The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(47)

Manolo’s mind raced. He hadn’t been out at the winery since he’d finished the tasting room. Hadn’t seen Junie in town, either. He’d figured she just had her hand to the plough.

But for her mom to be worried didn’t bode well. Jen and Junie weren’t as close as some mothers and daughters, but they kept in touch.

Was Junie in trouble? Farm work was hazardous. Anything could happen. His imagination flooded with all the things that could go wrong. A roll of the tractor, a nasty slice from her pruning shears, or simply a bad fall, out of reach of her phone.

Poppy was speaking again. “Don’t do that, Dr. Hart. Don’t drive all the way down here if you don’t have to. I’ll go over for you and see if she’s there.”

He wanted to jump in his truck, speed out to Brendan Hart Vineyards and make sure that Junie was safe.

But wasn’t that exactly what he’d done when he’d gotten involved in her tasting room? Run off half-cocked before thinking about the consequences? Even when he had toiled there during the hours when she was at Casey’s, her scent of wildflowers and sandalwood lingered, disturbing his peace. It was enough to drive a man insane.

He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to interfere in her life anymore. But now his thoughts went back to the pool party . . . Junie wearing that sundress, local men buzzing around her like bees to honey. Salt-of-the-earth men, every one of them. That was the kind of man she should be with. Not a drifter. Not him.

Red came up to the counter. “I’m coming with you,” she told Poppy. “Should we take her something?”

“Good idea.” To a wide-eyed server, Poppy said, “Take care of business till I get back?”

Poppy thrust Manolo’s bag of buns into his hand, and then, with the jangle of the doorbell, she and Red were gone.

Manolo would be worthless until he saw for himself that Junie was all right.

He grabbed his coffees and headed out the door at a trot.

He made it back to the consortium in record time. “Ow! Dammit,” he exclaimed, setting the cups down on the first available surface and waving his burning hands.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Take my advice, don’t ever run carrying hot coffee,” said Manolo.

“You didn’t have to hurry on my acc—”

“You talked to Junie lately?”

Sam’s amused grin turned upside down. “Not since the pool party.” He swiveled his head and yelled in the direction of a back room. “Keval, you seen Junie?”

Keval appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. “Not lately.”

Manolo said, “Her mom can’t find her. She was getting ready to drive down here from Portland to look for her.”

Sam rose slowly. “No reason to panic,” he said, his words contrasting with his body language. “Junie’s probably just got her hands full. Lot of pressure this time of year, especially for a grower and a vintner. You’ve got a bunch of things happening all at once.”

“Hold on,” Keval said, disappearing again. Moments later, he called out, “The last time she checked in on social media was early last week.”

Ten days ago. “How often does she normally get online?” yelled Manolo.

Keval walked back out from his geek lair. “Most everyday.”

“I’m going out there,” he said, grabbing his keys.

“Give us the lowdown when you get there,” called Sam to his back.

Keval and Sam were still standing in the consortium doorway wearing somber expressions when Manolo roared by Sam’s house in his truck.





Chapter Twenty-eight


Junie smiled to herself when she saw the Mini Cooper bopping toward her house, forgetting her anxiety over the forecast for yet more rain. From the far end of the vineyard, the car looked like a child’s toy.

But her smile was fleeting. What is Poppy doing here at this time of day? Shouldn’t she be manning the café?

Her next reaction—that she didn’t have time for a social call—was immediately followed by guilt. It was already three, and she still had to mop the tasting room floor before she got ready for her other job.

But she couldn’t ignore her friend. She stopped spraying and turned the tractor back toward the house. Given that her Amish Ferrari only went about five miles per hour, just getting there was going to eat precious minutes out of her day.

When she reached the barn, she climbed off the tractor and strode across the grass at a determined clip, pushing back her hood as she skipped up the porch stairs where Poppy and Red sheltered themselves from the rain.

Poppy greeted her with, “You look awful.”

“We all can’t look like a Nordic goddess,” Junie snapped.

“Poppy didn’t mean that, did you?” Red gave Poppy a pointed look.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Never mind,” said Red. “Listen to me, Junie. Your mom called. She asked us to come check on you.”

“She’s freaking out! Wondering why you won’t—”

Red cut off Poppy’s hysterics with a quelling hand.

Junie said, “I was planning on calling her—” When? She shook her head, trying to recall the myriad items on her to-do list, when the drink in Poppy’s hand caught her eye. Her stomach growled. She was thirsty—and ravenous. “What’s that?”