Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

12. Marisa

CHAPTER 12

Marisa

DRAGGING A DEAD BODY

“ D amn,” I breathe, looking around the expansive vineyard. I am so out of shape. Each step feels like a challenge, as I contend with the uneven terrain and my exhaustion grows. Sweat drips down my forehead, blurring my vision, and I squint ahead, searching for any sign of the cottage among the labyrinth of red and orange. The sun beats down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows across rows of vines stretching endlessly before me. That paired with the chilled air makes my body feel both heated and cooled all at once. My heart pounds, a mix of urgency and panic pushing me forward with each careful step. I’m completely turned around. Like, seriously lost.

I thought a Sunday afternoon run would be just the thing I needed to clear my head. I didn’t account for how large and expansive the property is. It didn’t even occur to me that I could get lost. I’ve been wandering for over an hour and don’t feel any closer to the cottage than I did when I realized I had no idea where I was. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I make it back before sunset.

If only my phone hadn’t died, then maybe I would be out of this mess already.

I continue walking, my head on a swivel, as I look for any signs of life. Or even a building, for that matter. My beat-up running shoes rustle against the fallen leaves as I walk. After a while, I’m certain my mind is playing tricks on me. Every time a bird chirps or a ground squirrel scurries, I’m convinced someone is nearby, only to be disappointed to find I’m still out here alone. All I want is to give up, but then what’s the alternative? Sleep out here? I’d probably die of hypothermia once the sun sets behind the western ridge. I am so totally and completely fucked. There’s a real possibility I won’t find my way out of this.

I nearly trip when a rabbit darts out in front of me. It’s large, with slim, long legs and tall ears. I think it’s a jackrabbit, given how it doesn’t look like your standard cottontail. It looks at me and then takes a few hops and then looks back at me again. Either my mind is playing tricks on me—which is more likely—or the jackrabbit is trying to get me to follow it.

My desperation is getting the best of me, but at this point, I’ll try anything if it means escaping these circuitous vineyards. It doesn’t seem to mind my presence and hops and leaps, moving quicker than I was anticipating.

I’ve been following the rabbit for several minutes when I think I hear something. I pause, holding my breath and straining my ears. But there’s nothing there.

I exhale, about to continue with my ridiculous plan of following the rabbit, when I hear a whistle.

I definitely didn’t imagine that. I’m almost positive.

Looking around, I still don’t see anyone, but I know what I heard. It was a very faint, distinctly human-made sound. Jackie, the rabbit, looks back at me, probably wondering why I stopped walking. I named it, because it felt wrong to not give my rescuer a name.

I hear it again, and I want to jump for joy. Finally!

Maybe I won’t die out here after all.

The sound seemed to come from the left. Without giving myself a chance to second guess it, I start running. My sight becomes blurrier, as more sweat from my forehead drips down and brims in my eyes.

I suddenly collide with something solid, causing me to stumble backward as my footing slips. Two strong hands reach out to steady me, gripping my waist and pulling me back from the brink of a fall. I look up with a gasp, encountering a broad chest encased in flannel, a white shirt peeking through the undone buttons. The scent of laundry and citrus envelops me, and I take a deep inhale of it, relishing in how familiar and relieving it smells. Craning my neck, I peer up to find Ethan’s concerned hazel eyes looking down at me.

“Jesus, are you okay?”

I must really look awful based on the expression Ethan is wearing. Instead of his usual scowl, his eyebrows are raised high, his gaze is fixed intently on me, and his mouth is slightly open, as if he’s searching for words that won’t come. Our chests press together in uneven breaths, drawing attention to how close we are. I’m acutely aware of the way his hands are making contact with my skin, having slipped under the hem of my workout top. His hold on me is firm and steady, yet gentle. Safe.

Simultaneously, we both come to our senses, pulling apart as if equally aware of the intimate position we were in, the unspoken tension still hanging in the air.

Ethan’s hardened demeanor returns, his body stiffening and head shaking. “You should watch where you’re going.”

I scoff, but it comes out sounding more like a hiss. “I’ve been out here for hours,” I shriek. “I went for a run and got lost…” My words trail off as embarrassment floods through me. Of course, it had to be him of all people to find me in this situation.

He shakes his head again, and it only adds to my increasing humiliation.

“Follow me,” he says, spinning around with his back to me. He whistles, the same whistle I heard a few minutes ago, and Goose emerges from behind one of the rows of grape vines.

Reluctantly, I follow him, because what choice do I have?

His black truck is parked around the hill. Ethan drops the tailgate, and Goose jumps in the back. Ethan’s gaze meets mine as he slams the tailgate closed.

“Get in,” he tells me.

I don’t like being told what to do, and I really don’t appreciate his tone. My arms cross, and I wait for at least a please or some other form of basic manners.

He sees me not making an attempt to get in the truck, his eyes surveying me from head to toe, annoyance on his face. “Get in the truck, Marisa.”

The way he says my name sends a scatter of goosebumps down my arms. Or maybe that’s the cool breeze. Still, it feels like an unspoken invitation, charging the atmosphere between us. We stare at each other, neither one of us moving. We’re at an impasse, and someone is going to have to wave the white flag. It’s definitely not going to be me. I’ve walked this far. I can walk some more.

His shoulders sag, and he blows out a breath. Grumbling to himself, he stomps over to the passenger door and yanks it open. “Please,” he says through gritted teeth.

I press my lips together, biting back my satisfied grin. “I’m sorry. What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing full well I heard him, but he indulges me anyway. “Please, get in the truck, Marisa.”

A Cheshire smile stretches my face, and I practically skip to the passenger side. I sense his eyes on me as I climb into my seat. I’m half-expecting him to slam the door shut the moment I’m in, but he surprises me by closing it gently instead.

Once we’re both inside, the cab of the truck seems to shrink. The close quarters amplify his citrusy laundry scent as it mingles with the leather interior. I roll down my window, preferring to not let myself get clouded by the intoxicating smell. I feel his eyes track me as my head leans out.

“You don’t get carsick, do you?”

“Nope,” I tell him, keeping my attention aimed on the endless rows of vines, realizing how far into the acreage I wandered.

Cool plastic taps against my shoulder.

“Here,” Ethan says, nudging a water bottle to me. “Drink this. You look like shit and you’re probably dehydrated.”

I whip my head toward him. “You’re full of charm, aren’t you?” I deadpan, grabbing the water bottle. I’m irritated, but not so much so that I’m going to refuse it. He’s right, I probably do look like shit, and I probably am dehydrated, not that I’ll admit it.

“So…you’re a runner?” Ethan asks after I finish chugging the entire water bottle.

“I thought I was,” I mumble. “It’s been a while.”

He nods, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s a little nervous.

I turn to look at him, and he regards me cautiously.

“Maybe next time, take a phone with you or run in town.”

He doesn’t say it in an I told you so manner, but I take it that way, regardless.

“Save the lecture. Lesson learned.”

“I’m not really a lecture kind of guy.”

Sinking deeper into my seat, I shift my face to him. “So, what kind of guy are you?”

The corner of his mouth curls ever so slightly. “The kind that doesn’t feel like dragging a dead body out of my vineyard. Can’t have you ruining two vineyards in one season.”

My jaw drops, and a giggle escapes. “Har, har. Very funny.” I sit up straighter, feeling more energized. “And for the record, I didn’t ruin anything and you know it.”

His lips pull into a wry grin. It’s not a full smile, but it’s enough to make me feel like I accomplished something very few do.

“I know. In my defense, I thought you were just some tourist.”

“Tourists are your bread and butter. You should be nicer.”

He sighs deeply, the picture of resignation. “I’m working on it.”

The remainder of the drive is quiet as we ride in comfortable silence.

When the cottages come into view, every muscle in my body releases a sigh of relief. I can practically feel the long shower I’ll be taking the second I get inside.

As the truck comes to a stop, something rolls across the floor mat, tapping against my shoe. I reach down to retrieve it, realizing it’s an empty prescription pill bottle. Before I can stop myself from invading Ethan’s privacy, I read the label and see it’s a prescription for the same medication Hillary used to take for her panic attacks in college. I close my palm around the bottle and turn to hand it to Ethan, hoping he didn’t catch me reading the label.

Based on the fuming look in his eyes, I’m going to bet he definitely caught me.

“Here you go,” I try to say cheerily.

He grabs it from me and swiftly exits the truck, slamming his door.

Uh oh.

I scramble out. “It’s not a big deal,” I shout to his back as he whistles for Goose to hop out, ignoring me in the process.

Continuing to ignore me, he walks past me.

“Seriously?” I practically shout.

I shouldn’t have read it, I know that. It was wrong of me. His reaction, though? Uncalled for.

I groan. Talk about flipping a switch.

I’m almost to my own door when he shouts out, “New rule. Stay out of my way and stay out of my vineyards!”

“Fine by me!” I yell, slamming my door.