It had been one of the best Christmases Griffin could remember, free of the tension and awkward silences that accompanied regular family dinners at the vineyard.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she asked, giving him another squeeze before pulling away. She sucked in a breath as she glanced toward Trevor. “Oh, my gosh. What happened to your eye?”
Trevor helpfully pointed at Griffin, who yelped as his mother pinched him hard on the back of the arm.
“You hit your brother? What were you thinking?” She placed a hand on her chest. “Tell me you didn’t fight with your brother in church.”
“Can’t do that, Mom. Sorry.”
“You should be sorry, Griffin John Stone. After all Trevor has been through today. I swear I wouldn’t put it past Vivian Spencer to have orchestrated this whole fiasco just to embarrass our family.”
“I highly doubt it,” Griffin muttered.
“Maggie had to follow her heart,” Trevor said, sounding like the benevolent son his mother knew him to be. “No one is to blame.”
“She is to blame,” their mother countered. “You’re the vice president of marketing for Harvest Vineyards. You’re a public figure, Trevor. We did a special blend for the occasion.” She threw up her hands. “With personalized labels. Press releases went out. This could hurt the brand.”
“Mom.” Griffin shook his head. “This was supposed to be a wedding, not a publicity event.”
He glanced at his brother, who lifted his brows as if to say I told you so.
“You’ve been away from Stonecreek too long, Griffin. Social media has blurred the lines between our private lives and public branding for the company. There’s too much competition these days to think otherwise.”
She moved toward Trevor, gently touching the swelling around his eye. “We certainly have no time for nonsense between the two of you. I guarantee the Spencers are already doing damage control. What do you think this will do to Maggie’s prospects for reelection in the fall?”
“Nothing,” Trevor said immediately. “She’s done a great job as mayor this first term so there’s no reason to think she won’t win again.”
Jana tsk-tsked softly. “She won the first time because we endorsed her—she had the support of the whole town.” She straightened and turned to Griffin. “Your second cousin is running against her. He’s been giving me the ‘blood is thicker’ line for months. Everyone has seen that Mary Margaret Spencer can’t follow through on a commitment of the most important kind. How can they trust her running Stonecreek? Especially given the Spencer single-mindedness in promoting a civic agenda benefiting her family’s business interests.”
Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. He’d returned because his mother had asked him to, but he didn’t want any part of this small-town drama. “Hasn’t the animosity between the two families gone on long enough?”
“We thought so,” Jana admitted. “I know Jim wants peace between us. I do, too.” She worried the pad of her thumb back and forth over the ring finger on her left hand, where she’d worn her wedding band for over two decades until her husband’s death. “Today changed everything.”
“Do you have something to add to this conversation?” Griffin asked Trevor.
His brother only shook his head and whispered, “Not now.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Griffin turned toward his mother. “There are things about today you don’t understand. Like the reason I hit Trevor.”
The bejeweled purse hanging at her side began to buzz incessantly. “It’s your grandmother,” Jana said, pulling out the phone. “I’m late to pick her up. She’s going to help me take the flowers from the reception site. We need to get to them before Vivian does. They’ll work for a tasting event at the vineyard tomorrow night, but you can bet Vivian Spencer will use them for the inn if given half a chance.”
“Mom, we need to talk.”
“Later tonight,” Jana promised, already heading for the door. “Family dinner at the house.” She glanced toward Griffin. “Did you drop your stuff there already?”
“Not yet.”
“I cleared out the caretaker’s apartment above the garage like you asked, although I don’t know why you won’t move back into your old room. It’s far more convenient.” She blew each of them a kiss. “No fighting, you two. I mean it.”
“Moving back?” Trevor asked as soon as she was gone. “To Stonecreek?”
“It’s only for a few months,” Griffin said, examining a scratch on one knuckle. “While I build the new tasting room.”
“Wait a minute.” Trevor stood and held up a hand. “You’re the contractor Mom hired?”
Griffin nodded. “I asked her not to mention it to you.”
“No way. You don’t get to waltz back in here and start taking over. I’ve dedicated the past five years to the family business.”
“I’m not a threat to you,” Griffin said quietly. “I know my place.”
“Since when?”
Griffin ignored the verbal jab. “I also know my way around a construction site and have a sense of the history of the vineyard. Mom wants it to be right, and I owe it to her.”
“I’m the vice president—”
“Of marketing,” Griffin interrupted.
Trevor narrowed his eyes. It was no secret his dream in life was to run Harvest Vineyards. Both of them had grown up working the land and learning the ins and outs of the wine-making process. As Griffin grew older, the animosity between him and his father had grown until the two hundred acres they owned felt like a cage, the home he’d lived in since he was born, a prison.
“Dad wouldn’t have wanted this,” Trevor said harshly. “After what you did...”
“Not his decision to make any longer.”
Their father had died four years ago when the private plane he’d chartered crashed just after takeoff. The accident had been a shock to them all, and a huge blow to their mother. But Jana took her role as president of the board as seriously as if she’d been born into the family.
Griffin had come back for the funeral and stayed for the family meeting his mother insisted on presiding over the morning after the service. He knew Trevor had expected to be named CEO but instead Jana had offered the position to their longtime employee, Marcus Sanchez.
“I still should have been told.”
“And you still need to tell Mom about why Maggie walked away,” Griffin countered, unwilling to debate his worthiness to return to the vineyard with his younger brother.
Trevor studied him for a long moment, then flashed a sanctimonious grin. “You won’t stick, Grif. You never do.”
Fists
