The Perfect Blend: A Small Town Romance

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Small-town Romance; small town romance; wine country romance; Second Chance Romance; winery; small town romance series; Alexa Aston; Lost Creek Texas Hill Country; no 3rd act breakup

Synopsis

Welcome to Lost Creek, a small town deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country, where people come seeking new opportunities and a chance to reinvent themselves—and maybe even find love.

A man rocked by scandal. A woman betrayed by those she loved. A kiss that should be wrong but is more than right…

Winemaker Braden Clark’s world is turned upside down when his father is convicted of embezzlement charges and sentenced to prison. The family’s prestigious company, Clark Vineyards, no longer exists, its assets and the very land the grapes grow on being seized by the federal government. Braden, tainted by scandal, can’t land a job in wine industry, despite his skills and reputation.

Event planner Harper Hart discovers the day before her wedding that her fiancé has been cheating on her with her best friend. Eager to escape Austin, she returns home to Lost Creek, a small town in the serene Texas Hill Country, where her family runs Lost Creek Vineyards, known for its remarkable wines.

Braden gets a fresh start as a viticulturist at Lost Creek Winery, soon working his way up to chief winemaker. He would prefer to devote all his time and energy to his job, but Harper, who has taken on the role of the winery’s event manager, is a sexy distraction that he can’t seem to avoid.

Soon, their professional and personal lives intertwine, with their friendship deepening. As they learn to lean on one another for support and heal emotionally, friendship turns into love.

Can two people damaged almost beyond repair heal emotionally?

Find the answer in bestselling author Alexa Aston’s The Perfect Blend, the first book in Lost Creek: Texas Hill Country. This romance contains no third-act breakup!

Each book in the series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order. The entire series is available in Kindle Unlimited.

Series Order:

Book #1: The Perfect Blend

Book #2: Painted Melodies

Book #3: Script of Love

Book #4: Love in Every Bite

Book #5: Whispered Melodies

Release date: May 21, 2024

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Sample

PROLOGUE

Austin—February

 

Harper Hart finished touching up her makeup, digging in the drawer for a tube of lipstick to complete her look. She found one she had borrowed from Cynthia Fox, her sorority sister at the University of Texas, who had become her best friend and roommate for the past six years since their college graduation. Cynthia, known as the Realtor to the Rich, had moved out last week, telling Harper it was time she invested some of her hard-earned income and buy a place of her own. Harper could not wait to see what her best friend had purchased and how it would be decorated. Cynthia also had a side business, staging homes which were for sale, and her taste was impeccable. She planned to organize a housewarming for Cynthia, but that would have to wait until Harper and Ath returned from their honeymoon to Bali.

Just the thought of her handsome fiancé brought a smile to her lips. It still surprised her that she had landed a man such as Atherton Armistead, son of the Lieutenant Governor of Texas. She had met Ath at an event she had planned for the UT School of Law, which he had attended. Ath was an attorney at Armistead & Watson, his father’s firm, where he was a partner and trial lawyer, and she had yet to speak to him today, knowing he was trying to put the finishing touches on a case that would come to trial soon after they returned from their honeymoon.

Picking up her cell, Harper texted a quick message to him.

 

Love you. Can’t wait to see you at the rehearsal dinner.

 

She hit send and placed the phone down, combing her long, auburn locks. She hoped Ath would be able to let go of work so he could enjoy their wedding and honeymoon. He had seemed distant for the last week or so, and she knew he had been consumed by work. She had tried to back off and give him the space he needed. As a partner in the firm, he had many responsibilities, especially since his father had moved into politics full-time.

Harper went to her bedroom and slipped into a pair of Christian Louboutins. She earned a decent salary as an event planner in Austin, but the Louboutins had been a splurge. She wore them frequently, though, knowing those clients she worked with seemed to trust her more because of small details such as that. It was the same with her wardrobe. She bought expensive, classic pieces which were timeless and would last throughout her lifetime, but her closet was sparse when compared to Cynthia’s.

Ivy should be here soon. Her sister was driving them to the rehearsal dinner, which was being held at an exclusive Austin steakhouse. Frowning, Harper hoped everything would go well this evening. Her parents were still unhappy with the arrangements regarding the wedding, and if she had to be honest, so was she. Instead of her parents hosting the wedding in Lost Creek, where she had grown up and where her family’s winery was located, the wedding was being held in Austin, planned entire by Bethany Armistead, Ath’s mother. Bethany had convinced Harper to hold the wedding in Austin since so many of their portion of the guest list was in the government there. Because the guest list was so large and lopsided, Ath’s parents had insisted they must pay for the wedding, allowing Bill and Cecily Hart to handle the expenses for the rehearsal dinner instead.

Bethany had also taken over organizing every last detail of the wedding, explaining to Harper that she shouldn’t have to do that for her own wedding, just like it would be wrong to host a shower for herself. She would like to say she had been busy and willingly turned things over to Bethany, but the truth of the matter was, the woman simply bulldozed her way into getting whatever she wanted. It had been simpler to step back and let Bethany take control instead of arguing with her. Harper had an idea that Bethany was the true power behind the political rise of Army Armistead. Her gut told her that Bethany intended to see them in the governor’s mansion at the end of the next election.

Harper wasn’t sure how she felt about marrying into a political family. Though Ath had no political ambition, she knew, as an extension of Army and Bethany, they would be thrust into the spotlight if and when Army ran for governor. Since her political leanings were the exact opposite of her in-laws’ opinions, Harper wasn’t certain how much she would want to get involved in the campaign, even if she and Ath were only window dressing at a few events. That would be a bridge to cross in the future. For now, she would merely enjoy marriage to her attorney husband and put off worrying as long as she could.

A knock sounded at the door, and she grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter. She opened the door. Seeing her sister made Harper suddenly tear up. She hugged Ivy tightly. They had been so close growing up, but both had busy jobs in different cities, and they didn’t see one another as much as Harper would have liked.

“Are you ready to get this show on the road?” Ivy asked. “I still think it’s bizarre not having a rehearsal before the rehearsal dinner.”

She locked the door to the apartment and fell into step with Ivy.

“I thought so, too, but Bethany said that all of us had been in enough weddings, and that we should know what to do. She’s right, I suppose.”

Ivy sniffed. “Bethany Armistead thinks she’s always right. About everything. Honestly, Harper, I don’t know how you’re going to do it. Being around her. I only saw her in action at your engagement party, and that was enough for me. I can’t imagine her being in your life, much less as grandmother to your children.”

“It will be fine,” she assured her sister as they reached Ivy’s car and got in, ignoring the little voice warning her that her future mother-in-law would be the kind to use her grandchildren as props during an election.

She had been surprised when Bethany canceled the rehearsal at the church two days ago. Yes, all of them had been in weddings before—but this was her wedding rehearsal. Harper would have liked to have walked through the ceremony, watching the wedding party practice going down the aisle, and standing with Ath at the altar, where they would exchange their vows. Bethany had said not only had everyone been in a wedding and knew what to do but that the lieutenant governor had a full slate and wouldn’t have been able to attend. Bethany also had mentioned how Ath, too, was swamped at work and could use the extra couple of hours to finish up things at the law firm and be prepared to bring his case to trial the day after they returned from Bali.

“Tell me how the gallery is going,” Harper urged. “And your painting. I haven’t heard you talk about painting for quite a while.”

She watched Ivy’s nose crinkle.

“What I have learned is that the assistant gallery manager is actually the gallery manager, at a discounted salary,” Ivy declared. “My boss shows up sporadically and never seems to know what pieces we have on hand. I’m his personal Spark Notes when he does show up, giving him all the highlights of what is on display and what openings are coming up—which I’ve completely planned—along with what is selling.”

“What about your personal painting?” she pressed.

Ivy glanced over as they pulled up to a stoplight. “What painting? I haven’t had time for my own work in months.”

“No wonder you seem a little frayed around the edges,” Harper said. “I know your art is your outlet. You have always used painting not only to express your creativity, but as a kind of therapy.”

“I’m thinking of quitting the gallery,” Ivy shared.

“What would you do?” she asked, surprised by the announcement.

The light turned green, and her sister shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe go back to Lost Creek.”

“What would you do there?”

“Maybe work for Mom and Dad. I just don’t know, Harper. Don’t push me now, all right?” Annoyance sounded in Ivy’s tone.

“I’ll back off for now. Once I return from our honeymoon, though, we’re going to have a long conversation about all of this, okay?”

She glanced to her sister, who nodded, focusing on the road ahead.

They reached the steakhouse, and Ivy handed her keys to the valet. As they entered the restaurant, Ivy said, “Swanky place.”

“Bethany wanted to have it at their country club, but I put my foot down about that. Tonight will already be expensive enough for Mom and Dad, but the country club would’ve been out of sight.”

“I still don’t see why you have to be married in Austin,” Ivy complained. “Oh, I know it’s all because of the politics and appearance, but it’s your wedding, Harper. You should be getting married where you want.”

She took Ivy’s hand and squeezed it. “It doesn’t really matter where we get married. Just that we are. Oh, I can’t wait to begin my life with Ath.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t live together first,” Ivy said. “I thought everyone did that these days.”

“We practically did. I spent more nights at his place than mine and Cynthia’s apartment. We’ve already established our joint bank account. We’ll move the rest of my things to his apartment after we get back. I’ve got another month on my lease. Then we’ll take our time and go house-hunting.”

“What are you looking for? Seems like you should’ve found something before the wedding.”

Harper sighed. “He wants a forever house, but I want a right-now one. One we could be comfortable in, and then we could move to something larger down the line. Ath thinks we should just go big now and find something we could grow into.”

Ivy shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. But could you afford something big? I know Austin has gotten pretty expensive in the past few years.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “That’s why I want to wait. Get something now. Build equity. Then as our family grows and hopefully our salaries, as well, find a more permanent home.” She frowned. “Bethany has assured me that financing won’t be a problem. That she and Army can loan us the money.”

“But you don’t want to do that, do you?” Ivy asked.

“Nope. I want this to be all us. She’s already had enough say in this wedding. I want my marriage to be mine and Ath’s, with no more boundary crossing from his mom.”

They stepped up to the hostess stand, and the woman on duty recognized Harper.

“Miss Hart,” she said, smiling.

But the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She seemed troubled. It gave Harper an uneasy feeling.

“Here for the rehearsal dinner,” Ivy said happily.

“Yes, I know,” the hostess said. “Are you the maid of honor?”

Ivy beamed. “I’m Ivy. Harper’s sister.”

“If you don’t mind, Ivy, I’d like to borrow you for a few minutes.”

Harper decided Ath had been up to some surprise, and the hostess would fill Ivy in on it, recruiting her for whatever her designated role would be.

“I know where the room is,” she said to the hostess. “I’ll make my way there now.”

It was only five-thirty, and the rehearsal dinner was schedule to begin at six o’clock. She had wanted to be here early, just to see the room decorated and take everything in before all their guests arrived. When she opened the door, however, Harper froze.

Nothing had been done to the room.

She glanced about, taking in the bare tables. No tablecloths. No plates, glassware, or silverware. She did spy several floral arrangements sitting on the floor next to the door, recognizing them as the ones she and her mom had picked out for tonight.

Her stomach lurched, and Harper knew something was terribly wrong.

Then she spied Trey Watson rising from a chair in the corner, coming to meet her. Trey was Ath’s best friend from their days at an exclusive Montessori preschool. They had gone to school together. Played on sports teams with one another. Roomed together at UT as fraternity brothers. Trey had opened his own successful architectural firm two years ago, and she and Ath had talked about him being the one to design their home.

The look on Trey’s face was enough to let Harper know the best friend—and best man—had been tapped to deliver the worst news she would ever hear.

With sympathy written in his deep brown eyes, Trey said, “I’m so sorry, Harper.”

Numbness filled her, but it was quickly replaced with anger.

“Are you sorry you are the one stuck telling me that things are off? Or are you sorry that Ath was such a coward and wouldn’t do it himself?”

“The latter.” He touched her shoulder, and Harper flinched, pulling away.

“How long?” she demanded. “How long have you known? He tells you everything.”

Guilt caused Trey’s cheeks to flush. “A while. Actually, longer in my gut. I knew something was off with Ath, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then he told me two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks ago?” she said through gritted teeth. “You let me go on for two weeks, blithely thinking I would be getting married tomorrow?” Disgust filled her. “You are no better than he is, Trey.”

Her mind whirling, she said, “Well, I guess I have a lot to do. People to call. My family. My friends. I need to tell them not to show up at the church tomorrow night. Tell Bethany she can call her side of the guest list. Of course, it’ll take her the rest of the night and into tomorrow since she invited half the government of Texas and half the people who live in Austin.” She shook her head. “Maybe the local news anchors can make it their lead story at six and ten tonight. That might save some time.”

She turned to go, but Trey caught her elbow, turning her. “I need to tell you something, Harper. I don’t think Ath treated you right. At all. In fact, I’ve ended our friendship because of this whole mess.”

“You have?” Respect for this man grew within her. Standing up to Ath—and his parents—wouldn’t have been easy, especially because Trey’s dad was the Watson of Atherton & Watson. “But you’ve been friends forever.”

“I can’t be friends with Ath anymore, Harper. Not after this. I’ve already chosen. I’m on Team Harper all the way.”

She mustered a smile. “Then I guess we’ll have T-shirts made up. Be sure to text me your size and color preference.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. Suddenly, Harper knew it was going to be much worse than what she had already learned.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” she asked dully. “Ath isn’t just backing out because he doesn’t want to marry me. He’s found someone else, hasn’t he?”

New anger boiled within her as Trey nodded. “I’m afraid so.” He swallowed. “This is so hard, Harper.”

She jerked her hand from his. “Let’s not make this all about you, Trey. Yes, you’ve been designated the messenger—and I’d like nothing more than to kill you myself. Just spit it out and be done with it.”

“It’s… Cynthia.”

It was as if he had slammed his fist into her in the gut. Harper physically recoiled, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

Not Cynthia.

Not her best friend.

And yet she couldn’t help but look back and see flashes in her mind. Ath and Cynthia laughing together, seeming so cozy. She had merely thought she was blessed that her fiancé and best friend got along so well with one another. But it had been more than that. They had been sneaking around behind her back. The thought sickened her. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it, shivering.

Her gaze met and held Trey’s. “How long?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I honestly don’t know, Harper. I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t caught them together. That’s when I found out about them. Ath confessed everything. He swore me to secrecy. Cynthia blubbered all over the place. They swore they were going to tell you. I assumed they did, but I cut off contact with him after that. I planned to call you, but I wanted to give you some time to lick your wounds first.”

Trey shook his head. “Ath showed up today at my office. He was panicking. Said he still hadn’t manned up. That Bethany had called off the rehearsal at the church tonight.” Sympathy filled his eyes. “If I would’ve known what was going on, I never would have left you hanging, Harper. I just thought Ath had already told you.”

She made a sound, something that came from her throat. She refused to cry. Not now. Not when she had to walk through the restaurant.

“He begged me to meet you here and break the news to you. I agreed because I was afraid if I didn’t, you would show up tonight—and still not know. Ath did say your parents are off the hook. Army wrote a check for tonight’s dinner.”

“Of course, he did,” Harper said, resentment pouring through her. “That’s the Armistead way, isn’t it? Pay people off.”

Trey swallowed painfully. “There’s more, Harper.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “The wedding is still on for tomorrow night. All that’s been changed is the bride and her family.”

Harper froze, like a rabbit sighted by a wolf. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Panic rushed through her.

Ath was still getting married tomorrow.

And she wasn’t the bride.

“I let Ath know exactly what I thought of him, Harper. Even though he begged for my forgiveness, I won’t be at his wedding. I refused to stand beside him while he betrays you.”

Trey pulled out an envelope from inside his jacket pocket and thrust it at her. She looked at it suspiciously.

“What’s this?” she asked, surprised she could even find her voice.

He took her hand and wrapped it around the envelope. “It’s the tickets to Bali. Somehow, Ath pulled strings. You know how he can do that. Or rather Mommy and Daddy can. The name on one ticket is blank. He told me to encourage you to take whoever you wanted. Maybe Ivy?” he suggested.

“So, he wants me to get out of town while he celebrates marrying my best friend,” she said bitterly. “Who does that?”

Harper stuffed the envelope in her purse. “Maybe I will do just that. Travel half a world away and either kick up my heels or drown my sorrows.”

“He’s not worth it, Harper. He’s not worth you. He never was,” Trey said sadly.

She gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry I took out my anger on you, Trey. You didn’t deserve it. It took guts to come here and tell me all this. If you really have broken off your friendship with Ath, then good for you. You can do better, too.”

He enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head, then pulling away. “Can I drive you home?”

“No. Ivy drove me here.”

His arms fell away. “I’m sorry, Harper. I really am. For my part in this. I should’ve have come to you sooner. I get that now. I just thought Ath would handle things and not leave you hanging. Instead, he is a world-class jerk.”

She shook her head sadly. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, Trey. As you said, Ath is not worth it.” She stared up at him. “Thanks for being a gentleman.”

Turning, she left the room, feeling like a zombie as she walked through the steakhouse. She spotted Ivy, who quickly ended her call and came toward her.

“I’ve got you,” her sister said, wrapping an arm about Harper’s shoulders and leading her from the restaurant.

They walked in silence to the valet stand. Neither said a word until after Ivy handed over her ticket and the valet left.

“Was that Mom on the phone?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. She’s going to call our side and explain that the wedding is off. Finley is going to help with the calls. I haven’t been able to reach Cynthia yet, but Mom said she and Finley can divide up the guest list and handle things.”

Harper burst out laughing, hearing the hysteria in her voice, tears finally running down her cheeks. She knew Ivy must be wondering if she had gone temporarily insane, but her sister merely sat quietly, her hand rubbing Harper’s back.

Finally, she composed herself. “You can’t reach Cynthia—because she’s the bride.”

Ivy frowned. “What? I don’t get it. Harper, you’re not making any sense.”

Suddenly, she felt deflated. The laughter died. “Let me spell it out for you. Ath has been cheating on me. With Cynthia. And the wedding is still on. Same time. Same place. Different bride.”

Ivy gasped. And then she cursed. A very un-Ivy-like thing to do.

“It’s okay,” she assured her sister. “I’m going to be okay. Better to know Ath is a cheating asshole now than to marry him and divorce down the line, right?” she asked, her body quivering.

Fury lit Ivy’s eyes. “This is wrong on so many different levels, Harper. Like nuclear, seismically wrong. But you’re right. If Ath cheated before the wedding, he was going to do so after it. And Cynthia. Of all people. You’ve been close for years now. Why would she do something like this?”

“Lust? Love? Or wanting to move up the social ladder?” she guessed. “It doesn’t really matter. It’s over. Done.” Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhaled. “Ath did give me a parting gift. The honeymoon tickets. Would… would you like to go to Bali with me? Charge all the room service and spa treatments and drinks to his bill? I just can’t be here tomorrow when they speak their vows.”

Hot tears poured down Harper’s face now. Ivy leaned over and hugged her tightly.

“I would be delighted to go to Bali with you.”

“What about work?”

“What about it? I’m due time off. I’ll take it. If they fire me, then my boss will actually have to do some work until they can find a replacement for me.”

Ivy whipped out her cell and tapped a few buttons. “How long is the Bali trip?”

“We were going to be gone ten days.”

“Yes, this is Ivy,” her sister said crisply. “I will be taking off the next ten days, using my accrued vacation days. I have a family crisis.”

Harper watched as Ivy frowned. “I know that reception is coming up. I planned the entire thing. No, I cannot be there for it. You heard me. I’m taking the time off. Oh, really? Then I quit.”

Ivy ended the connection. Her phone rang almost immediately. She smiled, looking at the call coming in, letting it go to voice mail. A few more taps and she said, “Blocked the gallery. Blocked my boss. Let him figure it out on his own.”

“What about a reference?” she asked, worried about Ivy’s career imploding when her own was most likely going to do the same. “You’ve worked so hard. I hate to see all that go down the drain.”

Her sister gazed at Harper a long moment. “You have always been there for me. It’s time I was here for you. Besides, I told you I was thinking about quitting. This just spurred me on—and I get a free trip to Bali.”

She couldn’t help it. She started laughing—and Ivy joined in.

“You’ll need your passport. We were going to fly to Houston early Sunday morning and take the direct connection from there to Bali,” Harper said.

“I think you should see Mom and Dad now,” suggested Ivy. “Then grab your suitcase, and we’ll drive to Houston tonight. We can stop at Sonic for fries and slushes. It’ll be like the old days.”

Ivy’s words brought back fond memories of family road trips.

And Todd.

“Okay,” she agreed, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

As Ivy’s car arrived, they looked at one another and, in unison, said, “Bali—here we come!”

 

 

CHAPTER 1

Austin

 

Braden Clark removed the sticky destination tag the baggage handler had attached to his suitcase’s handle yesterday in California. He tossed it in the trash and sat on the unmade bed of the cheap motel where he’d spent the night.

If he didn’t land this job at Lost Creek Vineyards today, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

He had spent his last money on the plane ticket to Austin. Out of work for more than two years now, he was like a car whose gas tank was running on fumes. Bitterness swept through him, his anger still raw and real after all this time, directed at Peter Clark.

His father had been arrested three years ago on a litany of federal embezzlement charges, including fraud, money laundering, and racketeering. He had been escorted off their winery’s land, and Braden had done all he could to save the label.

It had proved impossible.

Having never had anything to do with the books, he’d had no idea of the dire state the family business was in, especially because they had several bumper crops in a row, and their wines had sold like hotcakes. The FBI had cleared him, all members of his family, and the workers at the winery, but the Clark Vineyards label was tainted by all the news stories regarding the scandal. Longtime customers canceled contracts. Merchants and restaurants refused to carry Clark Vineyards wines. Since the government had confiscated almost everything regarding physical production in the winery—and then the land itself—he was left with no way to continue producing the wines his family had done for four generations. From the land to the vats, everything was gone in the blink of an eye.

Though he had hoped to get a bank loan in order to buy some more land, workers deserted left and right when he couldn’t make payroll, leaving him with no one. His father was convicted and sentenced to twenty-two years in prison, along with hefty fines which totally wiped out the Clark family’s funds. No bank wanted to take a chance on the Clark name, especially since no collateral existed.

His mother had quickly divorced her husband, even before his case came to trial and rapidly landed on her feet, marrying their neighbor, an aging film star who had been popular in his twenties and thirties. Miles Miller had invested his box office earnings in the vineyard next door to them and was the name and face of what had turned out to be a productive label. Margery Miller told her three sons they were on their own and turned her back on them.

His older brother Stan simply disappeared. One day, Braden woke up to find Stan gone. He hadn’t heard from him since, even though he’d tried calling him several times. Each time, his call had gone to voicemail. After several attempts, he finally left a message, telling Stan to call if he ever wanted to talk. As for Beau, his younger brother, he had been the dreamer of the family, becoming a lost soul with all the legal problems and resulting scandal. Beau had committed suicide eighteen months later, leaving no note.

Braden still blamed himself for not realizing how bad things had gotten with Beau. Then again, his own life was falling apart at the time. Not only did he wind up losing Clark Vineyards and everything connected with it, Freya Gallagher had ended their engagement. His fiancée had said she couldn’t be dragged down into the mire of his family’s infamy and disgrace and wanted nothing further to do with him. Of course, she’d kept the two-carat diamond engagement ring, something Braden could have sold and used to keep himself afloat a bit longer.

He was on his own now. Didn’t even have the two proverbial nickels to rub together. He’d spent the past two years trying to find a job in the industry. The winemaking world in the U.S. was a small one, though, highly competitive and prone to gossip. Though he was a talented enologist, no one wanted to hire someone whose reputation had been sullied with the horrific scandal which touched him. Braden applied to work at vineyards all across California and Oregon, to no avail.

Now, he’d turned to Texas as his last hope. He was headed today to Lost Creek, about two hours outside of Austin, in the Hill Country which was famous for its many wineries. The town of Lost Creek was located in the Guadalupe Valley, near the Guadalupe River. It was to the north of Boerne and Bandera, located on Lost Creek, which was more of a river than a creek, and a tributary of the Guadalupe. Lost Creek fed into Lost Creek Lake, a good-sized lake on the outskirts of the town.

Braden had studied maps of the area on the internet and the Lost Creek Vineyards website, while he’d holed up in the shabby motel which rented rooms by the day and week. He had sold his clunker of a truck in order to purchase the one-way plane ticket to Austin. Returning home to California was not an option—because he had no home. Everything he owned had been packed into the lone suitcase which had made the trip with him, along with his backpack.

If the viticulturist job didn’t pan out at Lost Creek Vineyards, he would return his rental car to the airport and hitchhike to Fredericksburg, which was located about ninety minutes from Austin. That area was the epicenter of the Texas wine business. He had visited Fredericksburg about five years ago, attending a wine conference. He wouldn’t apply for a professional position because every winery in and around Fredericksburg had shot him down. Instead, he would try to be hired on as a vineyard worker and hope the distance from California would be enough to help him find a job on the lowest rung of the vineyard ladder.

Lost Creek Vineyards was his last hope at trying to win a job he was qualified for in an industry he loved. They were beginning to expand, and he had seen the open position for a viticulturist on a professional job site and applied. It had surprised him when Bill Hart, the owner and founder of Lost Creek Vineyards, had contacted him, saying he wished to interview Braden in person. He couldn’t help but wonder why Hart was doing so since the rest of the industry had seemingly blackballed him because of his family ties. Guilt by association was his only crime.

He put his suitcase and backpack into the rental’s trunk and returned his key to the motel’s office. Thankful the car had come with a full tank of gas, he set out for Lost Creek, Texas, already familiar with the route after Googling it. The drive was pleasant. He found the Texas Hill Country serene, a place that seemed to soothe his soul.

A little under two hours later, Braden arrived in the town of Lost Creek itself. Since he was early, he drove around town to become familiar with the place. This area of Texas was picturesque, a place he knew he could enjoy living. A place where he could put his experience to work.

A place that might offer him a second chance…

He passed a high school and a couple of churches. Drove around the town square and down its main street, seeing the typical shops located in a small town, along with a few restaurants and a bookstore. Several shops would cater to the tourists who flocked to the Hill Country, including boutiques, galleries, and antique stores.

Leaving town, he drove by a couple of chain motels for tourists who came to visit the area, as well as a few bed-and-breakfasts.

Ten minutes later, he spied the sign for Lost Creek Winery and turned in. The vineyards stretched as far as his eye could see. He had studied the website and gleaned as much as he could about the operation. Bill Hart had started the winery with a friend of his over twenty-five years ago. They produced both reds and whites and were also gaining a reputation with their blends.

Braden continued along the road, spying a long ranch house, and assumed it was where the Hart family lived. Further down, he came across where the tasting room and business office were located. Pulling into a parking spot in front of the building, he exited the car, his heart pounding in anticipation, his mouth dry. Where once he had been a confident man, the events of the past three years had beaten him down. He knew he was still a great enologist and could be the viticulturist Lost Creek Vineyards was looking for. He had to sell himself in the coming minutes, however, in order to be able to remain in a profession he loved. If he couldn’t nail down this job, his ability to remain in a leadership position in the wine industry would dry up.

Signage pointed to the tasting rooms on the left. He entered the office on the right and saw there was no reception desk, only a few chairs and a coffee table with a few magazines atop it. Instead, he noticed a woman sitting inside a glassed-in office. She looked up and smiled, rising and coming to greet him. She was tall and thin, with blue eyes and auburn hair pulled into a messy bun, probably in her mid-fifties.

“You must be Braden Clark,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Cecily Hart. I keep the books around here.”

“And she keeps everyone in line,” a voice said.

As he shook Cecily’s hand, Braden glanced to his right, seeing a man approaching. He looked a few years older than Cecily and was lean, about six feet in height, with salt-and-pepper hair. Braden assumed this was the owner of Lost Creek Vineyards.

“Mr. Hart?”

“Make it Bill,” the man said, thrusting out a hand and shaking Braden’s. “I’m the owner and founder of Lost Creek Vineyards, but my better half here is the one who really runs the show.”

Cecily laughed. “Well, someone has to keep this guy in line. I’ll let you two have at it. Nice to meet you, Braden. And Bill, don’t forget to offer Braden something to drink.”

Cecily returned to her office, and Bill motioned Braden to follow him.

“Want a bottled water or Dr. Pepper?” the older man asked, stopping at a small kitchenette.

“I tried Dr. Pepper on my only trip to Texas a few years ago. It’s pretty addictive.”

“That it is.”

Bill entered the room and snagged two cans of the beverage from the fridge. Handing one to Braden, he led them to a conference room, where a model of Lost Creek Winery sat in the center of the large table dominating the room. Bill left the door open, and Braden couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

He came to stand by the table, studying the model. Since Bill didn’t say anything, Braden walked slowly around the conference table, taking in the model from all sides.

When he had done so, Bill indicated a map on the wall. “Here’s an idea of what the acreage looks like and where things are located.”

Bill pointed out the vineyards themselves, showing Braden an area where they would soon be planting new vines, as well as the building where the actual winemaking took place.

“Have a seat,” Bill offered.

Taking one on the side of the table, he waited until Bill took his own at the head of the table, just to Braden’s right. His mom had been from South Carolina and had drilled good manners into her three sons. Where he had once scoffed at them, simply because his California peers were not nearly so aware of such polite moves, he saw Bill Hart nod appreciatively at the gesture.

The vineyard owner set the manila folder he had held on the table and opened it. Braden could see that it was the résumé he had emailed.

“You have a gap in your employment history,” Bill noted. “I know why.”

A sick feeling washed over him. “Then why did you bother to have me come all the way to Texas to interview?” he asked, a bit too abrasively.

Bill closed the folder and pushed it aside, his gaze meeting Braden’s. “Because you come from a great tradition. Clark Vineyards had a stellar reputation for producing classic wines—and you were a big part of that for several years.”

The older man leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself and what you did at Clark Vineyards.”

Talking about the professional side of things was easy for him.

“I have my WSET certifications, Levels One through Four, which you know is the premier, internationally recognized program for wine certification. Holding that certification sets me apart from my peers in regard to knowledge and expertise. That is in addition to my practical experience—and my nose and taste for wines.”

Bill studied him a moment. “Walk me through these. As if I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The vineyard owner was testing him—and Braden was determined to shine.

“The courses are comprehensive in nature,” he began. “The curriculum covers wine production and styles, tasting techniques, service, and pairings.”

When Bill continued to sit in silence, he went into a brief explanation of each level, wanting this vineyard founder to understand the depth of his knowledge.

“Level One explores wine through sight, smell, and taste. It gave me the basic skills to learn the principles involved in storing and serving wines. How to accurately describe them. How to taste and identify them. How to pair the correct foods with them.”

“Go on.”

“Level Two teaches you to decode a label’s information to understand a wine’s style and quality. You learn to identify the principal grape varieties from around the world, both fortified and sparkling. It also includes guided tastings which elevate your tasting skills.”

Without being promoted, Braden continued. “By Level Three, you become familiar with eighty benchmark wines. You gain a deep understanding of the key factors in wine production.”

“Such as?”

“The effects of location. The actual growing of the grapes. The winemaking process, based upon the fruit’s maturation. Even bottling. A key component is numerous blind tastings, where you must describe wine accurately based upon its style, quality, and potential for ageing.

“And Level Four?” Bill asked, amusement in his eyes.

“The final level is, by far, the most difficult,” Braden explained. “Two full years of study. Five exams. One independent research assignment. You delve into wine production and the actual business. You become an expert at the factors which influence a wine’s style, quality, and price. You hone your tasting skills. On top of my WSET certification, I also took specialty courses throughout the years, while I was employed fulltime at Clark Vineyards. I specialized in US climate, geography, and wine regions and also took classes in grape varieties, wine laws, and industry trends.”

Braden paused. “I know my stuff, Bill. If it’s wine, I have an innate affinity for it. I live it. Breathe it. Know it.”

“And after you earned all your certification?” Bill asked. “Résumé aside, what did you actual do at Clark Vineyards?”

“You have to realize, Bill, that I grew up in my family’s business. I was picking grapes by the time I could walk. I worked in the vineyards from the time I was six years old. Yes, not doing nearly as much as the adult workers, but I listened—and I learned. I continued working on the land and in production after school and summers until I graduated from high school. I’ve done the backbreaking work of caring for the grapevines. Pruning them. Fertilizing fields and tilling the soil. Harvesting and sorting the grapes.

“Not only did I work in the fields, I learned other sides of the business. I shadowed our viticulturist. I had already, since middle school, been tasting wines, so I already had a sophisticated palate. Both our enologist and viticulturist trained me in the finer points of wine creation and tastings before I ever had any formal training. The official training I sought was merely icing on the cake, which had been my practical experience. I started at twenty as a viticulturist and soon became an assistant winemaker and then the chief winemaker for Clark Vineyards.”

Bill stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What were some of your favorites—and what years?”

Braden was so comfortable with this line of questions, he mentioned various varieties of wines and the years they had been produced, going back two decades. How he had babied the grapes and worked on various blends. He spotlighted the four varieties Clark Vineyards had focused on—Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon, Zinfandel, and Merlot.

“I stand behind the work I did at Clark Vineyards, sir.”

Bill nodded thoughtfully. “Let me tell you a bit about Lost Creek Vineyard.”

For the next ten minutes, Bill Hart walked him through the beginnings of the winery and the different wines which had been created and produced.

“As you know, climate has everything to do with the direction taken at a winery.”

“Yes, climate is the chief factor influencing production in Texas.”

“I’m about to lose my viticulturist. I know it’s not the winemaker position you previously held at your family’s business, but I can tell you that it could lead to that in the near future. I’ve taken on that role of chief winemaker for many years, but I’m two years shy of sixty, Braden. I see myself stepping away from the dual role I’ve held and having someone else in charge of development and production, while I represent the brand itself and focus solely on the business aspects.

“Tell me why Lost Creek Winery should hire you.”

Placing his proverbial cards on the table, Braden said, “I won’t give you a song-and-dance about why I’m the best candidate. I’ve already proven that by sharing my experience and expertise with you. The position is a step back for me professionally, but it’s a job I’ve held and know. I can do it better than anyone else you interview and help bring your winery to the next level.”

He gazed at his potential employer steadily. “I need this job—and I’m willing to fight for it. Because it’s my last chance in the industry, Bill. The gap on my resumé isn’t my doing. The wine community is a small one. I’m sure you’ve heard gossip regarding the nitty-gritty details of why my father was sent to prison. Although the FBI cleared me of any charges, no one has been willing to take the risk and hire me. I’m down to the last few dollars in my bank account. I bought a one-way ticket to Austin because that’s all I could afford. If you don’t hire me for this position, my plan is to hitchhike to Fredericksburg and try to get on as a vineyard worker.”

He took a long breath and expelled it. “I’m hungry as hell, Bill. I’m eager to get back into the game and share my knowledge. Use my creativity. Make my mark. I can be a true asset to Lost Creek Vineyards, especially with your ideas regarding expansion of your operation and your desire to step away from a day-to-day, active role as far as production goes. I’m dependable. Loyal. And as I mentioned, broke.”

Bill studied him thoughtfully. “You could go the route of a sommelier,” he suggested. “You obviously have the knowledge to do so successfully.”

“I could. But that’s not me. I need to be out in the vineyards. Walking the land. Touching and tasting the grapes. I have a lot of knowledge and experience and am eager to put both to good use once more. I’ve never needed to beg for anything, Mr. Hart, but I need this job in order to stay in the wine industry. You’re my last hope. I just wish you’ll be open-minded enough to give me a chance to show you what I can do.”

The older man gazed at him steadily. “I would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to hire you, Braden. You’ve got all the bona fides. You have vision into wine. I’m looking to expand Lost Creek Vineyards. I think you are the exact man to help me do so successfully.”

Hart rose and offered Braden his hand. He sprang to his feet. The two men shook as the owner said, “We have ourselves a deal. As long as you’ll promise to call me Bill.”

He couldn’t help but grin shamelessly. “Bill, it is. From now on.”

“Then let’s go see the vineyards and the production building,” his new boss said. “Give you an idea about our operation. Then we can talk salary and any other particulars.”

Relief swept through him. He would have a job where he could use everything he had learned in the past, with a chance to advance to winemaker more quickly than he would have hoped. He would need to demonstrate his capabilities to this man.

“Thank you for taking a chance on me, Bill,” Braden said. “I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

As Austin receded in Harper’s rearview mirror, the burden eased from her shoulders. She was headed to Lost Creek.

Home…

The last two weeks had been ones of soul searching. Thankfully, she’d had Ivy with her for the ten days in Bali. The sisters had talked over every decision Harper needed to make, and she couldn’t imagine having gone through this ordeal without Ivy’s support.

One thing had been clear to her from the start. She had to break all ties with her life in Austin. The city had been home to her for the past ten years. Four of those had been spent as a student at the University of Texas, while the next six had encompassed her work as an event planner.

For all the growth in the city’s population, however, Austin was still very much a small town, ruled by a tight-knit group of movers and shakers. They had been the clients she had worked with. Harper had planned their parties and receptions. Organized celebrations for graduations, engagements, anniversaries, and retirements. Spearheaded corporate events and planned entire conferences. Set up high school and college reunions.

Because it was at heart a small place, she knew she would constantly run into people who were business associates, colleagues, friends, or acquaintances with Ath and Cynthia, not to mention Army and Bethany. She did not want their looks of pity or curiosity, nor did she wish to watch them whispering about her.

What Harper needed was a clean start in a new place.

Once she had reached that decision, she had emailed her resignation letter to her boss in Austin. The two had worked well together over the years, with Sandra Bellows praising Harper’s organizational skills and creativity in planning and running events. She had received a text from Sandra, saying she understood why Harper was resigning and if she changed her mind down the line, there would always be a spot waiting for her. Sandra had also emailed a wonderful recommendation letter and told Harper to use her as a reference when she was searching for a new position.

Where the next stage in her life and career would lead her was up in the air. She had always enjoyed San Antonio and thought that city might be a possibility. Plenty of opportunities would also be available in larger cities such as Dallas and Houston. She couldn’t see herself leaving Texas, though. Her family had been here for several generations, and it was in her blood. She wouldn’t let a cheating fiancé and a former best friend’s betrayal chase her from the state.

Since her apartment’s lease had run out and not been renewed, Harper had rented a storage space and placed the bulk of her clothes and personal items in the unit for the time being. She would move her things once she had a permanent place to live. Fortunately, money would not be an issue. When she had gone to the bank two days ago to remove the funds she had placed in the joint account she and Ath had established and asked the clerk for her name to be removed from that account, the teller obviously recognized her name and asked her to wait a moment.

Soon, she was ushered into the office of the bank’s president. He explained to her that Mr. Armistead had already taken care of removing his name from their joint account and had emphasized she was to keep both the account and the funds in it.

Surprisingly, the president had reached into his desk drawer and handed her a note. Steeling herself to read it, the note consisted of only two lines. Ath told her all the money in the account was hers. And that he was sorry. She had refrained from balling up the note and tossing it into the trash. Instead, she calmly folded it and slipped it into her purse and asked to see how much was currently in the account.

The banker had turned to his computer screen and pulled up her account, motioning for Harper to come view the record. When she did, she gasped inwardly. She herself had placed almost fifteen thousand dollars the account, all she had in checking and savings, and she recalled Ath had put in thirty thousand himself. The number reflected on the screen had been more than twenty times that, slightly over nine hundred thousand dollars. Her gut told her it was a bribe, something to have her keep quiet. To take the money and not cause waves.

Harper’s first instinct was to reject it. To pull out what she had put in and walk away. Yet if she had sued Ath for breach of contract, she very well could have gotten such an amount, if the lawsuit had also included emotional distress suffered. She had made a split decision to keep the money. It would allow her to take her time in deciding what her next step would be. She might even use it to start her own event planning company. The money would be an investment in her—and her future.

She kept the radio off as she drove through the Hill Country, relaxing more and more as the towns became fewer and farther between. She was a country girl at heart and had missed being in wide, open spaces. She wanted to take time to breathe in the fresh air. Spend some time in nature and atop a horse. Maybe even work in the dirt at the vineyard some. Just a pause in order to renew and recharge herself.

Deciding to call Ivy, she tapped in her sister’s number. Ivy answered on the second ring.

“Are you on your way?” her sister asked anxiously.

“I am. I’m also in a good frame of mind,” she confided. “I know we rehashed this many times, but I’m grateful that I learned about Ath’s character before the ring was placed on my finger. If he was going to cheat on me before, while we were engaged, he certainly would’ve have done so after we were married. This way, I don’t have to worry about dissolving a marriage. No kids are involved. Yes, my heart is bruised, but I will get over it in time. I already feel lighter, just leaving Austin behind.”

“I’m glad to hear this, Harper. I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Enough about me. How about you? Have you settled in this past week?”

“Yes, I really have. I talked to Mom and Dad for a long time, and I’m now working as the manager in the tasting room.”

“Ivy, that’s fantastic!” Harper exclaimed. “Of the two of us, you’ve always had the better nose for wine.”

Her sister chuckled. “Well, I’ve had a little brushing up to do, but I’m comfortable in the position. I have two other employees, so I can trade off shifts I work with them. Harper, it’s going to give me time to pursue my art again. That’s what I’ve wanted more than anything. And you know, there are plenty of galleries in the Hill Country, even in Lost Creek itself. I hope to build a personal relationship with a few of them so that they’ll agree to display my work.”

“I can hear it in your voice,” she said. “You’re happier already.”

“I really am,” Ivy said softly. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed Lost Creek until I got here a few days ago.” She paused. “Gotta go. Have some tasters who just walked in. See you soon.”

Harper ended the call and began thinking. Ivy had sounded different than she had for several years. Once they had reached Bali, Ivy had confided in Harper just how stressed and overworked she was. Her sister’s passion and pleasure had always been found in her art. Now she had time to pursue it, and Harper couldn’t be more grateful.

As she drove along the highway, soaking up the beauty of the landscape, a thought began forming in her mind. Something that would be challenging and exciting. She would have to run it by her parents once she got home. It would not only involve her—but her family’s winery.

She focused on the idea the next hour, firming things up in her mind, ready to make the pitch to her parents. Then she reached the town of Lost Creek, which held so many wonderful memories for her. A few bittersweet ones, too. She passed an elementary school, where her friend Finley Farrow taught fifth grade. Finley had been one of her bridesmaids from the called-off wedding, and she had left a voicemail for Harper, telling her she would support her in any way she could.

She would definitely be in touch with Finley soon. She knew her friend lived with a fellow teacher and former college roommate. Emerson Frost had been an elementary education major, and Finley had met Emerson when they’d been potluck roommates their freshman year. While Harper knew Emerson only as an acquaintance, maybe they might become friends while she was here in Lost Creek. She had eaten cupcakes and cookies baked by Emerson on different occasions and thought her an extremely talented baker. She recalled how Finley had shared that Emerson was working weekends and summers at The Bake House on the square. Harper would stop in when she had more time and pick up goodies for the family and their vineyard workers.

She made the familiar turn into Lost Creek Winery, gazing out at the vineyard. Mustard, a cover crop, blanketed the ground between the rows of vines. It prevented soil erosion and prevented pests in the soil, giving off a beautiful color this time of year. A few workers pruned the vines. She caught sight of a tall man, not recognizing him from a distance. Then again, she hadn’t been involved in the day-to-day operations of the winery for many years. She, Ivy, and Todd had worked summers for their parents, but once Harper hit college, she either did summer school or worked internships in Austin.

Driving her SUV directly to the house, she stopped to take the time to bring in the two suitcases she’d brought with her. Harper headed to her old room and unpacked, filling a few drawers and hanging clothes in the closet.

Returning to her car, she drove another mile to the offices, which were attached to the tasting room. A couple of vehicles were parked in front, and she figured they must belong to tasters occupying Ivy’s time since anyone working here usually parked in the back. She headed inside the office instead.

Her mother must have been keeping an eye out for her daughter because she leaped to her feet the moment Harper walked through the door. It felt good to have her mother’s arms about her.

“It’s so good to see you, honey,” Mom said. “Did you have a good trip from Austin?”

Harper looked at her mother, thinking this is what she would look like in thirty years. She had inherited Cecily Hart’s auburn hair, deep blue eyes, and thin frame.

“All is good, Mom. I stopped at the house and unpacked. Is Dad around?”

“He’s meeting with a new client in the conference room. They should be done soon.”

The two men appeared moments later, and she saw her dad’s face light up when he caught sight of her. Dad introduced her to the client, a restaurateur from San Antonio who would be carrying Lost Creek Vineyard wines in his three restaurants within the next week. They chitchatted for a moment before the client took his leave, and then her dad wrapped her in a tight bear hug. Harper felt as if she were truly home, safe and loved.

“How’s my girl?”

“Your girl is thirsty,” she declared. “Can I get into your stash of Dr. Peppers?”

Bill Hart was known for consuming the unofficial state drink of Texas throughout the day.

“Let’s go grab a few and talk.”

“Actually, I’d like Mom to come with us. I have something I’d like to run by both of you.”

Dad cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so? Come on, Cecily. Join us.”

She and her mother went to the conference room, while her dad stopped and picked up cans of DP for the three of them. He handed one to each of them and took a seat, asking, “What’s on your mind, Sweetheart?”

“I appreciate you hearing me out, simply because this is something I hit upon while I was driving home today. Normally, I would have a professional presentation planned, with beautiful PowerPoint slides and be able to answer any conceivable question you came up with. I just want you to understand I’m talking off the top of my head and would have to work a lot of the logistics out. I’m apologizing upfront for my lack of preparation.”

Mom smiled encouragingly at her. “You must be excited if you want to share something with us that’s in the early stages of planning.”

Taking a deep breath, Harper nodded. “I am. Because it involves the winery.”

“Our winery?” Dad asked, frowning slightly. “What do you have up your sleeve, Harper?”

“I want to become the event manager for Lost Creek Winery,” she said, feeling good about hearing that spoken aloud. “I want to organize and coordinate events held on the grounds.”

She could tell her dad was taken aback, but the look on her mother’s face was one of intrigue.

“Go on, Harper,” Mom encouraged.

“We grow the grapes on site. Make the wines and bottle them. Ship them out to individuals and businesses. I know on a few occasions, you’ve let a Scouting or civic group come in to take a tour and see the process, but other than that, we don’t have contact with the public, other than through the tasting room.”

“Are you suggesting organized tours?” Dad asked. “I know some wineries do that. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to deal with the hazard insurance, much less have strangers traipsing through the winery, distracting everyone.”

She tried to slow the swirl of ideas in her head. “No, I’m not really thinking about tours, but that is food for thought down the line. What I’m wanting to do is far beyond that. I’m basing it on wineries I’ve used in the past, places where I’ve held events. The biggest thing would be to hold weddings here. Both indoor and outdoor ones.”

Mom grew thoughtful. “Hmm. We could set aside an area for an outdoor wedding. Put out benches and cover it. But we have no facility for an indoor wedding, Harper, much less a place to hold a reception. You know we’ve always been all about the wine and nothing else It took me yanking your dad’s arm to even have us put in a tasting room.”

“We would need to build a facility. Not a chapel. Too many couples today are staying away from overtly religious ceremonies. I would want a large space where half could be where the ceremony would take place, while the other half would be designated for the reception. I’m thinking large, like a barn in structure, but way prettier. Go with concrete floors for ease. Neutral colors inside, so weddings could use that as a palette or bring in decorations. Or I could even style the events with things I’ve accumulated.”

“That would involve catering,” Dad pointed out. “You’d need a kitchen. And restroom facilities.”

“Yes, I agree. I’m not saying Lost Creek would do the actual catering, though. We have several places nearby that could manage that. Blackwood BBQ comes to mind. A Hill Country wedding, complete with barbeque and all the trimmings. We could serve our own wines. Have The Bake House do the bride and groom’s cakes.”

She paused. “That’s just the start. I would like to be the event manager for weddings, but I can see us doing so much more. Bridal luncheons. All kinds of parties—for graduations, anniversaries, and retirements. Family reunions or other private gatherings. Eventually, we might pull in a few corporate events. The event center could host whatever we desired.”

“Not to rain on your parade, but you’re talking an expensive venture,” Dad said. “At a time when we’re expanding the vineyards again. While the banks would most likely give us a loan if we requested it, I don’t want to be spread too thin financially. Maybe in the future, Harper.”

“I wouldn’t be asking you to fund this project, Dad. I have a good chunk of money,” she revealed. “A parting… gift from Ath. At first, I was reluctant to take it and then I thought, why not? It could help me start a new life. It’s pocket change to his family, but it would give me the chance to stretch myself professionally, against the backdrop of Lost Creek Winery, and start my own business.”

Thinking a moment, she said, “It could start as Weddings by Hart, a play on my last name. In fact, I could set up the business as an LLC, all in my name. You wouldn’t be responsible for anything. I would focus on weddings first and then possibly expand down the line. I—and the bank—would provide the funding to build this event center and could even pay you a rental fee for the land it sits on.”

Her excitement grew. “I’ve planned my fair share of weddings, even if I had nothing to do with organizing my own. I could contract with merchants in town to provide catering and floral arrangements. Why, Finley could be my photographer!” she declared.

“Oh, Finley is building quite a nice little side business for herself,” Mom shared. “She’s been taking senior portraits for a few years now, taking students out for photo shoots in picturesque places. She’s also done some engagement photos. Baby’s first photo shoot with their family, too. I’ve told her she’s going to eventually make more money with her photography than she does teaching.”

“She would be perfect,” Harper agreed. “Okay, I know this is all rough and I have a thousand and one details to iron out—but is this doable? Is this something the two of you would be interested in? And don’t answer as my parents,” she warned. “Think with your business caps on. In fact, I don’t even want to be here when you discuss it. Talk it over. Let me flesh out more ideas and the details. We can meet again in a few days.”

Harper saw the look her parents exchanged. It was one married couples who had been together many years gave one another. Wordlessly, she realized they had already come to some agreement.

“No need to talk about it, honey,” her dad said. “The winery would be a great backdrop for a wedding, especially with the type of structure you’re talking about. It would help add business to the town, with you contracting the services of various nearby merchants. I just worry that people won’t want to drive this far out for a wedding.”

“Dad, we’re only about forty-five minutes from San Antonio,” she told him. “That’s not far at all. Especially if we’re giving the bride her dream wedding. And with Lost Creek being only ten minutes away, there’s plenty of places guests could stay.”

“I agree with Harper,” Mom said. “A bride would have a very unique wedding if it were held against the background of a Hill Country winery.” She smiled warmly. “I’d say we’re all in.”

Leaping to her feet, she hugged both her parents. “I have so much to do,” she told them. “Ideas to get down. Meeting with a bank. Hiring an architect. Contacting merchants in town.” She thought a moment. “I’ll need some office space.”

“You can have Jerry’s old office,” Dad volunteered, referring to the business partner that started the winery with him years ago. “It’s turned into mostly storage space, but we can work around it.”

“Thanks, Dad. I need to go share the good news with Ivy. And I promise that I will not let you down. I’m excellent at my job.”

Mom laughed. “You always bossed around your stuffed animals and dolls. I thought at one point you might become a teacher.”

She laughed, too. “I remember that. Well, I’ve become very good at bossing people, as well. Only I’m clever enough to make it sound more like a request. I’ll see you back at the house for dinner.”

Harper went next door to the tasting room, where Ivy was walking two couples through a tasting. She took a seat, listening to her sister, hearing what a natural she was as she pointed out the notes of each wine and told what to look for in taste. Once each of the wines on the flights had been sampled, the two pairs bought half a dozen bottles of the wines they had tasted. Ivy rang them up and thanked them for coming, encouraging them to recommend Lost Creek Winery to their friends.

After they left, her sister came and took a seat at the small table. “How has your day been?”

“Fabulous. Tasting Manager, meet the new Event Coordinator for Lost Creek Winery.”