The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(33)

“I’ve been on a plane the past seven hours. I need to get out of these boots and back into my civvies. Think about what I said. I could replace that old countertop with the oak for you if you want.”

Abruptly, Manolo left for his apartment. After he changed, he went to one of the restaurants on Main Street. While he waited for his grilled cheese, he pulled out the sketches that he had drawn on the plane back from Virginia. He’d never worked on a tasting room before, but the idea had taken hold of him and wouldn’t let go. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he could talk Junie into letting him use her humble bar as practice. He couldn’t wait to get started.

*

When Manolo returned to the consortium, Sam was the only one there.

“Buttercup?”

Manolo’s grin came out as a grimace. Not even he knew what hat he’d pulled that endearment out of. Maybe it was because Junie looked as pure as milk, staring at him with his chin mashed into Holly’s shoulder. He’d just opened his mouth and Buttercup had tumbled out. But he didn’t owe anyone an explanation. “You got a problem with that?”

“I don’t.”

Manolo spread his arms. “I was only gone three days. Did I miss something?”

“All last week, you’re cozying up to Junie, then come Friday you’re putting the moves on Holly.”

“Whoa. Look, man. You’re the one who filled me in on how Junie’s place is in such bad shape, remember? I’m just trying to help her out a little. That porch is a cake job. It’s all but done.”

“What was that about a bar back east?”

“The top brass were tied up in high-level meetings half the weekend. More trouble in the global war on terror, surprise, surprise. My task force got a pass Saturday night, so we snuck out to a couple wineries.”

“Wait—let me guess. A certain blonde research assistant who works at the Pentagon just happened to be at one of them.”

Manolo cursed his penchant for boasting. If he’d learn to keep his mouth shut about his conquests, they wouldn’t come back to bite him in the butt. To ease his conscience, he tried to make light of the couple of steamy, yet meaningless hours he’s spent in the blonde’s bed. “Now, what kind of a feminist would I be if I kissed and told?”

“What’s her name again? Heidi or something?”

Manolo’s mood changed abruptly. Friend or not, a man could only take so much. He faced Sam straight on. “What are you, my mother? Quit pissin’ in my ear and just say what you’re thinking.”

Sam squared his shoulders. “Holly can take care of herself. But I gave you heads-up where Junie’s concerned.”

“Are you trying to manage me again?”

“I’m just saying. No one wants to see her get hurt.”

Anger and another unexpected, disturbing emotion seized Manolo: guilt. He closed the distance between himself and Sam. “You think I’d hurt her?”

“No. Not intentionally—”

Manolo raised his chin and peered down his nose at his friend. “Let’s get something clear, Captain. We’re back in the real world now. Out here, you don’t outrank me. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Stand down, man. No one’s accusing you of anything.”

“Then why does it feel like it?”

“I saw you. The way you looked at Junie today when you saw her standing there. You could barely hold back.”

Sam might be able to read body language like a road map, and granted, he might have done a little more time outside the wire than was good for his mental health, but all of this overprotectiveness was getting on Manolo’s nerves.

“Mission accomplished. Buzz killed. It’s high time you ditched the trench coat, Spidey. We ain’t in goat country anymore, and I’m not the enemy. We’re on the same side, remember?”

Sam blinked. Then his shoulders relaxed. He sucked in a cleansing breath. “Doc’s been telling me the same thing. Maybe I came on too strong. As long as all you’re hammering is Junie’s porch, there won’t be any problems.”

Manolo slapped him on the back, breaking the tension. “I’ve got my arms around this. I’m in the business of solving problems, not making more of them. Remember that and we’ll be cool.”

Manolo walked out the back door to gaze unseeing at the plot of land that had been cleared in his absence. Groundbreaking was a pivotal stage of any construction project. He should be excited. This time, it barely registered.

He lost track of how long he stood there, stewing. Sam’s accusations were way off base.

But warning Manolo away from Junie had inadvertently pointed out her vulnerability. And though she bristled at any hint of a handout, Manolo was uniquely qualified to help her, whether Sam liked it or not. He could whip that tasting room into shape. Hell, he could make it the talk of this valley. Nobody would call it Broken Hart Vineyards when he was through with it! And he didn’t need to make a profit at Junie’s expense. Some men golfed, and some collected cars and other toys. Building things . . . helping people were both Manolo’s vocation and his avocation. The only other hobby he had was eating out and an occasional good bottle of wine. Aside from that, what else did he have to spend his money on? With no home of his own, no plans for one, and no dependents, the modest amount he set aside out of each paycheck had added up over the years. He had a tidy sum socked away. More than enough to let him to spend a part of each year volunteering.