If Gage’s career decision was racehorses versus some old woman’s shaggy milk goats; the excitement of the training yard, breeding stables and track versus the slow paced life in small town Harmony Valley; or a life where no one knew his past versus a life where everyone knew why he had a scar on his right temple...
It didn’t matter how many pros and cons Gage thought of, the life of a racehorse veterinarian was the one he desired. It was the one he’d choose every time he was asked.
So it made no sense that he didn’t reject Dr. Wentworth’s offer outright, other than to show his respect and spare the old man’s feelings.
Because Gage refused to acknowledge that Shelby Hawkley—Doc’s granddaughter—had anything to do with his return to Harmony Valley.
THE WHOLE TOWN came out to support Harmony Valley Vineyard’s first grape harvest. At least, that’s what it felt like to Shelby as she stood on the winery’s patio Friday night waiting for their volunteer harvesters to arrive. And it felt wonderful. She’d come home. Home to friendly greetings and shared histories, to warm welcomes and “how’ve you beens,” to people who looked you in the eyes when they asked how your day was going and then listened to your answer.
The sun was receding and Shelby turned on the tall propane heaters one by one. During night harvest, the crew would need a warm place to take breaks.
“Shelby, I heard you were back in town. You’ll be registering to vote, of course.” Mayor Larry claimed one of her hands with both of his and gave it a vigorous shake. The unlikely politician—a former hippy who still sported a waist-length ponytail, albeit gray—had been in office for decades. He also ran a profitable online T-shirt business. The mayor reached into a cloth bag on his shoulder and shook out a purple and yellow tie-dyed T-shirt. “How about a shirt? It has the Harmony Valley Vineyard’s logo silk-screened on it.” A black running horse on a weather vane.
“Don’t make it sound as though she has to buy one, Larry. It’s free.” Christine Jennings, Shelby’s boss and head winemaker, plucked the shirt from the mayor’s fingers and gave it to Shelby. “We bought enough for all our workers and volunteers. And you made a tidy profit, Larry.” Christine softened her words with a kiss to Larry’s cheek.
Before Shelby could do more than thank them both for the shirt, another Harmony Valley resident appeared before her.
“I was wondering when I’d get to see you.” Agnes Villanova had been a friend of Shelby’s grandmother. Her big heart came in a petite package. She was barely five feet tall, and one of the town’s most active citizens. She wore a red stocking cap and a bright green sweatshirt. At first glance, she looked like a beardless garden gnome.
Shelby leaned over to receive her hug. “I’ve been meaning to come by.”
“You young people are always so busy.” Agnes moved closer to Christine and slid her arm around her granddaughter’s waist. “First you move home and we think we’ll see you more often, and then you work just as hard as you did before you moved here and so we still never see you.”
“The grapes wait for no one,” Christine said.
“Nor the wine,” Shelby added, exchanging a smile with her boss.
“There’s Ryan. Yoo-hoo!” Agnes waved to the young assistant winemaker. “You ladies go easy on him tonight.”
“Grown man. Paid employee.” Christine’s words were clipped as if this argument was oft repeated. “Don’t baby him.”
“Ah, but he’s so sweet.” Agnes’s expression turned sly. “Until I have great-grandchildren, who can I dote on?”
Christine rolled her eyes.
Just then, Shelby noticed someone shuffling in her direction. It was Hiro Takata, or Old Man Takata as everyone in her generation called him, the town’s retired undertaker. The nip in the air suddenly permeated her bones.
“My dear.” He came close enough to reach for her hand. “It’s good to see you back and doing well.”
The same soothing voice. The same gentle, compassionate handhold. She hadn’t seen the old man since Nick’s funeral.
Old Man Takata used his grip to reel himself to her side. He grunted as he strained to straighten hunched shoulders and lift the kindly aging face of his Japanese ancestors to her. “Where’s your grandfather? Did War skip out on the excitement?” Cigar smoke laced his words.
“He’s at home, hip deep in research.” Shelby couldn’t get Grandpa to promise to stay out of his stacks while she was gone.
The older man smiled. “Are you by any chance a bowler?”
Slade, one of the winery owners, appeared before them. He was knock-your-socks-off handsome, a former Wall Street whiz, and Christine’s fiancé. “She won’t be bowling for your team, Hiro. If she bowls for anyone, it’s the winery.” Slade gave Shelby a brief once-over, like a coach checking out a new recruit. “The winery bowls in a league in Cloverdale. Do you bowl, Shelby?”
Bowling? Athletics? Disaster. “Does pumpkin bowling for the Harvest Queen crown one year count?”
The older man laughed. “It’s coming back to me. A wonky release that nearly took out the spectators.”
“Only Gage,” Shelby muttered.
“Slade, you may have her. Now, find me a seat under one of those heaters.” Old Man Takata released her. “Oh, and, Shelby.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Let me know if you need company visiting Nick’s grave.”
Her breath caught. How had he known she hadn’t been able to go alone?
Needing a moment, Shelby faded away from the crowd, retreating to the banks of the Harmony Valley River on the edge of the vineyard.
She drew her green army jacket around herself as the water drifted past with slow swirls that caught the last rays of sunset. Had coming here been a mistake?
The first time Shelby’d moved to Harmony Valley was more than eight years ago. She’d learned quickly she could rely on two things—the steady flow of the river, and Gage Jamero. He had the smile of a heartbreaker and the smarts of a Rhodes Scholar. But most endearingly, he was kind and tongue-tied.
He’d introduced her to his best friend, Nick Hawkley. Nick was handsome and had a way of putting people at ease. She’d felt as if she’d known him forever. Nick had asked her out and that was that. She’d gained a love and a best friend in less than a week. It only took one day to lose both.
She hadn’t visited this part of the river since she’d been in high school. Memories came rushing back. The emotion from events she hadn’t thought of in years welled inside her.
The trouble with being a relatively new widow were all the “firsts.” The first night she’d slept in their bed after Nick died. The first time she’d passed by the church where they’d been married. The first holidays without him at her side.
Firsts
