Chapter 1 – Cows Are Girls

Addy -

“Harry!”

“Moo.” Scarlett nudges my shoulder roughly.

I push my hair out of my face. My naturally frizzy locks haven’t been the same since I moved here. If I had known the humidity was this bad, I never would have settled in Virginia. It doesn’t matter what the temps are, the humidity in the middle of summer is the worst. Heaven forbid it rains, not only is it bad for the vines, the humidity jumps to a gazillion percent.

I’ve got to get Morris to fix this section of fence. Harry has over forty acres to roam. You’d think forty acres would be more than enough for five cows. It’s not like I have a herd. Harry’s always the loner, poor girl.

I trudge up over the hill in my Hunter rain boots. The ticks are thick this time of year—no way am I going to risk walking with the cows in anything else. It gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. Over the last year, I’ve come to enjoy my morning walk with the girls. I don’t get out here every day—it depends on the schedule. Today is Thursday and it’s slow. The tasting room doesn’t open until eleven and even though I have meetings, my first event isn’t until late this afternoon.

“Harry!” I call again.

“Moo.” Scarlett nudges me harder than before.

“No-no.” I try and push her away. “You’re so needy and it’s too hot for you to crowd me. Go graze with your sisters.”

Of course she ignores me and nuzzles my ear. Jimmy, Maria, and Jax act like normal cows, grazing the way a cow should while lazing their days away in the meadows. Scarlett lives up to her namesake—she’s melodramatic and boisterous. And poor Harry, she only wants to be by herself, to the point of escaping to the neighbor’s property. She knows her space—she’s lived here longer than me and cows are smarter than I ever would have guessed.

I never thought I’d own a cow, let alone five, but I inherited them when I bought the vineyard. I also inherited my caretaker, Morris, and his wife Beverly. Oh, and there’s the winemaker, Van, the tasting room manager, Evan—who’s barely old enough to legally taste wine himself—and the chef, Maggie. I didn’t know all these people came along with the vineyard when I bought it, but the day I signed my closing papers and walked into my new home and business, there they were waiting for me. They proceeded to tell me how things ran and why the previous three owners didn’t work out for them.

That first day, I got the distinct impression I was interviewing to be their boss. It didn’t matter whose name was on the loan or officially owned the establishment. When they explained to me all the reasons the past owners failed, I knew then and there if they didn’t like me, I’d fall flat, too. It didn’t matter that I’d sunk every penny to my name into a struggling winery.

Morris and Bev live on the property in the caretaker’s home where they’ve been for eighteen years. I might own that teensy little house on the far side of my land, but it’s very much theirs. Morris knows the land and vines well. No way could I get rid of them, even if he is ill-tempered.

Bev doesn’t officially work for the winery, but she’s usually around. Actually, she’s always fussing about like she owns the place since they’ve lived here so long. She keeps all the flowers watered, the tables wiped, and when the spirit moves her—she’ll wash a few dishes. I asked if I should make it official and put her on the payroll. She insists she likes to hang around when she feels like it but when she doesn’t feel like it, she can go her own way. She quickly informed me I pay her plenty in wine and she’s pretty sure that in the end we’re—in her words—Even-Steven. I’ve learned to go with the flow and keep her in wine because she’s as lovable as Morris is irritable.

I might’ve bought a vineyard, but I’m a beer girl who happens to be creative when it comes to business. I knew nothing about wine but when I found a great deal on a small struggling vineyard. All I saw was opportunity. I immediately knew how to turn it around.

As finicky as Van is about crafting wine, I knew I needed him. I try and ignore all the female customers whose sole reason for visiting is to lust after him. He’s a manwhore in his forties who resembles a young Robert Redford. There’s no other way to describe him. The women know he’s a manwhore, but they don’t seem to care one bit. I’ve never seen anything like it, but he brings in his share of business, so I’ve learned not to care, either.

Maggie is a young widow in her early fifties who can make a mean soup and sandwich. Her desserts are hit or miss. Well, mostly miss. I’ve started ordering from a local bakery even though it pisses her off. Lately she’s been experimenting with fancy salads for summer—so far they’ve been a hit. Is she really a chef? No, but she runs an interesting deli out of the tasting room kitchen and customers seem to like her creativity. Even after a year, she still frightens me a tad.

Evan’s been around slightly longer than me and though he’s merely twenty-four, I’ll never be as refined as the likes of him. Somehow, he can taste ripe apricots glazed with brown sugar butter in a white wine, and a woodsy fall day underlying a white pepper and smoky cheddar in a red. People ecstatically agree—wondering how they didn’t taste it on their own to begin with. Customers eat that shit up. I don’t get it— It all tastes like wine to me. But the customers love him and so do I.

There was no way I could get rid of any of these people when I took over. I had no choice but to work hard to make them like me. I think I’ve done okay. One thing’s for sure, I’ve never had so many people in my life.

I climb up the hill, toward the old fence that’s rotting away to look for her. “Harry!”

“You lookin’ for someone?”

I shriek, jumping at the sound of a deep voice coming from my side. I must have startled Scarlett because she moves quickly, pushing me off balance. Letting out another yelp, I fall to my ass with a thud, landing in the morning dew-covered grass.

“Ouch,” I mutter, twigs and rocks pressing into my palms where I tried to catch myself.

“Moo.” Scarlett nudges the side of my head.

“You okay?” I hear and look up.

When I do, I have to squint. Blinded, I can’t see his face so I bring my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun.

The man with the voice is standing across my dilapidated fence, looking down at me. I still can’t see his face, but his body’s covered in a sheen of sweat. He’s wearing an old wife-beater and a pair of cargo shorts with running shoes. The tank is plastered to his tanned skin, covering muscles so distinct, every swell of his chest and abs is visible through the dirty, sweaty material.

“Need a hand?” he asks and starts to move my way, easily stepping over my broken fence.

He’s tall and muscular, so when he moves his body blocks the sun, letting my eyes travel to his face. He’s scruffy, to the point I wonder if he’s starting to grow a beard. I bet he hasn’t shaved in over a week, but underneath the scruff are facial features so rough and masculine, I let my eyes widen to take all of him in.

Standing over me, he extends his long sinewy arm, offering me a big callused hand. “Help up?”

“Uh, sure.” I brush gravel and grass off my hands before putting my left in his right.

His big warm hand envelops mine, he gives me a yank and I’m instantly pulled to my feet. Steadying myself and looking up, I’m face to face with the sweaty stranger standing on my land.

His dark brown hair is sticking to him, falling onto his forehead where perspiration’s dripping down his temples. I let my eyes travel to his lips. They’re full, but frowning. This makes me yank my hand out of his and retreat quickly, pulling myself out of my surprised haze.

“Who are you?” I clip, putting space between us.

He tips his head ever so slightly, narrowing his deep brown eyes, matching the dark themed package he’s got going on. They might be dark but what they are is sharp. In fact, now that I’ve stepped away to take him in all at once, I realize everything about him is razor sharp. His eyes, his expression, even how he holds his body. As much as he’s sweating, he’s not breathing hard as if he was working out. His breathing is relaxed, like he was lounging on the sofa. He appears to be a bevy of contradictions—aloof yet alert, tense yet relaxed, detached yet discerning. Everything about him is simple, but still, he’s exceptionally complex.

I’m jerked out of my contemplation when his full lips form the words, “Your neighbor.”

Oh, thank goodness. I let out a breath of relief. I don’t care if he is tall, dark, and gorgeous, he’s a tad scary looking. Plus, I feel like he snuck up on me. I’m glad to know he’s my neighbor and not a creepy trespasser.

The tension leaves my body. “Sorry, you startled me. I didn’t even hear you. You bought Mr. McCray’s farm?”

Without taking his eyes off me, he simply answers, “Yeah.”

“Okay, now I feel bad,” I exclaim. “I knew it sold. Mr. McCray used to come over often. We even had a little going away thing for him in the tasting room. I knew he moved to be closer to his daughter, but I didn’t know the new owner was in yet. Mr. McCray said the buyer would be doing some modifications before officially taking possession. I should’ve come over to introduce myself.”

“No problem,” he utters without a change in facial expression.

“Addy,” I offer, stepping forward and extending my hand. “Addy Wentworth.”

He offers me his big right hand again. When it folds around mine, engulfing me tightly, my breath catches.

“Vega,” his deep voice informs me. Then he keeps on and strangely adds, “Crew.”

I step back and frown. “Excuse me?”

“Crew. Crew Vega.”

I frown deeper. “That’s your name?”

Still no change in facial expression. “Yeah.”

“Oh, sorry. That’s just a little,” I pause, raising my eyebrows. “Unusual.”

“I know.” He finally offers me a set of new words, but alas, not a new facial expression.

“Well,” I breathe, finding him difficult to converse with. “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m pretty new, as well, I’ve lived here a little over a year. I own the vineyard. Have you met the Kanes?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“They’re great.” Motioning in back of me, I blather on. “They own the horse farm across the highway. They have three kids, all teenagers. They seem okay, the teenagers, that is. Not that we would hear rowdy teenagers here with all this land around us. I’m still getting used to living in the country. What do you do?”

Finally, he raises his eyebrows. Not much of a facial shift, but at least I know he’s alive when he answers, “Government contractor.”

“Huh,” I huff. “You and every other person around here. Everyone works for the government.”

“They’re a big employer.” He strings a group of words together—more proof of brain activity.

“They are,” I agree. “Do you drink wine?”

“Only to be polite. When I’m forced to be polite.”

This makes me smile. “I was that way, too, until I bought a winery, of course. Now I love it. You should come by the tasting room—I’ll give you the neighborly discount. One hundred percent off. All the neighbors love it and use it regularly.”

“Free?” He reverts back to simple words.

“There’s no money in wine tastings. My Buy-a-Barrel program, yes. The Wine Club, sure. Wedding receptions and private parties, absolutely. But a wine tasting? I barely break even. Plus, I hardly have any neighbors, so it’s not a big deal,” I explain.

“Thanks, but no.”

Before I have a chance to talk him into it, I hear, “Moo,” coming from afar.

I look toward my neighbor’s property and here comes Harry, slow as a snail stuck in peanut butter.

“Moo!” Scarlet answers, bellowing from behind me.

“You raise cows?”

“What?” I ask distracted, as Scarlett starts to crowd me again. I try to push her back as I explain, “Well, I have cows, I don’t raise them. They were cows when I got them.”

“I meant raise to butcher.”

“What? No, of course not.” I frown. “Why would I do that?”

“You a vegetarian? Why else would you have cows?”

“I’m not a vegetarian, but I’d never butcher them. They came with the property and I guess I’ve come to like them. By the way, sorry about the fence. I’ll try and get Morris out here today to do something about it.”

He ignores my comment about the fence and frowns back. “They’re pets?”

“No, they’re not pets.” I glare at him. “They came with the vineyard. I have forty acres of vines, forty of pasture and the other ten make up the farmhouse, tasting room, and other buildings, but they’re scattered amongst the pasture. A dog is a pet, a cat is a pet. A cow is not a pet.”

“Moo,” Harry calls as she slowly steps over the broken fence to join us. The second she does, she comes straight to Scarlett and me, joining the crowd.

I give the little black mark on her white forehead a scratch and scold her, “You need to stay on this side of the fence, Harry.”

“Harry?” I hear and look back over to my neighbor.

“Yes,” I sigh, because someone else is about to give me shit for naming the cows. When I started walking with them, I had to name them. “This one’s Harry because of the birthmark since it looks like Harry Potter’s scar.”

Crew’s expression finally cracks, even if it is by only a touch. His eyes turning from sharp to amused. “You do know cows are females, right?”

I stand up straight and immediately become defensive. I’m tired of people mocking me about the cows.

“I know cows are girls. Do I look like an idiot? Look at her face,” I say and point to Harry, the sweetest of them all. They’re Black Baldies, all black with white heads, but Harry has a sweet little birthmark on her forehead. The minute I saw her the first time, she reminded me of Harry Potter. She’s been Harry ever since. “See? Harry Potter. This is Scarlett, she’s loud and obnoxious. I have Jax, Maria, and Jimmy, but they’re off doing what cows are supposed to do—grazing.”

Crew Vega moves, even if it is slightly, tipping his head and crossing his arms. A smirk spreads across his scruffy face, and as if out of nowhere, a dimple appears. Smack dab on his left cheek. A dimple. Proof there’s soft under the sharp. Hell if that dimple isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, even if it is covered in scruff, sweat, dirt, and hidden under a sharp toughness.

“Jax, Maria, and Jimmy?” the dimple asks.

I look up to his deep dark eyes, now creased because of his dimpled grin. “Well…yeah. I named them after my favorite characters. Besides Harry, I’ve got Scarlett O’Hara, Jax Teller, Maria von Trapp, and Jimmy Fallon.”

His head tips the other way. “Jimmy Fallon’s a person, not a character.”

“I know, but he’s funny,” I spout.

He nods, letting his arms fall, probably tired of talking about my cows, but agrees. “True.”

Okay, moving on.

“Sorry about the fence.” I try to change the topic of conversation. “Like I said, I’ll try and get my property manager to take a look at it today. I don’t want Harry wandering onto your property again.”

“We share the fence. I don’t have a property manager, all I have is me and I’m busy. Send me a bill for half, we’ll share the cost.”

“It’s really okay. I’m the one with the cows—you don’t have a reason to fix the fence.”

“It’s both of our responsibilities,” he keeps on.

“Yes, but you just moved in. I really don’t mind.”

“Send me a bill for half,” he insists.

I sigh. “Well, it probably won’t be much. Just consider it a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift.”

“Addison,” he bites out, getting my attention because no one calls me Addison. Not even my mom when she was alive. And more specifically, I didn’t introduce myself as Addison. “Send the bill.”

I frown and cross my arms. “Fine, I’ll send you a bill. Now that I’m thinking it through, I’m sure it’ll be astronomical. At least what I’ve spent on molasses cubes for the cows in the past year. They really like their molasses.”

He shakes his head with a half-smirk. “If it means I don’t have to play fetch with your pet cows when they wander onto my property, I’ll pay it.”

Tired of talking about my cows, I decide I’ve stood here long enough. I’ve got purchases to process, bills to pay, and ordering to finish. I don’t have time to stand here and argue about the cost of the fence with my new neighbor. I was only trying to be nice.

“If you decide to be neighborly, come for a tasting. If not, maybe I’ll see you around, but I don’t like being snuck up on, so don’t do that again.” I start to move out from between Scarlett and Harry. The instant I do, Scarlett crowds me but I have to make kissy noises to get Harry to follow.

“Send the bill,” his deep voice demands.

“Don’t hold your breath,” I yell without looking back.

Marching off in my rain boots, I swipe the hair away from my face. It’s only then do I realize during the whole encounter with my new neighbor, I’m not only wearing rain boots, but cut off shorts and my old UCLA Track and Field t-shirt I acquired years ago. And holy shit, I’m make-up free and my hair’s a mess. Not my finest first impression, but we can’t all look great covered in sweat and dirt. What kind of name is Crew, anyway? I’m sure it’s a stupid nickname his buddies bequeathed upon him.

“Come on, girls,” I call for the cows. “I need to get Morris on that fence right away. I don’t need our new neighbor complaining about you.”