A baby was crying.
Delle Michaels, the fifty-something florist, grimaced and put down her tools. “She’s awake.” With quick strides, she made her way to a infant carrier and pulled a wiggling bundle in pink free. The child quieted. “My four-month-old granddaughter,” she explained to Giuliana. “I love her to pieces, but when she’s awake, she’s a snuggler, which is not conducive to work that requires wire and pliers.”
“Maybe if we put her closer to us,” one of her assistants suggested. “If she sees us moving around she’ll be content in the carrier.”
“Maybe,” Delle said, and put the baby down.
The crying started again.
“We won’t get everything done on time,” a second assistant cautioned, “unless we’re all working.”
With a sigh, Delle retrieved the baby and kissed her on her chubby cheeks when the child instantly stopped the waterworks. “I know, I know.” She sent an apologetic glance at Giuliana. “My son and daughter-in-law had an emergency babysitting need.”
“Sure,” Giuliana said, backing toward the door. “I understand.”
“Terrific!” Delle smiled in relief. “So you won’t mind holding her for an hour, will you, Giuliana? Or until she falls asleep, whichever comes first.”
“Me?” Giuliana took another step in retreat. “I mean, I, uh . . .”
“You said you were free,” Delle reminded her, bustling forward. “And you like babies, right?”
“Well, uh . . .” And before she could come up with another excuse, Delle placed the pink bundle in her arms.
She tucked a thin flannel blanket around the baby. “See? She’s quiet again already. Her name is Molly.” Delle patted Giuliana’s arm. “Take her for a walk. If she doesn’t see Grammy, she’s probably even less likely to fuss.”
Giuliana swallowed. “I . . .” Then her own words came back to her. Whatever needs doing, I’ll be doing it. “We’ll be just fine, Delle.”
She’d go find one of her sisters and pass the infant off. “You understand,” she said to the baby as she descended the cottage’s porch steps, her gaze already roaming for a familiar face. “It’s nothing personal.”
The baby wiggled in her arms, and Giuliana hitched her closer. “Nothing personal,” she repeated, glancing down at the round cheeks, the baby mouth with its pronounced upper lip, the big blue eyes.
Molly’s eyes.
Giuliana stared down at her. “It’s no Fabulosa Magnifica or Myauntiescool Andspoilsme,” she murmured.
The child responded with a squirm and wrinkles developed on her tiny forehead. She appeared annoyed.
“But it’s not a bad name,” Giuliana hastened to say. “Molly has a very nice ring to it.”
The lines smoothed out, as if she was appeased by the compliment. So Giuliana kept talking as she walked, and Molly’s eyes fastened onto her face as if the conversation was riveting. What was riveting, Giuliana thought, was the feel of the infant against her. Though she was light, Molly was surprisingly . . . solid. And warm. She didn’t remember a baby being so warm.
Giuliana wasn’t sure she’d ever actually held one in her arms. Like every other teenage girl, she’d babysat on many occasions, but her charges had been toddler-sized. The kind you ran after or rolled a ball to, not the kind you held close to your chest. Heart to heart.
Instead of heading to the administrative offices, where she’d most likely discover a sister, Giuliana found herself turning into the vineyard. “Have you seen grapes growing before, Molly?” she asked, turning in a slow circle in the red dirt. Silt coated the bottom of her thongs and crept onto the bare parts of her feet.
Good Baci dirt.
“Aren’t the grapes pretty?” She tilted her arms so that the baby could see a pale green cluster.
Healthy Baci grapes.
“We’ll make wine with them next fall.”
Traditional Tanti Baci wine.
“When you grow up, Molly, maybe at your wedding you’ll serve the blanc de blancs that’s from the grapes grown at this very vineyard.”
If the Bristol brothers decided to continue making it.
If they didn’t decide to scrap one hundred years of Baci history. Once the land was sold to them, they could yank out the vines and plant plums or pears or any number of things, just like growers had done during Prohibition. Or they could let her family’s land go fallow. Unused. Lifeless.
What Giuliana had been feeling inside.
The baby made a little noise, and Giuliana looked into those serious blue eyes. Her gaze was strangely wise, she thought, and then the rosebud mouth moved. Curved.
Giuliana froze, the smile piercing her breast with a smooth stroke. It found her heart, and the bittersweet pain jolted it awake.
“Oh, Molly,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”
The baby wiggled against her and Giuliana shifted her closer, cuddling that warm, pliable weight against her. Her skin smelled of soap, her downy hair was soft against Giuliana’s lips. Molly didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the rain of Giuliana’s tears on the crown of her head.
She was feeling again. Oh, God. Feeling everything.
From her connection to the land at her feet to the ache of love in her chest.
Just as Molly was no inanimate doll, neither was Giuliana—though perhaps she’d been living like that for the last year. Going through the motions of being a Baci and a sister without taking a real breath as either one. She’d railed at Liam’s closed-off emotions, but she’d been no better, using that as an excuse to keep away from him and everyone else in Edenville for the last ten years.
He’d hidden his emotions away.
She’d hidden from everyone who might cause her to have any beyond the most superficial.
She said she didn’t believe in second chances, when it was really that she didn’t want to risk trying again. Losing her mother and then losing the baby and then losing Liam had left her so bereft.
“Oh, Molly,” she whispered. She tried brushing away the flow of tears with the back of her hand, but they continued to fall. “Allie was right. If we don’t look for what we’ve lost, then we lose everything.”
She spun again in the dirt, more slowly this time, to absorb the beauty of her surroundings. Stark blue sky, fertile earth, lush vines.
Growing grapes.
It was all so beautiful it made her eyes sting all over again.
“Let me tell you how it works, Molly,” she said, rubbing her wet cheek against the baby’s head. “When you harvest the grapes, you have to deal with the bees. I always get a sting or two when we’re picking. But that’s part of the process. You have to take the pain here and there if you want to hold that sweet, warm fruit in the palm of your hand.”
She took another breath of the baby’s delicate scent and then held her away to look into her serene gaze. “I’d forgotten that.”
A breeze caught her hair. It stirred the leaves on the vines and felt like a chilled breath against her skin. Prickles stung the back of her neck and instinct took over, causing her arms to draw Molly close again and her shoulders to round, creating a haven of her body for the child.
“Jules!”
Liam. Relief coursed through her and she turned toward his voice. He stood at the end of the row, staring at her. She saw herself as he would: dusty feet, tear-wet cheeks, baby. Her heart lurched in her chest, remembering what he’d said to her in the bar.
Don’t go, Jules. Don’t leave me again.
She saw this clearly, too, now: she’d been the one to run. He’d left Tuscany before she did, but he’d been at home all this time.
He paced toward her, his gaze never moving off her and Molly. “What’s wrong? You’re crying.”
It was so hard to breathe, let alone swallow, as she absorbed his familiar face. It took two tries, then she licked her lips. “I am crying,” she whispered. Then she took another breath and smiled. “And so are you.”
His hand jerked up. He wiped the moisture away with th
e heel of his hand, clearly embarrassed. “I . . . seeing you with a baby . . .”
“Liam!” Penn was at the end of the row now, driving one of the Bennett ATVs. “Coming?”
He glanced back, then looked at Giuliana again. Another tear trickled down his lean cheek.
“Liam!” Penn yelled. “Get your ass in gear!”
When Liam flipped his brother off, she could almost laugh. “I . . . I don’t know what to say . . .” he started, his voice hoarse.
You have to learn to live without fear. “Maybe . . . maybe I do.”
He scrubbed the heel of his hand against his face, his gaze suddenly hard on hers. “Jules?”
“Go with Penn,” she urged. “I’ll be at your house tonight. At eight.” Though they had so much to accomplish, the sisters had sworn to each other they’d clear out before then. She and Allie had agreed on one thing. They had to ensure Stevie got plenty of rest.
Now Giuliana hoped her message was clear. He’d told her she’d have the place to herself if she came before seven. She would arrive later, when the two of them could be alone. Together.
Her message must not have been clear, Giuliana thought. It was closing on eight P.M., and Liam hadn’t arrived back at his house. Or maybe . . .
He wasn’t interested in what she had to say.
That could be likely, given that he hadn’t responded to her call to his cell phone or her text. He’d not tagged her on her phone, either.
Alone in Liam’s house, she decided waiting wasn’t an option any longer. It was nearing full dark as she set off, taking the shortcut. It vee’d at one point, one leg going toward the winery. She took the other that led to the farmhouse.
Approaching the back door that opened into the kitchen, she heard laughter. Through the windows, she saw Penn and Jack moving back and forth. The husbands were cooking and the group looked relaxed and happy.
She hesitated. It wasn’t so much about being the fifth wheel. They wouldn’t close her out of their circle because she wasn’t paired up. But there was the Tanti Baci land—and her part in the threat to it.
Still, she steeled herself to join them. The laughter stopped when she pushed open the door. Jack smiled, though, and Penn, the most easygoing of the bunch, came forward to pull her inside. Her other brother-in-law poured her a glass of the cab they were apparently drinking with burgers and fries.
Her sisters didn’t give away their thoughts, so she surveyed the platter of red meat and the steaming batch of crispy fries on the counter. Fine, it looked great, but her maternal instincts reared their head.
“I hope you’re planning a salad to go along with that.”
Without a word, Stevie turned around to grab a bowl of watermelon slices she put on the table. Allie placed a bowl of greens, tomatoes, and avocado beside it.
She could feel the weight of her sisters’ gazes. It was nothing compared to the weight of responsibility she’d felt since she was sixteen . . . no, before that. Could they understand? “She always told me to look after you. When she knew she was dying of cancer, she said it was my job. That I would be a good mother to the two of you.”
“Oh, Jules,” Allie said.
Giuliana covered her eyes with her hand. “I was so sad when she died.”
It was Stevie who touched her. She put her arm around her shoulders. “You were the one closest to her.”
“She loved all of us equally,” she replied, hearing the fierce tone of her voice.
“Of course,” Stevie said. “I get that. But I also get that you being the oldest put a heavier burden on you.”
“When things changed with Liam . . .”
“You mean when you started kissing Liam,” Allie put in, a bubble of laugh in her voice.
That lightness lifted her heart a tiny bit. “I found new happiness. It wasn’t so dark everywhere.”
“Oh, Jules.” Allie again.
“But I left you guys. I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Giuliana.” Stevie spoke with the confidence of a woman who had figured out things about her own life and love. “You didn’t abandon us. We were constantly talking. You monitored closely—very closely at times, I’ll say—what we were doing.”
“I should have stopped Allie deciding to marry Tommy when she was barely out of high school,” Giuliana confessed.
“Pfft,” Allie responded, waving a hand. “I couldn’t be swayed and I see now why you didn’t say I was too young—hello, pot, kettle—but that’s not about you.”
Penn moved close to his wife. His hand smoothed the back of her long hair. “Okay?”
She sent him a smile and then went on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. “Okay. But man, are these oldest siblings annoyingly over-responsible.”
Giuliana’s mind instantly turned to the man who wasn’t home. “Liam . . .”
“Also annoyingly over-responsible,” Penn confirmed.
“Do you know where he is?”
His half brother shook his head. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She didn’t want to admit he’d stood her up.
“Will you eat with us?” Stevie asked. “Allie’s getting fat. We can halve her portion.”
The youngest Baci gasped. “I am not getting fat.”
“That’s not what you said when you tried on my blue butterfly top.”
“Wait.” Giuliana felt compelled to jump in. “Wasn’t that my blue butterfly top?”
Stevie grimaced. “That’s right. I borrowed it a while back. Before the fire.”
“Doesn’t matter. It never looked good on me.”
“The butterfly top doesn’t look good on anybody,” Allie declared. “Can the three of us at least agree on that?”
Giuliana found herself smiling at them. This is what she’d missed and what she wanted again. Borrowing clothes, exchanging frank opinions, being sisters again. Being sisters always. “The Three Mouseketeers,” she murmured.
“Ladies,” Jack interrupted, “I’ll burn that blue top if we could all just sit down and eat. I’m starving and Stephania has Fabulosa to consider.”
Giuliana was too restless for a meal. “I’m on my way.”
Allie caught her hand. “Really, Jules. Stay.”
“No, not for dinner.” She squeezed her sister’s fingers. “But about the other . . . yes.” Whatever happened with Liam, she belonged in Edenville, with her sisters and working to keep the Tanti Baci legacy alive.
Her sisters exchanged glances. “Yes?” they said together.
She nodded. “Yes. The contract with the Bristols was just in the exploration stage and I’m not selling a square foot of family land unless we all agree. I say we carry on with the Vow-Over Weekend and then we carry on making wine for the next one hundred years just as we have for the last.”
She made it out without a meal but could live for a long time on the hugs and happiness that had filled the kitchen. Penn had wanted to drive her back to the Bennett house, but she’d insisted he sit down to dinner. The walk would do her good. If Liam was still AWOL by the time she returned, she’d pack up her grocery bags and head back to her sisters.
They’d likely torture the truth out of her, but a pity party might be just what she needed. Getting over him wasn’t an option, but she’d have to find a way to deal. Running away had never worked and she refused to try it a second time.
The sound of tires on the gravel drive had her heart leaping. Liam? But it wasn’t his Mercedes. Instead, it was Kohl’s dusty Jeep. He braked beside her and rolled down his window. “Can we give you a lift somewhere?”
Giuliana waved at Grace, then shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“We’re going out to dinner. Want to come?”
“No, thanks.” She hesitated. “But, uh, have you seen Liam?”
Kohl glanced over at Grace. “No. Not since we buttoned up for the night. Do you need something?”
“No. I just sort of . . . lost him.”
The vineyard manager looked at Grace again. There was a moment of si
lence, then the other woman piped up. “I think he’s at the wedding cottage.”
“What?”
“Anne and Alonzo’s cottage,” Grace said.
Why would he be there? Had they gotten their signals crossed? “Did you see him, Grace?”
“I, um, think I did.” It was difficult to read the other woman’s expression in the darkness, with only the dashboard glow to see by. “Shall we go with you to check it out?”
“No.” Still puzzling over it, Giuliana waved them on their way. “Go on and have your dinner.”
She watched them continue toward the road, then hurried in the opposite direction. It seemed all was in order as she approached the winery buildings. The newly erected tents stood undisturbed. The caves and administrative offices were quiet, the security lights creating small puddles of brightness in the dark. Beyond them was Anne and Alonzo’s cottage. Her heart started pumping. Besides the security lights there, she could see another light glowing inside.
Liam. She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, then started forward again.
She had to look for what she’d lost.
As she mounted the steps to the porch, she could see that one of the double front doors was ajar. Her rubber thongs rendered her steps silent and she paused again before crossing the threshold. Risk never came easy.
On a deep breath, she pushed open the door. It let out a little squeal.
A man turned.
It wasn’t her husband.
This dark-haired person stood beside the table set with bottles of blanc de blancs and glassware. A coil of rope sat beside them. The lacy tablecloth was askew and one of the wine bottles had fallen to the floor.
It rested against Liam, who was lying there, too, his body still, his eyes closed, a trickle of blood on his forehead.
20
Giuliana’s heart slammed against her ribs and she took a step forward just as the thinking part of her brain kicked in. Run! it said. Get help!
But the stranger beside Liam spoke, too, in an accent she found vaguely familiar. “Come on inside, ma’am.” There was a gun in his hand, pointed at her. She might have still chanced flight, except then he pointed it at the unconscious Liam. “You try to leave, I’ll shoot him.”
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