Free Once Upon a Wine by Beth Kendrick Page A

you want to do right here. Less risk of failure than in California.”
    â€œI’m not scared of failure. I told you—I’ve got this.”
    â€œThen stay here because I want you to.” He hauled her upacross his chest. Her hair fell down across her face, blocking them both from the glow of the moon.
    â€œYou make a good case.” But her tone was apologetic, reluctant.
    â€œStay,” he urged her, pulling her closer against him.
    She shivered as a cool breeze blew across her damp skin. “I can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?” He loosened his arms around her. “We can do whatever we want.”
    As he relaxed, she tensed. “Then come to California with me.”
    â€œI can’t move to California.” He said this without even a hint of hesitation.
    â€œWhy not?” she challenged. “You expect me to move across the country for you, but you wouldn’t move across the country for me?”
    â€œYou wouldn’t be moving across the country; you already live here.”
    â€œI don’t live here. I spend the summer here in a rental house. Big difference.”
    â€œYou could live here.” He squeezed her hand in his. “You could move in with me. We could walk the fields every day.”
    He made it sound so easy. So tempting.
    â€œIt’s not that simple.” She drew back so she could study his face in the starlight.
    â€œIt is that simple,” he insisted. “All you have to do is make up your mind.”
    â€œBut that’s what I’m trying to say: Why do
I
have to be the one to make up my mind?”
    He kissed her again. “My mind is already made up.”
    â€œThen you take a chance. Come with me to California.”
    â€œI can’t.” His voice was so kind but so unyielding.
    Cammie sat up and pulled on her shirt. “Because of the farm?”
    â€œYes.” Not a trace of regret or apology.
    â€œThe farm doesn’t own you. You can leave if you want to.”
    â€œNo. I can’t. I’m not hoping to start a business. My job is to keepthis business going.” He sat up, too, and she recognized her own stubborn determination in the set of his jaw, the fire in his eyes.
    â€œWhat’s the failure rate for farms?” she challenged.
    â€œDoesn’t matter; I’m already invested. And I don’t want to leave.”
    â€œSo you’re saying that I have to rearrange my life because you’ll never rearrange yours? You and your farm will always come first?”
    He hesitated for a long moment. “I want you, Cammie, but I can’t leave.”
    â€œBecause a bunch of dirt and corn mean more to you than I do.”
    â€œIt’s not just dirt. It’s not just corn.” He looked around at the vast green acres around them. “All of this belonged to my grandparents and great-grandparents. It will belong to my children and grandchildren someday. It’s part of me; I’m part of it.” He rested his hand in hers. “Stay here with me.”
    He sounded so sure of himself. She tried to envision what he envisioned. “And do what? Be a farmer’s wife?”
    â€œYeah.” He cupped her cheek in his palm and smiled that slow, heart-melting smile. “Be a farmer’s wife.”
    Cammie couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. Ian surprised her by laughing, too.
    â€œCome on,” he coaxed. “A straw hat, a pitchfork, some overalls . . .”
    â€œYou forgot the little piece of straw between my teeth.”
    â€œPiece of straw?” He shook his head. “Go corncob pipe or go home.”
    This was why it was impossible to dismiss his entreaty to stay as an adolescent fantasy. He was funny and playful and sexy and smart. He was everything she wanted in a man. Even at twenty-two, she knew that this kind of connection was rare.
    But she’d have to give up everything she wanted for herself to be with