A Rare Vintage (Wine Country Romance)

by Delancey Stewart

  "I'm planning to move," Charlotte said finally, her voice stronger, her eyes on Jonathan.

  Vicki inhaled sharply and then began coughing loudly.

  "Where?" Jonathan asked, his voice thick with concern.

  "Los Angeles," she said. “I can't stay here. I can't make any kind of future in my parents' house."

  "And Thomas?" Jonathan asked.

  "I don't know," she said. Her watery eyes caught Jonathan's. "I don't know what to do. That's why I needed to talk to you."

  Isabella pushed down her feelings of alarm at Charlotte's announcement. If she took the baby, she'd be tearing out part of Jonathan's heart, and Isabella couldn't stand the idea of facing the hurt that would live in his eyes from that point on.

  "You can't take the baby," she said, without even realizing that she was speaking. Her own shock matched the surprise she saw on Charlotte's face.

  "Forgive me, but I don't really think you have a say in this," Charlotte's cheeks flushed. "Shouldn't you be out in the vineyard, anyway?"

  "Charlotte!" Jonathan's voice was admonishing.

  "Iz is just looking out for Jon," Vicki said, her hand finding Isabella's under the table.

  Charlotte gave Isabella a scrutinizing look then, as she seemed to realize that there was something between Jonathan and his intern. Her face was unreadable, but Isabella wondered what she'd do with this knowledge.

  "You're right," Isabella said, rising. "Forgive me. I have work to do." She left the kitchen and headed back out into the sunlight and the grapes, the only things she felt certain about.

  Isabella busied herself in the barn, tasting from bottles and barrels, getting ready to blend. She pushed thoughts of the lunch she'd just fled from her mind, but it was impossible not to see Jonathan holding the dark-haired baby in his arms. Charlotte's baby. Their baby.

  This is not what I signed up for, she thought. And he doesn't need the added complication either.

  A deep sadness filled her chest, a feeling that was far too familiar. Isabella tried to push it away, but the grief of loss filled her, finding a comfortable home inside her and curling up like a sleeping dog at home within her heart. It wasn't a good feeling, but it was a familiar one. Isabella accepted it and tried to focus on her work.

  Just as she found a steady rhythm, the door to the barn opened, letting a long shaft of sunlight cross the hard floor as Jonathan let himself in. He was across the barn before the door had even swung shut again, and next to where she stood. "Isabella," he said, his voice low. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's fine," she said lightly, not turning to look at him.

  "No," he growled. "It's not." His hands found her shoulders then, and he bent his head low over her neck, his hair brushing her face as he pushed himself into her back, nuzzling her neck.

  "Jon," she said, struggling for self-control. The scent of him—rich dark earth and cinnamon and sweat—nearly overpowered her will, and she twisted in his hands to face him, taking a step back. "Jon," she repeated, her voice stronger with the distance between them. "What happened earlier, that was a mistake. That cannot happen again."

  She tried to ignore the surprise and hurt she saw cross his face.

  "No, Isabella, I…"

  "You have far bigger fish to fry." She tried to make it sound light, but knew that it was an absurd thing to say. She was running on pure instinct, afraid to face the emotions that were just below the surface. "I'm an employee here, and it shouldn't have ever been more than that. We're here to learn from one another, to make amazing wine. Our personal lives should remain…personal."

  "Isabella," Jonathan breathed, his eyes glowing and liquid.

  She tore her eyes from his face, unwilling to see the hurt that she was causing.

  But it didn't matter, she told herself. What he felt for her was desire, not love. He was lonely and hurt, and she was here. Better that she remove herself as a possibility for him, force him to deal with the other aspects of his life that were far more pressing.

  "Jonathan," she said, turning back to face him. "I'm going back out in the vines."

  He caught her arm as she tried to pass him, pulled her roughly to him and surrounded her with his arms, his chest.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself relax against him, before she tensed again and vowed to be stronger. She pushed him away.

  "I can't, Jon."

  With that, she strode across the barn floor and walked out into the bright sunlight, trying not to imagine the sadness on the handsome face inside.

  Out among the grapes, Isabella began to find her balance again. She worked methodically, letting her body move of its own volition, allowing her mind to wander. Naturally it kept returning to the olive-skinned chisel-jawed man she'd just walked away from. She searched inside herself to see if she could muster the resolve that would be needed to keep herself away from him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jonathan

  Jonathan had watched as Isabella excused herself from the table and out the door. He turned to Charlotte. "You have no right to make her feel like an outsider. This is her home, not yours."

  "Her home?" Charlotte said, quietly. "She's become part of the family, has she?"

  "This is not your business, Charlotte." Jonathan said it firmly, fixing her with his eyes. His grip on the small sleeping bundle in his arms tightened suddenly, and his heart seemed to increase in rhythm. "What are you planning to do exactly? When are you leaving? What about Thomas?"

  Charlotte put her fork down, looking weary. "I have a job in Los Angeles at my uncle's office. He said he would hold it for me until the fall, until I figure things out."

  "And what happens to Thomas?" Jonathan asked again.

  "I guess he comes with me."

  Jonathan felt as if she'd twisted a knife in the already painful wound within him. Vicki looked back and forth between Charlotte and Jonathan.

  "No." Jonathan said it simply. "He can stay here. I can offer him a home, stability…"

  "He needs a mother."

  "He'll have Vick, Isabella…" he'd said it before he'd even thought about it.

  "I don't want your whore raising my child," she snapped. "Besides, this is not your decision to make."

  Jonathan felt the fire rush through his veins, but held himself steady. Instead of firing more words at Charlotte, he held Thomas closer and looked down into his face. He let his fingers trace the pudgy rose of his cheek, felt the tiny fingers between his own.

  "You should take Thomas home," he said quietly, standing and placing the baby into his carrier. "My lawyer will be in touch." He picked up the carrier and stood ready to hand it to her.

  Charlotte looked uncertain and angry, her face reddening. "I…"

  "Goodbye, Charlotte," Vicki said, clearing the half-empty dish before Charlotte while her fork still hovered over it in mid-air.

  "Fine, Jon," she said, taking the baby. "If this is how you want to do this, we'll see what happens."

  "Goodbye," Jonathan said, feeling as if his heart was tearing slightly with every step she took away with Thomas.

  "You did the right thing," Vicki said, a hand on his arm as they watched Charlotte's car beat a dusty retreat down the lane. "We'll figure this out."

  Jonathan leaned down and hugged his little sister, feeling the acute pain of the intense emotions that had been awakened in him in just the past few days.

  "You'd better go talk to Iz," she said.

  He had, and he’d gotten nowhere. Charlotte’s ill-timed announcement had ruined the tenuous promise of what he’d managed to create with Isabella.

  When she’d pulled away from him and left the barn, she'd left Jonathan's head spinning. He felt that he'd always been good at reading signals—could he have been so wrong? Didn’t she feel the same magnetic pull to him that he felt for her? When he'd pulled her to him, as she tried to leave, he was certain that he'd felt her melt against him again. But she was determined to deny it. He tried to recapture the scent of her hair, the
way her full breasts felt pressed against his chest.

  He sat on a milk crate that was in the middle of the floor, and put his head in his hands. First Charlotte, now Isabella. What did he do to push women away so completely? He stared at the plank floor of the barn and thought about the lunch they'd just had. Charlotte had behaved like a cornered animal, striking out at anyone who came near her. He wondered how she'd ended up so hurt when she was the one who'd broken his heart.

  As he tried to pull apart the pain he was feeling, to see if he could discern what to do about any of it, he realized that most of it was related to Isabella walking away from him just now. He knew that she felt something between them, but she wouldn’t give it a chance for some reason. Charlotte? Or was it Thomas? He vowed to talk to her again, to see if he could convince her that his feelings were more than fleeting and find out why it was so easy for her to run.

  The other part of his pain was related to Thomas, and he knew that he needed to call the lawyer again as soon as possible. He stood and walked to the house, picking up the phone to call the attorney as soon as he reached his desk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Isabella

  The sun was dipping toward the horizon when Isabella finally rubbed her sore hands against her jeans, wiping the dirt and soil from them, and walked slowly back toward the house.

  She opened the door to find Vicki, Quentin and Jonathan sitting at the table, a bottle of wine open between them.

  "Iz," Vicki said, rising to get her a glass. "Will you join us?"

  Isabella purposely avoided Jonathan's gaze. "No, no, thanks. I need to go get cleaned up." She walked through the kitchen and into the living room, wishing she'd never blurred the boundary so badly between employee, guest and lover.

  She was pulling off her boots in her room when a dark shadow appeared in the periphery of her vision, looming in the doorway. Jonathan.

  "Isabella," he said, his voice like warm caramel. "Please don't do this."

  She looked up at him, trying to keep her face blank. His eyes were pleading.

  "You've become part of our family in the short time you've been here. You're much more than that to me. Please don't push me away."

  "You know that it has to be that way." Her voice was a whisper.

  "I don't think that it does. If this is about Charlotte…"

  She moved toward the door, but he blocked her path.

  "Jon, I need to shower."

  He didn't move.

  "Things are complicated," she said, feeling like that was the worst understatement she'd ever made. "More than you know."

  A question appeared on his face, his mouth open slightly but no more words coming out.

  "Please," she said, indicating that he should let her pass.

  He moved aside and she closed herself in the bathroom across the hall, leaning against the door and feeling like her soul had deflated completely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jonathan

  Jonathan stood in the doorway to Isabella's room, listening to the shower start.

  Things are complicated, she'd said. More than you know. What had that meant?

  He gazed vacantly around her room, searching his mind for an answer. She couldn't just be trying to stay away for his own good. She must have some other reason for wanting to pull back from what he was certain they'd shared.

  His eyes fell absently on a small black box sitting on the low table next to the bed. A jewelry box.

  Without thinking, Jonathan took three steps across the room and picked up the small box. He opened the lid and felt as if he'd been hit in the gut as he looked at the solitaire diamond ring perched on the soft velvet inside. An engagement ring?

  Feeling suddenly guilty, he closed the box quickly and replaced it, leaving the room and returning to the kitchen, where Vicki was leaning into Quentin's arms.

  "Jon?" she asked when she saw his face. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "I'm fine," he said, his jaw tight. "I'm just going to go look over the books."

  He picked up his wine glass and retreated to his desk in the corner of the dark living room.

  Was she engaged? Was that her secret? Had she run away from someone to come here, just like Charlotte had run away from him?

  Jonathan sipped his wine and tried to conjure an image of a face, the face of Isabella's fiancé. What would he look like, this man who had already won Isabella's heart and owned her future?

  An anger began to bubble in the pit of his stomach. He was angry with her for leading him on, for allowing him to believe that there could ever be something between them. He was angry with himself for trusting another woman—hadn't he learned his lesson with Charlotte? He was angry with Charlotte for hiding his child from him. And he was angry with his attorney who had suggested a paternity test would be necessary before any determinations about custody or rights could be made.

  Jonathan sat at his desk in the dark and drank as he listened to the shower stop, the sounds of Isabella moving around in the bathroom, the sink running. He heard her move to her room, and cringed as he thought about the ring again. Did she put it on when she was alone? Had she removed it so it wouldn't get dirty when she worked out in the fields? And why had she let him believe that she was single?

  She appeared then, in jeans and a tank top, her feet bare and her hair down around her shoulders. And all of Jonathan's anger dissipated until all he could feel was hurt. Hurt and lust.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Isabella

  Isabella rose the next morning to find that Jonathan had already gone out into the vines with Roberto. She ate with Vicki, who cast understanding gazes upon her, but didn't ask questions. Dinner had been a scattered affair. Jonathan had stayed at his desk while she'd eaten with Vicki and Quentin. And then she'd said goodnight to him as he'd come into the kitchen for a plate.

  After breakfast, Isabella headed out into the cool morning air. As she walked up and down the rows of Mourvèdre, she tried to take comfort in the things that she knew and understood. The condensation gathered on the leaves and clusters; the rising sun that would bake the countryside in its steady and transformative rays; the potential that she felt when she tasted these grapes and the wine that had been made from them.

  Harvest was just a couple weeks away, and after the crush was over—maybe in October—she'd be on her way home. Or at least back to New York. The place had ceased being a home abruptly two years ago.

  Hours passed, and as afternoon approached, Isabella saw a plume of dust rising in the warming air. She worked without stopping for lunch, hoping that constant movement and steady rhythm would help to banish the thoughts and feelings that she seemed unable to control.

  The warm sun on her neck reminded her of Jonathan's breath as he'd stood behind her out in the barn the day before. She allowed it to caress her skin, telling herself that she could never allow him to do that again.

  At the end of the day, Isabella made her way back to the house, surprised to see Charlotte's car in the circular drive again.

  She swallowed hard and pulled open the door to the kitchen.

  "Hey Iz," Vicki said, stirring a pot over the stove.

  "Hi Vicki," Isabella replied, giving her a smile.

  "Charlotte dropped by. She brought the baby again."

  "I thought she and Jonathan had argued?" Isabella said, feeling a surge of jealousy and quickly forcing it away. "Did they make up?"

  "I think Jonathan realized that if he didn't see her, he wouldn't get to see Thomas."

  "Of course," Isabella said.

  Just then, they heard the rumble of Jonathan's low laughter from the living room followed by a higher peal from Charlotte.

  "I'm going to go shower," Isabella said.

  "Sure," said Vicki.

  Isabella could feel Vicki's sympathetic eyes on her back as she left the room. She wished she could become invisible and pass through the living room without being observed, but Charlotte's light
eyes were on her as soon as she stepped into the room.

  "Hello," the blonde woman said, her voice crisp.

  "Hi," Isabella replied, willing herself not to look at Jonathan. From the corner of her eye she could see that he sat on the floor across from Charlotte, and Thomas was on his back on a blanket between them, swatting at toys that were suspended from an arch over his small body.

  She crossed the room and disappeared gratefully down the hall, escaping to the noise and shelter of the shower, where she tried to tell herself that she could do this; that she could bear being a witness to the family that was developing before her eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jonathan

  Jonathan had called Charlotte the morning after their terrible lunch. He knew that as difficult as she could be, she was the only avenue to knowing his son, and he realized that he would sacrifice a lot of pride just to see the toothless grin on the boy's chubby cherub face as often as possible.

  "Just bring him by for a little while," Jonathan had suggested on the phone.

  "Your girlfriend won't mind?" Charlotte had asked, her voice full of venom.

  "That's not your business, Char," Jonathan said. "But there's nothing going on there anyway. Not now at least." He thought of the ring on the nightstand and felt his heart wince in response.

  "Anything to escape my parents' house," Charlotte had said.

  Isabella had walked through the room towards late afternoon, and he'd tried to force himself not to respond to her. She'd been clear enough.

  Even though he knew that she belonged to someone else, he watched her move when he thought she wasn't looking, unable to escape the stirring response that her very being created within him. He had never wanted a woman so much.