Heron's Landing Book 2: All I Ask of You

Jaime had never preferred one kind of woman over the other: green eyes, blue eyes, brown hair, blonde hair. If it was on a woman, he liked it. Tall, short, curvy, thin, brown, white, and everything in between? He’d enjoyed women at his leisure without discrimination.

But now what haunted him was long, blonde hair, like mermaid’s hair, falling in soft waves down a pale back. He knew, instantly, who the hair belonged to. Who else could it be? Who else had hair the color of dark wheat that looked amber in the sunlight?

“Graciela.” Jaime wrapped an arm around her from behind, smelling her soft hair. It smelled like cherries. He sifted his hands through it, wrapping some of its length around his wrist. He wondered if Grace had ever played Rapunzel as a little girl. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your beautiful, glorious hair.

Grace sighed as he kissed the side of her neck.

“Why don’t you leave your hair down more often?” It fell almost to the top of her ass, and he marveled at how long it was and how many colors ran through its strands.

“Do you want me to? Leave my hair down?”

Her voice, a throaty murmur, went straight to his groin. He wanted to wrap his hands in her hair as she rode him, the length covering her breasts, her nipples barely visible. He wanted it splayed across a pillow as he moved insider her from above, her eyes heavy and her mouth parted.

He trailed his index finger up under her cotton shirt. He traced the length of her torso, brushing at the small indentation of her waist. Silk, skin, heat, a small trail of moles, like constellations, across her stomach. Soft hairs dotting the spot above her belly button.

He kissed her neck again, licking, sucking. She breathed harder. He wondered if he could get her to moan—to scream. Or would she be quiet, all in her head?

“Graciela, Graciela,” he murmured, saying words in Spanish that he knew she wouldn’t understand but that didn’t have the right translation in English. They flowed from him like a current, pouring over them, and he could feel her pulse speed up under his tongue. His hand moved upward under her shirt. He cupped her breast—small, warm, the nipple tightened already.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

She pressed her ass against his hardened cock, and it was him who moaned.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember.” She took his hand, still massaging her breast, and covered it with hers. Squeezed. “Will you take me, Jaime? I want you—I need you.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

As he kissed her, open-mouthed and desperate, the sound of a phone going off rang through the room.

And then Jaime opened his eyes, realized he’d been dreaming of Grace Danvers, and that he had a massive hard-on from said dream.

He slapped at his phone, still singing on his nightstand. He glanced down at his crotch, and then he swore.

I’m a fucking creep. The biggest creep. Having sex dreams about my friend’s younger sister.

He threw an arm over his eyes, breathing and trying to stop the flow of blood from his head to his cock. But all he could see behind his eyelids was the length of Grace’s hair falling down her back, how warm she’d felt, how she’d pressed against him.

Will you take me, Jaime?

“Jesus motherfucking Christ on a cracker!” He tore out of bed, stomping to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face. Gazing into the mirror, he muttered, “You need to fucking stop.” Then he pointed at his crotch, adding, “And you really need to fucking stop! I don’t have time for this. This cannot happen.”

Dressed just in his boxers despite the cooler weather, he went to the kitchen and began making an omelet. It was early yet, and maybe cooking something would get his mind off of…things. But his mind inevitably returned to that dream, and he burnt one side of the omelet while the other side was still runny. He tossed it all into the trash and decided today was a protein bar and coffee kind of day.

Lots and lots of coffee.

After taking a cold shower, he got dressed and was about to go into work early when his phone rang.

“Hey Dad,” he said in Spanish.

“Jaimito, how are you? Your mother and I just wanted to call and tell you we’re finishing up our application for citizenship and we had a few questions.”

Jaime didn’t know if he had the juice for this this morning, but he’d help his parents anyway he could. Both of them spoke English, but the application for citizenship had enough legalese that they preferred to confirm any questions they had with Jaime first.

They had a lawyer, but asking Jaime was just easier in their minds. He couldn’t blame them: any kind of mess-up could result in the application being denied, and it was too much time and money not to cross your t’s and dot your i’s as much as possible.

Fernando rattled off various questions, which Jaime was mostly able to answer, while a few stumped him as well. The US government loved convoluted instructions, and sometimes even Jaime needed Fernando to repeat things to understand what the actual question was.

As they segued into less government-related topics, Fernando turned his phone on speakerphone so Jaime’s mother Ana could talk to their son as well. They asked about River’s Bend, his job, Heron’s Landing, all the usual things.

Jaime winced at their questions, remembering the upcoming investigation—of which he was apparently the center. He couldn’t tell his parents about the investigation, especially when he hadn’t been charged with anything. It would only worry them. Plus, if Immigration caught wind of it? It could hurt their application.

Jaime knew it was naïve, but he sincerely hoped everything could be pushed under the rug once they figured out that it was either an accounting error or find who had actually stolen the money in the first place.

“Do you still like it there?” Ana asked. She’d been concerned when Jaime had left the big city of St. Louis to go to a tiny Midwestern town like Heron’s Landing, population two-hundred and fifty. She’d been afraid Jaime would be lonely, an outsider, not knowing anyone there already.

He glanced at the time. He needed to get to work. “Yeah, it’s great. Look, I have to get to work, but email or text me if you have anymore questions about your application, okay?” He grabbed his keys and walked out to his truck.

“Have a good day at work,” his parents said in unison. “Love you, Jaimito.”

“Love you, too. Talk to you later.” He hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket.

If there was anything he hated, it was not being in control of a situation. He could say he was innocent until he was blue in the face, but what if no one believed him? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what he said or did. It didn’t matter how hard he worked, or how talented he was. It didn’t matter that he’d transformed River’s Bend into the restaurant it was now.

Nothing he did mattered.

I believe you’re innocent. For what it’s worth.

Grace’s words poured through him, a balm to his wounds. She had a sweetness about her, and lightness and, yes, grace, that had intrigued him since he’d first met her five years ago. He hadn’t expected she’d go against her brother and support him, but she had. Her declaration wouldn’t keep him from facing charges, but someone believed him. Someone knew he was innocent.

The dream from earlier was like a mist over his mind. He could’ve almost believed it had been real: the smells, the sounds, the touches. He’d never had a dream like that about Grace Danvers.

Graciela, what am I going to do about you?

When he arrived at River’s Bend, the sky was cloudy and he wondered if it would rain. He parked his truck and, going inside, greeted Kerry. He made his way to the kitchen, putting on his apron, and then going to the coffee pot in the corner before starting the day. A few of his cooks were milling about, but generally speaking, they didn’t start until Jaime arrived. To his annoyance, Eric was nowhere to be found.

“Coffee ready? Oh, Jaime.”

Jaime turned to see Chris, the overseer of the fields and harvesters in the fall, looking at him with a strange expression his face. A middle-aged man, Chris had been at River’s Bend back when Adam’s father Carl had run it. With his salt-and-pepper hair and skin tanned the color of a walnut, Chris had a distinguished mien. He demanded authority, although he had a soft spot for dogs and his wife (in that order).

“Coffee is almost ready,” Jaime replied. “Are you going to be around for lunch?”

River’s Bend served lunch on a smaller scale and often that included the employees. But Chris just raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged.

“Not sure I’ll have time. Have a lot going on.”

Jaime wasn’t sure what all he had going on, since this was the time of year when the harvest was already in and nothing was growing. Perhaps Chris had more to do with making the wine than usual? But then again, they usually sent that out to another company to do before receiving bottles of wine to then sell.

“Well, if you want a plate, let me know.” Jaime walked around Chris, who didn’t seem inclined to move out of the way, to enter into the kitchen. The older man’s shoulder bumped into him, and he looked at Chris over his shoulder, a dark eyebrow raised.

But Chris just stared at him, his eyes narrowed. His gray mustache twitched.

“I was surprised, you know, when Carl hired you. I thought you were too young for the job, but he wanted to try someone up and coming. And now here we are.”

Jaime bristled. He wasn’t so stupid as not to understand what Chris was implying, and God almighty, he wanted to punch the old man in his face. But that would merely but be proving Chris’s point.

So instead, Jaime acted nonchalant, a tight smile on his face. “I’m glad Carl gave me a chance. I love this place. I know you do, too.”

Chris looked nonplussed at Jaime’s non-reaction. Luckily, the coffee pot dinged, breaking the tension.

Jaime motioned to the coffee. “Be my guest.”

The day proceeded about as well as the beginning did. Eric showed up an hour late, yawning and laughing about his late night, so Jaime set him on pumpkin prep duty.

Pumpkin prep was the worst, mostly because it involved shaving off the hard rind and then scooping out the mound of squishy pumpkin guts and seeds. But people loved pumpkin-everything around here, and Jaime liked to use it on the fall menu.

“Why don’t we just get the canned stuff,” Eric muttered, shaking his hand of pumpkin guts and making a disgusted noise.

“Because canned is never as good as fresh. Stop bitching and get to work, or you’ll be doing that for the rest of the week.”

Eric scowled and proceeded to prep pumpkins as slowly as humanly possible.

Jaime didn’t have time for his useless sous chef. He chopped, diced, stirred, sautéed, and baked alongside the rest of his team. He didn’t care if Eric bitched and moaned all day long: this was Jaime’s kitchen, and if Eric didn’t like it, that was his problem.

When lunch rolled around, though, Jaime was about to throw his sous chef out the window. He’d left to go to the bathroom, and thirty minutes later, still wasn’t back.

“Aiden, can you go find Eric for me?”

Aiden, a short kid with bright red hair who was interning at River’s Bend, said, “Let me finish whipping up these eggs whites…” He kept whipping, wiping sweat from his red forehead with his sleeve.

Jaime tossed his last bit of zucchini into a mixing bowl. “Never mind, I’ll do it. Keep whipping, but don’t put too much air into them.”

“Right-o, boss.”

Jaime went to the men’s restroom, where he found a grand total of zero Erics. Surprise, surprise. He went to the front desk and asked Kerry if she’d seen him, but she just said as she tapped her chin, “I haven’t seen him since this morning. Maybe try out back?”

Jaime squinted at the windows. It was raining, but not much. He didn’t really want to go outside and freeze his ass off. But as he walked to the front door, he saw a figure not far away. Jaime wasn’t even angry now: just tired. He shouldn’t have to pull teeth to get his employee to do basic tasks.

“What are you doing out here?” said Jaime.

Eric was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, hands in his pockets. “Taking a smoke break. What’s it look like?”

Jaime glanced at his phone. “You’ve been on break—without my permission—for over a half hour now. I’d recommend you get back to work or you can pack your things and leave. Your choice.”

Eric, though, didn’t make a move. Instead, he inhaled on his cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke drifting through the haze of light rain.

“I’m not sure you understand what’s going on here,” Eric said.

Jaime walked up and plucked the cigarette out of his hand, crushing it beneath his shoe. “I’m thinking you’re the one who doesn’t understand. You have five seconds to get to your job that you were hired for, or you’re fired. Is that simple enough for you to understand?”

Jaime knew that Adam would be pissed if he’d fired his fourth sous chef in a year, but he didn’t care. Eric could rot: he hadn’t added anything positive to his kitchen since the moment he’d arrived.

Eric shrugged. “I’m not sure you have the authority to fire anyone right now. Not when you’ve been caught stealing money from your boss.”

Jaime stilled. His fists clenched, and he almost picked Eric up by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. The rain fell a little harder, cold and piercing.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t appreciate threats, either. You’re one step away from being fired.”

“You can’t fire me. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Adam wouldn’t have it, and neither would my dad.” Eric turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “I’d recommend you not try to mess with me, especially since you’re the one who’s looking at charges for theft.”

As Jaime watched Eric walk back inside, he closed his eyes. He breathed in and out, trying to stem the flow of emotion roiling through him.

It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?

Jaime wasn’t one to despair, but right then, it washed over him like a tidal wave. Even if the investigation led elsewhere, Jaime was still tainted by it. He’d still been looked at, considered. He’d been doubted. And not only did his sous chef use that against him, but Chris, a man he’d considered a friend, had already judged him and found him wanting. That fucking hurt.

As the afternoon waned on, Adam asked Jaime to come to his office. Jaime had no real desire to speak to his friend, but Adam was also his boss, so he followed him inside his office without protest.

Adam sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, complete with bags under his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you that an investigator is coming to the vineyard next week to talk to everyone. We’ve verified that money has been stolen, and now the police are essentially digging deeper to find out who is responsible.”

Adam didn’t say the words, but Jaime could hear them anyway.

“I’m the person they want to talk to?” Jaime asked. He gripped one of the chairs, his hand smarting under the pressure.

“They want to talk to everyone,” Adam assured him. “Not just you.”

“But they want to talk to me the most.” When Adam said nothing, Jaime swore. “I knew it.”

“Look, there are still no charges being filed against you. And I know you’re innocent, because you are a good, decent man. I’m behind you, Jaime. Please believe that. I don’t for one second think you’d steal from me. Besides, you’d think with all of this money you’re supposedly stealing, you’d at least get a new truck.”

Jaime barked out a laugh. “Clearly I’m not a great thief.” He paused, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “But thanks. For standing behind me.”

Adam got up and clapped Jaime on the shoulder. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”