the sofa.
“Does she still take naps?” he asked.
“Only when they catch her unaware.”
He smiled. “That would make a wonderful photograph. Almost makes me want to get out my camera again.”
“You don’t take photos anymore? You’re so good at it!”
He gave her a wry look. “I haven’t since I came home. Too many memories about the last ones I took.” Those photos had been shot in the refugee camp the day of the attack.
“You can’t let what happened take away your gift.”
That was one way of looking at it, he supposed.
“I’ll walk you out,” Sara suggested.
She followed him as he opened the screen door, which now hung correctly on its hinges. Outside the cottage, with the scent of roses climbing on a trellis beside the house redolent, he stared down at her, the desire to kiss her so strong he could taste it.
But instead he did the best thing for both of them. He picked up the toolbox he’d left outside the door and said, “Goodbye, Sara.” He could feel her gaze on his back as he walked away.
Chapter Three
Amy ran from Sara’s side before she could catch her.
Her daughter’s giggles reinforced Sara’s resolve that she’d done the right thing by moving to the vineyard a few days ago. But when she saw where Amy was headed, she wondered about her decision all over again.
Jase was standing near a vine-laced trellis, his T-shirt pulling tightly across his shoulder muscles. He was tanned and fit and gave off an eminently masculine air. Especially with more than a day’s beard stubbling his jaw.
When he saw Amy running toward him, he caught her, swung her around and made her giggle more.
He’d make a wonderful dad.
Sara banished the errant thought almost as quickly as it had entered her head and ran over to her daughter. She and Jase hadn’t talked since their impromptu dinner. He’d come and gone, she’d come and gone, and they’d passed like two ships in the night, neither sure where they were headed. But Jase looked sure now.
“She has more energy than a high-speed train,” he remarked with a wry smile.
“And she’s just as fast. All I have to do is blink and she’s into something she shouldn’t be. Sorry if she bothered you.”
“No bother. That’s the nice thing about a vineyard. It’s a big place. Are you settled in?”
“We are.”
The way he was looking at her made her wish she’d combed her hair. She’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt when she’d gotten home from work and now she felt as if his eyes saw everything.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you a tour. Maybe Amy can walk off some of that energy.”
With Amy only a few feet away, Sara focused her attention on the vined trellises rather than on Jase. The trellis system was set up with about twelve feet between the rows and approximately eight feet between vines. “I’ve never tasted Raintree wines.”
“We’ll have to set you up for a wine tasting. We’re the best in the state, but then of course I’m prejudiced. Our tasting host is on vacation right now. But he’ll be back at the end of the week.”
“Tasting host?”
“Tony works closely with Liam, keeps an eye on inventory and handles tours around the vineyard.”
Amy had run up ahead, her attention taken by a stone on the ground.
“Did you ever consider staying here instead of writing and photographing the four corners of the world?”
“No. I felt I had to succeed on my own.”
“Did your father want you to stay?”
Jase cocked his head. “He did. But I needed space … and something different. As a teenager, I read about every place on earth I wanted to see, and I saw causes that needed advocates, especially for kids who were displaced. After college, I found my niche with photojournalism. My editors liked the fact that I could write as well as shoot pics in hot spots.” After a pause, he said, “You’re too easy to talk to. I never revisit my past if I can help it.”
“I don’t have magic powers,” she said with a smile.
“No, but your genuine interest is addictive.”
Was she genuinely interested in Jase Cramer? Glancing at her daughter, remembering her marriage—the highs and lows, the plunge into discord—she knew she shouldn’t be.
Suddenly the sound of a car engine preceded a vehicle along the driveway that led to the cottage. Sara studied the black sedan as it parked next to her car in the gravel area beside the trellis.
“Were you expecting someone?” Jase asked.
“No. Maybe it’s someone here on vineyard business.”
Even as she spoke, she doubted her theory. No one would be coming in the early evening, and besides, the parking lot for the winery was clearly marked by a sign that led visitors there rather than to the cottage.
Jase waited as a short man with wire-rimmed glasses climbed out of the sedan. “I don’t recognize him. Let’s go see what he wants.”
Sara beckoned to Amy and then captured her hand, swinging it between them. At the door to her cottage, she faced the man who wore a three-piece suit and bow tie.
“Mrs. Stevens?” he asked, pleasantly enough.
“Yes, I’m Sara Stevens, and this is Jase Cramer.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Ross Kiplinger, from High Point Insurance. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about the house and the fire. This might take a little while. Maybe we could go inside and sit down?”
Sara supposed they’d have to go over the policy Conrad had taken out on their house when he’d bought it.
“I can take Amy on a walk, if you’d like,” Jase offered. “But we’ll stay within shouting distance if you need us. Can we see some ID?” Jase asked the man.
Kiplinger didn’t look put out at all, just took his wallet from his pocket and opened it to his driver’s license. Then he took a security ID badge from an inside pocket. He showed them that, too. “I’m not an ax murderer,” he assured them. “I have a briefcase inside my car that has Mrs. Stevens’s policy inside, if you’d like to see that, too.”
Sara believed he was who he said he was. She crouched down in front of Amy. “Would you like to go for a walk with Mr. Jase?”
Amy glanced down at the stone in her hand, then up at Jase. “Can
