Page 111 of Wild Abandon

When she’d had enough, she took my hand and walked me around the winery.

The morning sun was peeking over the mountains, and for the first time in my entire life, I knew I was home. I couldn’t explain it. There was something about the red-paneled winery and the mass production around it. It was a place of hard work and love.

That was why it surprised me when, hours later, Ellie finally introduced me to her parents, and her dad chased me out of the house with a shotgun.

I ran right off the veranda and into a rose garden, realizing too late that I’d run out the back door when I should have run out the front door. I might be in love with the man’s daughter, but I was smart enough to know a shotgun trumped love. I stood among the rose bushes as the sun started to drop, and the Napa chill poured in. I was freezing, but I wouldn’t move. I couldn’t.

One, I wasn’t going to leave Ellie. And, two, I wasn’t going to walk back into the ranch until I was invited.

I had my hands buried deep in my cargo shorts when Ellie’s mom walked onto the veranda. She was a beautiful woman with long red hair and the kindest smile I’d ever seen. So different from my own mother’s.

Rosemary took her time, walking down the stairs, her arms wrapped around herself. It wasn’t in a closed off way. It was almost as if she were giving herself a hug. As she drew closer to me, her smile became wider, kinder, and her eyes looked at me like only a mother could.

“Do you like my roses?” she asked lightly.

At first, I worried her roses were a euphemism for something else, but I quickly realized she was talking about the garden I was standing in.

“Yes, ma’am. They are very nice,” I stammered, sounding like a kid with the baritone of a man.

“They’re quite special, aren’t they?” she asked.

I nodded my head in agreement. They were beautiful. I wasn’t a flower guy, but even I could appreciate the field of vivacious red we were standing in.

“They are a delicate flower, armed with prickers. Sometimes, what we display on the outside is only to protect what we have on the inside.” She looked back at the house to where Ed and Ellie were probably fighting. “My husband is a rose. He pretends to be tough, but he’s really a ball of mush on the inside.”

“And Ellie?” I ask.

“She’s a wild flower. You can’t control that one.”

I laughed at just how well the mother knew her daughter. “I love your daughter, Mrs. Martin.”

“How do you know what love is? You’ve only known her for four days.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried to square my shoulders. “I’d like to know her better. Take care of her. Be a good husband for her.”

Rosemary looked back at me for a moment, the Napa breeze blowing through her hair. “You, Nathaniel, are a rose. You are trying to be a man when you are a scared boy.” Her words caused me to look at my feet, but she reached forward and placed her fingertips to my chin, raising it. “And that’s okay. You are a boy. A boy without a home. Let this be your home. You mean a great deal to Ellie, and therefore, you mean a great deal to us.”

A burning sensation stung around my eyes from the emotions her words were giving me. “Why would you do that? Why are you so accepting?”

“Love, Nathaniel. Love is magic. And you see these?” She caressed a nearby bloom and plucked a petal, placing it over my heart. “These are magic roses. They brought me Ellie, and now, they’ve brought you into our family.”

A family.

I hadn’t had one of those…ever.

I skeptically eyed the house, my mouth becoming drier. “What about your husband?” I asked.

She laced her hand through my arm. “We’re just going to have to win him over together.”

It took a long time to win Ed Martin over.

The Martin family lived in a two-bedroom apartment over the garage of the ranch, so it was hard to avoid him. Whenever I entered the room, he’d grunt at me.

There was no choice, other than my living there, as I had been renting a room from a very questionable man in a bad part of town.

“No way my daughter’s going to be living with the meth addicts of San Francisco. Damn boy can’t even put a roof over her head. What kind of husband does he expect to be?” had been his exact words.

I’d tried not to let them sting.