“I’ve heard that Clarkston Bank is friendly to local vintners. If you’re right about the Willamette’s potential, wouldn’t Jed Smith be willing to take a chance on you?”
Mom didn’t understand how to run a vineyard and a winery. She didn’t know how hard it was already to pay down her line of credit each month.
“You don’t have any college debt, and Dad’s insurance paid off the land and buildings. You’ve only got the expenses associated with the vineyard and winemaking.”
Even for a one-man show, packaging, bottling, the wages Junie paid her pickers and Keval, and other fixed costs added up to a substantial sum. Still, relief from that nagging anxiety about Storm returning, throwing a monkey wrench into the business she’d built up might be worth going a little deeper into debt. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Jed Smith see things her way.
Chapter Seventeen
Junie stepped out of Clarkston Savings Bank into the wet sidewalk. She flipped the hood of her jacket up against the farmer’s rain and started walking, but in no time, water was dripping from the rim of her hood and onto her face. So she yanked it farther over her forehead and pinched it closed under her chin, blocking her peripheral vision, and tucked her head till all she saw was the steady forward progress of her boots.
“Junie, is that you?”
She peered out from her hooded cocoon at the blue pickup that had slowed to a stop. For a moment, she thought it was Manolo’s. It was the same body style. Only the color was different.
“Daryl!”
“Where’re you going in this rain?”
She didn’t know where she was going. All she cared about was putting as much distance between her and the bank as possible. “Home, I guess.”
Jed Smith had turned down her request to up her line of credit. But the prospect of sitting in her lonely office figuring out a new plan to buy Mom’s share of the vineyard made her head hurt, and it was too wet to work outside today.
“You guess? Where you been?” He eyed her up and down from the cab of his truck, brown eyes sparkling.
Oh, that smile.
She bit her lip. If she told Daryl that Jed Smith had just turned down her loan request, it would be all over town by dinnertime. “At the bank.”
She needn’t have worried. Daryl was more interested in what he was doing. “I’m headed over to The Gorge for lunch. It’s been ten years since I got the most receptions in a game at Carlton High, and my record still stands. To celebrate, they named a sandwich after me. Want to know what’s in it?”
Junie brushed a raindrop from her cheek. “Sure.”
“Turkey, applewood-smoked bacon, and havarti on grilled—”
She envied Daryl his warm, dry interior. “That’s nice. Look, Daryl.” She took a step. “I’m getting soaked out here.”
“Don’t you even want to know what it’s called?”
She halted, sighing. “Yeah, sure.”
“The Catcher in the Rye. Get it?”
She smiled. “I get it. Good for you. Now I gotta go.”
“See you,” he said, accelerating. “Don’t forget—that Trattoria. I’m going to call you and set something up.” He took off, spraying a plume of water onto Junie’s pant legs.
Forget the Trattoria—couldn’t Daryl have at least offered her a lift, to get out of the rain?
She continued slogging in the direction of where her car was parked, wondering what Keval was up to. His snarky wisecracks had a way of taking her mind off whatever was getting her down.
She could stop over at the consortium—but what if Manolo was there? He hadn’t mentioned exactly which day he was coming back from the Reserves. Running into him would only make this day worse.
She got in her car and drove slowly around Sam’s block. The vacant lot next to the consortium looked different. It had been cleared and leveled, and a trench had been dug around it. Various pieces of heavy equipment sat around, shut down by the rain, she supposed. But there was no sign of Manolo’s truck.
In a corner of the consortium, a couple of growers argued politics. When Sam saw Junie, he finished his call and tossed his phone onto the counter.
“How’s your porch coming along?”
“Manolo says he’s almost done.”
“Speak of the devil. That was the Lieutenant on the phone. He’s on the way here from the airport. We broke ground while he was gone—did you notice? He said he’s going to stop by and check out the site before he even unpacks.”
“Here? Now?”
“Hey, girl.” Keval waved from where he sat working on his laptop.
She would have a quick word with Keval and hightail it out of there before Manolo showed up.
But she’d only gone a couple of steps when Holly of the Perpetual Smile fluttered into her path, animated as a little brown sparrow.
“Hi, Junie!”
“You look bubbly.” Even bubblier than usual.
“You won’t believe it.” From her scant five-foot-two, she slipped an elbow through Junie’s and dragged her out of the growers’ hearing. “Guess who brought me dinner Friday night?” she chirped. “Manolo Santos!” She squeezed Junie’s arm in her excitement. “Nothing fancy, he just brought a pizza and a bottle of your pinot over here to the consortium and we ate in the kitchen. But it was homemade pizza. He made it himself. Did you know he’s an incredible cook?”
Junie stared at Holly, speechless.
Keval zipped around his desk, tugging at Junie’s opposite elbow. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but business first. Junie, can you come here? I need to talk to you. About . . . your promo campaign.”
Holly frowned in disappointment. “Right now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Holly!” called Sam from across the room, muffling the current in his unending string of phone calls against his chest. “Can you come here a sec?”
Holly edged away. “We’ll talk later.”
When she was gone, Keval whispered, “Are we okay?”
“We’re—that is, I’m fine,” replied Junie in a monotone.
“Are you sure? You look kind of anemic, all of a sudden.” He brightened with sudden realization. “It’s because Manolo’s on his way, isn’t it? Tell me the truth, because I feel like love is in the air.” He pulled her farther away from listening ears and hissed, “Are you and Manolo—”
She pulled back. “What? No! No way! You’re getting us all wrong.”
“Because I know I tease a lot, but the day Sam brought us all to your tasting room, I thought I felt something between you two.”
“Me and Manolo? I am not into him! No way. Never. He is not my type.”
Keval scowled. “But I could have sworn—”
“Nothing is going on between us, okay? Manolo is not into me, and I am not into him. He works on my porch, that’s all. Other than that, all we do is talk on the phone.”
She turned toward the exit.
“That’s all?”
“That’s it. I’ll call you later. I just stopped to say hi.”
Keval propped a hand on his hip and cocked his head. “What do you talk about?”
She glanced around impatiently. She really had to get going.
“Food, mostly.”
“Food? You’ve got this freakin’ smoke show working on your house and all you talk about is about food?”
“Shh. Do we have to tell the whole world? You heard Holly. Cooking’s his thing.”
“Could he be more perfect?” Keval moaned.
Junie ignored that. “Look, I have to go.”
“Where’s our Lieutenant coming from? I left Friday to spend the weekend in the city and just got back this morning.”
“Reserves,” she muttered, walking backward. “Assembly. Virginia.”
“Junie, darling. You’re babbling.”
“He could be back any time—”
The hinges creaked on the old consortium door. Every conversation in the room trailed off midsentence. All eyes flew to the tall, unifor
med officer with a patch that said SANTOS in all caps sewn onto his broad chest.
Sam and Manolo saluted each other.
Keval covered his eyes. “Tell me he’s wearing camo. I die!”
“Reel it in,” hissed Junie. But she couldn’t tear her eyes off him, either.
Peeking through his fingers, he muttered under his breath, “Girlfriend, is that your boo thang or not? Because if it’s not, I’m about to Stake. My. Claim.”
“Manny! Welcome back!” exclaimed Holly. While Junie watched, frozen, Holly flung herself at Manolo like there was way more between them than just an evening of wine and pizza.
Perky, fun-loving Holly. She was everything a lonely man, new in town, could want. Everything Junie wasn’t.
Holly’s headlock forced Manolo’s lanky torso almost horizontal. One broad hand still gripped his sagging duffel bag while the other awkwardly answered her embrace. His eyes widened when he saw Junie standing across the room, taking in the whole scene.
Chapter Eighteen
Manolo gave Holly a token pat in exchange for her strangulating hug, then wasted no time making a beeline across the room.
“Hey, Buttercup! Saw an idea for your tasting room when I was in Virginia.”
He had an urge to scoop her up in the same sort of tight grip he’d just escaped. But there was something about her expression that had him thrusting his hands into his camos in an attempt to keep them from reaching for her body. The fabric inside his pockets scratched against his skin. No wonder—it was like new. An officer was trained to stand erect, not with his fists jammed impotently into his pants.
He’d think about that later. Now, he plunged headlong into what he’d been looking forward to telling her during the entire, long flight west. “I was at this winery near Spotsylvania—”
“Our armed forces train at wineries? Why did no one tell me this before, and where do I sign up?” Keval interjected.
“Ah, this weekend was an exception.” But that was sensitive information.
He turned back to Junie. “I saw this live-edge wooden bar, and right away I thought of that slab of white oak you have out in your barn.”
Junie had yet to say so much as hello—not that she’d had much of a chance. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she did, something over Manolo’s shoulder caught her eye.
He spun around to see that Sam had lost interest in whatever it was that his client was saying, and Holly was glaring at him with her arms folded. Both of them were wearing scowls. Aw, Geez. Now what? Manolo returned his attention to Junie. Whatever was eating Sam and Holly could wait. She was the one he’d been thinking of all weekend, on the other side of the country.
“I’ve been on a plane the past seven hours. I need to get out of these boots and back into my civvies. Think about what I said. I could replace that old countertop with the oak for you if you want.”
Abruptly, Manolo left for his apartment. After he changed, he went to one of the restaurants on Main Street. While he waited for his grilled cheese, he pulled out the sketches that he had drawn on the plane back from Virginia. He’d never worked on a tasting room before, but the idea had taken hold of him and wouldn’t let go. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he could talk Junie into letting him use her humble bar as practice. He couldn’t wait to get started.
* * *
When Manolo returned to the consortium, Sam was the only one there.
“Buttercup?”
Manolo’s grin came out as a grimace. Not even he knew what hat he’d pulled that endearment out of. Maybe it was because Junie looked as pure as milk, staring at him with his chin mashed into Holly’s shoulder. He’d just opened his mouth and Buttercup had tumbled out. But he didn’t owe anyone an explanation. “You got a problem with that?”
“I don’t.”
Manolo spread his arms. “I was only gone three days. Did I miss something?”
“All last week, you’re cozying up to Junie, then come Friday you’re putting the moves on Holly.”
“Whoa. Look, man. You’re the one who filled me in on how Junie’s place is in such bad shape, remember? I’m just trying to help her out a little. That porch is a cake job. It’s all but done.”
“What was that about a bar back east?”
“The top brass were tied up in high-level meetings half the weekend. More trouble in the global war on terror, surprise, surprise. My task force got a pass Saturday night, so we snuck out to a couple wineries.”
“Wait—let me guess. A certain blonde research assistant who works at the Pentagon just happened to be at one of them.”
Manolo cursed his penchant for boasting. If he’d learn to keep his mouth shut about his conquests, they wouldn’t come back to bite him in the butt. To ease his conscience, he tried to make light of the couple of steamy, yet meaningless hours he’s spent in the blonde’s bed. “Now, what kind of a feminist would I be if I kissed and told?”
“What’s her name again? Heidi or something?”
Manolo’s mood changed abruptly. Friend or not, a man could only take so much. He faced Sam straight on. “What are you, my mother? Quit pissin’ in my ear and just say what you’re thinking.”
Sam squared his shoulders. “Holly can take care of herself. But I gave you heads-up where Junie’s concerned.”
“Are you trying to manage me again?”
“I’m just saying. No one wants to see her get hurt.”
Anger and another unexpected, disturbing emotion seized Manolo: guilt. He closed the distance between himself and Sam. “You think I’d hurt her?”
“No. Not intentionally—”
Manolo raised his chin and peered down his nose at his friend. “Let’s get something clear, Captain. We’re back in the real world now. Out here, you don’t outrank me. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Stand down, man. No one’s accusing you of anything.”
“Then why does it feel like it?”
“I saw you. The way you looked at Junie today when you saw her standing there. You could barely hold back.”
Sam might be able to read body language like a road map, and granted, he might have done a little more time outside the wire than was good for his mental health, but all of this overprotectiveness was getting on Manolo’s nerves.
“Mission accomplished. Buzz killed. It’s high time you ditched the trench coat, Spidey. We ain’t in goat country anymore, and I’m not the enemy. We’re on the same side, remember?”
Sam blinked. Then his shoulders relaxed. He sucked in a cleansing breath. “Doc’s been telling me the same thing. Maybe I came on too strong. As long as all you’re hammering is Junie’s porch, there won’t be any problems.”
Manolo slapped him on the back, breaking the tension. “I’ve got my arms around this. I’m in the business of solving problems, not making more of them. Remember that and we’ll be cool.”
Manolo walked out the back door to gaze unseeing at the plot of land that had been cleared in his absence. Groundbreaking was a pivotal stage of any construction project. He should be excited. This time, it barely registered.
He lost track of how long he stood there, stewing. Sam’s accusations were way off base.
But warning Manolo away from Junie had inadvertently pointed out her vulnerability. And though she bristled at any hint of a handout, Manolo was uniquely qualified to help her, whether Sam liked it or not. He could whip that tasting room into shape. Hell, he could make it the talk of this valley. Nobody would call it Broken Hart Vineyards when he was through with it! And he didn’t need to make a profit at Junie’s expense. Some men golfed, and some collected cars and other toys. Building things . . . helping people were both Manolo’s vocation and his avocation. The only other hobby he had was eating out and an occasional good bottle of wine. Aside from that, what else did he have to spend his money on? With no home of his own, no plans for one, and no dependents, the modest amount he set aside out of each paycheck had added up over the years. He had a tidy
sum socked away. More than enough to let him to spend a part of each year volunteering.
The EWC might not have been able to find any opportunities for him this summer, but ironically, Junie’s tasting room had fallen into his lap like a ripe Roma tomato. And if Sam didn’t like it, he’d prove to him when he left in the fall that the whole time he’d been here, his actions where Junie was concerned had been nothing but honorable.
Chapter Nineteen
When Junie gave her mom the news about the bank turning her down, she responded by suggesting Junie drive up to Portland on her next day off to have dinner and see her new place.
At the moment the snow-covered peak of Mount St. Helens came into view through the Volvo’s windshield, Manolo called Junie’s cell phone.
“I’m coming over to look at that oak slab in your barn. Did you get a chance to think about what I said?”
“I’m not there right now.”
“I thought this was your day off.”
“It is. I’m on my way to my mom’s new place.”
There was a pause. “Is she getting to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s no secret she’d love you to move to Portland with her. I was there when she offered to put your bedroom suite in the moving van, remember?”
“Then you heard me tell her no way.”
“I hate to join the naysayers, but maybe your mom has a point.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. Definitely yours. I just hate to see you banging your head against the wall. Now that the porch is done, it’ll up the market value of the farmhouse.”
“I’m not selling the house. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so. Then how about that new bar?”
“Don’t we need permits or something?”
“I know the local zoning officer from working on Sam’s project. I have her eating out of my hand.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“Here’s something I bet you didn’t know. The town officials can’t praise your dad enough. Besides, those laws exist in case some big developer comes along. Clarkston’s not interested in slapping down their vintners. You’re the ones who draw in the tax dollars. I’ve never seen a place where politicians and businesses shared the same agenda more than they do here. What’s good for the wine is good for everyone. Wine is sexy.”
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