Guarding My Heart

Dedication

A broken heart is just on hold until true love comes calling.

Chapter One

"Nick’s being replaced?"

Well, he can’t exactly do his job now, can he? My father stared at me, his thick brows pulled together in a frown. "Not when he’s in a hospital bed with IV’s coming out of him in every direction.

Awww, man. I liked Nick.

Doesn’t matter because he’s out.

That sucks, I said.

Nice language.

I rolled my eyes. How very disappointing, I offered instead.

My father placed his glass of wine on the table, and the burgundy liquid sloshed. Red drops spread on the pristine white tablecloth like tiny pools of blood. I shivered.

I’d love to know what happened. He rubbed at the little wet spots. You go out, and next thing I know we’re picking you up at the police station and Nick’s in the hospital.

I don’t know. Things spiraled out of control with some guy, and Nick got hurt.

Were you boys drinking? Dad shifted irritably in his regal brown chair.

Do birds fly?

Yes.

Nick too?

I shot a nervous glance at my parents’ personal guard, Dave. His expression was impassive as usual, but I knew he was listening. He had a few.

Frank Carlington leaned forward, his white hair fluffed up like the feathers of an angry cockatoo. "Thanks to you and your endless pursuit of fun, now we have to find a replacement for him."

No we don’t. I’ve told you a million times I don’t want a bodyguard.

It’s not up for discussion.

I exhaled impatiently. I think you’re being a little paranoid. We had that was one incident last year. It was probably just kids fooling around.

Yeah. But maybe it wasn’t. Dave’s voice was gruff.

Who knows what might have happened if your mother and I weren’t in Tahiti, and you weren’t at college. If we’d walked in on them ransacking the place, they might have become violent. My old man sounded spooked.

Obscene words spray-painted on the walls doesn’t exactly strike me as homicidal criminal masterminds at work. It was vandalism at most. I snorted dismissively.

I disagree. Your mother and I feel safer with things the way they are now.

"Okay, but why do I need security? I played with the lace tablecloth. You’re the one they would want to take. Not your screwup son."

"Because you’re my son, he said, exasperated. They could kidnap you and hold you for ransom or worse."

Maybe they should grab something of more value, I said under my breath.

Why do you say things like that? he asked, scowling at me.

I notice you didn’t argue with screwup son part.

You’re the one who used the word screwup. Not me. He curled his lips. Why are you in such a mood?

It’s been a very stressful evening, I murmured.

Yes. A stressful evening of your own making. But fortunately, I’ve spoken to Stand Fast Protection, and they’re sending someone to replace Nick tomorrow afternoon.

Awesome.

My dad sighed. Give the new guy a chance at least.

I liked Nick. He was chill, I grumbled.

He wasn’t being paid to be chill. Besides, it’s a moot point since he’s out of commission.

My father was busy checking his phone messages and seemed to have forgotten I was in the room. I suppose I deserved ignoring. I was twenty-four and wasn’t the son he’d hoped for. Three months ago I’d given up even trying to be. I’d had my heart broken and had dropped out of college and come home to the bosom of my family’s great wealth.

Since all his attention was on his cell now, I left my dad, crossing the large marble foyer to the winding staircase that led up to my bedroom. When I reached my room, I flopped on my bed and rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in my arms.

I had no intention of letting on to my dad, but I wasn’t as cool with what had happened at that bar as I put on. I felt guilty as hell. I was having a hard time forgetting the sight of Nick lying on that dirty floor in a sticky pool of blood, writhing in pain from the seeping red hole in his stomach. He’d been drunk on duty, and that was a big no-no. But remorse was eating away at my gut because I’d started the fight. Nick had only tried to intervene, and he’d been stabbed by the asshole.

I gave a bitter laugh because the guy who knifed Nick thought I was hitting on his girlfriend. That was rich. When I’d rebuffed her for the millionth time, she’d thrown a drink in my face and accused me of grabbing her ass. Little did she know, I’d have rather groped her boyfriend.

I stripped and left my clothes in a pile on the floor. Then I crawled into bed, my head pounding. Poor Nick. I was going to miss him and our mind-numbing, bar-hopping days.

* * * *

The next morning, bright and early, I forced myself out of bed as part of my master plan to get my old man off my back. I’d decided last night I should put in some time at the winery, no matter how apathetic I felt about the place. It was obvious my father was nearing the end of his rope with my feckless existence. So I brushed my teeth, got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and though my stomach was growling, I decided to skip breakfast. I didn’t want to run into my parents. My dad would be bad enough. But my mom had a way of seeing right through my bluffs, and she would no doubt have questions galore about what had happened to Nick.

I was the only child of Frank and Anna Carlington of the Napa Valley Carlingtons. Four generations of the Carlington Winery had provided the majority of jobs in town. My family name garnered respect, and both my parents were buried up to their eyeballs in community projects. Or was it that they were buried up to their checkbook? But other than the toys and playtime our wealth provided, I didn’t care much for the networking or business side of it. Not anymore.

My family was fortunate the previous generations of Carlingtons had used amazing and greedy foresight in snapping up enough acreage for the winery and our mansion of a home. Should I choose to do a hard day’s work, it wasn’t like I had a long commute—just a moderate stretch of the legs down to the fermenting plant.

I slipped out the side door and began my trek down to the winery. I was feeling wound up from what had happened last night, and I decided to walk. It was quiet, and the sun was coming up. Dust gathered quickly on my leather designer high-tops. I’d forgotten how dirty and uneven this road could be. It occurred to me I should have worn cheaper shoes. It wasn’t as if there was anyone I needed to impress down at the winery.

At first I put effort into avoiding the small stones and scaly beetles crawling through the soil as I crunched along the gravely path. But soon I forgot all about the bugs and dust on my shoes as I was lulled by the smell of dew and the quiet hiss of the breeze ruffling the soft grass that lined the road. A thrush chortled a warning above my head, hiding behind the red and golden leaves of autumn.

The journey soon turned nostalgic, and the grit on my shoes and the fat black beetles no longer concerned me. The memories and that familiar dull ache in my heart crept up. It was impossible to walk this road and not remember all the times I’d taken this path with Paul. Our eager hands clasped to each other’s if no one was around to see. Stealing our first kisses as we lay tangled in the sweet honeysuckle along the lane. I remembered how we’d fucked in the tree house behind the garage. The woodsy smell of Paul’s skin with my face pressed against his hard chest, the creaking of the boards as he lay on me and pushed inside me for the first time.

We’d spent every day after school working at the winery together and hatching big plans to expand the vineyard. Fantasizing about what we’d do differently if we were in charge. Paul had been so enamored with the place, and I had been so in love with him. But either way, the joy had gone when Paul left.

By the time I arrived at the winery, I wanted to crawl into a cask and drink myself into a stupor. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Paul. Instead I went inside and straight to the reception area. I knew Tammy, the office manager, would have a pot of coffee brewing. I squinted against the harsh fluorescent lighting as I approached the coffee and poured myself a cup.

Do my eyes deceive me? Tammy said, walking up behind me. Could this be the elusive Liam Carlington come to visit? She was about forty, bright red hair, and not much taller than a leprechaun. Her voice had a shrill tone to it that tended to set me on edge.

I knew I could count on you to have a fresh pot brewed. I took a sip off my cup, wincing when the bitter brew burned my mouth.

"It’s just plain old coffee today. I haven’t bothered brewing Sumatra or Yirgacheff since you and..." She trailed off and tried to look busy sorting papers on her desk. But we both knew what she’d been about to say.

Since you and Paul used to come down here every morning.

I acted like I didn’t hear her. Although with that voice, bats in Transylvania could tune in. This is delicious, coffee is coffee.

I won’t lie. I’m surprised to see you down here so early.

I shrugged. I figured it was time I did a hard day’s work.

She smirked. Trying to get your dad off your back?

I grimaced. Yep.

She cackled. Well, we can always use an extra pair of hands down here.

I held up the coffee. Thanks for the java.

My pleasure. Enjoy your day. She sounded distracted as she shuffled the papers in her hands.

I left her and walked toward the fermentation building. As I stepped inside, I pushed away the depression that was trying to slither back. The scents and sounds of the winery brought back so many memories. It was hard to accept that this was how my life was now. It didn’t matter how many wonderful times I’d had with Paul. He wasn’t mine anymore. I needed to accept that my chance at true love was gone. Somewhere this morning Paul would be drinking the perfect cup of coffee with his perfect new wife. No point in missing him because he sure as hell didn’t miss me. He’d made his choice, and that was that. I’d been willing to do whatever it took to be with him. People disapproving of my sexuality had been nothing compared to the need I’d had to be with him. Obviously, he hadn’t felt the same.

I traveled down the narrow path between the long rows of huge shiny steel tanks, giving them a dirty look over my shoulder as I passed. I approached the oak barrels that were balanced on an elaborate rack system at the end of the aisle. I hated the steel tanks, preferring the flavor complexities that came to the wine when we used the French and American oak barrels. But my father felt production was quicker with the metal tanks because we could make and store more wine at one time.

Paul had talked him into the new equipment to save time and money. He’d always been good at compartmentalizing work and love. Paul never let sentimental feelings interfere with what seemed a more logical decision. Whether it had been business or his relationship with me, cool reasoning always won out.

Joesph, a burly man of about fifty with slick gray hair, was siphoning some wine from one of the wooden barrels. Antonio, his son, stood beside him watching. Joesph looked up as I approached.

Holy crap, you’re up early! Joesph said, his eyes wide.

Why is everyone acting like they’ve never seen me in the day light before? I scowled.

Joesph snorted. It’s been a while. Even you have to admit that.

I guess.

So what gives?

I perused the barrels in front of me. I’m trying to keep the peace.

Nodding knowingly, Joesph said, I understand. Your father can be a hard man.

Yeah. My gaze dropped to the ground.

Joesph gestured to the silent young man beside him. Liam, you remember my son, Antonio?

Antonio’s big soupy-brown eyes held no warmth, though he nodded hello. He was reserved compared to his dad, but then anyone would seem reserved compared to Joesph.

I held out my hand. I thought you were away at college?

Antonio’s expression became brooding, but he took my hand. I could say the same thing about you.

Yes you could. I forced a smile. We’d never been close friends or hung out much, but we’d always been cordial to each other. But today there was definite resentment in his eyes. I tried not to take it personally. Maybe he was having as shitty a month as me. I’ll go back eventually. I just needed a break.

Well, you don’t really have to go to school. But we don’t all have rich families to fall back on. Antonio’s voice was emotionless.

Joesph shot a warning look at his son. We’ve had to put college on hold for a while.

Oh, I’m sorry.

Antonio kicked at one of the oak barrels, his mouth a grim line.

I wasn’t sure what to say. My decision to leave school for a while had been my choice, but I got the feeling Antonio hadn’t been given an option. I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and changed the subject. Which wines are ready to be bottled today?

Tanks one through four and this whole left side of the French oak. Joesph released some of the dark red liquid into a glass. He swirled the wine and pushed his nose inside, taking a big whiff. He lifted the glass away from his face. Oh, this is magic!

I couldn’t help but smile at his passionate expression. You’re bragging again, dear wine master.

What can I say, I’m one-half Italian, and I know my wine. He sipped the vino, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Perfect.

Okay. Well, I’m going to go down to the bottling area and get it prepared. You just stay here and marvel at your brilliance.

I will.

I said good-bye to them and made my way to the bottling line, passing familiar faces as I went. I had to admit, it got annoying when every one of them seemed so flabbergasted to see me. I hadn’t realized it’d been that long since I’d come down here in the morning to help out.

As I loaded the labeling machine I eyed the metal monstrosity with caution. I hoped it was like riding a bike, and it would all come back to me.

A forklift came up behind me, nearly hitting me, and when I turned around startled, to see who was driving, Antonio was already dropping from the cab. He approached me slowly, a tiny smirk on his lips.

Cutting it a little close weren’t you, buddy? I tried not to sound too accusing. Although I knew he’d been driving forklifts since he was a kid and should know better than to get that near to someone.

He