Slow Dancing at Sunrise

by Jo McNally

  Whitney didn’t like having the tables turned on her self-righteous anger. But Helen was right. It had been irresponsible and unprofessional. Very un-Whitney behavior. So was arguing with her aunt. Helen sat next to her at the table, putting her hands over Whitney’s.

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Whitney. And I am sorry. It’s just...” Helen gave her hands a squeeze. “You’ve locked yourself up with all that paperwork and haven’t left the house, and I feel like that’s my fault. I thought you might be lonely. Maybe I came at the problem the wrong way with Mark, but I thought maybe you’d talk to someone your own age, because you’re sure not talking to me. Why are you really in Rendezvous Falls?”

  Whitney blinked away from Helen, swallowing hard and staring out the window over the sink. She and her aunt had always shared everything. Helen had helped her make her most major decisions through the years. But discovering her aunt’s troubles made her reluctant to share her own.

  “I told you why. I took a sabbatical from work and wanted to come see you.” She gave Helen a sincere smile. She didn’t have to lie about this part of her story. “I’ve missed you, and I felt bad for being so busy these past few years. I didn’t even make it to Uncle Tony’s...” Tears suddenly clogged her throat. “I’m sorry. I was focused on making partner, and I lost perspective for a while.” And it was all for nothing, since she was no longer a partner, or an employee, for that matter. “I needed a break, and the company...agreed.”

  A long break. A forever break.

  Helen’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Oh, honey, we knew how busy you were building your career. Tony and I would talk about how hard we worked those first years here, when we didn’t know if we’d ever get the winery off the ground. It took all of our energy and time. And you were in Europe when Tony passed—it would have cost you a fortune to fly back.”

  Her aunt was trying to make her feel better, but each sentence twisted the guilt blade deeper. It wasn’t the money that had kept her from catching a flight from London. It was the censure in Harold Carmichael’s voice when she’d asked for a few days off in the middle of the audit. The client had already given their blessing, but Harold grumbled about her “priorities.” He insinuated she’d be letting the client and the company down by leaving mid audit, even for only a few days. That a man trying to make partner would never do such a thing. And she’d caved, canceling her plans and finishing the audit.

  As if reading her mind, Helen spoke again. “That’s why you haven’t come back since then, isn’t it? You felt too guilty to face me?”

  Whitney walked to the sink, suddenly needing to be busy. She grabbed a dishrag and started wiping down the gold-flecked vinyl countertop. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the muted tones of the wind chimes out on the porch. She finally took a deep breath and faced her aunt.

  “I could have been here. And I should have been here. I let my boss talk me out of it. My ex-boss. I’m not on sabbatical, Helen. I quit. It was that or be fired.”

  Helen sat speechless for a moment. “Because of Tony’s funeral?”

  “No, not really.” That was when she should have known it wasn’t the job for her, but she’d been too wrapped up in chasing a partnership to see it. She was determined to be a star at KTM. But she’d failed. “It was...a lot of things. A client did something illegal, and one of our accountants covered it up. I took it to the senior partners, and they laughed it off. When the SEC started investigating, they tried to make it my fault. As the only female partner, they figured I was expendable.” She stared out the window, the dishrag cold in her hand. Carmichael had started a whisper campaign that painted her as incompetent, even though she’d tried to warn them. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, swallowing her tears. She turned to Helen. “All I could think about was coming here, to you.”

  “Does your mother know?”

  Whitney gave a short huff of laughter as she brushed some crumbs off the table and into her hand, turning to step on the old metal trash can to open it and deposit them there. “You’re the first person I’ve told. Mom’s too wrapped up in setting up house with Boyfriend Number Two Hundred Sixty-Five to be concerned about me, anyway. Did you hear this one works at the Bellagio? Maybe she’ll finally get that big career break she’s been chasing...” Her own words spun around and slapped her. “Oh, my god. I’ve turned into my mother! Chasing career unicorns and ignoring my family! She didn’t come to Tony’s funeral, either, did she?” Her laughter quickly turned to hot tears. “How could I let that happen?”

  Helen stood, tugging Whitney into her arms. And, for the first time since losing her job, she wept. She’d always teased that Helen’s height made her a perfect headrest, and she put it to use now, laying her head on Helen’s and letting the tears flow. Helen’s arms were tight around her waist and she made sweet, soothing sounds. She finally looked up at Whitney. “Baby, you are not your mother! You’re here now, aren’t you? And your career was no damn unicorn—you studied and worked hard and you got what you wanted. You made partner! And you chose to walk away. I guarantee you that’s something your mom would never be able to do. Frannie has always been too proud to admit a mistake, when it’s our mistakes that make us human.”

  Whitney hiccupped, wiping tears from her cheeks as she looked down at her aunt. “Don’t ever let her hear you calling her Frannie. She hates that.”

  Helen grabbed a box of tissues from the counter. “The odds of your mother hearing me say anything are pretty slim, especially now that her big brother, Tony, is gone. She and I were never all that close.”

  Helen was as different from her sister-in-law as she could be. A hardworking wife and partner who always saw the best in people and situations, where Francesca Russo’s compulsive desire was for fame above all else. As if having her name in spotlights would make her life meaningful, even if it meant leaving her young daughter to take on grown-up duties at home. Whitney’s father died in a car crash soon after she was born. It had always been her and Mom and whatever man Mom was dating. And she was always dating someone. Thankfully, Mom had never objected to Whitney’s summer visits to the winery and her aunt and uncle’s happy, normal home.

  Helen directed Whitney back to the table to sit. They started emptying the tissue box one by one. “Besides, Tony always called your mom Frannie. I think that was his way of trying to keep Francesca’s feet on terra firma. Not that it ever worked.”

  “Nope. Walking on lowly planet Earth with all the other pedestrians will never be enough for Mom. Oh, Helen, what a mess I’ve made.”

  Now it was Helen’s turn to bark out a sharp laugh. “You and me both! You came here to catch a break, and I threw you right into my mess.”

  They’d had enough soul baring for one morning, and Whitney’s emotions were still right at the surface, begging for release. She needed to stuff them back where they belonged. Where they could be controlled. She gave her aunt a bright smile.

  “The good news is I have all the time in the world to work on that project, Helen.”

  Helen tipped her head to the side. “You’ll have to make some career decisions eventually, but yes, you should stay the summer and be part of the great revival of Falls Legend Winery. I could really use your help, and Luke probably could, too.”

  And just like that, Whitney’s little bubble of maybe-things-aren’t-so-bad burst. She’d like to help Luke Rutledge right off the property, but she needed to understand his role in the winery, and in its possible demise, before she made a move.

  “I don’t think Luke wants any help from me, Helen.” Especially after seeing her act like a spoiled drunk coed yesterday. During business hours. If any actual customers had arrived...she sobered at the thought. She may not like the man, or trust him, but she owed him an apology.

  Helen tsked. “I don’t know what it is between you two, but you need to figure out how to get along. If we’re not back on our feet by the Bles
sing of the Grapes Festival in September, we won’t have another good chance until next year.” Helen glanced toward the cluttered dining room. “Next year might be too late. It’ll take all three of us to turn this place around.” She patted Whitney’s arm. “Besides, I don’t want you spending every day inside this house. That’s how I got in this trouble. I turned into a hermit. You need to make friends here.”

  “Helen, I’m not staying permanently.”

  “Friends don’t have to be permanent. But you need people to have fun with.”

  Whitney remembered sitting in the human resources office at KTM a few years ago, listening to the HR manager lecture her on making friends. Apparently, Whitney had a reputation as a “loner” and that wasn’t good for partners. She was advised it would be good for her career to build a network within the company. Maybe if Whitney had found some friends outside of work, they wouldn’t have all dropped her like a hot rock when she left KTM. She had to admit, she’d isolated herself since coming here.

  “No more surprise blind dates.” Her voice was firmer than she intended. “No more secret setups. I don’t mind having coffee with someone, but I get to choose who I hang out with.”

  Helen blinked a few times, then nodded. “Agreed. And who knows, you might meet someone you really like. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little summer fling as long as you’re here.”

  “A summer fling? Aunt Helen!” Whitney got up with a laugh. “This isn’t Grease. I’m not looking for a summer boyfriend.”

  But maybe a little “fling” was what she needed. Lord knows, it had been a while. Nah, that was a really bad idea. Tempting, but bad. Or, at least...ill-advised. Poorly timed. Meeting over coffee was enough. No flinging with anyone. Helen made a suspiciously noncommittal sound as she got up from the table.

  “What you’re looking for and what you need could be two very different things.”

  * * *

  LUKE SLID THE stainless steel paddle through the bunghole on top of the barrel and moved it around to stir up the sediment from the bottom, bringing more flavor into last year’s pinot noir. He put the plug, or bung, back into the hole and moved on to the next barrel. Before stirring, he extracted a bit of wine with a wine thief, which was basically a large suction dropper, and put the wine in a glass to taste it. Wine was always trying to become vinegar, and sometimes a barrel would just go bad, no matter how careful they were. He could usually tell from the smell, but it took a taste to know if the pH balance was off.

  He was savoring a sip—damn this was a good batch of pinot—when Molly levitated out of a sound sleep at his feet and bolted toward the door, barking fiercely. He hadn’t even heard the door open, but Whitney stood there, eyes locked on his snarling dog.

  “Molly!” His voice snapped and echoed in the barn. “No! She’s okay.” Molly stopped barking, but gave Whitney one last woof before turning to trot back to his side. Her stub of a tail was wagging, making her whole butt wiggle. Aussies were like that—snapping, snarling terrors one minute, goofy family dogs the next. Once someone was approved to enter their territory, an Aussie’s job was done.

  Whitney’s brow arched slightly, gesturing to Molly. The edge was back in her voice today.

  “Does a dog like that belong on a winery that’s open to the public?”

  “The winery isn’t open to the public today. Unlike yesterday, when you and your new pal were getting shit-faced during business hours.” He figured she’d snap back at him with a sharp retort. That had pretty much become their thing. Instead, her face paled and she looked away, her shoulders falling in defeat. That bothered him more than it should have.

  “Um...yeah. That was bad.” She ran her tongue along her upper lip, causing something in his chest to jump. “That’s why I’m here. Can I come in?” Technically, she was already in, but her eyes were on Molly.

  “Once I tell her you’re okay, you’re okay. If you scratch her belly, you’ll be okay every time you come up here.” Molly sat by his side, looking from him to the brunette cautiously approaching. The dog’s mouth was open in a happy, tongue-lolling grin, and Luke worried for a moment that he might be wearing the same expression.

  Whitney was in tight dark jeans and a cropped yellow top that made her eyes look more golden than usual. A narrow band of skin peeked out from beneath the top, pulling his eyes to her narrow waist. She pushed all his buttons, alright. Including some that hadn’t been pushed in a long time. Buttons he didn’t have the time or energy to acknowledge. Buttons that made him think about moonlit nights and tangled sheets.

  Holy shit...knock that off, Rutledge!

  He shuddered, earning a worried look from his dog.

  Whitney looked at the dog, sounding skeptical. “A belly rub, huh?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yup. That’s all it takes to win Molly’s heart.”

  “I’m not used to being around dogs.”

  Hmm. A rare admission of vulnerability from Miss Foster. She didn’t look afraid, just...uncertain. He should enjoy the rare moment when she wasn’t bossing him around, but there was something unsettling about it. She looked off her game today. Her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying. Again—none of his business. He nodded at the dog.

  “Hold your hand down to her. Open, not fisted. Once she sniffs and sees I’m not concerned about you, she’ll probably hit her back for you.”

  Whitney carefully did as he suggested, and sure enough, Molly lay down and rolled over, legs in the air, and waited. He nodded at Whitney.

  “Go ahead. Scratch her belly. Make a forever friend.”

  Whitney kneeled on one knee and touched Molly lightly, her voice low and soft. “Helen thinks I need more friends.”

  Had he heard that right? Before he could ask, Molly let out a moan and extended one leg up in the air. Whitney laughed and started rubbing more aggressively. Molly’s eyes rolled back and she let out a doggy sigh of pure contentment. Luke tried his best not to feel jealous.

  “I think Helen got her wish.” He had to spell it out when Whitney looked up, confused. “You just made a friend for life.”

  Whitney checked Molly’s expression and chuckled as she stood up. “I think you’re right.”

  “Why does Helen think you need friends? Don’t you have friends back in Chicago?” There he went again, asking about stuff he didn’t care about. Whitney didn’t seem to take offense to the personal question, though. She tipped her head and considered for a minute before answering, sounding thoughtful.

  “I didn’t have time for a lot of friends outside of work, and work friends are...well...things change, and work friendships tend to change with them.” Her expression was distant, and her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Friendships follow power.”

  Luke was no expert on friendship—it wasn’t something that came naturally to him, either. But he knew that wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

  “People follow power,” he said firmly. “Friends don’t. Friends stick.”

  Whitney shook her head. “Maybe I should have made better friends, then.” She drew her shoulders back, her voice brisk. “But that’s not why I’m here. I came up to apologize for yesterday.”

  She looked him straight in the eye when she said it, and he felt a grudging respect. He wasn’t her favorite person. She’d made it clear right from the start she didn’t trust him. She’d also made it clear she wouldn’t hesitate to cause trouble for him with Helen. And then, of course, there was the rain incident. This apology had to be tough for her, but she’d given it to him straight up.

  “Are you talking about all your wine tasting yesterday?”

  Her cheeks flushed, her gaze breaking away from his.

  “Yes.” She huffed out a deep breath before rushing into an explanation. “I was upset, and I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and that was just a bowl of sugary cereal, and I swigged down that first glass of wine in two gul
ps and it hit my system like...pow. The second one went down fast, too, and then I was...feeling no pain. In the middle of the afternoon. With a complete stranger.”

  Luke frowned. They’d seemed pretty chummy yesterday. “You said you and Mark were friends.”

  She laughed, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. But there was no humor in her voice. “Our friendship was not of our own planning.”

  What the hell did that mean? He turned away to put the plug back in the barrel, telling himself he didn’t care.

  “You lost me.”

  She told him how Helen and Vickie had set up an elaborate scheme to get Mark and Whitney together. How, after Mark and she realized what was going on and recovered from their embarrassment, they’d decided to raid the tasting counter. It wasn’t like Helen to concoct something like that, but he sure wouldn’t put it past Victoria Pendergast.

  That woman, much like Whitney, also disliked Luke. But her dislike had nothing to do with him personally. She held a general disdain for the entire Rutledge family. It started when Victoria’s second husband, the district attorney, sent Luke’s father to prison eighteen years ago. Not that the old man didn’t deserve it, but Luke didn’t have a lot of warm fuzzies for Pendergast. He was doubly annoyed Vickie had taken it upon herself to set Whitney up on some date. And that it had apparently worked out okay. After all, he’d found the two of them laughing up a storm in the shop.

  “You gotta admit,” he pointed out, “you guys hit it off.”

  Whitney shrugged. “It wasn’t the romantic meet-cute they intended, just two people stuck in the same humiliating situation and commiserating with each other. Mark’s a good guy, but...”

  “But what?”

  She thought for a few seconds, then gave him a smile. Damn, this woman had a great smile when she cut the edge off it. “But good guys never seem to be my type.” She laughed. “I guess I inherited my mother’s inability to fall for a good one.” There was definitely a story or two behind that comment, but this wasn’t the time to chase after it. Whitney shrugged. “So, anyway, that was a really long-winded way of saying...I’m sorry.”