A Fine Year for Love (Shores of Indian Lake)

by Catherine Lanigan

But what has he got against Sam Crenshaw?

  At that thought, a vision of young Liz at her parents’ gravesite flashed across his brain.

  He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the doorjamb as he stared blankly out the window. He saw nothing but visions from the past. Why would Mother take us to that funeral? Did she know Liz’s parents all that well? Why was it so important we all be there? Why wouldn’t she just go by herself?

  The more Gabe pondered the past and its connection to the present, the more questions he had about it. Something must have happened back then to cause his father to lash out against Liz now. As far as Gabe was concerned, it didn’t matter. His father could rail all he wanted, but Gabe intended to see Liz whenever she would allow it.

  Sadly, Gabe didn’t need Angelo in order to botch his chances with Liz. Gabe already had his hands full convincing her he wasn’t the bad guy.

  Gabe looked out the French doors again and saw his parents as they shared their lunch. Suddenly, his mother rose frantically as if to move toward the house. Angelo shot out his hand and clasped her wrist to pull her back. He shook his head as he said something to her.

  Gina opened up a cloth napkin and poured a glass of ice water into it, then placed it on Angelo’s forehead. She gently pressed his head downward until it was between his knees.

  Gabe opened the door and darted onto the terrace. “What is it?” he yelled.

  Angelo waved his arm at Gabe. “I’m overheated is all. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

  “He said he was dizzy,” Gina replied. “Gabriel, open the umbrella so it gets the sun off your father’s face.”

  Gabe cranked the umbrella until it cast its full shade over the table. “How’s that, Dad?”

  “Fine,” Angelo replied. “I’m better already. I’m going to get back to work.”

  “Nonsense. You are not going on that tractor again this afternoon. Gabe, you take over for him. I want him to go in the house and get some rest,” Gina commanded.

  “Okay, Mother.” Gabe studied his father. “Should we call a doctor?”

  “No doctor!” Angelo growled. “I’m just slowing down. Anyway, I have to help Rafe with the horses.”

  “All right,” Gina relented. “But after a nap.”

  Gina put her arm around Angelo’s waist and walked with him into the house. Gabe turned around and headed toward the tractor, which was parked beyond the horse barn.

  He would have to think about his dreams for a future full of Liz and Malbecs some other day.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LIZ STARED DOWN at her cell phone that sat on the wooden counter in the utility shed.

  Thinking of you. What are you doing?

  Why are you thinking of me, Gabe?

  Liz thought of a dozen questions she could ask him, but each one would have elicited more banter, which she didn’t have the time or patience to pursue. As she started to reply, she was surprised to see her hand was shaking. What did that mean?

  She’d be lying if she told herself she hadn’t been thinking about him. The fact was she couldn’t get him out of her mind.

  Liz scrambled for answers to her questions about love and her life’s direction.

  Had her mother been alive, Liz would have gone to her immediately, but she didn’t have that luxury. What she did have were her parents’ journals and a small cache of her mother’s letters to her father. Because she’d been a child when she’d read the letters the first time, they’d all seemed romantic and idyllic to her. Reading them now as an adult, her interpretations would be more insightful. And she still had so much to learn from the journals her parents had written.

  Even back then, Matt had been concerned about Sam’s moodiness and occasional lack of concentration. So the behavior Sam had displayed when she’d gone to the lecture in Chicago clearly wasn’t new. Sam had often forgotten things when her parents were alive, and it had been up to Matt or Kim to right the wrongs, finish the projects Sam had started and make hard decisions without including the older man.

  Liz found one particular journal quite interesting because it was filled with her father’s reflections about the history of the vineyard and contained many details about Matt’s young life, his mother’s death and Sam’s grieving process.

  Apparently, after Liz’s grandmother died, Sam had floundered in a sea of grief. It took a great deal of work on Matt’s part to bring Sam back to the present and keep him focused. Then, in the summer of 1979, it was as if Sam had rejoined the living. In the vineyard, he was unstoppable. Matt was sixteen and had already honed his passion for winemaking. By the next summer, Matt had been accepted into UC Davis, and though he attended high school classes and clubs, he spent all his free time tending the vines and maintaining the cellars alongside his father.

  However, Liz also read that in the spring and summer of 1980, Sam drove into town three or four times a week. This was unusual behavior for the older man. Still, Sam seemed happier than he had since his wife died. He smiled more often, and on several occasions, Matt had caught him singing to the vines. But no matter how many times Matt tried to elicit an explanation for his father’s newfound happiness, Sam clammed up about it.

  “It doesn’t concern you,” was all Sam had said.

  Matt also wrote that Sam had taken to sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch nearly every night during the sunset. He’d abandoned his nightly news programs and sitcoms in favor of nature.

  Between his homework, chores and constant study of winemaking, Matt was always too busy to join his father. Still, the quiet ritual had impressed Matt.

  Liz realized that since Gabe had stolen his way into her life, she had stopped watching television completely. Her head was too full of thoughts about Gabe during her leisure time. Mercifully, she was able to accomplish all her tasks around the vineyard with the same precision she’d always had. But the moment her jobs were done, her mind wandered to one place and one place only. Gabe.

  Sam had been despondent over her grandmother’s death, but it was possible that after a long period of mourning, his mind had just snapped back to reality. Liz had grieved for her parents for a year, but after that she’d been so busy with school—learning new things and making new friends—that the void she’d felt after their sudden death had been filled by her grandfather’s love and her new friendships.

  Suddenly it hit her. Sam had grieved until a new person had filled the void left by her grandmother.

  Matt had only been sixteen when his mother died, so Sam would have been in his late thirties. It wasn’t all that difficult for Liz to imagine Sam as a younger man. He was still robust, and she guessed that back then, he would have been a great deal like Gabe. Ready to take on the world, do new things...and make new friends.

  But who?

  Liz’s phone vibrated in her hand. It was another text from Gabe.

  Where are you?

  “Will you stop, please?” she grumbled to herself.

  Working.

  I know that. But where, exactly?

  I was cleaning my gun in the utility shed.

  It’s not loaded, is it?

  No. But it can be. Why?

  She grinned widely at her own joke.

  Because I’m coming in.

  Liz lifted her head at the sound of the door opening. Gabe’s tall, wide-shouldered frame was backlit by the midday sun. He was wearing an old pair of jeans, work boots and a navy T-shirt that left not a single muscle to the imagination.

  “Hi,” he said, holding up a brown paper bag. “I bear gifts.”

  Liz chuckled as he walked toward her. She was always struck by his handsome face, and when he smiled at her, she knew his magnetism could crack a Geiger counter. “What kind of gift?”

  “The apology kind. I can’t stand you being angry with me.”

&n
bsp; “Anger would imply—”

  “That you have feelings for me like I have for you?”

  “Maybe. Or you could just be a pest. Like a horsefly or a mosquito.”

  “Good one. But I’m not buying it.” He moved closer.

  Liz felt her heart thrum in her chest. Each time she was near him, something happened to her that made her lose all reason.

  Inhaling deeply to reset her reality rudder, she asked, “So, what are you doing here on a workday?”

  He plopped the bag on the workbench and put his hand on his hip. “Face it, friend. For us, every day is a workday. If we don’t take time to smell the roses, our entire lives will be wasted.”

  She pursed her lips and glanced at the brown paper bag. “Is this another one of those ‘stealing time’ things of yours?”

  “Yep.” He grinned mischievously. “I thought we could go on a picnic.”

  She shook her head. “No can do. I really do have an awful lot of work—”

  “Don’t go there,” he warned.

  “But it’s true. I can’t.”

  “Yeah, you can.”

  “No, Gabe. Besides, you should have called first.”

  “No way. You’d just have turned me down.”

  “Oh? Like I’m doing now?” She flipped her braid over her shoulder for emphasis.

  He moved closer. “Now, listen to me. I brought my mother’s famous Italian chicken smothered in marsala wine. There’s also some Italian bread with olive oil for dipping, and some fresh parmesan. If you’re really good, we can share her extraspecial hazelnut, cream cheese and raspberry torte.”

  Liz’s eyes widened. “Like the one we had at Maddie and Nate’s engagement party?”

  He nodded. “The same. I figured since I brought all these bribes, you could contribute a bottle of wine.”

  “Oh, you did?” She tried to fight a smile of delight but failed. “So, you admit to wanting to bribe me. That must mean you want something I would otherwise be unwilling to give you.”

  Gabe sucked in a breath and peered into her eyes. “That goes without saying,” he said quietly.

  Liz stood still, wondering how long she could go without initiating a kiss. She could plant a surprise one on him, as he’d done to her. But if she were smart, which she had promised herself she would be around Gabe from now on, she would pull back and remain in the safety zone.

  “Well,” she said, swallowing hard, “I’ll get a pinot gris to go with the chicken.”

  “Not a chardonnay?” he asked, sounding wounded.

  “Sold out. The next round of fermentation won’t be done for another year. But you know that already.” She cocked her head and shot him a suspicious look. “Or did you want to taste it while it’s young so your apparently perfect palate can register its aging process?”

  He grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that, but that’s an excellent idea. I’ll go for the chardonnay.”

  “Forget it,” Liz replied sharply. “You get the gris.”

  “I don’t care, Liz,” he said. “I’ll drink water as long as you come away with me. Just for an hour. That’s not so bad.”

  Liz jammed her hand onto her right hip. “Something tells me that if we don’t have this picnic today, you’ll just be here tomorrow.”

  “Probably.” He smiled and grabbed the bag. “Shall we?”

  “Where are we going? The beach?”

  “I thought we’d stay here.”

  “Here? In the utility shed?”

  He burst out laughing. “This is too scary for me, what with all your weapons close at hand. I meant out in the vineyard.”

  “I know just the place,” she offered. “I’ll get the wine.”

  * * *

  ACROSS THE BRILLIANT azure sky, fleets of enormous white clouds sailed at high speed, momentarily blocking out the sun.

  From the top of the hill, Liz and Gabe could see past the farmland valleys and catch a glimpse of the sun’s rays bouncing off Lake Michigan. A summer breeze gently moved the warm air.

  Gabe had not only brought the lunch, but also paper plates, cutlery, plastic wineglasses with little twist-in pedestals and a saddle blanket, which Liz assumed he’d swiped right off the back of one of Rafe’s horses.

  “Looks like you thought of everything,” she said.

  He peered into the brown bag. “Everything but a bottle opener.”

  “No worries,” Liz replied, whipping a corkscrew out of the pocket of her jeans. “I’m always packing,” she joked.

  While Liz opened the wine and poured it, Gabe turned on his iPhone and played a French song.

  Liz held out the wine and stopped. “I know this song. I heard it when I was in France.”

  Gabe took the wine. “I love this album. I listen to it when I’m in the fields.”

  “Like today?” She looked down at his dirty work boots.

  “Precisely.”

  “What were you doing?” she asked, taking her first bite of chicken. She smiled appreciatively as the flavors of garlic and marsala wine burst in her mouth.

  “We’re starting the plans for vine placement.” He held up his hand to stop her protests. “I know. It’s too hot to do the actual planting. I’ve been growing rootstock and graftings in my small nursery on the farm. They’ll be even stronger by next April, when we plant them.”

  He chortled. “Boy, you should have heard the blowup between me and my father over that one.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve always tinkered in my little nursery, but Dad didn’t know I’d filled the pots with grape vines until he went to the Grange meeting and heard about me buying Mario’s land. Dad said he didn’t believe it until he went into my nursery and saw what I was doing.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He called me a lot of names. Fool and idiot among them. Needless to say, he was very angry that I hadn’t told him outright and that he had to find out from the gossips. My counter was that we’d never shared much with each other, so why should we start now. I think that’s what I said.” Gabe shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before he went on. “In the end, he said he didn’t much care what I did as long as it didn’t interfere with my work for him.”

  “So you didn’t tell him that by next spring, you’d be pretty occupied with the vineyard.”

  “Like I said, I’ll have a manager who will do most of the day-to-day work. I’ll have to ride the fence for a while to keep peace in the family.”

  “That’s important to you,” she offered.

  “Yes.” He carefully wiped his fingers on a napkin, studying it.

  Gabe took another bite of bread and, gazing out over the acres of Crenshaw land, said, “So, how long have you—or rather, your father—owned all this?” he asked, sweeping his arm in the air.

  “My father bought it the year before he died.” Liz felt her eyes mist over.

  “It’s beautiful,” Gabe said. “You still miss him, don’t you?”

  “Very much. You know, it’s funny. Because of you, he’s come back to me, in a way.”

  Gabe’s blue eyes flew open. “I reincarnated the dead? How’d I do that?”

  She laughed softly. “I was angry with you for stealing the soil that day, and I went up to my father’s study. I found his old journals and started reading them.” She pushed the chicken around on her plate but didn’t take another bite. “He went to UC Davis, just like you did.”

  Gabe stopped chewing. “He didn’t.”

  She nodded. “That’s where he met my mother. They must have been quite the couple back then. She was tanned and blonde and a self-proclaimed surfer girl. She didn’t have a serious thought in her head until she met my dad. Legend has it, she told him once he had enough passion fo
r the two of them.” Liz smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Then she looked up at the sky. “He was like you in some ways. He wanted to make his mark in the world of winemaking. He wanted to be known for doing the impossible. He not only wanted to create a good vintage, but he wanted to do it here in the middle of the country. Most people thought he was a fool when he bought all this land.”

  Gabe stared at her. “They think that of me.”

  Her eyes locked on his. “I’m sure you’re wrong, Gabe. You’re just stretching your wings. That’s a good thing.”

  “I think so,” he replied, nearly in a whisper. “It’s what I have to do if I want to keep my sanity.”

  “Most people never had any sanity to begin with, so how can they judge?” She laughed.

  Gabe was silent for a moment. Then he looked up. “I saw you—that day at the graveyard. I saw how you stayed strong for your grandfather when he was falling apart. You’d just lost your mom and dad and you didn’t flinch. All those people talking to Sam and to you, and you held his hand so tight...” Gabe’s voice caught in his throat, but he kept going. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone behave as bravely as you did, and you were only six.”

  “You remember all that?”

  “I’ll never forget it. You impressed me.” He paused again. “It’s funny—now that I think about it, I’m not sure I actually knew your name. All Mother said was that the funeral was for a friend. I assumed our mothers knew each other. They’d have been about the same age, right?” He pressed on without waiting for her answer. “As the years passed, I asked my mother about the little girl who’d lost her parents, and she would just brush off my questions. After a few tries, I gave up asking. It wasn’t until I saw your blue eyes peering at me over the end of a shotgun that I put two and two together.”

  His expression was serious as he continued. “I stopped asking about you, Liz, but I didn’t forget you. On that day, I knew I wanted to be your friend.”

  “And now you’re making up for lost time?” she asked.

  “You might say that.”

  Liz guessed there were a thousand thoughts rumbling around in Gabe’s head, and oddly, she wanted to know what they were. “Did you ever want to live in the city, like your brother did?”