against my arm. His smell and nearness gave me a fission of pleasure, my game face slipping away as Maverick moved closer.

“I won’t have to sabotage anything if you’re really going to work on fixing things up around here,” I reminded him.

“Fair enough,” Atticus agreed.

“You’re also going to have to teach us all about making wine,” Maverick added.

I laughed lightly. “I’ll teach you as much as I know, but it’s going to be a learning process for all of us. I only spent summers here when my grandma owned it.”

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