Brave Enough (9 page)

Weatherly

“You'd better have an excellent explanation for this prank, young lady,” my father says the moment I shut the door to his study.

“Dad, I've told you all along that I want to marry for love, not for business or convenience.”

“And
I
have told
you
— Wait, so you're telling me that you're
in love
with this person? Just how gullible do you think I am, Weatherly?”

“Why is that so unbelievable? What do you know about my life other than what you choose to fill it with?”

“So you're going to stand there and tell me that you're in love
with the help
?”

“Oh, so that's what this is about. You're not nearly as upset that I'm engaged to someone else and didn't tell you as you are about the fact that he's not up to your high standards. Is that it?”

“Don't make
me
out to be the bad guy here. I'm just trying to do what's best for you, for our family. Like I always have. I've never been selfish and I didn't raise
you
to be selfish.”

“God!” I say in exasperation. “Why is it so horrible, so unthinkable, so
incredibly selfish
to want to marry for love? This
is
America, right? Arranged marriages
did
go out with the cavemen, right?”

“It's not like Michael is some kind of barbarian who will treat you poorly, Weatherly. For chrissake, he's worth four hundred million dollars and he'd see to every comfort you could ever even dream of.”

“But that's not all there is to it, is it, Dad? This isn't about what Michael can do for
me
.”

His eyes narrow on me. “I've worked my whole life, made sacrifices you'll never know anything about to build this business into what it is today. And the instant someone threatens it, threatens the very foundation of who we are as a family, and
you
can do something to help, this is how you respond.”

“Don't be so dramatic! This isn't about our safety or our freedom. This is about money. And power. Plain and simple. If Randolph Consolidated takes over, you'll be out and that's eating you alive.”

“You listen to me, young lady, I
will not
have my daughter marry a common laborer just because she doesn't agree with my politics. Let's not forget,
darling
, that it's
my
business,
my
money that has funded your precious charity all this time.”

“Which you've refused to continue helping as a means of extorting me into doing what you want.”

“Make no mistake, Weatherly, if you want to play hardball, I can
exert much more pressure than just pulling your trust fund. Don't tangle with me, young lady. I didn't get to where I am without learning how to bend people to my will when it suits my purposes.”

I feel my chin tremble. How has it come to this? That he is so uninterested in me as a person,
as his child
, that he would seek to hurt me just to get what he wants? I've always known I was nowhere near the top of his list of priorities, but that he would play dirty with
me
, his own flesh and blood? I guess I never knew just
how low
I fell on that list. “I'm sorry that this particular pawn has grown up to be such a disappointment to you,
father.
I thought you'd eventually see it my way because you love me and you want me to be happy. I can see now how very wrong I was.”

With that, I turn on my heel, fling open the study doors and make my way back out to the dining room. “Tag, can I have a word please?” I say from the doorway.

He's in the middle of a sip of wine. He sets down his glass and pushes away from the table. “Of course.” He turns to nod at Michael. “Stromberg.”

“Barton,” he cuts back, disdain dripping from his voice.

Tag grins at me as he approaches. To be the caretaker of a vineyard, he sure seems to hold his own with people like my father pretty well.

I don't say anything when he reaches me. I simply turn and make my way toward the kitchen. I can't hear Tag's soft footfalls, but I know he's behind me. I can feel his silvery eyes traveling the length of my back and butt as I walk. I stop by the fridge for the dish of leftovers from lunch. I hand them to Tag so that I can grab a bottle of wine and two glasses as we pass.

Wordlessly, I make my way out the back door and around to the Jeep, which is still parked in the driveway. I climb into the passenger side and look back at Tag, who is standing a few feet away, watching me. “Well? You got me into this. The least you can do is get me out of here.”

He holds my eyes for a few seconds, long enough for me to feel guilty about lashing out at him when he was only trying to help, but then he nods and walks around to the driver's side and climbs in.

“Where are we going?” he asks, setting the dish of food on the console between us.

“How about that half-finished cabin with the great view? I'd like to wake up to that sunrise in the morning.”

“Oh, it's like that, huh?” he asks with a knowing grin, repeating his earlier phrase.

“Yeah, it's like that,” I answer.

“I've heard stories about girls with daddy issues. I hear they can be pretty wild.” There's a playful glint in his eyes that eases my tension. I feel the tightness that had gathered between my shoulder blades melt away like a sliver of ice in the hot sun.

“Maybe we can get that four-wheeler out later tonight.”

The smile he gives me is bright enough to light up the darkening sky. “Woman, I gotta hand it to you. You brought your daddy issues to the right guy.” Tag gives me a wink as he fires up the engine. I lean my head back, content to watch him drive. It only takes me a few seconds to realize that I feel a little better already. William O'Neal has never made me a priority. Why should I give him so much room to hurt me?

As we pass the rows that we crossed over during the rain last
night, I feel the throb of memory begin low in my belly. Meeting Tag might be the thing that saves me. Nothing has ever distracted me from my life as much as he does. His face, his grin, his kiss—they seem to be lurking around the edges of my mind all the time now. And when I let him in, he can easily crowd out other things that I worry about. He's a powerful influence.

When we reach the partially finished cabin, Tag takes my hand to help me out and then up onto the porch since there are no steps yet. I stop just inside the door. The interior smells like fresh-cut wood and clean mountain air. I inhale deeply, letting the scent wash away the remainder of my cares.

Tag gives me the unofficial tour, showing me the roughed-out rooms, guiding me with his vision of what it will look like when it's complete. “I'm surprised that Dad agreed to this.”

“Why is that? It's a great way to expand the business and to bring people to Chiara.”

“I can see that, but he's always been sort of protective of this place. I don't know why.”

“Well, this isn't hurting anything. Only helping it. I'm sure he knows that when he looks at the bottom line. The old cabin had been renting often, which is why it needed renovating.”

“You've got a good head for business, Mr. Barton,” I say, turning toward Tag.

“Yes, I'm quite the visionary,” he says quietly. “And right now, I'm having all sorts of exquisite visions.”

He reaches out to brush the backs of his fingers down my cheek. His pale gray eyes look darker in the night. They sparkle
like onyx in the low light of the moon filtering in through the mostly open back of the cabin.

“You are? Pray tell.” Even though we've made love several times, still my body is vibrating with anxious anticipation. Already, I know that look and I respond instantly to the promise it holds.

“Are you very hungry?”

“For what?”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “For leftovers.”

“Not particularly.”

“Good. I'd hate to starve you.”

When his mouth descends onto mine, all thought of food and Chiara and our unwanted guests drift away on the lightly scented breeze. Tag undresses me at the edge of what will soon be a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sloped fields and gorgeous mountain views. He peels off my clothes and adores every inch of my skin in the lone wedge of silvery light.

When he lays me gently on my back and kisses his way down my stomach, I stare up at the swollen globe of the moon until I can focus no longer, until nothing exists except the thrilling touch of this man between my legs.

—

Hours later, after we've explored each other, eaten all the leftovers and drank all the wine, we lie at the edge of the opening. My head is on Tag's chest and the only sound other than our breathing is the steady beat of his heart.

“We can't sleep here,” I say, breaking the silence.

“Why is that?”

“If we roll over too far, we'll roll all the way down the mountain.”

His hold on me tightens. “I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe with me.”

I wonder at his words as I gaze out over the whitewashed field below. “My father can't understand why I would even consider
not
marrying Michael when he's the answer to our prayers.”

“Not to play the devil's advocate, but maybe he's just willing to do anything for his family. Some men would go to any extreme for the people they love.”

Although I find his remark a bit peculiar, I don't comment on it or ask what lengths
he'd
go to for the well-being of his family.

“Maybe
some
men, but not him. I have no delusions about where I fall on his list of priorities.” I sigh, hating that I brought my father and my worries to this peaceful sanctuary. “If it weren't for the kids at Safe Passage, I wouldn't even be worrying about this. I don't worry about what will happen
to me.
Or to Mom and Dad. I'm sure he has enough money stashed away to live well for the next hundred years. But the kids . . . If he cuts
me
off, he cuts
them
off.”

“Is he really that much of a bastard?”

“If it means getting what he wants? What
he thinks
is best? Yes. He is. He was always absorbed with his work, with becoming more and more powerful, but it wasn't always this bad. Things were better when I was a little girl. We had some good times, especially here at Chiara. Before he became so driven. But the more he
got
, the more he wanted. And the more he
wanted
, the more ruthless he became until he got it.”

“Then we'll find a way to work around him.”

“We?” The thought makes my heart shiver in delight. I don't know why, but it does. Maybe it's because Tag seems so capable and it would be wonderful if he
could
fix this. Or maybe it's just the thought of him
wanting
to help me. That pleases me. Probably more than it should.

I feel him pick up his head to look down at me, so I lift mine and meet his luminous eyes. His lips curve into a lopsided smile. “Yeah. We. Unless you don't want me to get involved.”

“No, it's not that. It's just that . . . No,” I finally say, returning his smile. “No, I like the ‘we.'”

“So do I.” He kisses my forehead and we rest our heads back down. Tag drags his fingertips lazily up and down my bare side. I drag mine lazily up and down his bare torso.

“So, you'd do pretty extreme things for the people you love?” I ask when the quiet has settled back around us like a soft, invisible blanket.

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for the people I love.”

“You were raised in a very loving home, I guess.”

“I was.”

“Tell me about it. Tell me about your family.”

My head rises and falls with his chest as he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “My dad took this job before I was born. Moved Mom and me here when I was just a baby, to live full-time in the caretaker's quarters. This place was all I ever knew for most of my life. I grew up with my hands in this dirt, surrounded by Chiara grapes and Chiara wine.”

“I wish I'd known you then,” I admit quietly.

I feel almost cheated that I was kept so far from the “common”
people, as I'm sure Dad thought of them. While I was enjoying a luxurious family retreat in the mountains, Tag and his parents were working the fields that kept this place running.
They
are the backbone of Chiara, not my family.

“I saw you several times over the years. You were like a beautiful princess, kept in the highest room of the tallest tower, far away from the common folk.” I doubt Tag knows how accurate that statement actually is. “I never dreamed the little girl that I saw from a distance would grow into such an amazing woman.”

I hide my smile against his muscular pectoral. “I saw you from a distance once or twice. It's probably a good thing they never let me get too close. I bet, even then, you'd have fascinated me.”

“Oh absolutely,” he says without one hint of doubt. I laugh and look up at him. He's grinning down at me.

“I'm sure you were every bit as humble back then, too.”

“Of course.”

“When did you leave?”

“I enlisted in the Army when I was nineteen. I'd had enough of working the vines and just wanted out. I met some great guys, saw the world. Did a lot of different . . . things.”

I don't ask what those “things” are; I just wait for him to continue. When he doesn't, I prompt, “And?”

I feel a sigh swell in his chest. “And then Dad died. Mom couldn't work these fields, of course. I knew your father would have to hire someone else, maybe even a family like ours, which would inevitably mean that Mom would have to move. I couldn't stand the thought of that, so I came home a year after my first tour was up. Been back here ever since.”