Page 64 of My Three Rivals

But each time, the call just went to voicemail, fueling my anxiety.

Both Wyatt and Atticus were out of the house by the time I got downstairs, the dishes washed, and the kitchen scrubbed of any evidence of Atticus’ culinary talents. In fact, the whole house was clean, despite the renos happening on the living and dining room levels.

Staring at the place, I almost didn’t recognize it, more guilt overtaking me as I realized just how much the guys had done in the short time that they’d been there. I still didn’t know what their long-term plans were regarding staying or going. Was this an investment to them, or were they intending to move in full-time?

As far as I knew, Maverick and Wyatt still had condos back in Sacramento, but it had been weeks since either of them had gone to stay there. Bit by bit, more of their belongings ended up in the house, convincing me that they intended to remain once the renovations were done.

Atticus had always lived by the seat of his pants, his rental properties not really homes, anyway.

But when I discussed the plans for the upstairs, no one made any definitive commitments yet, as if they were all waiting to see how this panned out still. But I couldn’t help but remember what Maverick had shown me, the idea he had in mind for a single loft-style top level.

I need to do something, too. Something to show them I’m not totally useless.

Determination spiked through me as I marched toward the winery, my eyes scanning the horizon for Wyatt, who was likely off repairing one of the fences or replacing the trellises.

Atticus’ Escalade wasn’t in the driveway, but Wyatt’s SUV was still there. Their business still took them into Sacramento often, but one of them always stayed with me.

I eyed Lola, the rusted red Mercedes, not a beacon of hope, but I knew where Wyatt’s keys were…

It was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, I reasoned, heading toward the winery to inform Mirelle that I had something else to do that morning. I wanted to be gone and back before Wyatt knew what I’d done. Or worse, came looking for me with Atticus.

I tried Maverick again, his phone once more going to voicemail and solidifying my decision.

But Mirelle wasn’t in the winery when I arrived, and I couldn’t stand around looking for her. My veins pumped with the ambition of doing something for once.

I was going to see my cousin, Nick, whom I hoped would know exactly where I could find Maverick and this Lou character.

I just hoped I wasn’t too late.

CHAPTER28

Wyatt

The noon sun burned down on my head, reminding me that I was out of water in my refillable bottle.

Time just seemed to slip away out there, working in the vineyards. I mused that the unfermented grapes were intoxicating me in some way, the idea making me chuckle.

I liked that Maverick and Atticus had no issue heading into the city while I remained at Five Penny, working and restoring, cleaning, even. I’d never had a place like this of my own to mold and fashion. This wasn’t my impersonal condo in the Pocket that I’d bought because Maverick insisted I stopped living out of hotel rooms.

I preferred the hotel rooms to the closed, impersonal feeling of my condo, which was mostly still empty, even after living there for three years.

Swaggering back toward the house, I blinked against the California sun, noticing that there was something off about the driveway.

Atticus still hadn’t returned, nor had Maverick, the latter making me more nervous than I wanted to let on. The idea of Maverick approaching Lou on his own made me as uncomfortable as it had Tegan, but I also knew my partner was a smart guy. Even without Atticus giving me the details of their meeting, I was sure that it was a public setting, where Lou wouldn’t make a fuss.

At least not there.

But it wasn’t until I was directly on the driveway that I realized my car was missing, too. Dread circled my gut, and I whirled around, looking for one of the winery’s employees. But no one was nearby.

I rushed toward the winery, remembering that Tegan was supposed to have met with Mirelle that morning.

The winemaker was in the building by herself, bottling when I burst through. She gasped, almost dropping the jar.

“M-Mr. Baldin,” she choked, composing herself. “You scared me.”

“Where’s Tegan?” I demanded.

Mirelle shook her dark ponytail. “I haven’t seen her today, Mr. Baldin. She was supposed to come—”

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