Destiny Laughs Read online

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  DESTINY LAUGHS

  BY LESLIE PIKE

  Destiny Laugh

  by Leslie Pike

  Cover Design:

  Kari March, Kari March Designs

  Editing:

  Nichole Strauss, Insight Editing

  Formatting:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome to the St. Helena Vineyard’s Kindle World, where romance is waiting to be uncorked and authors from around the globe are invited to share their own stories of love and happily ever after. Set in the heart of wine country, this quaint town and its cast of quirky characters were the inspiration behind my St Helena Vineyard series, and the Hallmark Channel movie, AUTUMN IN THE VINEYARD. I want to thank these incredible authors for spending time in St. Helena, and all of you readers who are adventurous enough to take the journey with us.

  I hope you enjoy your time here as much as we have.

  Warmly,

  Marina Adair

  Table of Contents

  DESTINY LAUGHS

  Dear Readers

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PLAYLIST

  DEDICATION

  For my parents, Earl and Emile, who taught me the meaning of the word beloved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  FARRAH

  I’m having what looks like a minor meltdown. But behind the obvious stands the cliff I’m on the edge of. And the young boy across the otherwise empty waiting room is watching. Who could blame him for being curious about the lady making a scene?

  Interesting that when our eyes meet he doesn’t look away. I’m more uncomfortable with my display of emotion than he seems to be. I doubt this kid would be intimidated by much. While I’ve been crying, and blowing my nose for the last two hours, he’s been sitting quietly, not ruffled in the least. From the sound of it he’s playing a game on his phone, and odds are the large black and white Boxer stretched at his feet must belong to him.

  My eyes are on the dog, just in case he decides to take a bite out of the crazy woman. I don’t need another chunk missing from my leg. One thirty-year-scoop in my thigh is enough. Maybe they’re the veterinarian’s last appointment. The office closed an hour ago, at six, when the receptionist locked the front door then disappeared into the back rooms.

  The boy’s not the only one sizing up a stranger, because I’m observing him as well. There’s empathy on his face and compassion in his blue eyes. That’s something unusual for one so young. He’s got a long faint scar that runs from his chin, across the corner of his mouth, and half way up his cheek. The little finger on the left hand is missing. But none of that seems to affect his confidence. There’s a self-assurance about him, if a nine or ten-year-old can be described that way. I see it in the way he looks at me and how he holds himself. He’s dressed in a baseball uniform and cap. THE PIRATES, spelled out in purple letters on brim and chest, announce the team. His eyes look up to mine.

  “Is your pet crossing over the Rainbow Bridge? Is that why you’re crying?” he says softly.

  The words surprise and distract me from my tears. “What? A bridge?”

  He stands and steps over his dog who doesn’t move in inch from its comfortable spot. Walking over he takes the seat next to me.

  “What’s your pet’s name?”

  I’m not sure how much to say to a child, and I can’t control the tears that fall as I decide.

  “It’s not my pet. I was driving down Main Street and this big dog ran out between the parked cars, and I hit it . . .” My voice trails off.

  Just the thought of that horrible moment turns my stomach. I can’t get the sound of the animal’s cry out of my head. The boy reaches over and takes my hand in his, and the warm sensation is sweet and comforting. His parents have done a great job of raising him.

  “If the dog can be helped my dad’ll do it. He’s a real good doctor. And if he can’t, the dog will cross over the Rainbow Bridge and be with his friends.”

  The expression on his face is so pure. It’s the look of childhood innocence before the world teaches us to doubt the things we can’t prove. He and I are the opposite of each other in that regard. I’m questioning a lot these days.

  “Your dad’s the vet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We haven’t met yet. The tech took the dog from me when I came in. What’s your pet’s name? He’s a tough looking guy.”

  A wide grin spreads across his face.

  “Fluffy.”

  That makes me laugh, and the kid joins me. When the dog hears his name, he stretches, gets up and starts toward us. I instantly regret asking the question. My entire body stiffens.

  “My dad let me name him when I was four.”

  “That explains things. Is Fluffy friendly?”

  “Oh yeah. Are you afraid of dogs?” he asks incredulously.

  “Petrified. I was bitten as a child.”

  Fluffy doesn’t give a damn about my fear. He stands in front of me with that badass serious expression Boxers have.

  “He’s waiting for you to pet him,” he says.

  I reach out and stiffly pat the dog’s head. He accepts my poor offering then plops down at my feet.

  “See. He’s a lover, not a hater.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for that. What’s your name?”

  “Max.”

  “Well, Max, thank you. You’ve made me feel a little better.”

  My attention is pulled as the door to the back room opens, and I get my first look at Dr. Santini. Holy hello. What a man, what a man, what a mighty good hunk of man. Music plays unprompted in my mind, setting the mood for his entry. Cue the wind machine. This guy could be a character in one of my romance novels. He’s six feet of handsome with a big side of sexy. Rich brown tousled hair with natural golden highlights, and deep marine blue eyes that match his son’s. The short-sleeved navy scrubs show off his well-developed biceps and wide shoulders. I take it all in before I snap out of my man-coma and remember why I’m here.

  “Miss Knight? By your red nose and worried look I’d say I’ve found you.”

  “How’s the dog?” I say, standing, and stepping carefully over Fluffy.

  The doctor gives his son a wink of acknowledgement before he answers.

  “He’s stable now. I repaired the eye socket. That was my greatest concern. There may be a slight deficit, but we won’t know that till he’s completely healed.”

  “I was so afraid when I saw all the blood.”

  “His right femur was broken, but it was a clean break. I’m hopeful he’s going to recover nicely. I stitched up the cuts and treated the contusions. You should have him back home in about five days. He’s a tough old boy.”

  Holding up my hands I stop him right there. “That’s not my dog.”

  “She was the lady who hit him with her car,” Max pipes in.

  Dr. Santini looks surprised, and I can see he’s
trying to come up with plan B.

  “Oh, I didn’t know. Is there any way you can foster him until I find the owners? We’ve got a pet rescue here in town, but I spoke to the woman who runs it this morning and I think they’re full.”

  I want to say yes, because I feel responsible. Plus, the doctor’s face and body and most of all his mouth are making the most convincing argument. They’re all three shouting, “Do it!” Thankfully my better judgment takes over.

  “No, there’s no way. I’m just about to put my house on the market, then I’m leaving St. Helena. I’m sorry, I can’t take the dog. Not even temporarily.”

  “That’s too bad,” he says holding my gaze a beat longer than necessary.

  Too bad that I’m leaving? Or too bad I can’t take the dog? Max is watching again, as if he understands the nuance of the moment. This kid is about ten years beyond his chronological age. He saw something, I know. Looking at each of our faces, he’s sizing up the situation. Or maybe I’m reading too much into things because I’m hopelessly out of practice when it comes to men and their intentions. No one would believe this is the first time I’ve been so attracted to one in years. But there’s good reason for that. What other thirty-year-old has had such a dismal love life? Thank God for masturbation. I think that’s a perfectly valid prayer. Shaking off memories of my reasons for being alone, I return to the present.

  “I’m starved. Are your two hungry?” Dr. Santini says casually, as if we’re old friends.

  Max looks happy at the prospect. What could it hurt? It’s a leap into the unknown, and that’s what I’ve been challenging myself to do. Obviously, the man is single or he wouldn’t be asking me to join him and his son. Like it or not, I’ll be gone soon enough. I might as well enjoy a nice meal and conversation for one night.

  “Sure. Sounds like a good idea. I could use a sandwich,” I say, running a hand over the random wisps of hair escaping my ponytail band.

  “I was thinking of something a little more substantial. Max, go ask Janey to lock up. And have her call me when she gets home.”

  I’m suddenly aware of my wardrobe and plain appearance. I’ve got on jeans, tennis shoes, a baggy 49er buttoned jersey and not a lick of makeup. Would it be wrong to shout, “I can look better than this!”? Max runs off to his assignment, leaving Dr. Santini and I to fill the silence. Oh no. I’m so out of practice making small talk.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Nash.” He extends his strong hand.

  It dwarfs mine, and the feeling is delicious. I am woman. You are man. Purrrr.

  “Farrah,” I say.

  His dazzling smile is warm and sincere. So is the heat I feel coursing through me.

  “Beautiful name. Nice to meet you, Farrah.”

  Before he lets go, he brings his other hand to cover the top of mine. Just a quick gesture, but it’s effective.

  “I’m not dressed for anything too fancy,” I say.

  He goes behind the front desk and retrieves a set of keys.

  “Me either. And my son’s in his baseball uniform, so we’re all on the same page. What about the new bistro just down the street? Have you tried it?”

  I don’t want to tell him I’ve hardly been out of my house for years.

  “No, I haven’t. But I’ve been wanting to,” I lie. I didn’t even know there was a new bistro.

  Max comes rushing through the door with the receptionist close behind.

  “Dr. Santini, I’ve asked Max if he’d like to have a sleep over. Kyle’s got a new game he’s dying to show his friend,” she says.

  “Please, Dad!”

  “Sure. But be home by noon tomorrow. Your grandmother is having a family lunch.”

  “I’ll swing by your place, drop off Fluffy and pick up Max’s things.”

  “Thanks, Janey.”

  He turns to me. “I guess it’s just us.”

  Ohhh. I wish I could shower and change. I look like the overworked caretaker I’ve been for what seems like forever. I’m sure the last hard years show up on my face. I can see them, so he must. All I want is to feel young again. It’s been a long time, and maybe I’ve missed the opportunity altogether.

  “Let’s walk. It’s just a block down,” he says.

  I gather my purse, and Nash holds the door open as I pass. A gentleman. Nice.

  We slowly stroll down picturesque Main Street that cuts through the center of town, passing the Fashion Flower and The Boulder Holder. For the first time my attention is drawn to St. Paws Animal Rescue. The warm summer breeze in the dying light of day is our companion, and it calms me and blows away some of the day’s worries. I let a deep sigh escape.

  “Feel better?” he says.

  “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.” I chuckle. “It’s been a long time since I just took a leisurely walk.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I look up to see his face. He’s interested in my story. Either that or he’s a good actor.

  “I’ve spent the last four years taking care of my ill father. He died about a month ago. Before that, he and I took care of my mother for two years. She passed away just as he was diagnosed with cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “That must have been so hard on you.”

  “I think of it as having been a horrible privilege. At least I could keep them in their home. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

  “All by yourself? No siblings to help?” he says.

  “I’m an only child. Well . . . I guess I’m nobody’s child now.”

  Oh no. I feel the tears well in my eyes. Shit! I wipe them away and try to recompose myself.

  “Sorry. I’m not usually such a mess. It’s just been a bad six years. And then I ran over a dog.”

  I attempt a half-hearted laugh. He stops walking, puts his arm around me and draws me close in compassion.

  “Sounds like you were a wonderful daughter. And a blessing. How lucky they were to have you help them when they needed you most,” he says softly.

  The floodgates open. I’m sobbing quietly into the man’s shoulder, and I just met him fifteen minutes ago, but I can’t help myself.

  “It’s all right, Farrah. Sometimes crying is the only thing we have left. I’ve been there.”

  I’m vaguely aware of the passing pedestrian but neither Nash nor I bother to pretend I’m not a blithering idiot. In the history of bad first impressions this has to be number one. I win the prize.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NASH

  I haven’t held a crying woman in my arms for years. Seven to be exact. And that was for different reasons. This woman will get past what’s making her cry. She’ll survive. For some reason, I’m not hating that I’m able to comfort her. Sigmund Freud would have a field day with that. But it may be as simple an explanation as this, my dick twitched when I first saw her face. That sounds ridiculous, but it happened. Like a divining rod that senses the water first.

  There’s a kind of an appeal about her that goes beyond the obvious. She’s delicate. The face is close to perfect, as I define perfection. Soulful dark-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a straight edged nose. Don’t know why I notice women’s eyebrows, but I do. I like hers. But it’s her mouth that sells the entire picture. Her bottom lip is full and when I looked at it I wanted to kiss her.

  I’m not sure if the fact that she’s moving out of St. Helena is the best part of her story or the worst. I know it fits in with my Modus Operandi. Years back I figured out how to handle a social life and still be a responsible father. Casual flings, passing ships in the night, slam bam thank you ma’am, over and out.

  Not letting random women into Max’s world has worked well. If I need to be a man without a love story, so be it. I have no interest in exposing him to a revolving door of relationships. Mostly I wanted him to know how much I loved his mother and how deeply she loved him. Only time could make that happen. He needed to be old enough to understand. What Max heard from me may be his clearest picture. Being
so little when she died he barely has any memory of her, I know. He tries to hide that, but of course it’s true.

  It would be great though, having a female friend for a few weeks or months before she leaves the city. Someone I could take to dinner or bring to family gatherings as a casual date. I think she’d be a good conversationalist, just from the few things she’s said to me. Her phrasing tells me she’s intelligent. The fact that I want to kiss her and have her in my bed is even better. It isn’t odd at all that I came to that conclusion so quickly. Not having sex since we moved here two months ago has put a serious kink in my life, and I’m getting tired of long showers and quick porn.

  This could be the answer to my problems and buy me some time. In the future I won’t be seeing anyone from St. Helena. It’s just too small of a community for casual hookups. Too many eyes. This would work because Max knows she’s about to move. There’d be no mistaking the depth of the relationship and no chance of either of us getting serious. Then why the hell am I only ninety-nine percent happy about that? We literally just met.

  Her sniffles start to die down and I get a brilliant idea. Taking her by the shoulders I turn her 180 degrees.

  “New plan.”

  “Dump the insane woman?” she says half laughing.

  “Follow me. I’ve got the perfect spot in mind.”

  We start walking back the way we came. Retreating past the shops and businesses we just passed.

  “Are you going to offer me a can of dog food or some kibble at your place?”

  “No. I’ve got a much better idea; you’ll see.”

  It’s takes only two minutes to arrive at our destination, one door down from my St. Helena Veterinary Hospital practice. Santini’s Italian Delicatessen’s sign with calligraphic letters hangs from the building, facing the sidewalk. But it’s the window display that does the talking. It’s after hours, so the lighting is low and it’s hard to see inside.

  “How delicious looking! Santini’s? Your family?”

  I reach for my keys. “For almost forty years. Have you never been?”