Before he could guess the turn of her thoughts, she fumbled for the door latch, scrambled out of her seat and raced across the lawn as fast as if Lucifer himself were on her heels. She only hoped that she could run away from the awful truth. She couldn’t love J.D. Santini. Wouldn’t!

Behind her she heard the Jeep’s engine fire again. With a screech of tires, J.D. backed out of the drive. Tiffany didn’t turn around, just dashed up the two steps of the porch and propelled herself through the front door. He was leaving. Good. The more distance between his body and hers, the better. But it was only temporary. He’d signed a lease for six months.

Six months!

Inside, she slammed the door shut and sagged against the wall. She was perspiring and gasping for breath, her mind spinning in restless, unending circles. She’d never make it. Never. She couldn’t face living in the same house with him for the next two days, let alone half a year.

She couldn’t see J.D. again. Not now. Not ever. Unfortunately; she didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

“Write up an offer. Five-percent less than the owners are asking. Make it contingent on the soil analysis and water report.” J.D. eyed the surrounding acres of the Zalinski farm and told himself that he wasn’t making a hasty decision, that these three hundred acres were the right piece of property, that he wasn’t grasping at straws just to leave Bittersweet and Tiffany in his dust.

It had been days since the wedding and he’d barely seen her since. The tension between them was stretched to the breaking point; it was time to leave.

Max Crenshaw tugged at his tie and grinned widely. Beads of sweat slid down from his bald pate, over his fleshy cheeks and along his neck to disappear beneath his collar. “This is a good choice,” he said with a wink. “And the sellers are motivated. The offer shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good.” J.D. liked what he saw. The farm consisted of a stone house, barn and outbuildings set in rolling hills with a creek that zigzagged through the fields. Pine and oak trees offered shade around the buildings as well as fringed the neat acres now planted in grass. A few head of cattle grazed on dry stubble while sheep and goats occupied pens closer to the barn, and a tractor with a trailer hitched behind was parked on the knoll of one grassy field. The exposure and drainage looked right, the soil was known to produce high-quality grapes for Santini Brothers’ Sémillon, a white Bordeaux wine. The Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlots would be perfect for a new blend of red wine his father wanted to try. As far as J.D. could see, this place would be perfect.

And he could leave.