Second Chance In Stonecreek

“Ms. Spencer?”

She looked up to find Cole standing in front of her, looking like he hoped the ground would swallow him whole.

“Hey, Cole. I hear you’ve been a big part of keeping the tasting room renovations on track. Things look great.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, his gaze darting to hers before dropping again. The kid had probably grown three inches since Maggie had last seen him. He wore jeans and a Harvest Vineyards T-shirt with a small hole in the arm that looked like it came from catching it on a nail or something.

“I wanted to talk to you.” His brow furrowed. “Duh. Obviously.”

“What did you need?” She smiled, feeling sorry for the teen and his level of discomfort.

“It’s Morgan.” He looked at her, then away.

Maggie’s smile froze. “What about her?”

“You need to—Your dad needs to watch her better. She’s still running with the bad crowd.”

“Your crowd?” she asked.

He gave a sharp shake of his head. “I’m steering clear of them, and Morgan should, too. They’re not her real friends.”

Maggie shrugged. “I appreciate your concern, Cole, and I’ll talk to her. But we can’t control who she’s friends with at school. I wish—”

“What about on the weekends?”

“She’s still grounded,” Maggie said with a frown.

Cole took his phone from his back pocket and keyed in a code to unlock the home screen. He punched the screen again and then held up the phone to show Maggie a photo from one of the popular social media sites. Morgan had her arm around another girl, both of them wearing too much makeup and holding up red plastic cups.

The picture had been tagged “Saturday night shenanigans.”

“When was this taken?” she demanded.

“Two nights ago.”

After they’d had pie together and she’d gone to bed.

“Why are you showing it to me?”

He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “I’m telling you that group she’s trying so hard to be a part of is bad news. Trust me, Ms. Spencer.”

“I do,” she murmured and Cole’s gaze returned to hers, something like gratitude flashing in his eyes. Maggie knew her sister had a wild streak, but she’d thought the fire had taught her a lesson. Apparently not.

“Do you two...um... Are you friends anymore?”

He shook his head. “We never were.”

“That’s not what Morgan thought,” Maggie told him. “I don’t mean romantically, although I know she had those kinds of feelings for you until...” She glanced at the tasting room and saw Cole squirm.

“She’s too good for me,” he said, his voice flat, “just like she’s too good for the rest of the dumba—” he cleared his throat “—the idiots she calls her friends.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Maggie insisted, “and my sister clearly could use some friends who really care about her.”

He closed his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip like he couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say. “Yeah,” he mumbled finally.

“Think about it,” she told him.

“Her dad... Your dad wouldn’t like that,” he said suddenly.

“Our father wants what’s best for Morgan. He’d get used to it.”

Cole tilted his head to one side, digesting that information. “I need to get back to work,” he told her as a car pulled up the driveway.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned and walked toward the building. Maggie pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling nauseous. She hated to think of her sister still rebelling. Morgan had been hit hard by their mother’s death from ovarian cancer, somehow taking the loss to heart in a different way than Maggie or Ben. She had a lot in common with their father, actually. Dad had retreated into his art and Morgan had dealt with her grief first through acting out in little ways and now in a full-blown rebellion.

But Maggie wouldn’t give up on her sister. Morgan had a huge heart and so much potential. The election, fights with Grammy and Maggie’s own tattered heart weren’t nearly as important as Morgan. Maggie would do anything to make sure her sister stayed safe. Anything.

* * *

“Everyone was impressed by your work here.”

“Great,” Griffin answered absently, nailing a strip of weathered shiplap to the wall behind the tasting room bar. Most of the big items had been checked off the list: updated lighting for the room, expanded bathrooms for customers and a newly vaulted ceiling lined with reclaimed barn wood. The bar he’d had custom built by a renowned furniture maker north of Portland was due to be delivered next week.

The rest he was handling himself, with help after school from Cole. He was good at the general contractor piece, managing all the different subs and phases of a project. But he enjoyed working with his hands most of all, the satisfaction of creating something from nothing.

“It’s going to be a wonderful event,” his mother continued. “We’ve sold close to two hundred tickets.”

The hammer stilled and he turned around at that bit of news. “Really? That seems like a lot of people.” His skin itched at the thought of all those bodies and the conversation he’d be expected to make. Trevor thrived on that sort of stuff. His brother could glad-hand a fish if he thought it would increase exposure for the vineyard. Griffin still preferred to work behind the scenes.

“All those people are going to raise a lot of money for the new pediatric wing at the hospital.”

“Sick kids are a big draw,” he muttered.

“Griffin Matthew Stone.” Jana Stone could communicate more saying his full name out loud than most politicians did throughout an entire career of making stump speeches. The blatant disapproval in her tone felt familiar, if off-putting.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s a worthy cause. I know that. Today was rough.”

“Cassie’s doing okay?” his mother asked, her voice gentling.

“Yeah. I’ve never seen someone with such a great attitude. If optimism could cure cancer, she’d be well tomorrow.”

Jana frowned. “I thought her prognosis was good.”

“There’s no sure thing,” he answered, “and I can’t shake the feeling she isn’t telling me the whole truth. The business about a friendly visit down here, then insisting I go back to Seattle with her for a day to meet her son? It was strange.”

“People have different ways of dealing with that kind of news. You did a good thing by making time for her.”

“The boy is cute...” He picked up another board from the stack piled near the wall. “If you’re into kids.”

“Which you aren’t,” his mother said with an overdramatic sigh.

“There’s time for that.”

“Maggie was here yesterday,” Jana said casually.

He straightened and pointed the hammer at his mom. “That was the worst transition in the history of the world.”

She shrugged. “Subtlety isn’t my thing.”

“No doubt.”

“Sass,” she said, lifting one brow.

“How is she?” He went back to measuring his next board as he asked the question, knowing if his mom saw his face she’d be able to read exactly what he was thinking. She’d always had that ability. It was damn annoying.

“Efficient and capable as ever. It’s thanks to the changes she made to the event registration that helped us increase ticket sales so much. There’s an app for RSVPs and it even tracks the silent auction items. People are already bidding and the gala isn’t for two weeks. That girl really knows her stuff.”

“Since when did you become such a Spencer fan?” he asked, biting down on the edge of a nail while he lifted the shiplap into place.

“I’m a fan of Maggie,” his mother corrected.

He began hammering the wood, not wanting to continue this conversation. At all.

“So is Dr. Starber,” she said loudly.

Griffin cursed as the hammer slammed against his thumb. He squeezed his fingers around the throbbing digit, bending forward and trying hard not to spit out the vilest words he knew. And that was saying something thanks to his years in the army and on various construction sites around the Pacific Northwest.

His mother tutted. “You should be careful. I can grab an ice pack from the main house.”

He shook out his hand. “It’s fine. Who’s Dr. Starber?”

“He’s the chief of pediatrics at Willamette Central Hospital,” she reported. “He’s a member of the planning committee and drops in on some of our meetings. We wanted his input on seating hospital staff.”

Griffin snorted. “What kind of doctor has time to go to gala meetings?”

“The kind,” Jana said with an eye roll, “who is interested in dating our Maggie.”

Your Maggie. Our Maggie.

A muscle ticked in Griffin’s jaw. In truth, he’d always thought of Maggie Spencer as her own person.

“What’s this Dr. Feel Good look like?” he demanded.

“Tall, with sandy-blond hair, ruddy cheeks and blue eyes.”

The man he’d seen talking to Maggie at the festival.

“He’s not nearly as handsome as you.” His mother patted his arm.

“I wasn’t aware I was competing with him.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Mom, you know there’s nothing going on with Maggie and me.”

“There was not so long ago,” she countered.

“It got complicated.” The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He hated that word. Complicated.

“It’s a relationship with a woman, Griffin.” Jana sniffed delicately. “Of course things got complicated. She isn’t a blow-up doll.”

“Mom.” He groaned. “Geez.”

She waved off his embarrassment. “All I’m saying is that you’d better do something if you don’t want to lose her.”

“She isn’t mine to lose.”

“She should be.”

He opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. “Why are you pushing this?” he asked instead. “You don’t even like the Spencers.”

“That’s not true.” Jana crossed her arms over her chest. “Vivian Spencer is a bully and always has been. I don’t care for her, but the rest of the family... They’re good people.”

“Even Morgan?”

“Those who live in glass houses...” his mom said gently and shame winged through Griffin. He’d been the king of adolescent stupidity in his time. “Morgan is a careless teenager who made a careless mistake. I don’t think it means she’s a terrible person. Maggie... Well, I’ll admit I was upset with how things ended between her and your brother.”

Griffin dropped the hammer to one of the sawhorses and tapped a finger on his chin, as if contemplating her words. “I’m fairly certain you had visions of tackling her to the ground and clawing out her eyes.”

“Always with the sass.” She shook her head. “I see now that the match never would have worked. Trevor...” She paused. “Your brother has done an amazing job with the Harvest brand. But he has bigger dreams than Stonecreek. I don’t want this life to limit him.”

“He made the choice to come back after college,” Griffin pointed out. “Dad made him the heir apparent. Trevor loves that.”

“Trevor feels loyal because of that,” she corrected. “It isn’t the same thing. The vines aren’t in his blood.”

Griffin frowned as he thought about that. He’d never considered what it meant that his brother didn’t feel the same way about the vineyard as he did. He was too busy being angry that Dad had chosen Trevor as his favorite and all but told Griffin he wasn’t worthy to be a part of the family legacy.

“Anyway,” his mom continued, “you’ve done an amazing job here and—”

“Was Dad my real father?” he blurted.

Jana’s face paled and her eyes widened. “What would make you ask such a thing?” she asked in a choked whisper.

He wanted to close his eyes against the pain he saw in her gaze but forced himself not to look away. He favored his mother’s family in looks, the green eyes and olive-toned skin, whereas Trevor was the spitting image of their father. Griffin hadn’t thought much about it as a kid, but as he’d grown older and his relationship with Dave Stone had deteriorated, he’d begun to question why his dad had seemed so unwilling to love him.

“He never liked me,” he said and his mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I just thought...if there was an explanation like—”

“You were his son,” she said flatly. “His biological son.”

“Huh.” Disappointment and relief flooded Griffin in equal measure.

“Oh, Griffin.” His mom moved forward, coming around the sawhorses to wrap her arms around him. “I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, and it kills me that you paid the price.”

“What mistakes?” He pulled back to look at her. “If there wasn’t another man...”

Jana wiped at her cheeks and sniffed.

“Mom, don’t cry.”

“It’s fine,” she told him, taking a step away. “I’m fine. But there was another man. A boy, really. We were so young, and I was in love. My family had moved here the summer before my senior year so my dad could take a job as a field hand. We were struggling, and Dad tended to be a messy drunk when he got down about our situation. We weren’t exactly good stock.”

“That’s not how I remember Pops,” Griffin argued.

“He cleaned himself up,” she said with a nod. “But back then, it was bad.” She smiled at him. “It’s why I’m so proud of how you’ve taken Cole under your wing. I wish I’d had someone like you in my life.”

“You had Dad.”

Her smile turned wistful. “Yes, I suppose I did, but it cost both of us. I’d been in love with someone else when I first met your father. The relationship didn’t work out.”

She looked so sad as she spoke the words. Outrage flared in Griffin at the thought that someone had hurt his mother. “Why?”

“It was complicated,” she said, laughing softly. “I started dating your dad right after we broke up. Things progressed quickly.” She shook her head. “I was on the rebound and we both knew it. He didn’t care because we were having fun. Then I got pregnant.”

“Did Dad think I wasn’t his?” Griffin asked, his mouth dry.

“No, but I’m not sure we would have lasted without a reason to get married. Your father and Trevor had a lot in common. He had big dreams. Staying in Stonecreek wasn’t part of his master plan, but with a wife and a baby... I didn’t leave him with a lot of options.”

“He shouldn’t have blamed you,” Griffin argued. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to get pregnant.”

Her gaze, which had always been the steadiest thing in his world, faltered. “I wanted a baby,” she whispered. “I wanted something that belonged to me. Someone who couldn’t leave me. Like I said, I was young and selfish, not thinking beyond what would make me happy.” She looked up, her eyes bright with another round of tears. “You made me so happy.”

“Dad didn’t feel the same way.”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “It all worked out. He inherited the farm and planted the vines. Actually, he had you and me to thank for that.”

“How do you figure?”

“Your dad had saved enough money when I met him to go backpacking through Europe before he started college in the fall. He dropped out of school to get a job when I got pregnant and used the money for a down payment on the first house we bought. But when his dad died, we sold that house and moved here. I insisted he take the money and go to Europe. He came up with the idea for converting the farm to a vineyard in Italy.”

Griffin laughed without humor. “Did he ever thank you for that? Because I don’t remember his gratitude.”

“It was there.” Jana sighed. “He loved you in his own way.”

“Just not the same way he loved Trevor,” Griffin said, embarrassed that even as a grown man he still felt the lack of it.

“He’d be proud of who you’ve become.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Griffin said, although he wasn’t convinced. At least he understood where his dad’s animosity had come from, although the reason behind it was bogus.

She hugged him again. “Maybe you should ask Maggie to the gala.”

“I wasn’t planning on—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she said, squeezing his arms as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re going. You’ll wear a tux. You’ll dance and make nice with people. And you’ll like it.”

“I won’t like it.”

“Fine. You don’t have to like it, but it would mean a lot to me if you attended.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’re having fun with this, Mom. It suits you.”

“It does.” She winked. “Back to work now. We’re close, but the tasting room has to be perfect.”

“It will be.”

“I know,” she said as she walked away, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I trust you.”

The words made his heart lighten. Despite everything they’d been through—all the complications life had thrown at them—his mother had always believed in him. Maybe she had a point and he shouldn’t worry so much about complicated. There was the distinct possibility things were only as complicated as he made them to be in his mind.

One thing was simple to understand.

He hadn’t stopped wanting Maggie. It might be time to focus on that once again.

Chapter Four

“How could you do it?” Morgan demanded, slamming her hand against Cole’s open locker. The metal banged shut and he pulled off his wireless headphones to stare at her.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said flatly.

“You ratted me out to my sister.” She’d been trying to track down Cole since Maggie and their dad had laid into her on Monday night, but she knew he wouldn’t respond to her texts and he hadn’t been at school yesterday.

He shrugged. “I talked to her. It’s not a crime.”

Even though a full day had passed, she was as angry as she’d been when first confronted about sneaking out. “I was already grounded. Now I have to go to her stupid office after school.”

His gray eyes flashed with anger. “You might have been grounded, but that didn’t mean you were staying home.”

“How would you know?” she demanded. “You’ve dumped all your friends this year.”

“They’re not my friends.” He stepped closer, looming over her like he was trying to be intimidating. “They aren’t yours, either.”

“My life,” she snapped, “is none of your business. You made it very clear you have no interest in me.”

“I never said that,” he whispered and unexpectedly reached out a finger to trace the seam of her ruby-red lips. “You’re prettier without all the war paint.”

She glared at him. “It’s makeup,” she said through clenched teeth. “Way to insult me.”

One side of his mouth pulled up in the closest thing to a smile she’d seen on his face in months. “I meant it as a compliment.”

“Oh.” Morgan dabbed at the corners of her eyes, embarrassed and angry that tears pricked the backs of them. She glanced down at her fingertips, which came away black from the heavy eyeliner she’d taken to wearing because it bothered her grandmother so much.

“I was trying to do you a favor by talking to your sister,” Cole said, his tone low and rumbly. Unlike a lot of boys in her class, his voice had changed completely, deepening so that he sounded like a man. He acted more mature than most guys she knew, too, even though the trouble he’d caused with his teenage antics before moving to Stonecreek was still plastered all over social media.

He’d told her—told everyone—that he’d changed. Maybe it was true. No one really saw him other than when he was at school. Morgan knew his home life was awful and he spent most of his free time out at Harvest Vineyards, working for Griffin.

“I got in more trouble,” she said, jutting out her chin. She wasn’t quite willing to forgive him so easily.

“Not as much trouble as you’re going to find if you don’t drop the losers.”

She gritted her teeth, unable to muster a decent comeback. The friends she hung out with now were the school’s wild kids, more interested in ditching class and smoking pot under the bleachers than any kind of learning. Morgan didn’t do drugs. She hadn’t yet anyway, and although she always accepted a cup of whatever drink they were passing around, she mostly pretended to down it.

“I’m in with them now,” she whispered. She’d worked so hard to rebel. The thought almost made her laugh. What kind of poser had to make a concerted effort to do the wrong thing? But it was easier to embrace the role of family miscreant. Compared to perfect Maggie and easygoing Ben, she was the oddball out. At least that was how she felt after her mom died eleven years ago.

Her throat stung as she grasped for memories of her kind, gentle mother. Mom had always loved Morgan just the way she was. Unlike Grammy. And who knew who Dad wanted her to be? He was so preoccupied with his studio that it was a wonder he even remembered her name.

She’d tried to follow in Maggie’s footsteps—but the straight and narrow had never been a great fit for Morgan. She hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere until she’d started running with the wild kids last year. Ripped clothes, a constant sneer and the right kind of makeup, and she was set.

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