Page 32 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

“I brought brownies,” she called. “Just a little something to say thank you to all of you for saving our place.”

Reese turned to watch her mother weaving through the crowd of gawking neighbors and firefighting personnel, a large tray of chocolaty treats balanced in her arms. She wore yoga pants and a button-down shirt that displayed the small heart she’d had tattooed above her left breast with Jed spelled out in curlicue letters.

Reese felt her phone vibrate and glanced down to see a text from Larissa.

All OK w/ your zoo. 2 squirrels in outside cage humping. You?

Reese texted back.

Everyone safe. Too soon to tell damage.

“Hey, honey,” her mother said. “Did you get a chance to get a look at things yet?”

“Not yet. I was just headed that way.”

“I’ll go with you!” announced Axl, pushing his way through the crowd. “I saw a good-lookin’ lady firefighter down there, and I’d like to ask her to uncoil my hose.”

“Dad, stop it!” June hissed. “That’s our neighbor, not a lady firefighter.”

Reese rolled her eyes. “So it’s okay if he sexually harasses firefighters but not the neighbors?” She grabbed Axl by the arm and pulled him away from the crowd. “Come on, Axl. Come with me to check out the winery barn, okay?”

“Yeah, maybe they need some muscle down there,” he said, flexing one arm.

“Wait, sweetie,” her mom called. “You want a brownie?”

“No, thanks, Mom. Clay, how about you?”

Clay pulled off the oxygen mask again and shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Reese’s mom smiled down at him. “Thank you so much for everything you did, honey. We owe you a lot more than a brownie.”

Axl snickered and looked at Reese. Reese ignored him.

“It was nothing.”

Reese’s mom shook her head and began rearranging the brownies on her tray. “We sure got lucky tonight, didn’t we, Reese?”

Axl snorted, still looking at Reese. “Sure did. Got lucky, all right.”

Reese glared at him. “Come on, Grandpa —let’s check out the winery barn.”

She grabbed Axl by the arm and dragged him away, ignoring the neighbor who made a snide comment about manhandling an old man.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Reese stopped walking and glared at Axl.

“What the hell was that about?”

Axl grinned. “Nice beard burn on your cheek.”

Reese raised a hand to her face, feeling herself flush. “So? I had a date tonight. With that hot vet, the one from yesterday.”

“It wasn’t the vet who left you grinning like a cat who got porked with a Q-tip,” Axl said. “Looked like Clay hadn’t shaved this evening, you notice that? That five o’clock shadow sure can chafe sensitive skin, eh?”

Reese closed her eyes and shook her head. “Axl?—”

“And then there’s the claw marks on his shoulder,” Axl continued. “Oh, and the lipstick on his earlobe. Same shade you were wearing earlier, wasn’t it?”

Reese sighed. “What do you want?”

“You to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you scratched your itch with that boy. That you two stroked the lamb’s head, got hay for your donkey, did the wild monkey dance, tickled the?—”

“Okay, fine!” Reese snapped. “Stop! We did, okay? Is that what you want? It wasn’t a big deal.”

Axl grinned. “The hell it wasn’t. You two have been hot for each other for years. ’Bout damn time you did something about it.”

“Can we just drop it?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving a hand as he glanced over at the barn. “Whatever you want, Peanut Butter Cup.”

Reese gritted her teeth. “I want something to cover the beard burn. Give me your scarf.”

“Nah. There’s no beard burn. I just wanted you to admit it. I can die happy now.”

Reese glared at him and wondered about the penalties for elder abuse. “Keep that up, you’ll be dying a lot sooner. Come on. Let’s go look at the damage.”

“You go ahead,” Axl said, turning back the direction they’d just come from. “I gotta go check the woods, make sure nothing damaged my ’shrooms, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“No, I really don’t. That’s usually best, isn’t it?”

Axl shrugged and trudged off up the hill, leaving Reese staring after him.

“Rough night, Reese?”

She turned and saw Dick Smart from Larchwood Vineyards. He wore the same smug expression he always wore and was immaculately dressed for a guy who’d been roused from bed at one a.m.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Came to see if you needed any help. Being neighborly.”

“You’re not being neighborly. You’re being nosy.”

He ignored her snide tone and nodded toward the winery barn. “You lose anything in the fire?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been trying to find someone to talk to, but I keep getting pulled away.”

“Hmmm. Well, I do hope it all turns out okay for you. Be a damn shame if you lost any of your wines.”

Reese looked at him, narrowing her eyes a little. Dick stared back, his expression unblinking.

“What?” he demanded.

Reese shook her head, suppressing a shiver. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Clay got to the vineyard early the next morning. Early by construction standards, anyway, which were pretty damn early. But he’d learned that was nothing compared to winery hours.

From the looks of things, the vineyard crew had been there awhile. They stood in a cluster near the winery barn, frowning at the blackened hole in the side of the building. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze, and everyone wore matching grim expressions.

Clay approached quietly and kept his distance, not wanting to interrupt.

“Look, at least we didn’t lose any equipment,” Reese’s dad was saying. “We can count our blessings for that. The structural damage was minimal. All in all, we got lucky.”

“What about the wine?” Reese asked. “How’s the smoke going to affect what we’ve got in the barrels here?”

Eric scratched his chin. “We’re lucky we moved all the Reserve down to the other cellar a couple days ago, but I’ll have to go through and check everything else for smoke damage.”

“Can we move all the barrels out of here?” Reese asked. “I don’t want any of the wines getting worse just sitting in this smoky building.”

“Already on it,” Eric said. “I’ve got a couple guys coming in to help run the forklift and get everything moved to the other cellar.”

“What about the white wines?” June asked. “Everything we have stored in the tanks—the smoke can’t be good for those.”

Eric sighed. “There’s the Sauvignon Blanc in steel over there. It’s pretty delicate. We might lose that one.”

“The whole tank?” June asked. “What about the Chardonnay?”

Eric shook his head. “We can taste it and see, but?—”

He trailed off, looking grim. Reese closed her eyes. What did that leave them with? How many of those white wines were pre-sold? How much money would they lose?

“Most of those are sold to restaurants already,” Larissa whispered. “Without the white wines—” She bit her lip.

Reese sighed. “Let’s just move what we can and hope for the best.”

“No one was hurt,” June said. “That’s the important thing. It was a pretty small fire all in all.”

Clay felt a pang in his chest as he watched Jed put his arm around his daughter. “It’ll be okay,” Jed assured them. “I’ve got a meeting in an hour with our insurance guy. This is what we have the policy for.”

“But we’re already thin on whites for this season,” Larissa said. “Our buyers have all been demanding more. What do I tell them now?”

Sheila—who must’ve driven Eric—squeezed her husband’s hand. “I don’t like this. Any of it. This whole thing seems dangerous to me.”

“Accidents happen, hon,” Eric said.

“Are we sure it was an accident?” Larissa asked.

Reese frowned at her cousin. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know. Just speculating if anyone would want to do this on purpose.”

Jed sighed. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. The guys from the fire department will be checking everything out. It doesn’t do us any good to speculate right now.”

June linked her arm through his and gave a weak smile. “The damage could have been worse. Someone could have been injured or even killed.”

Sheila shot a worried look at Eric. “Is it safe to be in there? Did the fire marshal clear it yet for you guys to work?”

“We can get our work done,” Reese said, “but it can’t be open to the public.”

“What about the event next week?” Larissa asked.

Reese shook her head. “It doesn’t look good for holding it inside. Not unless the guests want to smell like a bonfire.”

“The invitations went out last week,” Larissa moaned. “We’ve already got more than a hundred RSVPs. After that thing with the Reserve Pinot, the wine club already hates us. If we have to cancel?—”

“Not an option,” Reese snapped, and Clay watched her straighten like a rod had speared her spine. “Our reputation is already tanking. Did you see that article from that online news site?”

Sheila sighed. “The article wasn’t so bad, but the headline?—”

“‘Local Vineyard Suffers String of Misfortunes,’” Eric muttered. “They might as well have kicked us in the nuts while we’re already on the ground.”

“How the hell did they get all that information anyway?” Larissa asked. “The fire stuff I get—they listen to the scanner—but the things about the broken barrel and the construction?—”

“Reporters are assholes,” Reese muttered. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time.”

Larissa winced. “I hate to bring it up, but we’ve got our call today with Kate Geary.”

“Who?” Eric asked.

“That big-shot producer Larissa’s been talking to about the documentary,” Reese reminded him. “The one about women in the wine industry?”

“I’ll call her and reschedule.” Larissa sounded grim. “The last thing we want right now is somebody roaming around with cameras.”

“Dammit.” Reese squeezed her eyes shut and Clay fought the urge to reach for her hand. “Don’t let her lose interest in us, okay? We need that publicity. Being featured in a film like that would be?—”

“—bad if we can’t get our shit together.” Larissa forlorn. “I know they say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but at the rate we’re going right now?—”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Reese sighed. “We’ll deal with that later. What are we going to do about the event?”