The Prodigal Son. Beth Andrews
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Praise for RITA® Award-winning author Beth Andrews
“Andrews combines sparkling dialogue with characters that have real depth.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Readers can always count on Beth Andrews to spin an empathetic tale with a loving happily ever after.”
—Cataromance
“Beth Andrews is an amazing writer and storyteller. I can’t wait to find another of her books to delve into.”
—Noveltalk
“If you haven’t read a book by Beth Andrews let me just say you’re missing out! She’s an author you must add her to your list.”
—Fresh Fiction
“I can only recommend Not Without Her Family whole-heartedly. It made me smile and cry—a wonderful comfort read and one I will definitely pick up again.”
—All About Romance
Dear Reader,
I’m fascinated by family dynamics, from the bond formed between a parent and a child, to the relationships between siblings. I love to see how those dynamics shift and change as marriages evolve out of that wonderful honeymoon stage into building a life, making a home and raising children together. How parents act with and react to their children during their many phases of growth. How families cope with milestones—both those small moments that seem to pass in the blink of an eye, to the larger, life-altering ones.
During the writing of this story, I went through one of those milestones. And while this event was, in the grand scheme of things, small and happy, it has changed the very dynamics of my household. My eldest child, my only son, started college six hundred miles away. One phase of our lives is over but a new phase of his life has just begun. And while I may mourn the ending, I’m proud and excited for my son’s new adventure.
Matt Sheppard experiences one of those life-altering changes in The Prodigal Son—though not by his own design. He’s quite happy with his life and has no intention of ever returning to his small hometown of Jewell, Virginia.
We all know what they say about the best of intentions.
Matt may not have planned on returning to Jewell, but by returning home he finds forgiveness, acceptance and, most important, love.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit my website, www.bethandrews.net, or write to me at P.O. Box 714, Bradford, PA 16701.
Happy reading!
Beth Andrews
The Prodigal Son
Beth Andrews
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beth Andrews is a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner and Golden Heart winner. She lives in northwestern Pennsylvania with her husband and two teenage daughters. In her free time she visits wineries, drinks wine—both for research purposes, of course—and works on perfecting her recipe for crème brûlée. When not researching (or making fattening desserts) she can be found counting the days until her son returns from college. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.BethAndrews.net.
For Trevor.
Acknowledgments
My sincere gratitude to the wonderful women at Casa Larga in Fairport, New York, and Mitzi Batterson of James River Cellars Winery in Glen Allen, Virginia.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PROLOGUE
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you’ve been offered a job?”
Though the words were said quietly, almost conversationally, eighteen-year-old Matt Sheppard knew better than to let his father’s mild tone fool him.
He was in trouble.
What else was new?
But at least it would be for the last time. The last time he had to stand before Tom Sheppard, stiff as a soldier in front of a four-star general, waiting for some form of discipline—or worse, one of his dad’s long-winded lectures.
Matt forced his shoulders to relax. “I was offered a job at a winery in Napa.”
What he left out was that he’d applied for said job. And a dozen others. Anything to get as far away from his hometown of Jewell, Virginia, and, more importantly, the Diamond Dust—his father’s beloved winery.
Tom took off his reading glasses and set them aside before slowly leaning back in his chair. His eyes—the same green as Matt’s—narrowed on his youngest son. King of his domain, Matt thought snidely. Never did his dad feel more self-important than when he was sitting behind his huge, mahogany desk in his oppressive office with its dark woodwork and leather furniture. Matt’s mother, Diane, stood to her husband’s right, a hand on his shoulder.
They were, as always, a unit. One entity. Usually against him.
He tried not to fidget even though his dad stared at him as if trying to read his thoughts. They’d arrived home twenty minutes ago from Matt’s high-school graduation. And while he’d exchanged his dress clothes for his normal outfit of cargo shorts and a T-shirt, his mom still had on her sleeveless blue dress, her long, blond hair held back in a sparkly clip. His dad’s tie was loose, his shirtsleeves rolled up. His suit coat hung over the arm of one of the matching chairs behind Matt.
“You already have a job,” his dad finally said, the assumption being that because Matt was a Sheppard, he’d spend his last summer at the Diamond Dust before starting college. That he’d want to stay.
Matt flipped his hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. “Yeah, I do.” Though he wanted to look anywhere but at his father’s stern gaze, he met the old man’s eyes. “In Napa. I start in two days.”
“Oh, Matthew,” his mom said, sounding disappointed. He ground his back teeth together. Besides getting into trouble, he also excelled at disappointing his parents.
Was it any wonder he wanted to escape?
Tom straightened and leaned forward. “You accepted a job almost three thousand miles away without bothering to tell us about it first?”
“I’m eighteen,” Matt pointed out, unable to hide the defensiveness in his tone. “I don’t need your permission.” He swallowed but the lump in his throat remained. “When Brady was my age, he was already enlisted.”
“You’re not Brady,” Tom snapped.
Matt’s hands shook. He slid them into his front pockets. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not Brady. Or, better yet, Aidan. Right?”
“That’s enough,” his mother insisted, her voice shaking. “We don’t