Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (10 page)

A complex dance ensued. Reid forced Mia to yield to his superior strength without causing her to trip or fall as he drew her in, inch by inch, foot by foot.

“And this, ladies, is how we catch a wild one!” His voice rang with forced joviality. “May I introduce you all to Mia Bodell? Mia’s family owns the vineyard next door. She’s going to be telling you about some really
great local wines and her family’s approach to winemaking. That is, if I can bear to free her.”

It didn’t say much for the intelligence of the assembled cowgirls that they seemed to eat this last bit up. Their applause grew louder with every reluctant step that Mia took. Of course, Reid was the only one close enough to see the fury burning in her eyes.

“Listen,” he said, knowing that the other women wouldn’t hear him over their whoops and hollers.

She cut him off. “You knew,” she accused through gritted teeth. “You knew about Thomas’s plan back when you came to visit. You just love humiliating me, don’t you?”

They both knew the last accusation encompassed far more than Thomas’s confiding in Reid. “What could I have done? Blurt out the news? Like that would have gone over well. Listen, you’re upset. I understand—”

“You don’t understand anything about me.”

“I think I do. Thomas has thrown you for a loop.” He winced. Bad choice of words. “I’m sorry about it, but it’s not my fault.”

“Of course not. You never take responsibility.”

The words cut deep. Had she guessed that comment would hurt more than any other? “Now who doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

“I know enough not to like what I see,” she replied flatly.

Abruptly, he realized that they were standing virtually nose-to-nose as they exchanged barbs. A part of him wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her for her obstinacy; another part wanted to haul her into his arms and let her cry out the rest of her shock and hurt over the blow Thomas had dealt. From the bright sheen in her red-rimmed eyes, he figured the tears were about to breach the dam. And he
did
know Mia. Knew her
well enough to guess how much she would hate to let even a single tear fall in his presence.

He made a final attempt to reason with her. “Will you just listen? You don’t have to give this wine talk. I’ll—”

“What? Replace me?” She sniffed scornfully. “So now that your parents have invested in the winery, you’re an expert?”

“For Christ’s sake, I didn’t—”

“You may think you know something about wine. You’ve certainly fooled Thomas into believing you know enough to help advise us on how to promote our winery. But you know what I think? That I’m going to be stuck working with a shallow playboy cowboy whose knowledge of wine couldn’t fill a spit cup.”

F
URY COULD CARRY
Mia only so far before stage fright took hold. Resentment could last only so long before chagrin set in. As angry as she was at Thomas for dropping his bombshell on her, and as much as she disagreed with his plan to form a partnership with the Knowleses, it was unfair to lash out at Reid. Yet so far he’d been the sole target of her bitterness.

He didn’t deserve the words she’d hurled at him in the corral, didn’t deserve to be treated like a verbal punching bag. Her excuse—that this was one of the worst afternoons of her life and, after being lassoed and hauled across a dirt-filled corral like a stubborn heifer, one of the more embarrassing ones—didn’t hold water.

She hated being in the wrong. But apologizing to Reid was impossible when she was in the middle of a talk—or, rather, when she was in the middle of screwing up a talk that she should be able to give in her sleep, and probably had.

She should have been telling the women clustered around the teak tables on the flagstone patio how much fun it was to grow Pinot Noir grapes, the most challenging varietal of all. She should have told them how Pinot was referred to as “the heartbreak grape,” as its
delicate skin made it particularly vulnerable to frost and rot, two enemies of vintners.

She should have talked about how rewarding it was when her diligence in the vineyard’s blocks and Mother Nature’s indulgence came together to make a perfect black and sweetly juicy grape.

She should have talked about Thomas’s and her efforts to grow grapes in a responsible, sustainable manner. She could have told them about the birds they’d encouraged to live on the twenty-five-acre property—songbirds and owls—by building houses and nests. They welcomed bats, too, since they, like the birds, ate the pests that gorged on grapes and destroyed vines. Filling the sky with the soar and dip of winged creatures was far preferable to filling the soil with chemicals.

She should have talked about the joy and excitement of the harvest, from the picking to the de-stemming to the press. She could have told them about the expensive French oak barrels they imported because of the unique flavor, with hints of vanilla and spice, they gave to the wine aging inside.

She supposed she did actually speak about all these points. Kind of, sort of. The thing was, whenever she mentioned the vineyard and the vision Mia and her uncle shared for it and the winery, a sadness as heavy as wet cement weighed upon her. It made her lose track of her thoughts, exacerbating her stage fright. Her recourse was reflexive. She relied on the technical terms of graduate school seminars and presentations. Arid words like “Brix” and “malolactic fermentation” and “active acidity” and “pH scales” began to litter her sentences.

The worst wasn’t how badly she was flubbing the talk; it was her listeners’ politeness. They were so courteous and respectful. These women who’d been laughing
boisterously and having such a good time just minutes ago in the corral now sat with the blank-faced tolerance reserved for visits to one’s crotchety ninety-year-old aunt.

It was possible that on another day she might have been able to switch gears and save the talk from mind-numbing tediousness. But not today. Fortunately for the women gathered around the tables with their hydrangea and calla lily centerpieces, Tess Casari and her friend and scarf-lender Anna Vecchio came to Mia’s rescue.

Just as Mia was about to launch into an explanation of what tests were run to determine a wine’s readiness—because these ladies were clearly
dying
for a chemistry refresher—Tess raised her hand.

“Mia, my friend Anna and I are eager to hear more about the vineyards around Mendocino, and I’m sure these ladies, too, would love to have an insider’s guide. And while you’re telling us about the wines you’ve picked out, we could all begin tasting them.”

“Oh—of course!” Caught up in the miserable hash she was making of her presentation, she hadn’t recognized the easiest solution to her dilemma: to let everyone enjoy the grape.

The bottles were aligned in neat rows in front of her on a long table. “Well, we have one wine here that’s made less than a mile away: It’s our Bodell Family Vineyard Pinot Noir. Then this is a very nice Merlot, an excellent Cabernet Sauvignon, and a Petite Sirah that’s a really lovely summer wine.”

She moved down the table to where the white wine sat chilling in miniature-sized oak barrels—such a nice touch and utterly in keeping with everything the Knowleses did at the guest ranch—and continued. “And for you white-wine lovers, we have a Chardonnay, a Sauvignon Blanc, and a Viognier. Viognier is a less well-known varietal but one I think you all will enjoy.”

She paused, aware how easily the words had come, and became determined that her next ones should flow as smoothly. “Reid, who you know already from his impressive roping skills, is also pretty savvy when it comes to wine. It was his idea to feature varietals from Mendocino so that you could enjoy the local flavors. Let’s give him a round of applause, ladies.”

Although Reid was standing at the other end of the patio, about as far from her as he could get, Mia saw the surprise that crossed his face at her acknowledgment. After the mean-spirited things she’d said to him in the corral, he certainly wouldn’t have been expecting it.

For a second their eyes met, and he gave her a slight nod. The tight knot in her stomach eased a little.

Barely any wine remained, and the level of enthusiasm along with the cowgirls’ laughter had returned in full. Mia was also pleasantly surprised when a number of the women came up and thanked her for the talk and complimented her on the Pinot Noir. That Anna Vecchio and Tess Casari were among them was an even greater surprise.

“Oh, hi!” she said as they stepped forward.

“Thanks for the great talk, Mia. I learned a lot,” Tess said.

“Maybe more than you wanted to,” she answered.

“Not true.” Tess shook her dark head. “I’m loving what I’m discovering about the regional wines here. Mia, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Anna. She’s opening a restaurant in New York City this fall. It’ll be the hot spot for real Italian food.”

Anna elbowed Tess affectionately. “I’m hoping that’s the case—and maybe it will be if Tess keeps promoting
Lucia’s to anyone with ears. Admit it, Tess, you’ve even been talking to your lambs about me.”

“Angie, Arlo, and I talk about lots of stuff,” Tess said. “They’re happy your dream of owning a restaurant is coming true. All they care about is not ending up on any of your plates. Or in a ragù.”

“Oh my God, she’s going to turn vegan on me and start wearing hemp,” Anna exclaimed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Still, coming to Acacia’s obviously been good for her. And, as Ward said, it’s all thanks to my Nonna Lucia’s favorite scarf. Nonna always claimed it brought her luck. I’m figuring you may be the next in line to benefit from its positive magic, Mia.”

Mia blinked. What did one say to someone who announced that her grandmother’s silk scarf held supernatural properties? Despite Anna’s countrified outfit of jeans and a poppy-red button-down shirt decorated with black stitching, she had the air of a sophisticated New Yorker. Tess Casari looked normal, too. Neither seemed like the type to go for palm readings or such. Mia settled for a lame “Uh, that would be nice.”

“Of course, the good luck would have to extend to Reid, wouldn’t it, Anna? After all, he was the one who was blindfolded,” Tess observed.

Mia wondered whether she could take back the “that would be nice” bit now that Reid was involved. Did someone like him really need any more good fortune?

“It would have to,” Anna agreed, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation. Maybe it was for them. They both looked pleased as punch at the idea of a magic scarf sprinkling joy, happiness, and serendipity. Unfortunately, Mia was living through one of the worst days of her life and was skeptical that a scarf had any power to improve it.

Mia gave silent thanks when Anna changed the topic. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your family’s
Pinot Noir. What are the prospects for this year’s harvest? Do you think you’ll be able to make as good a wine as the one you offered us today?”

“I hope to. But my uncle’s moving to France, so I’ll be taking over the role of winemaker. I’ve got big shoes to fill,” she said in a massive understatement. The thought had her stomach clenching once more.

“Your uncle’s moving to France?” Tess’s surprise was obvious.

So the small town of Acacia hadn’t guessed what she herself had been unable to figure out. That was a relief of sorts. “Yes,” she said. “Thomas has fallen in love with a French vintner.”

“He’s fallen in love? That’s great!”

Affianced to a gorgeous man, Tess might well think so. “He’s very happy.” And Mia was happy for him. She only wished he’d fallen for a Napa winemaker.

“So you’ll be running the business on your own?”

“Actually, I’ll stick to growing the grapes and making wine. Reid will be—”

She got no further. Tess’s attention had suddenly been diverted. Mia turned her head, following Tess’s gaze, and the reason for the distraction became clear. Reid and Ward were walking toward them.

The brothers were undeniably stunning. Ward had the tall, dark, and handsome thing thoroughly covered. He took after his father, Daniel. Reid was whipcord-lean, and his eyes shone brilliant blue in his tanned face. He still hadn’t trimmed his shaggy gold-blond hair. The casual, tousled look suited him. Everything suited him.

Mia had known them both for years. She’d always admired Ward. He was serious and responsible—just the sort of man Mia always told herself she was looking for. Why, then, was it Reid who made her heart thump until it hurt? Why did he cause everything to melt inside her when she wasn’t even sure she liked him and when
she knew
he
didn’t like
her
? She hadn’t missed his horrified expression when he removed the supposedly lucky scarf and saw exactly who was caught in his lasso.

Ward went straight to Tess. Wrapping an arm about her waist, he kissed her on the lips. Mia heard the collective sigh that escaped the women who’d observed the embrace.

Ward released Tess from his kiss. “Jeff is wondering whether Anna is ready to make the zucchini pizzas,” he said, still holding her close.

“Oh, yes,” Anna replied, then turned to Mia. “This was one of my Nonna Lucia’s recipes. It’s incredible.”

“We were telling Mia about Lucia’s lucky scarf,” Tess said. “Isn’t it interesting, Reid, how you ended up roping Mia?”