"That's right," she said. "Gary couldn't stand it when Wesley cried. He said it made him feel helpless."
"There you go."
"But I wouldn't have been emotional about his father. I knew that his father had run out on him, so why couldn't I know that he was still alive?"
"I don't know, Rachel."
"And I knew Gary went to Lake Tahoe, so why couldn't I know why he went there? I feel like I have only half of each puzzle piece. It's as if Gary gave me just enough information to keep me from being suspicious. But he's the last person in the world I would have thought would be secretive. He always seemed open, with not a care in the world. He could say 'I love you' without hesitation. He could kiss me in front of a roomful of people and not care what they thought. He could dance on the table with a lampshade on his head and not give a damn about the reaction. That's why nothing makes sense." She paused. "I think I'd like to talk to his father."
"I don't know if that's a good idea," Dylan said with a shake of his head.
"Well, you don't have to know. I don't need your permission to talk to my father-in-law."
Dylan held up a hand. "Take ten seconds and think about this."
"You just told me a moment ago not to think at all. Just go with my feelings. My feelings tell me that I should talk to Gary's father. He may not know Gary is dead."
"He knows; I told him. He called me shortly after the accident looking for Gary, and I had no choice but to tell him what happened. He was shocked, but he hadn't seen Gary in a couple of years he said. And the last time they'd spoken Gary had hung up on him. Apparently, he'd asked him for a loan, and Gary said no."
"His father asked him for money?"
"That's what he said."
"So they had some contact," she murmured.
"Not for a long time. There's nothing to be gained by speaking to him. He doesn't know why Gary went to Lake Tahoe. He knows less than we do."
"Maybe – maybe not. When you spoke to him after the accident, you didn't know what you know now."
"And what do I know now? That Gary had a bottle of a woman's perfume in his apartment. That some woman named Laura called him a few times? So what?"
"Okay, maybe I know more than I did a few months ago, because I didn't know about his father."
"You're going down the wrong road."
"Am I?"
"Yes, and I'm here to keep you on track."
"Or to steer me in the direction you want me to go." Maybe she was wrong to trust Dylan. If Gary could lie to her, Dylan could, too. It was disconcerting to realize that she'd always prided herself on being a good judge of character, but it was fast becoming apparent that she didn't have a clue about character.
"I wouldn't do that," Dylan said sharply. "But we need to concentrate on the Tahoe trip."
"Agreed," she said. "But I'm also going to talk to Gary's father."
"You're a very stubborn woman," he said with a sigh.
"Do you still want to help me?"
"Absolutely. We're partners."
He stuck out his hand, and she took it. As his fingers tightened around hers, she said, "This is harder than I anticipated. When I went to see you, I thought you'd be able to clear everything up in an instant. Then I'd go on the way I'd been going on. Nothing would change. It was naive of me to think like that. But I'm not very good with change."
He smiled. "I like change. It means life is happening. There are choices, new directions, unexplored territories, uncharted possibilities."
She smiled at the energy in his voice. "And here I thought you were a pessimist, a jaded cynic."
"A realist," he corrected her. "There's a difference."
"Is there? I always thought of Gary as an optimist and you as a pessimist."
"Why?"
"Because when we first met, Gary laughed all the time and you almost never did."
"That was a long time ago. I was getting my career off the ground. I had things to prove."
"To whom?" she queried.
He shook his head. "I don't know. To everyone, I guess. No one was particularly interested in paying for my college education. No one ever thought I'd amount to much. I wanted to prove them all wrong."
"Well, you did that."
"Yeah, I guess. It doesn't matter anymore." He let go of her hand, and it was only then that she realized how long he'd been holding it. "If you do call Gary's father back, I hope you'll keep something in mind."
"What?"
"Gary didn't want you to know him."
"I don't understand why."
"I don't think he wanted anything dirty to touch you."
"I'm not some princess living in a tower. I work in dirt every day."
"Not the kind of dirt Gary's father lived in." Dylan waved his hand toward the window. "This place of yours is like a Norman Rockwell painting. Gary told me that he'd never imagined a place like this existed until he saw it with his own eyes. You have a history and roots that go back over a hundred years."
"That's true. I love this farm, but it takes a lot of hard work to run it, and not all of it is pretty. And anyone can plant seeds, put down roots. It just depends on what you want." She paused. "I wasn't sure Gary really wanted it. I thought at times, this place was too quiet for him, that he needed the city, the traveling, the other stuff to be happy. And now, more than ever, I think I was right." She let out a breath. "You wouldn't like to live in the country either, would you?"
"I don't think I belong in a place like this. I like the city, I like to live where it's fast and busy and crazy and you don't have time to think. Out here, you can practically hear the grass growing."
"But there's a peace in that, a harmony to the seasons. You know to expect apple blossoms in the spring and hot nights in August, a bounty of fruit in the fall and cold, frosty mornings in winter. Predictability can feel wonderful, safe."
He stared at her as if she were speaking another language. Maybe she was. They were very different people with very different goals.
"That's what you want, Rachel? Safety? Predictability?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"It can be boring."
"Not if you're with the right people. What's so great about traffic and noise and being busy all the time?"
"You know you're alive."
"I know I'm alive. I have a little corner of the world -- a piece of land that I cultivate and harvest. There's a beauty in that, don't you think?"
"Yeah" he said huskily "There's a beauty in that. There's a beauty in you."
"I wasn't talking about me."
He stared back at her, his gaze darkening. "You make me want …"
He didn't finish the sentence, and her mind shot ahead to complete it, but every finish seemed too dangerous to say out loud. The seconds ticked by, and then he cleared his throat.
"Never mind," he said. "By the way, I looked over the plans. I'll start work on Monday. Travis will help me, and he gave me some other names as well. You'll be able to see some real progress in a couple of weeks."
"Okay," she said, unsettled by the abrupt change in subject and not sure why she felt disappointed that their conversation had taken a right turn. It wasn't as if she wanted to have personal conversations with Dylan. It made far more sense to keep their relationship businesslike.
"I must say the plans were familiar," Dylan added.
"What do you mean?"
"Gary probably already told you this, but a long time ago we used to ride our skateboards through this neighborhood in San Francisco and pretend that we lived in the houses there. It's where we first thought about what we wanted to do with our lives. There was one house in particular that intrigued us. I took a picture of it once and hung it on my wall. I told myself that one day I would build a house like that."
Her heart skipped a beat as she thought about the Polaroid picture tucked away in one of the drawers.
"Hold on one second." She walked over to the filing cabinet and pulled out the file labeled "House." Her finger
s flipped through the loose papers until she found what she wanted. She held it up for Dylan to see. "Is this it?"
His jaw dropped in disbelief. "No way. It can't be. I lost that picture years ago."
"Gary had it. He said he'd always imagined living in a house like this."
Dylan stared at the photograph in bemusement. "But it was my house. It wasn't his house," he murmured. "Gary liked another one. It was all windows, glass from floor to ceiling, and overlooked the ocean. It was spectacular. That was the kind of house he wanted."
Dylan seemed lost in memories, his voice hushed, as if he were talking to himself and not to her. His words surprised her. Why had Gary chosen this house if it wasn't the house of his dreams?
Actually, she knew why. Because she'd stumbled upon the photograph and exclaimed with pleasure over how perfect and beautiful the house was. She'd shown the picture to Wesley and he'd loved it, too. They'd gotten so excited, so caught up in the picture, that Gary had begun to draw before they'd even finished talking.
He'd done it for her and for Wesley -- but for himself? Now, she wasn't so sure. Maybe the house of his dreams couldn't exist on the edge of an apple orchard in a small town. Maybe that's why he'd been willing to give in, because hadn't he given in already? Hadn't he joined her family in the Norman Rockwell painting? Or had he? He'd spent a lot of time in his apartment in the city. It was supposed to be a place to crash after a long day of work, but had it also been an escape?
Dylan handed her the picture. "I guess that's why the house felt familiar. Although I'm sure Gary added some special touches just for you, Rachel."
She nodded, her throat thick with emotion. What had been so clear before now seemed so muddled, from her house to the circumstances surrounding Gary's death. She slipped the photograph back into the folder. "You should get down to the barn. I'm sure my grandfather is wondering where you are."
"What are you going to do?"
"Well, I'm not going to make any more calls, but I may dive into the filing cabinet before I lose my nerve."
He gave her a small smile. "Good luck."
"You, too. My grandfather is a card shark. Don't underestimate him."
"I won't." He paused at the door. "Don't underestimate yourself, Rachel. You're stronger than you think. You'll figure it all out."
"I know I will. I'm just afraid I won't like what I find."
"But it will be the truth."
"It will be," she murmured.
With Dylan gone, the study seemed colder than before. Rachel gave a little shiver as she turned toward the filing cabinet. She yanked open the top drawer and ran her gaze along the file folders, looking for something; she just wasn't sure what.
Chapter Ten
"I want to know all your secrets," Carly said, leaning across the table. She gave Antonio her best sultry look, which apparently wasn't all that sultry, because it drew a smile instead of a kiss.
"What is this face you're making?" he asked. "Is the lemon tart too sour?"
She sat back in her seat and stared down at her dessert. "No, it's fine. I'm full from dinner. It was delicious."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." His perfectly even white teeth sparkled in the candlelight. He was truly a stunningly handsome man, olive skin, black eyes, an adorable cleft in his chin. And his clothes were exquisite. No one ever dressed up around Sebastopol, but Antonio wore a charcoal-gray Armani suit with a starched white shirt and a grossly expensive silk tie. She felt a bit underdressed in her simple black cocktail dress, but it was the only thing she had that was halfway sophisticated.
"Now, why do you speak of secrets?" he inquired. "You sound so mysterious."
"You're the mysterious one. But I like a man of mystery." Good heavens! Had that schmaltzy line just come out of her mouth? Well, she'd have to go with it. "You've lived all over the world. I bet you've known lots of women."
"A few." He smiled at her again, as if she was a mischievous child, and she frowned. This was not going at all the way she'd planned.
"How are your classes at college?" he asked, changing the subject. "Will you be graduating soon?"
"I have a few more courses to take, since I changed my major from history to business administration."
"An excellent major." He took a sip of his coffee. "No doubt it will be of much value in the operation of your orchards."
"I'm not planning to stay in the family business. I have other ideas."
"Really?" He lifted an eyebrow. "And your family approves of these ideas?"
"Of course; they're very supportive," she lied.
"I could never leave my family business. It is in my blood."
"But your business is so much more extensive than ours. You don't just operate wineries and vineyards -- you have other interests as well, isn't that right?"
"Yes." He snapped his fingers. "Ah, now I see where this is leading. You wish me to offer you employment after you graduate, no?"
"No!"
He looked taken aback by her emphatic denial.
"I mean, no," she said more softly. "I wouldn't ask that of you." She fell silent as Antonio's housekeeper entered to refill their coffee cups. She couldn't imagine having a servant. What an incredibly luxury. The only thing she'd had to do was open her napkin and place it in her lap -- her white linen napkin, not even paper. She felt like Cinderella meeting the prince. It was all a bit unreal.
"Then what would you ask?" Antonio said when his housekeeper had left. "I know you've been eager to speak to me. I'm sorry I wasn't able to return your messages this week. I had to go to San Francisco to attend some meetings."
"Oh, that's all right. I know you're very busy."
"Is something wrong, Carly? Is it your sister, Rachel? I fear she works much too hard. And without a husband, she has no one to rely on. It is such a sad story."
Rachel was the last person Carly wanted to talk about, but then again, she had to come up with some reason for her persistent calls. She couldn't quite find the words to tell Antonio that she wanted him, and not just that she wanted him, but she wanted his life. "Actually, Rachel was one of the reasons I was calling you." She hesitated, searching her brain for a semi-plausible explanation. "I'm concerned about her reluctance to plant grapes. The apple market is struggling right now. I thought perhaps you could give her some advice." Rachel would probably kill her if he did, but Carly would worry about that later.
"Ah, it is a dilemma," he replied. "But I wouldn't presume to interfere in your sister's business decisions."
"Well, it's not just that," she said quickly. "I have another question for you."
"Of course. I am at your disposal."
He was so gallant. And the way he talked, so proper, yet masculine and powerful. When she was with him, she felt taken care of, protected, spoiled. Maybe he wasn't madly in love with her, but he could be. She just needed more time to persuade him to look at her like a woman and not like a kid sister.
"Excuse me, sir," the housekeeper said as she reentered the room. "You have a telephone call in your study. It's your father. He said it was urgent."
"I'm sorry," Antonio told Carly. "I'll have to take that. Papa can be very impatient."
"That's fine."
After he left, Carly got to her feet and wandered around the formal dining room. The house, originally built by the Rogelio family in the early 1900's had been refurbished since Antonio's arrival. The room had lofty ceilings and arched windows. It was exquisitely decorated with a long mahogany table in the center, an antique sideboard against one wall and a slew of paintings that were probably worth a lot of money.
For a moment she felt a twinge of uneasiness, but she pushed it away. So what if the room was a little dark, the furniture a little heavy, the smell of money a little too strong? She could get used to this life.
The door opened behind her, and she turned with a smile. Her smile faded when she saw Travis enter the room instead of Antonio. He was dressed in his usual blue jeans and plaid shirt, his hair windblown, his chee
ks ruddy from too much time in the sun. He was nothing like the urbane man she'd had dinner with.
Travis let out a low whistle when he saw her.
"Well, well, well," he said. "What do we have here?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Just picking up a check from Antonio. Where is he?"
"He had to take a phone call. He'll be right back."
"Then I'll wait."
She frowned as he settled down in her chair and had the nerve to actually pick up her fork and take a bite of her lemon tart. "What are you doing?"
"I thought you were done."
"Are you following me?"
He snorted a laugh. "As if I had time. I'm working three jobs as it is. Some of us actually work for money instead of trying to marry into it."
"Then why aren't you actually working? Why are you always turning up where I am?"
"Lucky coincidence. You look good in that dress. Sexy as hell. Antonio must have drooled all over the tablecloth."
She blushed, telling herself she didn't care what he thought.
"So how's the seduction going?" Travis continued.
"Fine."
"He doesn't have a clue. Come on, Carly, tell the truth. He has no idea that you're after him."
"Yes, he does. And I'm not the one doing the seducing, Antonio is. He's very suave."
"Suave, huh? There's a five-dollar word."
"Why don't you come back tomorrow, Travis? The banks aren't open tonight anyway."
"Tomorrow Antonio is leaving for New York."
Her jaw dropped. "He is not."
Travis grinned. "Yes, he is. Guess that doesn't sit too well with your plans, does it?"
"You're lying. You're trying to ruin my night."
He shrugged. "Whatever. This lemon thing is pretty good. Whatever happened to the apple pie?"
"My family ate it," she snapped, her mind still wrestling with this bombshell. Antonio couldn't be leaving tomorrow. She needed more time. Well, if she didn't have it, she didn't have it, she thought with renewed determination. She'd give him a night to remember, a night to think about changing his plans.
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