Nick explained how folks rent their land to growers who raise the grapes and then sell them to the wineries.
“So you grew up with wine in your blood?”
He paused and then shot a laugh as if she’d nailed it. “You could say that.”
The back porch door banged open, and a trio of mutts ran toward them, tongues lolling and tails wagging. “They must know your truck.”
“Yeah. They’ll lick ya to death, but they’re harmless.” He cracked his door open and made good work of patting heads and scratching ears.
Nick ushered her up the stairs, batting the dogs back from her nervous attempts at saying hello. “You don’t have dogs?”
“No. We moved a lot.” A droopy-eyed hound nudged her hand with its cold nose. “I always wanted a dog though.”
Childhood longing reared its head as she scratched the dog’s floppy ears. The hound plopped his bottom to the ground, tail thumping, and leaned his heavy head against her hand. Another long-haired retriever nudged her way in until Natalie was scratching and petting with both hands.
“They’ll go lie down in a minute,” a woman’s voice called from inside the kitchen. “Just let ’em say hello, or they’ll never leave you be.”
The voice was followed by a silvery-haired woman with a sunbeam smile. Thin, tall as her son, dressed in jeans and a checked blouse, she ordered the dogs away.
“Good to see you, Son.” Nick’s mother folded him in her embrace, laughing and crying as she accepted the flowers in a puff of petals. “Look whatcha done, Nicky. Details, that’s you.” She turned to Natalie. “Never forgets a birthday or a holiday, this one.” She patted his cheek and sighed. “It’s so rare Nick visits, let alone brings a pretty girl on his arm …”
“I’m Natalie.” She held out a hand in greeting, but was swept into a hug so tight that her breath whooshed out.
“You can call me Violet. Any friend of Nick’s … well. Nice to meet you.”
“Your ranch is lovely.”
“Lovely and a lot of work. ’Course, we hire most of it out nowadays.” Violet laughed as she dipped her nose to the peonies and then tucked an arm through Natalie’s. “Come on inside. Let’s get these in some water.”
Violet Hardaway chattered as she guided them inside. All the while, Natalie kept her smile light as her thoughts churned. Maybe these folks had information about their neighbors—her family—after living so close to them for so many years.
And what about Nick’s father’s management company? Had the Hardaways ever been approached to maintain the acres of grapes on the Valence property? As far as she knew, from the documents the lawyer gave her, there was no winery associated with the property.
There were grapes, though. The vines dripped with them. Hearty bunches of red, green, and gold. They would all wither on the vine without someone’s attention.
“Dinner’s about a half an hour late. Dalton and your father got to talkin’ politics again.” Her laugh was bitter as she wiped her hands on a dishrag. “I had to run interference.”
From the back room, heated masculine voices rose and fell against the background of a televised news conference.
Natalie held her response in check, unsure how to react to his mother’s blend of worry and mirth. Nick nodded, but no laughter touched his eyes, offering no clues. “If you don’t need help, I’ll show Natalie the vines.”
With a quick kiss to his mom’s cheek, Nick guided Natalie outside.
She paused to glance back at the white house. Behind those walls, something lay hidden. Buried. Behind that argument, she sensed sadness at the core of the Hardaway family, close enough to the surface to know it was there, but obscured like a scar hidden under a sleeve.
Nick headed for the vineyard at a steady pace, and she hurried after him. At the top of the hill he stopped, hands in his back pockets, watching the setting sun. Mountains purpled as the golden glow of sunset painted the farmland in life-affirming warmth.
“Sorry about that. My dad and Dalton like to stir things up.”
“Think they’re tense ’cause you’re back at home?”
He blinked at her assessment, saying nothing.
“Sometimes my mom gets really sensitive before Aaron goes out on duty. She’s afraid for him, mostly, but she takes it out on him by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.”
“Who knows.” Nick kicked at the dirt. “They were having that same argument about a different president when I left home.”
That in itself told how long he’d been away. Nick stepped over a ditch and then held out a hand to help her across. Easy, natural, like they’d been walking this way for their whole lives. At the split rail fence, he hopped it, and she followed suit like a ten-year-old.
In the field, she ran her hands across reaching vines, the thin curls of green grappling for purchase against the heavy-laden fruit.
“These are Cab Franc.” He snapped off a purplish grape, popped it into his mouth, and gave her a handful.
The warm fruit burst on her tongue, filling her senses with sweet, earthy juice. “Good.”
“Dad does it right.” Though his words were complimentary, she sensed a complexity there. He continued, unaware that she’d seen beneath the surface of his answer. “Soon we’ll fill whole trucks with the harvest. There’ll be barrel crushes all through the valley. Just think, if your place was open? You’d be busting at the seams.”
“Open,” she scoffed. “Were we looking at the same building?” Crossing her arms, she stared in the direction of the low-slung castle.
“It’s perfect for Halloween. Good and spooky.”
“Okay, but what about after Halloween? Do you think the place could be livable—much less profitable?”
She visualized Corie cooking meals and fixing picnic baskets for day trip outings. Aaron could come—once he got out of the army—fix broken steps, change out light fixtures. Her jack-of-all-trades brother needed normalcy after what he’d seen fighting overseas. Mom and Dad would need a home base to visit and call home again.
And Nick. Would he be there as well?
But as fast as her mind drew up fantasies, she recalled the past due notice from the bank at the top of the folder from Clinton, the number to the sales agent clipped underneath.
“This is gonna take a miracle.”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.” Anxious to change the subject, she cupped a bunch of bright gold fruit, hanging low and heavy. “Chardonnay?”
“Good guess.” He plucked another grape for her to try. Its sweet nectar filled her mouth with honeysuckle and dust. “Viognier.”
“So says the expert. Sweet, like honey.” She ate another while examining the fruit, enjoying the weight of it in her hands. “Did you see the vines at the Valence property? Think we could harvest? Earn a little capital to get the hotel up and running again?”
“What? Harvest out there?” He scrubbed a forefinger against his jaw, looking out over the hills as if he could see the vines on the Valence property. “Dad probably has his hands full already, crews all set up, whole season booked.”
“Probably. But I wasn’t talking about your dad.”
She hazarded the next question before she lost her nerve. Crossing her arms in front of her like a shield, she found power in the voicing of it. “If I do this for Mrs. Valence? Take over out there and get it back to what it once was? That’ll be a full-time job. I’ll have to quit The Grand. Give up my promotion, money, paid vacations. For what?”
“Uncertainty. A haunted hotel. Leaky pipes, shoddy roofs, and worse.” His mouth quickened into a smile as he turned to face her. The tips of his work boots nearly kissed her turquoise toenails peeping through her dusty sandals.
Setting broad hands to his hips, he continued, “It’s an awful idea.”
“The worst.” Natalie unthreaded her arms and reached out to caress a bright-green vine tendril.
He reached out and did the same. The stubborn plant remained growing, thriving even, in s
pite of the southern California drought. Natalie inhaled the possibility and exhaled the doubt before she spoke again.
“Someone needs to take care of the place. Otherwise, it will go up for auction. That’s what the lawyer—”
“Fife’s a bully. Always has been.” His blue eyes went earnest. “If you want it, really want it, you can make it happen.”
“If I want it, I’ll need help. Someone who knows people, understands construction, can manage a large project like the castle … So I was hoping maybe you would be interested? Unless you’re going back north when things here are done.”
His mouth set, considering. “I quit Triage. I’m not going back. Ever.”
“I’m not sure what I could—or should—pay you. We’ll have to figure that out.”
“One thing at a time. My answer’s yes. I’d love to help you out––at least until I figure out what’s next.”
She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
“Good. I really wasn’t sure how I was going to do it on my own …”
Nick reached out, clasped her hand, and led them toward the setting sun. “We can figure it out together. But for now, let’s just focus on dinner. It’s time to get back.”
“How can you tell? You’re not wearing a watch.”
“When you work outside, you learn how to tell time by the sun.”
“So what time is it?”
Nick rolled a rock with his toe, stared at the shadow and then glanced up to the sun’s downward arc. “Nearing six.”
She looked at her watch. “On the money.”
“Told you.” His work-roughened palm settled against hers, his fingers possessive but gently twined with hers.
“What do you do at night?”
“Sleep.”
She snorted a laugh and stumbled his way as he pulled her closer.
“I use the stars. You can tell time, even seasons, if you know the stars.”
“Aren’t you a man of many talents.”
A smile bloomed from deep in her soul. She imagined a young Nick stargazing. Picking out the pictures in the sky, maybe lying on that broad section of the roof. Then she imagined herself up there with him, stargazing and dreaming of their future.
So this is it? The thought jogged her heart. It’s finally time to follow my dream?
“Yeah, I’m a man of many talents, master of none,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice.
Natalie startled. “What about Triage? You mastered working for them, I’d guess. And they have a hotel along with the vineyards. You probably have lots of ideas and angles for me to consider.”
His eyes brightened as he began brainstorming. His enthusiasm was enough to make her see the property as what he imagined it could be—a flourishing B&B, vineyard, and ranch, the whole package operating as a family business with her at the helm.
“They must be really sad you left. Was it difficult to quit something you loved?”
“It was just a job. I stayed as long as I did because I love the trade, but Triage wasn’t the right fit.” He paused. “Don’t tell my dad, okay? That’s a skeleton I’d like to keep in my closet for now.”
“You don’t want him to know?”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, but the truth just might. It’s … complicated. I just want to wait until the timing’s right.”
When her vacation time ran out, she’d face a similar dilemma, and she and her father would well have the same conversation. They were quiet for a few steps.
“What about you? A beautiful girl like you must have a secret or two.”
Natalie’s fingers slackened in his grasp, and he let go. “Not as many as you’d think.”
She stared at her dusty feet. The only skeleton in her closet was Mike—the boy she should have been able to trust, the boy who’d nearly destroyed her. Other than Mike, she had nothing, no one, to hide. She’d barely dated, and she could count the number of good night kisses she’d received on one hand. She was always waiting for a sign from beyond that she’d found her soul mate. She’d seen too many friends make the fatal mistake of falling too far, too fast, and she was determined not to do the same.
They walked back to the house, her mind churning with the agony of her innocence. She couldn’t imagine why a guy like Nick would be interested in a girl with zero experience in life. Or love.
Chapter 11
The table was set for five with a mismatched office chair mixed in among the sturdy oak kitchen chairs. Platters of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, slaw, and a basket of steaming biscuits covered the lace-draped table.
Natalie folded her hands to say grace, but Nick caught her gaze and cleared his throat as his father reached around the vase of pink flowers and dug straight into the mashed potatoes. While they ate, Mr. Hardaway launched into yet another political discussion with Dalton. In the other room, the steady cadence of baseball streamed from the television. Natalie picked at her second butter-slathered biscuit. “It’s wonderful, Mrs. Hardaway. Thank you for having me.”
“You eat like a bird, dear. Have some more chicken.” Violet passed the dish of perfectly fried breasts along with a boat of thick, homemade gravy.
The men’s heads swiveled in the direction of the TV set, groaning and cheering as another batter got on base.
No lively conversation or humorous stories filled this kitchen with laughter; just the noise of a TV baseball game and cutlery against plates with the occasional request for more chicken or another biscuit. The sharp contrast to her family dinners left her heart feeling as jagged as a broken cup.
Natalie accepted the pitcher of lemonade and poured herself a glass. Sipping the sweet-sour beverage, she observed the family portrait on the far wall.
Five people posed around a log in a meadow. The parents, the two boys, and a girl with golden hair as light as Nick’s and eyes as dark as Dalton’s. Judging by the clothes and hairstyles, the picture was more than a decade old.
Mrs. Hardaway shifted in her chair, her attention focused on Natalie. “Dalton mentioned you’re from San Diego.”
Natalie nodded, light filling her heart at the thought of her family. “Dad’s a doctor, mom’s a nurse. They recently retired and joined a mission organization that travels around the world bringing the Gospel and medical attention to people in need.”
“Oh.” Violet swept crumbs from the tabletop into her palm. “We should have said a blessing, I suppose.”
“Why?” Dalton squeezed barbecue sauce on his plate and shot a quizzical glance to his mother. “We never have before.”
She dropped the crumbs into a napkin. Folded it into a tiny rectangle.
Natalie dug into her potatoes and continued as if Dalton hadn’t spoken at all. “My brother’s in the army and my sister’s graduating from the Culinary Academy in San Francisco. She’ll be here this weekend.”
“Driving or flying?” Nick asked between bites.
“Neither. She’s taking the train. I was going to pick her up in San Diego, but …” If she was going to make a run of things at the castle, she needed to stay here. “There’s an Amtrak stop in Long Valley, right?”
Dalton offered up the closest station at the west edge of town. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw Violet’s eyes grow distant as she stared at the family portrait. Natalie wanted to ask about the sister. She must be far from home as there wasn’t even a fifth dining chair for her.
Natalie’s heart ached for Corie, missing her sister’s bright bubble of laughter at Aaron’s wry sense of humor. She missed her whole boisterous family: her father’s booming voice, mom’s easygoing way of lightening the mood, the way everyone got their say at the table without judgment or quarrel.
At the commercial, Mr. Hardaway launched an interrogation into Nick’s career choices.
“Got a call from the winegrower out at Triage this morning. Legendary decision making, Son, quitting on the spot like that.”
Natalie watched father and son, growing nervou
s. Violet wiped her mouth with her napkin. Only Dalton looked amused. Mr. Hardaway hammered Nick’s failings and spouted plans for him to get his job back. Nick crumbled a biscuit to dust.
“I’m not going back to Triage, Dad.”
“Why would you?” His father tossed a napkin over his empty plate. “It’s only a decent living, solid pay, with benefits!”
“They don’t listen, Dad. Doesn’t matter what I know, or how long I’ve run vineyards. They just do what they’ve always done.”
“What, make and sell boatloads of wine?” Nick’s father wiped a hand over his thinning hair. “You’re young. You don’t know better yet.”
Nick wiped his hands clean as the invisible tension built to critical mass.
Natalie stood, gathered her plate and Nick’s. “Dinner was wonderful, Violet. Thank you for the home-cooked meal.”
Nick followed her into the kitchen. Piling dishes into a stack, she changed the subject, fighting for a lighter mood. “I usually get a KFC bucket, to go.”
“You don’t cook?”
Natalie laughed. “I do more frozen foods and salads. I make the best Cobb salad in California. But cooking? That’s my sister’s thing.”
She glanced back at the family portrait. “What does your little sister do?” Natalie shot water over the dishes. “Does she live close by?”
When he didn’t answer she looked up from the soapy dishes. By his crinkled brow, Nick’s pain was raw, fresh. Palpable.
Suddenly, it all made sense. The fighting, the shroud of sadness over this family gathering …
“I’m such an idiot.” The crush of his emotions pushed into her soul. “I’m so sorry.”
“She was taken.” Nick’s words were clipped like facts from a newspaper report, but Natalie could hear so much more beneath the surface. “Ten years ago, next week.”
Falling silent, a tiny muscle ticked in his jaw. She touched his forearm with a careful hand. Stillness filled the kitchen as he began to explain. His resonant, anguished tone broke her heart.
“My sister was kidnapped and murdered on her way home from high school soccer practice. Her body …” His voice broke, his Adam’s apple bobbing with swallowed remorse. “The police found her body by the lake.”
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