Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)

He should have closed the front door.

Now the goddamn cat was gone. She’d flown the coop in protest of his preliminary stages of packing. Very preliminary. He’d only taken the suitcase out of the closet and opened it on his bed. After sniffing it, climbing inside, and taking a few laps around his luggage, Menace had slunk off to the kitchen. August assumed she couldn’t care less about his packing activities, but he forgot the cardinal rule about cats.

Change equaled assault. And they were casual in their revenge.

Now here he was, jogging along the path between his disastrous winery and the road, calling out for a deaf cat. How had it come to this?

Menace never left the house. August knew that firsthand because after she’d shown up one day out of the blue and declared him her new caretaker, he’d spent two weeks trying to coax her furry ass back outside. Apparently he should have tried packing.

“Menace,” he boomed, hands cupped around his mouth. Maybe she could hear the vibrations of his voice in the air? “Do you think because I’m packing that I’m going to leave you here? Do you need to be reminded that I spent eight hundred dollars at the vet last week? That’s long-term shit. I didn’t even know cats could get gingivitis.”

Silence.

Obviously.

His unlikely companion meowed on occasion, but it usually happened in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason that he could figure out. He’d always considered himself a dog person. No, he was a dog person. He just liked this one cat.

Famous last words.

Up ahead near the road, there was a flash of orange. There she is.

August picked up the pace of his jog, starting to get a little nervous upon realizing how close they were to the road. And when he noticed the distinct rumble of an approaching vehicle, he started to sprint, sweat breaking out along his spine.

“Menace,” he barked, cursing himself for taking out the suitcase. A few months back, he’d moved her litter box down to the laundry room and she’d stopped eating for three days. Apparently he hadn’t learned his lesson. Dogs didn’t behave in nonsensical ways like this, but he didn’t have a dog. He had a deaf cat who was two seconds from being flattened by a car. She was moving at too fast a clip and he wouldn’t make it in time. Maybe the driver would see her and slow down? Menace was bright fucking orange for crying out loud.

August’s mouth went dry at the screech of tires on the road and a moment later, he broke through the trees . . .

Only to find his temperamental feline rolled over onto her back, preening, two inches from the front bumper of a blue hatchback. Totally unconcerned about her brush with death. Just another day wrecking the lives of humans and getting away with it because of her pink nose and toe beans. Unbelievable.

August started to step onto the road so he could scoop up the cat and thank the driver for being extra vigilant, but a husky cry stopped him in his tracks.

Natalie?

He’d never heard her make that sound before—no, his dreams didn’t count—but August knew instantly that she was the driver of the car. As a result, his body went on high alert. The kind of alert that came from tossing and turning last night, cursing himself for not being able to stop thinking about this woman he disliked, while also oddly conflicted about simply leaving her in the rearview. He hadn’t expected to see her again, but there she was.

Picking up his cat and cradling the animal to her chest in a flurry of apologies and nuzzling and chin scratching. As he watched dumbfounded, the cat leaned all the way back in Natalie’s arms and locked eyes with him from her upside-down position. Telling him in no uncertain terms with her bland expression that she had other options. And those options would be pursued if he made another false move, like brushing his teeth at the wrong time of day.

He should let Natalie know he was standing there. Right.

But it wouldn’t hurt to take a few seconds to admire the woman from behind. Hell, it was his favorite pastime. Noticing those legs, especially in the dress she was wearing. The pointy shoes that had just enough elevation to keep her calves flexed. Sweet Lord, those legs went on forever. On his deathbed, his final regret would be missing his chance to feel them glued to his hips. Thrashing around when she got close, then wrapping him back up again for the finale.

“Poor baby,” Natalie crooned to the cat, rocking her like an infant. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Where is your owner?” she murmured.

“Right here, princess,” August called. Natalie spun around and he gulped. Damn. She always looked hot, but there was something extra special about her today. “You’ve got a bunch of black shit on your eyes.”

Her whole body sort of deflated at the sight of him. Complete exasperation in human form. “It’s eyeliner, caveman.”

“Why are you wearing so much of it?”

Her shoulder bounced up and down. “Maybe I had a date.”

Rudely, his esophagus tied itself into a knot. “With who?”

God, he hated the idea of her on a date more than he hated . . . anything. Just because they weren’t dating didn’t mean she could just date anyone else, willy-nilly. Because that wasn’t irrational or anything, right?

She swayed with the cat, as if trying to lull the animal to sleep. “I wasn’t out with anyone,” she muttered. “I went to buy foundation and ended up in a chair getting made over.”

He hid his relief. “They saw that high-limit credit card coming a mile away.”

A bright smile. “Shouldn’t you be out clubbing a wooly mammoth or something?”

August smirked. “I should be packing, but my cat ran off.”

Natalie adjusted her stance to jut that shapely hip out. “You expect me to believe this is your cat? She’s your pet?”

“More accurately, I’m her pet.”

She scrutinized the animal, lifting it up and leaning in closer. “Why isn’t she wearing a collar?”

“Look, I don’t know what cats allow collars around their necks, but Menace”—he jabbed a finger in the animal’s direction—“isn’t one of them. She’d probably pretend to like it for an hour and then I’d wake up to find a death threat written in blood on my bathroom mirror, signed with a paw print.”

Did Natalie’s lips jump a little or was that wishful thinking?

Because yeah, the woman had a gorgeous smile. He’d seen a lot of it up close. He’d tasted it. Months had passed since that night and the knowledge that he’d never taste it again wasn’t getting any easier. At least not as long as he continued to run into her in St. Helena. This attraction he’d been burdened with for Natalie was a motherfucker. Once again, his dick ruined everything—and it was ruining his getaway right now. He should be packing, starting the journey to forgetting about what might have been if he’d just been less of an asshole. Or if she was less of a spoiled brat.

“Awww. You were just trying to escape the smell of farts and stale beer, weren’t you, precious?” Natalie crooned to the cat, laying the baby talk on thick.

“If you’re trying to turn my cat against me, I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

“She hates you?” For a moment, Natalie seemed surprised, but she quickly backpedaled. “I mean . . . she hates you. Obviously.”

“It’s minute to minute. I never know what’s coming.”

“What pissed her off this time?”

Why did he hesitate before answering? No clue. “Packing. I took out my suitcase and she lit out on a death mission.”

Her expression seemed to freeze itself on. She was probably restraining herself from calling him a quitter again. “Oh.” A few seconds ticked by, then she started toward him, obviously intending to hand over the cat. “Well, the last thing I want to do is delay your long overdue exit from Napa. I’ll let you get back to it.”

August’s smile was brittle. “Can’t wait to never look back.”

“The wine gods are certainly rejoicing this day.”

“You would know, since the wine gods are your parents.”

“Please. They’re not wine gods.” Natalie started to hand the cat into his outstretched arms, but the feline’s claws were dug into the black sweater material of her dress. She tried again. No luck. Menace wasn’t letting go. “Oh! I don’t want to hurt her claws.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “She’s punishing me.”

“She’s showing favoritism to your least favorite person. I’m beginning to think you’re not exaggerating about this cat’s diabolical side.”

Natalie Vos was far from his least favorite person, but he kept that to himself. In fact, up close like this, her smoky floral scent was taking jabs at his brain, making him forget what he ever had against her in the first place. Who could hold a grudge against a woman this beautiful and soft looking, and so much shorter than him that he started to feel like an ogre? At least until she said, “Are you going to help me? Or just stand there with your hairy knuckles on the ground?”

“My apologies, princess. You’re used to people snapping to attention to assist you.”

“Oh shut up, August. Not today.”

Worry snuck in and took hold. “Why? What happened today?”

Before she could answer, a car approached on the road, maneuvering its way around Natalie’s vehicle, which was still idling in the lane headed toward Vos Vineyard. Of course, Menace didn’t hear the approach of the oncoming traffic, so when she caught the unexpected movement from the corner of her eye, she tensed, digging her claws into Natalie’s chest.

Natalie cried out in pain.

August experienced panic the likes of which he hadn’t seen since combat, his throat dropping down into his stomach so he couldn’t swallow.

“Jesus, princess. Okay.” His hands were useless objects, reaching for the cat’s paws and tugging, but somehow making it worse. “I’m a dog person. I don’t know what to do about this.”

“Soothe her.” Natalie gasped when the cat clung harder. “Calm her down.”

“She’s hard of hearing. And petting her is really a mood-based activity. Sometimes she likes it, sometimes she becomes possessed by Satan. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Oh, come on, you’re loving this.”

“I’m not loving this, Natalie.” No longer able to stand the sight of the claws digging into Natalie’s body, he pulled the cat off her, unfortunately tearing her dress in the process—and revealing several bleeding scratches below her collarbone. “Christ.”

She looked down at the injuries and winced. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” He stormed toward her car, seeing the claw marks every time he blinked. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t order me around.”

August ignored that while throwing open the door of Natalie’s car, a growling—yes, growling—Menace wedged beneath one arm. Thanks to the height difference, he was jammed up against the steering wheel until he slid the seat all the way back. He threw the vehicle into drive and pulled it onto the shoulder, trying and failing not to notice the way her scent laced the air. What was in those shopping bags? The contents were wrapped in tissue paper, meaning her purchases had to be fancy. Of course they were.

So why was her car the most basic of rentals?

Couldn’t she afford a Mercedes or something equally high-end?

Telling himself to mind his own business and focus on the task at hand, August removed the keys from the ignition, took one last whiff of the air, and climbed out.

“What are you doing?” Natalie demanded to know, her arms crossed over her ripped dress. “I need to get home.”

“Not until I put something on those wounds.” He walked past her with the hissing feline. “Let’s go.”

“No way. Give me my keys back.”

“Not happening.”

“You expect me to go through the woods and into your home with you? Alone with a man who would have nominated me for the Salem witch trials in a heartbeat?”

That drew August up short. Frowning, he turned to face Natalie where she still hesitated at the top of the path. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

She didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t seem to know the answer.

Whatever vitriol lay between them, August was not okay with that indecision. “Natalie, the sight of those scratches on you is absolutely killing me. I’d just as soon put a mark on you myself than I would pursue a ballet career.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She blinked several times and flounced forward, moving past him on the path. “I didn’t know cat people were so dramatic,” she muttered.

“Only when their integrity is in question,” he countered, following her.

“Sorry. I’ll stick to questioning your intelligence.”

“Thank you.”

Her shoulders shook a little bit. With laughter? Why now, when he couldn’t even see her face? “My only hope is that you are better at repairing wounds than you are at making wine.”

“Considering I’ve given myself stitches in a dust storm without painkillers—twice—I’d say I’m up for patching your kitty cat scratches.”

It wasn’t that he was satisfied when her step faltered, it was that . . . well, he was sick and tired of this woman seeing him as incapable and hapless because he didn’t know how to ferment some fucking grapes. Was it important at this stage for Natalie to perceive him as capable? No. He was on the verge of leaving. And yet he couldn’t help wanting that approval from her. More than he had a right to.

They walked in silence to the house. It was a small, California-style two-bedroom with a red tile roof and beige stucco exterior. His temporary home sat on the edge of the property, two barns in the near distance. One he’d been using for poorly attended tastings, the other for production and barrel storage. Spread out on all sides were rows of fragrant grapes stretching up toward the sun. He could still remember the feeling of stepping onto the property for the first time, hearing Sam whisper in his ear that it was perfect. And it was. A vibrant slice of heaven that he never would have been able to imagine during those countless days in the desert. But he wasn’t cut out for the process it took to make the vineyard run correctly.

The woman waiting to be let into his house knew it better than anyone.

He slid his key into the lock and their gazes met, held, the weight of a tire iron dropping low in his belly. This was what it would have been like, taking her home. Getting his hands on her. They would have shook this fucking town.

“I’m just here for medical intervention,” she said, a suspicious scratch in her voice.

“I’m well aware that’s all you want from me.”

“Good.”

“But you’re looking at my mouth pretty closely for someone who just needs a Band-Aid.” He pushed open the door. “No harm in pointing it out.”