A Rare Vintage (Wine Country Romance)

by Delancey Stewart

  "Morning," she said, trying to maintain a businesslike tone.

  "Good morning," Jonathan said, not looking at her.

  "What's our plan for the day?"

  "I thought you could head out with Roberto. Get some hands-on time in the vines, help out with the green harvest, since we're following your plan on that front."

  "Oh," she said, feeling like a rock had just settled in her stomach. Disappointment flooded through her, though she had no idea that she'd been so looking forward to another day by Jonathan's side. Before he said the words, she would have thought that working with Roberto instead of Jonathan would come as a relief. Instead, she felt practically despondent. "Okay," she said.

  He looked at her then, a clouded question in his eyes. Did she see some kind of conflict there?

  "I'm going to be gone for a few days," he said. "I need to tend to a few things in Los Angeles."

  She didn't ask any questions. "Okay," she said. "I guess I'll see you when you get back."

  Isabella turned and headed out between the green rows of vines, feeling her heart sink with each step.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jonathan

  Jonathan watched Isabella walk away from him, and tried to ignore the twisting feeling in his gut telling him that he'd done something wrong, that he needed to fix it.

  "All set up here, I think," the repairman said, pulling Jonathan from his miserable ruminations.

  "Great, thanks very much," Jonathan said as the man came down the ladder.

  The repairman wrote up an invoice and Jonathan wrote him a check, the small knot in his stomach loosening as he realized that, for once, he had the money to pay for what the winery needed, thanks to Isabella. She'd arranged the transfer the morning prior, and the money would be there before the check could clear the account.

  Jonathan walked the repairman to his truck and scanned the vineyard as he watched the dusty trail that marked the truck's departure. He was looking for a dark curly head out in the vines, but he knew that she was likely to be bent over next to Roberto, cutting young clusters.

  He went inside and packed a small overnight bag and then went to find Vicki, who was humming as she cleaned up the kitchen.

  "Hey Sis," he said.

  She turned and regarded him with a question in the tilt of her head, the arch of her eyebrows.

  "Sorry about this morning. I'm happy for you. I just..." he ran a hand through his hair. "Never mind. It's wonderful news."

  "Thanks," she said.

  "Hey, can you look after things for a couple days? I'm going to head down to Los Angeles and negotiate a few sourcing deals.

  "I thought you were going to be making wine, not sourcing grapes?"

  "We're gonna do a bit of both. We'll focus on the reds and sell the whites this year -- maybe hold on to just a few tons of Chard, but not much. I want to work on the Rhônes. That's what Isabella agrees will have the best shot."

  "Okay." Vicki gave her brother a quick hug, reaching up to get her arms around his broad back. "Take care, big brother. You'll be back in a couple days?"

  "Should be."

  "I'll look after Isabella."

  For some reason her words seemed to hold some extra meaning, and Jonathan gave her an inquiring look. Had Isabella said something to her about what had happened?

  "What?" she asked, noticing his hard stare.

  "Nothing. See you later," he turned and walked out to the rusted red truck that sat at the side of the house.

  As he turned the engine over and drove away, he pushed thoughts of dark curly hair, fair skin and deliciously firm breasts as far from his mind as he could. Which, it turned out, wasn't very far.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Isabella

  Isabella watched the plume of dust follow Jonathan's truck away from Château Sauvage and away from her. She took a deep breath and resumed her task at Roberto's side, taking out her emotions on the clusters she was slicing from the vines.

  "Mr. Sauvage is a hard man to know," Roberto said, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

  Isabella remained silent, weighing his words. She cast a sideways glance at him, but he continued working without looking up.

  "He is deep, like a well. It is hard to know how far down it might go without throwing something in and listening carefully to see when it will hit the bottom."

  Isabella sat up on her haunches and gave him an open look. "Roberto, are you trying to tell me something?" she asked, smiling.

  "No. Just making an observation." Roberto smiled without looking at her.

  "I see," she turned back to the task at hand. "Well thanks for the tip."

  "He is a good man," Roberto said, peering at her from the corner of his eye. "A strong man."

  She thought about his words as they worked. There was a clear respect and loyalty between Roberto and his employer. That was worth something, Isabella thought. It wasn’t easy to inspire that kind of respect in people if you weren’t essentially a good person yourself. His words meant a lot, she thought.

  They worked together most of the day, directing the rest of the vineyard hands to finish up the green harvest in the Grenache while they began managing the canopies of some of the other varietals.

  Isabella found that the time in the sun among the grapes made the day go quickly, despite her confused feelings. She looked at her watch when the sun was at its height to find that it was already three o'clock.

  "Roberto," she called across the rows. "I'm heading in for the day. I promised Vicki I'd help with the shopping."

  "Very well. I'll see you in the morning." Roberto lived in a separate residence at the back of the property. Isabella had seen small children running around when she and Jonathan had toured on the ATV. She wondered how many he had and had a feeling he was a good father.

  She jogged back to the house, working up a thin film of sweat before she entered the kitchen.

  Vicki was there, forming dough into soft balls and dropping them onto a cookie sheet.

  "Sorry, Vicki! Let me just get a quick shower!"

  "Not a problem Isabella. I'm used to my brother’s hours—if I want him ready at four, I tell him three. I figured you might be just as easily distracted out there. We're in no hurry!"

  "Tricky!" Isabella laughed, and headed for the shower.

  The women jumped into Vicki's beat up Volkswagen and drove into town. Isabella smiled out the window, eager to see something more of her new home than the vineyards around Château Sauvage. There were buildings along the way set back from the main road, many of them fledgling wineries, according to Vicki. There were an equal number of small run-down structures crumbling in the sun, yards littered with toys and cars. The fields around them were full of vines and trees of all fruit-bearing varieties—oranges, apricots, peaches, and walnuts. Isabella had never seen such a wealth of fruit growing in one area.

  They pulled up the main road and a town square came into view, centered around a large green park. Buildings were topped with squared facades, bringing to Isabella’s mind memories of the towns of the old West she had seen in pictures. They looked like movie sets, their faux faces set toward the road—proud awnings and lofty signs hiding low buildings that blended into one another behind the display. There was a small diner, a grocer, a bar and an antiques shop. Flanking the main square were other low buildings, a few specialty shops. Vicki pulled the car to a stop and they stepped out.

  "Come meet Quentin," Vicki called, smiling over the top of the car. She led the way to the antiques shop and Isabella followed.

  "Babe!" A man's voice called from within the dark interior.

  Isabella's eyes adjusted after a few seconds to see a thin athletic man with blond hair and sparkling dark eyes walking toward them. He picked Vicki up in an embrace and spun her around with a huge smile.

  "Quent," she laughed as he put her down. "This is Isabella. She's the winemaker from Cornell I told you about."

  "The one who's going to tame the savage grapes
, huh?"

  "I guess you could say that," Isabella said. "They've only been neglected a couple years, the situation isn't all that dire."

  "Not with the grapes anyway," he winked at her.

  She felt a flush crawl up her neck as she realized he believed there was something between her and Jonathan. Which meant that Vicki believed there was something going on, too.

  "Well, it's wonderful to meet you," Isabella said, trying to recover her wit. "Congratulations, by the way!"

  "Thanks," Quentin said, putting an arm around Vicki, who was smiling and looking up into his face.

  "We have to get over to the grocery," Vicki told him. "Do you want to come out for dinner later?"

  "That'd be great," he said. "Will Jonathan mind?"

  "He's out of town for a few days," Vicki told him.

  "I'll be sorry to miss him, but I'd love to come see you, if it's not too much for Isabella."

  "Not at all," Isabella said, surprised. She still felt like she should be treated as more of an employee than a guest in the house. "It'd be lovely to get to know you better."

  "Seven-thirty?" Vicki asked.

  "See you then," Quentin said, giving Vicki a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

  They crossed the square to the grocery store and were just about to push a cart through the sliding door when a petite blonde woman pushing a stroller and carrying a grocery bag came out. Isabella almost crashed into Vicki when the smaller woman came to a dead stop in front of her, staring. She was about to ask what was wrong, but she figured it out quickly enough.

  "Hello, Vicki," the blond said. She was pretty, her light hair hanging in perfect waves over her shoulders, and her cheeks rosy and bright. The baby she pushed in the stroller was darker, with olive skin and brown eyes. He kicked his bare feet while his mother greeted Vicki.

  "Charlotte, I…" Vicki stumbled. She seemed to be in shock, unsure of what to say.

  A jolt ran through Isabella. This was Charlotte. This was the woman whom Jonathan had proposed to; who had turned him down and left.

  "You didn't know I was back." The woman said flatly. She eyed Isabella, but didn't address her.

  "Yes, and that you…"

  "That I had the baby," Charlotte finished for her.

  "Yes." Vicki leaned down, looking at the child. "Hi, buddy," she said, her voice lighter. She straightened back up and gave Charlotte a piercing look.

  Another jolt ran through Isabella as Vicki asked, "Does Jon know?"

  "I guess he will now," Charlotte said.

  "So are you living with your folks?"

  "For now. Getting settled," Charlotte said.

  "Well, it's…good to see you," Vicki said. She was visibly off-balance after the unexpected run-in.

  "You too. Tell Jonathan hello for me." Charlotte started to move, then looked at Isabella. "Hello," she said, and then turned and walked away down the sidewalk.

  "Oh my God," Vicki said quietly. They shopped in silence and drove back to the house, the mood somber.

  Isabella wanted to ask questions—she could think of several to begin with—but was afraid to speak, quieted by the fierce grip that Vicki held on the wheel and the dark look on her face. It wasn't her business anyway. She was no part of this family. When they got back to the house, Isabella helped unload the car and then went to her room, leaving Vicki to herself in the kitchen.

  Isabella emerged from her room just after she heard Quentin arrive, Vicki greeting him at the front door.

  "Hi Quentin," she said, coming down the hall to find Vicki still caught in his embrace just inside the door. They stepped apart as she approached.

  "Hi Isabella, nice to see you again," Quentin said, handing Vicki a bottle of wine.

  "You too," Isabella said, watching Vicki carefully. She felt a little guilty about hiding in her room all afternoon, but had felt like the news that they'd discovered in front of the store was family business, and not for her to think about or become involved in, though she’d done nothing but think about Charlotte and Jonathan’s son all afternoon.

  Isabella and Quentin took seats across the counter from where Vicki cooked, and Quentin poured wine for all of them.

  "This is a 1986 Côte-Rôtie," Quentin said. "It's a little young, but it should be nice," he said.

  Isabella swirled and sniffed appreciatively. It was nice to be around people who enjoyed wine like she did.

  Vicki took a long drink and went back to stirring the pot in front of her, her face tight.

  "Hon," Quentin said, obviously noticing her less-than-enthusiastic mood. "What's wrong?"

  "Vicki, if you guys want to talk, I can head back to my room," Isabella said, feeling awkward and starting to stand.

  "No, Isabella!" Vicki said, putting down the wooden spoon and looking at her. "You know as much as I do. You have every right to be here. This is your home. You might as well share in the dark side of the family gossip!"

  Isabella sat back down, still feeling uncomfortable. She smiled a tight smile aimed at Quentin and took another drink.

  "What's up?" Quentin asked, looking concerned.

  "It's not me," Vicki reassured him. "Isabella and I saw Charlotte today outside the market."

  "She's back?"

  "I guess you haven't seen her then?"

  "Vick, I'd have told you," Quentin said.

  "She's back. With Jonathan's baby." Vicki kept her gaze on the pot she was stirring.

  "You're joking," Quentin said. "I thought she'd decided to…I thought she wasn't going to have the baby."

  "That's what she told Jonathan. She told him that she didn't want a family, didn't want to be a winemaker’s wife." Vicki's eyes welled up. "She refused his proposal and was gone the next day, off to live with her brother in San Francisco." She stirred furiously while she talked. "She has no idea what that did to my brother…" She cast a quick glance at Isabella then. "What he went through by himself, trying to understand her decision."

  Isabella felt her stomach churning. She kept her gaze on her glass, afraid that if she looked up, the others would see the shock and pain there. How could anyone be so heartless? She wondered. She tried not to picture the hurt on Jonathan's face, tried not to see what the amber eyes would look like flooded with pain—not just of Charlotte's rejection, but also with the loss of a child that would have been his.

  "For her to come back here…" Vicki had begun crying openly, and Quentin walked around the counter to put his arms around her.

  "Do you think she wants something from him?" Quentin asked quietly.

  "Why else would she come back here?" Vicki asked. "As if she hasn't done enough. She couldn't have just stayed away?"

  "And the child…" Quentin said, seeming to think aloud.

  "This will kill him," Vicki said quietly.

  "Maybe not." Quentin held his fiancé and caught Isabella's eyes over the counter.

  Isabella held his gaze and tried to take some comfort there.

  That night in bed she laid awake, staring out the darkened window at the expansive black canopy beyond the glass.

  He is not yours, she told herself. And now he might never be, said another voice, one that she didn't want to listen to.

  Isabella let quiet tears trace lines down her cheeks as she fell asleep that night, allowing herself a vision of Jonathan's strong arms and dark face the first time she'd seen him, as he gripped the ladder on the fermentation tank. She let herself re-imagine the kiss they'd shared, knowing that any chance she'd had of sharing another kiss with him had just disappeared, replaced by the appearance of a chubby curly-haired baby boy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jonathan

  The drive to Los Angeles was mind numbing, which was exactly what Jonathan needed. Time to think, time to forget. It was clear that there was attraction between him and Isabella. That didn't make it okay to take advantage of the fact that she was staying in his house. He tried to think of things from her perspective. In a few short days, she'd arrived to work at a winery to find
that it was on the brink of total failure. She'd been forced to deposit a large sum of money, maybe all she had in the world, into a stranger's account in hopes of saving the winery. And now that man, who she barely knew, who had already taken advantage of her financially, was making sexual advances.

  The more Jonathan played things over in his head, the more he hated himself. He knew he’d needed this time to think. Though he had not really needed to drive to Los Angeles to make sourcing arrangements to sell his grapes, he did need the time away.

  I've got to do better, he told himself. I will control myself when I get back.

  Jonathan cursed himself all the way to Monrovia, a suburb north of Los Angeles where his best friend from college was living with his wife in a small two-bedroom house nestled into the dry hills. He'd been given an open invitation and a key, and as he pulled up to the curb, he was relieved to see Theo's truck in the driveway.

  He got out, pulled out his bag and headed for the door.

  "What are you doing here, you savage?" came a booming voice from within. Seconds later, the tall thin form of Theo Reynolds, his college roommate and best friend, stood in the open doorway.

  "Sorry to drop in on you, man," Jonathan said, a familiar relief sweeping through him as he gave his old friend a quick one-armed embrace. "Is my room still available?"

  "Always. Of course." Theo took a step back, waving Jonathan in. "Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, I should have called. Kind of a last minute trip. I'm just down here to do a little sourcing."

  "Cool," said Theo, sounding like he was pretty sure that it wasn't. "Annette will be home from work in a while. You free tonight to just hang out?"

  "I was hoping you'd ask that," Jonathan said, dropping his bag on the floor. "I can get my work done tomorrow, be out of your hair the day after?"

  "No rush, man," Theo said, grabbing two bottles out of the refrigerator and handing one to Jonathan. "I know you're a grape man, but all I've got is beer."