“I haven’t had my hair cut in ages and my pimples are pretty much forgotten, so what are you so ticked about?” he asked perceptively, his gaze locked with hers.
She tried to shrug it off, but she couldn’t. The way it made her feel when Adam called and told her about Handel and Billie was too personal, too close to the surface. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. “I just thought after all we’ve been through that you would tell me before you made important decisions—life changing decisions for all of us.”
“What are you…” His lips spread into a thin line and he put down his fork. He reached out and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. I should have talked with you about it first. I didn’t think. It was sort of spur of the moment, emotions running high kind of a thing. I wanted to be the first to tell you. I didn’t think you’d find out before I got home.”
“Adam called,” she said, and wiped at her eyes. “He assumed I already knew.”
“Oh, terrific. Billie’s brother has managed to tick you off again. I guess I can forget the happy blended family wedding, huh?”
She managed a smile and shook her head. “No, he didn’t tick me off. Actually, you’re the one I’m mad at, but I’ll try to forgive you since you’re my brother and all.”
“Forgive him for what?” Davy asked, suddenly at her elbow, a dab of toothpaste still clinging to his upper lip.
She wiped it away with the pad of her thumb. “For not sharing his surprise sooner.”
“You have a surprise? What is it?”
Handel pushed his plate to the side and donned his serious face. “I asked Billie to marry me today and I was hoping that the two of you would give me away.”
“Give you away?” Davy scrunched his eyes up in a frown. “What does that mean?”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “We would be glad to give you away. Where do we sign up?”
Handel stood up and came around the table to take them both into his arms for a group hug. “You two are my family and always will be. Billie is just joining the tribe. It won’t change the way I feel about you or what you can expect of me. I will always be here for you when you need me. That’s a promise.”
Margaret hugged him back, knowing that things always change and there was really nothing she could do about it but go with the flow or swim against the current. She couldn’t ruin Handel’s chance at happiness, so she would float along and hope there weren’t any jagged rocks hiding just below the surface.
CHAPTER SIX
Margaret walked up and down the few rows of Parker vines, carefully inspecting the heavy clusters of purple and partially green orbs. They were nearly ready. The smell of ripening fruit was heady, almost overpowering. She plucked a grape and popped it in her mouth, relishing the burst of sweet, tart flavor. A few more days.
Every winemaker knew that ninety-five percent of good winemaking began with the perfect grapes. She had them. The other five percent from the winemaker’s personal touch and style. This year’s crop would prove her ability and technique. She just had to follow through.
She heard the approach of a vehicle and turned, her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. A sleek blue convertible sports car pulled up to the house. A man wearing a white collared shirt opened the car door and stepped out. The way he moved was familiar. He stood looking up at the house a moment before turning toward the vineyard, and pulling off his sunglasses. Even at this distance she recognized him.
August.
No. She wouldn’t think of him as she once did. The nickname had been an endearment. Agosto Salvatore was nothing to her now. The man who left her pregnant and brokenhearted at fifteen, who fled to Italy without a thought for anyone but himself, did not deserve respect, let alone a pet name. For ten long years he hadn’t tried to get in touch with her or have any contact with his son. He may have grown older, but she doubted he had grown kinder. Why had he returned now, after all these years?
He lifted a hand in greeting, hooked his glasses in the front of his shirt, and ambled slowly across the yard toward the vineyard as though she’d been expecting him. He was the last person she’d expected or wanted to see, and yet she knew he’d return, despite desperate prayers to the contrary.
She suddenly wondered what she must look like in worn out jeans with holes in the knees and one of Handel’s castoff t-shirts splattered with blue and green paint. She supposed it was human nature to want him to desire her and regret his choice ten years ago, even though the last thing she wanted was a face-to-face confrontation with the man.
“Ciao, Margaret,” he said, a slow smile climbing his face till his dark eyes glinted with that sexy light that once made her weak in the knees. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it smoothly from his forehead. It was still thick and wavy and for a moment she couldn’t help remembering the feel of it in her hands when they kissed.
She licked her lips and tried to appear unimpressed with his fit, tanned body and playboy good looks. “What are you doing here? I told you not to come back.”
“I didn’t think you truly meant it. That man who was here before…does he work here?” he asked, glancing nervously back toward the house.
“What do you want, Agosto?” she asked, ignoring the question. Let him worry. Adam was younger, more muscular, and a head taller. She doubted Agosto would want to have a run-in with him. Perhaps it would keep him from overstaying his visit.
“You know what I want. I already told your brother. I want to spend time with my son. He needs to know his father. Where he comes from. Who he is.”
“My son knows exactly who he is. He doesn’t need you to tell him that, or to buy him fancy toys to convolute the message. He’s smart and kind and honest and generous. He’s a Parker, through and through. You had your chance to know him and now it’s too late.” She gripped the picking shears she held and tried to calm her temper.
His gaze turned steely and she knew from experience that he expected to get his way, no matter what it took. “I don’t want to bring the court system into our private affairs, but if you give me no other choice…”
“How dare you come here with your rich man attitude and think you can take what you want. This is America, not Italy. And here you’re just a deadbeat dad who deserted his son and hasn’t paid a cent to help raise him. So, get in your fancy car and go home.” She turned and started walking away. Fear tightened screws down on her heart. The thought of losing Davy through some fluke of the court system made her physically ill. She had to get away from him before he saw how frightened his words made her feel.
“Please.” The word vibrated with emotion. She’d never heard him beg before.
She stopped and stood still.
“I’m sorry for running away. I was just a boy and didn’t realize how much I would regret it. Leaving you. Leaving my son.” He paused, and cleared his throat. “Please…won’t you give me a chance?”
She slowly turned and met his eyes, pleading and needy. She’d never seen this side of him. He looked down at the ground for a second as though trying to pull himself together and then stepped forward and tentatively held out a hand.
“Can you try to forgive me? Maybe not for your sake, but for our son’s. I understand that he doesn’t need me. But I need him.”
She wanted to believe him, needed to believe. She reached out and took his hand and then just as quickly released it. The contact was too much, too soon. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice husky. “But I need to speak with Handel before I make any decisions.”
Agosto’s lips tightened at mention of her brother, but he nodded. “Thank you, Margaret.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “My cell number. Will you call me when you have made a decision?”
She nodded, took the card and stuck it in her back pocket without looking at it.
He slipped his sunglasses on and smiled. “I look forward to meeting my son,” he said, as though it were a done deal.
Margaret stoo
d rooted to the spot, until his car disappeared back down the driveway and sped away into the hot afternoon. Then she ran into the house and called Handel.
*****
Adam followed Mario around the vineyard and winery all day, asking questions and mostly getting grunts and nods. Mario’s English was worse than his Spanish, so it was a real learning experience. The man tended Billie’s vines as if each cluster of grapes was already worth a hundred dollars a bottle. He certainly hoped they were.
“Sneep,” Mario said. The man pointed at the cluster of plump grapes and made a scissor motion with his right hand.
Adam used the cutting tool he’d been handed and snipped the cluster from the vine. He held it in the palm of his hand like a newborn. Mario plucked a grape from the cluster and bit it in half. He chewed thoughtfully and said something in Spanish. Then held out the other half for Adam to inspect.
“Nice grape,” Adam said, unsure what was expected of him.
Mario grunted and shook his head. He turned and headed back to the red pickup parked at the end of the field, his short legs, encased in baggy khakis, made quick time over the rough dirt track. Adam assumed the lesson was over and followed. He popped a grape in his mouth and chewed slowly, trying to get an idea of what Mario was so excited about. Not that he was a connoisseur of grunts, but it seemed that his grunts had escalated as they’d checked grapes on each acre and nearly every row.
He glanced toward the Parker place. A blue convertible was backing away from the house. He was too far away to see the driver, but from the make and model of the vehicle, they must be loaded. He’d never be rich enough to drive a car like that. Probably some wealthy dude from San Francisco out touring wineries and got lost. The car turned onto the highway and was soon out of sight. He glanced back at the house and saw Margaret sprinting in from the field. A moment later she yanked open the garage access door and disappeared inside.
Mario tapped the horn of the pickup. Adam hurried to catch up. He opened the passenger door and climbed in. They rode the rutted road back around to the winery and Mario parked in the shade of a big tree. He took the box with the sample clusters they’d collected from each row and hurried across the gravel parking area, his work boots kicking up a cloud of dust with each step. Adam followed and pulled open the winery door for the man.
“Hey you two. Been out in the fields all this time?” Sally said when they stopped at the front office. “You look a little sunburned, Minnesota,” she teased.
“Miss Fredrickson?” Mario interrupted, intent on his purpose.
Sally hooked a thumb toward the back of the building. “She’s in the barrel room, I think.”
Mario started down the hallway.
“You better pick up a bottle of water in the fridge first. You looked parched.”
Adam wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It must be ninety degrees today. Glad I’m not wearing a hooded sweatshirt like Mario. That man soaks up heat like a rock. It doesn’t faze him.”
“He’s used to it. You, on the other hand, look just this side of a heatstroke.”
“I’ll survive. Besides, the barrel room is in the cellar, right? It’s cool down there.” He turned to follow Mario and stopped. He poked his head back in the door. “Sally, do you know anyone that drives a blue convertible Ferrari?”
Her brows went up along with her interest. “No, but I’m open to an introduction. Love me a powerful engine.” She stood up and moved toward the window. “Someone visiting the winery?”
He shook his head. “Just saw one over at the Parker place.”
“Probably one of Handel’s rich clients.”
“He has a lot of wealthy clients?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve heard rumors. Some say he’s in bed with mobsters, but I think it’s just jealous talk. He’s beaten some of the best attorneys around, and they all hate to lose. Winning is inbred in them, or at the very least, force-fed to them in law school.”
His gaze narrowed. “You can’t really believe that—about the mobsters. My sister would never get involved with someone like that.”
Sally laughed and shook her head, moving back to her desk. “I said there were rumors. I didn’t say I believed them. I’ve known Handel nearly his entire life. He’s a good guy.”
Sometimes he had a hard time knowing when Sally was joking and when she was serious. He released the breath of a laugh. “Just call me gullible.”
“I do,” she said with a grin, “daily.”
He went in search of the barrel room. A flight of stairs led down to the lower level where the temperature instantly dropped another fifteen degrees. The change in temperature cooled the sweat in his shirt and sent a chill down his arms.
“There you are.” Billie waved him over.
Billie, Mario, and Ernesto inspected and tasted the grapes. Mario spoke in rapid Spanish and Ernesto interpreted for Billie’s sake. She nodded, clearly excited. Adam looked around the big room. Large barrels were stacked in special racks, lying on their sides three deep, filling the long cellar.
Billie thanked Mario, who grunted something in return and followed the other man back up the stairs. Adam didn’t know if he was supposed to keep tagging along, but he preferred the cool cellar, so he stayed behind.
“Mario thinks we need to start harvesting by the end of the week. Timing is everything. Are you ready to experience Crush in the Napa Valley?” Billie asked, her voice sounding a tad stressed.
He ran his hand along one of the smooth Oak barrels. “I don’t know if I’m ready, but I’ll do my best to be a help and not a hindrance. Are you ready?”
She bit at her bottom lip and nodded. “I think so. Don’t have much of a choice. Ready or not, the grapes ripen for picking, and the wine needs to be made.” She slowly inhaled and released a breath. “I’ve decided to close the tasting room during harvest. All the other wineries will be closed anyway, so traffic will be sparse. We’ll just have to get by without that extra income.”
Upstairs again, they stopped in Billie’s office and she rifled through some paperwork on her desk. “I need to have Sally call and make sure the new barrels will be here on time. We’re going to try something new this year. A white table wine.”
“Have you spoken with Margaret yet?”
“Not yet. I thought maybe you’d sound her out for me. You are having dinner with her tonight, right?” She glanced up from the papers and smiled. “I’m not sure what to think about that. I thought she disliked you at first sight, but now you’re—what? Dating?”
He slouched in one of the chairs facing her desk, his hands laced behind his head. “I wouldn’t call it dating, but she definitely digs me.”
“Reeeallly.” She stretched the word out in her most sarcastic tone.
He nodded. “Yes. Really. At least she likes me better than that slimy rich Italian that dropped by in his biggo limo.”
Her eyes widened. “What Italian?”
“Some guy she really despises. You think she took an instant dislike to me, you should have seen the look on her face when we pulled up and he was there. She didn’t even want to talk to him. She ordered him off her property and told him never to come back. I suppose he’s some creep she dated or something. She didn’t say.”
Billie set the papers back on the desk and opened her mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it. She cleared her throat and picked up her cell phone to check for messages.
“What?”
She shook her head. “If she wanted you to know, she would have told you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He leaned forward in the chair. “You know something I should know and you’re not going to tell me? If I wait for her to open up, I’ll be a century old.”
“He’s the one,” she said, leaning against the edge of the desk.
“The one?”
“The man who broke Margaret’s heart and changed her forever.”
He frowned. “That’s giving a lot of power to
this guy. Margaret didn’t seem that taken with him.” He did remember the fear in her eyes and the way she had to psych herself up before getting out of the car and confronting him though.
Billie nibbled at her lip for a second. “He’s also Davy’s father.”
The bottom suddenly dropped out of the ride he was on.
*****
Handel leaned across the table, driving his point home with expressive hand movements as though he were in court. “You can’t trust him. You know that. Even Carl said his cousin is scum. And you know Carl is proud of his family tree. He still blames himself for allowing Agosto within a hundred feet of you ten years ago.”
Margaret got up from the kitchen chair and paced to the refrigerator and back, unable to sit still or hold her brother’s piercing gaze. She couldn’t think straight. Ever since Agosto had used that word—a word she’d never heard from him before—something cracked. Maybe it was the ice dam that had been jamming up her feelings, only allowing anger and resentment to escape for the longest time. She didn’t know. She did know that one word did not negate ten years of silence, but still…
“Margaret. Don’t give in to him. We can hold him up in court for years. He’ll get bored and fly home soon enough. He’s always taken the easy route in everything. If it requires time and patience, he’ll disappear. Why put Davy through that unnecessarily?”
She stopped pacing and slumped back into the chair, propping her head in her hands. Davy had her. He had Handel. Was that enough? She used to think it was, but now she wasn’t so sure. Was she withholding his chance to know his father for all the wrong reasons? He already thought she hated men. Maybe that wasn’t far from the truth. Maybe letting go of long-held bitterness and resentment would allow Davy an opportunity he deserved.
She sat up and smoothed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know anymore, Handel. I’ve been holding on to this anger for so long and today he didn’t seem like the monster I framed him to be. He seemed different, mature, ready to take responsibility. Maybe he’s right. Davy should know…”
Crushed (The Fredrickson Winery Novels) Page 6