Hot for Mr. Moneybags

Welcome to San Camanez, a humble, peaceful little island in the Puget Sound and home to the Vino Vixens. Four cousins—and single moms—who run a vineyard, love the wine they sell, raise their kids together, and still hold out hope that not all men are like the ones they married. This is Danica’s story …

Tommaso
I came to San Camanez to keep a promise to my late wife—to turn our land into a sanctuary for the lost and forgotten. The animals give me purpose; the silence keeps me steady.
Then Danica Ross and her daughter arrive, and my carefully contained world begins to shift. She’s gentle but strong, scarred but unbroken. And when her little girl’s laughter fills the barn, I start to remember what hope sounds like.
But when my wife’s cousin threatens to take the farm, I realize I could lose everything—again. This time, though, I’m not sure I can go back to being alone.

Danica
After escaping a cruel marriage, I built a quiet life for my daughter and me—safe, small, predictable. Love wasn’t part of the plan.
Then Tommaso Barone walks into our lives: quiet, kind, infuriatingly patient. He makes me believe in trust again. In laughter. In warmth.
When his sanctuary—and our fragile new bond—are threatened, I have to decide if I’ll run like I always have… or fight for the man who’s teaching me that love doesn’t always hurt.

“This is fantastic. Thank you so much, Danica,” Cameron Arendelle said
as he unloaded the last of the wine barrels from the back of my utility trailer
into his distillery warehouse.

I closed the tailgate of the trailer and tucked a strand of my blonde
hair behind my ear, smiling a little as I glanced down at the ground. “No
problem. Happy to help, especially since you help us.”

Grunting, he set the barrel down next to the other seven I brought over
and stood up to his impressive, full height and tossing back his floppy brown
hair while also dazzling me with a big smile. “Well, we haven’t helped you yet.
But once the whiskey ages a little longer, then we will.”

Since the winery I owned and operated with my cousins on the island had
been around a lot longer than the distillery Cameron ran with three of his
friends, we had the wine barrels to give them to “finish” their whiskey in. But
their distillery wasn’t that old, so the barrels they bought and started using
in the beginning didn’t have enough whiskey flavor in them for us to do a “wine
finish.” That was the plan in the future though. Just swap barrels with each
other to help create better, more sought-after products.

Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he wrinkled his nose a
little and stepped closer to me, and also into the spring sunshine which only
fell across the peppering of freckles on his cheeks and nose. “How’s Sam
doing?” he asked, concern in his amber eyes.

He didn’t have to elaborate because I knew exactly what he was talking
about. My ten-year-old daughter Sam was putting me through the wringer with her
anxiety and self-esteem issues. The poor thing had started self-harming and I’d
never felt more lost in my life on how to help her.

Cameron knew a bit about what I was going through, though, since his
nine-year-old daughter Francesca was also incredibly anxious, and while he had
never mentioned self-harm, I knew Cameron was really struggling. We actually
started talking about it when we met in the office of the medical clinic when
both girls had appointments with the new pediatric nurse practitioner on the
island.

“She’s doing … okay,” I said, giving a small nod. “We’re taking it
day-by-day. Which is all we can do. The self-harm stuff hasn’t happened
in a while—thankfully—but the low self-esteem is still a challenge.”

He frowned and offered an understanding nod. “It’s so hard when they
don’t see themselves the way we do. The way most people do.”

“How’s Cesca doing?”

Rolling his lips inward, he continued to nod. “She’s doing better.
Thanks. Do you know uh … Tommaso or “Tomas” Barone?”

Frowning, I shook my head. “Is he a child psychologist or something?
I’ve read so many books on childhood anxiety and stuff all the authors are
blending together.”

His laugh was soft and his smile small. “No. He lives here, on the
island. Keeps to himself, but he actually runs an animal rescue center.”

My jaw nearly hit the gravel. “Here? On San Camanez?”

Cameron nodded. “Yeah. It’s actually the land right next to Bonn
Remmen’s on the other side. Since the McEvoys are obviously on one side.
Big, beautiful chunk of property. He’s got a bunch of horses, some cows,
ponies, donkeys, chickens, ducks, an alpaca and even a pig—which he lets live
in his house with him.”

“Okay …” Where we Cameron going with this exactly?

He must have realized I had no idea the destination of his train of
thought and he chuckled. “Cesca’s been going there to work with the horses.
It’s been really great for her. Since horses need calm,  she has to be calm and can’t be
anxious. Tomas has got her up on one of the older therapy horses as well a few
times. Which she just loves.”

“Is he a trained professional?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know. He’s a quiet guy. Doesn’t talk much. But he’s
great with Cesca and the animals. I stay with her the whole time, however,
she’s starting to make noise about me leaving her there.”’

“Has Tomas suggested that?” I wracked my brain to see if I’d ever
encountered Tommaso Barone or what he might look like. I’d been on the island
for several years now, and while I certainly didn’t know everyone, I
knew most. Well, maybe not as many as my cousins Naomi and Raina, since they
were quite a bit more outgoing than me. But I still knew people. Why didn’t I
know we had an animal rescue center on the island?

Cameron shook his head. “No, which is why I haven’t allowed it. I’m
just grateful to him that he let’s Cesca come at all.”

“What do you mean? Does he not run a program or isn’t it a business?”
The more Cameron talked about this mystery man and his animal haven, the more
confused I got.

“Nope. I honestly ran into him on a fluke last summer at the kids’
school end of year funfair and we got to chatting. He mentioned he had horses,
and then I must have tucked that into the back of my brain. When things with
Cesca started getting worse, I came across equine therapy and remembered he
mentioned having horses so I popped by his place and asked him if I could bring
Cesca by.”

“So it’s not a tourist attraction type thing? Or a certified therapy
center? How the hell does he pay for …” I tossed my hands into the air, “Life?
The food for the animals and their medical bills. Is he like independently
wealthy or something?”

His grin turned a little cheeky. “He was a former Italian pro
footballer. Guy has millions. Oodles of money. Though, you’d never know it to
look at him with his dirty jeans and ripped white T-shirts that he wears all
the time. But yeah. I Googled him after I first visited his property and had
the same questions you did. He was very successful in his prime and must
have just invested well.”

“And he decided to come to freaking San Camanez and open up an animal
rescue center?” Something wasn’t adding up. “Is he laundering money?
Trafficking animals? Running drugs? Do you think he had a meth lab under the
barn?”

That made Cameron snort. “No idea. His online bio doesn’t say why
he left Italy. Or how he got land over here. And I haven’t asked. He’s
not exactly the kind of guy who is super chatty or forthcoming with
information. However, I highly doubt he’s running a meth lab under the
barn. While I can’t guarantee it. I’d bet my stake in my company on it.” His
playful smile did actually ease some of the worry brewing inside of me.

“But the horses and animals and stuff are helping Cesca?” As long as
the guy wasn’t running a meth lab under the barn, and Cameron’s daughter was
benefiting, maybe I needed to pay a visit to Mr. Moneybags and see if my kid
could come pet a horse or a donkey once in a while.

“So much.” He shrugged. “You want Tomas’s number? He’s terrible at
texting back, and never answers when you call, but you could try. Or you could
just rock up to his place like I did.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m glad Cesca is doing better though.” I headed
for the driver’s side door of my SUV. Cameron followed me a few steps,
shielding his eyes from the glaring sun overhead. “Just out of curiosity,” I
started, prompting him to tilt his head to the side, “The reason you haven’t
left her alone with him isn’t because you don’t … trust him, is it? He doesn’t
give you like … creeper vibes?”

Cameron’s eyes widened as he continued to shield them from the sun with
his big hand. Then he shook his head. “Absolutely not. He doesn’t give off
those vibes at all. Honestly, I haven’t left her yet because I’m not sure Tomas
would be comfortable with it. I know he has a kid, but he’s grown and still
lives in Italy. Leaving the poor guy with an anxious little girl would probably
be his worst nightmare and traumatize him more than it would Cesca.” He
chuckled and kicked a large rock into the nearby brush. “But no, the guy
doesn’t give off creepy vibes. I would feel comfortable leaving Cesca
there if Tomas said it was okay.”

Even more concern and worry dissipated from around my heart. After the
shit I went through my ex-husband, that thought was always at the forefront of
my mind. Maybe I was a tad too protective of Sam at times, and perhaps
that had contributed to her anxiety—in fact, I’m sure it had—but I’d rather she
be an anxious person and protected, than the alternative.

“Good to know,” I breathed. My phone vibrated in my pocket and
Cameron’s did in his as well.

Weird.

Unless …

We each pulled out our phone and checked our messages. Mine was from my
cousin Gabrielle, and the winery manager.

(Gabrielle) Island Elders have asked to see ALL five parties that
they heard extended proposals from. They want us there tonight.

I glanced up at Cameron.

“I’m guessing you just got notified about the meeting tonight too?” he
asked.

I nodded. “What do you think it means?”

“I’m hoping it means that they’ve finally decided who they’re going to
give Bonn Remmen’s land to and stop putting us all through the freaking
wringer. It’s been exhausting and frustrating and just plain annoying.”

I slid behind the steering wheel and exhaled. “Yeah, for us too.”

“They’re all retired hippies. They have nothing better to do than sit
around and smoke peyote or dance naked around their monthly bonfire. Why has it
taken this long for them to decide who gets the land?”

“Why’d you conjure that visual in my head?” I asked, pressing the start
button for my vehicle. “I still haven’t been able to erase the image of a bunch
of them nude sunbathing down at the beach below the vineyard. Abe Jefferies is
a very pale, very wrinkly man.”

Cameron snorted and adjusted where he was standing so he was staring
straight into the sun. “Thanks for that.”

“I’ll see you tonight, I guess. And hey, we’ll finally get to learn who
the mystery fifth interested party was. You guys haven’t figured out who it is
yet, have you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not for lack of trying, though.” Then he
patted the roof of my white RAV 4 and closed the door, giving me a wave as I
put the SUV in gear and drove off with an empty trailer.

This time tomorrow would we be the proud new owners of a new chunk of
land? A chunk of land we now planned to share with the McEvoy brothers since my
youngest cousin Raina and Jagger McEvoy had buried the hatchet of their
long-standing feud with each other, and fallen madly, sickeningly, adorably in
love. It helped that our visions for the land were very similar, so we just
blended them to create something even more spectacular.

However, we also knew that Cameron and his fellow distillery dads also
wanted the land since they each lived in different places on the island, while
their distillery warehouse was outgrowing the land they rented to have it on.
And the women who owned Twisted Sister Cidery also wanted it. Though none of us
really knew why, since their land was bigger than the vineyard with their
orchards and everything.

Then there was the mystery party who was also among the final five
proposals the Island Elders narrowed the pitches down to. Nobody knew who this
party was, where they were from, or why they wanted the land. Hopefully, they’d
be there tonight and the mystery could be put to rest once and for all.

I made a mental note to Google Tommaso Barone when I got home. The fact
that this man lived on the island, and ran an animal sanctuary and I’d never
heard anything about it before not only sat oddly in my craw, but it also
intrigued me. How was he able to stay that hidden from all the gossipy,
meddling islanders who used rumors like their own personal oxygen tank?

I was halfway home when my phone in my back pocket rang.

Hardly anybody ever called me. Everything was done through text these
days. Leave a paper trail, and let people answer you when they could.

This meant it was either a spam call, or something serious.

Careful not to drive off the road into the ditch, I leaned over and
grabbed it out of my pocket, getting hit with instant dread when I saw that it
was the school calling.

I hit “speaker” mode and set it in the phone holder on my dash.
“Hello?”

“Danica?” Sierra, the San Camanez Elementary School secretary asked.

“Hi Sierra,” I sighed, already knowing she was calling about Sam.

“I’m afraid Sam is sitting here in the office. She’s had a bit of an …
um … episode.”

The school, unfortunately, was no overly understanding or accommodating
for children with any mental health issues or neurotypical diagnosis. This
wasn’t the first time Sierra, or Principal Pickford called Sam shutting down
when things became too overwhelming, or she started to experience anxiety, “an
episode.” Sam’s teacher, Ms. Fitzpatrick, was a bit better, however, her hands
were rather tied since Otto Pickford, the principal from Hell, kept her on a
very tight leash. It seemed like most of the parents on the island were
crossing their fingers that the crusty old fart with the burst capillaries on
his nose would either retire, or have a stroke in his sleep in and just not
wake up. I’m not entirely sure his wife would even miss him.

“Can I speak with her?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’m afraid Principal Pickford would just prefer you come get her.
She’s already been very disruptive in her class today.”

“Put my child on the phone, please, Sierra,” I said a little sterner,
as my body temperature went up. My voice shook, since I normally wasn’t one for
confrontation. But for my child, I’d confront the Devil himself.

I thought for a moment Sierra was going to comply, based on the way the
phone rattled and the static over the line, but then a throat cleared and I
rolled my eyes. “Danica, this is Otto Pickford. Please come pick up Samantha.
Her outbursts and unmanageable behavior is becoming a bigger and bigger
problem. She will be waiting outside for you.” Then the line went dead.

Rage and worry filled every available crevice in my body as I pushed
down on the accelerator and took a left at the next fork rather than a right.

We needed to figure out a way to get rid of this man once and for all.
The way he roamed that school with his hiked up brown pants, yellow
short-sleeved button-up with a gravy stain and gross discolored mustache was
enough to give the kids nightmares. But it wasn’t just his personal appearance
that was frightening, it was his ego. His air of superiority. Like he was some
kind of god and all the children—and their parents—should revere him.

I pulled onto school’s road and slowed my roll. A sad, short figure
with blonde hair stood at the top of the drop-off roundabout in front of the
front entrance. My heart ached for my child.

Sam wasn’t a bad kid by any stretch of the imagination.

And I’m not one of those parents who thinks their crotch spawn can do
no wrong. I know I have flaws and I know my child has flaws. But she is a good
kid. She’s polite, she’s kind, she’s not bossy or rude. She doesn’t talk back.
She’s just shy, and suffers from low self-esteem and anxiety. And while I
wouldn’t even consider those flaws, they are setbacks, and can make her life
more difficult.

I pulled up right in front of her, parked the RAV but left it running.
With sadness in her eyes, she approached the back passenger door and opened it.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, her bottom lip wobbling.

“Stay here,” I said, climbing out and marching to the front door of the
school, yanking it open and not even bothering to address Sierra and her open
codfish mouth, or Otto and his wide, soulless eyes. I made my way down the hall
toward Sam’s closed classroom door and, with shaky breath and an even shakier
hand, I gently rapped on the window.

The lights were off as Ms. Fitzpatrick was using the overhead projector
for something, but she glanced up, saw me and smiled, understanding dawning in
her eyes.

She murmured something to the class and joined me in the hallway a
moment later, just in time for Otto to join us, his face a mottled array of
different shades of red.

“Danica St. Claire, you do not just march into my school and not
let the secretary or myself know your purpose,” he said, hoisting up his pants
and belt over his protruding belly, only for it to instantly fall again when he
let go.

I ignored him and smiled at Cheryl Fitzpatrick. “What happened today?”
I asked, as softly and gently as I could, even though inside I wanted to punch
Otto, but also run outside and comfort my kid.

“She had another episode,” Otto said, just as Cheryl went to
open her mouth. “She’s a troublemaker that child of yours. Nothing but
trouble.”

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and released it in a
quivering staccato a moment later as I tried my best to rein in my desire to
stomp on Otto’s foot hard enough to break every bone. Or at the very least a
few toes.

“I’d like to hear it from Sam’s teacher, please,” I said through
gritted teeth. “Since she was there and witnessed it.”

Otto huffed.

“We had to partner up, and unfortunately, Sam got partnered with
Clyde.”

Crap.

Clyde was a real piece of work. He was relentless in his torment of not
just Sam, but a few other kids as well. However, he wasn’t an idiot and dolled
out his in creative and sneaky ways. No wedgies or ponytail pulls. This kid
went for the jugular. He was like a leech that grew bigger and stronger the
more he emotionally and psychologically taunted his peers. The kid—in my
totally non-expert opinion—was a sociopath and needed to be put on a
government watchlist. An expert and figuring out a person’s weakness and
exploiting it, he was well-known for making several kids in his class cry by
only muttering a few words.

And Sam’s weakness was her shyness and low self-esteem. Or at least,
that was what he chose to prey on her about. He would comment on how it took
her longer to figure out math equations, and that she wasn’t a fast runner, or
was a terrible kicker when they played soccer. He teased her when she was
forced to read aloud—something she hated. Stuttering and lisping under his
breath to throw her off. And while my kid had neither a stutter nor a lisp, she
became increasingly self-conscious when he did this, believing there was
something wrong with her speech.

Clyde seemed to make it his life’s mission to just ruin her day. She
came home in tears quite often because he said something nasty to her that hit
a nerve, and my little love, who already didn’t think very highly of herself,
didn’t have the strength not to believe him.

“Why did she get partnered with Clyde?” I asked.

Cheryl sighed. “She was in the bathroom, and Clyde was getting a
bandage from the nurse when we selected partners, so it was a default thing
since they were the only two left without a partner.” The remorse in her eyes
eased my frustration a little. “I should have broken up another pair and reassigned
them. I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. Kids need to learn to work together,” Otto said. “There’s no
special treatment at this school. And certainly not for disruptors like
Samantha.”

Gritting my teeth, I did my best to lift the corners of my mouth a
little while continuing to face Sam. “What happened exactly?”

“Sam wouldn’t say much, but from what a few other kids said, Clyde told
her she was an idiot and couldn’t draw. Her writing was terrible. She was a
horrible speller, and he hated that he got partnered with the stupidest person
in the class. That if they got a bad grade, it was going to be all her fault
and he wouldn’t let her forget it.”

My fists bunched at my sides. “And what did Sam do?”

She put her head down on the desk and started using her scissors to
destroy her white eraser.”

“And she made an enormous mess all over the floor,” Otto added. “A
disrupter.”

Cheryl glanced at him. “I used my hand vacuum. Took fifteen seconds to
clean up. Not a big deal. Or a big mess.”

“That was it?” I asked.

Cheryl grimaced. “Not quite. He started to harass her that she wasn’t
helping. That she was useless, and—”

“Where were you during this?” I asked her.

Guilt shimmered in her gray eyes. “I was trying to get him to stop. But
as you know, Clyde is … difficult.”

“Okay. Then what?’

“She had an episode,” Otto blurted out. “I told you that.”

“She lifted her head, got right up into his face and just started
screaming,” Cheryl finally said. “She backed him into a corner, yelling loudly
in his face until I put a hand on her shoulder. Then she blinked and kind of
snapped out of it, only to burst into tears and run out of the room.”

I nodded slowly and swallowed. “Thank you.”

“I’m really sorry, Danica,” she said. “It’s not an easy class or group
of kids. I really am trying my best.”

“I know you are,” I whispered, reaching out and giving her arm a
squeeze.

Cheryl’s head bobbed and she opened the door to her class, closing it a
moment later.

I didn’t even bother to look at, let alone address, Otto Pickford. I
just spun around on my heel and stalked back down the corridor toward the front
door. But he was right behind me. Like wasp at a picnic. Buzzing and
bothersome, and in need of a good swat.

“Your daughter is a menace,” he prattled on, following me to the front
door. “The way she yelled at that young boy. You should be ashamed.”

I continued to ignore him, yanked open the front door and marched to
the driver’s side of my RAV.

“Did you hear me, Danica?” he hollered. “You need to get control of
your child. Or she won’t be welcome here at San Camanez Elementary anymore.”

I considered meeting his gaze before I slid behind the steering wheel,
but if I did, I’d probably say something I’d regret. I already knew it was
going to take every ounce of self-control not to drive up onto the curb and run
him over.

So instead, I simply climbed into my seat, fastened my belt and drove
off, leaving his ruddy, flustered face in my rearview mirror.

Neither Sam nor I said anything for a while as I drove. Not until I
pulled up to Heaven’s Leap, a lovely little view spot on the top of a cliff,
and turned off the ignition.

“Up here,” I said to her, jerking my head to indicate she should climb
into the front passenger seat.

It was too cold and windy to sit outside, but we could still watch the
seabirds ride the wind gusts like kitesurfers and have our mother-daughter
chat.

She clambered into the front seat, watching me warily.

I sucked in a deep breath, unbuckled my belt and pivoted to face her
tear-stained face. “All right, now let’s hear your version.”