Say You're Mine

She's his enemy, his downfall—and his one last chance at love.

After Adam Danvers lost his wife in a tragic accident, he stopped believing in love. Instead, Adam has focused solely on running his family’s struggling vineyard in the small town of Heron’s Landing.

When Joy McGuire, a beautiful and clever journalist, moves to the sleepy town, suddenly Adam can’t control his intense attraction to her. She’s witty; she pushes his buttons. He wants to shake her as much as he wants to kiss her.

But Joy is a journalist, and Adam hates them all on principle. He saw firsthand how a journalist’s lies destroyed his late wife. Yet as Joy proves that she’s nothing like the writers he’s known, Adam can’t help but give in to exquisite temptation.

Soon a conflagration ignites between Adam and Joy. Yet as secrets unfold, Adam must trust in love or lose the woman who’s awakened his slumbering heart.

Joy McGuire glanced down at her chipped manicure and sighed. She had a feeling this was going to be an omen for the rest of her week.
The movers weren’t even close to arriving in Heron’s Landing, and Joy had had to sleep on a few blankets and a jacket for a pillow the night prior. Her back aching and her neck sore, she could’ve cheerfully murdered someone when she’d gotten a call that the movers were lost—again—and they wouldn’t be in town until later that evening.
It was nine o’clock AM.

At least she’d driven with the majority of her clothes and toiletries, so she could put on clean underwear and wash her face. She just hoped she’d be able to sleep in a bed tonight, otherwise she was sorely tempted to book a room in the one inn this town of two hundred and fifty people hosted.


Heron’s Landing was a far cry from Chicago: tiny and quintessentially Midwestern, it had a single main street with no more than a dozen shops and restaurants, while its main feature was a vineyard on the north side of town.

Tourists wandered around, fanny packs and cameras in tow, taking photos of the old-timey architecture. It was the beginning of June, and the day would promise to be a fairly warm one. Cicadas hummed in the trees, and the trills of sparrows and wrens filled the air. 


Sometimes Joy wondered if she’d completely lost her mind, moving here. But she’d wanted to start over, and what better way to start over than to move somewhere the complete opposite of what you were used to? Heron’s Landing wasn’t going to have the crime sprees and drug busts like Chicago would, but there were stories here.

Joy was rather looking forward to writing pieces on the opening of a new restaurant or how the town came together to fix a senior citizen’s roof. She wanted staid. Normal. Boring. She’d had enough drama to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
So, Heron’s Landing it would be. At least for now.

Glancing down at her chipped nail polish, Joy sincerely hoped there was at least one decent manicurist in the town. She really hated to have her nails go bare.


Wandering down main street, Joy found what she was looking for: a café. A café had coffee. And maybe some kind of pastry. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. She’d been so preoccupied with her lost movers that food had completely slipped her mind.

Now her stomach was reminding her of her neglect, and she hoped this sleepy little café called Trudy’s had more to it than just weak coffee and dry biscuits.


“Just one?” the hostess asked with a bright smile, and Joy nodded. The hostess—Grace, she read on her nametag—had her hair in a configuration of braids on top of her head, some falling down already. Her uniform had been haphazardly put on, and her skirt was crooked. Freckles dotted her peaches and cream complexion, and her smile could put any toothpaste commercial girl to shame.

“Are you visiting?” Grace asked as she placed the menu in front of Joy. “Just so you know, our pancakes are kinda famous around here.”


“No, I’m here to stay. At least for a little while.” Joy glanced over the menu, but she was so tired that she could barely read the words in front of her. 


Grace’s eyebrows rose. “A new person? Oh, we haven’t had a new person since…” She tapped her lip, thinking. “Well, probably not since I came back, but I’m not really new. Just one of the locals who couldn’t stay away.”


“Why’d you come back?” Joy couldn’t help but ask. She’d grown up in Springfield, Illinois, but had been in Chicago for the last few years—but had never really felt particularly drawn to one place over the other.


“Oh well, I just graduated—a degree in studio art—and unfortunately for us artists, it’s hard to make a living on painting and drawing.”

The brightness in Grace’s smile turned brittle for a moment, like she hadn’t wanted to return at all, and Joy felt a little guilty for pressing.


“I understand that all too well. I’m a writer. People are always trying to pay me in pats on the back.”


“A writer! I don’t know if we have any around here. Not beyond Mrs. Jenkins, who’s always talking about writing that romance novel about Vikings. But she’s been talking about that for twenty years now.”

Seeing the front door open, Grace added, “I have to get these guys, but Terry will take care of you. Welcome to town, Joy.”


Joy ended up ordering the pancakes, and she couldn’t help but agree with Grace: they were damn good. The coffee was strong and hot, and Joy slumped in the well-worn leather of the booth and simply enjoyed the food and drink.

She hadn’t really sat down in what felt like weeks: not with packing up her apartment in Chicago, driving five hundred miles south to Heron’s Landing, trying to help her directionally-challenged movers get on the right highway, and then sleeping on the floor last night? It was a wonder she was still standing.


Having finished her pancakes, Joy wondered if she should go back to her apartment above Mike’s general store—yes, a real general store, and Joy had fallen in love with it the moment she’d stepped inside it—but there was nothing there. She couldn't unpack; she couldn’t set up her new bookshelves; she couldn’t even cook something.

She tapped her nails on the plastic tabletop, thinking. Maybe she could go for a walk? Explore the town? But at the thought, her body groaned. What she really wanted was to go take a nap, but that wasn’t really a great idea, given her bed situation.


Beds inevitably made her think of her old apartment, overlooking Lake Michigan. Her bed was a brand-new, king-sized pillow-top with an expensive duvet and matching pillows. It had been a rather large splurge on her part—it wasn’t as if she made a ton of money as a freelance journalist—but she’d always dreamed of a bed just like it. Even the bright white of the duvet hadn’t put her off.

Sure, it would be close to impossible to keep clean in the grand scheme of things, but what did she care? It was hers. And it was gorgeous.


Jeremy had made fun of her for it. So I guess this means we aren’t sleeping in the bed? he’d said the moment he’d first seen it. Joy had shown him how wrong he’d actually been soon thereafter.


Joy bit her lip, covering how her body shivered when she thought of Jeremy. She’d left Chicago and her apartment and Lake Michigan and the trains and the bustle mostly because of him. She didn’t want to admit that to herself, but it was true. The second she’d found out he’d been cheating on her with her supposed best friend Regina? Her world had fallen apart. She and Jeremy had been together for five years, and he repaid her by sleeping with the woman she’d loved as much as she’d loved Jeremy.

The double betrayal had done a number on her, and because Joy preferred things to be clean and final, she’d cut off the both of them without looking back.
She wished cutting them out of her life had concluded everything.

But the wound still gaped and bled, no matter how hard Joy tried to ignore it.
Shaking her head, she set some money on the table and got up, deciding that sitting and thinking about Jeremy wasn’t going to improve her mood. She’d left Chicago for that very reason, and she refused to let his betrayal ruin this fresh start.

As she made her way to the door, a man stepped in.

He was tall—at least a head taller than Joy—with dark hair and dark eyes. But what brought her to attention the most was how rugged he was, with muscled forearms and a firm jaw sprinkled with stubble. He was also rather dirty, with leaves in his hair, and Joy found herself intrigued despite herself.


“When’s the last time you took a bath? Did you roll in the mud this morning?” Grace demanded, her hands on her hips. She then looked at Joy, her expression changing to one of entreaty. “Let me get you a piece of cake to take home. We always give newcomers some.”


The man made a face. “Since when was that a tradition?” 


“Since this morning!” Grace called out from the kitchen.
Joy found herself standing next to the man, and she had to stop herself from staring at him. He wasn’t handsome, per se, but he was striking, in a masculine kind of way.

She’d gotten so used to men like Jeremy, who were always perfectly dressed and their hair perfectly coiffed, that she couldn’t help but want to know more about a man who was the antithesis of the men she knew. 


Or so she told herself when her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He was very tall, and very rugged, and his hands—


“I haven’t seen you around here.” The man held out his hand, surprisingly clean despite the rest of his appearance. “I’m Adam Danvers.”