Beaus beloved wicked win.., p.1
Beau's Beloved (Wicked Winemakers Second Label Book 1), page 1
BEAU’S BELOVED
HEATHER SLADE
Wicked Winemakers Second Label Book One
CONTENTS
Beau’s Beloved
1. Sam
2. Beau
3. Sam
4. Beau
5. Sam
6. Beau
7. Sam
8. Beau
9. Sam
10. Beau
11. Sam
12. Beau
13. Sam
14. Beau
15. Sam
16. Beau
17. Sam
18. Beau
19. Sam
20. Beau
21. Sam
22. Beau
23. Sam
24. Beau
25. Sam
26. Beau
27. Sam
28. Beau
29. Sam
Epilogue
Roaring Fork Wrangler
Cru’s Crush
About the Author
Also by Heather Slade
BEAU’S BELOVED
After his mother's death, he’s taking a break from life as usual.
She’s his best friend and he’d do anything for her.
After a cross-country road trip, will things between them turn a little WICKED?
BEAU
As the youngest Barrett, I have a reputation that belies who I really am. Everyone believes I’m a billionaire bad boy who travels the globe seeking fun, wine, and anything fine—the antithesis of my older brother. But something is calling me—something I can’t quite understand. With enough money to want for nothing, is it possible that what I want has been right under my nose all along.
SAM
I’m not one for secrets and mysteries, but suddenly, I’m right in the middle of my own to solve. Out of nowhere, a woman I’ve never met left me her entire estate on the other side of the country. I’m prepared to take this journey alone. However, my fiercely protective but often overbearing best friend insists he’s coming along—and, thankfully, has never been willing to take no for an answer.
1
SAM
“What in the world?” I muttered when, less than five minutes after I fluffed my pillow and climbed into bed, I heard a loud knock at my door. Several knocks, in fact. Actually, more like pounding.
I picked up the fancy cast-iron omelet pan I’d been given as a gift but hadn’t used once, except as a weapon. Not that I’d used it for that, either.
“Go away, or I’ll call the cops,” I shouted.
“Sam, it’s me. Open the door. It’s bloody cold out here.”
“Argh,” I growled. I set the pan down, then momentarily reconsidered. If I did hit Beau with it, maybe he’d learn not to show up again in the middle of the night.
I should tell him I was already in bed, but that wouldn’t deter him. Maybe if I said I was sick. No, that wouldn’t thwart him, either.
Under normal circumstances, I’d consider following through with my threat and actually call the local sheriff. However, Beau’s mother had died a few days ago—on Christmas—and, according to him, he needed his best friend. Me.
More likely, I was the only friend who would let him in after midnight; therefore, I’d been promoted to “best” status. If only it came with a salary. Then everything I put up with might be worth it.
I looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t mean that,” I said in case there was a high power who’d read my thoughts.
“Sam? Open the door!”
I scowled, flipped the deadbolt, and unlocked the rest of the devices I’d felt necessary to install as a woman living alone.
“Hi, Beau,” I sighed as much as said when he swept past me.
“Who were you talking to?” He looked around my one-room-plus-kitchen-and-bath apartment, then back at me.
“No one,” I snapped. “I was in bed. Asleep.”
Most people would apologize for waking me. Not Beau, though. Instead, he asked me if I wanted anything to drink after he’d gone into my kitchen to look for something for himself.
There should be a picture of him in the dictionary next to the word “entitled.” Maybe I’d draw one in and show it to him.
“Did you not hear me say I was in bed?” I motioned to where Wanda, my cat, lay snuggled in the blankets like I wished I was.
He pulled one of the two stools sitting near the kitchen counter out and took a seat, then motioned to the other. When I bought them, I’d thought long and hard about purchasing more than one, especially with how expensive they were. At the time, I told myself I might have visitors occasionally, so why not splurge? Now, I regretted it.
Rather than sitting on the bed, which would only make me want to crawl under the covers more than I was already longing to, I sat next to him.
Space was tight, so he shifted my stool until I faced him, then put his long legs on either side of mine.
He held out the glass of wine he’d poured. “You didn’t answer when I asked if you wanted some. We can share.”
“No, thanks.” I covered my mouth when I yawned. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Why be polite when he never was? “I’m really tired, Beau.”
“Sleep,” he said, motioning to the pull-out couch that served as my bed.
“I will as soon as you leave.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve nodded off when I was here.”
“Why are you here, Beau?”
The playful look that had been on his face since he walked in quickly morphed into one of sadness. “Can’t sleep.”
I got it. I really did. In the weeks following my mom’s death, I hadn’t been able to sleep, either.
“We could watch a movie,” I offered.
“You wouldn’t mind?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “As if it would make a difference if I said I did.”
“What shall we watch?” he asked, grabbing the remote for the flat-screen television he’d purchased then mounted on the wall for me. Actually, it was more for him since I almost never watched it unless he was here.
“You pick,” I said like I always did.
While he flipped through the channels, I fluffed my pillow, stretched my arms over my head, then got in bed and pulled the sheet and blanket up to my chin. I rolled to my side and wrapped my arms around Wanda as if she were a pillow. A heated one.
It was always cold at this time of year, more so close to the ocean. I lived a mile away from it, not in one of the grand mansions dotting the shoreline. My apartment was smaller than one room in houses like that, but it was mine—as long as I paid the rent every month—and I loved it.
After I was settled, Beau kicked off his shoes, walked over, straightened the blanket on the other side of the bed, propped up two pillows, and sat down.
“Are you asleep already?” he asked, peering over my shoulder since my back was to him.
“Yes.”
He sighed. “I’m a wanker for doing this to you, aren’t I?” he ventured, overexaggerating his English accent.
“Yes,” I repeated.
“If you really want me to leave, I will.”
“Good night, Beau.”
I got up once in the night to use the bathroom. The TV was still on, and he was in the same position, sitting up, but sound asleep. I covered him with the extra blanket I kept at the end of the bed for occasions like this and went back to sleep. The next time I woke, shortly after dawn, he was gone.
Rather than getting out of bed, I snuggled the cat, my sole companion when I wasn’t at work. I’d heard her meowing at the back door of the wine bar where I worked and had gone out to give her some scraps from the kitchen. When she purred and wrapped herself around my leg, I fell in love.
It had been two years, almost to the day, since I brought the kitten home. I was grateful for her company, especially now that my best friend had married and lived in Mexico the majority of the year. I didn’t mind being alone, though. It was exponentially better than dealing with roommates like I’d been forced to do for most of my adult life.
Once my boss promoted me to manager and gave me a raise, I decided to finally get a place of my own. Most of my income went to rent, but it was worth it.
When Wanda shifted out of my reach, I closed my eyes, hoping to catch another few hours of sleep since I had the day off. Normally, I was lucky if I got six or seven in.
This time of year was when I banked as much rest as possible. Stave, the wine bar and tasting room where I worked, was closed from Christmas Eve until the middle of January, so I still had fourteen days before I’d have to get back to what was beginning to seem like a daily grind. I hoped after some time away, I wouldn’t still feel that way.
“Not again,” I growled when I heard another knock at the door. I jumped up to answer it, not bothering to grab my robe in my haste to give Beauregard Barrett—the most inconsiderate human alive—a piece of my mind.
Instead, I came face-to-face with a man in a uniform. “Samantha Marquez?”
“That’s me.”
“I need you to sign for this.”
Once I had, he gave me a large envelope. The minute he placed it in my hands, a feeling of dread swept over me as if whatever was inside was about to change my life—and not for the better.
2
BEAU
My mum was dead. No matter how many times I reminded myself, it still didn’t seem possible. If
I lowered my head when a gust of cold wind blew sand across my face, then raised it and looked out at the ocean.
She’d loved this place, being able to take morning walks by the sea when she and my father visited. While I stayed here often, even had a bedroom of my own, the estate belonged to my older brother, Lavery, whom everyone called Press.
He’d named it Seahorse after he purchased the five-hundred-acre piece of property just south of the Central Coast village of Cambria. It was one of a few such parcels still remaining in the State of California. Shortly after the closing, he’d commissioned an architect to design and build the house I stayed in now. The only thing remaining from the previous owners was a barn. That, my brother had renovated, then brought in the horses he’d otherwise kept at my parents’ estate in Napa.
There was nothing like being on horseback with the salty air in your face, no one else crowding the beach, and the sound of waves crashing as you rode beside them. The freedom I felt each time I mounted a horse was like nothing I’d experienced anywhere but here.
I checked the time, wishing it was later than eight, so I could ring Sam and invite her to breakfast as an apology for showing up last night. If I called now, though, she’d be angrier than she had been when she let me in an hour after midnight.
Even when I pulled my car out of the garage here at Seahorse and drove the mile to her place, I knew I should turn around and let her rest. Especially since it was one of the two nights she had off each week. I couldn’t, though. If I had, I would’ve gone mad with my inability to sleep.
Instead, the din of the mindless movie I wasn’t watching, coupled with her soft snores and her purring cat, lulled me into the deepest sleep I’d had since I learned my mother died. In fact, the only time I’d slept more than a couple of hours was when I was at Sam’s place.
One of these days, I knew she’d turn me away. Maybe I’d show up and she’d tell me she already had an overnight guest. Not that she’d had one in the last year; of that, I was certain. It was only after she gave in to my unwillingness to allow her a moment’s peace that she confessed it had been longer than that since she last had a boyfriend.
Her saying it was none of my business hadn’t deterred me. Whenever she said it, I reminded her I was her best friend; therefore, the only person permitted to ask such questions. Each time, she’d point out I wasn’t her best friend; Addy was. “But you’re mine,” I’d utter in response.
Her other point, namely why I would want to stay in her one-room flat when I could be here at Seahorse or in the guesthouse I lived in at my parents’ Napa estate, usually ended in an argument. The worst was the time I’d offered to get her a bigger place. I’d gone so far as to say I’d buy her a house. It took ten days of groveling after that error in judgment just to get Sam to speak to me again.
It was different since my mum died. And yes, I was an arsehole for taking advantage of the fact I knew she’d not turn me away.
I lay in the sand, looking up at the sunless, cloud-filled sky. “I miss you, Mum,” I said out loud, my eyes filling with tears like they always did when I thought about her, talked about her, talked to her. She’d been my rock, the voice I heard in my head, the one person—other than my father—I knew would always love me, no matter the shenanigans I pulled.
I reached for my mobile when it vibrated. I’d blocked everyone from calling me, with the exception of my father and Sam, so I knew it had to be my dad since she would never be up this early unless hell froze over. Which, apparently, it had.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I answered.
“Ugh. Where are you?”
“Sitting on the sand. Where are you?”
“Ha, ha. Still in bed, but no longer asleep.”
“Why aren’t you?” I asked.
“Someone knocked on my door at seven this morning.”
At first, I thought she was going to say one. “It wasn’t me this time.”
“Yes, Beau, I’m aware of that.”
“So, um, who was it?”
“A courier. That’s why I’m calling. I don’t know what to make of the package he delivered.”
“What is it?”
“Something legal.”
“Would you like me to take a look at it?”
I could almost hear her eyes rolling.
“Sorry, obviously. So, I was waiting until a bit later to invite you to breakfast. Shall I pick you up?”
“I could meet you,” she offered.
I shuddered every time I thought about Sam driving the clunker she considered adequate transportation. “How much time do you need?”
“I just got out of the shower, so whenever you’re ready. Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.” I ended the call before Sam could argue further, went inside, and took a quick shower myself.
Before I left, I briefly considered whether I should bypass the override on the main residence’s alarm I’d set when I arrived, then thought better of it. If Press knew I was here, he might try to talk me into returning to Napa, something I could not bring myself to do. It had shattered me when I was there for my mother’s burial. I’d only been able to remain for as long as necessary before telling my father I had to leave. While he understood, Press had not—something I could not care less about.
As far as he was concerned, his house was as vacant as it always was when he wasn’t in residence and fully armed against intruders. Technology, and the ability to render it useless, was a wonderful thing.
“Would you like to look at what you’ve received before or after breakfast?” I asked when Sam opened her door and glared at me.
“Stop hanging up on me. When the call ends, say goodbye. And don’t do it just so you can get the last word.” She turned her back to me and stalked over to the bar where, I now realized, I’d left my wine glass last night.
I followed. “Apologies,” I muttered, picking it up to wash it.
Sam pulled a thick document from an envelope that sat on the counter. Looking up from the glass I was drying, I noticed the first page appeared to be a letter from a law office.
“May I?” I asked, wiping my hands on the same cloth I’d used for the glass—a habit of mine Sam detested. Rather than apologize again, I lay the towel on the counter when she set the document in front of me.
I skimmed the first page, then detached it and read the opposite side. “This says you’ve inherited property.”
She nodded.
“In New York, of all places. Who is this woman?” I ran my finger down the page to locate the name. “Cena Covert?”
“I have no idea.”
My eyes scrunched. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“Do you have family in New York?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Are you certain?”
Sam put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I’m certain.”
“There must be some connection. This says, ‘I bequeath Samantha Marquez, who resides at—’”
“I know my address, Beau. Get to the next part.” Sam walked over and picked up her cat. There was a certain way she held the animal when she was worried. I wondered if she even realized. She motioned for me to keep reading.
“Right. It goes on to say, ‘The property at 22 Ostrander Road, East Aurora, New York, including all land, residences, outbuildings, and commercial enterprises it entails.’”
In the next paragraph, the document stated the woman Sam said she didn’t know had also left her personal effects, a bank account containing over five hundred grand, and an investment portfolio.
