The Vineyard of Hopes and Dreams

Hayley hadn’t been sure which shocked her more—that her father obviously knew where to tell his lawyer to find her, or that he’d been sensible and proactive enough to organize his will into a trust.

For some reason, both bits of information made her chest tighten, as if there might have been a great many things she didn’t know about her dad.

But the important thing was, if she worked hard, and luck was with her, she could be free of all this much sooner than she could have imagined. She could hardly wait to see what the real-estate agent said the property was worth. She hadn’t cared much about money for the past seventeen years, but with a baby coming into her life…it would be wonderful to have a cushion in the bank.

At fifteen minutes to twelve, Miranda’s cell phone beeped. She knotted off her last trash bag and whisked her hands together briskly. “Gotta go. School’s out at noon, and Elena cries if I’m even a minute late.”

Hayley nodded. They had spent some of their time this morning discussing Elena’s fragile situation, so no more explanation was needed. After a full year, the little girl hardly remembered her mother—consciously, at least. But she had a dread of abandonment that proved how deep the damage went.

When Miranda left, Hayley decided to take a break. She needed to stretch. She needed to smell something other than stale beer bottles and stagnant garbage. She grabbed the banana from her purse and wandered into the living room, where she could sit on the sofa, the most comfortable piece of furniture in the house, and watch the rain on the vines while she ate.

She wasn’t aware of falling asleep. She wouldn’t have thought, in fact, that she even could sleep on this sofa, however comfortable, because of the memories it held. But suddenly she was waking up to the sound of the front door opening. Her heart raced in her chest as she awkwardly hoisted her sluggish body to a sitting position. The banana peel tumbled to the carpet at her feet.

“Miranda?”

But that didn’t make sense. Miranda was picking up Elena…wasn’t she? Hayley looked at her watch, but it wasn’t there. She’d taken it off while she was grubbing around in her father’s trash. She rubbed her eyes and started to move toward the hall, but before she could take a step, a man appeared in the doorway.

Colby…?

But no. The contours were similar to Colby’s, but the colors were all wrong. It looked like…

What was wrong with her? Her mind really wasn’t working. Maybe she was still dreaming. Because the man in the doorway was…

It couldn’t be. He was in Florida, three thousand miles away.

“Greg?”

The tall, broad-shouldered man smiled. His thick blond hair glistened with raindrops, but its robust waves, which had earned him the nickname “Dr. Delicious” among the nurses, were unconquered.

“Sweetheart,” he said in his most mellifluous voice. He came closer. “I couldn’t wait for you to come home. I missed you too much. So I came to you.”

He held out his arms, and in spite of how gorgeous he was, a ripple of distaste ran through her. This wasn’t right. It was incredible, literally impossible to believe, that he could be here. And…somehow creepy. Why on earth had he come all this way, across the country, on what could only be a fool’s errand?

The last time she saw him, she had told him it was over, and she’d meant it. She had been clear-cut, almost insultingly explicit. No two ways about it. She meant it, and he knew she meant it.

“What on earth are you doing here, Greg?”

He took another step closer, bringing him near enough that she could smell his aftershave. Lime sharp enough to sting her nostrils. Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest. Her heart still beat too fast.

And then her head cleared.

“Wait.” She narrowed her eyes. “How did you even know where to find me?”

He must have seen that she was very angry, but, as always, he remained calm, so calm. Greg Valmont, M.D., had the perfect bedside manner, the manner that had guided dozens of pregnant women through labor.

Always under control. Never ruffled or impatient, like her father. Never a hint of wildness, arrogance or danger, like Colby.

For Hayley, that soothing manner had always been one of his most appealing characteristics. Finally, she’d thought, here was a man who wouldn’t ever hurt her.

Until that day two weeks ago. The day he lost his temper.

“How,” she repeated, “did you know where to find me?”

“I’m so sorry, Hayley,” he said with a disarming candor. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I was going crazy, wondering when you’d be back. I looked at your mail. I saw the letter from the lawyer.”

“What?”

He tilted his head, and even in the watery light, his green eyes were brilliant, flecked with golden lights. “I know it was wrong, but you left it open on the hall table.”

“You went into my house?” She was almost breathless with fury. “How? You gave me back the key.”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I had another copy. I’d forgotten about it completely, until… Look, sweetheart, I know you’re upset. But you should have told me about your dad. You shouldn’t have faced this alone. I could have been here for the funeral.”

“I didn’t want you here for the funeral. I don’t want you here now. We aren’t together anymore, Greg. You do remember that we broke up two weeks ago?”

The corners of his mouth moved into little-boy-sad position. “I remember that we had a fight. I remember that I goofed up, badly. I upset you. But surely one little mistake isn’t enough to destroy a relationship as beautiful as—”

“It wasn’t a little mistake,” she said, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. Once, that kind of talk might have sounded romantic. But now she heard how false it was, how manipulative. It made her skin crawl. “It was a huge mistake. A fatal mistake. And if it hadn’t been enough to destroy our relationship, this would have done it anyhow.”

“This?”

She waved her hand toward the door. “Yes, this. This—invasion of my privacy. You broke into my house, and now—”

“Hayley, that’s not fair. I may have been foolish, but I didn’t break into anything. I had a—”

“And now you’ve stalked me clear across the country. You’ve violated my privacy here, too. You have no right to be in this house, or even in this state. I want you to give back that key, and then I want you to get out of here. Immediately.”

Apparently without thinking, he reached out his hand. He got close enough for her to feel the heat of his fingers, but she whipped her arm aside before he could touch her skin.

She felt her cheeks start to burn, as her heart pumped oxygen faster than her veins could absorb it. Her throat tightened. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

For a split second, she was embarrassed, as if she were making too big a deal out of what was obviously a friendly touch. But then she caught it—the sudden tightening around his eyes, the momentary hardening in their green depths. It was the same look she’d seen that night two weeks ago, when she’d told him she didn’t feel like making love.

He was furious. Not just angry, not just upset. Furious.

That night, he’d been aroused, and he hadn’t been able to cover his frustration. He’d grabbed her irritably, and he’d kept kissing her, pressing her toward the bed as though she were a moody, difficult female who was just confused about her own needs.

He probably believed that, once coaxed into starting, she’d end up enjoying herself. He hadn’t realized that she was the last woman in the world he should handle in such a way. Since that night seventeen years ago, she hadn’t let anyone touch her in anger. No one. She had zero tolerance—no amnesty for “one drink too many,” or for “just joking around” or for abject apologies and roses.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Hayley,” he said, shifting his shoulders wearily, as if he were a long-suffering martyr accepting an unjust verdict. “I thought you might have come to your senses. I hoped you would realize that any…extreme emotions I have are just because I love you.”