by: Pamela Gibson
Series: Love in Wine Country Novella
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 27, 2018
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Reporter Molly O’Reilly has dreamed about Cade Logan since the first day he strolled past the front window of the newspaper. A strong, silent Texan, he’s a man of mystery who lives alone, keeps to himself, and shuns Molly’s attempts to get to know him better. But Molly smells a story and she’s determined to find out what Cade is hiding, even if it means tangling with the one man who can break her heart.
When Cade moved to Santa Marta, all he wanted was peace, solitude, and time to heal from a devastating loss. The last thing he needs is sexy, persistent Molly complicating his life. But maybe it’s time to let go of the past and open his heart. And what better way than with Molly and her Christmas angel.
Cade scooped the rest of Molly’s fries onto his plate and doused them with ketchup. Looking for stories, was she? He knew one that might be get her the attention she craved. Unfortunately, he wasn’t about to share it.
“How about you Cade. You got any secrets?”
He choked and coughed into his elbow.
“You okay? She, scooted back, reached behind him and patted his back.”
“Swallowed wrong. That’s what I get for drinking sissified St. Helena wine. Don’t know how to drink beer anymore.”
Molly laughed and thrust a paper napkin into his hand. Pulling her chair back up to the table, she propped her elbows on the surface and tucked her chin into her hands. “You look like a man who might have lots of secrets.”
“Now why would you think that?” He hoped he wasn’t fidgeting in his chair.
Her eyes sparkled and she quirked up a corner of her mouth. “For starters, you live alone.”
“So does half the population of St. Helena. Of course, most of the permanent residents are over the age of sixty-five. They probably weren’t always alone.”
“But you’re not a senior citizen, Cade. I’d guess you’re in your thirties. Unless they’re in the wine business or grew up here, most thirty-somethings crave more excitement than St. Helena offers. And if I remember correctly, you came after Matt bought the shop. One of his first employees.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you know him in Texas?”
“I did.”
“And do you have a granddaddy who left you an oil well?”
“My granddaddy left me an oil can. How about that?”
She leaned back, a wide grin on her face. “You’re a crackup Cade.”
“No, I’m a serious grease monkey who happens to have a thing for gorgeous, well-built, old seductresses with flashy exteriors made for hot pursuits. Matt’s vintage car garage is full of them.”
Molly laughed out loud. God, her eyes were beautiful. A seafoam green with flecks of gold. And those lashes—thick and long brushing the top of her cheeks. A stirring in his groin made him turn away. He wasn’t ready for a relationship with a woman like Molly, who probably attended church socials and PTA meetings and baked pumpkin pies every Christmas.
He probably wouldn’t ever be ready again.
“You like fast cars. Do you like fast women, too?”
“I like old cars, Molly. Classic cars. Matt’s garage specializes in them.”
“And women?”
“Well aren’t you the nosy one, Miss Molly.” She had the audacity to blush and it was truly a magnificent sight. She probably sunburned easily, because color transformed her cheeks into rosy ovals. He wondered if rosy hues covered any other parts of her body under her high-necked sweater.
He should take off. He was enjoying Molly’s company far too much. If he stayed much longer he might break one of his rules and ask her out. God knows he’d thought about it every time he saw her.
“I’m a reporter,” she said with a gentle smile. “I’m paid to be nosy. And you’re such a mystery, Cade. You show up in St. Helena one summer, you have a place way out of town, you never miss a day of work, and precisely at four every weekday you walk by my window at the Sentinel office on your way to the post office to pick up Matt’s mail. At least once a week you walk back with a large box hoisted on your shoulder. You’re not a joiner. You don’t hang out in bars. Heck, I’ve never even seen you in Picker’s Produce.”
“I shop at Picker’s.” This was one very observant woman and she’d been paying attention to him. Part of it annoyed him that she’d kept such close tabs, but another part warmed him all over.
That was the dangerous part, because he was beginning to feel something for this bright, wholesome, attractive woman. And he couldn’t let himself get involved with her.
She has a kid. A little girl.
He grimaced as a sharp pain cut through him. Looking away, he got himself under control and picked up his beer.
Time to leave before the lonely part of his heart overruled his head.
“How about you Cade. You got any secrets?”
He choked and coughed into his elbow.
“You okay? She, scooted back, reached behind him and patted his back.”
“Swallowed wrong. That’s what I get for drinking sissified St. Helena wine. Don’t know how to drink beer anymore.”
Molly laughed and thrust a paper napkin into his hand. Pulling her chair back up to the table, she propped her elbows on the surface and tucked her chin into her hands. “You look like a man who might have lots of secrets.”
“Now why would you think that?” He hoped he wasn’t fidgeting in his chair.
Her eyes sparkled and she quirked up a corner of her mouth. “For starters, you live alone.”
“So does half the population of St. Helena. Of course, most of the permanent residents are over the age of sixty-five. They probably weren’t always alone.”
“But you’re not a senior citizen, Cade. I’d guess you’re in your thirties. Unless they’re in the wine business or grew up here, most thirty-somethings crave more excitement than St. Helena offers. And if I remember correctly, you came after Matt bought the shop. One of his first employees.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you know him in Texas?”
“I did.”
“And do you have a granddaddy who left you an oil well?”
“My granddaddy left me an oil can. How about that?”
She leaned back, a wide grin on her face. “You’re a crackup Cade.”
“No, I’m a serious grease monkey who happens to have a thing for gorgeous, well-built, old seductresses with flashy exteriors made for hot pursuits. Matt’s vintage car garage is full of them.”
Molly laughed out loud. God, her eyes were beautiful. A seafoam green with flecks of gold. And those lashes—thick and long brushing the top of her cheeks. A stirring in his groin made him turn away. He wasn’t ready for a relationship with a woman like Molly, who probably attended church socials and PTA meetings and baked pumpkin pies every Christmas.
He probably wouldn’t ever be ready again.
“You like fast cars. Do you like fast women, too?”
“I like old cars, Molly. Classic cars. Matt’s garage specializes in them.”
“And women?”
“Well aren’t you the nosy one, Miss Molly.” She had the audacity to blush and it was truly a magnificent sight. She probably sunburned easily, because color transformed her cheeks into rosy ovals. He wondered if rosy hues covered any other parts of her body under her high-necked sweater.
He should take off. He was enjoying Molly’s company far too much. If he stayed much longer he might break one of his rules and ask her out. God knows he’d thought about it every time he saw her.
“I’m a reporter,” she said with a gentle smile. “I’m paid to be nosy. And you’re such a mystery, Cade. You show up in St. Helena one summer, you have a place way out of town, you never miss a day of work, and precisely at four every weekday you walk by my window at the Sentinel office on your way to the post office to pick up Matt’s mail. At least once a week you walk back with a large box hoisted on your shoulder. You’re not a joiner. You don’t hang out in bars. Heck, I’ve never even seen you in Picker’s Produce.”
“I shop at Picker’s.” This was one very observant woman and she’d been paying attention to him. Part of it annoyed him that she’d kept such close tabs, but another part warmed him all over.
That was the dangerous part, because he was beginning to feel something for this bright, wholesome, attractive woman. And he couldn’t let himself get involved with her.
She has a kid. A little girl.
He grimaced as a sharp pain cut through him. Looking away, he got himself under control and picked up his beer.
Time to leave before the lonely part of his heart overruled his head.
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