When Luce told Frankie that Charles had already sent a few extra hands down to help prepare for the worst, if the worst came, her heart pinched. Their business would be sunk if anything happened to that land, and yet she wasn’t allowed to help protect it—a job that a few months would have fallen under her purview.

So she wasn’t surprised that Nate had taken the first flight out as well. The DeLuca’s owned several premium vineyards in the Santa Barbara area, and if there was trouble, she knew he’d want to be in the thick of it.

What had surprise her though was that on the back of his note he’d written a SWEET CHEEKS CHECK LIST.

First item under the household category was to pick up carrots for Mittens but to make sure that they were, secondly, attached to the tops since, thirdly, Mittens only liked the green portion of the vegetable, and he needed to be, fourth, fed twice daily. As though Frankie didn’t already know all of this.

The second column of the list addressed the business side of their partnership, clearly outlining that Tanner would be by Wednesday to measure for the new tank, which would be delivered sometime next week, marking the six remaining weeks she had to find one hundred and fifty thousand dollars or she would have to sell her grapes—most likely to the sexy Italian who at the end of his very detailed and incredibly annoying list told her to keep Friday clear for dinner and a long talk, which Frankie knew would lead to bed-sex.

The exact reason why she’d bailed Saturday morning in the first place. Because although she could lie to Jordan, she was never one to lie to herself. What happened between them four days ago might not have taken place while lying on the bed, but the way her heart melted when he’d touched her, the way it still stuttered when she thought of how he’d looked at her, Frankie knew that with Nate something was different. The kind of different that told her they could have been anywhere and it still would have been bed-sex worthy.

A dangerous place to be when there was no future for them outside of the bed.

A loud shrill of the sirens blared and the kids’ screams of delight echoed throughout the empty engine bays.

“Yes, sir.” Adam stalked out of the captain’s office, frustration underlining his respectful tone.

He took off his hat and made his way across the bay. He let out a big breath and Frankie stilled. Something was wrong. She could see it in the way his face furrowed. Adam never furrowed; he was the easy going one of the family.

“Is everything all right?” Frankie met him halfway. “Is it grandpa?”

“No, nothing like that.” Adam ran a hand though his spiky hat hair. “The Cachuma Fork fire jumped the fire lines and is headed toward the Santa Ynez Valley. Captain’s sending me down as part of a task force situated at the base of the hills to cut a new line and wait for the fire to come to us, so we can knock it out before it reaches the vineyards.”

“How bad is it?”

“I leave in an hour.”

That bad. “If anything happens to the south county vineyard—” she started.

“I know.” Adam shook his head. “Right now I’m more worried that I won’t make it back in time to for the Pick Till You Punt.”

“Oh.” Frankie’s heart sank because with Dax back overseas and Jonah working the event in an official capacity, she was out a team. But she brushed it off quickly. “Don’t be. We’re good.”

“You’re short one person, which is why I was going to talk to Jonah and ask to fill in for me,” Adam said.

“No, don’t do that. I’ll work it out. You just focus on staying safe.” She gave him a Baudouin family hug—which consisted of a swift punch to the shoulder. When Adam didn’t punch back, or look even remotely convinced, she added, “Jonah’s working that day anyway.”

“But I’m not.” Regan smiled.

“You can’t,” Frankie said, staring horrified at the wiggle that came from beneath the pink blanket. It was just a little quake, but enough to have her taking a small step back.

“Why not?” Regan argued. “I’m VP of marketing for Ryo Wines, sister-in-law to one of the owners, granddaughter-in-law to the other, and sleeping with the man who has fooled himself into believing he runs it. Plus, it could be a girl power team.”

“Fine, but if I can’t bring Mittens, you can’t bring…” Frankie pointed to the—definitely moving—pile of cotton. Blue eyes latched onto Frankie and Baby Sofie took one look and let out a screech louder than the siren.

* * *

“We’re going to lose.” Tanner said, dropping an empty crate on Marc’s foot. Both men were staring over the rows and rows of grape-covered trellises toward Main Street.

Squinting past a giant Pick Till You Punt banner, Nate stepped around Gabe and walked to the end of their row to see what everyone was gawking at. One look at the woman dismounting her motorcycle and stalking through the community park and he had to agree.

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Because headed their way were four beautiful women and a half pint, “Crushing the Competition” hats pulled low, ponytails swinging and attitude flying. They all wore matching bright pink t-shirts with “Crush This” written across the chest, black hip huggers and combat boots that, aside from having the steal reinforced toes, looked incredibly hot. And judging on the silent men beside him, he wasn’t the only one appreciating the view.

But Nate was only interested in the five-foot ten, blue-eyed view who was leading the pack, ax in hand, which had no purpose in the contest other than to intimidate. Point to Frankie, it was working. She was composed, ready for battle, and so damn beautiful he knew he should just turn around and walk away.

The Pick Till You Punt was about to begin any minute, and he needed to focus. Not that he doubted Team DeLuca would win—they always won, but the one thing that Trey had been right about was that there was a lot riding on how the next few weeks played out. The smart thing to do would be to keep his mind on the goal and eyes off the way that t-shirt clung to Frankie like it had been painted on.

Which was why Nate found himself leaning against one of the stakes, waiting for her to approach. He was done with always doing the smart thing. Around Frankie all of the static about wine, his family, the direction of the company, the effect Sorrento Ranch had on the big picture faded and Nate found himself living in the moment. Found that the heaviness around his chest, which had started after his parents’ died and made it impossible to breathe most times, disappeared and he could just relax without the expectation of what the next breath would require of him. Something he’d never allowed himself the luxury of doing.

“Have I ever told you how much I love pink?” Nate asked when Frankie was less than a foot away.

“Lexi picked it out. She sewed the words on it too.” Frankie tugged her shirt taut to show him, unintentionally pulling the neckline down for his viewing pleasure.

Nate took a long, thorough look at everything Frankie had on display. He didn’t feel the need to rush, which was a good thing considering he’d missed the hell out of her over the past week and because she was taking her sweet-ass time doing the same.

Her blue eyes zeroed in on his mouth, sending a shot of hot lust straight to his groin. He had it bad for the town’s bad girl.

Face flushed, eyes dilated, Frankie wet her lips. If that wasn’t hard evidence that she was as busy picturing him naked as he was her, the pretty peaks poking out, just above the top curve of the U and second H, did the trick.

“How was the trip? Is your property okay?” Okay, so she didn’t want to talk about what happened between them last week, or what was happening between them right now.

“Yeah, the firefighters got it under control before the flames got too far north, so we were lucky. How’s your grandpa’s land?”

She shrugged and the fabric of her tee rode up and exposed a sliver of smooth skin. “Haven’t heard anything yet. But if something happens, one of my brothers will call.”

So Charles was still freezing her out of the family. Nate wanted to pull her into his arms and give her a hug. All Frankie ever wanted was to make her family proud, and her grandpa used that big heart of hers against her, used it as a way to control her, to get her to come back on his terms. The faint bruising under her eyes told him that Charles’s plan was working—to a point.

He doubted that Frankie would give in, but he also doubted that she had slept much while he’d been gone. “How’s everything at home?”

“Tanner started prepping for the big tank, the grapes are looking nice, and I followed your list to a tee, even cleared my schedule.”

“I’m sorry I missed out on dinner. With the fire, planes couldn’t take off, so I had to drive home and decided to leave early this morning.”

“Yeah, I got your message.” But she didn’t call him back. “Mittens missed you.”

“Yeah?”

Frankie nodded. Scooted a little closer. “He ate through the back porch rail and the tractor seat, and I can’t find the weed-eater.”

Nate rested his hand on the stake next to her, crowding her body a little. God he missed her. “What about you?”

“I burned through nine boxes of Pop Tarts, three tanks of gas, and took up Yoga.” Her eyes never left his. “It was a stressful week.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Frankie frowned. “I thought we just did.”

“Morning, ladies,” Tanner said as he walked up—right into their moment. He looked at Abby, who looked like the other women, just shorter. “Abigail.”

“Jack,” Abby said, taking out her vine clippers and a sharpening stone.