2 Crushed (5 page)

“What’s the deal with you romance
types? You get all twittery when a guy carves your name in his egg foo young or
hides the ring in a crème cheese wonton even if you crack a tooth finding it,
and you think everyone else craves the same experience.”

Adam grinned. “So what you’re
telling us is…no sky writing?”

Sally gave a disappointed groan,
picked up the bottle of burgundy, and headed for the door. “Midwesterners,” she
muttered loud enough for them to hear. “Can’t wait to see what your wedding
will be like. A keg of beer, some sparklers, and three kinds of potato salad
after the preacher man pronounces you man and wife down along the cow pasture.”

“Don’t worry, you aren’t invited!”
Billie called after her.

The sound of the front door banging
shut was her reply.

She sighed. “Why can’t people just
be happy for other people instead of always trying to rewrite the occasion to
fit
their
dreams?”

“Don’t ask me,” Adam said, watching
her shut down the computer. “I’m a guy. I don’t dream about getting married.
Talk about nightmares!”

“If your music doesn’t pan out, I’m
sure you’ll have a bright future in comedy. You should take your routine to the
Standup Club downtown. They have a lot of drive-by shootings.”

“Ouch! Is that how you share the
love in your moment of joy? You should be ecstatic. Run off and call Mom and
inform her you’ve finally said yes to a man, so she can start counting down the
days until grandchildren begin popping out.”

She ignored his teasing for the
most part but her lips tightened at mention of their mother. When they exited
the door of the winery Sally’s car was already gone; a haze of gravel dust left
in its wake.

“You did say yes, didn’t you?”

She stuck her hand two inches from
his nose. “Of course I said yes. How else would I get this ring?”

“True.”

He kept pace with her as she strode
toward the house. The temperature had dropped with the sun. It felt almost
comfortable. He wasn’t accustomed to ninety-degree weather at the end of
September, but he supposed he could learn to live with it. Snow and ice would
make a much better vacation get-away than dealing with it for nine months of
the year.

Inside, Billie flipped lights on as
she hurried through the house. She never could stand to be in an unlit room. He
understood now the reason for that, and regretted teasing her about it when she
was a teenager. The fancy leather couch greeted him when he stepped into the
living room. He chose the recliner instead and stretched out with a sigh of
contentment.

“You want something to drink?”
Billie called from the kitchen.

“No thanks.”

A couple minutes later she joined
him, a cola in hand, and plopped down on the couch. She took a long drink and
laid her head back, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

Adam watched her from beneath his
lashes. She looked exhausted. Even with the glow of happiness about her, there
was a hint of disappointment. She opened her eyes and caught him watching her.

“What are you looking at?”

He grinned, but refrained from
using one of the timeless brotherly comebacks that quickly formed on his
tongue. He noticed whenever she sat on the couch she always stroked the leather
as though remembering something. “Mom said your furniture was ripped up when
Sean Parker broke in that night. That must have been quite a shock.”

She ran a finger down the seam of
the armrest. “A visit from a mountain lion would have been preferable. Sean
Parker’s handiwork was from a violent and cruel mind.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it
up.” His mother had told him of the man who raped Billie when she was a child;
the reason she had suffered night terrors for years; the man who would soon be
her father-in-law. At least he was safely behind prison bars for a good long
time. Adam had never met him, but if the man showed up again while he was
around, he’d make damn sure he never hurt another child.

For a moment he imagined a depth of
unhealed pain flooded Billie’s eyes, but then she shrugged. “It’s all right. My
therapist tells me that holding things in is not healthy. To think they go to
school for eight long years to be able to spout that drivel.” She grinned and
changed the subject. “So, when are you going to figure out how to get
Fredrickson Winery making money again instead of losing it? That’s why I hired
you, you know. Do you know a good magician?”

He pulled the lever of his chair
and sat up straight to meet her at eye level. “No, but I have a better idea.”

Her gaze widened in anticipation.
“Do tell.”

*****

Margaret answered the phone on the
third ring. Her hello was met with two seconds of dead air. Telemarketers
again. She set the phone back in its cradle, then stood there staring at the
thing. She didn’t believe in premonitions, but felt sure it would ring again.
Even though she’d anticipated it, when it rang the sound still made her jump.
She tentatively reached out and picked it up.

“Hello? Margaret? Are you there?”

“Adam,” she finally responded. His
deep baritone was already familiar and strangely comforting. She relaxed and
leaned against the kitchen counter. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy? Cause I can call
back later.”

She smiled against the receiver.
She definitely had this guy doing somersaults to please her. On the one hand,
she was flattered. On the other hand, she didn’t want to come across as
controlling or a shrew. She could be spontaneous when she tried. Sometimes she
even allowed Davy to stay up past his bedtime on a school night or gardened in
the heat of the afternoon rather than the morning.

Davy was taking a shower before bed
and Handel hadn’t come home from the office yet. She was alone—for the
moment. Not that she needed to be alone to speak with Adam on the telephone.
After all, what would he have to say that would require privacy?

“Now’s fine. What is it?”

“Just wondered if you could get
away for a while. Take a walk with me. So we could talk.”

“Talk?” She felt like a parrot repeating
the word, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. His request scared
her more than if he’d asked to sleep with her. She’d learned to handle those
kinds of requests over the years, to have a quick comeback, to wilt a guy’s
advances with her “back off” glare. But this—talking while
walking—backlit by the moon and stars, would require
interaction—maybe even kissing…

She felt heat rise up her neck.
Where the heck had that thought come from? She had no intention of kissing Adam
Fredrickson. She heard the shower shut off in the bathroom down the hall. Davy
would be in his pajamas and running out to say goodnight any minute. She
couldn’t leave him all alone in the house while she walked around outside with
some man she’d barely met, talking and laughing and…definitely not kissing!

“Margaret? You still there?”

She clutched the receiver closer to
her ear and glanced down the hall. “Yeah, I’m here. What did you want to talk
about? Can’t it wait until tomorrow night? You’re still coming for dinner,
aren’t you?”

“Of course. I just thought since
our siblings are taking the plunge that maybe we should get to know each other
better. In fact, Billie sort of gave me the idea. She said walking through the
vineyard at night was a good place to think and…”

“The plunge?”

“Yeah, you know…”

“No, I don’t know. What are you
talking about?” She had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She
sat down on one of the stools and rested her elbows on the counter, her head
with the phone pressed to her ear cradled in her hands.

“Hasn’t Handel told you…?”

She heard the garage door opening.
“He’s here now. I’ve got to go.” She didn’t wait for a response. She pressed
the disconnect button and dropped the phone to the counter.

Handel pushed through the door with
his suit coat draped over one arm and his briefcase in the other. He smiled
cheerfully. “Hey, how’s it going? Is Davy in bed yet? I have some news I’d like
to share with both of you.”

She shook her head. “He’ll be out
in a minute.”

“Great.” Handel set down his things
and opened the refrigerator door. “What’d you have for dinner? I’m starved.”

“There’s spaghetti in that blue
plastic container.”

He pulled it out, popped the top
off, and stuck it in the microwave to heat. “It’s been quite a day,” he said.
With a silly grin plastered across his face, he leaned against the counter and
faced her, his hands pushed in the front pockets of his slacks.

She heard the bathroom door bang
open and a couple seconds later Davy charged into the kitchen, wet hair slickly
combed over his forehead, his Spiderman pajamas clinging to his still damp
body. “Uncle Handel! I got two goals today at practice!” he announced loud and
proud.

Handel grinned, and high-fived his
soggy nephew.

“Didn’t you even dry off before you
put those on?” she asked.

“I forgot to bring a towel in the
bathroom, so I just rolled on the rug a little bit first. I’m pretty dry.”

Handel laughed. “Next time I forget
my towel, I’m gonna try that.”

“Don’t you dare!” she said, trying
to hide a grin. “You are such a bad example to my son.”

He shrugged. “Sorry. I do my best.
I can’t help it if he turned out goofy. It’s probably from bouncing that ball
off his head all the time.”

“No, it’s not!” Davy burst out. “My
teacher said exercise is good.” He got in his announcement pose, hands on hips,
chin lifted slightly for emphasis. “She said that kids need to exercise
everyday and eat vegetables and fruits cause there’s aah…epi…demic of obisity
in schools.”

Margaret raised her brows. “You
mean, obesity?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Isn’t his teacher about two
hundred fifty pounds? Maybe she should start playing soccer,” Handel whispered
in Margaret’s ear before turning to take his food out of the microwave.

“Did you brush your teeth, Davy?”
she asked, to divert the conversation and because he had been known to skip
that little procedure if he could get away with it.

“Why do you always ask the same
question every night?”

“Why are you answering a question
with a question? Did you or didn’t you?”

He turned around and tromped back
to the bathroom.

Handel chuckled as he sat at the
table with his dinner. “He may turn out to be a great lawyer someday if we can
break him of soccer before it knocks all the sense out of him.” He took a bite
of spaghetti.

“Just because you didn’t play
soccer in school doesn’t mean he shouldn’t. Everyone can’t be on the nerdy
debate team.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He seemed
so calm and collected, for a guy who had recently changed the course of his
life by popping the question. Why hadn’t he told her he was going to do that
today?

“Hey, I take offense at that. I may
have been nerdy then, but look at me now.”

She shook her head. “Only in court
do you reign supreme. Outside in the real world, you’re still the same older
brother I remember with a bad haircut and pimples.”

“I haven’t had my hair cut in ages
and my pimples are pretty much forgotten, so what are you so ticked about?” he
asked perceptively, his gaze locked with hers.

She tried to shrug it off, but she
couldn’t. The way it made her feel when Adam called and told her about Handel
and Billie was too personal, too close to the surface. Her eyes filled with
tears and she looked away. “I just thought after all we’ve been through that
you would tell me before you made important decisions—life changing
decisions for all of us.”

“What are you…” His lips spread
into a thin line and he put down his fork. He reached out and covered her hand
with his. “I’m sorry. I should have talked with you about it first. I didn’t
think. It was sort of spur of the moment, emotions running high kind of a
thing. I wanted to be the first to tell you. I didn’t think you’d find out
before I got home.”

“Adam called,” she said, and wiped
at her eyes. “He assumed I already knew.”

“Oh, terrific. Billie’s brother has
managed to tick you off again. I guess I can forget the happy blended family
wedding, huh?”

She managed a smile and shook her
head. “No, he didn’t tick me off. Actually, you’re the one I’m mad at, but I’ll
try to forgive you since you’re my brother and all.”

“Forgive him for what?” Davy asked,
suddenly at her elbow, a dab of toothpaste still clinging to his upper lip.

She wiped it away with the pad of
her thumb. “For not sharing his surprise sooner.”

“You have a surprise? What is it?”

Handel pushed his plate to the side
and donned his serious face. “I asked Billie to marry me today and I was hoping
that the two of you would give me away.”

“Give you away?” Davy scrunched his
eyes up in a frown. “What does that mean?”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “We would
be glad to give you away. Where do we sign up?”

Handel stood up and came around the
table to take them both into his arms for a group hug. “You two are my family
and always will be. Billie is just joining the tribe. It won’t change the way I
feel about you or what you can expect of me. I will always be here for you when
you need me. That’s a promise.”

Margaret hugged him back, knowing
that things always change and there was really nothing she could do about it
but go with the flow or swim against the current. She couldn’t ruin Handel’s
chance at happiness, so she would float along and hope there weren’t any jagged
rocks hiding just below the surface.

CHAPTER SIX

 
Margaret walked up and down the few rows
of Parker vines, carefully inspecting the heavy clusters of purple and
partially green orbs.
 
They were
nearly ready. The smell of ripening fruit was heady, almost overpowering. She
plucked a grape and popped it in her mouth, relishing the burst of sweet, tart
flavor. A few more days.

Every winemaker knew that
ninety-five percent of good winemaking began with the perfect grapes. She had
them. The other five percent from the winemaker’s personal touch and style.
This year’s crop would prove her ability and technique. She just had to follow
through.

She heard the approach of a vehicle
and turned, her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. A
sleek blue convertible sports car pulled up to the house. A man wearing a white
collared shirt opened the car door and stepped out. The way he moved was
familiar. He stood looking up at the house a moment before turning toward the
vineyard, and pulling off his sunglasses. Even at this distance she recognized
him.

August.

No. She wouldn’t think of him as
she once did. The nickname had been an endearment. Agosto Salvatore was nothing
to her now. The man who left her pregnant and brokenhearted at fifteen, who
fled to Italy without a thought for anyone but himself, did not deserve
respect, let alone a pet name. For ten long years he hadn’t tried to get in
touch with her or have any contact with his son. He may have grown older, but
she doubted he had grown kinder. Why had he returned now, after all these
years?

He lifted a hand in greeting,
hooked his glasses in the front of his shirt, and ambled slowly across the yard
toward the vineyard as though she’d been expecting him. He was the last person
she’d expected or wanted to see, and yet she knew he’d return, despite
desperate prayers to the contrary.

She suddenly wondered what she must
look like in worn out jeans with holes in the knees and one of Handel’s castoff
t-shirts splattered with blue and green paint. She supposed it was human nature
to want him to desire her and regret his choice ten years ago, even though the
last thing she wanted was a face-to-face confrontation with the man.

“Ciao, Margaret,” he said, a slow
smile climbing his face till his dark eyes glinted with that sexy light that
once made her weak in the knees. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing
it smoothly from his forehead. It was still thick and wavy and for a moment she
couldn’t help remembering the feel of it in her hands when they kissed.

She licked her lips and tried to
appear unimpressed with his fit, tanned body and playboy good looks. “What are
you doing here? I told you not to come back.”

“I didn’t think you truly meant it.
That man who was here before…does he work here?” he asked, glancing nervously
back toward the house.

“What do you want, Agosto?” she
asked, ignoring the question. Let him worry. Adam was younger, more muscular,
and a head taller. She doubted Agosto would want to have a run-in with him.
Perhaps it would keep him from overstaying his visit.

“You know what I want. I already
told your brother. I want to spend time with my son. He needs to know his
father. Where he comes from. Who he is.”

“My son knows exactly who he is. He
doesn’t need you to tell him that, or to buy him fancy toys to convolute the
message. He’s smart and kind and honest and generous. He’s a Parker, through
and through. You had your chance to know him and now it’s too late.” She
gripped the picking shears she held and tried to calm her temper.

His gaze turned steely and she knew
from experience that he expected to get his way, no matter what it took. “I
don’t want to bring the court system into our private affairs, but if you give
me no other choice…”

“How dare you come here with your
rich man attitude and think you can take what you want. This is America, not
Italy. And here you’re just a deadbeat dad who deserted his son and hasn’t paid
a cent to help raise him. So, get in your fancy car and go home.” She turned
and started walking away. Fear tightened screws down on her heart. The thought
of losing Davy through some fluke of the court system made her physically ill.
She had to get away from him before he saw how frightened his words made her
feel.

“Please.” The word vibrated with
emotion. She’d never heard him beg before.

She stopped and stood still.

“I’m sorry for running away. I was
just a boy and didn’t realize how much I would regret it. Leaving you. Leaving
my son.” He paused, and cleared his throat. “Please…won’t you give me a
chance?”

She slowly turned and met his eyes,
pleading and needy. She’d never seen this side of him. He looked down at the
ground for a second as though trying to pull himself together and then stepped
forward and tentatively held out a hand.

“Can you try to forgive me? Maybe
not for your sake, but for our son’s. I understand that he doesn’t need me. But
I need him.”

She wanted to believe him,
needed
to believe. She reached out and
took his hand and then just as quickly released it. The contact was too much,
too soon. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice husky. “But I need to speak with
Handel before I make any decisions.”

Agosto’s lips tightened at mention
of her brother, but he nodded. “Thank you, Margaret.” He pulled a business card
from his wallet and handed it to her. “My cell number. Will you call me when
you have made a decision?”

She nodded, took the card and stuck
it in her back pocket without looking at it.

He slipped his sunglasses on and
smiled. “I look forward to meeting my son,” he said, as though it were a done
deal.

Margaret stood rooted to the spot,
until his car disappeared back down the driveway and sped away into the hot
afternoon. Then she ran into the house and called Handel.

*****

Adam followed Mario around the
vineyard and winery all day, asking questions and mostly getting grunts and
nods. Mario’s English was worse than his Spanish, so it was a real learning
experience. The man tended Billie’s vines as if each cluster of grapes was
already worth a hundred dollars a bottle. He certainly hoped they were.

“Sneep,” Mario said. The man
pointed at the cluster of plump grapes and made a scissor motion with his right
hand.

Adam used the cutting tool he’d
been handed and snipped the cluster from the vine. He held it in the palm of
his hand like a newborn. Mario plucked a grape from the cluster and bit it in
half. He chewed thoughtfully and said something in Spanish. Then held out the
other half for Adam to inspect.

“Nice grape,” Adam said, unsure
what was expected of him.

Mario grunted and shook his head.
He turned and headed back to the red pickup parked at the end of the field, his
short legs, encased in baggy khakis, made quick time over the rough dirt track.
Adam assumed the lesson was over and followed. He popped a grape in his mouth
and chewed slowly, trying to get an idea of what Mario was so excited about.
Not that he was a connoisseur of grunts, but it seemed that his grunts had
escalated as they’d checked grapes on each acre and nearly every row.

He glanced toward the Parker place.
A blue convertible was backing away from the house. He was too far away to see
the driver, but from the make and model of the vehicle, they must be loaded.
He’d never be rich enough to drive a car like that. Probably some wealthy dude
from San Francisco out touring wineries and got lost. The car turned onto the
highway and was soon out of sight. He glanced back at the house and saw
Margaret sprinting in from the field. A moment later she yanked open the garage
access door and disappeared inside.

Mario tapped the horn of the
pickup. Adam hurried to catch up. He opened the passenger door and climbed in.
They rode the rutted road back around to the winery and Mario parked in the
shade of a big tree. He took the box with the sample clusters they’d collected
from each row and hurried across the gravel parking area, his work boots
kicking up a cloud of dust with each step. Adam followed and pulled open the
winery door for the man.

“Hey you two. Been out in the
fields all this time?” Sally said when they stopped at the front office. “You
look a little sunburned, Minnesota,” she teased.

“Miss Fredrickson?” Mario
interrupted, intent on his purpose.

Sally hooked a thumb toward the
back of the building. “She’s in the barrel room, I think.”

Mario started down the hallway.

“You better pick up a bottle of
water in the fridge first. You looked parched.”

Adam wiped his forehead with the
sleeve of his t-shirt. “It must be ninety degrees today. Glad I’m not wearing a
hooded sweatshirt like Mario. That man soaks up heat like a rock. It doesn’t
faze him.”

“He’s used to it. You, on the other
hand, look just this side of a heatstroke.”

“I’ll survive. Besides, the barrel
room is in the cellar, right? It’s cool down there.” He turned to follow Mario
and stopped. He poked his head back in the door. “Sally, do you know anyone
that drives a blue convertible Ferrari?”

Her brows went up along with her
interest. “No, but I’m open to an introduction. Love me a powerful engine.” She
stood up and moved toward the window. “Someone visiting the winery?”

He shook his head. “Just saw one
over at the Parker place.”

“Probably one of Handel’s rich
clients.”

“He has a lot of wealthy clients?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve
heard rumors. Some say he’s in bed with mobsters, but I think it’s just jealous
talk. He’s beaten some of the best attorneys around, and they all hate to lose.
Winning is inbred in them, or at the very least, force-fed to them in law
school.”

His gaze narrowed. “You can’t
really believe that—about the mobsters. My sister would never get
involved with someone like that.”

Sally laughed and shook her head,
moving back to her desk. “I said there were rumors. I didn’t say I believed
them. I’ve known Handel nearly his entire life. He’s a good guy.”

Sometimes he had a hard time
knowing when Sally was joking and when she was serious. He released the breath
of a laugh. “Just call me gullible.”

“I do,” she said with a grin,
“daily.”

He went in search of the barrel
room. A flight of stairs led down to the lower level where the temperature
instantly dropped another fifteen degrees. The change in temperature cooled the
sweat in his shirt and sent a chill down his arms.

“There you are.” Billie waved him
over.

Billie, Mario, and Ernesto
inspected and tasted the grapes. Mario spoke in rapid Spanish and Ernesto
interpreted for Billie’s sake. She nodded, clearly excited. Adam looked around
the big room. Large barrels were stacked in special racks, lying on their sides
three deep, filling the long cellar.

Billie thanked Mario, who grunted
something in return and followed the other man back up the stairs. Adam didn’t
know if he was supposed to keep tagging along, but he preferred the cool
cellar, so he stayed behind.

“Mario thinks we need to start
harvesting by the end of the week. Timing is everything. Are you ready to
experience Crush in the Napa Valley?” Billie asked, her voice sounding a tad
stressed.

He ran his hand along one of the
smooth Oak barrels. “I don’t know if I’m ready, but I’ll do my best to be a
help and not a hindrance. Are you ready?”

She bit at her bottom lip and
nodded. “I think so. Don’t have much of a choice. Ready or not, the grapes
ripen for picking, and the wine needs to be made.” She slowly inhaled and
released a breath. “I’ve decided to close the tasting room during harvest. All
the other wineries will be closed anyway, so traffic will be sparse. We’ll just
have to get by without that extra income.”

Upstairs again, they stopped in
Billie’s office and she rifled through some paperwork on her desk. “I need to
have Sally call and make sure the new barrels will be here on time. We’re going
to try something new this year. A white table wine.”

“Have you spoken with Margaret
yet?”

“Not yet. I thought maybe you’d
sound her out for me. You are having dinner with her tonight, right?” She
glanced up from the papers and smiled. “I’m not sure what to think about that.
I thought she disliked you at first sight, but now you’re—what? Dating?”

He slouched in one of the chairs
facing her desk, his hands laced behind his head. “I wouldn’t call it dating,
but she definitely digs me.”

“Reeeallly.” She stretched the word
out in her most sarcastic tone.

He nodded. “Yes. Really. At least
she likes me better than that slimy rich Italian that dropped by in his biggo
limo.”

Her eyes widened. “What Italian?”

“Some guy she really despises. You
think she took an instant dislike to me, you should have seen the look on her
face when we pulled up and he was there. She didn’t even want to talk to him.
She ordered him off her property and told him never to come back. I suppose
he’s some creep she dated or something. She didn’t say.”

Billie set the papers back on the
desk and opened her mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it. She
cleared her throat and picked up her cell phone to check for messages.

“What?”

She shook her head. “If she wanted
you to know, she would have told you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He
leaned forward in the chair. “You know something I should know and you’re not
going to tell me? If I wait for her to open up, I’ll be a century old.”

“He’s the one,” she said, leaning
against the edge of the desk.