Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (33 page)

Thinking perhaps that Mia’s tense stance had something to do with the man’s enthusiasm for certain painting
subjects, Reid stepped forward. “Excuse me, Mia.” He glanced at the older man’s name tag: J
OE
K
REANY
. Since some of the artists had come from as far away as North Carolina, they all wore them. “I wanted to make sure Mr. Kreany has had a chance to enjoy Roo’s baked goods.” He smiled at the man. “You must have worked up an appetite this morning.”

“They do look tasty, don’t they?” With a nod, Joe Kreany wandered off to the table that had a basket brimming with scones and muffins.

Reid looked back at Mia. “Hi.”

She managed a brighter smile for him, but it failed to dispel the tension in her body.

“Mia, I wanted to introduce you to Estelle Vargas.”

Mia said hello and nodded in recognition when Reid added that she was married to Carlos, one of the wranglers.

“Can I offer you anything, Estelle? A glass of lemon water? A quiche? There’s enough food here for an army,” Mia said.

“It’ll get eaten, don’t worry. We’ll leave some for you and your staff and bring the rest down to the barns. Carlos and Jim—do you know him? He’s tall, thin as a toothpick, and has ginger hair—they live for Roo’s baking.” Glancing around, Estelle spotted Bruno lying placidly on his dog bed, his chin resting on a red fuzzy toy while he watched the humans eating and chattering. “Hey, what a great dog. Mind if I pet him?”

“Of course not.”

Reid noted that Mia watched as Estelle bent over Bruno and let him sniff her hand before stroking his massive head. The dog thumped his tail enthusiastically and promptly rolled over onto his back for a belly rub.

Mia’s shoulders relaxed slightly. But now that he was standing close, Reid saw just how pale she was, as if she’d been thoroughly spooked. He couldn’t understand
why. Other than Mr. Kreany and his blood-soaked slabs of meat, these people seemed a benign lot. He’d have thought she’d be pleased that they’d clearly enjoyed their morning at the vineyard.

“Are you okay?” He raised his hand to stroke her cheek and frowned in surprise when she flinched and took a step back.

“I have a headache.”

“Oh, I thought maybe you’d seen a ghost.” The joke, admittedly weak, fell flat. She didn’t even attempt a smile.

“No, no ghost,” she said, her voice mixed with irritation and a shot of something else he couldn’t quite pin down. It worried him, which had the effect of sending a jolt of annoyance through him.

“Sorry. A lame attempt at humor. Listen, you don’t have to stick around.”

“Where am I supposed to go? This is my home.”

Whoa
. He took a breath. “What I meant was, I can take care of this.” He checked his watch. “Estelle and I’ll give them fifteen more minutes here to enjoy Roo’s food. Why don’t you go lie down?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. The de-stemmer needs to be cleaned, the valves on the tanks checked, and then there’s all the other equipment for the harvest we need to get ready.”

Somehow he knew it wouldn’t be wise to suggest that a short nap might make the work go better. “Okay, how about this? We ditch the dinner tonight. I’ll come over here instead and cook for you. If that doesn’t restore you, I have a few tried-and-true techniques—”

“No—no, thanks. I think I want to be alone tonight.”

He raked a hand through his hair. Jesus, she was in a hell of a mood. “Mia, you should—”

“Actually, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to bring this
thing between us to an end. I don’t really see it going anywhere, do you?”

The air flew from his lungs. Reeling, he looked around, trying to get his bearings. The amateur artists were standing around in their comfortable cottons, sensible shoes, and floppy hats or baseball caps, wiping crumbs from their mouths and sipping water as they discussed shadows, light, and horizon lines. The picture of sanity. But Mia and what she’d just said? Insane.

“Are you serious?”

He saw her throat work. How many times had he kissed that slender column or run his mouth down its length to feel the pounding of her pulse—and know he was the reason it raced?

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” she asked flatly. Coldly.

Anger colored his hurt. “A hell of a place and time to dump me, Mia.”

She raised her chin. “I didn’t realize there was ever a good time to be dumped. Besides, I’m not sure it’s dumping if we never had a relationship, is it? I’m just putting an end to the ‘thing,’ to the sex, which is all this was for you, right?”

He looked at her, anger, hurt, and a terrible sense of betrayal churning inside him. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and yell at her for stomping all over his heart. “Yeah, sex was pretty much all it was.”

She went a shade paler. One of the artist guests here could probably have named that particular shade of white. Reid only knew it made the green and brown in her wide eyes even more vibrant.

He hated himself for having retaliated to her stupid question by saying something even stupider and, worse, patently untrue. What he hated most of all was that she believed it.

“Well, no hard feelings, then,” she said tightly.

And he damned her for rallying and looking at him as
if he were a stranger. He wanted her to be as wrecked as he was, so he could put his arms around her and say he was sorry.

“I’m sure this won’t affect our business relationship. I know how important that is to you and your family,” she said.

He cocked his head. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, I never took you for a bitch. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

That struck the mark, he thought, seeing the sudden sheen in her eyes. But then she whirled around and hurried over to where her dog lay. Crouching, she exchanged a few words with Estelle and then unhooked the leash she’d looped around a post. Mia led him away, disappearing into the winery.

He stared after her with eyes that burned.

Christ, what the hell had just happened? How had everything between them blown up with the force of a megaton bomb?

Estelle appeared at his side. “You think the guests are ready to leave yet?”

“I don’t know about them, but I sure am.”

“R
EID
,
DARLING
!”

Stoically, he turned, his grip light on Bilbao’s reins, and waited for his mother to catch up.

“I thought you’d be over at the vineyard.”

“No, I’m riding Bilbao for Ward. He was checking the remainder of the flock for any more sheep that might have come down with pink eye, so he didn’t have time today.” He welcomed the ride. The young gelding would require all his concentration.

“So is Mia coming over on her own? You two haven’t forgotten about the barbecue—”

“Mia’s not coming. She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe you should—”

“Let it go, Mom, will you? Mia and I are over. And now I’d like it if you quit trying to matchmake. It’s time to stop meddling.”

A single blond eyebrow rose. “Meddling? How have I meddled, Reid?”

“You’ve pushed Mia and me together at every opportunity.” And, damn it, he’d known the results would be disastrous.

“Excuse me. All I did—with your father and Thomas’s wholehearted agreement—was ask you if you’d be
willing to handle the marketing end of the winery, since you’ve done much the same for us.” She paused. “But I’m very sorry to hear you and Mia have fought—”

His free hand fisted against the suede of his chaps. “We haven’t fought. She ended it, civilly and coldly. And, yeah, you did meddle, constantly inviting her to dinner—”

“Really, Reid,” his mother interrupted. “I had a very good reason to invite Mia over. I wanted to let her know how much we appreciated the hard work she’s doing to make the winery a success. Thomas had Ellen and then Mia to rely on as backup. Mia’s bearing the brunt of the work and responsibility alone. It seems to me she deserves to know that we recognize that and care about her. Inviting her to dinner is an easy—an obvious—way to demonstrate it.” Her blue gaze pierced him. “I wonder, Reid, whether the real reason you’re upset with me is that you neglected to do that simple thing yourself.”

“Damned if I did.”

“Did you let her know how you truly felt about her, how much you cared?”

When Reid didn’t respond, Adele gave a small yet audible sigh and left.

He climbed into the saddle, an amazing feat, since his mother’s words had made him feel like he was five years old again.

To his frustration, Reid soon discovered that finding a way to tell Mia how he felt wasn’t easily accomplished. Part of the blame lay with him, he admitted grudgingly. He’d done a good bit of self-sabotaging over the weekend, spending it sulking, licking the wounds she’d inflicted with such stunning force, and growling at anyone who so much as looked at him.

But the next week taught him that even had he been
ready to face a second trampling of his heart, Mia wasn’t willing to get within three feet of him. He’d never realized how nimble she was, assuming, conceitedly, that it was he who was the master at evasion.

When he did manage to occupy the same space as Mia, her vineyard crew and cellar assistants were always about. With the harvest scheduled to begin that week, their presence was wholly justified—and thoroughly frustrating.

Even more daunting than Mia’s avoidance of him or the omnipresence of her staff was the careful politeness she displayed toward him whenever he addressed her. It was most effective, an impenetrable wall that loomed higher with every one of her guarded utterances.

God, he missed his tart and prickly Mia. Missed the exhilaration of matching wits with her, missed the sweet happiness of gliding into the silken heat of her body and feeling as if he was finally whole.

He ached for what he’d lost and prayed he’d get the chance to regain it.

The sun shone in Acacia, California, and misery reigned for Reid Knowles.

Mia welcomed the first day of the harvest with an enthusiasm that bordered on manic. The reason for her desperation had little to do with her desire to prove her talents as a winemaker. It was that the harvest would usher in eighteen-hour workdays. Thus a respite. Soon she’d be unable to think of anything but the grapes, the tons upon tons of grapes that required picking. Soon she’d be too busy to do anything other than concentrate on simply staying upright on her feet. Soon she’d be too consumed by the harvest’s myriad demands to feel the pain of her broken heart and to pine for Reid. She’d be
too damned tired to run to him and beg that he take her in his arms.

If she worked hard enough, ceaselessly enough, she might be able to blot out the horror and clammy fear that had seized her when she’d listened to Jay and his talk of revenge. His words had hurtled her back in time, reviving her insecurities and self-doubts. Too vulnerable, she’d succumbed to their insidious hold.

Would she have been capable of rallying and beating them back? She didn’t know. Because any glimmer of hope in her breast was extinguished when Reid echoed her worst fears.

She loved him still and knew there would never be another love for her like Reid. But there was only heartache in loving him. That had always been the case for her, even as a foolish and lonely teen. So she embraced the backbreaking, mind-numbing work of the harvest. With her pruning shears, she cut the brown woody stems, dropped the black-purple fruit into the bin by her feet, and moved on to the next cluster, making her way down the fruit-laden row. The hours blurred, one into the next.

At night her tired brain offered an endless loop of the day. She dreamed of vines, of sturdy plastic bins piled high with pungent grapes. She dreamed of arm and back muscles strained from lifting the laden bins onto the flatbed of her truck. She even felt the heat of the sun penetrating her hat and shirt and heard the buzzing of bees searching out the sugar-laden fruit. And then she’d catch his low-pitched drawl, so beguiling, and she’d know it would haunt her forever.

Given the demands of the harvest, she should have been able to at least block Reid from her consciousness if not her dreams. But she’d never been able to ignore him. He’d always loomed larger, shone brighter, than anyone else.