Sugar Lips coldcocked Gage in the kidney with one powerful hoof. Pain sucked his legs and torso into a stiff ball. Gage almost lost his grip on the foal. It was a sign of how spent the mare was that she didn’t kick him repeatedly. It was a sign of good fortune that this position allowed him greater mobility to shift when delivery was at hand. He’d have to remember that.
Sugar Lips’s uterus tensed once more. It was go-time.
Moments later, he lay panting in the hay cradling the trembling key to his dreams. Sugar Lips lifted her head to see what all the fuss was about, whinnying when she saw her newborn.
Gage’s chest swelled with pride. This was what he loved about being a veterinarian—facing difficult challenges, saving a life, making a connection with a beautiful creature that communicated primarily with body language.
Some boneheads started clapping. Gage curled protectively around the foal being careful not to tear the umbilical cord. He glared at the lone student who was still applauding until the onlooker stopped. Steady hands transferred the newborn to the ground, and checked the vitals of both mare and foal.
Dr. Leo Faraji, a colleague and the man Gage had beaten out for the Kentucky job, helped him to his feet. “Need a doctor, doctor?” he asked in his singsong accent.
“Never.” Knowing he looked as if he was the only survivor in a horror movie, covered as he was in blood and birth fluids, Gage drew himself up to his full six-two height, pretending Sugar Lips hadn’t nearly deflated his kidney.
“Someone wanted me?” he asked. And then he smiled. His mother always said his smile could charm a tantrumy two-year-old into eating vegetables. Since Nick had died, Gage saw it more as a first line of defense. He smiled and people assumed he was okay. Now he used it because he wasn’t going to let these clean, white-coated, wanna-be veterinarians see how nauseous and spent he was.
Someone sucked in a breath, as if awestruck.
That was a more godlike reaction than he’d been hoping for, but as veiled praise went, Gage would take it.
“Yeah, um, Dr. Jamero? There’s some guy on the phone for you.” It was the center’s new student assistant. She hadn’t been around long enough for Gage to learn her name, test her knowledge or teach her barn etiquette. “He’s been on hold awhile now.” She handed him a pink note.
Gage’s smile didn’t break as he reached for the message, dripping the mare’s afterbirth onto the girl’s hand. Accidentally, of course.
“Ew.” She hopped back, shaking the fluid from her fingers.
“Sorry.” Gage checked the stained pink pad and read the name—Dr. Wentworth. His smile faded as he sped from the stall, his steps purposeful and steady, despite the pain radiating in his midsection. Dr. Wentworth had nurtured Gage’s interest in animals since he was a kid. Whenever he called, Gage quickly responded.
Gage’s family had been small town cattle ranchers. Their home was situated in the middle of a neighborhood street on the edge of Harmony Valley, one without sidewalks or streetlights. Their backyard led out to twenty acres of grazing land. Doc’s family had been their next door neighbors and were always bringing home stray animals in need of care. Gage had gravitated toward Doc and his patients. He’d set broken legs and viewed medical procedures before he’d earned his driver’s license.
Minutes later, Gage had ditched the messy smock he’d been wearing and grabbed the office phone. Today was one helluva good day. He couldn’t wait to share the news of the healthy foal with Dr. Wentworth. “What can I do for you?”
“Turn on your cell phone, for one.” The gruff voice, loaded with the attitude of a seasoned hound dog, brought back fond memories of the things Gage liked best about Harmony Valley—its people. “Whoever heard of a doctor nowadays without a phone or a beeper strapped to his waist?”
“I’ll turn on my cell as soon as we hang up.” His phone was in his backpack in the corner of the sparsely furnished office beneath a picture of Secretariat draped in red roses.
The old vet wasted no time on pleasantries. “I wanted to be the first to offer you a chance to buy into a practice—mine. Here in Harmony Valley.”
“Wow.” Gage’s knees buckled and his butt dropped onto the metal desktop. Practice back home? That wasn’t happening. Harmony Valley was filled with bittersweet memories. Not to mention it was wine country now. No racing thoroughbreds or horse breeding farms in the entire off-the-beaten-path valley. “Uh, thanks—”
“The folks in Harmony Valley sure do have a lot of respect for you. We need a vet.”
“But—”
“Don’t interrupt. Did leaving town wipe away all your manners?”
“No, sir.” It had just reinforced the view that life outside Harmony Valley had more to offer and less heartache.
“Now. Where was I?”
“You were talking about good manners,” Gage suggested helpfully.
“My father—” Doc began in a sweeping tone “—would have said you’re being impertinent. I called to talk business, Doctor Jamero. It’s true, I’ve had to let much of my practice go in recent years, although I do still treat Bea Larkin’s milk goats.”
Gage’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the old man’s expectations. “Well, you see—”
“There you go again.” There was a snap in his voice that indicated the cantankerous old dog was about to bite. “Just because an old man takes a breath doesn’t mean he’s finished speaking.”
Gage wisely refrained from any jokes about Dr. Wentworth’s age, old dogs and new tricks.
“What I’m trying to say is that we’d make a good team. I can mentor you, like I used to.” The old man drew an audible breath, as if he’d spoken too quickly. “Young people are slowly moving back here. They’ll be having kids, adopting dogs and getting hamsters and all kinds of creatures who’ll need a vet. Don’t tell me you can’t come back. Why, Shelby moved in with me yesterday. I’m sure she called you along with the other volunteers they’ve rounded up to help harvest grapes this Friday night.”
This was news to Gage. Shelby hadn’t called. She’d stopped calling over a year ago.
Secretariat stared down on him with a gaze that had never backed away from a challenge. Of course, Secretariat had his choice of women.
If Gage’s career decision was racehorses versus some old woman’s shaggy milk goats; the excitement of the training yard, breeding stables and track versus the slow paced life in small town Harmony Valley; or a life where no one knew his past versus a life where everyone knew why he had a scar on his right temple...
It didn’t matter how many pros and cons Gage thought of, the life of a racehorse veterinarian was the one he desired. It was the one he’d choose every time he was asked.
So it made no sense that he didn’t reject Dr. Wentworth’s offer outright, other than to show his respect and spare the old man’s feelings.
Because Gage refused to acknowledge that Shelby Hawkley—Doc’s granddaughter—had anything to do with his return to Harmony Valley.
CHAPTER TWO
THE WHOLE TOWN came out to support Harmony Valley Vineyard’s first grape harvest. At least, that’s what it felt like to Shelby as she stood on the winery’s patio Friday night waiting for their volunteer harvesters to arrive. And it felt wonderful. She’d come home. Home to friendly greetings and shared histories, to warm welcomes and “how’ve you beens,” to people who looked you in the eyes when they asked how your day was going and then listened to your answer.
The sun was receding and Shelby turned on the tall propane heaters one by one. During night harvest, the crew would need a warm place to take breaks.
“Shelby, I heard you were back in town. You’ll be registering to vote, of course.” Mayor Larry claimed one of her hands with both of his and gave it a vigorous shake. The unlikely politician—a former hippy who still sported a waist-leng
th ponytail, albeit gray—had been in office for decades. He also ran a profitable online T-shirt business. The mayor reached into a cloth bag on his shoulder and shook out a purple and yellow tie-dyed T-shirt. “How about a shirt? It has the Harmony Valley Vineyard’s logo silk-screened on it.” A black running horse on a weather vane.
“Don’t make it sound as though she has to buy one, Larry. It’s free.” Christine Jennings, Shelby’s boss and head winemaker, plucked the shirt from the mayor’s fingers and gave it to Shelby. “We bought enough for all our workers and volunteers. And you made a tidy profit, Larry.” Christine softened her words with a kiss to Larry’s cheek.
Before Shelby could do more than thank them both for the shirt, another Harmony Valley resident appeared before her.
“I was wondering when I’d get to see you.” Agnes Villanova had been a friend of Shelby’s grandmother. Her big heart came in a petite package. She was barely five feet tall, and one of the town’s most active citizens. She wore a red stocking cap and a bright green sweatshirt. At first glance, she looked like a beardless garden gnome.
Shelby leaned over to receive her hug. “I’ve been meaning to come by.”
“You young people are always so busy.” Agnes moved closer to Christine and slid her arm around her granddaughter’s waist. “First you move home and we think we’ll see you more often, and then you work just as hard as you did before you moved here and so we still never see you.”
“The grapes wait for no one,” Christine said.
“Nor the wine,” Shelby added, exchanging a smile with her boss.
“There’s Ryan. Yoo-hoo!” Agnes waved to the young assistant winemaker. “You ladies go easy on him tonight.”
“Grown man. Paid employee.” Christine’s words were clipped as if this argument was oft repeated. “Don’t baby him.”
“Ah, but he’s so sweet.” Agnes’s expression turned sly. “Until I have great-grandchildren, who can I dote on?”
Christine rolled her eyes.
Just then, Shelby noticed someone shuffling in her direction. It was Hiro Takata, or Old Man Takata as everyone in her generation called him, the town’s retired undertaker. The nip in the air suddenly permeated her bones.
“My dear.” He came close enough to reach for her hand. “It’s good to see you back and doing well.”
The same soothing voice. The same gentle, compassionate handhold. She hadn’t seen the old man since Nick’s funeral.
Old Man Takata used his grip to reel himself to her side. He grunted as he strained to straighten hunched shoulders and lift the kindly aging face of his Japanese ancestors to her. “Where’s your grandfather? Did War skip out on the excitement?” Cigar smoke laced his words.
“He’s at home, hip deep in research.” Shelby couldn’t get Grandpa to promise to stay out of his stacks while she was gone.
The older man smiled. “Are you by any chance a bowler?”
Slade, one of the winery owners, appeared before them. He was knock-your-socks-off handsome, a former Wall Street whiz, and Christine’s fiancé. “She won’t be bowling for your team, Hiro. If she bowls for anyone, it’s the winery.” Slade gave Shelby a brief once-over, like a coach checking out a new recruit. “The winery bowls in a league in Cloverdale. Do you bowl, Shelby?”
Bowling? Athletics? Disaster. “Does pumpkin bowling for the Harvest Queen crown one year count?”
The older man laughed. “It’s coming back to me. A wonky release that nearly took out the spectators.”
“Only Gage,” Shelby muttered.
“Slade, you may have her. Now, find me a seat under one of those heaters.” Old Man Takata released her. “Oh, and, Shelby.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Let me know if you need company visiting Nick’s grave.”
Her breath caught. How had he known she hadn’t been able to go alone?
Needing a moment, Shelby faded away from the crowd, retreating to the banks of the Harmony Valley River on the edge of the vineyard.
She drew her green army jacket around herself as the water drifted past with slow swirls that caught the last rays of sunset. Had coming here been a mistake?
The first time Shelby’d moved to Harmony Valley was more than eight years ago. She’d learned quickly she could rely on two things—the steady flow of the river, and Gage Jamero. He had the smile of a heartbreaker and the smarts of a Rhodes Scholar. But most endearingly, he was kind and tongue-tied.
He’d introduced her to his best friend, Nick Hawkley. Nick was handsome and had a way of putting people at ease. She’d felt as if she’d known him forever. Nick had asked her out and that was that. She’d gained a love and a best friend in less than a week. It only took one day to lose both.
She hadn’t visited this part of the river since she’d been in high school. Memories came rushing back. The emotion from events she hadn’t thought of in years welled inside her.
The trouble with being a relatively new widow were all the “firsts.” The first night she’d slept in their bed after Nick died. The first time she’d passed by the church where they’d been married. The first holidays without him at her side.
Firsts were gut-clenching, cold moments. They clogged her throat, flooded her eyes and cut off her breath. It took time to process them. To acknowledge the innocence, to accept things would never be the same again, and to release the melancholy.
Yeah...the melancholy.
She’d once floated around this picturesque river bend on a raft with Nick and Gage. They’d been talking about college options—although they all knew they’d end up at the same university. They were that close. Then Gage had announced he wasn’t coming back to Harmony Valley after graduation.
Because of the scars of her parents’ nomadic, career-driven lifestyle, Shelby had been doggedly against Gage moving elsewhere. She’d lived in six cities by the time she was sixteen while her parents climbed corporate ladders in the advertising world. Always the new girl, always on the outside.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be someplace else. Nobody knows you like they do here. Harmony Valley cares about their neighbors.” She’d pounded the raft’s sides. “We’re all coming back here. Nick’s going to be mayor. I’m going to teach science. And you, Gage?” She’d shot him her most imperial look. “You’ll take over Grandpa’s practice.”
“Come on, Shelby. At eighteen nobody knows what they really want to do or where they’ll end up,” Gage had scoffed. “You think you love...some...something, but it’s just a phase. I loved chicken nuggets when I was four. Now I love sushi. I don’t know what I’m going to love ten years from now, but I do know I’m not coming back here. I want to go someplace where people don’t know my life’s history, including all the stuff I want to forget.”
Nick had been unusually silent.
She hadn’t understood Gage’s sentiment when they were kids. But after Nick’s death, Shelby knew exactly how Gage had felt. She hadn’t wanted to return, either, not because she didn’t love Harmony Valley, but because she couldn’t handle the town’s grief for Nick along with her own.
So instead, she’d taken a job at a winery at the foot of the Sierras, where no one knew her. She worked hard and kept to herself. Ice cream was her best friend. Nick’s pillow her midnight confidante. She was lonely, but loneliness was a guarantee that her heart would never be torn apart again.
Then a few months ago, her car had broken down on a stretch of less-traveled highway north of Sacramento. It was dark and deserted. She’d had no one to call for help. Her parents were working at an ad agency overseas. She hadn’t talked to them in several weeks. In a blink, she’d realized her life was an empty shell. Those things she’d craved growing up? Close friends, being part of a community, the feeling of permanence? She had none.
The next day, she’d heard about the Harmony Valley Vineyards job p
osting from her grandfather. She’d decided a compromise needed to be made.
A barking black dog ran by her, drawing her attention back to the present. Behind the dog was a panting, ginger-headed young boy.
“Hi, Shelby! I get to stay up late tonight picking grapes.” Truman, a nephew of Flynn, one of the winery’s owners, high-fived her before he disappeared into a row of grapevines behind her.
A few seconds later, Slade’s daughters, dark haired, identical twins, burst out of another row.
“Did you see Truman?” one asked as she gasped for breath and fanned her face.
Her twin, similarly red-cheeked and breathless, scanned the area.
“You can’t catch me,” Truman taunted from deep within a row. His laughter danced over rustling grape leaves.
Giggling, the girls raced after him, leaving Shelby with a lightened heart. It was good to see children back in town, good to see the kind of friendships she’d had the year she’d lived here.
In the distance, cars rumbled over the winery’s gravel driveway. Her Harmony Valley past was returning. Without Nick’s optimism and humor. Without Gage’s wit and blinding smile.
“Shelby, they’re here,” Christine called from the farmhouse porch several hundred feet away.
Shelby walked through rows of bushy grapevines dotted with the occasional browning leaf. The white two-story farmhouse had been renovated into an elegant tasting room on the first floor with open office space above. To the right, the winery’s main building had been constructed over the original barn’s footprint, and housed wine processing equipment along with some expensive wine barrels. It was a very small operation set in the middle of a beautiful vineyard. If done right, the wine would be exquisite. After Christine worked her winemaking magic, it was Shelby’s job to make sure the wine aged to perfection.
The sky softened to twilight gray as cars shut off and headlights dimmed. The nip of evening breathed over the vineyard. Soon the temperature would drop and the only light would come from portable metal booms as they harvested the Chardonnay grapes that would make up the first vintage of Harmony Valley Vineyards wine.
One Perfect Year Page 2