“Well, hello there, buddy,” Matt’s sudden greeting pulled Paige’s attention to the entryway.
A wild tuft of red hair, chubby cheeks and bright green—Ashton green—eyes stared at the three of them.
Paige’s heart clutched as she stared right back, mesmerized by the sweet face and the expression of pure innocence on his face. Baby Jack.
Her little brother.
“Come on in, honey,” Jillian encouraged him. “Where’d Aunt Anna go to?”
He pointed in the general direction of the door. “Bwawy.”
“She’s in the library?” Jillian stood and took his hand to walk him into the living room. “It’s all right. Come and meet some special people.”
Matt reached out for an easy high-five. “Hey, little dude. How’s it goin’?”
But Paige was ridiculously paralyzed, her heart suddenly thumping wildly in her chest. She’d never dreamed meeting any man under three feet tall could do this to her, but Jack Sheridan was her brother. Her blood. Her father’s child.
And all she wanted to do, she realized with a shock, was scoop him up into her arms and cover his dear little face with wet, warm kisses.
“This is Paige and Matt,” Jillian said as she urged him closer. “Can you say hello?”
His smile was pure charm. Oh God, Paige thought with a silent gasp. He’s Spencer. At least when her father wanted to turn on the charm, that was the smile the recipient got. Charm had been her father’s most effective weapon.
Jack gave her a shaky wave, but held his hand up in front of Matt. “Again! Again!” He smacked Matt’s hand several times, then let out a cascade of childish giggles.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Paige reached out both arms. “Can I have a hug, Jack?”
“Hug,” he repeated, then glanced to Jillian, obviously a little unsure of the strange arms beseeching him.
“You can give Paige a hug,” Jillian said, tapping his back to send him in Paige’s direction. “She’s your—”
For a moment the room was silent, and Jillian froze, obviously unsure of how to describe their odd relationship to a two-year-old.
“My Pay!” Jack exclaimed, an approximation of Paige’s name.
“Yes!” Paige chuckled at the sound, her eyes filling with moisture. “I’m your Paige. Now can I have a hug?”
He toddled to her and tentatively entered the arms she held out. Paige folded him to her chest, inhaling his sweet little-boy smell and dropping a kiss on the red curls.
“Hello, Jack,” she whispered against the lump that formed in her throat. “I hope we’ll be great friends.”
The child pulled back to look at her, his grass-green eyes wide and wary. Paige searched his face, seeing the earliest signs of some powerful family traits even in his baby face. But it was his eyes that nearly did her in.
No one could look at this child and wonder whose blood ran in his veins. He was an Ashton, a living, breathing reminder of the sins of her father.
And yet he was also her brother.
His little mouth tipped up in a shy smile. “Pay?”
She couldn’t help laughing a little. “You can call me Pay, honey.” She pulled him closer and planted another kiss on his head, lifting her gaze to meet Matt’s as she did.
And it suddenly dawned on her that the game she was trying to play with Matt—the game of seduction and sex—was no different from the one that had caused this child. Of course, there was no adultery involved. But still.
There was no commitment, either.
Could she live with that?
As the morning moved into early afternoon, an ever-changing cast of characters continually transformed the atmosphere of the room. Paige didn’t have an opportunity to consider the troubling questions that ricocheted through her head when she looked at Matt, nor did she have time to analyze all the dynamics of the various personalities at play.
She’d save that—and her uncertainties about Matt—to mull over later.
Shortly after Jack made his appearance, Anna Sheridan had come in search of him. A petite, well-dressed woman in her midthirties, Paige immediately noticed how protective she was of her nephew. Just the fact that she’d sought refuge for Spencer Ashton’s child in the home of his former wife showed a woman who would face anything to shield her child—or, in this case, her nephew.
And when Caroline Sheppard had entered the room a little while later, the ambiance had taken yet another change. Paige felt her back go ramrod straight and her jaw clench as she stood to greet her father’s former wife.
Would Caroline be icy, neutral or warm? Within minutes Paige knew. With a twinge of envy and admiration, she realized that Caroline Lattimer Ashton Sheppard was the real deal.
From the moment she’d arrived, holding the hand of a pigtailed, brown-eyed imp named Rachel who did little more than gaze at Jillian with unadulterated adoration, Caroline made them welcome.
With just her occasional touch, her easy smile, her obvious contentment with her life, Caroline managed to convey that she had no regrets for how her life had turned out. And, even more, their conversation led Paige to believe that she didn’t blame anyone but Spencer for the trauma and drama inflicted on both families.
They enjoyed a leisurely and delicious lunch, served on the lanai that overlooked the rustic carriage house and stables and the gently sloping acres of some of the most sensational Pinot Noir, Merlot, Cab and Petite Verdot grapes in Napa Valley.
Of course, they tasted some of those wines with lunch, and Jillian impressed them all with her in-depth knowledge and insights. They spoke the language of vintner families: harvests, bouquets, vintages and trends, the issues facing the family having been covered with Jillian and Caroline in the living room.
And just to confuse her further, Matt was the ideal guest—entertaining, interested and remarkably adept at positioning himself at her side exactly as a friend, not a boyfriend, would.
When Grant Ashton arrived, the atmosphere of the little gathering suddenly changed again and Paige knew that family business was about to go on the lunch menu.
After a round of introductions and greetings, the large and rugged man pulled out the chair closest to Anna and locked a blue-eyed gaze on Paige. “Do Cole and Eli know you’re here?”
Jillian answered first. “They’re too busy to come over.”
That could be true, Paige told herself. Although much of the harvest had been completed by the end of September, many of the red grapes grown here would ripen this month. They could be busy in the winery. Or unwilling to break bread with the enemy.
“I was just over there,” Grant said, tossing a look over his shoulder in the direction of the winery. “Not too much going on right now.”
“Whatever their reason,” Paige said, holding his direct gaze, “I’m grateful to be so welcome here.”
Grant nodded slowly before turning to Anna, when the lines around his eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Where’s Jack?”
“I just put him down for a nap in the guest room,” she told him, her return look just as fond. “But it required a promise that you’d wake him up the minute you got home.”
Home? Did Grant Ashton, the down-to-earth farmer from Nebraska who’d stormed into California demanding to know his real father, consider Louret Vineyards home? Did Anna?
They weren’t living at the house but staying in the cottage and carriage house on the property. Yet they did seem rather settled.