Vines (The Killers #1)

by Brynne Asher

I never thought I’d own a cow, let alone five, but I inherited them when I bought the vineyard. I also inherited my caretaker, Morris, and his wife Beverly. Oh, and there’s the winemaker, Van, the tasting room manager, Evan—who’s barely old enough to legally taste wine himself—and the chef, Maggie.

As finicky as Van is about crafting wine, I knew I needed him. I try and ignore all the female customers whose sole reason for visiting is to lust after him. He’s a manwhore in his forties who resembles a young Robert Redford. There’s no other way to describe him.

Maggie is a young widow in her early fifties

I’ll never be as refined as the likes of him. Somehow, he can taste ripe apricots glazed with brown sugar butter in a white wine, and a woodsy fall day underlying a white pepper and smoky cheddar in a red. People ecstatically agree—wondering how they didn’t taste it on their own to begin with. Customers eat that shit up. I don’t get it— It all tastes like wine to me. But the customers love him and so do I.

“This doesn’t have to be so formal. Let’s discuss it over dinner. Say, Claire’s On The Depot? Clams on the half shell this time of year come from close to home, very fresh. Her She-Crab soup is the best around.”

Omg stfu like OUR CLAIRES IN WARRENTON?!

That pisses her off more. She gives me a good glare before gracefully getting back in her car. I decide to stand here and watch her leave as she makes a quick U-turn, her Audi disappearing into the trees. I instantly feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. When I see who it is, I greet him. “Grady.” “Fuck me, who was that?” he belts in my ear. Then I do something for the first time in so long, I can’t remember the last time I’ve done it. I smile big, and hell, I like the way it feels.

“Moo,” Addison’s cow drawls in my ear since she’s somehow managed to stick her head inside the sliding rear window of my truck.

Must be the worlds smallest cow. How tf can anyone fit a cow in the back of their pick up truck

“Fucking-A,” he mutters. “Name’s Sheldon O’Rourke. He’s with the Department of Defense.

“He’s got a staffer with him, a guy named Marc Whittaker. Someone we’ve been lookin’ at recently but don’t know if he’s connected.

My mom always taught me the best business is a struggling one run by imbeciles who don’t know what they’re doing. She’d say to me, “If you come in with fresh ideas and energy, you’ll win most every time.”

Panic starts to creep back in as I accuse, barely able to hear myself. “You’re CIA.”

“They’re losing patience and want to know if she’s still here. You insisted on doing this instead of me and didn’t finish the task. Considering your background with her parents,” I pause, looking around to make sure no one’s paying attention to us, “especially your feelings for her mother, they question if you can be objective. If I had taken care of this like I wanted, it would’ve been done by now.”

“Of course he’s taking me for Italian. What the hell am I doing?” I look back to Evan. “Where are you going?” “Girasole’s in The Plains.”

omfg!! No way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

tip my head to him in invitation. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear from you. Convince them who you’re loyal to, just like you did all those years ago when your friend, Wes, was suspicious. We all know the last straw was when he stumbled upon you stealing nuclear weapon designs. Even though you did your best to put him off, he was a threat that needed to be eliminated. Now you’re trying to protect his daughter—they’re not okay with that.”

Harvest is in a few weeks and Van thinks this year’s crop has the potential to be the best we’ve had in years. We’ve had a dry spell, which is a good thing—rain isn’t good for the grapes right before reaping. Extra water plumps the grapes, washing out the richness of the tannins wanted in a finished product. Not only will we be able to make better wine if the rain stays away, but I’ll also be able to demand a higher price for the grapes I sell to other vineyards.

I was informed one of my employees anonymously reported us for improper storage of perishables. What the hell?

Who is fckn with her?? Orouke? Whittaker? That one pompous ass who got puked on? This new mysterious tenant 'maya'?

“You need to come, now. The IRS just showed.” “What?” If it were possible, my stomach just sank to the ground, taking my fleeting energy with it.

Yoooo wtfffffffffffffff

Someone’s fucking with me.

You know thats right sister

Maya, who’s proven to be a hard worker, even if she is a quiet one, shakes her head quickly. “It’s not a big deal. My dad owns…a company. I understand things happen. I like it here—I won’t be running anywhere.”

Squints eyes at this character

“DeCann. Tobin DeCann.”

What an absolute flaccid wiener

Certain moments in life become etched in your soul. For me, I have merely a handful. Buried deep, they’re entwined, tangled, and even disheveled. Living together forever, they create who we are and how we see the world. More so, how we react to it, even live within it.

It’s the deeper kind of better—better because you know what you have since it was gone for a time, and it’s the kind of better you know will be there for the long haul. Tomorrow, next week, even next year. A future.

Paying off her loans was an afterthought and not a big deal like she made it out to be.

Ummm yeah. OK

Today is a good day because I struck gold with my Laffy Taffy. A cow joke. What do you get from a forgetful cow? Milk of amnesia.

I can’t take my eyes off her until Crew’s voice cuts into the cuteness. “I got her at the auction, she’s an orphan. You’ll have to feed her for a while yet.”

He is the most perfect man. Sigh