Don’t think about it, she told herself. For once, enjoy the moment. He’ll be gone soon and then where will you be? Alone. Again. Hasn’t every man who ever was a part of your life left? First your father, then your husband, now J.D. Her throat turned to cotton and a pain, needle sharp and hot, ripped through her heart.

She told herself that she was being a ninny, that he didn’t care for her, had never cared for her, and any feelings she was harboring for him were just silly, romantic whimsies.

Remember, Tiffany, you can’t love this man. You just can’t!

But she did. The simple, unalterable and painful fact was that she loved him. Wrong or right. For better or worse. Cringing inside at the turn of her thoughts, she was just a step behind him as he showed her around the grounds, pointing out reasons this farm was better than the others he’d seen.

The sun dipped below the horizon and the few clouds hanging low over the western hills blazed brilliant orange and magenta as J.D. followed a path from the house to the barn. Swallows were nesting in the rafters and screeched their disapproval of anyone in the vicinity. A few frogs began to croak and in the distance a coyote sent up a lonely howl.

“It’s peaceful out here,” she said. “Different from the city.”

“Just a tad.” The barn door was on rollers and he shoved it open. It creaked and groaned, as if protesting their entrance before finally giving way.

“Needs a little oil,” she observed.

“A lot of oil. The whole place needs work. Obviously, but not more than I expected. Both the house and this barn are over a hundred years old and even though they’ve been updated, the wiring’s shot, plumbing needs to be redone and the house reroofed. But with some time, money and effort I think the cottage could be restored and turned into a gift shop and this place could be converted into a winetasting room.” He motioned to the musty interior with its time-darkened beams, wide stalls and hayloft. High overhead a round window let in the last shafts of daylight and an owl, disturbed, fluttered in the rafters.

J.D.’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if he were already imagining what the converted farm would look like. He led her through a back door where the pasture dropped off steeply into a natural bowl. “This could be tiered and landscaped into a natural amphitheater that could be rented for parties, or summer concerts or weddings.”

“Just like the vineyard where you and I met,” she said automatically, then felt like a fool for mentioning something so personal.

“The same idea.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think you remembered.”

“How could I forget?”