Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (32 page)

Listening, Reid had the feeling that his mother might go on for another couple of hours and that by the end of her and Mia’s chat she’d have nailed down a wedding date and begun discussing what style of wedding gown would best suit Mia’s voluptuous body.

Damn it, he refused to be rushed. There was no point in taking the next step until the harvest was over and the grapes were fermenting in the tanks. Mia would be working insane hours until then. He needed those weeks to figure out how to plan his proposal and convince Mia that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

She was happy, he knew, so it should be a simple thing to pull off. Yet the idea made him nervous. Tense.

Perhaps that’s why his tone came off sharper than normal when he spoke, why he cut off his mother, who was in the midst of talking about some planters she could give Mia to decorate the terrace until she had time to plant the roses. “Sorry to interrupt, Mom, but Glory needs to be put away. Come on, Mia. I’ll show you how to sponge-bathe him.”

His mother’s smile was unfazed. “Of course, dear.” Addressing Mia again, she said, “Would you like to stay for dinner afterward?”

“We have previous plans.” At least he did. And they didn’t include anyone but Mia and him.

A flicker of annoyance flashed in his mother’s blue gaze. Damn if it didn’t make him feel guilty. But silently he stared her down.

He felt Mia’s gaze shift between them. “Thank you for the invitation, Adele, but I should get back. I’ve left Bruno at home for longer than I like. And I need to make sure everything is neat and tidy for our visiting artists tomorrow.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll come to the dinner tomorrow night, then.”

“I’d like that,” Mia said.

His mother’s answering smile was warm and, Reid thought, triumphant.

She really needed a new hobby.

Once Reid had removed Glory’s saddle and bridle and draped the saddle blanket on top of the railing to air-dry, he showed Mia how to sponge the gelding off and then how to wield the metal scraper so his coat would dry faster. He talked about how important it was to check that a horse’s chest was cool to the touch before turning it out or putting it back in a stall.

They led Glory to the corral, where Reid told Mia to position herself by the side of the horse’s head when she unbuckled his halter and to take a step back as she removed it and turned him loose—always a good precaution when dealing with a strange horse.

He even got a laugh out of her when Glory wheeled about, trotted to the center of the corral, sank to his knees, and proceeded to give himself a dirt bath, his hooves pawing the air as he rubbed his back, withers, and rump.

“I feel almost as dirty as Glory, and I didn’t even have
to get down and roll on the ground,” she said, a smile in her voice.

He tipped the brim of her hat up. “I have a solution for that. How about we go spring Bruno and take a shower? Because I’m a nice guy, I’ll even sponge you off.”

It was only because he’d pushed her hat back that he caught her wistful expression. Then it was gone.

“Sure. That sounds nice.”

Nice? He intended to make their evening together a hell of a lot more than that.

I
T WAS A
strange and novel experience to see the vineyard temporarily overtaken by people who wielded paintbrushes and pencils rather than pruning shears and wire ties and who had no connection to winemaking. Though a number of the ranch’s art-loving guests had mentioned that they’d like to buy a few bottles of the winery’s Pinot Noir as souvenirs of the landscape they were attempting to capture on canvas and paper, which was gratifying and went some way toward alleviating the headache pounding Mia’s temples.

She hadn’t slept well, plagued by confusing dreams. Their origins were easily identifiable. The approaching harvest and all it would require of her were making her stressed. Her relationship with Reid—or lack of it—was making her emotions seesaw and her stomach clench. Sometimes she was convinced he felt something for her; other times she despaired of his ever wanting more than friendly bouts of hot sex with her.

His attitude yesterday at the ranch conformed exactly to the frustrating pattern. His lightning-fast nixing of his mother’s invitation to stay over for dinner made it transparently clear that he didn’t want Mia crossing the lines he’d drawn in their relationship. Apart from her
trail rides at the ranch, Mia was never invited over. And that hurt, because of course the ranch represented so much of who Reid truly was.

But how could she argue or even broach the topic of whether he was interested only in screwing around when he was so generous with what he
was
willing to share?

He never failed to help her at the vineyard; he listened to her ideas and did his best to implement them; he got along with her crew and respected their work. And she’d have to be insane to find fault with how he treated her body. He gave and gave, bringing her hours of pleasure.

And whenever Mia did go for a ride at the ranch, Reid either made the time to accompany her or was there to send her off or greet her upon her return. He invariably took the time to teach her something about the horse she’d ridden. She loved that.

She loved so much about him.

But she felt stuck in a weird place, where she had to reconcile being worshipped by a warm and indulgent lover with being held at a painful distance when it came to sharing his life. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t find a satisfactory explanation, except that maybe she’d been right: She was the chocolate of the day.

The realization made the extraordinary blue sky darken to gunmetal gray and her head continue its vicious pounding.

Mia had spent the morning walking the aisles with Paul, moving from block to block, sampling the grapes by taste and also by conducting a Brix test to determine the sugar content. They needed to know which blocks were ripening fastest, as they’d be the first to be harvested. Bruno had come along, too, but leashed, to prevent
him from wandering off and greeting every artist and sniffing every pencil box and palette.

At break time, she and Bruno walked back up to the house. When Reid had driven over this morning in one of the two vans full of artists, he’d also delivered baskets of granola scones, peach muffins, and baby quiches, which Roo Rodgers had baked for the guests to enjoy when they were finished painting and drawing.

She set the baskets out now, along with pitchers of lemon and mint-sprigged ice water, on two of the tables gracing her new patio.

The noise of a vehicle rolling up the drive had her looking up with a smile. No matter how confused she was about Reid, when he was near, happiness outweighed all else.

Her smile died when, instead of white van, she saw a silver BMW roll to a stop. Dread invaded when Jay climbed out of the car.

He was dressed in a black shirt that was unbuttoned too low and fit too snugly, white jeans, and black driving mocs. His skin looked like polished leather.

As he approached, his sweeping gaze took in the new patio, the tables and chairs, as well as the food-laden baskets and pitchers and glasses she’d set out. Then he looked at her and, unconsciously, her hand tightened around Bruno’s leash.

A fierce growl erupted from Bruno. She glanced down at him in surprise. The dog had shown nothing but outsize affection toward every human he’d encountered since she’d adopted him.

Jay halted. “What the fuck is that?” he demanded, jerking his chin at Bruno, who looked even bigger with his hackles up.

“This is my dog, Bruno. He’s very protective of me.” Mia didn’t know if this was actually the case, but he’d obviously sensed her tension and responded to it. “Sit,
Bruno,” she said, patting the dome of his head when he obeyed immediately. If she’d been alone, she’d have dropped to her knees and hugged him for stopping Jay in his tracks.

“And what’s all this?” He waved his hand.

“It’s a tasting area for the visitors. We’re going to put one inside the winery, too.”

“Getting real swank around here with your new partners, huh?”

She kept her voice even. “Most wineries have tasting rooms. We’ve just never been able to allocate funds for one.”

“And who are those people camped out on the edge of the vineyard?”

“Guests of the ranch. They’re sketching and painting the scene.”

“Well, la-di-fucking-da,” he said with a sneer. “So you haven’t only gotten cozy with Reid. You’re busy sucking up to the whole family, aren’t you, cuz?”

“Why are you here?” She wanted Jay gone before the ranch’s guests came up for their refreshments. She wanted him long gone before Reid or any Knowles appeared.

“I came about the money. I still need it, Mia.”

“You’ll have to wait until the next quarter for your payment, because I don’t have any to give you.”

“Oh, but you can get some. You see, I’m just not cool with having to wait for my cut. I’ve been thinking that all you need to do to help me out is to ask the Knowleses for an advance on your share of the profits. They’ll do it. They like you, and they’re rolling in the dough.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking them. Besides, there’s no way to estimate what the profits will be.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I grew up on this fucking vineyard. The weather’s been great. It’ll be a good harvest.”

“Maybe, but I still won’t ask them.” She straightened her spine and eyed him with cold distaste. “The Knowleses made a deal with Thomas and have been incredibly helpful to me. I’m not going to turn around and ask them for money to fund your so-called clubs.”

His sneer disappeared. Now his expression was even more repellent. “Listen to Saint Mia. Funny, you pretending to be holier than thou, when your mother was a whore, a drugged-out whore. Even funnier, when you’re spreading your legs for Reid.” He laughed. “Of course, that’s a dream come true for you, isn’t it? You’ve been wanting to spread your legs for him ever since you figured out what was between his. Bet you can’t get enough of his dick.”

“You’re disgusting.” She held her arms tightly against her sides to hide the tremors racking her.

“Ooh, that hurts,” he said, jutting his lower lip out as if he might cry. “So what, you think Reid’s actually going to marry someone like you, someone whose mother fucked anyone who looked at her? Get real. He’s screwing you because he can. You’re a convenient lay, nothing more, Mia.”

“Get out of here, Jay, or I’ll let my dog loose on you.”

“I’m going, but you’re going to regret not helping me, Mia.”

Reid had intended to be at the vineyard while the artists were sketching, but Mel, who helped tend the flock, had come upon twenty of their Lincoln sheep with pink eye. The infected sheep needed to be separated from the flock and quickly treated to prevent the disease—as contagious in ruminants as in humans—from spreading and perhaps affecting the dairy goats, as well.

Sooner made quick work of rounding up the affected sheep and herding them into the barn and then into the
pens. The more-painstaking labor involved cleaning the inflamed eyes and applying ointment to them.

By the time Reid and Mel had finished and washed carefully with a disinfectant soap, it was already close to when he should be driving one of the vans over to pick up the artists.

They were milling around the new patio when he parked the van behind the one Estelle Vargas had driven. Estelle worked the front desk, but, like most of Silver Creek’s staff, she was always ready to lend a hand with whatever needed doing—chauffeuring guests included.

“They don’t look like they’re in any hurry to leave,” Reid said as they crossed the courtyard.

“It’s real pretty here,” Estelle said.

“It is,” he agreed. “Have you met Mia?”

“No, not yet. I’ve heard Tess and Adele mention her a lot, though.”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Something was wrong, Reid realized. To her credit, Mia was doing her best to pretend otherwise. She was nodding and keeping a smile on her face as an earnest white-haired man in wire-rim glasses told her about a series of portraits he’d done of butchers in his hometown in North Dakota. He’d painted some standing proudly behind the glass cases with the different cuts of meats piled in the foreground; others he’d depicted wielding cleavers over a carcass. He loved all the rich reds he could use in the composition. He wasn’t so sure the greens of Mia’s vineyard would have the same visual impact—not that they weren’t beautiful. Maybe he could paint her portrait.