Sherry and Sunflowers - The Hamiltons Book 12 (ebook)

Six-year-old Zia names everyone she meets. She took one look at the pilot and called him Prince Daddy.

She’s never been wrong yet.

Alara Brighton never meant to stay in Napa. She was supposed to be passing through on her way to a steady job with health benefits. But when the job disappeared and her worsening health left her unable to keep driving, the people she’d tried so hard not to need refused to let her face it alone.

Now she and Zia are staying at the House of St. James wine-country estate—the place Zia calls the castle—while Alara works on a rebrand that might save the struggling family winery.

It’s only temporary.

She’ll finish the work, get back on her feet, and move on.

At least, that’s the plan.

Reaves St. James lost his heart to Zia before he realized her mother was stealing it too. But he knows Alara doesn’t need a man with intentions. She needs a friend who’ll drive her to appointments, give her room to breathe, and never make her feel as though accepting help means surrendering control.

Reaves can be that man.

Even while Zia fills the estate with glitter and fairy tales, his father begins to laugh again, and Alara brings new life to the winery—and to Reaves himself.

He’s spent his life in the sky, but his father needs him on the ground. As Reaves begins trading the cockpit for the family business, he has to decide where his future belongs.

Alara faces a harder choice.

She’s spent her whole life earning every place she’s allowed to occupy, and the St. James family keeps offering her something she’s never learned how to accept: a home, a welcome, and a love that comes without conditions.
Reaves can wait for her to believe it’s real.

He just hopes that when she’s strong enough to leave, she’ll finally be brave enough to stay.

Sherry and Sunflowers is a warm, emotional wine-country romance featuring a patient pilot hero, a fiercely independent single mom, an enchanting six-year-old matchmaker, a beloved winemaker finding his joy again, and a feel-good found family worth putting down roots for.

Chapter One

Alara hurried toward Charles's study, her eyes still blurry. She'd only sat down to rest for a few minutes but had woken to find that an hour had passed. When she and Zia were living in the camper, it wasn't so bad. Of course, it wasn't ideal that she left her daughter unsupervised while she rested, but at least Zia was right there with her. Now, here, in Charles's house, things were different. She and Zia had their own rooms. She had an office! Something she'd never expected to have in life. And Zia had free run of the house—the castle, as she called it. So, when Alara awoke, she suffered momentary panic followed by the immediate need to search for her daughter.

They'd been here for a couple of weeks now, and Alara knew that she'd most likely find Zia with Charles. He didn't seem to mind—claimed he didn't—and Zia had good instincts about when to make herself scarce. But still, Alara didn't want to impose or to overstep the kind and generous welcome Charles and Reaves had offered them.

She hesitated when she reached the study. The door stood slightly ajar. Her hand hovered over the handle. From inside, she could hear her daughter clearly.

"Not like that, Grandpa Grape! The flowers will get all squashed and they won't like it."

"Hm. I see what you mean. Perhaps you'd like to arrange them so that they'll be … comfortable."

The smile she could hear in Charles's voice drew a matching one from Alara. For an older gentleman who, by his own admission, had had very little to do with children, he handled Zia well.

Her smile grew wider when she heard Zia tell him, "No, you should do it. It's not the same if I just tell you how to do things. You need to try it for yourself before you can understand. And don't worry"—Alara could picture her patting Charles's hand as she did so often, a gesture she'd picked up from him—"it doesn't matter if you don't get it right. You can only learn by doing. Here, I'll do the first ones so you can see, but then you can take over."

Alara knew she should go in, not stand here eavesdropping but she couldn't resist. It made her heart happy to hear her daughter spending time with someone who not only didn't mind her presence but genuinely seemed to enjoy her company. Zia was … a lot, and in general, people didn't know how to handle her. Charles probably fell into that category too, but in a good way. He'd told Alara repeatedly that having the two of them staying here hadn't just livened up the house and grounds—he felt like it'd given him a new lease on life, too.

"That's it," Zia encouraged. "Can you see how the flowers look happier now? They have room to spread their petals. You're doing great, Grandpa Grape."

"Thank you." Alara loved that he sounded pleased with himself. "I have a very good teacher."

"I'm not a teacher really, you know. But my mom is, kind of."

Alara frowned at that and leaned closer.

"She is?" Charles sounded as puzzled as she felt. "You mean, your mom worked as a teacher before?"

"Oh no. She's always been an artist. She's creative. She wouldn't like to have to go to school every day—just like she thinks I wouldn't. That's why she teaches me herself."

Alara leaned back a little. It was true, but she didn't know how much longer it could go on. Until her plans had fallen through, she and Zia had been on their way to Oregon where their lives would have been very different. She'd intended to take a job—a real one, in a place she'd have to go for fixed hours every day. And when the fall came around, Zia was supposed to start school. If they stayed in Napa, she'd have to be enrolled in school here.

She closed her eyes briefly. There were still so many questions hanging over her head. She didn't know how they could stay. Charles had been so kind. Ollie had been so generous in putting her on the payroll. But the job she was here to do—to help with the rebranding of the winery—wouldn't take more than a few months at most. As much as she wanted to relax and enjoy the comfort and safety offered here, she couldn't allow herself to settle into it. She had to figure out what came next.

"You don't want to go to school every day?" Charles asked. "I thought you'd be looking forward to that. You'll make lots of new friends. I'm sure your mom is a very good teacher; I'd guess that you've picked up her style, but at school you'll have more teachers, different ones for different subjects and …"

As his voice trailed off, Alara wished she could peek inside to see her daughter's face.

"Wouldn't you like that?" he asked.

She found herself holding her breath as she waited to hear Zia's reply.

"I don't know and it doesn't matter."

"And why's that?"

"Because I don't know if I'll go to school now. When we were going to Oregon, Mom was going to get a job, so I'd have to go to a school. She thinks she can't leave me by myself, you know. She could; I can do things. I can do all the things I need to by myself."

Alara squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm sure you can," said Charles. "But …"

Zia sighed loudly. "I think I'd like to go to school, but they make you go every day, don't they?"

Charles chuckled. "They do."

"And Mom doesn't know where we can be every day for a long time. She has to work, you know. And that means we go where the work is. Most people live in houses to be near their work. We live in the camper so we can be near wherever Mom's working next."

"And do you like that?"

Alara gripped the door handle tightly.

"I do. I did. I like it here best. But I know we have to leave soon."

Charles sputtered a little before he asked, "But why?"

"Because Mom's working here and soon it will end and then she'll need to find another work to do."

Alara's shoulders sagged. It had been the story of her life since just after Zia was born. She tried to make it seem like their life was a big adventure, but sometimes… sometimes, she wished she could give her daughter the kind of stability a six-year-old probably needed.

"She doesn't have to find another work—another job," said Charles. "She works here now."

"I know, but when you have your new wine labels and pretty pictures the work will be done. Then we'll have to go." Zia spoke slowly, trying to explain it simply, as if Charles wasn't quite getting the idea.

"But we can find other work for her. Here, right here," Charles insisted.

"I hope so. No, don't put that one there—the daisies can't see the light with that one there."

"Sorry."

"That's okay. You weren't paying attention because you want us to stay, don't you?"

Alara leaned in.

"I do. And I intend to do everything in my power to make sure that you will."

Alara tensed, but then let it go, feeling a little foolish when he added, "I mean, as long as you both want to stay, I'll do everything to make sure that you can."

"I know. Do you think they need glitter on them now?"

Charles's chuckle was full of exasperated affection—his home and the whole estate would no doubt sparkle with the remains of Zia's glitter for years. "I think they do. And then should we see about some lemonade?"

"We should, Sir Grandpa. I would like that."

Alara loved the mock formal tone she used with Charles. She sometimes worried that he might think she was mimicking or mocking him. In truth, it was a tone she'd picked up from the fairytales Alara read to her—before either of them ever suspected that they might one day meet a true old-fashioned gentleman and be invited to stay at his 'castle.'

When she heard a chair scrape against the floor, she straightened up quickly. She needed to go in before they came out and realized she was here. She'd hate for Charles to think that she'd been listening to them. She had, of course, but she hadn't meant to.

She tapped lightly on the door before pushing it open.

"Come in," called Charles.

"Hi. I'm sorry, I…"

"Mommy! Look! Grandpa Grape did his own flower vase! Didn't he do a good job?"

She had to smile at the ornate vase that was probably worth a fortune sitting in the middle of Charles's desk, displaying its very tastefully arranged bunch of daisies and dandelions, which she could see had been liberally sprinkled with Zia's glitter.

"You did," she told Charles. "I'm impressed. I'm sorry I took so long. I …"

"You've been sleeping," Zia announced. She smiled at Charles. "It's easy to tell when she's been sleeping, she gets smudgy eyes."

Alara swiped her thumbs under her eyes, feeling self-conscious. "I didn't mean to …"

Charles met her gaze. "I'm glad you were able to rest. I keep telling you that your top priority, the most important work you can do at the moment, is getting well. I wish you'd rest more."

Guilt gnawed at her insides. He was so kind, she owed him so much, and he kept insisting that her health was his greatest concern. It wasn't fair to him, no matter what he might say. She needed to earn her keep.

She knew there was no point in arguing with him. Instead, she held her hand out to Zia. "Thank you. I'm well rested enough to get some work done for the rest of the afternoon. Come on, Z. You can come and help."

"But we're going to have lemonade."

"You could join us," Charles suggested.

"I …" Before she could make a graceful exit and give Charles back what was left of his afternoon, Zia's eyes lit up.

She stared straight past Alara at the doorway behind her. "Prince Daddee!"

Alara froze. She'd thought that Reaves wasn't coming today. He came by most days, but she'd thought he was flying today. She was sure that was what he'd said—he and Ollie had to fly the sales team to Denver.

His voice—that easy "hey, little buddy"—did something to her she'd decided weeks ago it wasn't going to do. She turned around slower than she needed to, mostly so her face would be arranged by the time anyone saw it. It wasn't. Charles was already watching her, smiling like he'd read the whole thing.

And if the sound of Reaves’s voice threatened her resolve, the way he bent down to scoop Zia up and sit her on his hip threatened to cross every careful line she’d drawn around herself and her daughter. Zia, fortunately oblivious to everything other than Reaves, wrapped her little arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I thought you weren't coming today. Grandpa Grape made a flower arrangement, look! And Mom took a nap."

Reaves looked at the flowers before grinning at Charles. "They look good, Dad. Did you have fun?"

"We did," Charles told him. "Will you stay for dinner?"

Alara brushed her thumbs under her eyes again—hoping the smudginess was a tiny detail her loving daughter had picked up and not a full-blown raccoon mask.

She dropped her hands when Reaves turned to her. "I'd like to, if that's okay with everyone."

"Of course it's okay," Zia informed him. "We all love it when you're here. Don't we—"

Alara was grateful that Charles spoke before Zia could direct the question to her.

"We do," he said. "In fact, Zia and I were just about to venture out in search of lemonade. I think we should sit out on the terrace. Why don't the two of you go ahead? We can bring a tray, can't we, sunflower?"

Zia wriggled, and when Reaves set her down, she ran to Charles, taking his hand. "We can." She grinned at Reaves. "I'll ask Mrs. Faye if she has cookies for you."

"Z." Alara gave her a stern look, but Zia just shrugged.

"Mrs. Faye likes to give out cookies to people who enjoy them. She says I'm just like Prince Daddy and Grandpa."

Alara didn't know where to look and was grateful to Charles when he chuckled. "And she's right. We all enjoy our cookies. Let's go and see if we can persuade her to give us a plateful."

~ ~ ~

Reaves watched Zia take his dad's hand and lead him out into the hallway with a big smile on his face. No matter how this all turned out, he'd be forever grateful to Alara for bringing so much joy back into this house—into his dad's life—in the shape of her daughter.

His smile faded a little as he turned back to her. He was glad that she'd accepted his help; there had been a while there when he'd feared that she wouldn't. As he met her gaze, he could only hope that the time would come when he could be grateful for so much more.

For now, all he could do was take things slowly. He had to give her space, had to wait for her to figure out not just what she could do, but what she actually wanted to do when she was finally in a position where it could be a choice and not a need.

She gave him a tentative smile and brushed her thumbs under her eyes, looking a little uncomfortable.
"I didn't think we'd see you today."

He wanted to believe that she was glad to be wrong. "Yeah. I didn't think we'd be back until late, but Willow came with us and she likes to keep the meetings short and to the point. I … you don't mind, do you?"

"Mind? No, not at all. It's… good to see you."

"You too."

She dropped her gaze, and he let it go, gesturing to the French doors. "Want to go and sit out in the sun while we wait?"

She followed him outside and sat, perching on the edge of one of the chairs at the large table. She did that a lot—sat without looking like she meant to stay for long. Or maybe that was just him, reading too much into it because, more than anything, he wanted her to stay.

She rubbed at her eyes again, and he noticed that they looked a little puffy. "Are you okay? Do you have allergies?"

Her cheeks flushed a little. "No. It's not allergies." She glanced back toward the French doors. "If you want to know the truth, I fell asleep again. I feel awful. Zia had your dad arranging flowers by the time I woke up."

"Don't feel bad. It looks to me like he enjoyed himself. You need the rest."

"I'm here to work, Reaves, not to sleep on the job while your dad babysits my daughter."

His jaw tightened. He wished she could just relax and accept it but knew she wouldn't. "The work can wait. That was the whole point of you coming here, remember?"

She looked away, but he pushed on; he had to keep trying.
"I know you feel like you owe something, but you don't, Alara, honestly. Ollie only offered to employ you because he knew there was no way that you'd accept money directly. All anyone wants is for you to get better." He met her gaze. "And you can't do that until you finally see a doctor. We need to find out what's going on with you before we can figure out how to fix it."

He could see the tension in her shoulders as he spoke. When he finished, he waited, expecting her usual list of excuses about how she was waiting until the health insurance kicked in and how in the meantime she wanted to work. This time, though, the excuses didn't come.

Her shoulders sagged. "I know. You're right. And … I called the insurance this morning. I'm good to go now."

He sat up straighter. "Have you made an appointment? Do you want me to take you?"

She shook her head rapidly. "I can go by myself. It's kind of you but …"

"I'm not trying to be kind, Alara. I care; you know that. And I don't want to put any pressure on you, but I'm worried sick about you—we all are. The headaches, the fatigue, all of it. There's something going on with you and the sooner we find out what it is, the sooner we can get you well again."

She stared at him.

"What?"

"You're such a good man."

He let out a short laugh. "Thanks. But it's …" She was right, he wouldn't deny it, all his life he'd been the good guy, the decent, stand-up one. He'd care about anyone in her situation, but this was more than that—he cared about her.
"You think of me as a friend, right?"

She nodded.

"And don't you think it'd be good to have a friend with you when you finally see a doctor?"

Her nod was more reluctant this time.

"So, if you don't want me to go with you, should we call Callie, see if she can?"

She pursed her lips.

He smiled. "Or if you don't want to put her out, you could just let me take you, since I'm here anyway. Zia can stay with Dad and …"

"I haven't even made the appointment yet, Reaves."

"I know, but you could call now. Do you have the number?"

She inhaled deeply.

"You might as well do it. Just think how much easier your life will be without everyone pestering you about whether you've seen a doctor and what you think might be wrong. You'll be able to say that yes, you have, and tell them that you're being treated, and you’ll be back to full strength in no time."

He was doing his best to talk her up, but the look that crossed her face—the flash of fear—landed like a punch to his gut. She was afraid of what the doctor might say.