The Prodigal Son

Luckily, it was easy to keep his usual good cheer, thanks to the fact that his time in Jewell would be brief—six days, four hours and fifty-three minutes. Give or take a second or two.

Whistling along with the classic Jackson Browne song playing on the radio, he transferred a soggy slice of bread from the egg and milk mixture in a large bowl to the hot skillet. It sizzled in the greased pan, the scent of cinnamon mingling with that of melted butter. He added a second slice to the pan and took a drink of coffee as a movement to his right caught his attention.

Sporting a seriously bad case of bedhead and wearing a pair of flannel pants with characters from Family Guy on them, Brady stood in the open doorway separating the kitchen from the hall.

Matt saluted his brother with his coffee cup. “Morning, Sparky. Nice pj’s.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Brady said in a sleep-roughened voice. His scowl shifted into a thoughtful frown as he sniffed the air. “I’m going to kill you,” he repeated, “right after I’ve had some coffee.”

“Can’t wait.”

Eloquent as usual, Brady grunted and headed toward the coffeemaker, his limp less pronounced than it’d been two months ago when Matt had been home for Christmas.

He flipped the French toast with a fork. “You have any syrup? I didn’t see any in the fridge.” When he didn’t get an answer, he turned to find Brady staring into his coffee cup, his eyes glazed. “If I’m not mistaken—and let’s face it, I’m never mistaken—that’s the look of a man who recently got lucky. And based on the monkey sounds coming from your room when I got here, I’d say it happened…oh…about twenty minutes ago.”

Brady pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “What’s the rule about my sex life?”

“It’s boring and pathetic?”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“Who’s discussing it? I was making a simple observation. It’s not like I need a play-by-play of whatever it was J.C. did that put that sappy grin on your face.”

Brady gave one of his patented I was a Marine and yes, I will rip your head off and shove that fork down your throat if you say another word looks.

“Fine.” Matt glanced down the hallway to Brady’s closed bedroom door. “Uh…you were with J.C., weren’t you?” Hey, it was a good question considering that at one time, Brady had been engaged to J.C.’s older sister, Liz.

Brady pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you here?”

“Aidan left a message on my cell phone yesterday about a top secret Sheppard brother meeting at eight.”

“That’s thirty minutes from now. And you’re never on time anyway. Especially in the morning.”

Matt transferred the cooked French toast to a paper plate and added more to the pan. “It’s ten at night in South Australia.”

“You’re not in Australia.”

No shit. In Australia—and everywhere outside of Jewell—he was a highly respected, highly sought-after vintner.

Here he was the family black sheep.

His fingers tightened around the fork. Too bad his old man hadn’t lived long enough to see his youngest son amount to something despite his predictions. Matt forced his fingers to relax. Good thing he’d long ago stopped caring what his family thought of him.

“I’m not in Australia,” he said, “but my body thinks I am. And since I was up, I figured I might as well come on over. Once I realized you were otherwise occupied, I decided to make myself at home.”

Brady stood and held his hand out. “Give it to me.” Matt handed him the plate but his brother shook his head. “No. Give me the spare key.”

The spare key their mother kept at her house in case she needed to get into the cottage that sat on the Sheppards’ property. The cottage Brady currently occupied.

“You’re moving out after the wedding,” Matt noted, tossing the plate onto the table. “What’s the problem?”

“You let yourself into my house when I was still in bed,” Brady said as if Matt was a few grapes shy of a cluster. “You’re in my kitchen, blaring music—”

“Only so I couldn’t hear all that moaning and groaning coming from your bedroom.”

“—making breakfast—”

“For which you should be grateful, seeing as how I made plenty for all of us. That includes J.C.”

“Where is it?” Brady asked, his tone low and dangerous.

Matt grinned and patted the front pocket of his jeans. “Right where it’s going to stay.”

Turning, he flipped the bread. A vise closed around his neck, choking off his amusement. No, not a vise, he realized as Brady yanked him away from the stove, but his brother’s forearm. Before Matt could escape, Brady pivoted, clasping his hands together to tighten the headlock.

“The key. Now.”

Matt pulled on his brother’s arm but it didn’t budge. “You want it?” he asked, unable to hide the challenge—or the glee—in his voice. “Go ahead and get it.”

Brady squeezed, cutting off the last of Matt’s words along with his breath. “I get the key,” he said, dragging Matt toward the table, “and you get to walk upright once again. And save what’s left of your dignity for getting your ass kicked by a guy with a bum knee.”

“Ass kicked?” Matt muttered, doing his damndest to shake his brother’s hold. “I’m taking it easy so I don’t hurt you.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Then, in a move reminiscent of when they were kids, Brady gave him a quick, rough noogie.

Bum knee or not, the bastard was going down. Matt grabbed Brady’s hip with his right hand while shifting his body to the left. Pushing him off balance, he reached underneath Brady’s left leg—conscious of the fact it was his bad leg—and lifted it off the ground.

Brady’s arm constricted, cutting into Matt’s windpipe. “If I’m going to hit the floor,” he warned, “I’m taking you with me.”

“Is something burning?”

They froze. J. C. Montgomery padded into the kitchen wearing a pair of pink sweatpants and a long-sleeved brown top stretched to its limit over her pregnant stomach. She wrinkled her nose at what Matt now recognized as the scent of burned French toast, her big brown eyes widening.

“Sorry,” Brady said, hopping to maintain his balance. “Did we wake you?”

“That’s all right,” she said absently, tilting her head to the side to study them. “I hate to ask a stupid question but…is this one of those male bonding things? Because if you two pull out the bongo drums and start chanting, I’ll get my phone so I can record it. I’m sure it’ll be a huge hit on YouTube.”

“We’re not bonding,” Matt said. “We’re fighting. I was just about to drop your fiancé on his head.”

“Oh. Well, that makes perfect sense. But since the wedding’s in five days, I’d really prefer if he didn’t suffer any head injuries. At least until after the ceremony. Besides,” she added, “the physical therapist swore Brady will be able to dance with me at our wedding. As long as he doesn’t do anything to strain his knee.”

She stared at the knee in question—the one in Matt’s hands.

Sighing, he let go of his brother. “Killjoy.”

“That’s me,” she said. “A giant fun-suck. How about we arrange a wrestling match for the reception? Maybe one of those cage matches? That is, if I can find a company that rents…” She frowned. “Brady. The fight’s over. You can let go of Matt.” When he hesitated, she raised her eyebrows. “Now.”

He mumbled under his breath, something about dead bolts, alarm systems and idiot brothers, before the pressure around Matt’s neck eased.

Slipping out of Brady’s hold, Matt smiled at J.C. then took the few steps necessary to cross to her. He gripped her arms. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

Then he gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

As he eased back, Brady growled. It made Matt want to kiss J.C. again.

“Uh…good morning to you, too.” She peeked around his shoulder at Brady. “You never told me your family was so…affectionate in the morning.”

“He just did that to piss me off,” Brady said.

“Not true,” Matt claimed. “Though that’s a nice side benefit. But the truth is,” he continued, lowering his voice and leaning closer to J.C., “I’m weak. I have a hard time resisting a beautiful woman.”

She blushed and attempted to smooth her wildly curling mane of dark hair. Damn, but she was a sweetheart. Brady had somehow hit the jackpot. That is, if you considered being tied to one woman for the rest of your life winning big.

Brady cleared his throat. “If you’re done flirting with my fiancée, you might want to check your breakfast. It’s on fire.”

With a wink at J.C., Matt went back to the stove. There weren’t any flames, just a lot of thick smoke. Matt flipped the burner to low while Brady opened the small window over the sink.

After he dumped the burned food into the garbage can, Matt unwound several paper towels from the roll, balled them up and wiped out the pan before setting it back on the burner. “How about some French toast?” he asked J.C., adding fresh butter to the pan.

She looked up from pouring herself a large glass of orange juice. “You don’t have to cook for me. I can fix some—”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“He’s got that right,” Brady muttered.

“Well,” J.C. said as she picked the fork Matt had dropped earlier off the floor, “if you really don’t mind…”

“Honey, I never mind cooking breakfast for a woman.”

She smiled. “In that case, I’d love some.”

In less than ten minutes, Matt made what he considered enough French toast to feed a family of five. Or at least two grown men and one pregnant lady. By the time the food was ready, Brady had donned a shirt and he and J.C. had paper plates, forks, an unopened container of syrup and a stick of butter still in its wrapper on the table.

They’d started eating when Aidan came into the kitchen, his blond hair neatly trimmed, his dark slacks crisply pleated. “Morning,” he said to the room at large as he went to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. He took a sip, his eyes on Matt. “I didn’t think you’d bother showing up until at least eight-thirty.”

Giving himself time to hide a quick burst of irritation, Matt swallowed the food in his mouth. Just like their father, Aidan always thought the worst of him. “Hey, you know I’m happy to obey your orders.”

“Why, what time is it?” J.C. asked, sounding panicked. Before any of them could reply, she grabbed Matt’s hand and twisted it so she could read his watch. “Crap. I’m late.” Leaping to her feet, she drained her juice glass. “I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Wertz in ten minutes for my last dress fitting.”

“Don’t you have the day off?” Brady asked.

“Yes, but she doesn’t, and I asked her to squeeze me in before she goes to work. Thanks for breakfast,” she called before rushing out of the room. A moment later, the front door banged shut.

Matt scratched his cheek. “Does she realize it’s barely thirty degrees out and she’s not wearing any shoes or a coat?”

Brady held his forefinger up. Five seconds later, the front door opened and J.C. sped past them. When she came back through a minute later, her sweatpants were tucked into a pair of boots and she was zipping up a bulky, shapeless coat, her purse hanging off her elbow.

And once again, the door slammed shut.

“One thing’s for sure,” Matt said as he snagged the last piece of French toast. “Your life isn’t going to be boring.”

Aidan sat in the seat J.C. had vacated. “Since we’re all here, let’s get right to it.”

Matt snorted as he doused his toast with syrup. Right. Wouldn’t want to waste time with small talk even if he hadn’t spoken to either of his brothers for over two months. His mother being the only family he’d seen since he’d been back this time. “If this is about Brady’s stag party,” he said, “I’ve already hired the strippers.”

“We want to talk to you about the Diamond Dust,” Aidan said, sliding the remnants of J.C.’s breakfast aside before setting his cup down. He wrapped his hands around the mug. “We want you with us.”

“I’m right here, aren’t I?”

“We want you working with us at the winery. We want you to be our partner.”

Matt stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth. His throat constricted. Partners? With his brothers? “Why would I want to do that?”

“Told you,” Brady said, leaning back in his chair, his hands linked on his stomach.

Aidan kept his hooded eyes on Matt. “Why wouldn’t you?”

He slowly lowered his fork back to his plate. “I already have a career.”

A damned good one, too, not that his brothers ever bothered to mention it. His reputation as a winemaker and consultant was growing and, after he led Queen’s Valley to success, so would the number of wineries who wanted to hire him. He’d have his pick of jobs all over the world. And his brothers thought he’d give that up to stay in tiny Jewell to take over his father’s business?

“Instead of making wine for other people,” Aidan said, “you’d be making it for your own company. Your own label. And you’d have a chance to put down roots.”

Put down roots? The back of his neck broke out in a cold sweat. “Thanks but when I do decide to settle in one place—” if he ever decided to settle in one place—“I’d rather it be Italy or France or Napa Valley.”

“Dad’s dream was to pass the Diamond Dust down to his sons,” Aidan said quietly. “All three of us.”

Matt tipped his chair back until it balanced on two legs. His father had hated when he did that. “Dad’s gone. And like you said, that was his dream. Not mine. And as far as I can remember, it wasn’t either one of your dreams, either.”

“Things change.”

True. But Matt hadn’t changed. He’d never wanted to be stuck in Jewell working at the Diamond Dust. Working for his overly critical, rigid father. And while Tom Sheppard might be gone, the worst parts of his personality lived on in his eldest son. The tight leash his dad had tried to keep him on when he was growing up had almost choked Matt to death. He wasn’t about to put on another one.

“Sorry,” he said as he stood, “but I’m not interested.”

“Tell him,” Brady murmured to Aidan.

His scalp tingled. His pulse pounded in his ears. “Tell me what?”

Jaw tight, Aidan slowly got to his feet. “You have to partner with us—move back to Jewell and help run the winery. If you don’t, Mom’s going to sell the Diamond Dust to someone else.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS A JOKE. SOME SORT of elaborate prank. It had to be.

Matt hunched his shoulders against the cold morning breeze and closed the front door of his mom’s house. The Diamond Dust meant too much to his mother for her to just toss it aside like it was an old sweater that didn’t fit her anymore.

Besides, he’d been home almost two days and she hadn’t once mentioned anything about selling the winery to him.

How could she not have told him before?

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he headed down the winding road hoping to catch her on the way back from her daily walk—and to give himself time to work off some of his building irritation. He didn’t want to face her until he’d gotten this surge of unreasonable panic under control.

He passed between a large block of Cabernet Franc vines and some Nortons—plants he and Brady had helped their father put in over fifteen years ago. The sun rose above the hills to his right, splashing light on the bare trees, illuminating the frost on the ground. Ten minutes later, his nose freezing, his ears stinging with cold, he reached the farmhouse which had been extensively renovated to house the Diamond Dust’s gift shop and tasting room. Just beyond it was the actual winery, a building designed to match the weathered exterior of the farmhouse but with a large cellar for making and storing the wine.

Frowning, he stared across the empty parking lot then narrowed his eyes as he studied the rows of vines in the number ten block. Or was it number eleven? Either way, they hadn’t even been pruned yet, which was a mistake since it was the middle of February. And they really should install a drip irrigation…

He ground his back teeth together. Whoa. Back up there, hotshot. None of that was his concern. And by God, he was going to keep it that way.

A dog barked. Matt glanced over to see Aidan’s Irish setter, Lily, keeping pace beside his mother as they came around the bend.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asked.

“What was that?” Not slowing, she reached under the wide, white headband covering her short cap of hair and pulled a set of headphones away from her ears. He noticed the small MP3 player hooked to her pocket. Good to see she was using the birthday gift he’d given her.

“I asked if you’d lost your mind.”

The sun picked out the gray strands in her dark blond hair as her arms pumped furiously at her sides, the shiny, dark blue material of her windbreaker swishing softly. “If I had, would I even be aware of it?”

He took hold of her elbow, forcing her to stop. “Did you threaten to sell the Diamond Dust to a third party if Aidan, Brady and I don’t agree to take over?”

He held his breath while she squinted up at him from behind her glasses, the lines around her eyes prominent. “I wouldn’t call it a threat.”

He dropped her arm, his stomach sinking. “What would you call it?”

“An opportunity.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Do not raise your voice to me, Matthew,” she said in an all-too-familiar tone. “If you can’t discuss this in a calm, reasonable manner, then there’s nothing more to say.”

“You’re trying to ruin my life and you want me to be reasonable?”

“For your information,” she said so coldly it made the morning temperatures feel practically balmy, “this is not some evil plot geared toward the destruction of your happiness.”

Sure seemed that way to him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, starting to pace, “was this Al’s idea?” Retired Senator Al Wallace, his mother’s fiancé, seemed like a nice enough guy, but Matt had only met him a few times. Somehow he couldn’t fathom his mother coming up with this idea on her own.

“Of course not. Al only wants me to be happy.” She exhaled heavily, her breath forming a soft cloud. “I’ve just realized it’s…it’s time for me to step back from the Diamond Dust.”

“So step back,” he said, wincing at how desperate he sounded. “You want to retire? Fine. Go on and move to D.C. after you get married. Aidan and Brady can keep the winery running.”

“They could,” she agreed. “But, Matt, I’m not going to be around forever—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered.

“—and I want to make sure the winery is in good hands. Aidan and Brady need a quality vintner’s expertise if they want to do more than simply keep the winery afloat. I see no reason to drag this out. Especially when I have interest from a prospective buyer.”

He stopped and gaped at her. “What?”

“An old friend of Al’s contacted me last week. He asked if I was considering retiring since Al and I were engaged. Seems he, along with his daughter and son-in-law, are interested in purchasing an established winery and he thinks the Diamond Dust would be a good fit for them.” She sent him a pitying glance. “Didn’t your brothers explain all of this?”

“Guess they left a few details out.”

Like the most important fact of all. Instead, Brady had, according to his usual M.O., remained silent while Aidan had gone on about their responsibility to their heritage and their father’s memory. Neither one had mentioned there was a real live buyer interested in the winery.

Matt shoved his numb fingers into his pockets. “Being interested isn’t the same as having an offer on the table.”

She gave him her, do you really think I’m an idiot? look, the one she’d used when he’d been fifteen and had tried to sneak out of the house with two bottles of wine tucked inside his jacket.

“He’s already made a substantial initial offer on the business.”

“How substantial?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

She tipped her head to the side. “Fourteen point five.”

His mouth fell open. He shut it. Opened it again. “As in…million?” She nodded. “Just for the winery?” He’d known the Diamond Dust was profitable but he’d never have guessed it did that well.

“For the business, the property and buildings.”

His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “Buildings? You’d sell the plantation? Our house?”

For a moment he thought she’d deny it but then her lips thinned. “I could hardly sell one without the other. The Diamond Dust is the plantation and vice versa.”

His stomach turned. No wonder the offer was huge. The Diamond Dust was over three hundred acres of rolling hills and dense woods set just on the outskirts of Jewell. Sixty of those three hundred acres were planted vineyards. Add those in with the five buildings on the property and you had some seriously prime real estate.

And his mother didn’t just plan to unload the business she’d spent most of her life building, she also wanted to sell the land that had been in the Sheppard family for over one hundred and fifty years. Un-freaking-believable.

“Who has that kind of money, especially in this real estate market?” he asked. “Wait, it’s not Donald Trump, is it?”

“Of course not,” she said, as if he was the one who’d lost his mind instead of her. “It’s Lester Caldwell.”

With a short bark of laughter, Matt tipped his head back. Lester Caldwell. Make that Lt. Governor Lester Caldwell, the son of a prominent Virginia family and a successful businessman in his own right. A man who was well connected and had more money than he could ever spend in three lifetimes. Who had a reputation for getting what he wanted. And if he wanted the Diamond Dust, Matt didn’t doubt he’d even blink at spending twice what the winery was worth.

Damn politicians.

“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.”