Read Online Let It Breathe by Tawna Fenske - Free Book Online Page A

drinking. He’d been aimed down that path long before college. Long before Reese came into his life.
    Once upon a time, he might have had a shot at her. Back when he was young and hopeful and just a guy who liked to knock back a few beers after class. There was that tiny window of time when he’d first met her, a fleeting instant of new friendship and blossoming attraction. A week or two?
    He hadn’t done anything to win her over. He didn’t blame Eric for making a move.
    He blamed himself for not making one.
    He rolled over again and closed his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep.

    The sun wasn’t even up at five a.m. the next morning, but Reese had been out in the vineyard working on the tractor for thirty minutes already. She jumped down and nodded at one of the field hands.
    “Okay, I just recalibrated the sprayer,” she said as she tucked the wrench in her back pocket. “You should get a little better coverage now.”
    The field hand—a new guy she’d just hired from a vineyard in Washington—gave her a dubious look. “This organic stuff kills powdery mildew?”
    Reese nodded and pulled off her work gloves. “Sonata and Serenade are both bacterial fermentations, plus a couple of potassium bicarbonates and a little pine resin extract to help it stick—”
    She stopped talking when she saw the man’s eyes glaze over. “Just spray,” she said. “Nice job so far.”
    She headed back to the winery barn with her gloves tucked in her pocket and a peaceful feeling in her soul. She wasn’t a morning person, but she loved mornings like this. The soothing hum of tractors vibrated the low-slung clouds in the still and cool air, with the chirp of the birds rising above the background noise.
    She pushed open the door to the winery barn and made a beeline for the coffeemaker.
    She didn’t see Clay until she tripped over his legs.
    “Clay?” she gasped, recovering her balance as she looked down to see him sprawled on the floor. “What are you doing?”
    He looked up from where he was lying on the floor beside a wine barrel and gave her a funny smile. His eyes were too bright for so early in the morning and, oh, God —what was he drinking?
    “Morning, Reese,” he said. He swayed a little as he sat up and grabbed an orange sippy cup. Reese watched his Adam’s apple move as he drank. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was still there, looking scruffy and wild in the same shirt he’d been wearing the day before.
    He’s fallen off the wagon.
    Again.
    He smiled at her then, and Reese wanted to kick her traitorous libido for responding when he was obviously so—so—
    “Clay.” She stared at the sippy cup.
    Seeing her eyes on it, he lifted it in a mock toast to her. “Couldn’t find any mugs, but I made coffee. You still like it black?”
    “Coffee,” she repeated like a very dense toddler learning to talk. He was drinking coffee? On the floor? From a sippy cup? She tried to regroup. “What are you—Why are you—”
    “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, standing up slowly. He braced himself on the edge of the wine barrel and lifted himself to his full height—which, frankly, was pretty impressive. Reese took a step back, trying not to stare at his hands.
    “There wasn’t anything good on TV,” Clay said. “I figured I might as well come here and take care of your wine bar before someone breaks an arm and sues you.”
    He sipped from the cup again. He hadn’t shaved yet, and a faint sheen of sawdust and sweat clung to his arms.
    Reese swallowed. When she finally found her voice, her words came out in a croak. “You fixed my wine bar?”
    “Built a new one, actually,” he said, thumping a fist on the large wooden shape Reese had somehow failed to notice in her panic over finding him drunk on the floor. “I hope you don’t mind—I found some scrap wood out behind the barn, and I had my toolbox in the truck and—”
    “You built me a new wine bar?” Her voice came out shriller