Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (29 page)

The papers crinkled as she grabbed the stack, roughly shuffling through pages of cell phone records, the spreadsheet neatly organized. Val’s name—his old name—was indeed there, attached to each of the blocked phone numbers she’d received threatening hate mail from. Line after line of text messages, all coming from Manfred Stump.

Inhaling sharply, she felt the pain of a well placed sucker punch.

“He admitted it?” she whispered, in disbelief. Gripping the edge of the cold granite, she dropped down onto a bar stool. “When?”

“When I paid him a visit early this morning. It was one wake up call he won’t soon forget.” Turning to the coffee pot, he poured her a steaming mug and set it in front of her. “Drink this.”

“You threatened him? With physical violence?”

“No...” he said, drawing the word out as he returned to his spot against the counter, crossing his arms. “I pointed out the difference between right and wrong, and which option will get him closer to death. We have an understanding now.”

Holy shit, Beck simply being Beck was something, but Beck on the warpath was probably a sight to behold. She thought of his shadowy photo on Ash’s website and suppressed a shiver. It was either Val’s worst nightmare or his deepest, darkest fantasy come to life.

Avoiding the concerned gazes of the meddling men staring at her, she looked down into the dark coffee then back to the spreadsheet, her mind whirling with questions. Why would he do this to her? What did he have to gain? Was the loss of a twenty year friendship worth it?

With the air vibrating in silence, Ash finally spoke. “He took the money, too, Hope.”

There it was. Her answer. And even though she’d had the sinking foreboding that revelation was next, it still hit her where it hurt most. Straight in the heart.

“And
hope1234
is the worst password ever,” he continued, as if her world wasn’t turning upside down as he spoke. “Beck got it on the first try. You need to be a little more creative in the future.”

“Well, I know that now,” she snapped, fighting off mortification.

“He didn’t keep the money, though.” Ash’s tone was full of loathing. “It was transferred a second time, back to the account it originated from. Right down to the dollar.”

“But, there’s nothing in that account.” Hope didn’t trust banks as far as she could throw them, but she couldn’t put her paychecks under a mattress. She didn’t even own a mattress. Instead, she’d selected a local community bank, opening a basic savings account. Refusing the online banking option, she had to go to the bank and show her face to make a transaction. “I haven’t used it since the money was stolen. There’s a zero balance.”

“Where it originated, Hope.”

When his meaning penetrated the haze in her brain, she stared at him sharply, the shock leaving her speechless. He reluctantly nodded and she looked plaintively toward Beck, needing him to dispute the truth written on Ash’s face. He didn’t.

The whispered word left her dry lips of its own volition. “Marshall.”

“Aw, honey.” When Beck stepped toward her, she put her hand up, stopping him.

“No. Just... no, Beck.” Sucking in a serrated breath, she folded her lips over her teeth to keep the tears at bay. A princess didn’t cry. A Coleson didn’t, either. It seemed they were all too cold blooded and calculated for such a human emotion.

The money had been her father’s, given to her after her high school graduation. A gift that came with the understanding that she’d get an accounting degree, with a minor in manufacturing, and return to the vineyard four years later, armed with an education and a stylish pink pantsuit, ready to make better wine and more money. But Hope had colored outside the Coleson lines, essentially breaching their contract. And he’d taken the money back. The ramifications of his actions played out in her mind.

She’d been evicted from her humble apartment.

She’d been forced to sleep in her car, alone and cold, and scared shitless, too, although she’d die before admitting it.

She’d been forced to truss up, stuff, and display her breasts like Thanksgiving turkeys.

And soon, she’d be forced to leave the ocean behind—and Beck, too—in favor of the rugged, lonely Rockies.

Wrapping ice cold hands around the steaming mug of coffee, she stared into the liquid as it all started to make a sick kind of sense. Val refusing to let her stay when she needed a place to sleep. His continual urging that she reconsider her future plans in favor of going back to the vineyard. The new Mazda. But there was something else, too.

Needing to know, she looked toward Ash. “Did you get me fired from the Vistancia?” She almost wished his answer would be yes.

“Come on, Hope.” He tilted his head and frowned. “You know I would never do that.”

Deep down, she did. And that left Val. He must have seen Beck hand her his keycard. Or he’d followed her to the guest wings after her shift. Either way, he’d tipped Helen off.

Stunned by the overload of duplicity, she glanced from Ash to Beck, their calm expressions conveying concern but otherwise giving nothing away. Just another day in the action-packed, adrenaline-fueled life of two solution driven men. And their silence infuriated her. She wanted to rant and rave. Stomp her feet and slam doors. Die of public shame and embarrassment. Whoever said that ignorance was bliss probably had a meddling man in her life because Hope would have preferred this mystery remain that way. She could have easily lived her life as planned and gone to Denver, never knowing who’d done this to her.

And she would have, if not for Beck.

Feeling utterly betrayed by her father and her best friend, and strangely enough, by the man she’d grown far too attached to, Hope lashed out. The hurt was too fresh to ignore, penetrating deeply into her soul, and coming out of her mouth.

“I asked you to stay out of this,” she said to Beck, the accusation starkly clear. Tapping her chest, her voice grew louder with each word. “I told you it was my business. I asked you to leave it alone and you said you would. This goes way beyond the boundaries of our agreement.”

“What agreement?” Ash asked suspiciously, pushing away from the counter. His question fell on deaf ears.

“I’m a problem solver, Hope.” Beck lifted his hands, then let them fall. “I solve problems. It’s what I do.”

“You don’t solve my problems! I take care of me!” The outburst brought tears to her eyes and she panicked, needing escape. Quickly tapping out a simple text, she sent it to her hate mail messenger, knowing there would never be an acceptable answer.

Why, Val?

Then she headed for the front door, grabbing her canvas bag off the bottom stair. “I’m a big girl. I take care of me,” she repeated in a haughty voice, speaking to Beck but looking at Ash for good measure.

Beck wasn’t about to make her exit easy. “You weren’t doing anything to take care of it and the threats were escalating.”

“Val isn’t a violent person,” she scoffed. “He’s a cat person. He goes to musicals and shops at organic grocery stores. He recycles.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if he likes baby chicks and double rainbows, he threatened to, and I’m quoting here, cut you up the center of your body from your cunt to your kisser. I take that seriously and so should you.”

Ash’s gaze lobbed between them, like he was watching a tennis match.

“All bark, no bite,” she reasoned, digging through the bag for her car keys. “And I should’ve known it was him. Who uses the word kisser in the same sentence as cunt?”

“Why is it so fucking hard for you to accept help?”

“Because you aren’t just helping me, Beck. You’re fighting my entire battle for me,” she explained, motioning up and down his body. “And I don’t need some GI Joe Army guy throwing his muscle around like I’m the little woman!”

“Whoa.” Ash said gravely, his brow raised in surprise. “Oh no, she didn’t.”

A muscle ticked in Beck’s jaw. She watched it literally tick. “I think you mean Navy.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Hope declared, looking skyward. She didn’t have time for the male ego right now. “What’s the difference?”

“What’s the difference?” Beck parroted back, outwardly shocked she would ask such a question, but she was already walking out the door.

The bright morning sun momentarily blinded her. “I’ll deal with you and your ego later.”

“Hope. Where are you going?” Ash asked, in a warning tone. He was fully aware of her destination. “Don’t go running off, half cocked and looking for answers. You’ll get in an accident.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, over her shoulder. “I won’t drive myself over a cliff and ruin your day.” Hope cringed the instant the words were out. Immediately regretful, she whirled around to look at him. “I’m sorry, Ash. That was an insensitive thing to say.”

He brushed her off, unaffected by the reminder of his mother’s tragic and untimely death, on the same day as her own mother’s. Like Teflon, nothing stuck to him. “Take it from me, Hope. You won’t find what you’re looking for.”

He was right, of course. And he knew she knew it, too. But a dozen alpha men couldn’t stop her and thankfully, the two behind her didn’t attempt to. She was headed back to the place she’d run from as fast as her feet and fearlessness could take her, swearing she’d never go back.

Hope was going home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Dude,” Beck said, surprisingly impressed as he stared beyond the taillights of Hope’s car and out over the vast property of Coleson Creek Winery. “This place is right out of a magazine.”

Following a hell bent Hope, they’d hopped into Ash’s beat up Jeep and headed east out of the city, traveling for several miles on a narrow two-lane highway, snaking along curved and rolling countryside through several rural communities. The scenery grew more forested as they gained elevation, progressively denser the farther they drove from the Pacific. Ranch properties and family estates covered massive acreage in the highly sought after northeastern part of the county, but there were still rundown shacks and old cabins peppering the valuable landscape, the longtime owners refusing to sell out.

Eventually, she’d turned onto a smooth, blacktopped road, entering through elaborate wrought iron gates featuring the Coleson Creek Winery logo. Passing another mile of neatly landscaped property, dotted with granite boulders, endless plants and shrubs, and hundred-year-old oak trees, they crested a hill to see an enormous valley laid out in front of them.

“Yeah,” Ash said sarcastically, staring straight ahead. “It’s a real Shangri-La.”

Row after row of lush green grapevines lined regimented wood and wire, growing vibrantly in perfect, marching band uniformity along the hillsides lining each side of the winding road. Bathed in the southern California sun and rooted in mineral rich soil, the drought tolerant vines were cultivated to create wines widely known as the finest in the region. Workers roamed the rows, their straw hats and white shirts stark amongst the greenery. Moderately sized outbuildings were strategically placed, housing tools and small motorized equipment. A fork in the smooth road led to a large, modernized barn where the manufacturing process took place.

A massive Mediterranean style house sat high above the hillside, with tall arching windows providing a panoramic view of the entire vineyard beyond. A warmly weathered yellow stucco with a terracotta tile roof, the home was straight out of Tuscany, every structure on the property constructed in matching materials. Fuchsia bougainvillea and green ivy grew in trained trails along the corners of the aged mansion, adding to the vintage feel.

Coleson Creek Winery was nothing short of a compound, with the house sitting atop the vast property like a dazzling diamond solitaire centering a band of pure platinum. Stunning in its size, breathtaking in its beauty.

The double front doors, made from deeply carved mahogany soaring twelve feet high, were thrown open before the Jeep came to a complete stop in the circular driveway. A robust woman in her sixties, wearing a gray sweatsuit, canary yellow sneakers, and rubber gloves to match, engulfed Hope in a bear hug. Unabashed tears rolled down her face as she rocked Hope from side to side, standing under the shade of the portico.

Rosa. The woman who’d raised her.

“Dios mio,” she said repeatedly, in heavily accented English.
Oh, my God
. Reluctantly ending the hug, she snapped the gloves off and brushed an arthritic hand down Hope’s long hair, looking toward Ash adoringly. “Dios mio, the children have come home.”

Hope stepped back, her face soft with fondness. “Not for good, Rosa. Only a short time. A few minutes is all.”

“But, you are here now, mija. God has blessed me.” Crossing herself, she motioned for Ash, who stood woodenly at the edge of the paver driveway. “Mijo, come here. Come to Rosa.”

He obeyed and she stood on her tiptoes, reaching up from her petite height to run an affectionate hand over his cheek, then across his windblown hair. Beck bit back a smile when she licked her palm and patted it against the tousled strands in an effort to make him look more civilized. It didn’t make a bit of difference, but it was amusing as hell to witness. Giving up on his hair, she hugged him tightly and Ash tolerated her ministrations before she shooed them inside.

Crossing over the threshold into the cool, clean smelling house, an enormous circular foyer greeted them, a winding staircase on each side of the grand entry looping up to the second floor, meeting the catwalk above. A round farm table with an overflowing vase of white lilies sat in the center of the foyer, which opened to a wide corridor extending the entire depth of the house. The clear line of sight and a sliding wall of glass provided a stunning view of the backyard paradise, where a turquoise, lagoon style pool sparkled in the sun.

Arched doorways lined the corridor and Hope made a beeline for one of them, Beck following closely behind.

“No,” she said softly, stopping him. “I’m a big girl, Beck. I can do this alone.”

He had no doubt she could, and probably handle it like a boss, too, but his ingrained need to protect was strong.

“I
need
to do this alone,” she emphasized, her smile patient as she cupped his cheek, then patted his arm reassuringly. “You’ll be okay without me for a few minutes.”