Melange

by Kristy Tate

  “I’m not checking out.” He scratched his chin. “I’m sorry,” he said to St. James. “Go on.”

  St. James looked pleased and continued to drone.

  Declan refused to look over his shoulder at Lizbet, but the temptation of her tickled like an itch between his shoulders blades. He had to admit that his mom was probably right. He knew nothing about running a winery, or any of his grandfather’s other many businesses. His only job until now had been working in Neal’s Nursery, watering the plants, hosing down the concrete, and spreading fertilizer. He hadn’t even been all that good at it. But Mr. Neal was so nice he never complained, even when Declan occasionally screwed up.

  “Declan,” Lizbet said, coming up behind him. “What are you doing here?”

  With her windblown curls, pink cheeks, and bright eyes, she looked beautiful. He could tell that Matias thought so, too. Why had she come here with him?

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Declan said.

  “Remember how Rose, my birth mom, owned a wine business?” Lizbet glanced around. “I think this is it.”

  “You think your birth mom owned Igasho Winery?”

  “Amazing, right?” Lizbet said.

  St. James cleared his throat.

  “Declan, darling,” his mom said. “You should introduce your friends.”

  “Of course.” Declan pushed his hand through his hair. “Lizbet Westmoor and Matias Hernandez.” Geez, he hated even saying their names in the same sentence. Not that he hated Matias. He hated the way he was standing so close to her. “This is Leo Cabriolet, my grandfather’s attorney, and Holbrook St. James, our accountant.”

  Cabriolet nudged him. “I’m your attorney now.”

  Declan flushed. “Of course.” He turned back to Lizbet. “What makes you think Igasho Winery belonged to your mother?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just a hunch.”

  Gloria raised her eyebrows. “A hunch?”

  Lizbet smiled. “You could say a little birdie told me.”

  Declan could practically see the animosity flowing between his mom and Lizbet.

  “It would be simple enough to find out,” Cabriolet said.

  “But what would be the point?” Gloria asked.

  “Indeed,” St. James murmured.

  “I’m trying to find out everything I can about my mother,” Lizbet said.

  “Maybe you should ask your bird friends,” Gloria said.

  “Mom!” Declan said.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but—” Gloria glanced at her watch meaningfully.

  Declan tried not to roll his eyes.

  Cabriolet stepped forward. “Miss Westmoor, if you’d like, we could do a little research on the past owners right now.”

  “That would be wonderful. It’s hard to explain, but ever since I learned my mom isn’t my real mom—and I don’t really know who my father is—I’m burning with curiosity about my family and lineage.” Lizbet gave the attorney her best smile, ramping up her beauty.

  Declan tamped down his jealousy, and chastised himself, knowing Lizbet would never be interested in the middle-aged attorney.

  Matias, though...

  “That sounds like it could take a while,” Gloria said.

  “Yeah.” Declan caught hold of that and turned to Matias. “If you don’t want to wait, I can take Lizbet home.”

  Matias folded his arms and planted his feet shoulder-width apart, an impersonation of a tree that didn’t want to be uprooted. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “Well, this is nice,” Gloria said. “It’s almost a party. I’d break open a bottle of wine, but sadly, you’re all underage.”

  “Miss Westmoor.” Cabriolet swept his arm toward the office. “Or should I call you something else?”

  “You can call me Lizbet.”

  “Do you not know your real last name?” Cabriolet asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “If you need an attorney, I’d be happy to help.”

  Declan pressed his lips together, knowing he was being unreasonable and yet unable to shut down his feelings. If Lizbet needed help, he wanted to provide it. It killed him to watch her walk away with Cabriolet, with Matias trailing her like a puppy sniffing after a bone.

  CABRIOLET LET LIZBET and Matias into a small office. Framed photographs of the Igasho Winery lined the walls. Cabriolet took a seat at the desk, turned on a computer and motioned for Lizbet and Matias to sit in the steel-framed chairs directly opposite him.

  Lizbet’s heart accelerated. Her thoughts went back to the day she’d discovered the safe in her mom’s office. Of course, back then, she’d had no idea that Rose, the woman she’d known as Daugherty, had been her real mother. The papers and forms she’d found in the safe had meant little to her. Yes, she’d been disappointed and angry when they were stolen, but she hadn’t realized until much later how much she’d actually lost.

  While Cabriolet clicked on the keyboard, Lizbet sent Matias a quick look. He smiled in return, warming her, and she realized that he was a good friend. Almost too good. Would she want to hang with him while he rooted for his ancestry?

  “Interesting,” Cabriolet murmured.

  “What?” Lizbet asked.

  “It says here that Frank Forsythe bought the winery from the Moonlight Corporation.”

  “And who owned that?” Matias asked.

  “The principles aren’t listed.” He gave them an apologetic smile.

  “That can’t be right, can it?” Lizbet asked.

  Cabriolet pressed his hands on the table and pushed to his feet. “I’m sorry. This appears to be a dead end.”

  “No.” Lizbet leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “I refuse to believe that.”

  “Are you telling me that you don’t know who owned the winery before Mr. Forsythe?” Matias asked.

  “I’m telling you it was owned by the Moonlight Corporation.” Cabriolet spoke slowly and distinctly as if they were foreigners who couldn’t understand English.

  Matias pointed at the computer. “Can I look at that?”

  Cabriolet snorted. “I’m afraid not.” He motioned to the door, dismissing them.

  Sharing and giving are the ways of God. – Sauk

  CHAPTER 7

  “You want the recipe of Igasho wine?” Declan blinked at Lizbet. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  She hadn’t really expected him to give it to her, but still she had hoped. They walked side by side down the road, the sound of their shoes scrunching the gravel filling in the quiet between them.

  “Your mom is, technically, the competition,” Declan reminded her.

  Lizbet lifted her shoulder. “I thought I’d ask.”

  “Why? So you can give it to your mom?”

  Of course, she should have realized he would think that. What other reason could she possibly give? The truth? She wasn’t sure if he’d love that, either. Still. She looked out over the neighboring pasture as the horses gathered near the barn. Why was it so much easier to talk to animals than humans?

  She took a deep breath and plunged in. “Okay, when I went with Matias to his grandparents’ house, his grandmother gave me some blackberry juice—”

  Declan stopped walking. “You went with Matias to his grandparents’ house?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?” Declan slowly resumed walking.

  “Why not?” Heat curled in her belly. She should be able to go anywhere she wanted with anyone she wanted without being questioned by him or anyone else. Although, how would she feel if he went with Nicole to her grandparents’ house? She’d be fine if he had a reason like she had. “Matias’s mom is full Magena. I wanted to talk about the tribe. It’s possible I might be, too.”

  “But you have green eyes.”

  “I know, but listen, she told me about the Ollos Verdes—or the green-eyed ones. According to legend, the green-eyed people are descendants of the first Sky Child.” She told him the story.

  He paused when they got to the large
metal gates to Godwin’s mansion and he pressed in the code on the security system. “Cool story, and probably even better if you’re green-eyed, like you, but I don’t know what it has to do with the Igasho wines.”

  The gates rolled open and Lizbet followed Declan through.

  “I’m getting there. Matias’s Mawmaw gave me some blackberry juice and it was...magical. Well, for me at least. Matias seemed immune to it. And she said that your winery makes something similar.”

  “But?” Declan paused on the front steps.

  “But what?”

  “That sentence sounded like it should have a ‘but’ following it.”

  “Most things have a butt following them.” She slapped his behind.

  His lips twisted as he tried not to smile. The door clicked after he finished typing in the security code.

  “Don’t you think this is sort of pointless?” Lizbet asked.

  “Yeah, but sometimes with my mom, it’s just easier to do as she asks.”

  “Godwin’s smart enough to not be caught on the security cameras.”

  “She moved them. She’s hoping he won’t find them.”

  The house smelled musty. The plants looked sad and dejected, and a fine layer of dust covered the tables and piano. It was such a big house, it made Lizbet sad to think of it empty, unused and unloved. “I’ll water the plants,” she said.

  “Why bother?”

  “They’ll die. They’re dying now.” She scowled at him. “You can’t just let them die!”

  “They’re plants... They’re not a mouse.”

  “They’re alive...or at least they were.”

  He gave a bedraggled fern a concerned glance. “Lizbet...”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to argue with you.”

  “Good. We can take care of these plants now, or I’ll take them back to Elizabeth’s.”

  “Where you’ll nurse them back to health?”

  “Darn straight.”

  “How can you be so caring? It must be exhausting looking out for creatures, mawmaws, and houseplants.”

  “I don’t look out for mawmaws,” she said in a small voice as she stomped into the kitchen to find a water pitcher. “Mawmaws take care of themselves. But plants can’t do that. Once you bring them inside, they become your responsibility.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her. “I’m going to start the security video.”

  She began opening cupboards, searching for a water pitcher. She screamed when she opened the third cabinet and spotted a mouse. She slammed the door shut when Declan dashed into the room.

  “I’m okay,” she said in a quick breath. “A bug flew out at me.” She hated lying to him, but she didn’t want another does-a-mouse-deserve-to-live conversation.

  “And you let him live, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Declan turned to go. “For the record, I don’t blame him,” he said over his shoulder.

  “For attacking me?”

  “For flying after you,” he said without turning around. “I’d do the same thing.”

  She waited until she heard him turn on the security video in the family room before she pulled open the cabinet door. The mouse blinked at her. “There you are,” she said as she drew out a piece of cheese from her pocket.

  “This is provolone,” the mouse said with a mouth nearly overflowing with food. “I told you I wanted Gouda!”

  “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit,” she whispered.

  The mouse sat back on his haunches and folded his tiny arms. “Then I’m not going to tell you what I learned.”

  Lizbet scooped up the mouse and held him upside down by his tail over the garbage disposal.

  The mouse squealed.

  “Another one?” Declan stuck his head around the doorway. “Want me to take it outside and scare the cheese out of it?”

  “How did you know he had cheese?”

  “He’s a mouse. Therefore, he likes cheese.”

  Lizbet thought about arguing with him, because even though she knew that not all mice liked cheese, this one did. “I got this.” Swinging the mouse slightly as she walked, she headed outside.

  “Tell me what you know, creature,” she demanded as soon as the door had closed behind her.

  The gathering clouds told her that the sunny streak was about to be broken and if she and Declan wanted to get back to the ranch dry, they would have to hurry.

  “Okay, okay,” the mouse yelped. “Just put me down.”

  “Not a chance. Tell me what you heard first.”

  “At least put me upright. You’re messing up my fur.”

  Lizbet held out her hand for him to stand on, but she kept her fingers curled and ready to squeeze if needed.

  The mouse used both paws to smooth the fur between his ears. “The dark-haired man returned. I heard him talking. He intends on taking Declan out.”

  “Taking him out?” Lizbet repeated. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “There’ll be an accident.”

  “How? When?” She glanced over her shoulder at the den window where Declan sat at a desk before a computer screen. Her heart twisted. How could she protect him every time he got in a car? With a sigh, she moved behind a lilac tree so that if he happened to glance out the window he wouldn’t see her.

  “I’m not sure,” the mouse said. “Something about the Festival of the River and Powwow.”

  Lizbet slowly nodded and set the mouse down on the back porch. “Thanks.” She sank down on the bench near the Dutch door, discouraged. How could she protect Declan? There were a dozen ways every hour of every minute for Godwin to “take out” Declan. Lizbet couldn’t watch him twenty-four hours a day.

  The only thing to do was make sure the police got Godwin before he got to Declan. But how? She was sure they were doing their best. But she could keep him from going to the powwow. She hugged her knees and propped her elbows on them, thinking.

  Sometime later, Declan found her there. “No sign of Godwin on the videos.”

  “Really?”

  He dropped onto the bench beside her. “You sound surprised.”

  “No! I mean, you had said you didn’t think he’d dare show his face, so I guess you were right.” This is what she said, but what she thought was, Stupid mouse. Are you lying to me? How could she protect Declan if she couldn’t even trust her source? “Have you heard of the Festival of the River?”

  “Yeah, I go every year.”

  She perked up. Maybe the mouse hadn’t been lying. “You do? What is it?”

  “It’s put on by the local Indian tribes. My mom’s broker has a booth, which I usually help man—you know, pass out fliers and such.”

  “But your mom’s not selling real estate anymore.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. We’re not going to work the booth this year, but I still want to go.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a big deal. Last year more than fifteen thousand people came. Come with me and you can see it for yourself.”

  “No, as a matter of fact,” she skated a glance at him, “I don’t want you to go, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “A bad feeling?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  She nodded. “I know you don’t believe in vibes or...anything, but can you promise me you won’t go?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Lizbet, but just no.” He gazed at her, his eyes earnest.

  “Why not? I’m not asking for myself! I just want you to be safe.”

  “I’m going to go. I’m going to prove to you that there’s no such thing as vibes. Your ‘bad feelings,’” he made air quotes, “are just your fears.”

  She huffed, but before she could say anything, he stopped her.

  “You have to stop listening to your imagination. If Baxter were here, he’d tell you that you’re letting your worries drive your actions. It’s not healthy.”

  �
�I’m worried about you.”

  He bumped her with his shoulder. “I get that. Having Godwin take shots at us was scary. I love that you’re worried about me, but you can’t let that control your decisions. You have to move on and pick up your life.”

  She shuddered. “I imagine him behind every tree and lamp post.”

  Declan draped his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, and planted a kiss on her temple. “I’m going to go to the powwow, and I’m going to be just fine.”

  “No you’re not.” She stood. “You’re not going.”

  He pursed his lips and stared her down. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “You are not listening to me!” She balled her hands into fists, trying to think. “If you won’t go, I’ll... What can I give you?”

  He waggled his eyebrows.

  She kicked his shin. “I’m serious!”

  He laughed. “So am I!”

  She stormed off the porch. “I’m going to stop you from going.”

  He marched after her. “I’d like to see you try.” He caught up to her in two strides and grabbed her arm. “A minute ago, I thought I was about to convince you to have sex with me and now you’re leaving me?”

  “I’m not leaving you.” She stopped walking and placed her palm on his chest, liking the way she could feel his heart beating through his shirt. She leaned in for a quick kiss. “Please don’t go.”

  He looked down at her, laughter in his eyes. “You’re such a lunatic.”

  “Just humor me.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her long and slow. “Okay.”

  She pulled away. “Okay? Really?”

  “Sure, you win. With me, you’ll probably always win.”

  Relief washed through her and she hugged him tight. Leaning against his chest, she listened to the steady beat of his heart, praying she’d be able to hear that sound for years and years to come.

  THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN Gloria poked her head through his bedroom door, he rolled over and cast her a sleepy glance.

  “Why aren’t you ready to go?” she asked, clearly peeved.

  “I’m not going.”

  “Why not? We always go.”

  “I don’t want to.”