The Prodigal Son

“If this is about money, I can help you out.” He did a quick mental review of his bank accounts. “Give me a few days, a week at the most, to get some funds moved around and I’ll cut you a check.”

She squeezed his hand. “That’s generous, honey, but it’s not about the money.”

He stepped back. “No,” he said, unable to keep the resentment out of his voice. “It’s about Dad. You’re doing this for him. To fulfill his dream of having all his sons work here.”

They stared at each other. Lily barked, either at the tension surrounding them or at the squirrel scurrying up a tree.

“Yes. I’m doing this for him.” This time when she spoke, there was no hesitation, no doubt in her voice. “His only dream was to someday see his sons—all three sons—run the winery. When Aidan chose law school and Brady enlisted and you…left…he gave up that dream. And then he got sick….” She shook her head. Sighed. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but I’m only doing what I think is best. For everyone involved, especially you and your brothers.”

He fisted his hands. “Don’t drag me into this. They want the winery. I don’t.”

“Sometimes a parent has to make difficult decisions. Decisions that her children may not understand, even though they’re in their best interest.”

Bitterness filled him. Forcing him into doing something he never wanted any part of was in her best interest. Aidan and Brady were already on board, doing exactly what Tom Sheppard had always hoped—living in Jewell. Devoting their lives to the Diamond Dust.

Aidan had taken over the winery when their father got sick. When Tom died, Aidan had quit law school and moved back to Jewell, a choice that guaranteed the end of his own dreams. And his short-lived marriage.

A few months back, Brady had started working at the winery, too. Since he was rarely home, Matt didn’t have all the inside info on exactly how that had transpired, but he figured Brady must’ve been pretty damned desperate to accept a job where Aidan would be his boss.

No wonder their mom had come up with this crazy blackmail scheme. She was already two-thirds of the way to getting exactly what her husband had always wanted. But there was just one loose end.

Him.

“I’m not doing it,” he said, his voice harsh, his jaw tight. “I have a three-year contract with Queen’s Valley. I made a commitment to them. I can’t just break it.”

She clasped her hands together in front of her. “I realize that each of you may have to give something up in order to take over the Diamond Dust, and I’m sorry for that. I truly am. But there would never be a perfect time for this, and with Lester’s offer on the table…” She shrugged, as if his career, his reputation and everything he’d worked for since leaving Jewell ten years ago meant less than nothing. “I can’t afford to wait.”

“You’re bluffing,” he said softly, watching her reaction carefully. Her expression didn’t change. “There’s no way you’d ever sell the winery—not to mention our home and the Sheppard legacy—to strangers just to force me back to the Diamond Dust.”

“I’d think you would have learned one thing by now, Matthew.” She drew herself up to her full height—and though he had at least eight inches on her, it still seemed as if she was peering down her nose at him. “I never bluff.” She brushed past him only to stop and glance over her shoulder. “I’ll expect your answer by 5:00 p.m. Tonight.”

“MOMMY, SHE WON’T GIVE my Barbie back!”

Standing on the stoop of the two-story brick home that had been converted into offices for the Diamond Dust, Connie Henkel winced at her younger daughter’s whining. Honestly, it was enough to make a person’s ears bleed.

She glanced around to make sure no one else had suffered permanent hearing damage. Thankfully, they were alone. No cars were parked in front of the office building or the Sheppards’ large, plantation-style home, which sat just over a hundred yards away. The surrounding blocks of vineyard were set against a backdrop of rolling hills, bare except for clusters of dull green pine trees.

Her vines weren’t green. Dormant, conserving energy throughout the cold winter months, they were brown and straggly, their crooked, frost-covered, entwined limbs reaching for the sun. Soon they would come back to life. It was up to her and her workers to make sure they thrived.

And she was damn good at her job.

Shifting the folder she held to her other hand, she turned the doorknob, frowning to find it locked. That was weird. Brady usually beat her to work. And more importantly, started the coffee. And if ever there was a morning when she could use the extra kick of caffeine, today was it. After unlocking the door, she stood aside to let her two daughters into the small entryway. Neither one of them moved.

Abby, the brim of her lavender fleece hat pulled down to her eyebrows, stomped her foot. “Mommy!”

Right. Barbie doll kidnapping. Major crisis. Intervention needed from Supermom.

She was on it.

“Payton, give your sister her doll,” Connie said. See? She really was Supermom. How else could she have spoken with such restraint, such remarkable calm, if not for her super powers? After all, a mere mortal would’ve lost her patience by now, considering this was the fifth argument between her two daughters this morning. And it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.

God help her. She didn’t think she’d make it to ten o’clock without yanking her own hair out.

Eight-year-old Payton swept past her with all the dignity of a four-foot-tall queen, the doll clutched in her gloved hand. “But I still have five minutes left. I let her listen to my iPod for fifteen minutes. So that’s how long I get her Barbie.”

“But I want her back now,” Abby wailed, her gray eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah?” Connie asked. “Well, I want you to come inside so I can close the door.”

“But, Mom—”

“Now.”

Funny. As soon as she’d become a mother, she’d been able to inject a wealth of meaning into one tiny word. Abby, being no dummy, heard the implied threat of loss of privileges if she didn’t obey and scurried inside.

Connie shut the door then crouched so she was eye to eye with her unhappy daughter. “Sorry, kid, but a deal’s a deal. You’ll get Barbie back in a few minutes. Until then, you’re just going to have to be patient.”

Abby’s face scrunched up as if this development was a fate worse than the Disney Channel being removed from their cable company’s lineup. Her head hanging, her toy-filled backpack dragging on the floor, she trudged down the dark hall toward Connie’s office. Payton, smug in her victory, swung poor Barbie by her hair as she followed.

Connie hung her heavy work coat on the antique rack in the corner. Tucking the folder under her arm, she passed Brady’s empty office and a small half bath, then entered the narrow kitchen and got a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator.

The building was over a hundred years old with dark, ornate woodwork, wide-planked floors and high ceilings. While the first floor was converted into office space, the second had been kept as bedrooms for seasonal workers who needed a place to stay. Since the winery was nearing the end of its off-season, the bedrooms were currently empty, but within a matter of weeks she planned on hiring at least half a dozen workers to help plant new vines.

Popping the tab on the can, she took a drink as she made her way to her office at the back of the building. No sooner did she step into the room than Abby flounced onto the brick-red sofa, her long, dark brown ponytail swinging with the momentum. She sent Connie a defiant look and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

Connie shut her eyes. That was it. Her next husband was going to be an orthodontist. It was the only way she’d ever be able to pay to have Abby’s bite corrected. Too bad the only orthodontist in town was sixty years old. And a woman.

Taking another sip of her soda so she wouldn’t snap at her daughter about her thumb-sucking, she set the folder on the glossy surface of her maple desk and sat back in her leather, ergonomic chair. Diane Sheppard had decorated Connie’s office. The cream-colored bead-board below chocolate walls, hardwood floor and built-in bookcases gave the room warmth and charm.

“I’m bored,” Payton grumbled.

“The two most dreaded words on the planet,” Connie murmured as she turned on her laptop. “How will you ever survive?”

Payton tossed the doll over to her sister, who clutched it to her chest as if Barbie had just returned from war. “Mom, I’m serious.”

“Payton,” Connie said, mimicking her daughter’s exasperated tone, “so am I. Read your book.”

“I don’t feel like reading,” she said, glancing derisively at the copy of The Lightning Thief next to her.

“Then maybe you should’ve brought something else to keep you occupied.”

“If we could’ve brought the dollhouse, I wouldn’t be bored,” she muttered.

Right. Lug the three-foot-tall, sixteen-room monstrosity—complete with furnishings—across town? “Yeah, well, that didn’t happen, did it?”

“Daddy would’ve let me.”

At her daughter’s challenging tone, Connie jabbed the delete key, ridding herself of an email touting the secret to getting a larger penis. “I’m sure he would have. But he’s not here. I am.”