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The Prodigal Son
Beth Andrews
He always gets what he wants–and that's made Matt Sheppard an international success as a vintner. So he never saw his mother's blackmail coming.She says she'll sell the family's vineyard if he doesn't stay put for exactly one year. But running the Diamond Dust with his brothers was his father's dream, not his. Now he's shackled to the place by familial ties as strong as vines and tight enough to strangle him.Worse, he's forced to work with a resentful manager, Connie Henkel. Her mile-long legs can't distract him from his goal: to improve the business and get out as soon as he can. Because if the single mom entwines herself around Matt's heart, he'll never be able to leave.



Praise for RITA
Award-winning author Beth Andrews
“Andrews combines sparkling dialogue with characters that have real depth.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Readers can always count on Beth Andrews to spin an empathetic tale with a loving happily ever after.”
—Cataromance
“Beth Andrews is an amazing writer and storyteller. I can’t wait to find another of her books to delve into.”
—Noveltalk
“If you haven’t read a book by Beth Andrews let me just say you’re missing out! She’s an author you must add her to your list.”
—Fresh Fiction
“I can only recommend Not Without Her Family whole-heartedly. It made me smile and cry—a wonderful comfort read and one I will definitely pick up again.”
—All About Romance
Dear Reader,
I’m fascinated by family dynamics, from the bond formed between a parent and a child, to the relationships between siblings. I love to see how those dynamics shift and change as marriages evolve out of that wonderful honeymoon stage into building a life, making a home and raising children together. How parents act with and react to their children during their many phases of growth. How families cope with milestones—both those small moments that seem to pass in the blink of an eye, to the larger, life-altering ones.
During the writing of this story, I went through one of those milestones. And while this event was, in the grand scheme of things, small and happy, it has changed the very dynamics of my household. My eldest child, my only son, started college six hundred miles away. One phase of our lives is over but a new phase of his life has just begun. And while I may mourn the ending, I’m proud and excited for my son’s new adventure.
Matt Sheppard experiences one of those life-altering changes in The Prodigal Son—though not by his own design. He’s quite happy with his life and has no intention of ever returning to his small hometown of Jewell, Virginia.
We all know what they say about the best of intentions.
Matt may not have planned on returning to Jewell, but by returning home he finds forgiveness, acceptance and, most important, love.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit my website, www.bethandrews.net, or write to me at P.O. Box 714, Bradford, PA 16701.
Happy reading!
Beth Andrews

The Prodigal Son
Beth Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beth Andrews is a Romance Writers of America RITA
Award winner and Golden Heart winner. She lives in northwestern Pennsylvania with her husband and two teenage daughters. In her free time she visits wineries, drinks wine—both for research purposes, of course—and works on perfecting her recipe for crème brûlée. When not researching (or making fattening desserts) she can be found counting the days until her son returns from college. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.BethAndrews.net.
For Trevor.

Acknowledgments
My sincere gratitude to the wonderful women at Casa Larga in Fairport, New York, and Mitzi Batterson of James River Cellars Winery in Glen Allen, Virginia.

Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PROLOGUE
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you’ve been offered a job?”
Though the words were said quietly, almost conversationally, eighteen-year-old Matt Sheppard knew better than to let his father’s mild tone fool him.
He was in trouble.
What else was new?
But at least it would be for the last time. The last time he had to stand before Tom Sheppard, stiff as a soldier in front of a four-star general, waiting for some form of discipline—or worse, one of his dad’s long-winded lectures.
Matt forced his shoulders to relax. “I was offered a job at a winery in Napa.”
What he left out was that he’d applied for said job. And a dozen others. Anything to get as far away from his hometown of Jewell, Virginia, and, more importantly, the Diamond Dust—his father’s beloved winery.
Tom took off his reading glasses and set them aside before slowly leaning back in his chair. His eyes—the same green as Matt’s—narrowed on his youngest son. King of his domain, Matt thought snidely. Never did his dad feel more self-important than when he was sitting behind his huge, mahogany desk in his oppressive office with its dark woodwork and leather furniture. Matt’s mother, Diane, stood to her husband’s right, a hand on his shoulder.
They were, as always, a unit. One entity. Usually against him.
He tried not to fidget even though his dad stared at him as if trying to read his thoughts. They’d arrived home twenty minutes ago from Matt’s high-school graduation. And while he’d exchanged his dress clothes for his normal outfit of cargo shorts and a T-shirt, his mom still had on her sleeveless blue dress, her long, blond hair held back in a sparkly clip. His dad’s tie was loose, his shirtsleeves rolled up. His suit coat hung over the arm of one of the matching chairs behind Matt.
“You already have a job,” his dad finally said, the assumption being that because Matt was a Sheppard, he’d spend his last summer at the Diamond Dust before starting college. That he’d want to stay.
Matt flipped his hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. “Yeah, I do.” Though he wanted to look anywhere but at his father’s stern gaze, he met the old man’s eyes. “In Napa. I start in two days.”
“Oh, Matthew,” his mom said, sounding disappointed. He ground his back teeth together. Besides getting into trouble, he also excelled at disappointing his parents.
Was it any wonder he wanted to escape?
Tom straightened and leaned forward. “You accepted a job almost three thousand miles away without bothering to tell us about it first?”
“I’m eighteen,” Matt pointed out, unable to hide the defensiveness in his tone. “I don’t need your permission.” He swallowed but the lump in his throat remained. “When Brady was my age, he was already enlisted.”
“You’re not Brady,” Tom snapped.
Matt’s hands shook. He slid them into his front pockets. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not Brady. Or, better yet, Aidan. Right?”
“That’s enough,” his mother insisted, her voice shaking. “We don’t expect you to be like your brothers and we certainly don’t compare you to them, or them to you.”
Matt snorted. Maybe she didn’t, but he knew what his father thought of him. He didn’t measure up. Not to Tom’s high expectations and certainly not to either of his older brothers. Brady, a Marine, was serving their country overseas, and Aidan, the eldest Sheppard son was heading to law school. Brady was quiet, reserved and already engaged to his high school sweetheart, the gorgeous Liz Montgomery. Aidan was their father’s clone. Overbearing. Uptight. Controlling. He’d make one hell of a lawyer.
“You’ll go to California in the fall for school and not a day before,” his father said tightly. “In the meantime, you’ll work at the Diamond Dust. Discussion over.”
Matt balled his hands in his pockets. “I am taking the job and I am leaving tomorrow. But you’re right about one thing. This discussion is over. Sir,” he added, his tone snide enough to have his father slowly rising from his seat.
Diane laid a hand on her husband’s arm. Either in comfort or in an attempt to restrain him, Matt wasn’t sure. “How do you plan on getting to California?” she asked him. “Where will you live? You can’t move into the dorms until the end of the summer.”
“I’m flying out of Richmond tomorrow at noon. I already have my ticket. Paid for with my own money,” he added, before they could accuse him of using their cash for it. “And I’ll stay at the winery.” He slid a glance at his father. “The owner often takes on workers from the school.”
The school being the University of California Davis, which had one of the top viticulture and enology programs in the country. The school he’d busted his hump just to get in to. The school his father had claimed was a waste of time and money since he could teach Matt everything he needed to know about cultivating grapes and the science of making wine.
But that wasn’t enough for Matt. He wanted to know more than his dad. Go further. Be better.
“Now you listen to me, boyo, and you listen good,” Tom said in a soft, deadly tone as he laid both hands on his desk and leaned forward. “You’ll do as I say or—”
“Or what?” Matt asked, telling himself there was nothing his father could do to intimidate him. Hopefully. “You’ll ground me? Take away my truck? Go ahead. But you can’t stop me from going.”
His dad pushed away from the desk and stalked around it, his mouth a thin, angry line. Matt’s chest tightened and he took his hands from his pockets but he held his ground. It still amazed him that, no matter how larger than life his dad had always seemed, he wasn’t. In fact, since Matt’s final growth spurt last summer, he had a good two inches on his old man.
Too bad he still felt about three feet tall when his dad looked at him the way he did now.
“You really want away from Jewell that badly you can’t wait three months?” Tom asked, his hands on his hips.
“I want away from you that badly.”
“Matthew!” his mom cried.
But he didn’t turn away from his dad’s eyes, from the shock and hurt in them. For a moment, Matt debated taking his words back, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not when they were the truth.
And then, that hurt changed, turned into icy resolve. “You want to go off and be a big man? Fine. Go. But know this. If you walk out that door, you’ll get nothing from us. No money. No tuition. Nothing.”
“Wait a minute.” Diane hurried around the desk, her eyes wide and distressed. “This is getting out of hand. We all need to take a little time, calm down, then we can discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Tom said, not so much as glancing his wife’s way. “It’s past time this boy learned what a good thing he’s had here all these years. Maybe he’ll even grow up a little.”
Matt flashed hot then cold. His palms grew damp. All his plans for the future shifted. He’d have to work during school now. Get loans rather than count on his parents’ financial support. It wouldn’t be easy, that was for certain. But it’d be worth it.
He’d be on his own. Completely.
“I don’t need your money,” he told his father, proud of how rational, how mature, he sounded. “I don’t need you at all.”
Tom rocked back on his heels. “We’ll see what tune you’re singing in a few months when you’re paying your own way. You don’t realize what you’re throwing away. But you will.”
“I won’t change my mind,” he vowed, his hurt and anger giving his conviction the ring of truth. “And I won’t be back. Ever.”
“Matthew,” his mom whispered, “please don’t say that, honey. You know there will always be a place for you here. And at the Diamond Dust. This is your home.”
He waited. But his father didn’t agree with his wife. Didn’t say anything at all. Didn’t beg him to stay. Or take back his harsh words. He didn’t apologize for every time he’d made Matt feel less. Less than perfect. Less than his brothers. For all the times he’d made Matt wonder why his father couldn’t treat him like he did Aidan and Brady. Why he couldn’t love him the same way.
But his dad didn’t say anything. The only sound was that of his mom’s soft crying. Matt wanted to go to her, to hug her one last time. To tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. He felt too close to tears himself.
Instead, he turned on his heel and brushed past his dad, fully intending never to see his parents, this house, or the Diamond Dust again. When he reached the door, Tom’s voice stopped him, his words causing a cold sweat to break out along Matt’s neck.
“You’ll come back,” his dad said, as if he were speaking a prophesy. “And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

CHAPTER ONE
HE WAS GOING HOME.
Not to stay, Matt assured himself as he steered the four-wheeled ATV down a row between thick, leafy vines in the eastern section of Queen’s Valley’s vineyards. He shut off the ignition. Never to stay.
The worst part about going back to Jewell? This wouldn’t be the first time. No, he’d visited his hometown plenty of times since making his impassioned vow never to return ten years ago. He smiled ruefully. That was the problem with making dramatic, heartfelt declarations. They were hard to stick to. Especially ones made in the heat of anger.
Lesson learned.
Which was why he rarely made promises. They were too hard to keep.
Shaking his hair back, he got off the ATV and unhooked the bungee cords holding his equipment bag to the rack behind the seat. He took out his refractometer and slid it into the front pocket of his loose cargo shorts before grabbing a heavy plastic bag. Going down the row, he picked samplings of the Chardonnay grapes, tossing them into the bag.
Queen’s Valley was forty acres of vineyards nestled along the Murray River in South Australia. The grapes thrived in the warm, temperate climate. All around him the vines reached well above his head with heavy clusters of healthy grapes and a well-maintained canopy, the leaves lush and green. He’d worked at wineries in Napa, France and Italy and could honestly say Queen’s Valley was one of the best vineyards he’d seen.
And for the next three years, it was all his.
But first he had to return to where he’d begun. Oh, he’d tried to keep the vow he’d made graduation night. The next day he’d flown out of Virginia and told himself he’d never look back. For over a year he’d kept his distance from his family, the only contact with them an occasional email from one of his brothers, a weekly phone call to his mother. During that time he’d worked two jobs while going to school. Though it’d been a struggle, he’d managed to juggle everything and had put himself through college.
He’d figured out how to take care of himself. And as much as he hated to admit it, his father had been right about one thing. He’d had to grow up. He’d also discovered that he liked being on his own. That he didn’t need his family.
Knowing that made it a lot easier to rip up the checks his mother sent like clockwork at the beginning of each month. It also let him swallow his pride and go home for Christmas during his sophomore year. Three days where, for his mother’s sake, he’d tried his best to act as if everything was all right. As if all was forgiven.
But during his stay, he remembered his graduation night. His hurt and anger and resentment that his father couldn’t appreciate him for who he was. Couldn’t support him in what he wanted for himself.
Then, less than a year after that awkward, tension-filled Christmas, the unthinkable happened. Tom Sheppard, the man who was larger than life, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Six months later, he was dead.
And he and Matt had never discussed that night or the many issues between them, never came to terms with each other. There were no apologies. No heart-to-heart talks. No closure.
Matt gave his head one sharp shake. That was in the past now. All in the past. He was more interested, more vested in the future. And his future was right here in Queen’s Valley. Continuing to pick grapes, he walked down the row, taking samples from different vines and tasting an occasional grape.
For over twenty-five years, Queen’s Valley had provided top quality fruit to local wineries. Now the owner, Joan Campbell, had decided to branch out and start making the vineyard’s own wines. She’d spared no expense building a state-of-the-art facility and she’d hired Matt to run it all. He had final say in every decision from the variety of grapes to what type of oak barrels to purchase to the shape of the wine bottles. And everyone, save Joan and her daughter, Suzanne, were to report to him.
Total control.
Whistling, he repeated his picking process on the other side of the row. It was like a dream come true. He got to work for a winery that had everything at its disposal to produce the finest wines. A chance to build on his growing reputation, to be known as the man who put Queen’s Valley on the map as one of the finest wineries in Australia.
The best part? It was halfway across the world from Jewell, Virginia.
As he made his way back to where he’d started, he heard the sound of another ATV approaching. A moment later, Joan came into view, her chubby body leaning over the handlebars. Her straw hat, tied around her throat with a string, sailed behind her as she sped down the row at twice the speed Matt would consider safe.
She came closer, and closer still. There was no room for her to get by his ATV without plowing through the trellised vines, but she showed no signs of slowing. Matt’s heart thumped heavily in his chest. Instead of running him over, she stopped quickly, her rear wheels sliding. Clumps of grass and dirt shot out from the spinning tires and Matt jumped back to avoid getting sideswiped.
He wiped the back of his free hand over his forehead. Knew the sweat there wasn’t just from the heat. “You are hell on wheels,” he muttered when Joan shut off the vehicle.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Believe me. It wasn’t meant as one.”
“Now, Matthew, is that any way to speak to your employer?” Her words were like machine-gun fire—short, choppy bursts that came at a man fast and furiously. Combined with her raspy, smoker’s voice and heavy Australian accent, he hadn’t understood half of what she said the entire first month he’d worked for her.
And no matter how many times he’d asked her to call him Matt, she still insisted on using his full name.
Joan combed both hands through her windblown gray hair before putting her hat on. She tipped her head up so she could see him from under the wide brim. “I thought you had a plane to catch.”
“Not for a few hours.” He squeezed the grapes through the bag, crushing them and releasing their juice. “I wanted to check these one last time before I leave.”
Chardonnay, along with Pinot Noir, were early ripening grapes. He wanted to make sure they weren’t set to ripen while he was gone, since it would be impossible for him to decide they needed harvesting when he was on the other side of the world.
“Suzanne was just asking about you. Why don’t you stop by and tell her goodbye?” Joan climbed off the ATV, her shrewd gaze on him. “I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
The nape of his neck tingled. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he lied.
He ducked his head and pretended dipping the slide of his refractometer into the juice took all of his concentration. At the previous wineries where he’d worked, he’d had to deal with long hours, early frosts, drought, blight…but never a matchmaking boss.
Not that he had anything against the pretty Suzanne. In fact, if the situation was different, he’d have done his best to charm her into his bed. But he preferred to keep his personal life separate from his career. No mixing business with pleasure. No ties. No commitments to hold him to a place other than a legal contract. And when that contract was fulfilled? He was free to go. No hard feelings. No repercussions.
No one trying to guilt him into staying.
Looking through the refractometer, he noted the grapes’ sugar content—twenty-four and a half Brix. The higher the Brix in the grapes, the higher the alcohol content in the wine. But the best winemakers didn’t go just by the numbers. They took into account everything from the color of the skins and seeds to the taste of the fruit and the health of the vines and leaves.
He picked a plump, green grape and tossed it into his mouth. The sun rose over majestic, copper-colored limestone cliffs. It was the middle of February and he was sweating, his shirt sticking to his back. Even his scalp was burning. The breeze brought with it the scent of the river.
God, he loved it here. For now. And when his time at Queen’s Valley was up, he’d be more than ready to move on to the next place. To the next challenge.
“You going to tell me your verdict,” Joan groused, “or stand there and eat all of my fruit?”
“Skin’s thick,” he said, still chewing. “They’re fairly sweet and fruity but still acidic.” He swallowed. “They need more time on the vine.”
She narrowed her eyes until they practically disappeared in her round face. “You sure you’re not just saying that, not delaying our harvest so your plans don’t get interrupted?”
He didn’t bat an eye at her accusation. He’d quickly learned over the past few months that if he took offense at every brusque, argumentative word Joan said, he’d be pissed off all the time. Besides, he’d had tough bosses before. The most demanding being his father.
And the most important lesson he’d ever learned from Tom Sheppard? Never let them see you sweat.
“You hired me because you wanted someone knowledgeable,” he told her, handing her the refractometer and the mashed grapes. “But if you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”
“Cutting it close,” she said after checking the sugar content. “What if they turn while you’re gone?”
“They won’t. The next few weeks will be cool in the mornings. We have time.”
Ripe wine grapes were at their best for only a few days, which made the decision of when to harvest important, but also risky. Matt wasn’t worried, though. They’d had a colder than average summer and were experiencing a late harvest year. And the cool, foggy mornings would ensure the grapes finished ripening slowly.
Too bad Joan didn’t seem convinced.
“Look,” he said, “if they were ready or if there was the slightest chance at all that they could ripen during the next eight days, I’d stay.”
“You’d miss your own brother’s wedding?”
Miss a chance to spend over twenty-four hours of travel—most of them on planes—followed by a week of living in his family’s pockets? Of dealing with his brothers. Trying not to feel guilty because he rarely came home, and when he did, couldn’t wait to be gone again.
Gladly.
“It wouldn’t be the first wedding I’ve missed,” he admitted, dumping the mashed grapes onto the ground and wiping the refractometer on the bottom of his shirt before putting it back into his equipment bag. “I was in France when my eldest brother got hitched. Couldn’t make it home in time for the ceremony.”
Not that he considered that a great loss. Especially since he and Aidan had a…personality conflict. Matt had a personality while Aidan was a humorless robot. Besides, the marriage hadn’t lasted.
Joan crossed her arms. “So if we get a heat wave and the grapes are ready before you’re due back…”
“I’ll get on the first flight out of the country.” He checked his watch. Saw his cushion of two hours before he had to leave for the airport was now down to an hour and a half. And he still had to pack. “Don’t worry,” he told her as he sat on the ATV and turned the key. “I’ll be back before the harvest. You can count on that.”

OVER SIXTY HOURS LATER, Matt stood in his brother’s cramped kitchen trying to make something edible out of eggs approaching their expiration date and half a loaf of slightly stale, presliced white bread.
He was in hell. Or, as everyone else called it, Jewell, Virginia.
Luckily, it was easy to keep his usual good cheer, thanks to the fact that his time in Jewell would be brief—six days, four hours and fifty-three minutes. Give or take a second or two.
Whistling along with the classic Jackson Browne song playing on the radio, he transferred a soggy slice of bread from the egg and milk mixture in a large bowl to the hot skillet. It sizzled in the greased pan, the scent of cinnamon mingling with that of melted butter. He added a second slice to the pan and took a drink of coffee as a movement to his right caught his attention.
Sporting a seriously bad case of bedhead and wearing a pair of flannel pants with characters from Family Guy on them, Brady stood in the open doorway separating the kitchen from the hall.
Matt saluted his brother with his coffee cup. “Morning, Sparky. Nice pj’s.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Brady said in a sleep-roughened voice. His scowl shifted into a thoughtful frown as he sniffed the air. “I’m going to kill you,” he repeated, “right after I’ve had some coffee.”
“Can’t wait.”
Eloquent as usual, Brady grunted and headed toward the coffeemaker, his limp less pronounced than it’d been two months ago when Matt had been home for Christmas.
He flipped the French toast with a fork. “You have any syrup? I didn’t see any in the fridge.” When he didn’t get an answer, he turned to find Brady staring into his coffee cup, his eyes glazed. “If I’m not mistaken—and let’s face it, I’m never mistaken—that’s the look of a man who recently got lucky. And based on the monkey sounds coming from your room when I got here, I’d say it happened…oh…about twenty minutes ago.”
Brady pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “What’s the rule about my sex life?”
“It’s boring and pathetic?”
“It’s not up for discussion.”
“Who’s discussing it? I was making a simple observation. It’s not like I need a play-by-play of whatever it was J.C. did that put that sappy grin on your face.”
Brady gave one of his patented I was a Marine and yes, I will rip your head off and shove that fork down your throat if you say another word looks.
“Fine.” Matt glanced down the hallway to Brady’s closed bedroom door. “Uh…you were with J.C., weren’t you?” Hey, it was a good question considering that at one time, Brady had been engaged to J.C.’s older sister, Liz.
Brady pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you here?”
“Aidan left a message on my cell phone yesterday about a top secret Sheppard brother meeting at eight.”
“That’s thirty minutes from now. And you’re never on time anyway. Especially in the morning.”
Matt transferred the cooked French toast to a paper plate and added more to the pan. “It’s ten at night in South Australia.”
“You’re not in Australia.”
No shit. In Australia—and everywhere outside of Jewell—he was a highly respected, highly sought-after vintner.
Here he was the family black sheep.
His fingers tightened around the fork. Too bad his old man hadn’t lived long enough to see his youngest son amount to something despite his predictions. Matt forced his fingers to relax. Good thing he’d long ago stopped caring what his family thought of him.
“I’m not in Australia,” he said, “but my body thinks I am. And since I was up, I figured I might as well come on over. Once I realized you were otherwise occupied, I decided to make myself at home.”
Brady stood and held his hand out. “Give it to me.” Matt handed him the plate but his brother shook his head. “No. Give me the spare key.”
The spare key their mother kept at her house in case she needed to get into the cottage that sat on the Sheppards’ property. The cottage Brady currently occupied.
“You’re moving out after the wedding,” Matt noted, tossing the plate onto the table. “What’s the problem?”
“You let yourself into my house when I was still in bed,” Brady said as if Matt was a few grapes shy of a cluster. “You’re in my kitchen, blaring music—”
“Only so I couldn’t hear all that moaning and groaning coming from your bedroom.”
“—making breakfast—”
“For which you should be grateful, seeing as how I made plenty for all of us. That includes J.C.”
“Where is it?” Brady asked, his tone low and dangerous.
Matt grinned and patted the front pocket of his jeans. “Right where it’s going to stay.”
Turning, he flipped the bread. A vise closed around his neck, choking off his amusement. No, not a vise, he realized as Brady yanked him away from the stove, but his brother’s forearm. Before Matt could escape, Brady pivoted, clasping his hands together to tighten the headlock.
“The key. Now.”
Matt pulled on his brother’s arm but it didn’t budge. “You want it?” he asked, unable to hide the challenge—or the glee—in his voice. “Go ahead and get it.”
Brady squeezed, cutting off the last of Matt’s words along with his breath. “I get the key,” he said, dragging Matt toward the table, “and you get to walk upright once again. And save what’s left of your dignity for getting your ass kicked by a guy with a bum knee.”
“Ass kicked?” Matt muttered, doing his damndest to shake his brother’s hold. “I’m taking it easy so I don’t hurt you.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” Then, in a move reminiscent of when they were kids, Brady gave him a quick, rough noogie.
Bum knee or not, the bastard was going down. Matt grabbed Brady’s hip with his right hand while shifting his body to the left. Pushing him off balance, he reached underneath Brady’s left leg—conscious of the fact it was his bad leg—and lifted it off the ground.
Brady’s arm constricted, cutting into Matt’s windpipe. “If I’m going to hit the floor,” he warned, “I’m taking you with me.”
“Is something burning?”
They froze. J. C. Montgomery padded into the kitchen wearing a pair of pink sweatpants and a long-sleeved brown top stretched to its limit over her pregnant stomach. She wrinkled her nose at what Matt now recognized as the scent of burned French toast, her big brown eyes widening.
“Sorry,” Brady said, hopping to maintain his balance. “Did we wake you?”
“That’s all right,” she said absently, tilting her head to the side to study them. “I hate to ask a stupid question but…is this one of those male bonding things? Because if you two pull out the bongo drums and start chanting, I’ll get my phone so I can record it. I’m sure it’ll be a huge hit on YouTube.”
“We’re not bonding,” Matt said. “We’re fighting. I was just about to drop your fiancé on his head.”
“Oh. Well, that makes perfect sense. But since the wedding’s in five days, I’d really prefer if he didn’t suffer any head injuries. At least until after the ceremony. Besides,” she added, “the physical therapist swore Brady will be able to dance with me at our wedding. As long as he doesn’t do anything to strain his knee.”
She stared at the knee in question—the one in Matt’s hands.
Sighing, he let go of his brother. “Killjoy.”
“That’s me,” she said. “A giant fun-suck. How about we arrange a wrestling match for the reception? Maybe one of those cage matches? That is, if I can find a company that rents…” She frowned. “Brady. The fight’s over. You can let go of Matt.” When he hesitated, she raised her eyebrows. “Now.”
He mumbled under his breath, something about dead bolts, alarm systems and idiot brothers, before the pressure around Matt’s neck eased.
Slipping out of Brady’s hold, Matt smiled at J.C. then took the few steps necessary to cross to her. He gripped her arms. “Good morning, gorgeous.”
Then he gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.
As he eased back, Brady growled. It made Matt want to kiss J.C. again.
“Uh…good morning to you, too.” She peeked around his shoulder at Brady. “You never told me your family was so…affectionate in the morning.”
“He just did that to piss me off,” Brady said.
“Not true,” Matt claimed. “Though that’s a nice side benefit. But the truth is,” he continued, lowering his voice and leaning closer to J.C., “I’m weak. I have a hard time resisting a beautiful woman.”
She blushed and attempted to smooth her wildly curling mane of dark hair. Damn, but she was a sweetheart. Brady had somehow hit the jackpot. That is, if you considered being tied to one woman for the rest of your life winning big.
Brady cleared his throat. “If you’re done flirting with my fiancée, you might want to check your breakfast. It’s on fire.”
With a wink at J.C., Matt went back to the stove. There weren’t any flames, just a lot of thick smoke. Matt flipped the burner to low while Brady opened the small window over the sink.
After he dumped the burned food into the garbage can, Matt unwound several paper towels from the roll, balled them up and wiped out the pan before setting it back on the burner. “How about some French toast?” he asked J.C., adding fresh butter to the pan.
She looked up from pouring herself a large glass of orange juice. “You don’t have to cook for me. I can fix some—”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“He’s got that right,” Brady muttered.
“Well,” J.C. said as she picked the fork Matt had dropped earlier off the floor, “if you really don’t mind…”
“Honey, I never mind cooking breakfast for a woman.”
She smiled. “In that case, I’d love some.”
In less than ten minutes, Matt made what he considered enough French toast to feed a family of five. Or at least two grown men and one pregnant lady. By the time the food was ready, Brady had donned a shirt and he and J.C. had paper plates, forks, an unopened container of syrup and a stick of butter still in its wrapper on the table.
They’d started eating when Aidan came into the kitchen, his blond hair neatly trimmed, his dark slacks crisply pleated. “Morning,” he said to the room at large as he went to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. He took a sip, his eyes on Matt. “I didn’t think you’d bother showing up until at least eight-thirty.”
Giving himself time to hide a quick burst of irritation, Matt swallowed the food in his mouth. Just like their father, Aidan always thought the worst of him. “Hey, you know I’m happy to obey your orders.”
“Why, what time is it?” J.C. asked, sounding panicked. Before any of them could reply, she grabbed Matt’s hand and twisted it so she could read his watch. “Crap. I’m late.” Leaping to her feet, she drained her juice glass. “I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Wertz in ten minutes for my last dress fitting.”
“Don’t you have the day off?” Brady asked.
“Yes, but she doesn’t, and I asked her to squeeze me in before she goes to work. Thanks for breakfast,” she called before rushing out of the room. A moment later, the front door banged shut.
Matt scratched his cheek. “Does she realize it’s barely thirty degrees out and she’s not wearing any shoes or a coat?”
Brady held his forefinger up. Five seconds later, the front door opened and J.C. sped past them. When she came back through a minute later, her sweatpants were tucked into a pair of boots and she was zipping up a bulky, shapeless coat, her purse hanging off her elbow.
And once again, the door slammed shut.
“One thing’s for sure,” Matt said as he snagged the last piece of French toast. “Your life isn’t going to be boring.”
Aidan sat in the seat J.C. had vacated. “Since we’re all here, let’s get right to it.”
Matt snorted as he doused his toast with syrup. Right. Wouldn’t want to waste time with small talk even if he hadn’t spoken to either of his brothers for over two months. His mother being the only family he’d seen since he’d been back this time. “If this is about Brady’s stag party,” he said, “I’ve already hired the strippers.”
“We want to talk to you about the Diamond Dust,” Aidan said, sliding the remnants of J.C.’s breakfast aside before setting his cup down. He wrapped his hands around the mug. “We want you with us.”
“I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“We want you working with us at the winery. We want you to be our partner.”
Matt stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth. His throat constricted. Partners? With his brothers? “Why would I want to do that?”
“Told you,” Brady said, leaning back in his chair, his hands linked on his stomach.
Aidan kept his hooded eyes on Matt. “Why wouldn’t you?”
He slowly lowered his fork back to his plate. “I already have a career.”
A damned good one, too, not that his brothers ever bothered to mention it. His reputation as a winemaker and consultant was growing and, after he led Queen’s Valley to success, so would the number of wineries who wanted to hire him. He’d have his pick of jobs all over the world. And his brothers thought he’d give that up to stay in tiny Jewell to take over his father’s business?
“Instead of making wine for other people,” Aidan said, “you’d be making it for your own company. Your own label. And you’d have a chance to put down roots.”
Put down roots? The back of his neck broke out in a cold sweat. “Thanks but when I do decide to settle in one place—” if he ever decided to settle in one place—“I’d rather it be Italy or France or Napa Valley.”
“Dad’s dream was to pass the Diamond Dust down to his sons,” Aidan said quietly. “All three of us.”
Matt tipped his chair back until it balanced on two legs. His father had hated when he did that. “Dad’s gone. And like you said, that was his dream. Not mine. And as far as I can remember, it wasn’t either one of your dreams, either.”
“Things change.”
True. But Matt hadn’t changed. He’d never wanted to be stuck in Jewell working at the Diamond Dust. Working for his overly critical, rigid father. And while Tom Sheppard might be gone, the worst parts of his personality lived on in his eldest son. The tight leash his dad had tried to keep him on when he was growing up had almost choked Matt to death. He wasn’t about to put on another one.
“Sorry,” he said as he stood, “but I’m not interested.”
“Tell him,” Brady murmured to Aidan.
His scalp tingled. His pulse pounded in his ears. “Tell me what?”
Jaw tight, Aidan slowly got to his feet. “You have to partner with us—move back to Jewell and help run the winery. If you don’t, Mom’s going to sell the Diamond Dust to someone else.”

CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS A JOKE. SOME SORT of elaborate prank. It had to be.
Matt hunched his shoulders against the cold morning breeze and closed the front door of his mom’s house. The Diamond Dust meant too much to his mother for her to just toss it aside like it was an old sweater that didn’t fit her anymore.
Besides, he’d been home almost two days and she hadn’t once mentioned anything about selling the winery to him.
How could she not have told him before?
Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he headed down the winding road hoping to catch her on the way back from her daily walk—and to give himself time to work off some of his building irritation. He didn’t want to face her until he’d gotten this surge of unreasonable panic under control.
He passed between a large block of Cabernet Franc vines and some Nortons—plants he and Brady had helped their father put in over fifteen years ago. The sun rose above the hills to his right, splashing light on the bare trees, illuminating the frost on the ground. Ten minutes later, his nose freezing, his ears stinging with cold, he reached the farmhouse which had been extensively renovated to house the Diamond Dust’s gift shop and tasting room. Just beyond it was the actual winery, a building designed to match the weathered exterior of the farmhouse but with a large cellar for making and storing the wine.
Frowning, he stared across the empty parking lot then narrowed his eyes as he studied the rows of vines in the number ten block. Or was it number eleven? Either way, they hadn’t even been pruned yet, which was a mistake since it was the middle of February. And they really should install a drip irrigation…
He ground his back teeth together. Whoa. Back up there, hotshot. None of that was his concern. And by God, he was going to keep it that way.
A dog barked. Matt glanced over to see Aidan’s Irish setter, Lily, keeping pace beside his mother as they came around the bend.
“Have you lost your mind?” he asked.
“What was that?” Not slowing, she reached under the wide, white headband covering her short cap of hair and pulled a set of headphones away from her ears. He noticed the small MP3 player hooked to her pocket. Good to see she was using the birthday gift he’d given her.
“I asked if you’d lost your mind.”
The sun picked out the gray strands in her dark blond hair as her arms pumped furiously at her sides, the shiny, dark blue material of her windbreaker swishing softly. “If I had, would I even be aware of it?”
He took hold of her elbow, forcing her to stop. “Did you threaten to sell the Diamond Dust to a third party if Aidan, Brady and I don’t agree to take over?”
He held his breath while she squinted up at him from behind her glasses, the lines around her eyes prominent. “I wouldn’t call it a threat.”
He dropped her arm, his stomach sinking. “What would you call it?”
“An opportunity.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Do not raise your voice to me, Matthew,” she said in an all-too-familiar tone. “If you can’t discuss this in a calm, reasonable manner, then there’s nothing more to say.”
“You’re trying to ruin my life and you want me to be reasonable?”
“For your information,” she said so coldly it made the morning temperatures feel practically balmy, “this is not some evil plot geared toward the destruction of your happiness.”
Sure seemed that way to him.
“Wait a minute,” he said, starting to pace, “was this Al’s idea?” Retired Senator Al Wallace, his mother’s fiancé, seemed like a nice enough guy, but Matt had only met him a few times. Somehow he couldn’t fathom his mother coming up with this idea on her own.
“Of course not. Al only wants me to be happy.” She exhaled heavily, her breath forming a soft cloud. “I’ve just realized it’s…it’s time for me to step back from the Diamond Dust.”
“So step back,” he said, wincing at how desperate he sounded. “You want to retire? Fine. Go on and move to D.C. after you get married. Aidan and Brady can keep the winery running.”
“They could,” she agreed. “But, Matt, I’m not going to be around forever—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered.
“—and I want to make sure the winery is in good hands. Aidan and Brady need a quality vintner’s expertise if they want to do more than simply keep the winery afloat. I see no reason to drag this out. Especially when I have interest from a prospective buyer.”
He stopped and gaped at her. “What?”
“An old friend of Al’s contacted me last week. He asked if I was considering retiring since Al and I were engaged. Seems he, along with his daughter and son-in-law, are interested in purchasing an established winery and he thinks the Diamond Dust would be a good fit for them.” She sent him a pitying glance. “Didn’t your brothers explain all of this?”
“Guess they left a few details out.”
Like the most important fact of all. Instead, Brady had, according to his usual M.O., remained silent while Aidan had gone on about their responsibility to their heritage and their father’s memory. Neither one had mentioned there was a real live buyer interested in the winery.
Matt shoved his numb fingers into his pockets. “Being interested isn’t the same as having an offer on the table.”
She gave him her, do you really think I’m an idiot? look, the one she’d used when he’d been fifteen and had tried to sneak out of the house with two bottles of wine tucked inside his jacket.
“He’s already made a substantial initial offer on the business.”
“How substantial?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
She tipped her head to the side. “Fourteen point five.”
His mouth fell open. He shut it. Opened it again. “As in…million?” She nodded. “Just for the winery?” He’d known the Diamond Dust was profitable but he’d never have guessed it did that well.
“For the business, the property and buildings.”
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “Buildings? You’d sell the plantation? Our house?”
For a moment he thought she’d deny it but then her lips thinned. “I could hardly sell one without the other. The Diamond Dust is the plantation and vice versa.”
His stomach turned. No wonder the offer was huge. The Diamond Dust was over three hundred acres of rolling hills and dense woods set just on the outskirts of Jewell. Sixty of those three hundred acres were planted vineyards. Add those in with the five buildings on the property and you had some seriously prime real estate.
And his mother didn’t just plan to unload the business she’d spent most of her life building, she also wanted to sell the land that had been in the Sheppard family for over one hundred and fifty years. Un-freaking-believable.
“Who has that kind of money, especially in this real estate market?” he asked. “Wait, it’s not Donald Trump, is it?”
“Of course not,” she said, as if he was the one who’d lost his mind instead of her. “It’s Lester Caldwell.”
With a short bark of laughter, Matt tipped his head back. Lester Caldwell. Make that Lt. Governor Lester Caldwell, the son of a prominent Virginia family and a successful businessman in his own right. A man who was well connected and had more money than he could ever spend in three lifetimes. Who had a reputation for getting what he wanted. And if he wanted the Diamond Dust, Matt didn’t doubt he’d even blink at spending twice what the winery was worth.
Damn politicians.
“If this is about money, I can help you out.” He did a quick mental review of his bank accounts. “Give me a few days, a week at the most, to get some funds moved around and I’ll cut you a check.”
She squeezed his hand. “That’s generous, honey, but it’s not about the money.”
He stepped back. “No,” he said, unable to keep the resentment out of his voice. “It’s about Dad. You’re doing this for him. To fulfill his dream of having all his sons work here.”
They stared at each other. Lily barked, either at the tension surrounding them or at the squirrel scurrying up a tree.
“Yes. I’m doing this for him.” This time when she spoke, there was no hesitation, no doubt in her voice. “His only dream was to someday see his sons—all three sons—run the winery. When Aidan chose law school and Brady enlisted and you…left…he gave up that dream. And then he got sick….” She shook her head. Sighed. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but I’m only doing what I think is best. For everyone involved, especially you and your brothers.”
He fisted his hands. “Don’t drag me into this. They want the winery. I don’t.”
“Sometimes a parent has to make difficult decisions. Decisions that her children may not understand, even though they’re in their best interest.”
Bitterness filled him. Forcing him into doing something he never wanted any part of was in her best interest. Aidan and Brady were already on board, doing exactly what Tom Sheppard had always hoped—living in Jewell. Devoting their lives to the Diamond Dust.
Aidan had taken over the winery when their father got sick. When Tom died, Aidan had quit law school and moved back to Jewell, a choice that guaranteed the end of his own dreams. And his short-lived marriage.
A few months back, Brady had started working at the winery, too. Since he was rarely home, Matt didn’t have all the inside info on exactly how that had transpired, but he figured Brady must’ve been pretty damned desperate to accept a job where Aidan would be his boss.
No wonder their mom had come up with this crazy blackmail scheme. She was already two-thirds of the way to getting exactly what her husband had always wanted. But there was just one loose end.
Him.
“I’m not doing it,” he said, his voice harsh, his jaw tight. “I have a three-year contract with Queen’s Valley. I made a commitment to them. I can’t just break it.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her. “I realize that each of you may have to give something up in order to take over the Diamond Dust, and I’m sorry for that. I truly am. But there would never be a perfect time for this, and with Lester’s offer on the table…” She shrugged, as if his career, his reputation and everything he’d worked for since leaving Jewell ten years ago meant less than nothing. “I can’t afford to wait.”
“You’re bluffing,” he said softly, watching her reaction carefully. Her expression didn’t change. “There’s no way you’d ever sell the winery—not to mention our home and the Sheppard legacy—to strangers just to force me back to the Diamond Dust.”
“I’d think you would have learned one thing by now, Matthew.” She drew herself up to her full height—and though he had at least eight inches on her, it still seemed as if she was peering down her nose at him. “I never bluff.” She brushed past him only to stop and glance over her shoulder. “I’ll expect your answer by 5:00 p.m. Tonight.”

“MOMMY, SHE WON’T GIVE my Barbie back!”
Standing on the stoop of the two-story brick home that had been converted into offices for the Diamond Dust, Connie Henkel winced at her younger daughter’s whining. Honestly, it was enough to make a person’s ears bleed.
She glanced around to make sure no one else had suffered permanent hearing damage. Thankfully, they were alone. No cars were parked in front of the office building or the Sheppards’ large, plantation-style home, which sat just over a hundred yards away. The surrounding blocks of vineyard were set against a backdrop of rolling hills, bare except for clusters of dull green pine trees.
Her vines weren’t green. Dormant, conserving energy throughout the cold winter months, they were brown and straggly, their crooked, frost-covered, entwined limbs reaching for the sun. Soon they would come back to life. It was up to her and her workers to make sure they thrived.
And she was damn good at her job.
Shifting the folder she held to her other hand, she turned the doorknob, frowning to find it locked. That was weird. Brady usually beat her to work. And more importantly, started the coffee. And if ever there was a morning when she could use the extra kick of caffeine, today was it. After unlocking the door, she stood aside to let her two daughters into the small entryway. Neither one of them moved.
Abby, the brim of her lavender fleece hat pulled down to her eyebrows, stomped her foot. “Mommy!”
Right. Barbie doll kidnapping. Major crisis. Intervention needed from Supermom.
She was on it.
“Payton, give your sister her doll,” Connie said. See? She really was Supermom. How else could she have spoken with such restraint, such remarkable calm, if not for her super powers? After all, a mere mortal would’ve lost her patience by now, considering this was the fifth argument between her two daughters this morning. And it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.
God help her. She didn’t think she’d make it to ten o’clock without yanking her own hair out.
Eight-year-old Payton swept past her with all the dignity of a four-foot-tall queen, the doll clutched in her gloved hand. “But I still have five minutes left. I let her listen to my iPod for fifteen minutes. So that’s how long I get her Barbie.”
“But I want her back now,” Abby wailed, her gray eyes filling with tears.
“Yeah?” Connie asked. “Well, I want you to come inside so I can close the door.”
“But, Mom—”
“Now.”
Funny. As soon as she’d become a mother, she’d been able to inject a wealth of meaning into one tiny word. Abby, being no dummy, heard the implied threat of loss of privileges if she didn’t obey and scurried inside.
Connie shut the door then crouched so she was eye to eye with her unhappy daughter. “Sorry, kid, but a deal’s a deal. You’ll get Barbie back in a few minutes. Until then, you’re just going to have to be patient.”
Abby’s face scrunched up as if this development was a fate worse than the Disney Channel being removed from their cable company’s lineup. Her head hanging, her toy-filled backpack dragging on the floor, she trudged down the dark hall toward Connie’s office. Payton, smug in her victory, swung poor Barbie by her hair as she followed.
Connie hung her heavy work coat on the antique rack in the corner. Tucking the folder under her arm, she passed Brady’s empty office and a small half bath, then entered the narrow kitchen and got a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator.
The building was over a hundred years old with dark, ornate woodwork, wide-planked floors and high ceilings. While the first floor was converted into office space, the second had been kept as bedrooms for seasonal workers who needed a place to stay. Since the winery was nearing the end of its off-season, the bedrooms were currently empty, but within a matter of weeks she planned on hiring at least half a dozen workers to help plant new vines.
Popping the tab on the can, she took a drink as she made her way to her office at the back of the building. No sooner did she step into the room than Abby flounced onto the brick-red sofa, her long, dark brown ponytail swinging with the momentum. She sent Connie a defiant look and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Connie shut her eyes. That was it. Her next husband was going to be an orthodontist. It was the only way she’d ever be able to pay to have Abby’s bite corrected. Too bad the only orthodontist in town was sixty years old. And a woman.
Taking another sip of her soda so she wouldn’t snap at her daughter about her thumb-sucking, she set the folder on the glossy surface of her maple desk and sat back in her leather, ergonomic chair. Diane Sheppard had decorated Connie’s office. The cream-colored bead-board below chocolate walls, hardwood floor and built-in bookcases gave the room warmth and charm.
“I’m bored,” Payton grumbled.
“The two most dreaded words on the planet,” Connie murmured as she turned on her laptop. “How will you ever survive?”
Payton tossed the doll over to her sister, who clutched it to her chest as if Barbie had just returned from war. “Mom, I’m serious.”
“Payton,” Connie said, mimicking her daughter’s exasperated tone, “so am I. Read your book.”
“I don’t feel like reading,” she said, glancing derisively at the copy of The Lightning Thief next to her.
“Then maybe you should’ve brought something else to keep you occupied.”
“If we could’ve brought the dollhouse, I wouldn’t be bored,” she muttered.
Right. Lug the three-foot-tall, sixteen-room monstrosity—complete with furnishings—across town? “Yeah, well, that didn’t happen, did it?”
“Daddy would’ve let me.”
At her daughter’s challenging tone, Connie jabbed the delete key, ridding herself of an email touting the secret to getting a larger penis. “I’m sure he would have. But he’s not here. I am.”
Paul, her ex-husband, felt so guilty about not being able to see the girls as often as he’d like that he and his too-good-to-be-true second wife, Sarah, let them do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Every time Payton and Abby came back from their once-a-month weekend visits with their father, it took Connie almost a week to deprogram them from acting like mini prima donnas.
The front door opened and shut. “Hello?” a familiar voice called. “Anyone here?”
“In my office,” Connie said, sliding the folder she’d set on her desk into the top drawer. Yeah, it was stupid to feel nervous or, worse, embarrassed by the information she’d put together, but she felt both just the same.
“I thought I saw your car pull in,” Diane Sheppard said from the doorway, her chin-length hair windblown and her cheeks pink from the walk across the yard. “What’s this? No school today?”
Abby scrambled off the couch and wrapped her arm around Diane’s leg. “Nuh-uh. It’s President’s Day.”
“And you get the day off?” Diane asked, as if President’s Day was some new and exciting development. “Since it honors two very important men, we should celebrate it, don’t you think?”
“Like a party?” Payton asked.
“Exactly like a party. Why don’t we go over to the house and make plans over some hot cocoa?” Keeping a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders, she smiled at Connie. “You don’t mind if I steal them for a little bit, do you?”
Mind? She had to stop herself from begging Diane to do just that. She had pruning to start, a job that could take her small crew of three anywhere from a few weeks to an entire month. Plus, she had to go over the results of the soil sample she’d sent out last week for the new block of land she wanted to plant this spring.
Abby clapped her hands. “Can we, Mommy?”
“Please?” Payton added, pushing her glasses back with one finger.
“You two have been at each other’s throats all morning,” Connie was forced to point out. After all, the girls weren’t Diane’s responsibility. No matter how much work Connie had to do. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, subject Diane to your whining and fighting.”
“We won’t fight,” Payton said, and then she pulled Abby into a hug.
Abby nodded vigorously, her head bumping Payton’s chin. “See? We’re best friends again.”
“It’s a President’s Day miracle,” Connie murmured.
“I raised three boys,” Diane said. “I think I can handle a little bit of whining and fighting. Besides, if we’re going to throw an impromptu party, I’ll need their help.”
“You need help planning a party like the Pope needs help praying.” Connie crossed her arms and realized her burgundy scarf was still wrapped around her neck. Unwinding it, she narrowed her eyes at her boss. “You know, it is possible for the girls to keep themselves occupied while I’m here. You don’t have to entertain them every time I bring them with me to work.”
“I realize that,” Diane said with a wave of her fingers, as if she didn’t find some excuse to take the girls off Connie’s hands whenever she could.
The sunlight filtering through the picture window caught on Diane’s new engagement ring, making the large, square-cut diamond sparkle. Even though she wore the ring of another man, a man she planned to marry in a few short months, Diane hadn’t removed the wedding band and engagement ring from her first husband. She’d just shifted them to her right hand.
Connie rubbed the pad of her thumb against the base of her ring finger. She hadn’t felt anything when she’d taken her wedding ring off four years ago. Well, except relief. She’d wanted to feel more. Sadness. Loss. Anger. Even a sense of failure would’ve sufficed. Instead, she’d remained numb.
Maybe she really was as cold and unfeeling as Paul had accused her of being.
“Please, Mommy,” Payton repeated. “We’ll be really good.”
“And we’ll help Diane a whole lot,” Abby piped in.
“Okay, okay. Stop with the begging already. You can go. Stay as long as Diane wants you, but you—” she pointed at Diane “—need to promise me you’ll send them right back here if they misbehave.”
Diane adjusted the barrette in Payton’s wavy, light brown hair. “Of course.”
Connie rolled her eyes. The only way her kids would be sent back was if they set the kitchen on fire. And even that wasn’t a guarantee.
“Come on, girls.” Diane zipped up Abby’s coat even though she was more than capable of doing it on her own. “We have lots of work if we’re having a party today.”
When they were gone, Connie swiveled in her chair to watch them through the window as they crossed the brown grass toward the house. Abby held Diane’s hand while Payton skipped ahead. Aidan’s Irish setter, Lily, bounded out of the woods, joining the group.
It was a picture-perfect scene, one straight out of a hokey holiday commercial. Like they were all one big happy family.
Which they were. Sort of. They belonged here, she and her girls. And there was one way to make it permanent.
Her stomach rolling, she tugged open the top drawer and pulled out the folder with the plan she’d outlined showing Aidan why they should partner up and take over the Diamond Dust.
It was a crazy idea but one she hadn’t been able to shake since Christmas Eve when Diane got engaged and mentioned that she wanted to retire in the near future. And when that happened, who better to take over than Connie and Aidan? They were the ones who’d been with the winery ever since Tom got sick. Who loved it as much as he had.
Nerves and excitement dancing in her stomach, Connie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Aidan’s number before she changed her mind.
When he picked up after two rings, she cleared her throat. “Hey, it’s me,” she said. “Do you have any free time this morning? I need to talk to you about something important.”

CHAPTER THREE
STILL FUMING OVER HIS conversation with his mother, Matt walked into Aidan’s office only to skid to a stop as if he was a dog and had reached the end of his leash. “What is this, the Tom Sheppard shrine?”
Sitting behind their father’s enormous desk, Aidan didn’t even look up. “I’m working.”
Matt shook his head as he slowly took in the large room. A room he’d managed to avoid since his father’s death.
But why did it look exactly as it had when Tom was still alive? Same dark colors, oppressive furniture and—he narrowed his eyes—was that…yeah…same ugly bronze frog on the bottom shelf of the built-in bookcase.
“I hate this room,” he muttered.
“How can you hate a room?” Aidan asked as he continued to work on a financial report or inventory sheet or some such mind-numbingly boring item.
“If I ever end up behind that desk, do me a favor and just shoot me.”
He did hate this room. Not just the decorating, although if he ever got stuck playing desk jockey, he wanted a space that was all his. Not someone else’s leftovers. No, what he really hated about his father’s office was that stepping into the room was like stepping back in time. He couldn’t count the number of times his father had called him in here only to rip him up one side and down the other. Hell, he’d spent most of his teenage years slouched in the leather chair across from the desk, forced to listen to his old man lecture about responsibility, making good choices and the importance of doing his best no matter what the situation.
All important lessons, Matt acknowledged grudgingly. And ones he deserved to hear, just as he probably deserved most of the punishments his father had doled out in response to his youngest son’s wild ways.
Then again, maybe if Tom hadn’t been such a hard-ass, Matt wouldn’t have rebelled so much.
Aidan finally set his mechanical pencil down. “Don’t tell me, you hate that chair, too.” When Matt raised an eyebrow, Aidan continued, “You look like you’re ready to rip it apart with your teeth.”
That was why he’d avoided this room ever since his dad died. It was too full of memories. And memories only caused problems. Better to focus on the present. And the current hell he was living through.
“We need to discuss this…situation we’re in,” Matt said, keeping his tone neutral.
“I take it you’re referring to our conversation earlier, the one that caused you to take off like the devil himself was riding your ass.”
He’d rather deal with the devil. Old Satan had nothing on Aidan Sheppard. “I needed some fresh air. Time to clear my head. I went back to the cottage but you’d already left.”
Aidan leaned back in his chair. “Once again, I’m working. Some of us can’t get by logging in twenty hours a week then heading off to climb some mountain or jump off a cliff.”
He wished his brother would jump off a cliff. Preferably without a bungee cord. So what if he took time off now and again? Life was an adventure. One he planned on getting the most out of.
Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and walked to the window to stare out over the backyard. But that didn’t mean he didn’t take his jobs seriously. His family had no idea what his life was really like. Up at 4:00 a.m., logging up to eighty hours a week in order to help the wineries who hired him produce the best wines possible.
“I realize your time is valuable—more so than that of us mere working stiffs,” Matt said, “but I’d think you could spare a few minutes to discuss the future of the Diamond Dust.” He faced his brother, leaning back against the wall. “What’s Mom trying to prove?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“I did. She admitted she’s doing this for Dad. I bet he put some stipulation in his will so this would happen.” Matt wouldn’t put it past the old man. Even dead he was trying to run Matt’s life.
“He didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I, unlike you or Brady, was actually there for the reading of Dad’s will,” Aidan said. “Trust me, this is all Mom’s idea.”
Matt fisted his hands. The betrayal was like a punch to the chest. Why would she do this to him? They’d always been close. She’d been the one person he could count on to see the real him. She’d known, better than anyone, how badly he’d wanted to escape Jewell. How he’d wanted nothing more than to go out and make something of himself. Something important.
He crossed to the leather sofa against the opposite wall. Guess her reasons didn’t really matter. Not when all he could do now was deal with this situation.
“So what’s it going to be?” Aidan asked.
Matt lay down, propping his feet on the armrest. “I need time to think it through.”
“We don’t have time. Mom wants our decision today.”
“Yeah, she told me. Eight hours to decide my entire future? How generous.”
“Suck it up. Some of us only got five minutes.”
True. Aidan had to drop out of law school and move back to Jewell to take over the Diamond Dust when their father passed away. And Brady’s plans had been altered when he’d lost his fiancée to some other guy and his career to an injury sustained in Afghanistan. Both Aidan’s and Brady’s futures had taken turns neither had expected, but that didn’t make the possible annihilation of his own plans any easier to swallow. Especially since they both seemed to be doing fine now.
“Well, since I do have eight hours, I’m going to take them. I’ll let you know my decision then.” Maybe he could talk his mother out of this insane idea before tonight. Or at least get her to agree to let him be a partner in name only. There had to be a way out of this.
His jet lag catching up to him, he linked his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. It wasn’t much time and he had a lot to think about. Damn it, he had plans. Commitments. His reputation as a world-class vintner was growing—the proof was his contract with Queen’s Valley.
But as much as he didn’t want to be in Jewell, he also didn’t want to see his father’s business sold to some stranger.
More than that, he didn’t want to let his brothers down.
And he’d French-kiss Aidan’s dog before he admitted that out loud.
He yawned. His brothers might think he slid by in life, but the truth was, he’d busted his ass building his reputation as a winemaker. He wasn’t afraid of hard work, and along the way he’d learned from some of the best experts in the world how to run a winery.
He just didn’t want to use that knowledge to run the Diamond Dust.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Matt’s eyes flew open at the husky feminine voice. Too bad he wasn’t the one being propositioned. Which was probably a good thing, he realized, as Connie Henkel walked past him without so much as a glance.
She was long and lean with sharp features, and her dark hair was cut shorter than his, with messy layers on top and wisps around her ears. She didn’t wear jewelry or makeup, and in her usual uniform of faded jeans and a T-shirt, if you didn’t take the time to look carefully, she could’ve passed for a teenage boy.
One side of his mouth kicked up. Luckily, Matt always looked carefully. So he noticed the subtle curve of her hips, the slight rise and fall of her small breasts, the feminine arch of her dark brows.
He noticed, he just didn’t linger.
“I’m not sure whether to be flattered,” Aidan said, “or terrified.”
Connie winced. “First of all…eww. You’re like the brother I never had and never particularly wanted. And second of all, if you were that lucky, you wouldn’t be terrified. You’d be grateful.”
Quietly sitting up, Matt couldn’t help but grin. He’d always enjoyed Connie’s smart-ass ways. “I’d sure begrateful if it was me.” He winked at her. “And believe me, so would you.”
Connie didn’t move. Her face was white, her mouth open. Hell, she didn’t even blink.
It was that blank stare and the fact that he’d known Connie since he was twelve and he’d never seen her stay still for more than a few seconds that had Matt standing and walking toward her. “You okay?” he asked. “You’re not having some sort of seizure or anything, are you?”
And just like that, she snapped back to life. Before he could decipher the play of emotions across her face, she smiled, though it seemed forced.
“Hey. I didn’t know you were in town.” She stepped forward as if to give him a hug, only to tuck her hands, and the bright purple folder she held, behind her back.
“Got in Saturday night,” he said, leaning against Aidan’s desk, his hip hitting a pile of papers and causing them to slide. He could’ve sworn he heard Aidan muttering under his breath. Knowing it would drive his brother crazy, Matt slowly slid his gaze over Connie. “Did you miss me?”
“It was all I could do to get through each day,” she said somberly.
Even with the weight of his pending decision on his chest, making it difficult to take a full breath, he couldn’t help but enjoy her. “What say we leave Aidan to his paperwork and go catch up over a cup of coffee?”
What better way to pretend his entire future wasn’t on the line than with the distraction of a smart, funny, attractive woman?
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Aidan said before Connie could respond. “Besides, Connie has something she wants to discuss with me, so why don’t—”
“No,” she blurted, her cheeks turning pink when he and Aidan stared at her. Taking a step back, she cleared her throat. “I mean…that…that was nothing. The thing I wanted to discuss. It can wait.”
“Are you sure?” Aidan asked.
“Believe me, I’m positive. I don’t want to interrupt your discussion so I’ll just go.”
And she turned and walked out.
“How do you do that?” Aidan asked.
Matt watched Connie’s backside as she walked away. “Do what?”
“Flirt with my vineyard manager when I know what you really want is to rip someone’s head off.”
Straightening, he shrugged, making sure the gesture seemed casual despite the tightness in his shoulders. “None of this is Connie’s fault,” he said, heading back to the sofa. “Why take it out on her?”
Never let them see you sweat.
He lay down again and closed his eyes, shutting out the searching look Aidan was giving him. His brother’s unspoken questions. Matt knew what his family thought of him. How they perceived him. To them he was just a charming playboy—albeit one with a small amount of talent. Talent he used when he wasn’t busy white-water rafting, mountain climbing or seducing women.
All he did was give them what they wanted to see.

COWARD.
Connie slowly descended the stairs, the folder with her proposal bent in her clenched hand. So she’d chickened out. Who could blame her? She could hardly be expected to pitch a business deal to Aidan while Matt flirted with her.
Not that she took him seriously. He flirted with every female regardless of her looks or age. But him being there had thrown her.
And made her lose her nerve.
Crap.
It was probably for the best. This way she could take a few more days, look over her proposal. Make sure it was as good as it needed to be to convince Aidan to take her on as a partner.
As if tweaking the damn thing for the past eight weeks wasn’t enough.
She sighed. Yeah, she really was a coward.
In the foyer, she made a right turn, her steps slowing as the sound of her daughters’ laughter reached her.
She inhaled for the count of five then exhaled heavily before stepping into the kitchen. “Something smells good,” she said, forcing a smile.
“We’re making cinnamon rolls,” Abby said, not looking up from the dough Diane was helping her roll out.
“And look, Mommy.” Payton held up a metal bowl filled with what appeared to be brown sugar. “I made the filling all by myself. And I get to sprinkle it over the dough, too.”
Abby straightened. “I get to pour the melted butter over it, don’t I, Diane?”
Diane straightened and used a towel to wipe flour from Abby’s cheek. “You certainly do.”
Payton jumped off the stool and raced over to the refrigerator. “And did you see? Diane put our thank-you cards on the fridge.”
There, in the middle of the shiny stainless steel, held on by round magnets, were the handmade cards Payton and Abby had made to thank her for the Christmas gifts she’d given them.
“I put them there because all works of art should be displayed,” Diane said, stretching the dough by hand into a large rectangle.
Connie got a heavy red mug from the cupboard next to the refrigerator and filled it with coffee. She leaned back against the counter and watched Diane instruct Payton on how to sprinkle the brown sugar mixture over the dough.
“Is everything all right?” Diane asked her. “Is it your mom?”
Connie shook her head. “Everything’s fine. Mom’s fine. I spoke with her earlier and she sounded good.”
Diane patted her cheek. “I’m glad to hear it. But you know if you ever need me for anything, to take her to a doctor’s appointment or to watch the girls for you, you just let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.” A lump formed in Connie’s throat. She took a swallow of too-hot coffee to wash it away. “I just came from Aidan’s office and saw Matt there.”
“You make it sound like you just ran into the Loch Ness monster.”
“Well, it was a…rare sighting.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, I can’t remember seeing Matt up there since Tom died.”
“All my boys dealt with their father’s death in their own way,” she said, her voice taking on that note of grief, of longing it always did when she spoke of her deceased husband. “Aidan couldn’t bear to change anything in that office to keep the memories alive, while Matt avoided both the room and the feelings those memories evoked.”
“And Brady?”
“Brady went off to war, away from us all.” She crossed over to the stove and unwrapped a stick of butter before putting it in a small saucepan. “Who’s to say any of them were wrong?”
Well, Connie could say. After all, Brady and Matt had left Aidan and Diane when they needed them most. But, she thought with no little amount of pride, she’d been there. For them and for the Diamond Dust.
Finishing her coffee, she rinsed the cup in the sink. “I’d better get back to work.”
“Why don’t I bring the girls over to you after lunch?” Diane asked.
“That’s fine. I’ll be out in Pinot Noir block if you need me. You two behave,” she told her daughters.
“We will,” Abby assured her. “Bye, Mommy.”
Connie went out the back door. There was no way she was going to take the chance of running into Aidan or Matt again. It wasn’t until she was safely back in her office with the door shut that she realized she was still carrying the folder with her proposal.
She laid it on her neat desk. God, it was almost laughable. She’d spent half her life wanting nothing more than to be a part of the Diamond Dust, to be a member of the Sheppard family, and she was too scared to go for it.
For sixteen years she’d worked hard to prove her loyalty to both the family and the winery. To prove her worth. When Tom lost his battle with pancreatic cancer, she was the one who’d helped Aidan make the transition to winery president. Matt and Brady had both been long gone, but she’d stuck. And she’d busted her ass to keep the Diamond Dust going.
Connie snorted. Who knew? Maybe her mother had been right all this time. Maybe she really did need to stop wishing for things that weren’t going to happen. That weren’t meant to be.
She sat down, and after a moment, put the folder back in the bottom drawer.

“CAN’T YOU DO SOMETHING that will guarantee he’ll agree?” Diane asked Aidan later that day as they waited for Brady and Matt in her large kitchen.
“No problem.” Aidan sat at the table, tipped his head side to side in an effort to ease the tension tightening his muscles. “If Matt shows up, I’ll put him in a choke hold so you can point a gun to his head.”
Diane’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “I’m being serious, Aidan.”
He drummed his fingers where a shaft of sunlight hit the table through sliding glass doors that led to a bricked veranda. “We both know Matt will draw this out for as long as possible. You didn’t really think he’d go along with this idea willingly, did you? Or make it easy on any of us?”
“A mother can hope,” she murmured, wiping nonexistent crumbs from the granite kitchen counter with a dishcloth. She scrubbed at a spot by the stove. “Is it so wrong for me to want my sons, all three of my sons, working together?”
And that question was as loaded as the hypothetical gun Aidan had just mentioned. “What if one of those sons doesn’t want to be a part of the Diamond Dust?”
“Matt wants to be a part of it.” Crossing to the opposite wall, she wiped fingerprints from one of the double, stainless steel ovens. “He just doesn’t realize it yet. Just as Brady didn’t realize it until you convinced him.”
Convinced? Aidan rose and walked over to the fridge. Lily, who’d been napping in front of the large stone fireplace in the connecting family room, padded over to him, her nails clicking on the tile floor. He hadn’t convinced his brother to do anything, he thought as he got a can of soda. Nothing short of dynamite could move Brady once he’d set his mind to stay still. A trait all the Sheppards shared. No, it’d taken a good dose of blackmail to get Brady to start working at the winery.
Seemed his mother didn’t have a corner on that market after all.
But Brady’s situation had been different. Aidan hadn’t been trying to get him on board for his own personal agenda or to fulfill his father’s greatest wish. He’d done it for his brother.
Brady had been lost. Floundering. Drinking too much and being a complete ass—nothing new, really. But he hadn’t even wanted anything to do with his own kid after getting J.C. pregnant. Of course, J.C. being the sister of Brady’s ex-fiancée had complicated matters.
As did Brady continuing to hold on to feelings for his ex.
So when he’d pitched the idea of J.C. selling her home made chocolates at the Diamond Dust’s gift shop, Aidan had agreed—on the condition that Brady came to work for him.
His motivation was totally different from Diane’s when it came to Matt. To all of them.
Leaning against the wide, center island, he crossed his feet at the ankles. “Have you considered what this is going to do to your relationship with Matt?”
Diane frowned at him. “You don’t agree with what I’m doing.”
“No. I don’t.” He didn’t agree with her taking away his control. With her changing everything without get ting his opinion first. Without asking him what he wanted.
For the first time in his life, he could sympathize with his youngest brother.
“I just hope you’re willing to accept any fallout this decision might have,” he continued.
Diane refilled Lily’s water dish then slowly faced him. “Do you really think he’ll hold this against me?”
Aidan narrowed his eyes at her. Had he detected a nervousness in his mother’s voice? No sooner had the thought entered his mind than he brushed it aside. His mother didn’t get nervous.
“You’re asking him to give up a lot. Think about it. Brady has nothing to lose and everything to gain by this. But Matt?” He shook his head. “You and I both know he has what it takes to become one of the top names in the wine industry. And now he has to give up everything he’s ever wanted to save Dad’s company? To be honest, Mom, what you’re doing is pretty shitty.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Desperate times and all that.”
But though her words were said lightly, her voice wobbled. Just a bit. Enough for Aidan to realize this hadn’t been an easy decision for her. “Desperate how?” he asked. “I don’t see why it’s so black or white… Why is it Matt or none of us? Surely there are other options.”
But just like she didn’t get nervous, Diane Sheppard also didn’t back away from something just because it was difficult. Like him, she ran toward those situations, ready to prove herself more than capable of handling everything on her own.
He just hoped that she hadn’t sacrificed her relationship with her youngest son.
“You’ve mentioned how this will affect Brady and Matt,” she said, ignoring his blunt questions. “But what about you?”
“I have nothing to lose.”
He’d already given it all up.
Reaching down, he rubbed Lily’s head when she nudged his thigh. “You should know what you’re getting into by asking Matt to come on board. We’ve always done things a certain way here—Dad’s way. But that might not be good enough for Matt. He’s not going to be happy running a small operation. You know his motto has always been Bigger Is Better.”
She waved his words away. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I know you’ll make sure anything’s that done is what’s best for the Diamond Dust.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers curling. And hadn’t that been the story of his life? Doing what was best for the winery. Putting his father’s company, and his family’s wants and needs, ahead of his own.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “You know you can count on me.”
To keep things running smoothly. To fix any problems that might arise—whether those problems were his fault or not.
She laid her hand on his arm. He forced his muscles to relax. He loved his mom. He really did. But there were times when he just got tired of being Mr. Fix It.
“Have I told you how much I appreciate you?” Diane gave his arm a squeeze. “I couldn’t have gotten through your father’s death, kept the company going…any of it really…without you.”
And as quickly as it had come, his anger dissipated with his mother’s sincere words. How could he be angry about fulfilling his responsibility? Taking care of his family?
He kissed her cheek. The softness of it, her floral scent, so familiar to him. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You would’ve gotten through just fine on your own. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”
Stepping back, she sniffed and dug a tissue out of her sleeve. Taking off her glasses, she dabbed at her eyes as the back door opened.
“Am I late?” Brady asked in his low voice as he shut the door behind him.
Aidan finished his drink. “No. We’re still waiting for the man of the hour.”
Lily trotted over to Brady, her tail wagging. He sat in the chair Aidan had vacated and scratched the dog’s ears. “Anyone consider what’s going to happen if Matt says no?”
His question hung in the air for a moment. Their mother kept her gaze on the floor, her fingers entwined.
“The way I see it,” Aidan said, rinsing out the soda can and putting it in the recycling bin, “no matter what he decides, we’re going to be dealing with a whole new set of headaches.”
They’d have the tension of trying to run a business together or the pain of losing their father’s company. In Aidan’s mind, they were screwed either way.
Lily barked twice. A moment later, Matt sauntered into the room from the hallway, his too-long hair wild around his face, his jacket unzipped over a rumpled shirt. “I’m here,” he said, neither his tone nor his expression giving away his thoughts. “Let’s get this over with.”

CHAPTER FOUR
“DOES THAT MEAN YOU’LL accept the partnership?” his mother asked in what Matt could only describe as a hopeful tone.
Teeth clenched, he sat on a high-backed stool at the island, deliberately laid his arm on the back of the one next to him in a pose of nonchalance. “That depends. What are the terms you’re offering?”
She seemed taken aback. Did she really think he’d just meekly go along with whatever stipulations she set out? “The terms,” she said, “are that you and your brothers agree to run the Diamond Dust upon my retirement, at which time I will sign over all shares of the company. Until then, the three of you will remain in Jewell, working at the winery under its current management.”
Aidan grinned—an unusual and completely unnerving event. “That’d be me.”
Matt was already shaking his head. “No way am I taking orders from him.”
“It’s not about taking orders,” his mom said, sending Aidan a reproachful look. His grin only widened. “Aidan has been President of the Diamond Dust for the past eight years. It’s only reasonable that the structure remains the same until I step down as owner. Besides, until that happens, I’ll still have final say on any and all decisions.”
“And when is this retirement scheduled to take place?” Matt asked.
“July 27.”
“That’s the day Mom and Al are getting married,” Aidan put in.
“Yeah. I knew that,” Matt lied. He straightened, clasped his hands together on the cold counter. Met his mom’s eyes and asked quietly, “And if I…if any of us…don’t agree?”
“I’ve told you—”
“No. You haven’t. Not straight out. I need to hear you say it.”
For a moment, he wondered if she’d back down. But then she lifted her chin and he remembered that his mother was made of stronger stuff than that. Strong enough to risk alienating one of her own sons just to make her deceased husband’s dream come true.
“If any of you don’t wish to be a part of the Diamond Dust,” she said, her voice steady, “then I will sell the company, the property and this house to Lester Caldwell.”
Sliding to his feet, Matt looked at his brothers. Aidan stood in front of the large windows of the breakfast nook, the setting sun casting his profile in shadow. Brady sat, one hand flat on the table, the other on Lily’s head.
“Is this what you both want?” Matt asked them.
Brady studied him with his cool, hooded gaze. “Does it matter?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he admitted, not sure who he’d surprised more, his brothers or himself. “Yeah, it does.”
Instead of answering, Aidan crossed to the island, pulled the contract from the envelope and, after flipping a few pages, signed his name with a flourish. He then handed the contract to Brady, who signed, as well.
Looked like he had his answer.
Son of a bitch.
His mother picked up the contract and pen and set them in front of Matt. “It’s your decision.”

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