“We’re not through talking,” she yelled back, crimson-faced.
“Maybe you’re not, but I am. I don’t need you to dismiss me.”
“Fine. I don’t need you at all.” She crossed her arms and planted her booted feet in the dirt in a wide-legged stance.
“Fine with me.”
He’d been patient long enough. He gunned the bike to show he meant business. “I mean it. Get the blanket and get on board.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Stay here, then.”
It wasn’t like she’d die of exposure out here on this picture postcard day. There were several wineries within walking distance and plenty of shade, if she wasn’t too bullheaded to take advantage of it.
“I will.” She raised her stubborn little chin.
Sam checked his watch again. “The Pennsylvania people are going to be at the consortium in fifteen minutes and it’s a twenty minute drive and I have stuff to get ready.”
Red jammed her fists on her hips. “You’re hiding behind your work again. That’s your typical response to anything that threatens your defense mechanism of shutting people out.”
“Those growers and vintners trusted me enough to put me in charge of their livelihoods, you hear me? For some of them, a state contract could mean the difference between folding and scraping through another season. Their future’s in my hands. I gave them my word I’d have their backs, and nothing’s going to stop me.”
With a flick of his wrist, the bike bucked.
One more twist and the rear wheel swung sideways, spraying gravel in a rooster tail.
Red flinched, squinting to keep the dust out of her eyes.
Now Sam was back on the hardball, facing the direction from which they’d come.
Still, she stood there, glowering.
“Goddamn it, Doc…”
They locked eyes in a showdown, her blinking in the harsh light, his eyes disguised behind his visor. The seconds ticked by while the July sun beat down on Red’s center-parted hair, and Sam’s insides fought a war between caving to her demands in exchange for more vineyard nookie and his responsibility to his winemakers.
Just when he thought he was going to have to forcibly bungee cord her onto his bike, she said, “Set up a date with me, a real date, to show me you’re serious. And then I’ll go.”
“I said I’d go on a date, didn’t I?”
“Not the wedding. A separate date, just for us. Like, dinner for two.”
“Go ahead,” he said, despite the curl of fear that wrapped around his intestines, threatening to strangle him from the inside out. “Pick any place and day you like.”
“The Radish Rose. Next Saturday.”
“You got it.”
With that, Red smiled sweetly, turned, and retrieved the blanket.
Chapter 6
Sam sped along at speeds that would have his ass in a sling if a statie happened to be lurking around a bend in the road. That is, if they could catch him.
Most men might associate the feel of a woman’s pillowy breasts pressing against his back, her arms wrapped securely around his core, and her firm inner thighs against his outer ones as a pleasant, even safe sensation. But what was innocuous to some was a threat to others.
It had taken months of riding these roads with Red for Sam to trust that that feeling wouldn’t suddenly turn on him. He was almost there. But after the demands she’d just laid down, instead of being comforted, her presence behind him made him feel like he was being chased.
His first tour of duty had turned him into an adrenaline junkie. He’d started to need bigger and bigger thrills to feed his habit.
He gave it more diesel, pushing the bike’s speed balls to the walls.
His second tour, while not as physically stressful, made up for it in head games. How had the white coats at the OMS put it in their discharge orders? “Captain Owens no longer trusts his own feelings.”
Didn’t take a shrink to see that. Sometimes he didn’t even know who he was anymore, let alone what his feelings were.
When he finally got back to the states, he’d found it hard to let go. He wasn’t a snake that could just shed his skin whenever the powers-that-be said it was time. Almost two years later, he still found himself ducking personal questions, constantly looking over his shoulder.
His siblings were long gone. So was his mother, raising another family that she valued more than him. His dad was no different from what he’d always been, a royal pain in the ass. At least now that Sam was grown he was no longer under his thumb. That made his occasional visits to check on him bearable.
He had a handful of close friends and tons of new acquaintances, thanks to the consortium.
But when it came to the one person he couldn’t live without…well, that person was Red. He needed her calm. Her logic. Despite growing up with a succession of shady characters in mobile home parks before her grandmother stepped in, she was remarkably balanced. Without her, he feared he’d go spinning out of control again.
But he couldn’t let her fall in love with him. If she insisted on forcing his hand, making demands…
He’d let her believe he would kowtow. Wasn’t manipulation his special talent? He was a highly trained professional, adept at setting up relationships—there was that word again—and influencing and controlling others, based on fabrications.
Chapter 7
“Come back again,” called Sam to the foursome who’d come all the way from Amarillo to see for themselves what all the fuss was about the Willamette’s wines.
“Thank you kindly.” The Texan in tooled boots held up a parting hand, then used it to hold the door for Manolo, on his way in.
Manolo saluted. “Lieutenant.”
Sam dried his hands before clasping Manolo’s. “Appreciate you taking time.”
“Least I can do.”
Sam had met Manolo in Iraq after dropping out of college in the middle of his freshman year.
Manolo had joined the Army as an alternative to taking over his family restaurant, just outside New York City. Lost and disoriented in a foreign land, the two had bonded instantly.
Despite acting nonchalant about it with Red, Sam took his best man responsibilities seriously. Last time he and Manolo had talked there’d been some confusion as to who on the groom’s side was going to show up for the wedding. His mom was having some health problems, and he didn’t get along with his dad.
Sam knew all about difficult fathers. The details weren’t important. He and Manolo shared their stories on a need-to-know basis. Didn’t hurt so much that way.
There was probably still time before the nearest motel sold out of rooms, but he couldn’t risk failing at one of his tasks; risk disappointing his friend.
He poured a glass of the good stuff he kept under the counter, slid it over to Manolo, and rested his folded arms on the bar. “Wanted to touch base with you on the rooms. You got a final headcount yet?”
“My sisters still don’t know what to do about letting my mom travel by herself since the knee replacement,” said Manolo, scratching his head. “She insists she’s okay, but they found out she was lying about still using her walker, so they’re talking about one of them flying down to Miami first to get her and then flying out here.”
“Family. Always got to be some complication.”
“Tell me about it.” Manolo took a sip of wine.
“That mean your dad’s definitely a no-show, then? Can’t be because he disapproves of the bride. They don’t come any better than Junie Hart.”
“Hard to disapprove of someone you’ve never met. No, it’s not her he disapproves of.” He looked down at where he cradled his glass. “It’s me. Last I heard, he denies even having a son.”
“That’s rough, man.”
There was a heavy pause.
“Wh
at about your dad?” asked Manolo. “What was it you used to call him?” He snapped his fingers and grinned. “Psychodad. That’s right.”
“Until just last week he was still living in the old homestead, out in the middle of nowhere. Seventy-seven years old and still chops his own firewood, even though I had the fireplace converted to gas when I got back from the service. Thought I was doing him a favor. Making it easier on him. But the numbskull won’t stop.”
“Seventy-seven? Christ! He had to be, what, late forties when you were born?”
“Let’s just say I was a surprise, an unpleasant surprise. Luke, my brother, was fourteen, and Cindy was eighteen and on her way out of the house. Anyway, last week Psychodad earned his nickname.”
“What’d he do?”
“You’re not going to believe it. Piled real kindling on top of the gas fireplace logs.”
“Aside from the obvious, it’s July,” said Manolo, his face screwed up with confusion.
“Musta caught a chill.” Sam smiled drolly. “If I hadn’t happened to go out there to check on him that day, they’d be finding pieces of that house in Portland. It’d be like Mount St. Helens all over again.”
“There’re public gas lines out there?”
“The fireplace runs on an above-ground propane tank. The place isn’t exactly falling down, but he refuses to part with enough money to keep it properly maintained. And every time I’ve sent people out to look at the roof or clean the gutters at my own expense, he’s sent them packing.
“It’s frustrating as hell, man. Sometimes I think all it’d take is one shot from my Winchester into that propane tank, and—” He raised a pretend rifle to his shoulder. “Peeeerrrr.”
“Right,” drawled Manolo. “And what are you going to say when the fire department shows up?”
Sam spread his palms. “Who’s gonna call the fire department? It’s the only building for miles. The O’Briens moved to Hood River years ago.”
“The place must be worth something. Sell it. That’s my advice. Take the money and don’t look back.”
“The O’Brien place is still on the market. Nobody wants it.”
“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, the authorities did come, catch you in the act.”
“I’d tell them to let ‘er burn.”
“I believe there’s a word for that.”
“It’s not arson if it’s my own property. It’s not like I’d file an insurance claim. And I could still sell the land any time I want. Come to think of it, the land’s probably worth more without the house. Anyone who’d want it would only raze it and start over, anyway.”
Manolo shifted uncomfortably. “No sense talking about something that’s not going to happen, Samuel, my man. What about your Dad? Goes without saying he can’t be left unattended after that.”
“Roger. He’s at the assisted care place being evaluated as we speak.”
“So that’s it? There he stays?”
Sam shrugged. “You know how bureaucracy is. It’ll take a while.”
“What about your mom?”
“She left us a long time ago. Who could blame her? Dad cheated on her with half the women in McMinnville. She found a younger guy, got remarried when I was in high school.”
“You see her much?”
Sam straightened drink coasters that were already neatly stacked. “Aw, you know how it goes. She went from being a cougar to being all caught up raising her step-grandkids.”
“What about your sister and brother? How come you’re the one left holding the bag?”
“Luke and Cindy don’t want anything to do with him.”
“If he’s such a pain, why bother? What keeps you hanging on?”
He shrugged. “Don’t give me too much credit. All I do is stop in every couple weeks, see that he’s got food in the house, keep the weeds down.”
Manolo shook his head.
“Before I forget, Junie got all the RSVPs back but yours and Red’s. She’s not concerned about Red’s. Said Red can be a touch scattered. But knowing you, there’s a reason. You don’t make a move—or, in this case, not make a move—till you’ve covered every angle.”
“Tell her to check tomorrow’s mail.” Sam couldn’t hide his grin. “Doc and I are coming together.”
Manolo’s face lit up. “No shit. So. The lady finally put her foot down.”
“What?” Sam’s shoulders went back and his chin disappeared into his neck. “Where’d you get that? No one tells Sam Owens what to do.”
“Who are you talking to here?” Manolo tapped his chest with the side of his hand.
Sam slouched. “Okay. There may be an outside chance that maybe Doc might have mentioned something about a rela—a rela—”
“Relationship?”
Sam decided he could use a drink, too. He reached above the bar for another glass.
“Well, it’s about time, you old rascal!” Manolo’s hand clasped Sam’s palm-down, angling, locking thumbs. “I was wondering how long you expected her to wait.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You told me you had a thing for Red over a year ago. Remember? It was the same time you warned me to keep my paws off Junie.”
Sam traced the wood grain in the bar with a finger. “Not even I can be right one hundred percent of the time.”
“In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t need your permission to date Junie. Back to Red. Did you think nobody else knew about you two? You’re losing your touch, Spidey.”
Sam wondered when he’d gotten careless about his and Red’s comings and goings. If he hadn’t wanted them to, no one would know.
“It’s not all me. Doc wasn’t into the whole going steady thing either. She was cool with the way things are—”
“Were.”
“Until last weekend.”
“Told you how it is, huh?” Manolo grinned wider, and the still-smoldering fire inside Sam at the idea of being controlled flared momentarily.
“A minor glitch.” It would take a special kind of torture not yet invented to get Sam to admit that Red’s plan involved putting the brakes on their sex life. Even to his best friend. Especially to his best friend.
Anyway, that wouldn’t last. With their explosive chemistry? He’d have her hollering out his name in ecstasy again in no time. Maybe as soon as tomorrow night, after their first, real date.
“Hey,” said Sam. “What’s this about Junie and the girls going to see Lumber Jack Hammer?”
Manolo waved away his query. “I heard about it. Some male revue or something.”
“You worried?”
“Me? I’m not worried.” Manolo’s grin waned. “Why. Are you worried?”
“Do I look worried?”
“Junie has eyes for no one but yours truly.”
“At times I forget you’re not from around here. Hammer’s been known to get, let’s say, overly friendly with the women who go to his shows.”
Manolo’s grin didn’t falter. “When a woman’s got this,” he asked, puffing out his chest, “what need would she have to go elsewhere?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You say so. Me? I don’t know why anybody’d want to get married. It’s like enlisting in the service.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ll have to learn how to eat, sleep, shower, and shave all over again.”
“Wait till it’s your turn.”
“That’s going to be a long wait. Nah, I kinda like seeing how many days I can go without a vegetable crossing my lips. Falling asleep to SportsCenter.” Sam clapped his hands. ”So. What about the rooms?”
“Book a suite for each of my sisters and their families, and then one for Mom. If Dad comes, he can stay with her. If not, at least she’ll have a respite from her grandkids. My extended family can get a little rambunctious.”
“I’m picturing a Star Wars bar.”
Manolo brightened. “You got nieces and nephews too.”
“Negative.”
He slumped again. “Your siblings never tied the knot?”
Sam shook his head as he took another swig of his drink. “The Owens clan’s no good at happy ever after.”
Chapter 8
The following Saturday, Sam found himself knocking on the door of Red’s trailer clutching a last-minute plant he’d grabbed at the market. Red loved anything having to do with flowers and gardening. Only now did it dawn on him: planting things went hand in hand with her hankering for roots.
Sam shifted his feet on the doormat. In his hand, the cellophane-covered plant crackled. He propped up a wilting daisy. So, this was dating.
The flower fell again just as a woman in wire rimmed glasses with wavy silver hair opened the door. “Come on in. Sophia’s back there getting ready.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She took the plant from him. “Aren’t these pretty? I’ll get a saucer to put under it.”
The woman toddled over to a cupboard while Sam’s feet remained on the rug in front of the door. This was exactly what he’d been dreading. And she hadn’t offered him a seat—not that she seemed like the formal type.
A muted clatter came from behind a closed door down the narrow hallway, followed by an ominous crash.
“It’s okay,” called Red. “Just dropped my shoebox full of nail polish. It’ll only take a minute.”
Said no woman ever. C’mon, Red. Had she actually chosen this time to paint her nails?
“Sophia says you two went to school together. I thought I knew all her friends. My memory must be getting bad,” said her grandmother, setting the flowerpot in the center of the kitchen table.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve changed a little since then.”
Grandma returned to her easy chair in front of the TV and motioned toward the sofa. “Well, you sure are a clean cut fellow now. Might as well have a seat. I don’t know how long she’ll be.” She picked up the remote and turned down the volume on the show she was watching. “My granddaughter might be smart as a whip and have a heart the size of Texas but she isn’t the most organized. Besides that, her dating skills are a little rusty. This is the first time she’s had a boy to the house since she graduated college.”
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine Page 5