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Chapter One
Carolina Jessamine Boone was created to be beautiful. Her mother chose a man for his looks, made a baby, and never told anyone who he was. “A woman’s prerogative,” she claimed. “What folks don’t know won’t hurt ’em.” Coming from a mother like that, it was a small miracle that Jessa hadn’t left a trail of broken hearts in her wake. She could’ve dated hundreds of men, hidden their existence, and lied to get the things she wanted. Instead, she lived her life simply. She was independent, resourceful, and certainly didn’t need a man to swoop in and complicate things.
A father, though. A father would be nice.
On that crisp South Carolina fall day, when the air shifted and the maple leaves began letting go, when the crowds thinned and the employees of the Saltwater Winery enjoyed the lull that came before the harvest, Jessa was caught off guard by a tall man in a fancy suit holding a small leather notebook. He was the first customer of the day, and he seemed more interested in the wines than the blonde female before him. It was odd that he didn’t immediately flirt with her. A man of his caliber—gold watch and expensive haircut—tended to give her orders and treat her like his personal servant. He had small eyes, but his straight white teeth and strong chin worked to make him almost classically handsome. Men like him expected a certain amount of attention from people in the service industry, and it was Jessa’s job to make sure the customers were happy.
“Do you prefer red or a white?” she asked, placing a large-bellied wineglass in front of him.
“Anything but a blend,” he said, barely looking at her. “I like to know which grape I’m drinking and where it was grown.”
“Absolutely.” She pulled the cork from a single-vineyard Ison Muscadine wine and poured half an ounce more than she normally would for a tasting. His indifference bothered her. “The grapes were grown here on the property.”
He put up a hand to stop her from talking. “Spare me the lecture. I know about the grapes.” He opened his notebook, a sommelier’s journal, and, after swirling and sipping, he set about writing down his opinions. She couldn’t help but steal glances. It was no glowing review. As a matter of fact, he used words like acidic, cork taint, and mold.
There were times when she loved her job, and times when she wanted nothing more than to get back to her jungly little bungalow and rummaged antiques. There was something about the man that made her alternately want to curl up in her hand-sewn quilt for a nap or lean in and get to know him. The combination of his sharp jawline and cold arrogance made him mysterious. Maybe even a little dangerous. Since running home for a nap wasn’t an option, she opted to get to know him. There was nothing like a challenge on a Monday morning.
“Do you live nearby?” she asked sweetly.
He paused like it was a bother to answer. “Kiawah.”
“It’s so pretty there,” she said, reaching her hand across the counter. “I’m Jessa Boone.”
“Nelson Tucker.” The handshake was brief.
He was much more interested in swirling the burgundy liquid in his glass. He smelled it, making sure to put his nose on the far side of the glass instead of up against the rim.
“I don’t normally work the tasting room,” Jessa said. “I manage this place. One of our employees called in sick. Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”
His eyes met hers like he was finally seeing her for the first time. “I’ve seen it all before,” he said, leaving her wondering why he bothered coming out to the winery at all. If he’d seen it all, he could just buy the wine at the store. Plus, it was odd that he was alone. Most people came with friends or on a date. He didn’t seem to mind awkward silences either and appeared fine with pretending like Jessa wasn’t there. But Jessa was the anxiety girl who kept conversations going. If she sensed the slightest hesitation, she felt compelled to start talking. It was one of the many downsides to being a people pleaser. She’d become the Supergirl of conversational lulls, regularly saving folks from the horror of awkward silences.
With a squeak and a slam, the door to the gift shop and tasting room flew open. “Carolina Jessamine! I need help!” It was Dottie Boone in all her glory—blue knit cap and mom jeans.
Jessa was glad to see her. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
“I’ve got to get the truck set up for lunch, and some jackass parked in my spot. There is an entire parking lot wide open, and this yay-hoo takes the one space that is clearly marked as Reserved.”
Nelson slurped loudly, sucking in air along with the liquid to best open up the wine. He ignored the commotion, moving the wine around in his mouth with a look of deep concentration.
Dottie practically shook with annoyance. “Sir,” she demanded, “is that your black Range Rover parked out front?”
It was a strange thing to watch. He acted like a movie star, deigning to speak with an annoying fan. Yet somehow, this aloof demeanor served to make him more intriguing. This was a new feeling for Jessa, this fascination.
“It was an open spot,” he said simply.
“It’s a reserved spot,” Dottie corrected. “Can you read? There’s a sign.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, but he didn’t smile. “You don’t look like the police to me.”
Jessa held her breath and counted down, three … two … one.
“Do you have a death wish?” Dottie spat, her entire face pinched like a raisin. “I have half a mind to wallop you clear into the marsh!” She dropped her voice as low as a growl. “You better get your fancy high-falutin’ vehicle out of my way before I set the sheriff and every gun-toting person on this island after you.”
On this occasion, Jessa was fully on her mother’s side. “If you’re smart,” Jessa said carefully, “you’ll do what she says.”
The man took a lazy swig of the dregs of his wine before softly placing the glass back on the counter. “Relax,” he said evenly. “I will move my car.” He smirked when he added, “No need to get yourself in a tizzy.”
“I am not in a tizzy,” Dottie fumed. “I am pissed off.”
“You know,” he said, turning on his chair to face her. “It usually helps to ask nicely.”
If Dottie was a firework, she’d have shot screeching hot into the sky. Yet, despite her red face and clenched fists, she managed to eke out, “Please.”
“My pleasure,” he said with a smile. “And when I buy this place, I’ll make that spot mine.” There was not an ounce of meanness in his voice, which made it even more threatening. “How does that sound?”
Dottie and Jessa said nothing as they watched him saunter toward the door.
He tossed the word excellent at them like a generous tip before shutting the door behind him.
“Did that just happen?” Jessa said. “He didn’t even pay for his tasting.”
“If Duke sells this place to that man, so help me, I will blow every grape on this property into oblivion,” Dottie promised. “You hear me? I will douse this building and every last vine with gasoline and curse that man’s name while it burns.”
Jessa knew full well that Dottie would never do such a thing, but the fact remained—their family was tied to the Saltwater Winery. Dottie needed their customers for her food truck, and Jessa relied on it for her livelihood. They both had bills to pay and food to buy. But not just that. They’d lived on Goose Island their entire lives. They didn’t say it, but the shared fear was palpable. If that man bought the winery, their lives might change forever.
“Mama, do you see anything?”
Dottie’s ability to divine things about people was somewhere between psychic and fiction. But the fact that she was usually around 75 percent right made everyone who knew her still ask for advice.
“I’m too mad to see clearly right now. But I do sense him coming back. That horrible, horrible man. He doesn’t care. He genuinely doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
Aside from a few customers and her best friend, Brooke, Jessa had never really been exposed to wealth. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been to a fancy restaurant, and the number of designer anything in her closet was exactly zero. So, it was hard to judge a man like him. What would it feel like to have the power to take someone’s job and ruin a business? If he bought the winery, he could end the cooperative relationship the Saltwater Winery had with the Dogwood Resort across the bay, and that would hurt both Brooke and her business partner and boyfriend, Nate, too. Heck, he could even turn sleepy little Goose Island into something completely different. Buying the winery meant buying the land. He could build whatever he wanted.
The man had to be stopped, and she could think of only one way to get at him. Maybe God and Dottie Boone had made her beautiful for such a time as this.
End of Excerpt
