And if it weren't for Miguel's split-second decision to tackle her to the ground, they would have succeeded.
Devon took her hand, lacing their fingers together, his grip almost painful in its intensity.
"We're going to find them," he said, his voice low and fierce.
Emery wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that the police and investigators and her protectors could keep her safe.
But right now, watching the vineyard disappear behind them while her would-be savior bled onto a gurney in another ambulance, all she could think was that someone wanted her dead badly enough to shoot at her in broad daylight.
And she still had no idea why.
The main house felt safer than the guesthouse, though Emery wasn't sure if that was actually true or just the illusion Devon needed to maintain his sanity. Either way, she'd agreedwithout argument when he'd insisted they stay there tonight, surrounded by family and solid walls and the kind of security that came from numbers.
Her father had arrived an hour ago, his face pale, when he'd pulled her into a tight hug and whispered that he was sorry—so sorry this was happening. Then he'd disappeared into the den with Walter and Devon, the three of them speaking in low voices behind a closed door.
Emery sat curled on the oversized sofa in the family room, her head tilted sideways, hoping to catch a few words here and there, but it was hard over the crackle of the flames. She draped a blanket over her legs despite the warmth from the fireplace. Ashley sprawled in the armchair to her left, bare feet tucked under her, while Hasley claimed the window seat with a glass of wine that was probably her third, not that Emery was judging. She wasn’t. Hasley’s day had been long, and her evening not any better, considering her date had turned out to be a complete asshole.
But the girls had promised not to speak of that.
"I can't stop thinking about Miguel," Emery said, breaking the silence that the family seemed to bask in. "The way he just ran at me without hesitation and tackled me like he was willing to die for me. Who does that?”
"Someone braver than most," Ashley said. "I talked to his wife earlier. She said Miguel saw the glint of the rifle scope on the production building roof and didn't even think. Just moved."
"He took a bullet for me." Emery's voice cracked. “I’ve never met anyone so selfless. I consider myself a compassionate person. I have empathy. But I’m not sure I could do that.”
"He's not a stranger anymore," Hasley said gently. "And he's going to be fine. He'll be back on his feet in a few weeks."
"With a hell of a story to tell," Ashley added. "And probably a promotion. Dad's already talking about making him a crewsupervisor. Not to mention we’ll pick up any medical bills that insurance doesn’t pay for, give him a few bonuses, and probably buy his wife a new car and donate to their family home addition.”
“I’d donate my first paycheck to that.” Emery pulled the blanket tighter. “I just can’t believe Sandy dragged Gabe down to the station for questioning like he's a suspect."
"She has to follow procedure," Hasley said. "The gun was his—even if it had been stolen. The shots came from where he was working. She has to ask questions. Besides, maybe he saw something, but had no idea if it was important or not. Sandy picks up on that kind of stuff better than anyone. She always has.”
"But he didn't do it. The idea that Gabe would take a shot at me is insane." Emery shook her head. "He's been nothing but kind since I got here. Helpful and patient and—there's no way."
"We know that," Ashley said. "Sandy knows that. But she still has to build a case, eliminate possibilities. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time Gabe’s been questioned. When he first came to work for us, Winston didn’t like it. There was an incident with Callaway’s harvest, and Winston pointed his crooked little finger at Gabe. He’ll take it in stride.”
“Will he? Because he looked pretty shaken when they took him."
"He'll be fine," Hasley assured her. "Sandy's fair. She'll clear him once she reviews everything."
The conversation drifted into easier territory—speculation about when the harvest would fully wrap, plans for the upcoming holiday season, and the elaborate Thanksgiving dinner Brea was already planning despite it being over a month away.
"So," Hasley said, her tone shifting to something playful as she turned her attention to Ashley. "Ethan Blackwell. Want to talk about it?"
Ashley's face turned hard. Her gaze narrowed and her jaw tightened. "There's nothing to talk about."
“That’s not what our brothers say,” Hasley said.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Those two are morons.”
“I’m offended on Devon’s behalf,” Emery said. “But I have to admit, I’m honestly more than curious about the history with Ethan.”
“It’s simple. He’s my Monica. My Callie. My mistake." Ashley picked at the arm of the chair. “A really hot mistake that’s good in bed, but still a mistake, and I can’t forget that.”
"Why?" Emery asked.
"Because he left once already, with no explanation, and he still hasn't given me one. That means he’ll break my heart again.” Ashley stared into her wine. "I know I’m young. I know I have plenty of time to find the right man, but I want to get married. Have kids. Jumping back into something with the likes of Ethan Blackwell would be stupid.”
