Page 78 of Merging Wright

When we arrive at Wine Cellar Park, I hesitate. I haven’t been to this park in forever, but if memory serves correctly, it has beautiful hiking paths. The fall colors aren’t quite in bloom yet, but the place is still spectacular.

“There isn’t a wine cellar here anymore, so to speak.” I stare through the windshield once I park.

“Oh?” Jane tips her head to look out the window.

“West Virginia isn’t exactly the wine capital of the world, but there are ruins of a wine cellar which are kind of cool.” I open my door and round the truck to help Jane with hers. She’s already exiting her door, so I take her hand and shut the door behind her. With our fingers entwined, I lead her forward. “Before the Civil War, there was a winery here. The ruins are . . . different. I thought you’d like them.”

When I turn to face her, her smile is everything.

“Maybe we could hike a bit first?” I don’t know why I’m so anxious, questioning every decision.

Looking around us, Jane takes in the lush trees and then nods at me, her smile still bright. We walk a four-mile trail that winds around a lake. As we hike, we share thoughts about our Bridge Alley project.

Jane’s newest idea includes painting murals around town. One in particular will be painted on the side of Trophy’s, so people see the visual as they cross the bridge into Wrightwood or travel down the river.

You’re in the Wrightwood place.

She thinks asking the local high school art teacher for teenage artist recommendations will provide investment in the town’s improvements. They’ll be less likely to vandalize any property.

“You should have been a city designer,” I tell her.

“I just watch a lot of HGTV.”

A husband should know these things about his wife.

“When?” I chuckle. I can’t imagine Jane sitting still, and I’ve had no idea what she does outside of working at Impact. She’s already mentioned how long it’s been since having sex and her lack of actually dating.

“When I can’t sleep.” Her comment is tossed out there while she walks ahead of me on the trail.

I glance at her ass, checking it out while I ask, “Is that often?”

“It’s getting worse as I age. A sign of the change.” Her voice drops ominously.

My brows pinch. “You’re too young for that.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs as she walks, and I curse Ripley once again for his decision about Jane’s pregnancy. Jane wanted that baby, thinking it was her only chance to be a mother, and my chest aches that she might have been robbed of the one opportunity she had. Jane spends a lot of time with Willow in town, taking her to the park and having hot chocolate dates at On The Curve. It’s obvious the child is smitten with Jane, and I worry Jane might feel the same about Willow. What will happen to the little girl when we leave? What will happen to Jane and me?

When Jane and I finish our hike, we visit the cellar ruins, which include three stone archways leading into narrow caves.

“When we were kids, we’d sneak out here in the dark and dare each other to enter these caverns.”

Jane laughs. “Camilla has dropped hints that you were quite the rebel as a child. Trouble was your middle name, she said.”

I follow Jane as she enters one passage. My gaze drops to her firm ass in tight jeans again. The more casual attire Jane has adopted suits her. She’s still a tough businesswoman, but flannel shirts and denim soften her. Being in Wrightwood has changed her, softened her a bit. She’s stunning but even more striking when she’s naked.

As soon as we’re out of sight of the entryway, I gently tug Jane’s arm, spinning her and capturing her mouth. Within seconds, she’s against the damp stone wall, and I’m thirsting for more of her. My hands coast down her front and quickly find the button on her jeans.

“Mach,” Jane mutters against my lips as I pop the button and lower her zipper. “Mach, not here. Someone will see.”

The park has been relatively empty as the day is cool. There’s a threat of rain.

“No one will see us.”

“This is more public than the barber chair.” Her voice falters as my fingers slip inside her silky underwear and swipe through her damp folds. I lower my lips to her jaw before moving to her neck.

“You didn’t complain about the barber chair.” I nip at her ear.

“Neither did you.” She gasps as my fingers rush inward. “Mach.”